#And completely startled by the existence of the person I live with

[sailor-cerise]

[ID: a comic featuring a person sitting on a desk intent on her computer screen. She is wearing headphones and has her back towards the open door where the second person is entering, arms raised and spread in a large gesture, saying loudly (indicated by caps and size):

I am approaching Do not fear

The first text bubble spans across the entire top of the comic, and the second is across the bottom.

/End ID.]

my easily jumpscared gf has her back to the door in our new place and every time i need to announce myself like im an angel of god

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories: Too Late For Remorse

(Prequel)

Yandere Ex Husband x Countess Fem Reader

TW: time regression, cheating (mentioned), yandere, delusional behavior, etc.

“No!” (Your name) shot up from her bed, body covered in a cold sheen of sweat. Her lungs were on fire while her breathing was labored. Her hands fumbled at her neck as her heart pounded in her chest harder than a hammer against wood. She was alive… but how? She had been poisoned by her husband’s mistress…

(Your name) clambered from her silken sheets. The young lady nearly tripped on the fabric from her haste, but she had to scramble to the mirror… she had to make sure.

(Your name) gasped at her reflection in shock. She was twenty again… no longer was she the sullen, neglected thirty year old wife of Duke Blackburn. She was once again the young Countess (Last name)! She had the means to start over again.

(Your name) sunk to her knees as she smiled at her ceiling. A few tears fell down her cheeks as she sucked in a shaky breath. She wouldn’t waste this second chance, no. She’d get her engagement annulled and live a peaceful life this time… no matter who she had to eliminate. (Your name) would pay her fiancé and his mistress back ten fold for their betrayal.

.

.

.

(Your name) cut up her breakfast with the smallest of smiles on her lips. A week had passed since her time regression and her personality has done a complete one eighty.

No longer was Countess (your name) naive and meek, she was a brighter existence with a determination to learn more knowledge. A change that startled the people around her… especially her father.

Her father, the count, seemed quite curious on the sudden change in his only daughter. (Your name) had always been a young woman interested in romance and fairytales, yet that girl was no longer sat in front of him… she was a stranger now.

“My dear, are you not interested in any sweets?” Count (last name) softly asked his daughter who hadn’t touched any of the desserts presented before her. “These have always been your favorite…”

“I’m sorry, I’m just not interested in sweets anymore.” (Your name) gave her father a soft smile. It wasn’t a lie, she lost her love of sweets in her past life when her husband had made constant comments on her body over the years.

Count (last name) frowned before he sighed. “You also haven’t sent Trishan any letters recently… is everything okay between you two?”

Ah yes… Trishan was his name. (Your name) had called him Duke Blackburn for so long that she had forgotten his name…

“I don’t think he liked me that much is all, father.” (Your name) replied softly. “Plus he’s been awfully close to Lady Serpico’s daughter, Lady Gia.”

Count (last name)’s expression quickly darkened at the mention of Lady Serpico. That nightmare of a woman had damaged the reputation of his wife many years ago before they had gotten married… could she have sent her daughter to try to do the same to his darling (your name)? Was this why she had been acting so strange? Had Duke Blackburn made his daughter feel inferior to a snake?

“I will look into it, my dear daughter.” Her father rose from the table to pat his daughter’s head in an affectionate manner. “I love you so much dear… don’t you ever forget that.”

Of course (your name) hadn’t forgotten that, that’s why she used her father’s love to her advantage. Perhaps he could free her from this fate if he annulled the engagement once he found out about the affair?

(Your name) calmly slipped her tea as a ghost of a smile crawled on her lips. She’s moved her first chest piece, she wondered if her dear fiancé would enjoy the shame?

.

.

.

Trishan shoved all the papers off his desk, his hands clutched at his chest while he struggled to breathe. Where was his fiancée? His darling fiancée?

Trishan’s blue eyes scanned the papers in hopes to spot a letter from her, the ones she used to always send him during this time.

He’s returned to the past before he was blinded by greed… before his long affair with Gia Sherpico… before (your name)’s murder. He could make it all right now since he had the chance to be the husband his beautiful, loyal wife deserved!

Trishan frowned when he hadn’t found any new letters. Was (your name) in good health? She was always such a frail woman… perhaps he should go visit her? Yes! She’d probably be so happy, she always had such a beautiful smile.

Trishan began to gather up all of the papers with a smile on his face. He had already ended things with lady Gia the moment he returned to the past, that snakelike woman wouldn’t pull the rug under him this time! He would not let her sweet lies fill his head and turn him against his darling wife. His innocent wife who had done nothing but love him…

Trishan couldn’t bear to find (your name)’s cold body again… he couldn’t live with himself if she died again. If her lips were blue and she laid in a pile of her own blood like some grotesque halo. No, he would protect her this time!

Trishan sighed dreamily at the thought of this second chance. He’d visit her this weekend with her favorite flowers, baby’s breath! They do mean every lasting love, after all!

A shame Trishan failed to realize was that a large bundle of baby’s breath smelled like feet…

.

.

.

“I’m sorry, but my daughter doesn’t wish to see you.” Trishan felt his blood run cold when he was denied entry into the Count’s home. (Your name) didn’t want to see him? This had to be some sort of sick joke! Yes… that was it.

“Very funny, Count (last name).” Trishan waved off the count as he tried to enter the estate anyways. His large bouquet of baby’s breath caused Count (Last name) even more ire.“(Your name) will be thrilled I’m here-“

“My daughter doesn’t deserve a man who can’t keep it in his pants and someone who’s gift her a bouquet that smells like feet.” The count shoved Duke Blackburn back a few steps, the baby’s breath now laid in a puddle of petals at his feet. “Good day to you!”

Trishan could only stand there in shock, his hands clutched at his chest while his breathing was ragged. It wasn’t supposed to be like this… they were supposed to start over. They were meant to be.

Trishan tried to gather up the flowers in haste but they were already too trampled to fix… he’d have to get her a new bouquet. Perhaps a better scented one at that?

Trishan glanced up at the door, hopeful that this was all a big misunderstanding. (Your name) could never hate him… her father must be keeping her away from him.

[taetr4ck]

and all these little things —

he who loves, dances upon the tapestry of stars. 

skz!maknae line x reader, 1.8k words overall, no warnings — fluff, comfort. (continuation of this request.) taglist form

a/n : ouuu this marks the end of skz's princess treatment series :( i enjoyed making these sm. and also i might have overenjoyed myself writing seungmin's part... whoops

jisung who peels your fruits —

He who always offers to peel your fruits – the simple gesture Jisung does shows that love can be unspoken. It’s a simple gesture, yet it speaks volumes. His love is pure, he is taking the time to take care of you.

“Ah, jagiya, let me do it,” Jisung says as he walks up to you in the kitchen, gently taking the orange from your hands. A declaration of love isn't always loaded with promises that can easily falter. Sometimes, love is about the little things that connect us. I love you can mean “You mean everything to me so I’m going to peel your oranges and remove the nasty white stuff off of it.” It can also mean “You know, I never really liked your favorite fruit, but your love for it changed my perspective. I started eating it too – it’s like my body was programmed to like the things you love. I can’t help but think of you when I eat them. Not because of the fruit itself, but because of the person who introduced me to its sweetness.” Love resides in these intricate details that complete the bigger picture together – love is a fragmented moment that you are supposed to piece together, alone, or with the person you chose to mend your love with. You chose to build the fragments with him, and any love he offers is yours to treasure.

If any, he will always choose to stand beside you, laughter permeating through the granite surface of the sleek kitchen counter – adorned with jars of spices and utensils, with a fruit in his hand – peeling his undying love for you. If the world were to end soon, he would want it to end at the kitchen counter, while you are laughing and he is smiling, sharing its last sweet bite before facing the twisted fate.

Through Jisung, you realize that love can be unspoken.

To love someone is firstly to confess,

'I’d always offer you a piece of my orange.'

felix who fixes your hair while you eat —

Felix cast a loving gaze at you from across the table of your favorite restaurant as you savored each bite of your meal – his focus completely on you. You caught his loving gaze, his eyes forming into crescents – and you swear his beauty can be one across the stars – his freckles akin to a constellation, sharing its beauty among the starry expanse of the universe. Without a word, he reached to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, his touch felt like a sacred prayer for which no words exist, and you can feel your heart taking over your body – as if you discovered something for which you don’t have a name for, his fingers gentle against your skin. The sudden touch seemed to startle you a bit, making the heat rush to your cheeks. He does this every time, unsure if you would ever get used to it.

He held your face between his palms, his eyes gazing at you lovingly – with a smile that seemed to belong to you completely gracing his lips. You never met someone like him before – where his touch felt like home, and his smile was the purest you had ever seen. It was as if he had found his sole reason to live, the sole reason to cherish the world he completely lived in. Since the first time he saw you, he swore his whole life belonged to you completely.

His actions carry an unspoken intimacy between you two. It's not just about tucking a stray hair; it's a gesture that speaks volumes about his attentiveness and the connection you share – like a devotion he swore to himself that he’s meant to love and cherish you. The warmth in his eyes matches the affectionate sweep of his fingers through your hair, creating a fleeting yet precious moment amidst the simple act of enjoying your favorite meal together. As long as you’re with Felix, you’ll always feel loved, cared for, and deeply understood – as if he has a unique ability to bring order to the disarray of both hair and the world around you.

seungmin who buys the same book —

The spontaneous trips to bookstores with Seungmin is always therapeutic. The paradise of books laid out in front of you makes your heart leap with excitement, your steps quickening as you scan the books with a carefree smile. The moment he sees that smile – how your face radiates amidst the calm atmosphere of the old bookstore in the middle of the night – he swears he sees stars in your eyes. He watches how your smile glistens when it tugs at your lips, followed by the crescents of your eyes – like the moon, perfectly mending the layout of your face, which is his universe. Your whole being is his universe. It feels like a dream to Seungmin. Is this what true love feels like? To see stars in the eyes of his universe? To see the moon within arm's reach?

That’s when he realizes he grabbed the same book you’re holding. You tilt your head in confusion, wondering why he grabbed the same piece.

“I want to read it with you,” he says, looking at you as if you’re iridescent. He isn’t sure how he will get used to this — you’re startlingly beautiful. He can’t look away.

He always reads the same book with you, attentively listening to your thoughts about the protagonist and their love interest. No matter how cliché the book may be, he's always here, eager to hear your every word. Your voice is a crafted melody to Seungmin, wrapping around him like a gentle embrace. He loves witnessing every part of you – the sudden squeal when you reach the story's climax, the random faces you make when you read a passage that catches your attention, and the faint “tsk” when a character does an idiotic thing. He loves seeing and hearing all of it. He loves you in the strongest way there is.

You are loved more than you can ever comprehend. You’re loved by him to the point his presence alone is like waking up to sunlight. He loves you so deeply to the point he’s willing to engrave your name on the palms of his hands. A declaration of faith, perhaps.

There was a time when Seungmin grabbed the wrong book from the bedroom shelf and was startled to see lots of annotations upon flipping through the pages. It was your favorite book, with annotations scribbled excitedly. It seemed like they were all written in the spur of the moment, without minding what words would formulate in the movement of your hand. He flipped to the last page of the book and saw a handwritten note – the penmanship of which he knew every stroke.

“In the past, I always wondered when my love story would unfold. I once dreamt that my greatest love would exist in this lifetime – until Seungmin came. That’s when I realized that perhaps my invisible string exists in this timeline, at this very moment. I am convinced that it’s him — it’s him I’m destined for. It’s him I’m bound to love. This is the truth. I have loved him in every universe. I will love him in every universe. I always look at him as if there were stars in his eyes, sparkling with no intention of stopping. I’ve never met someone like him before. When I'm lost in fear, I always feel sheltered in his presence. I guess this is what love looks like, to be fully seen by someone and be loved regardless, the unwavering bliss of being known and understood.”

Seungmin felt a pang in his chest. His heart was full of a catastrophic whirlwind of emotions – overwhelming love that may be unbearable. With each sentence, the growing pain in his heart started to intensify. It was as if every word on the page seared into his heart even more, leaving an indelible mark of devotion and love beyond comprehension. As he read the letter, the depth of tenderness grew – wrapping around his soul like a tight embrace that threatened to suffocate in its intensity. This must be the feeling of being loved and cherished to the point where its depths transcend the physical realm, leaving the heart forever changed in its wake. The tears welling in Seungmin’s eyes might be hard to suppress as he reads the last sentence of the letter.

“My love for him is woven into the fabric of the universe.”

jeongin who matches outfits with you —

“Ta-da!” Jeongin exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with delight as he showed off his outfit to you, a proud yet excited grin escaping his lips.

“Wow, you really put a lot of effort into your outfit today. Are you sure we’re just doing groceries today, baby?” you jest, looking at him with a smile. Jeongin has a habit of matching outfits with you whatever the occasion is — whether it is a spontaneous trip to the grocery, a shopping spree, a planned day out, or a formal event. Whatever it is, he always takes the time to make sure his style complements yours perfectly, just like how your hearts complement each other. There is a subtle joy in sharing a wardrobe aesthetic; it’s as if both of your style and loving hearts are interconnected as one.

Jeongin’s eyes would gleam whenever you emerged from your shared bedroom, all prepped up and ready. He would always approach you with a soft smile escaping his lips. He would then kiss your forehead — the spot where he tirelessly kisses as a way of expressing love or saying his goodbyes is called a temple; he loves kissing your temple. He is yours to worship and yours to love. Loving someone is such a pure thing to do; love is like a religion he had discovered on his own. Jeongin seeing you in a room felt like a sanctuary.

Jeongin is always ready, never forgetting the promise he made to himself to love you in all seasons. When times get cold and everything is a mess, he drapes his coat on your shoulders and he becomes your warmth – his love a comforting shield against the chill of uncertainty. Amid the chaos, his gesture offers solace, reminding you that you are not alone, and together you can weather any storm. When it gets too warm, he becomes your cooling breeze – his love like an ocean breeze at dawn, offering comfort and relief with his presence and touch – his caring gesture soothing your fiery heart. When it gets dark and shivers run down your spine, he holds your hand and never lets go, whispering assurance: You’re not alone. I got you, I got you.

On days when you didn't anticipate any matching at all, he'd surprise you with a knowing smile, revealing his outfit cutely matched with yours. It became a playful language between you and Jeongin, sharing laughter and giggles. His eyes would light up with satisfaction, almost melting to the thought that love could be expressed through the woven fibers of one’s clothing, the feeling of being seen by someone and being loved anyhow – submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known. Don’t be afraid to be seen. Let me see you and love you regardless.

taglist: @agi-ppangx @skzstarnet @straykidsland @bluethemoments

⋆ taetr4ck, est may 2023. / requests open

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 29. karma's a bitch

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. naoya's anger issues continue. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. mentions of physical violence. family drama.

word count: 3.2k

notes: my sixty-hour work weeks have been taking a huge toll on me, so i apologize for this incredibly slow update. the good news is that i cannot take this corporate america bullshit anymore and will resign in the next two months. thank you for being patient! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Naoya had never felt this humiliated in his entire life.

When people said karma was a bitch, he never thought that it would actually make its way back to him. While he was not the most righteous person in the world, he was the Zenin CEO, for god’s sake! He was the leader to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, the heir of a centuries-old bloodline. 

Yet, here he was, charging back to his apartment like an irate animal.

He startled the lobby doormen upon his loud entry, and once he returned to his penthouse, he had to will every muscle in his body not to tear apart his abode in a rampage.

In his head, his encounter with Toji looped like a broken record, fueling his chagrin.

When Naoya sought to confront his cousin for the first time in months, he thought he had been prepared. He did not expect to end up digging himself into a deep hole surpassing the world's layers due to a judgment error—a slight miscalculation. 

Correction: this miscalculation was anything but 'slight' because he wildly underestimated what felt like everything. Now, he bore the consequences of his mistakes after inadvertently turning himself into a laughingstock. Because his ego was his hamartia, he had become a mere jester in a story where he was meant to be the sole hero, and thus his ill feelings burned hotter than the surface of the Sun.

As much as he hated to admit this, Naoya had been shortsighted. He should have known better. Just weeks ago, he saw a vision filled with saccharine promises of a happy, comfortable life as the most powerful man in Japan imbued with power and wealth. He had been confident—a hundred percent certain—that absolutely nothing could go wrong in the trajectory he worked hard to create. But, what the actual fuck just happened at the therapist's office?!

He did not expect his mistress to make a complete fool out of him. Her very existence was an anathema to him, and he hoped to never be in contact with that woman ever again. In hindsight, Naoya should have taken the hint a while ago. He had previously forgiven his cousin's ex-wife, dismissing her blissful but intentional ignorance. Mari had never been too keen on actual intellectual and corporate matters, for she took far more interest in the money and comfort that came with starting from the bottom and sleeping her way to the top. Despite that, Naoya trusted that she at least had half the mind to not publicly discuss their affair, only for him to be proven wrong in front of none other than...Toji Fushiguro.

"Fuck!" Naoya screamed into the void of his empty living room. His reality was a nightmare as he thought about his despised cousin again—the assured gleam in his viridescent eyes, the smug smirk that tugged across his lips. The imagery soured his mood beyond measure. "I'm going to fucking—"

He did not finish his sentence.

Instead, he kicked a nearby lamp in an angry bout, toppling the fixture over and sending tiny shards cascading across the floor accompanied by the dull thud of the shade. Whatever. His housekeeper tomorrow morning would come in and clean that. 

What he instead focused on was how he had never been this infuriated, this belittled, this undignified.

The entire apartment echoed with Naoya's loud huff.

'About ‘your wife�� or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.' These words from Toji affected him more than he would have liked.

What did he mean?

That bastard is bluffing, the blonde had to tell himself, yet even he could not believe in his own consolation.

He needed to do something about this. 

No, no, Naoya wasn’t scared.

He couldn’t possibly be, right?!

Yet, after he could feel his ears begin to cool and breathing start to re-regulate, he stared at the emptiness in his halls as he came to the realization that had no better choice but to talk to you.

You didn't want to be here.

The moment you read Naoya Zenin's text to meet up for a 'quick chat' at the café near his office, you already knew that the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but 'quick.' The last thing you wished to do was to be in the same vicinity as that very man again.

After spending the last few days at your family residence, you had been showered with warm attention from aunts, uncles, cousins, and even house attendants who—despite naturally wondering the reason behind your stay—welcomed your visit with open arms. To your relatives' many inquiries, you forged a pretense that all was well even if all was not. (Besides, all did seem well in your family estate, away from the incessant pandemonium that was the Tokyo city center.)

While you knew that this peaceful break was not meant to last forever, you did not anticipate returning to the capital just to sit with the Zenin CEO alone.

Naoya had specifically chosen a corner table in the Hong Kong-inspired establishment, distanced from potential eavesdroppers. He seemed to have been waiting for a while by the time you arrived, his right leg crossed over his left knee as he twiddled with his thumbs impatiently. Sprawled on the table were a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea and a platter of warm custard pastries.

He remained quiet as you took the seat across from him, observing with a crease on his forehead and a knit to his brows.

Anyone could tell that the blonde was not the least bit happy.

"Giving me dirty looks is not going to get this conversation anywhere," you pointed out while helping yourself to a tart.

From your comment, the inverted slope on Naoya's lips twisted into a deeper frown. 

He did not understand where your annoyance came from. 

Fine, he never treated you nicely either, but he did not expect you to snap at him when the discussion had hardly begun. You offered him no greetings, and Naoya also took great offense at how you chose not to look at him as you talked.

Truth be told, your neglect reminded him of all the other upsetting things that he was dying to bring up, and your unpleasant attitude whittled away the little restraint he had left.

“You didn’t try to ask where I’ve been. Not one text or call. Guess it would not have mattered to you if I disappeared, huh?" he lashed out through gritted teeth. He hated being forgotten, hated being looked over, and hated how easy it was for him to prove you to be a neglectful and apathetic wife.

Which was why there was no better option than to cut him off.

“You ordered me to leave you alone, Naoya.” Only slightly did you turn your head to glance at him. Stirring sugar into your tea, you kept your attention otherwise on the nearby window and watched businesspeople scurrying about on the streets on their lunch breaks. "You can live without my attention since I'm not the only woman you have around. What happened to your lady friend? Hasn't she been entertaining you long before our marriage? I am sure she would love your company, so why not pay her an impromptu visit?”

From a slanting angle, you could tell that the transformation from your normally calm demeanor dismayed him. Naoya, not you, was typically the one to make snide comebacks, but he could not deny your latest comments. Evidently, he wanted you to go back to your submissive and passive self, but that was precisely what you no longer could be for him.

His silence prompted you to reach into your purse and retrieve a thick manila envelope, and you presented the package on the table.

Naoya's gaze snapped to the parcel. 

He was curious, but cautiously so. He had invited you here, expecting to control the narrative, to dictate the terms. As a result, your unexpected move threw him off balance. 

"What...?"

“Take a look and find out for yourself.”

A puzzled Naoya demonstrated no hesitation.

He snatched the folder, tearing the top open and greedily grabbing the curated pieces inside. He stared for a long time at the first item: a photo. But he recognized the image of him and his mistress, boarding a private jet for their most recent trip to Mexico. Then, he flipped through the stack rapidly, barely registering each item before he turned to the next. Some were printed-out pictures and others were cutouts from news articles, but all featured him and his paramour. The confusion on Naoya's visage slowly morphed into aggravation, and when he finished his inspection, he forcefully threw the items back onto the table.

In the end, Naoya sat back and went still, not even blinking, thinking, or doing anything but pressing his tongue along his inner cheek. "How did you get these?"

No apologies. No remorse.

Hell, based on his response, the man could not even bother to deny your accusations, a telling sign of how little he could care for his relationship with you. Obviously, you must be a joke to him.

In one firm motion, you placed down your teacup.

"You're missing the point.”

While one's eyes may be the windows to the soul, Naoya's offered nothing in his current state. His pupils looked at—no, examined you in intense dark pools despite the iridescent glow from the lights above.

"Toji gave you these, didn't he?" Naoya continued with a disdainful laugh, himself insistent on getting answers to his own questions. "You can't find this shit on the internet anymore since I've had them all taken down. But Toji's fast. He has eyes everywhere, I know he does. Look at him. Months later, and he's still hung up on reclaiming a position he should've never had the right to in the first place!"

Thankfully, you didn’t flinch from his loud voice. What you did do was become more indifferent as if you were placing a wall to separate yourself from him, mentally bracing for his emotional maelstrom.

"You are missing the point," you said once more. This time, you shook your head in disappointment, and your tone was far more frustrated than the last. "Aren't you shameless?”

"Me? Shameless?!” His brows pinched closer from fury. "Take a look at yourself, woman! What did you do to get all this dirt from Toji and his henchmen, hm? Ha! Know what? I bet it’s because you're so willing to spread yourself for them,” he rambled with a nasty sneer plastered on his expression. At his comments, your jaw fell open before snapping shut as the meaning behind his words sank in. The way this man disregarded how he had an affair (that began many months ago!) only to redirect the spotlight onto you was repulsing, implying that the sole reason the therapists talked to you was that you had slept around. “A whore like you love taking all them all, don’t you? Well? Well? Am I right? Goddamn, you’re such a—”

The harsh scraping from your chair as you stood was what finally interrupted him. Unable to tolerate his vilification, you counteracted his anger with the venom in your rancorous glare. 

"How dare you talk about me like that!”

In the meantime, prying eyes started to turn in your direction from the commotion: teenage girls, sharing nervous glances across their table; a lone businessman, stopping mid-sip from his cappuccino; even the barista, pausing mid-grind such that her arm froze inches from the hopper.

"That man...doesn't he seem familiar?" a distant voice asked.

"Is he a celebrity or something?"

"No, wait. He's the person on the cover of last month's Fortune magazine. Naoya Zenin!" another replied.

"Isn't that lady his wife?"

While the onlookers' curious glances turned into full-on stares, their regard steeled your resolve rather than bothered you. Instead, you wanted the crowd to take in the spectacle. Corrupt tricks and dirty money had long painted the Zenin heir as 'the most perfect man in Japan,' and the public deserved to understand the fraudulence and cruelty that underlaid his facade.

"For months, I trusted you. I respected you. I put aside the harrowing loneliness weighing on my heart all because I tried to understand you. You told me that finding the time or energy for our marriage was not easy because board meetings kept you late in the office or business meetings required you to spend several nights abroad. Fine! So, I had been patient. But," and your voice overflowed from anger as you pointed a shaking finger at the pictures on the table, "Taking another woman to Michelin restaurants for dinners? Spending nights with her at Ritz-Carltons and Four Seasons? Going on entire vacations with her across the Pacific? All while you had a wife at home? Are you out of your fucking mind ?!" 

The man's nose flared with deep-seated rage, his eyes mirroring the same bitterness in yours. "At the end of the day," he began sternly, "we're still married."

Ridiculous.

“On paper, ” you had to clarify. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be cheating on me with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Immediately, louder murmurs rippled through the crowd. Naoya turned stiff, uncomfortable with the attention. So much for selecting a quiet corner in the café. He wasn’t stupid enough to sense that he had to be careful. Saying one wrong phrase would condemn him to a public meltdown. 

However, you were already steps ahead of him when you loudly declared: “I’m filing for a divorce.” 

That caught him off guard.

Your announcement even drew audible astonishment from bystanders as they stopped their meals, turning to each other and drawing out their phones.

In literal milliseconds, the vexation once riddling Naoya's demeanor shifted into denial.

“No. We’re not going to talk about a fucking divorce right now. We’re going to fix what we have, and you’re going to come back to me. We’re...We're married for a reason, and we’re going to keep with it!”

"That's a bullshit reason,” you had to snap. “Listen to yourself. Do you hear how selfish you sound!?" At this point, nothing could hide your bafflement. "Naoya, you were the one who said that if I wanted to leave this marriage badly, then I should leave. Ask Mai and Maki! They heard the entire conversation. Didn't you also say that you didn't give a fuck anymore?"

The man attempted to salvage some semblance of control. "I was just joking!"

"No, you were not." Picking up a photo of Naoya and Mari together, you pressed the picture to his face. “How much more can I take? How many days would I still have to go through alone in the penthouse, all because you would be spending your sweet time with the woman that you love?”

Unloading all this emotional baggage, not only for Naoya Zenin but also for the café spectators to hear, took courage. Previously, you would have let the burden gnaw at your soul. You would have rather wallowed in suffering rather than even think about speaking up.

But the past was the past, and you had grown immensely since then. Currently, you were stronger, more confident. You knew that, in Toji's words, you deserved better. Life was too beautiful to waste on a man who did not love or respect you and, with that in mind, you relaxed your clenched fists with an exhausted and fatigued sigh. 

You broke me first, you said through a deserted gaze. 

Naoya Zenin was the reason why you had become the way you were: a cold, seemingly heartless wife who cared none for her husband. The misery that he placed on your shoulders finally reached its limit, and while you could forgive, forgetting the memories in your scarred heart would be a task over months, years, and even a lifetime. 

“Listen,” you began, tone terse, “this divorce will set you free. Mari is the person whom you need—”

“The hell. No!” the man interrupted in a violent outburst, taking your breath away as he slammed the table and hissed. “I don't give a damn about her right now! We’re…We’re over!" he snarled with incredible anger such that he almost appeared to growl. "I don’t need her, I need you! That...That whore doesn't give a flying fuck about my shit! All she cares about is...is...Fuck this. All she wants is the money. Why else do you think she married and then later divorced Toji? She doesn't want to hear about all the shit in my family because she had not been brought up to deal with all the fuckin' drama in my household. She can't understand because, unlike you, she wasn't born with a silver spoon shoved down her goddamn throat!"

Quietly, you absorbed his words, stunned.

So this was how their relationship had been.

You had not expected him to reveal all these entrenched feelings willingly, but his concoction between reckless rage and sheer desperation had allowed him to spill the ugly side of this extramarital affair. Naoya could not afford to lose you, and not just because this marriage solidified the respect of those around him. While Mari offered him an outlet for physical indulgence, only you could offer the cornerstone to Naoya's mental and social fortitude.

“So you ‘need’ me now, but what happens when you find another reason to hate me again? What will you do if you don’t think I can fulfill the role you want me to have as your partner? Or if you wake up one day and suddenly want your cousin’s ex-wife again? Or if you meet another woman? Am I supposed to stand there again, and watch this all happen?" 

No answer.

The fact that he couldn't respond hurt.

"My decision is final. Looking back, I despised every single second married to you. In fact, I feel sorry for myself. The fact that I blindly put up with your manipulation, betrayal, and blame for all these months.” With your belongings collected, you prepared to leave. “You would be stupid to think you're the only one with options, you know.”

Only when you turned around did Naoya react, scrambling to his feet.

“What the fuck are you—”

In any other situation, he would have grabbed you, lunged at you, did everything in his power to stop you from going. Yet, given all the witnesses, all he could do was call you back like a helpless child, trying his best to not escalate the scene (although, at this point, even passerbys outside have stopped by the window to spectate).

"Hey!" Naoya called after you. “Hey! I’m still talking with you!”

Pathetic, really, to see him desperately beg for you to stay in his life.

There was a certain satisfaction in finally having the control at your fingertips. The feeling was empowering—electrifying, even—and you became so focused on the gratification that you barely registered Naoya's last question.

“Where are you going?”

At this point, you already stood by the exit.

“That’s not something that my soon-to-be ex-husband would need to know,” and you hardly gave him another glance as the door closed behind you. “Thank you for showing me everything I hope to never find in another man again."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Part of why this update took so long was because I wanted to have an encounter between Naoya and Y/N to showcase Y/N’s development, from someone who thoughtlessly defended her husband to someone who could stand up for herself (all while alone!). I envisioned this interaction many times, and I thought about different ways to approach the scene, the delivery, the dialogue, the choreography, etc. It took me a while to go for what I currently have. Thank you for reading!

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[kitkatscabinet]

Are you there God?

Summary: A chance meeting in the dilapidated remains of your mother's old church ends up changing the trajectory of two lives

Pairing: Jason Todd x f! Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, mentions of Christianity and nsfw themes. Unedited.

There’s a chill in the air, carrying with it the promise of an upcoming winter. The old church offers little reprieve from the harsh bite of the night air, the wind easily pushing through dilapidated wood. 

The many near burnt-out candles that flicker and cast dancing shadows across the darkened chapel emanate no heat. Nor does the flimsy jacket you’d hastily adorned before this impromptu midnight visit. 

Your fingertips tingle from the cool temperature, even as you exhale smoke from the cigarette you’d used one of the dying candles to light. 

Sacrilegious sure, you could perfectly picture the scowling faces of the nuns if they could see you, but it was one of those nights—the nights where you needed something, anything to take the edge off. 

And if nicotine was your preferred poison? Well better that than heroin you argued. 

Besides, if God existed then he had bigger issues to worry about than you sprinkling some ash on the floor of an old dilapidated church slated for condemnation. 

A tinge of sorrow hits you as you take in the poor state of what was once your mother’s church. You’ve no fond memories of the place, having hated being dragged along every Sunday by your more devout mother in your childhood. Now though, it’s one of your last remaining connections to your long passed mother. 

Gotham had never been an overtly religious city, you guessed it was hard to believe in a supposedly merciful God when you lived in such a shithole. And ever since the discovery of aliens, demons and the like, Gotham’s faith in anything divine had long since seemed to die out completely.

You stare up at the wooden Jesus hanging behind the pew contemplatively. It’s silly, you’re not even remotely religious but something compels you to speak to the empty space regardless. 

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned” That was how it went right? “It’s been… well forever since my last confession.” 

“I look like a priest to you darlin?” A startled screech leaves your lips at the unexpected masculine voice. Jolting, the butt of your cigarette flies from your hand, your free one clutching at your chest. 

“Jesus Christ!” You exclaimed, trying to calm your hammering heart. 

“Not quite.” The voice rumbles as a muscular figure steps into your view. Your eyes trail from booted feet up to thick thighs adorned with gun holsters that inspire some incredibly less-than-holy thoughts. But it’s the blazing red bat symbol stretched across the man’s chest that makes your mouth run dry, it's the Red Hood.

You’d never seen the gun-toting, violent, vigilante in person but it's unmistakable who’s standing across from you now.  Forcing your breathing to even out, you allow your muscles to relax as you lean back against the wooden pew. 

“Too pretty to be a priest.” You agree with his earlier statement, watching in amusement as the vigilante stutters in his steps. It was cute, watching a man of his renown and stature suddenly flounder in embarrassment. 

“Didn’t exactly take you to be the religious sort.” You say, gaze never once leaving his form as he slowly sits down on the creaking bench beside you. 

“I’m not.” He grunts.

“Me neither.” You confess, the two of you sitting in companionable silence as you stare up at the wooden Jesus that presided over the church. 

You don’t know what compels you to keep returning to that dilapidated old church (that’s a lie, you know damn well why), but like clockwork, every Sunday night you return. And every Sunday night, so does he. 

At first, he hadn’t been consistent. Why would he? The Red Hood had no reason to be skulking around a random church, nor did he have a reason to want to see you. 

Still, you kept going to that church, and unbeknownst to you, so did he. 

Since that first night, Jason Todd had been watching. What had started with concern over a young woman walking alone at night had morphed into curiosity into what he refused to acknowledge was a crush. 

Though he’s pretty sure not even the helmet had been able to hide the heart eyes he’d thrown your way when you admitted that Pride and Prejudice was your favourite novel. 

He’s late sometimes, bloodied and bruised, but three months following that first fateful meeting, the Red Hood goes out of his way to meet with a random civilian girl. 

It was nearing the two-month mark when everything changed. The both of you were forced to acknowledge the underlying tension of the odd and unexpected friendship that had formed in the twilight hours spent under the roof of a God neither of you believed in. 

It had been the first time you’d seen him injured, barely a scratch in Jason’s opinion, but the way you’d worked yourself into a frenzy of worry over him, the way you’d dropped to your knees before him and had taken his bloody knuckles into your gentle touch would forever be engraved into his mind. 

It’s at that moment that Jason realises God’s not there, because if so then surely he would have smitten Jason then and there for thinking such sinful thoughts in his house. Besides, as far as he was concerned, you were the only entity worth praying to anyway. 

He wants so badly to rip off the mask, secret identity be damned, and kiss you breathless. In the end, cowardice wins out, but Jason thinks back on that night often with regret. 

“Favourite hero go,” Red asks, turning to look at you with what you imagine is a smirk under his stupid red helmet. 

“It’s not you if that’s what you’re fishing for,” you grin, looking back up at the ceiling from where you lay on the wooden floor, protected from the dust and splinters by an old picnic blanket. 

The terrifying sort-of-crimelord lying beside you scoffs in offence like the big baby he is. 

“Ok then who is it?”

“Wonder Woman.”

“Oh that’s such a basic bitch fucking answer.” You know he’s joking, Red’s made it clear that despite his distaste for Batman he respects the hell out of Wonder Woman. Still, you entertain him, rolling your eyes dramatically. 

“Fine, you wanna know the real answer? It’s Black Canary, but specifically when she was rocking that full-body black leotard with the mesh cutouts on the legs and the cropped bomber jacket.”

There’s a stunned silence that follows your passionate answer before Red bursts into laughter. 

“Oh, fuck you,” you quip, though there’s no actual heat behind your words. 

“You wish.” Any witty retort instantly dies on your lips and you’re suddenly distinctly aware of the heat emanating off his shoulder which brushes lightly against yours. 

Red has stopped laughing, coughing to clear his throat as you suddenly wish for the floor to swallow you whole. For anything to distract you from the way your mind suddenly races, filled with various images of different positions you could achieve right there in front of Jesus. 

“Right, well, I should probably go. Bad guys to catch and all.” It’s painfully awkward and so is your lacklustre response. 

“Oh, yeah … yeah.”

Neither of you move though and you don’t think you’ve ever been more hyper-aware of your body and the one lying next to you in your life. You quickly sit up, the vigilante mimicking your movements. 

“So um —”

“Well I — ” The both of you speak at once, you motion for him to go first and he clears his throat once more. 

“I should probably go now. Bye.” With that, he’s gone so fast he might as well have been the flash, leaving you alone to stew in the mortification and arousal that’s worked its way into your belly. 

A scream of frustration rips its way out of your throat when your mind conjures up the very graphic image of you straddling one of Red’s delicious thighs and refuses to drop the line of thought. 

Little did you know, Jason had needed to cut his patrol short for the same reason. A cold shower having practically screamed his name. 

Footsteps echoed up the aisle towards where you were sat in the front pew, as had become a tradition between you and your vigilante, playfully you turn towards the source. “Hey Red, you’re late — ” the words die on your tongue, mouth running dry as you take in a trio of figures, none of whom are the Red Hood. 

The fear must show on your face as you shakily stand, and try to create space from the ominously grinning men. 

“What’s the matter darlin?” One of them drawls, and you want to throw up at the use of the petname, that was what he called you. 

“Look, I don’t know what you want but my friend will be here soon.” You mentally curse yourself when you notice the way your voice quivers, and the men clearly pick up on it too. 

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Fear nearly roots you to your place at the surety in his words, but you live in Gotham and Red Hood has made it his mission to get you to be able to defend yourself. 

You don’t think, you just move, and when the nearest guy reaches out to grab your arm you knee him in the balls. He goes down with a howl and you think you break the second guy's nose if the crunch is any indication. 

The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety has you stopping in your tracks once more.  “That’s it, just settle down now. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours now would we?”

Tears well up in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, unwilling to give them the satisfaction. Goon #2 uses the opportunity to grab your arm in a bruising grip before a blow to the cheek leaves you reeling, black dots dancing across your vision as you struggle to regain your senses. 

“Speak for yourself, the little bitch broke my fucking nose.” 

“What do you want from me?” You croak when you finally regain the ability to speak, ignoring the metallic taste of blood on your tongue. 

“From you? Nothing. It’s not personal darling, but the word around here is that the Red Hood is sweet on ya, and well, I don’t appreciate the way he’s been nosing about my business lately.”

You should be terrified of the implications of that statement, about what these men will do to you, and you are — but you can’t stop thinking about how Red will inevitably blame himself for anything that happens to you. 

You close your eyes, trying to make peace with what is likely the hour of your death. You’re in a house of God, you should be praying to him, and yet all you can think of is Red. Your Red.

A gunshot rings out, followed by another, and another. When seconds pass and you feel no pain you open your eyes, just in time to witness the Red Hood reaching gently for your face. Despite yourself, you flinch slightly when his gloved hand brushes lightly against your cheek. 

He reels back as if stricken, and immediately you wish to rectify your mistake. With a sob, you launch yourself into his arms, ignoring what is probably the corpses of the three men lying on the ground. 

“You saved me,” you mumbled against his chest, relishing in how safe you felt encased in his arms. 

“Always.” There’s such surety in that single word, such devotion that you believe him. 

“Red — ” you mumble, pulling away to meet what you expect to be the whites of his mask, only to gasp when you find yourself looking into swirling pools of blue-green. 

“Jason,” the whispered name is a confession to you alone, though you barely have time to ponder the new information before a pair of lips descend upon your own. Your eyes flutter closed once more, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. 

You’ll deal with the after-effects of what you just experienced later, what almost happened to you, for now, you’re content to remain absorbed in Red’s — in Jason’s arms.

The man who'd been there when God wasn't.

[dunmeshistash]

Why did Milsiril help with Mithrun's recovery?

Since people seemed to be interested in the post I made about why she adopted Kabru I wanted to write my thoughts about her helping Mithrun too.

I think with Mithrun it gets a little trickier tho, both because Mithrun himself doesn't speak much about his past and because most of it we get from a third party account. I'll also try to discuss based on what I see people say about their relationship although is probably gonna be shorter than Kabru's (came back to say it's not shorter), tw for self-harm because of Mithrun recovery drawings.

1 - So Mithrun could become a canary again

This is the theory I see the most often, probably it's whats on the main story, as far as I'm remembering there's no other mentions of Milsiril related to Mithrun besides the role she plays in sparing his life.

That story isn't reliable tho, Mithrun constantly points out that Kabru is glossing over details and Kabru himself is depicted as cooking (as the kids say) a good story that resonates with an audience.

So we can't really trust that this framing is objectively true

But even so taking just what happened, without the context Kabru added, what she did was spare his life once she realized he still had a hint of desire to exist within him.

Kabru lies (or rather embelishes a lot) when he says "and from that point onward, Mithrun lived only to slay demons. He ate even he had no desire to eat. He lived on even though he had no desire to live." he was useless for 20 years after this so 'saving him cause he will be useful later' isn't really too accurate. Milsiril also wasn't involved with his rehab until Utaya 18~19 years later so it definitely wasn't for this that she helped.

2 - So Mithrun could avenge Utaya by defeating the demon (She winded him up and set him on a path, you know, like a doll)

I think this one is kinda mean, I've seen people speak as if she only helped him after Utaya because she wanted to use him to defeat the demon. But there's no evidence Milsiril even cares about the demon or that she wants vengeance. My girl literally ran away and decided to look away instead of continuing to fight (and I can't blame her)

This, as far as I understand, is based both on the above section and on this part from her adventurer's bible extra

She shows up to visit him and brings up the demon, and then sets him up to go after it, but once again I think it relies on an unkind interpretation of her character; you gotta assume she has unseen ulterior motives already before the comic even starts, since this whole comic is talking about how she completely misinterpreted who Mithrun was when they were in the same squad, and how she feels he's actually someone she would get along with. If you know Milsiril, you know she only gets along with other misfits, she's acknowledging Mithrun as someone who was broken like her even before his desires were eaten.

This is the complete comic

"I always hated you. You were beautiful and perfect, and everybody loved you. You didn't seem to have a single worry or flaw.

But when I saw the dungeon you'd built, I was startled. It was such a warped, convoluted place built from inferiority, jealousy, lies and anger.

I wish I'd tried really talking to you. We might have hit off pretty well. Too late now, I guess"

She acknowledges him as a human being, when before she only saw him as the embodiment of the people that bullied her. And right after that she talks about the demon. There's no indication for a wish of vengeance anywhere in this comic, I'd even say the demon and the dungeons are barely important to what Milsiril is thinking, there's only belated compassion.

3 - Cause he was a new "project"

Related to the reasons pointed out in my Kabru post, people assume Milsiril is the type of person that wants/needs to feel superior to someone, or to put on an altruistic front or what have you. And that interpretation also leaks into how they see her helping Mithrun. I said the main reasons why I don't think she's that type of person on the other post so I wont repeat. But I don't think Mithrun is a "project" at all.

This was right after she fought on Utaya, I imagine a little after or a little before she took in Kabru, so she "had a project" already if you're gonna go with that wording. She was also finally free from the canaries and she had no obligation towards Mithrun. She also only went back to him decades after she spared his life, my assumption is that she did it because she finally could. She couldn't have guessed when she spared his life that 19 years later she would be free from the canaries and that Mithrun still wouldn't have been recovered and would have been needing her.

4 - And finally, why did she spare his life? Why did she help him recover?

This one isn't as straight foward as Kabru's adoption to me. I imagine the fact he had the potential to still be useful could be one of the reasons she spared Mithrun at first, but I also think that he newfound empathy she developed for him when she saw his dungeon might have been part of it, that seeing he still had some sort of drive and desire made her have hope he could still live.

Milsiril really seems like the type of person that likes to nurture, while I wouldn't say this makes her a "softie" and not able to execute him (I'm sure she could do a mercy kill) I think that soft side made her want to give him a chance. There's no proof for any of that ofc, and Kui confirmed in a QnA Mithrun wasn't arrested or executed because they were desperate for people to be in the canaries. (The choice probably wasn't only on her)

Now why she helped him? I think it's because she saw he could be helped.

She says herself she's only visiting, probably to check on him

"They said you've fully recovered but you might as well be a corpse." so by this point I think his body has recovered and he has managed to stabilize? But as this extra from the daydream hour shows he needed 24/7 care to stay alive in those first 18 years

Like she said he might as well be a corpse, he'd be in bed all day and have servants keeping him from dying, he would have fits where he would harm himself, he had no way to go on. It even says that even things that could remind him of his time as dungeon lord weren't allowed so he was probably being kept away from demon mentions (after all I doubt servants even knew about a demon)

But then when she mentions the demon he immediately gets up

She's surprised so I don't think she expected that, and she goes and uses that reaction to help him "Then first eat this. If you finish it all I'll take you to a dungeon again"

Rather than using him to fight the demon I think she's using the demon to help him live. Here's what his bio says

"After Mithrun was recused from the dungeon, he spent a while on the verge of death. However, with time and rehabilitation he gradually became able to lead a normal life again. The Utaya incident was the event that roused him. He thought, 'If I'd been there, I know I could have dealt with the demon somehow' and he resolved to return to active duty. (...)"

So it worked, Milsiril might have been there to help with his rehab but it was the Utaya situation that finally was able to motivate him to find a way to live and rejoin the canaries, so I think rather than setting him up to kill she realized it could be used to help him.

Which isn't a perfect solution, as you might know by the ending, his fate was to die either way: either he would die trying to kill the demon or he would defeat it and die because he had nothing else to live for.

But it was what Milsiril could do for him at that moment and it was how she managed to help him go forwards.

And that's my thoughts about Milsiril and Mithrun, I don't think they as big in each other's lives in canon as some people assume, there's barely a mention of Milsiril on his profile and she's barely named in his backstory. But they were both people that left a mark on each other's existence if only for a short time.

But I don't think Milsiril was just doing charity when helping Mithrun either, I imagine she did it because she saw herself in past Mithrun, and wanted to help him because of it.

Also side note, this extra:

That's past Mithrun saying she has ulterior motives, he isn't reliable and thinks badly of everyone. So ofc he thinks gloomy Milsiril is suspicious for helping, him doesn't mean it's true

Disclaimer again I'm a Milsiril stan so I'm very charitable in my interpretations of her, but hopefully you can see there's no indication she is someone who would use a sick person for revenge with the sources I've attached.

[neuroticboyfriend]

A lot of the time when professionals interact with psychotic people, they try to reduce our distress by getting us to stop believing things. For me, that only made things worse. It was confusing and distressing. I felt angry, scared, and misunderstood. The best way I've found to cope with delusional thinking is something I discovered on my own. I'll give an example here so, huge TW for unreality and paranoia.

Scroll away if you're not able to hear delusional thinking.

Yesterday I started freaking out thinking people could hear my thoughts. This is something I've occasionally experienced since I was a child. When this comes up, I always think there's some massive conspiracy, where everyone can hear my thoughts but they react to me as if they don't hear anything. And they're all in on it. This time, it was triggered by intrusive thoughts that I started judging myself for.

As you can imagine, this is distressing. I started talking to people through my mind, which only made it worse. I couldn't focus on what was happening around me. What I did to reduce that distress is.. weirdly nonchalant. I just sat there and thought "Well, if this is true, it's not like they're going to change how they interact with me. Everything is the same as it was. Nothing I can do about it, might as well just keep on keeping on."

That calmed me down enough to start focusing on what I was doing, and eventually completely forget about it until now. Whenever I try to treat my delusional thinking as something I have to stop immediately... it literally only makes my mind double down. But if I work within what I believe - what I "know" - I can find another way to look at it that isn't so scary.

This works with my hallucinations, too. I sometimes see shadow people; they're more like jump scares than anything. They startle me, and I start to wonder if people I'm looking at are real. But that latter part only really happens if I get fearful of them. To avoid that fear, I try to think of the shadow people as just friends watching over me, checking in. They don't do anything, after all. They just pop up, stand there, and disappear.

(Talk of unreality ends here)

So, yeah. This doesn't work for everyone, and it doesn't always work for me depending on what I'm experiencing/how I'm feeling. But without this, I'd be far worse off; it doesn't take too many missteps for me to spiral. I guess my point is, my reality doesn't have to be "normal" for me to be healthy as a schizophrenic person. It just has to be something I can live with, as happily and safely as possible.

And that's ok. Neurodivergent people are allowed to exist, and some people are helped best by finding ways for them to exist as they are without so much distress - rather than trying to eliminate troubling symptoms entirely.

[dotster001]

It makes me want to read something sad. For example, there is a celebration at the college, but Remshekle does not participate in it because it is not official. Crowley tells MC and Grim that they can't participate in the preparations for the holiday and come to it because they are banned. MC agrees, but is still upset. What happened next I can't think of, but I would like some angst. How will the dorm leaders react to this?

That's What Friends are For

A/N: Hopefully this is what you were looking for. I got some angst in there, but also comedy and a nice ending, even if it's not the expected ending. I'm not super good at solely angst 😂

3k follower Masterlist

"Due to budgeting constraints, we cannot allow unofficial dorms to participate in founder's day activities."

"Oh. Okay. I understand. That's fine. I get it."

"I appreciate your benevolence with this decision."

You stood up from your seat, and left Crowley's office.

You knew that you were living here for free, in an unofficial dorm, nonetheless, so really that you could even be allowed to attend the festival at all was generous in itself. But your friends had been going on and on about the stuff they got to present, and the new costumes they would get to wear that represented the icon of their dorm.

You were honestly more upset that you'd have to tell Grim. He had been so excited to have a cool new outfit. His sad little face would just devastate you.

But you'd get through it. And maybe he'd understand. One day.

….

"Where is my child of man?" Malleus asked. He had finally been informed about a housewarden meeting, and was distraught that his favorite person seemed not to be present.

"Ramshackle is not participating in the founders day parade," The headmage said off hand as he continued to inspect the paperwork Azul had brought forth regarding the founders day buffet menu.

"Pardon?" Riddle seemed startled.

"With having to feed, house, and teach them on our dime, the Ramshackle budget, which was nearly non-existent as an unofficial dorm, is completely drained."

"But it's founders day. Ramshackle was there at the opening, wasn't it?" Leona said with a glare, sparking some widened eyes around the table.

"Yes, but-"

"You only have an 800th anniversary once!" Kalim burst out. "I can pay for their outfits and exhibits if I need to!"

"As could any one of us at this table. And everyone of us would without a second thought," Vil mused. "So I think something else must be going through that bird brain of yours."

Crowley stood from his place at the table, feathers clearly ruffled.

"How dare you insinuate anything less than benevolence on my part! I am simply trying to care for this school-"

"You didn't think about it, did you? Lmao," Idia's tablet cackled.

Crowley's jaw opened and closed a couple of times, before he said, "I am aware of the monetary situation of our housewarden, I just did not wish to infringe upon-"

"Damn, the turnip was right. You really didn't even think about it," Leona laughed.

"So we'll fund their part of the festival. What is our next topic?" Malleus sighed out in relief. He didn't want to even be part of this festival without you. The stares and whispers without your gentle reassurances would be overwhelming.

"No, no, the decision is final. Besides, Ramshackle doesn't have a known founder. Whoever they are was lost to time!" Crowley snapped, clearly embarrassed, and also very stubborn.

"-They can just dress in the Queen of Hearts' inspired attire-"

"-Obviously they will borrow clothing from my grandmother's collection.-"

"-They would look fetching in the fairest Queen's robes.-"

Three voices spoke up at once, and all three turned to glare at each other.

"See! This is why they can't participate! Ramshackle's participation will only sow dissent amongst you. Now let's move on!" Crowley cried, beginning to sweat from the rising hostility levels.

"Oh, shut it!" Leona snapped, before turning back to the housewardens. "It's obvious they'd look the best in an outfit designed after the king of beasts."

"Imagine how op they'd look designed after the god of the dead!" Idia mused behind the tablet, seemingly not realizing he hadn't muted himself.

"Probably not as "op" as if they looked like an octo mer," Azul hissed through a tight smile. "Imagine the radiance and brilliance of-"

"Both of you are gross," Vil snapped. 

"Why are they gross?" Kalim asked.

"Because they don't care about the festival, anymore. They just want to see Y/N in looks they find hot, and can slobber over" Leona grinned.

"Like your intentions are oh so pure!" Idia's tablet screeched.

The table erupted into shouts, the meeting long forgotten as Crowley curled up in a ball in his chair.

Meanwhile….

"We've all discussed it," Ace said as he sat on your bed. It seemed he was the appointed spokesperson of the first year crew.

"We aren't going to let the two of you wallow in despair while we have fun. So we aren't going to have fun either," he said with his signature grin splitting his face.

"None of us are going to participate in the festival!" Ortho interrupted, clearly too excited to wait for Ace to be dramatic.

"Damn it, Ortho! I was supposed to say it!" Ace pouted.

"Language! He's a child!" Sebek hissed.

"He's in advanced potionomics with the third years. He'll be fine," Epel rolled his eyes. 

"But you were all so excited to participate," you said, covering Grim's mouth to keep him from immediately agreeing to their thought process without a second thought.

"It's not fun without you," Jack muttered, looking anywhere but you.

"Look, like it or not, you've woven yourselves so tightly into our lives that we wouldn't enjoy ourselves if you weren't a part of it!" Deuce stated factually, his cheeks turning red as he realized what he said.

"So, like they all said, we aren't going to wear any cool costumes, or work at an exhibit, or eat at an all you can eat buffet-"

"IT'S ALL YOU CAN EAT?" Grim screamed.

"Because we're gonna boycott the whole thing and have fun doing something else," Ace finished with a glare.

"Forget it Y/N. Forget them!" Grim cupped your face with his paws, looking earnestly into your eyes. "There's an all you can eat buffet! I don't need a fancy costume! Let's go to the buffet!"

You gently shifted Grim to your lap, and scratched his ears. "You guys, I don't know what to say. That's so sweet of all of you!"

"Yeah, we're pretty cool," Epel grinned.

"Buffet…" Grim sadly trailed off, knowing he'd lost.

"And we can find even cooler outfits while we're out!" Ortho cheered, excitement clear as he buzzed quickly around the room. 

"Honestly, it was less about the outfits, and more about feeling left out," you said with a sad smile.

"We know," Ace grinned, playfully nudging you with his shoulder.

"It's alright, we can beat up Crowley so he lets you participate next year," Deuce grinned maniacally, wrapping an arm around your other shoulder as he sat next to you, nuzzling his head against yours when you set it on his shoulder.

"Besides, if I let my Liege's dearest friend be sad, what kind of knight would I be!" Sebek said with a grin.

"Dude, don't pretend this is just about Malleus. You totally were about to cry when you heard they were sad."

"NO I WASN'T!"

You giggled, watching as your idiot friends began to yell at one another. This was what you really would have been disappointed to miss. But luckily, thanks to how amazing they were, and how much they cared about you, you wouldn't have to miss it.

[schnuffel-danny]

aka: AU in which Vlad genuinely hates both Jack and Maddie and has attempted to cut them out of his life completely, but then it turns out the only other halfa is their kid, and Vlad becomes convinced God hates him specifically.

Contrary to canon, in this AU it's only Vlad's moral compass that is askew, his marbles remain mostly accounted for, and as such Vlad directs all his villainous urges to robbing banks and exploiting the working class, but he never gets too invested in elaborate revenge-murder plans. After his "best friends" abandoned him, and left him to rot strapped to a hospital bed, Vlad decides it's best to 1) cut off all contact from those two (and pretend they didn't do it first) and 2) use his new-found powers to show the world how much better off he is without those "wannabe scientists" in his (half)life. Point '2' eventually expands to amassing powers in the Ghost Zone.

Well, since Vlad isn't exactly luck's favorite guy, it turns out Jack and Maddie have found a way to reach out to him after all... One day Vlad is startled by a call from an unknown number to his personal phone, that none but a select few even know of, and when he picks up to yell at whoever is on the other side, he's greeted by the worst sound he's heard in years- Jack's voice. Jack informs Vlad that him and Maddie still have a box of his old things from college, and not so subtly begs him to come over and pick it up, so they have an excuse to meet up and chat for "old time's sake". Vlad only accepts so he can maybe, possibly, have a chance to punch him right in the face in front of his wife and kids.

The visit plan is simple: Show up, get the box, unleash years of repressed anger in one short rant, punch Jack in the face, threaten the Fentons with legal action if they ever even think of contacting him again, take a moment of silence for the horrible parenting those poor kids have to live with, leave and never ever look back again.

But life (especially if you're only living half of it) can never be that simple. Shortly after Vlad leaves to go back to his car, his attention is caught by a bright flash- of none other than Daniel Fenton changing out of his ghost form, after getting the daylights beaten out of him by some ghost in a dark alley. Because of course the only other half-ghost in existence would be the son of the two people Vlad wants nothing to do with And of course he would need Vlad to save him on the exact day he finally got to sever the ties with them for good.

So now Vlad has an overly enthusiastic hero-wannabe glued to his side asking him for advice on his ghost powers, and what's even worse- begging him to give Jack and Maddie another chance, because "They may be a little reckless, but they're good people, I swear!!"

Fate is a bitch, and the only reason god let Vlad live after the accident is so he could torment him for a little longer....

[eldritch-spouse]

Dorem with a blind human who has endless positivity radiating off her. She knows the world is cruel and evil, but instead of getting drown in it, she stubbornly want to create as much good as possible (helping people, caring for abandoned animal,...etc). Without her vision, she didn't see Dorem as some monster at first, despite feeling very strange in his presence. She just thought he was a very quiet, awkward person.

Their first meeting would be at a graveyard. She was cleaning the graves of people who didn't have any family or friends left and was abandoned until it grew dirty and unnoticeable. She worked slowly, carefully, and completely unaware of the gaze directed at her from the shadows. Dorem has been watching her do this every Saturday for the past few months. He didn't understand it at first, thinking she had mistaken the graves of her familiar for someone else's due to her blindness. But overtime, he realizes her soul was just too bright, too kind and loving. He slowly warmed up to her and revealed himself to her one random afternoon. She was startled but eagerly began chatting with the mysterious graveyard visitor.

It was mostly her talking and him listening. Overtime, she learned of his true nature and bits n pieces of his past that he slowly revealed. She accepted it and became even more determined to make his future days better than his past.

[When you said cleaning graves, all I thought of was that blonde Tiktoker. 💀]

The thought of Dorem just about ready to pick you up and launch you through the air because he sees you squatting around a gravestone, messing with it, and immediately assumes you're some kind of grave defiler... Only to then just loom quietly and watch you clean it. Every. Single. Saturday. Like a confused donkey that slowly grows to appreciate it. Comedy gold.

It's good that you can't see him, but sight alone will not spare you of the instinctive dread he inflicts on the living. You'll know Dorem is something more than human or monster early on, because of the weight his voice carries, his strange smoke-like scent, the way he feels. Because, the moment he's sure he can touch mortals without harming them accidentally, he's going to let you touch certain parts of himself. Of his lanky, bony figure and even the flesh that forced itself upon his head.

He's hideous, but you don't need sight to know that.

Dorem encourages you to spend your time elsewhere. Humans already have short lifespans, don't go ahead and waste yours hovering around the dead and gone. Those are empty words and the two of you know it well, he would be disheartened to find you moved on. More than that, Dorem would follow you and easily terrorize the ones you call close, without even trying.

He sees a bit of himself in you. Working tirelessly yet unrecognized. It's almost futile to clean gravestones, just as it's almost futile for him to keep working for those who've long abandoned him. But the two of you don't know anything else, do you?

The soulkeeper knows things will never be the same, but the moments of peace and quiet he can steal when he sits beside you, letting you map out his hand for the hundredth time while you ramble and he chips in every now and then... Those moments make it feel as if things aren't all bad. He doesn't remember the last time he cradled a living being with as much gentleness as he holds you, prying you away from your exhaustive focus so he -A being many consider a harbinger of death- Can remind you to tend to basic needs.

There's a mild self-loathing in Dorem when your natural warmth stokes urges in him that have been buried for so long he didn't even know they still existed. He wouldn't curse someone as generous as you to laying with him, but then, he's already selfish for stealing all your time, and you don't seem to have very many friends... Would you turn him away if he were to reach for more than just your face?

If he were to whisper what he sees in your soul and how it makes him want to be as close to it as he can?

Dorem wonders how it'll spin and flare in the wake of pleasure.

[herejusttosufferalong]

RE: Someone write me a fanfic of L jealous of N and JD. Plot could be N is not dating JD but L is worried she is. JD, like Nic, is quite touchy feeling, it seems, it would be hilarious to read a fic of him watching him touch her, hug her etc. OH OH maybe L reading the Deux pap pics and being angsty about it. two good fics plots. Come on, give to me, Rachels! Maybe something like... (not great, but let's scratch that itch)

Few days into S4 filming. N is in her trailer. L knocks on her door. Usually his knocks are soft, tentative, but N can't help but be startled by the force.

"Uhm is that you, L?", she squeaked.

"Yes..." the way he sounded was different too. She couldn't put her finger on it, sort of frustrated, but also laced with apprehension.

She unlocked her door and his face was hard to read. Eyebrows furrowed, jaw tense, and forcing a faint smile. He walked in tentatively. She didn't understand what was going on? Why was he here looking at her like that? It had been a long, hard day on set. Their relationship was different. Things seemed to take more time. Things had to be forced instead of flowing freely like in the past. She didn't entirely know why, but when she thought back to Summer, she experienced a pang of irritation that hinted at the source of their disharmony. He had his fun, why couldn't she? She was an adult after-all, and the sexual tension that had been brewing over 6 months touring needed to be released somehow. JD was the perfect escape. Witty, energetic, sexy. He knew how to push all the right buttons...

L stood in her trailer awkwardly, looking at the lino floor. "So... how was the rest of your Summer?" he began, looking up briefly to meet her eyes. It was the first time he asked about it. Before shooting, his texts were usually vapid and wholly work-related. Never personal like it used to be.

"It was fine," she admitted, nonchalantly. She saw him scoff and became instantly annoyed. What the fuck was he scoffing about? "What?" she probed in a huff.

"Just fine? By the looks of it, you were having lots of fun!" he blurted. It came out of him like verbal diarrhea. It had begun and it wasn't going to stop now. He was awash with rage as those photos came to mind. Of them together. He knew the minute he saw those photos something was going on. JD had that goofy smile HE used to make when he was in her presence. The image of his hands on her body flashed in his mind and he became incensed.

"Seriously N, with him? You gave me such a hard time for dating a younger person, and then you go and do the same thing? What were you thinking!?" his nostrils flared and his head looked like it was about to pop off his neck. He had never been so angry. His reaction was completely over the top and he was acutely aware of it.

N was as enraged as him. She watched him rant, clenching her fists, her eyes darkening. She stepped towards him and his energy dropped ten-fold. "What. was. I. thinking!?" she said slowly, teeth gritted. "Maybe I was thinking, shit, I should have some fun in my life, instead of always being the good girl? Always doing the right thing for the team, stepping up when required... then there's you, Mr I can't keep it in my pants. I had to sit there and watch you... watch you..." she stumbled, she didn't want to complete the sentence. Her eyes started filling with tears. He saw her distress, and couldn't help but mirror her feelings. He had no choice but to cut her off, stop her from wounding further.

"N I don't fucking understand. I wanted to pursue this. Pursue us. You said, 'Not right now. Go have some fun, continue the narrative.' I did what you said! I... I tried" he choked out, feeling completely vulnerable. She saw it, but she couldn't help but give him an extra serve of her wrath.

"I know what I fucking said, L. But why did you have to block me out? Go on living like I never existed? We never existed? And now you have the nerve to come at me with your jealousy? Are we still calling it professional or...?" she half-smiled, rolling her eyes with petty frustration. She saw his face drop. His visible sadness tempered her fury, and in its place came empty regret at her choice of words.

He couldn't believe how she was speaking to him. He had been miserable the last 3 months. Couldn't she tell?? His sadness began to shift into a well-tread emotion, one he knew how to express. Angst. SHE had put him through hell, and now she has the nerve to make fun of him? Degrade him. No, he wasn't having it. He was done listening to others and trying to do the right thing, but always getting it wrong. He was going to do things his own way.

He strode towards her, eyes fixed on hers, and a dark expression on his face. She stumbled back against the trailer wall not expecting his advance. He liked the effect he had on her, and suddenly the angst molded with something more, something from deep inside his fantasies. She shyly looked away not daring to meet his steely, denim gaze. His thumb and forefinger grabbed the tip of her chin and guided it forward, facing him. She scanned his face and was taken aback by his intensity. He was breathing heavily, quickly, and she couldn't help but breathe in rhythm. He looked at her eyes with careful consideration, then to her lips, full and soft, licking his lips unconsciously. Her lips parted as if having a mind of their own.

He whispered slowly, exaggerating each word, "Don't speak. I'm done listening. I'm done talking," once again, his eyes darted back to her lips, parted just so. He pressed his body closer to hers and gripped her wrists, pushing her further against the trailer wall. She let out a little noise, not quite whimper, not quite moan, his touch like warm tea steeping into her skin, flowing through her veins. His face dipped down and ghosted hers, lips hovering over lips, noses lightly grazing, breathing in soft pants. Electricity crackling between them. "I'm done playing games. I know what you want.... And I want to give it to you," he continued gruffly, thumbs stroking her wrists, feeling her pulse quicken. He looked at her eyes, searching for a reaction.

She gulped in disbelief, every bit of lust overtaking her body. She was his, body and soul, and she wanted to claim him too. He saw her eyes darken with impurity. He took his time, once again hovering over her lips, teasing her mercilessly. "Please..." she begged, breathless, starving. With a slight smirk, he lightly pressed his lips to hers, so softly, so slowly, it was almost torture. She leaned into the kiss, quickening the momentum, lightly sucking and pulling at his bottom lip. He let out a soft, guttural moan, not expecting her level of hunger, and unconsciously eased his grip on her wrists. She wriggled them free and her hands found their way gripping the back of his neck and stroking and tugging at his wavy, thick hair. One of his hands met the side of her cheek, guiding their movements and deepening their kiss. Her tongue brushed along his bottom lip begging for entry, and he obliged greedily, taking each other in with fervor. Months of buried sexual tension bubbling up to the surface, overflowing with heated anticipation. His other hand brushed down her breast, lightly down her side and along her hip, holding the curve and slightly pulling her forward. She pushed him back towards her bed, still peppering his mouth with greedy kisses. He fell back with a humph, both smiling like dorks at the sound escaping his lips. Her smile shifted mischievously as she settled on top of him, her knees straddling either side of his body. His hands gripped her hips and pulled her down onto his lap, unable to hide his growing desire. Her hands dropped to his chest to steady the ride...

Ok, I better stop there as this could get x-rated rather swiftly. But goddamn, do I like an assertive L. Respectfully, release the beast, sir.

Please link the next installment on your AO3 anon

💜🥃

[amakumos]

haru yo, koi — yang jungwon (teaser)

full fic is out now! read here.

synopsis. Life is fragile. You’ve known this ever since you got diagnosed with a rare disease that gives you only 10 years to live. You tell yourself to not fall in love, but then you meet Yang Jungwon in the middle of a park surrounded by cherry blossom trees. But just like the fleetingness of the cherry blossoms, your romance with Jungwon is short lived. You can only hope that the universe will be kind enough to offer you a second chance.

genre. angst, fluff, friends to lovers to ?, inspired by the movie the last 10 years.

pairing. non-idol! jungwon x fem! reader

warnings. swearing, reader and jungwon are 22 at the beginning of the fic, mentions of death, hospital, illness & disease, scenes where drinking is involved

word count. est around 30k+ (teaser is approx 1.4k)

author's note. hellohello : ) this is the teaser for the longest every fic i have ever written!!! that’s so crazy!!!! the title is of course inspired by yuzuru hanyu’s program “haru yo, koi” :) i hope u guys enjoy this small little teaser of the full thing & if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just send in an ask !!

Cherry blossoms are known for their existence to be short-lived. They symbolise transience, ephemerality. They fall to the pavement as quickly as they bloom.

Just like the cherry blossoms, your existence will be short-lived. You’re running on borrowed time, and you don’t know when that time will run out. 

Every breath you take could be your last. 

There is a peaceful quietness as you wander around the park, admiring the vibrant pink hues of the flowers in full bloom. The faint smell of the cherry blossoms waft through the air, and you watch as some of the petals fall to the pavement. 

The quietness is interrupted by a dog bark. A white dog runs up to you, and you look at it, startled and confused. Suddenly, a boy who looks around your age runs up to you. 

“I am so sorry about Maeumi,” he says, attaching the leash back onto his dog. “He’s a little energetic sometimes.” 

You look at the boy, and something about him feels familiar. Those eyes – you’d recognise them anywhere. 

It’s Yang Jungwon, an old classmate of yours. He was the head of the student council during your time at the school, and you remember him even though you weren’t exactly there much due to your illness. But Jungwon was always a kind person, helping out anyone in need. He was friendly, and popular. You knew that many people had a crush on him, including your friend Minji.

“Wait a minute,” Jungwon’s eyes narrow suddenly. Something seems to click, and he gasps. “You’re (Name), right? We were in the same class in high school.” 

You’re surprised that even with all his busy duties in high school and with you constantly being away at the hospital, Yang Jungwon still remembers you.

“Yeah, I am,” you say, a small smile on your lips. “I’m surprised you remember who I am.”

“Of course I’d remember you!” Jungwon’s eyes seem to twinkle as he says the words. “We worked together on a project for biology once. Do you remember me?” 

You chuckle. “Of course. Yang Jungwon. Head of the student council.” 

Jungwon smiles. “Yeah. That’s me.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence where you and Jungwon just look at each other, small smiles on both of your faces. Maeumi sits patiently as a few of the cherry blossom petals land on his fur. 

“So… what have you been up to?” Jungwon asks you, looking genuinely interested. How are you supposed to respond to that? Because really, you’re not going to just tell him that what you’ve been up to is… hospital. 

“Um… work. Got a job,” you lie, nodding. “What about you?” 

“I’m a lawyer now,” Jungwon replies, and you smile. “Law. It suits you.” 

“Huh. Everyone tells me that,” Jungwon runs his fingers through his hair to make it a little neater. “So… what do you do at work?” 

“Writing. I… write.” Well, that wasn’t a complete lie. You do write, just… not for work. You’ve only been working on one thing ever since you got your diagnosis — it’s something akin to a diary, recounting your journey through the last 10 years of your life.

Maybe you’ll get to see it published before you’re gone.

“Oh, that’s so cool!” Jungwon beams. “I know your writing’s great. You wrote for the school newspaper, right?” 

It seems like Yang Jungwon remembers a lot about you. You wrote occasionally for the school newspaper when you were well enough to actually write. You’re surprised he remembers that, and you’re quite surprised that he actually read the school newspaper — you thought that with his busy schedule, he wouldn’t have had the time to.

“I did. You have a good memory.” 

“Thank you.” Jungwon cracks a smile. The boy looks at the cherry blossom trees, before returning his focus onto you. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?” he asks, and you nod.

“I like the colours.” you say, quietly.

“Me too.” 

“(Name), Soobin just got an emergency at the hospital, so he’s had to leave– oh!” Chaewon suddenly appears out of nowhere, startling both you and Jungwon. “Sorry, I didn’t know that you were talking to someone.” 

“Oh, it’s okay.” you tell your sister, who looks at you, then looks at Jungwon, then looks at you again. “Was I interrupting something?” she asks, with a small smile on her lips. 

“We were just looking at the cherry blossoms.” Jungwon pipes up. “I’m Jungwon. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Chaewon,” your sister says. “Do you know my sister?”

“We went to high school together,” you tell her. “Jungwon was the head of the student council. I’m actually quite surprised he still remembers me, considering how… you know.” 

“Yes. I know.” 

Jungwon doesn’t know exactly what you and Chaewon are talking about, but it seems personal — and he wouldn’t want to pry. And, you keep mentioning how you’re extremely shocked at the fact that Jungwon seems to remember you.

But, why wouldn’t Jungwon remember his first crush? 

Something about you intrigued Jungwon the moment you stepped into the classroom for the first time. It was seventh grade, and you had walked into the room with a small smile on your lips. Jungwon remembers you catching his attention instantly. 

You two were partnered together for a project, and you both had quite a few pleasant conversations while working on the assignment. Jungwon remembers walking home with a giddy smile on his lips after he had gone to your house. 

But gradually, you started to disappear. 

Throughout high school, Jungwon tried to talk to you as much as he could. Problem was, you were almost never at school, and when you were at school, Jungwon always seemed to be busy.

So Jungwon was never able to get closer to you. He couldn’t get to know you better, or find out why he found himself gravitating towards you. 

You didn’t even show up for graduation. 

The last time Jungwon remembers seeing you was in class one day. You were wrapped in a puffer jacket, a hand warmer in your hands. You looked pale. Jungwon assumed that you might’ve gotten a cold.

He didn’t know that you were sick. He still doesn’t know that you’re sick. Nobody from high school knows, with the exception of Minji and Wonyoung. 

He just assumed you were always busy with out of school activities. But he never forgot about you. 

“Oh, that reminds me. Ricky’s hosting a reunion party next week for our year? We’d love for you to come.” Jungwon says, and Chaewon nudges you gently. “You should go,” your sister whispers to you.

“Oh, I… I don’t know. I don’t think people there will really remember me.” you murmur, and Jungwon shakes his head. “No, they will! Just come along. Here, I’ll give you my number, since Ricky’s still making decisions on which restaurant he’s booking. I’ll text you the details.” 

You type in Jungwon’s number into your phone slowly, saving his contact. “It was really nice seeing you again. What a coincidence, right?” he beams.

“It was nice seeing you again too, Jungwon. I’ll… let you know if I go.” 

“I’ve got to run along now, a friend of mine’s waiting for me.” Jungwon says, a small pout on his lips. “But yeah, text me! I’ll talk to you soon.” 

“See you around, Jungwon.” you say softly, and the boy gives you one last big smile before turning around to leave. Chaewon looks at you with a wide grin on her lips. “Come on, you should go!” 

“I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. You’re not even sure if people remember you. Or know you at all. You attended school less than 20 times in your last year — to be completely honest, even you found it strange that you graduated. “What if people are like ‘who are you?’ It would make things really awkward.” 

“So? Jungwon knows you. Invite Minji and Wonyoung. There, you know four people. Come on, (Name). You should live your life to the fullest.” 

As you’re nearing the end of the 10 years that the doctor has given you, you decide that perhaps Chaewon is right. You’ve spent years wallowing in self-pity, spending all your days at home when you could’ve been spending time doing things that you’ve always wanted to do. See people you never thought you’d see again. Go to places that you’ve always wanted to go to.

You take a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll go.” 

And as a pink cherry blossom petal brushes against your cheek, you return home with Chaewon by your side, and the thought of Yang Jungwon in the back of your mind.

[friccafracc]

DROP THE FIC OR IM COMING FOR YOUR KNEECAPS

ALRIGHT OK BUT I NEED IT TO BE KNOWN THAT I HAVENT WRITTEN ANYTHING SERIOUSLY SINCE HIGHSCHOOL OK

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Something is after me. I know it is, I’ve seen it. It looks like a man, but I know that it’s not. It…. It’s face is like a mockery of something human- like- like if you asked someone who has never seen a human to draw or model a person’s face, their smile. No… I don’t think any human would be able to get it that wrong.”

“And I’m not crazy, alright? God, y’all probably get that a lot here, don’t you? You people specialize in crazy. Not that I’m anyone to judge anymore, given the shit I went through before coming out here. I didn’t even know a place like this existed outside the Usher Foundation. I just…there’s some weird, crazy shit out there I guess, and when I heard about y’all, I figured I should probably pay a visit. At least let someone know before I die.”

“I know I’m gonna die.”

“I suppose I should start from the beginning. My name is Joshua Nelson, I’m originally from the States–Memphis Tennessee. Now, if there’s one thing you should know about Memphis, it’s that nobody in their right mind should EVER move there on their own accord, ‘cause you’ll either get mugged or stalked or both. I was born and raised there, so I never really got the choice during the formative years of my life. I’ve learned to live with it, though.”

“I worked retail in a gas station before…well, everything. It was a shithole. The kind of building where, no matter how hard you scrubbed and no matter how much bleach you used, the stains and smell of smoke would never leave. Instead just…mingled with the citrus of the chemicals. It paid the bills, though, and I was never witness to a robbery, so I couldn’t complain too much. The customers were docile and if I noticed anyone shoplifting, I kept it to myself. I wasn’t getting paid enough to give a damn.”

“We had regulars that would come in on a schedule and regulars that wouldn’t. People who were just passing through the city or visiting family or friends. You get all types in that kinda place, and if you’re placid enough to any asshole who’s having a bad day, everyone gets along just fine. There were a couple of regulars who were friendly enough, though, that I remember their names. Miss Kelly was an older woman, short and heavyset–she was one of the friendlier ones. We’ve got a lot of talkers in the south and boy did she make sure I knew every exact reason for what her kids were getting up to, or what was going on in a reality show she was hooked on at the time.”

“George Michael, a thin man in his 40s, maybe, always came in whenever he needed a new pack of cigarettes, I think he was a chain-smoker, cause he was in there a lot.”

“And then…then there was Hunter. Now Hunter was a younger man, maybe college age. A little older than that? Poor bastard was hooked on something, that much anyone could tell. He was gaunt, a little twitchy, you know, telltale signs of drug abuse. I could never tell what specifically he was on, but then again, it was never my business to know. I treated him the same as every other customer, we all knew he wasn’t gonna cause any harm, he usually came in for food, chips and hotdogs and stuff and he never caused a fuss.”

“I think… I think Hunter is dead.”

“One day he came in, I think it was a Wednesday or something cause it was slow that afternoon, and he burst through the door. Well–maybe not burst, but he came in the building like he was racing to get indoors first before someone else. The guy was usually jittery and, I’ll admit, a little shifty usually, but this was full blown paranoia. It startled me at first, his intensity, and he made a b-line towards the back of the store and ducked behind one of the shelves. Maybe not duck completely like ducking for cover, but it was obvious he was hiding. It almost made me expect the police or some drug lord to come storming through the door, but nobody else came.”

“Hunter stayed pacing in the building for a good 20 or 30 minutes, periodically lifting his head to crane his neck and peer out the window or the glass of the door. I checked once or twice as well, but if someone was out there, I didn’t see them. Eventually the guy calmed down enough to buy something and when he approached the counter with his bag of Doritos he looked almost like he was going to be sick.”

“I asked him if everything was alright, but he just shook his head and left.”

“I didn’t see him again for another week or two after that. Obviously I assumed the worst. I theorized that someone was after him and when he didn’t show up when he usually did it was more than enough to confirm my suspicions. Be it cops or some random person on the street, I couldn’t decide which fate would be worse, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel for the guy at least a little bit.”

“Hunter was almost completely out of my mind when I saw him again. I was surprised. By all accounts, it didn’t look like anything had changed about him. Maybe aside from the fact that his posture was way better than it usually was when I saw him, but other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary.”

“Business went on as usual and when he came up to the till with a liter of coke, I offered him a ‘Welcome Back’ and rang him up.”

“When I turned back to him, he was smiling. For some reason it was like a pit opened in the bottom of my stomach. I couldn’t understand why, though. It looked like Hunter–patchy, unkempt stubble, greasy hair, thin face, sunken eyes. His appearance had never bothered me before, so I was struck with confusion that mixed in with the undefinable, sudden sense of dread.”

“‘Thank you,’ he said as I handed him his change. And he walked out the door. It sounded like Hunter, too.”

“Hunter returned the next day, and the next. Each time he was polite and quiet, and each time he smiled when I rang him up. I counted his teeth. They were straight and flat. When I counted mine in the mirror when I smiled, I saw 17 or 18. Hunter’s counted 24.”

“Maybe he has a dental problem that I didn’t notice until now, I told myself. Human bodies are weird. Sometimes you have more teeth than usual.”

“The fourth day he came in a row, I saw his eyes and his pupils were…swollen, is the only way I can describe them. I know what people’s eyes look like when they’re high. This was not that. It was like they almost swallowed up his irises completely, and they were dull. Dull in the sense that the fluorescents overhead did nothing to cast any reflections onto them. It made me want to writhe and squirm whenever he looked at me.”

“I called in sick the fifth day. I knew Hunter would be back in that gas station to see me. I knew it was to see me. And I knew that thing. That..whatever it was. It wasn’t Hunter.”

“I guess a part of me was always dreading that day. I had always heard stories about people being stalked from friends of friends. It was only a matter of time before it happened to me, right?”

“I saw Hunter at the grocery store the next day, posture straight and face split open into that smile with too many teeth. I didn’t have the mind to be polite. I turned completely around and walked the other way, trying to fool myself thinking that he hadn’t seen me. I kept a pocket knife on me after that encounter. I probably should have been before, but hindsight is always 20/20.”

“Each time I saw him after that, it was worse. On the street to my apartment, his eyes were too wide and his grinning mouth was slightly agape. A crude facsimile of delight as I rushed past him. I stopped going into work when I started to spot him everywhere I went. Every destination no matter how far or random, he was there, grinning at me. He knew where I lived, that I had no doubt. So I went to a friend’s one night hoping to throw him off. Maybe I could move out and lose him. Lord knows I didn’t have the money to break my lease early, but I was desperate.”

“My friend suggested I call the police, but for some reason I was convinced that wouldn’t help. Cops usually only made things worse in that town, and I had a sinking feeling going that route would only waste my time.”

“The final straw was the second night I was crashing on my friend’s couch. I was exhausted, the past few weeks spent sleepless and paranoid and I was ready to finally pass out when I heard a light, rhythmic tapping on the window behind my head.”

“It’s just the wind, I thought to myself. A tree branch or something scraping against the glass. The exhaustion was completely gone, my pounding heart and pumping adrenaline overpowering any lame excuse that I would be stupid enough to be reassured by.”

“I didn’t move from where I lay. Tap. Tap. Tap. Came through the window once again.”

“I don’t know why I laid there for so long, unmoving, convinced that if I didn’t turn around, whatever it was outside would lose interest and leave. I really, really wanted it to leave.”

“I lay still for what felt like hours, every muscle in my body wound up and tense and ready to leap into action at any given opportunity. I was praying the opportunity would never come.”

“I don’t know how long it was when the tapping ceased, but it was long before I finally managed to relax. It seemed like my strategy worked. What an idiotic thing to think. Like I was a child hiding from an imaginary monster in the dark. Like the logic of not giving a stalker any attention so it would go away was sound. No. I think it was that false hope that landed me in this situation.”

“Because when that tapping came again, I wasn’t prepared to turn around. But I did. I turned around and what I saw in the darkness through that glass was… I don’t know what it was. I know it had eyes and teeth. It was grinning, but its teeth stretched well beyond what would be the borders of its face. God, I couldn’t see its face. I knew it was Hunter, though. It had those same lightless eyes that stared back at me every time I closed my own. Dead and dark and dull and staring at me–eating at me, wide and gleeful and spilling into the shadow that I could only assume was a part of the creature, itself. Its form took up nearly the entirety of the window, blocking the outside world. It didn’t move.”

“I screamed. I screamed and closed the curtains and I hid. This woke my friend of course, and she came stumbling out of her room, looking bleary but alert. I tried to signal to her not to go to the window or do anything or to call the police. Thankfully she got the message and the cops were there within the hour.”

“They didn’t find anything. Or anyone, for that matter. I left out the…the monster bit, because I assumed it might land me somewhere I really didn’t want to go.”

“They were about as helpful as I thought they would be. Told me to call them again if I noticed any suspicious activity.”

“I booked my flight here that very night. I wasn’t going to stay in that goddamn city with whatever the HELL that thing was. I don’t want to end up like Hunter. I don’t want it to wear my skin.”

“It will, though. I know it will and it scares me more than anything in the world. And I know I can’t escape it, either.”

“It followed me here. I saw it. It was still grinning at me and it was still. Wearing. Hunter’s. Skin. The shadow that was cast over it made it so I could only see the whites of it’s eyes....its teeth.”

“I don’t want to die.”

[youreallyshouldtalkmore]

Genshin Impact Reverse Harem

A.N: I had seen this husbando ranking someone did as if they were in an Ancient Chinese harem. And that sparked something so THIS time, this is a Reverse Harem, SAGAU fanfic!!

Genshin Impact MasterList  

---------------------------------

You had come from different world where the game of Genshin Impact existed. You were also a Husbando collector, or rather you tried to be. As a complete F2P, you did have to budget, so you technically didn’t own all the husbando characters. 

But that didn’t mean they didn’t own your heart or that in your heart you considered them yours. 

Then you one day, you went to bed, normal as could be. When you next woke up, you were not in your own bed. You were in a plush bed, surrounded by the softest pillows you’d ever known, in silk sheets even (you’d realize this later). 

It decidedly was NOT your bed. 

But that wasn’t what held your attention at that moment. 

“You’re awake!! You’ve finally came to us!” 

You had awoken in Teyvat, surrounded by the very husbandos that owned your heart in your world. 

“We had been waiting for you!” 

You had your own Serenitea Teapot where you lived if you weren’t traveling Teyvat. But if that wasn’t surprising enough, you woke up to discover that the husbandos were, in fact, your very own harem. 

The harem is broken into sections. Rank in the harem was largely determined on who your heart connected with most. The higher the rank, the more of a connection you had with that husbando. 

And why this one and less of a connection with that one, you may ask? 

Who knows?.... 

1st Husband/Emperor 

Zhongli was the one that held the most connection to your heart. It made sense to your way of thinking.  He was the first 5 star that you got. The one that you spent all of your time trying to get. He was a rock, both in your party and in your heart. You spent hours listening to his voice: 

Why is it that, once you finally get a break, rather than taking a rest, you instead come to me? Is it that you want to hear one of my stories?

He was the first one that you saw when you woke up. Shock was an understatement. You thought maybe this was an elaborate prank and/or that he was very, VERY good at cosplay. 

He took your shock in stride, ushering out the others: “You will see her again later, but for now, you must give her some breathing room.”

Your eyes were wide as the group grumbled but filed out, promising to return later when you were feeling better. 

Zhongli returned to your side, cupping your cheek. His hand was warm to the touch. You jumped back at first, startled by having a grown man suddenly show such affections. 

“My apologies. I should heed my own advice and not rush you.” 

It took you a minute (ie several hours before you even felt safe enough to get out of bed much less come downstairs). And it took you several days longer to realize, this was real. You had fallen into Teyvat and you actually had a harem of husbandos. 

This was a legit fanfic come to life!! 

But you eventually settled in. You spent quite a great deal of time with Zhongli. Listening to his stories in person had a whole other effect. If you weren’t listening to his stories, you could sit quietly with him, drinking tea as you watched nature go by. 

Ahh, yes, your 1st husband made your heart quite calm. 

2nd Husband/Noble Consort

How long will this require, exactly?

Alhaitham was more surprised than you that, he was ranked so. He preferred not to socialize and not to invite any kind of extra trouble into his life. 

Based on my observations, many people inflict trouble upon themselves. Life already has enough hardships — no need to add to them.

You were exactly like this too. You loved that he wasn’t so noisy all the time. Both of you could be found sequestered away, either reading together or doing your own separate things. 

But the silence was not oppressive. 

Perhaps that’s why he became quite commendable to your company. When you did speak to each other, it was with a purpose. Neither of you liked small talk, and if you both had something to say to the other, then you said it. 

But the moment there was nothing to be said, then didn’t. Quite simple. 

Sometimes, one of the others would interrupt the silence between the two of you.  Your twin glares were enough to freeze a boar.  Thankfully, that didn’t happen very much. If either of you were needed, usually Zhongli could interject in a way that did not have him running for the hills. 

Although, he was technically head of the Consorts, he rarely interacted with the rest of them unless he needed to. 

Alhaitham guessed it wasn’t so bad. He was allowed his own quarters away from the general Consort area, but could usually be found in the library. 

On rare occasions you, Alhaitham and Zhongli could be found sharing the silence. And extremely rare times did the voices of Alhaitham and Zhongli carry a conversation that, whose combined voices often had the power to lull you to sleep. 

Even if you weren’t sleepy… 

Consorts 

Most of the husbandos fell into this category

Xiao was technically a consort, but he rarely lived among the consort area either. Even now, he was scared of his karma poisoning those around him. He was scared of poisoning you and generally preferred to maintaining a little bit of distance. However, he still expected you to call if him ran into any trouble. 

If you awake to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door, call out my name. Adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call.

Most of the time, Xiao still preferred to act as a bodyguard to Zhongli. Not that he needed to, as the man could bring a mountain on someone’s head. But if Zhongli was around, look for a shadow and Xiao would probably be there. 

If there was a “leader” among the Consorts, it would be Cyno. He acted as a barometer of justice and would shut down any kind of tomfoolery. 

I'm Cyno, General Mahamatra of the Akademiya. It's my duty to uphold the rules, and punish wrongdoing. I will protect you on your journey.

He frequently had to monitor the Concubines, just because there were quite a bit of ruckus in that court. You did not appoint him so, but he took it upon himself. His stern constance was enough to make most come on the correct. 

Not that Tighnari or Diluc needed it. They were quite capable of monitoring themselves and acting accordingly. Tighnari managed a garden in your teapot, while Diluc could be found training. If for some reason Cyno’s constance wasn’t enough, with the combined force of Diluc and Cyno, not even the crystal flies would dare to flutter their wings loudly. 

Despite being a barometer of justice, Cyno was a big child when he was with you and those he trusted, namely Tighnari. The three of you would play TCG. 

Tighnari would blame you for Cyno’s jokes getting worse. Most of the time you laughed, not because the joke was funny but because Cyno was being so serious or more often than not the reactions he gets from those involved, namely Tighnari. 

You had to break up friendly fights between Tighnari and Cyno because of that. 

Kaeya and Venti were a bit more rambunctious of the Consorts. Both were ecstatic to see you, usually wanting to break out the wine. 

Um, only you didn’t like alcohol, just like Diluc. 

Kaeya only pouted: 

I can't believe that some people actually drink grape juice... If they had a little more patience, they would find that it ferments into the most exquisite wine. Hmph. So unromantic.

Yeah, you found remaining sober to be the height of romance, but whatever. Both you and Diluc could be found drinking grape juice. Sometimes you like to drink Almond Milk, if you wanted to be extra. 

Sure, I'll play you another tune, but it'll cost you an apple.

Venti was always bringing delicious apples to share with his Windblume. But you found him to be sneaky because in order to get him to play a tune on his lyre, he would want an apple as the cost.  At this point, you were sure, he was doing this on purpose. 

But on days, when you felt a little down, he could quietly pull out his lyre and strum a calming tune. Those days, mentions of apples were nowhere to be found. 

Most of the problem children were found in the Concubines court, but that didn’t mean that no one else had ever been punished from the Consort court. 

Both Kaeya and Venti’s drinking sometimes landed themselves punished, usually resorting to being locked in the Cold Palace for a period of time. There was this time when both of them with Kazuha….

Wait, we are getting ahead of ourselves… 

Concubines  

You were going to be honest, half of the concubines gave you a headache….. They had the least connection with your heart but wasn’t totally disconnected, landing themselves in this court. 

Problem Child #1- Saramouche/Wanderer:  His problem was the lack of trust in you. He was 95% attitude on a good day and would eye you as if he was going to betray him. On his bad days, he’s rant and rave about how he is the new god and that you should serve him, and not the other way around. 

To be fair, you didn't consider any of your husbandos to in “servitude” to you. No one was bound to do anything they didn't want to. Your hubandos frequently came and went from your Teapot when they got good and ready. 

But at those times, Scaramouche could not be reasoned with and usually landed himself in the Cold Palace because of that. However, most of the time Scaramouche didn’t visit as much as the others to begin with, so that might account for why he wasn’t practically living in the Cold Palace by now. 

But then he eventually became the Wanderer. As technically a Descender, since you were not of this world, you were the only one that remembered the fact that he was Scaramouche along with the Traveler. 

Wanderer wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He unexpectedly softened, but only for a brief moment before he returned to his usual snarky self. As Wanderer, he found himself visiting your Teapot quite a bit more than when he was Scaramouche, which annoyed him to no end. (His words, not yours.) 

As Scaramouche he was Concubine status, but perhaps, he would quickly rise to Consort status as Wanderer? Only time would tell. 

Problem Child #2- Childe: You admitted he could be charming….when he didn’t flip a switch and suddenly want to fight everyone. This habit of his landed him in the Cold Palace more often than not.  You sometimes wondered if it was a way to get your attention. 

There was one time he stormed the Consort court, looking for a fight. Cyno gave it to him and threw him in the Cold Palace. You only heard about it after the fact. 

At some point you wondered if that was considered a punishment because he would just use that time to train. 

Problem Child #3-Itto: You admitted he had a heart, but there were marbles missing from his jar and he had a stubbornness that often landed him in trouble. Once Childe wanted to fight, Itto was easy to goad into fighting him. They were pitting their strength against each other, going all out.  

Cyno was not having it! 

Itto usually got sent to the Cold Palace as punishment for not learning to stay out of things. But once in the Cold Palace, he’d laugh it off and began training as well. 

You weren’t sure if Childe or Itto would ever keep themselves off of punishment at this point. 

The good children of the Concubine Court were as follows: 

Thoma could cook his way into your heart and frequently cooked for everyone. Ayato impressed you with his grace and brains. Kazuha was soft-spoken, often greeting you with haikus when you saw each other. The three of them barely gave the harem any trouble. 

But there was that time that Kaeya and Venti got Kazuha drunk. After getting drunk, Kazhua somehow managed to find you and cling to you just before he fell asleep. Kaeya and Venti were punished with time in the Cold Palace (after they sobered up–they needed to realize they were on punishment) and while you were willing to let Kazhua slid…..

Kazuha would not let himself off the hook. He was so embarrassed by his conduct that he couldn’t look you in the eyes for weeks. He locked his own self up in the Cold Palace to reflect on his mistakes. 

But despite the range in personalities, you quite enjoyed spending time with everyone. 

You still thought this was a fanfic come to life though… 

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

Beneath the Beskar [02] — Din Djarin

a/n: 2nd part. many thanks to everyone who has reached out to me and been supportive. know you are loved and appreciated.

pairing: din djarin x reader

wordcount: 3.3K

part 01 | part 02 | part 03

—

It's been a few cycles since you left Nevarro behind, jumping from system to system. 

You've stopped asking where you're headed next—Din is going to share those details or not, in his own time. For now, it's enough to simply exist within the strange pull that stretches between you. That fragile, unspoken connection that's only seemed to strengthen since Din's covert...well.

So, you try not to dwell on the events that sent him adrift, alone in the galaxy but for your presence.

Even if he never talks about them, those wounds are still raw, still tender—best not to poke at them.

Instead, you let your mind wander, chin propped on one hand as you study the harsh angles of Din's beskar-clad form across the dimly lit corner of the Crest that somehow ended up being somewhat of a living space for the two of you where Din’s stature takes up imposing amount of space. Which is fine—you have always been the kind of person that likes to take as little space as possible. The plates of his armour catch the low light, throwing shadows across the walls, reminders of just how lethal and precisely crafted this man's exterior truly is.

But you've long since looked past that deadly facade, to the mysteries and quiet complexities that lie beneath.

Din pauses in his maintenance, helmet tilting in your direction without a word. You bite back a smile, recognizing the subtle clues in his body language—an almost imperceptible lean forward, the minute motions of his fingers stilling as his complete focus shifts to you.

"Something on your mind?" You can't help but tease, keeping your tone overly light. 

Of course he knows; he's probably been tracking your wandering thoughts by the shift in your breathing alone.

You both lapse into silence for a moment as he returns your gaze—or as close to a gaze as anyone can get through that polarised visor. Then, a crackle of static from the vocoder as he rumbles, "You're staring."

You snort softly, lips twitching in a fleeting grin. "Guilty as charged. Couldn't help myself."

He inclines his helmet a fraction, clearly waiting for you to expand on that. Well, if he expects you to provide any more explanation…

You hesitate, worrying your lower lip as you study the shiny beskar, the harsh lines and uncompromising contours. A thought sparks, one you've entertained more times than you can count during those quiet lulls between bounties and hyperspace jumps.

"I've been wondering," you murmur, forcing yourself to meet Din's visored focus directly. There's a brief shiver down your spine at the sense of his razor-sharp attention riveting on you. "What you look like…under there.”

His helmet cants to one side as you continue speaking, the words picking up speed with every syllable that spills past your lips. "Oh, I know the stories—every Mandalorian is ugly, scarred, so fearsome—but, well..." You pause, cheeks warming at the audible scepticism in your own voice. 

Din remains perfectly motionless, that beskar-clad form a study in unshakeable poise. He isn't reacting one way or the other to your musings, so you force yourself to barrel on.

"I just...I can't really picture you looking like that, you know? Maybe it's just me being fanciful, but I—"

A fractured rumble cuts you off, echoing from Din's vocoder with unmistakable amusement. You huff out a startled breath, feeling that heat creep higher across your cheeks even as you try and feign indifference. 

"So you can laugh at my overactive imagination," you grumble without any real venom. "No need to mock, Djarin."

Another burst of static crackles from his helmet's external pickups, like Din is trying to stifle further amusement. The arm not currently occupied with cleaning his whistling bird blaster gives an eloquent little shrug.

"Go on then," he invites, voice rich with challenge. "Tell me what you imagine I look like under here."

His words hang in the air between you, suspended like the moment before the plasma charge in a fresh blaster pack ignites. You blink at him owlishly, caught completely off-guard by Din's response.

After all this time spent skirting around the unspoken taboo of appearance and the physical—well, vulnerability of identity that comes with it—he seems perfectly at ease actually inviting  you to speculate about the face hidden behind his helm.

You wet your lips, thoughts tumbling and tangling as you struggle to regain your composure. He's still waiting, utterly motionless but for the rise and fall of his cuirass with each measured breath. Watching. Expectant but not impatient, merely...curious to hear what whimsies you've woven in your mind's eye.

Kriff, but there's something about that patience, the utter lack of demand, that makes heat prickle across your skin in odd places. You shift self-consciously on the mattress, hands twisting in the worn blanket beside you.

"I mean...I don't really know," you find yourself murmuring, almost to yourself. "I just have this sense that...underneath it all..."

You trail off, eyes tracing the smooth planes of his visor, the harsh grill of the vocoder through which his resonant voice filters. Your gaze dips lower, following the clean lines and interlocking plates of his armour down to where it sheathes his chest, his shoulders...

Broad shoulders, you find yourself thinking with an odd flash of vividness. Strong, but not massive—built for pragmatism and efficiency, not showing-off. And beneath that beskar plating…

"I picture you lean," you hear yourself breathing out, caught up in studying the lines of his armoured form. "Not bulky, but...solid. Do I make sense?” 

Din goes perfectly still, the durasteel components of his blaster freezing in his gloved hands. You can sense his focus sharpening ever so slightly, that piercing intensity lasering in on you despite the impenetrable visor. 

Encouraged for reasons you can't fully grasp, you slowly rise from the mattress and drift closer. But not too close. This is Din, after all. 

"Built for survivability, not vanity," you continue in a hushed tone, letting your gaze roam freely over the beskar shell you've become so familiar with. The harsh lines, the pockmarks and scuffs born out of Force knows how many battles and hunts. It's a warrior's body, certainly, but there's an undeniable economy of form to it as well. 

You come to a halt barely a hand's breadth from Din, close enough that you can make out the faint scuff marks on his cuirass. From here, it's impossible not to feel utterly dwarfed by him, surrounded by that beskar-clad immensity.

For a fleeting instant, the thought sparks that you should be intimidated—he should be intimidating, this lethal, secretive vessel wrapped in armour. But instead of fear, you only feel an odd sort of calm settle over you as you tilt your head back to look at him.

"But I don't think you're scarred," you find yourself whispering with complete certainty. "Not on the outside, at least. If you were, that wouldn't matter—it would only be another layer of armour, a map to all you've survived etched into your skin."

Din's vocoder lets out a static-laced rumble, the closest thing to an indrawn breath you've heard from him. But he doesn't retreat a step, doesn't give the slightest indication that he wants to withdraw from your scrutiny. From your imagination.

So you let yourself continue unravelling the thread, falling deeper into the vision you've entertained in quiet moments like these.

"And your eyes..." You reach up with one hand before you can think better of it, fingers, feather-light on the contoured rim of Din's helmet. You half expect him to flinch, to finally pull away—

But he remains perfectly still, almost unnaturally so. As if he was caught in the web of whatever revelations are spilling from your lips.

"I think they'd be warm," you breathe, thumb tracing the beskar almost reverentially. "Deep set, intense...maybe a little haunted, tucked back under that brow."

Your other hand lifts of its own accord, mapping out one of his cheekbone, the hard line of his jaw—all obscured by polarised planes and harsh angles, but no less defined in your mind's eye.

"But there'd be kindness there too. Empathy, hidden in the depths where only those who know where to look can find it."

Din's shoulders seem to expand minutely with another staticky inhalation. And still, he holds himself apart from you by miniscule distance, utterly at odds with any intimidation tactics his imposing silhouette might imply. He's simply...letting you have this moment of imagination, this indulgence in pure whimsy that you've both avoided for so long.

Your fingertips trace lower, until you feel the thrumming pulse in his throat, the low thud of his heart reverberating through the alloy.

"Strong jaw," you murmur, more to yourself than him. "A good, solid jawline, yeah. Someone who doesn't break easily..."

You trail off into silence, caught up in the simple, novel sensation of making contact, however fleeting. Of seeing beyond the mythic figurehead of the man before you. 

Long moments pass, your hands mapping out the parts of Din's face that burn brightest in your mind's eye. Neither of you dare break the trance-like quiet—to do so might be to break the spell completely. So, you simply stand there, existing in one another's orbit, caught up in dreaming of the truth behind the facade.

Then, with a barely-perceptible shudder of expended breath, Din lifts one gloved hand to cover yours where it rests against his throat. He doesn't draw it away, doesn't offer a single shred of discouragement or rejection.

Instead, his thumb brushes across your knuckles in the first purposeful point of contact he’s initiated. It's the barest whisper of a caress...but it still sends a jolt darting through you like the first ion flare of an electrical storm.

His vocoder rasps out another strained rumble, the amplified voice stripped of its usual remote confidence.

"Well," Din murmurs, the artificial intonation somehow softer, more intimate, "We'll have to see...won't we?"

—

Rustling through the meagre dry rations and ship's provisions always helps pass the time between jumps. 

And as you sort through the motley collection of foil pouches and vacuum-sealed protein cubes, you keep up a steady stream of idle chatter. Little observations and mundane musings spill from your lips, words tumbling into the recycled air of the Razor Crest before you can second-guess them.

It's just...comfortable like this, in the familiar confines of the ship. Din may not offer much in the way of verbal responses while suited up, but you've grown accustomed to his continued presence becoming a sort of wordless conversation partner during the long cycles in hyperspace.

"We're gonna have to restock before too long," you find yourself saying, rifling through the ration bin until your hand closes around a questionable-looking packet. You squint at the faded label, trying to decipher the block Mando'a script in Din's precise handwriting. "Unless you want to risk another food poisoning, that is."

There's a faint creak of beskar behind you, a minute sound that your ears have learned to attune to over the countless cycles spent aboard the Razor Crest. You don't startle, don't tense—there's no need, not here in the safety of your shared space.

Because Din is simply...here, moving through the small kitchenette with that same unhurried, economical grace he carries into all endeavours, whether hunting quarries or piloting through asteroid fields. You can sense the weight of his presence like a physical force, the air almost humming with his proximity. Can practically see the beskar-clad figure in your mind's eye without turning around.

You toss the suspect rations packet aside with a soft huff, the foil crinkling. "And don't think I've forgotten about that backwater world where you tried to convince me that the tree bark was okay to eat just because it was—"

"Most beings would be grateful for practicality over indulgence."

The dry, matter-of-fact statement shouldn't make you freeze—worn ration pouch clutched in your hand. But it does, a cascading ripple of shock juddering through your frame.

Because that voice, that rich timbre utterly devoid of vocoder filters or any kind of amplification...that voice belongs to him.

Din.

Your heart kicks into a stumbling, triple-beat cadence against your ribs. Because there's only one reason his voice would be so nakedly, viscerally present in the small space between you.

Heat blooms across the back of your neck as you carefully lower the ration pack to the narrow counter, buying yourself time. But no—you can't bring yourself to turn around, to shatter that fragile balance and look—

And there is a whisper of sound from behind you, the barest scuff of fabric against fabric, heavy and unmistakable. Din is moving—circling towards you now, with none of his usual beskar weighing down the motions.

Your hands clench on the countertop's sticky surface as he draws nearer, the feverish pound of your pulse hammering in your ears. Every atom of your being is straining to simply...turn and face him, to finally unravel the mystery of what lies beyond the mask, beyond the barriers he always maintains.

But your courage falters at the last instant, paralysing you in place. Because as badly as you want—as you've craved this moment, this chance to see the truth behind the facade...now that it's actually upon you, the reality is bone-shakingly terrifying.

A slight shift of the recycled air currents at your back is the only warning before a low, slightly roughened murmur ghosts across the nape of your neck, raising goosebumps.

"Look at me."

It's not a demand, nor a plea. Just three simple words, spoken in that naked voice—Din's voice, unbuffered by vocoder or impersonal filters. The words shiver through you like an electrical pulse, scattering every pretence, every mental barrier and carefully-constructed line you've drawn to maintain safe distance.

Your breath snags in your lungs as he waits, patient but unmoving presence at your back. 

Another beat of stillness, of doubt...

...and then you're turning to face him.

Slowly at first, you twist your body, every motion weighted by apprehension and something far deeper; more primal. Still, you keep your gaze locked on some point between your feet, all too aware of him at your periphery. But then your eyes flick upwards of their own volition, instinct and curiosity propelling you past that final hurdle, past the suffocating brink of uncertainty. And there—

There he is.

Just...him. 

Bare, stripped of the beskar plates and cloaking cowl, stripped of every last shred of inviolable armour and persona. Din Djarin stands before you in nothing but simple clothes, his physicality radiating with quiet intensity.

Your gaze latches instantly on his face, hungrily mapping out the truth of what you've imagined a thousand times before. The proud slope of his brow, those deep-set, heavy-lidded eyes holding your stare in a manner that should be discomforting but somehow it isn’t. The sharp angle of his jaw, the aquiline nose, the almost austere set of those stern, sensuous lips—

A warm, dizzying rush sweeps through you at the sight of him unveiled like this, the reality so much more impactful than any fanciful envisioning. But it's those eyes, steady and dangerously calm, that transfix you utterly. They burn right through you, all but blazing with some nameless intensity. Kindling a spark deep in your core, one that both beckons you closer and roots you in place at the same time.

Time seems to splinter and blur around the pounding of your pulse. You can't speak, barely dare to breathe for fear of shattering this moment of reality. 

Din's chest expands minutely as he draws in a slow, measured inhalation. His jaw tenses almost imperceptibly, whether from trepidation or resolve you cannot fathom.

Then, with exquisite unhurriedness, his mouth parts—and his voice washes over you like a wave of cold water against the warm skin.

"Now you see..."

You barely nod, watching the way Din holds himself perfectly motionless for another handful of seconds, every inhalation sharpening his powerful frame. 

And Din is waiting, it appears, but for...what? 

A reaction from you? 

An acknowledgement?

But no sounds pass your lips — you can't seem to remember how to breathe, let alone speak. 

A slight tic works its way through Din's jaw as the silence stretches between you, laden and electric. His gaze remains unblinking, intense in a way that raises prickles across your nape.

Then, in a blink of an eye, some indefinable wall slams up behind that blazing stare. You watch, helpless, as the proud lines of Din's face shutter off, becoming cold and remote and unbearably distant once more.

It happens in a matter of breaths — one moment you're adrift in the heat of his unveiled presence, the next he simply...withdraws. Withdraws not just physically, taking a half-step back, but shuttering off every last flickering nuance of bare emotion his features had radiated only moments before.

A muscle feathers along his jaw once more as his eyes shutter as if he just decided to pull down blinds on whatever he was offering you to see. 

No...

The denial lodges in your throat like shrapnel as Din shifts again, body angling away from you in one sinuous, lethal motion. The gesture screams dismissal, rebuffing — you've failed some unspoken test, trespassed a final boundary that will not again be breached.

"Din, I—" you manage to rasp at last, your shaken voice fracturing the air between you. But the sound only seems to tighten the clenched line of his shoulders further, transforming the corded muscle into something iron-wrought and determined.

"It's fine." His gravelled murmur ghosts between clenched teeth, tone flatter and more distant than you've heard in an age. "Forget it."

And then – then – as if you weighed less than spittle on the wind, Din simply...walks away. You can only gape, helpless and voiceless and utterly sickened, as his broad back retreats from the kitchenette's cramped confines, ducking on his way out. 

He doesn't look back as you try again, pleadingly, the denial and self-loathing welling up in your throat. "Din, please, I...I didn't mean to��"

But your words crash against the silent, impenetrable wall he's already resurrected around himself. The tiny hair-cracks temporarily splintered in that stoicism have been brutally, mercilessly severed.

Leaving you alone, hollowed out by the knowledge that you failed to meet whatever unknown precipice he'd dared to approach with you. Whatever secret, crippling vulnerability he'd so achingly laid bare.

There's a muted thump from somewhere deeper in the Razor Crest's cramped interior — the distinctive hiss and clunk of that incredible, intimidating helmet being resettled over Din's features. Enveloping him within that beskar-clad sanctum once more, where you dare not tread.

When the boarding ramp hisses open moments later, allowing the pale blue-white of the morning spaceport to filter in, you don't move to stop him. To call out to him, to somehow sift through the wreckage of what just transpired and claw back to some semblance of stable ground.

You simply...let Din go. Let him retreat from whatever line he and you both inadvertently crossed. Let him hide away behind the only persona, the only armour he's ever trusted to keep the demons of vulnerability at bay.

You stay rooted to that spot, hands gripping the countertop as Din's unhurried bootfalls retreat across the hangar floor. Stay until the hiss of the ramp resealing itself shears through the brittle, hollow ache in your chest like a vibroblade.

Then, and only then, do you let the tears come, scalding and unstoppable. Wracking sobs that shudder through your frame as you fold in on yourself, bowing under the weight of an anguish, a dawning sense of loss you could have never prepared for.

The words choke in your throat, unvoiced and final.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

—

tags: @bdudette, @drunkennunicornn, @la-vie-est-une-fleur29, @cozylittlepigeon, @djarins-cyare, @pedroschka

[yuseirra]

**Alien stage spoilers**

I kept watching the blink gone MV, I made some fan movies too and it's really clever and inspiring! I like watching what many different creators offer, they did a splendid job with this one. I also noticed how the lyrics match up with each of the respective character's situation at that particular moment

I feel Luka is what a lot of people pictured/wanted Kamiki to be like,(I like it different myself... :) if you see me analyzing that guy, I take him as a person with sweet nature) I see them as very different characters with really different and contrasting personalities, but if I have to say.. They are both very empty inside and they have one person in their heart that they're completely.. Mesmerized over, that, they certainly share in common. They're really similar in certain aspects, it's very interesting to look at...

And upon having read the artbook, I think I do have a better understanding of Luka's character. Being on stage is his everything, that's the only time where he feels free and alive. You see him taking complete control over the stage and tossing others around when he's on it, but that's... the only time where he can be in charge of his life as a live being. I think that's why he decided to rejoin the stage even if losing means death. His life doesn't have meaning without it. He's treated as an object made to sing. Oh wait, that's actually something else that he and Kamiki share in common. They weren't treated as a person until they met this one person they connected with, and naturally that person became REALLY important to them. For Luka... I feel like he doesn't know how to form an equal relationship with anyone. He either has to be possessed or possess the other party, that's the only way he know to connect with others - so he decides to give himself away and wish to have Hyuna's entire life in return as well. (This was expressed really well in his song where he goes, "Make me your god, I can give you everything!") According to the artbook, he feels Hyuna would have been safe as long as she decided to stay with him. This guy isn't necessarily evil, he's..just really pure and unknowing...I'm not saying he's good. He's a bit inhuman...I mean, he's "crafted". This guy was "created" for a purpose, he's made from a shop or something, so maybe there's a reason he's so doll-like. One way or the other, it seems like there are only two things that make this guy feel like living: Hyuna and the stage, and Hyuna is the one who's given him the idea that singing on stage can make them feel like they have control over their lives, soo.. it ends up being about Hyuna too...

They have this divorced couple energy, I bet Luka would totally collapse if Hyuna dies or something, it's just a hunch I have but I feel maybe Hyuna's what's even more important to him than the stage, which he was created for; his very purpose of life even existing in the first place. Since he survived(and he looks really surprised upon having met Hyuna again)I really look forward to seeing what that can bring about him, she's the one that can shake him to the core, the other contestants he faced couldn't do that (Mizi was within the palm of his hands during the entire stage, and he completely dominated that stage he had with Till too but he did manage to startle him, the third time we see him is probably the time we see him significantly break off that formidable mask of his) I see why they had him win this round, this guy still has more about him that can be shown off before we see the end of him/the the end of this story. I like his character quite a bit, he's interesting, I'm glad we can see more of him.. Let's face it though, this kind of character has very low chance of survival till the very end... I'm not sure if he will make it. ;v; Mizi will. That's sort of implied from the description of the whole project. I'm not sure about Hyuna and him...seeing how this work goes, one of them or the both of them probably may not make it. If Hyuna doesn't, this guy would become so hollow.....even more than how he is now. May it be good or bad, I feel like she's the one that does make him alive.