#I don’t understand why I pour in so much effort and time so that in the end I will most likely be poured with slop

[lowkeyren]

in which : alhaitham speaks to you in 5 different languages, unaware that you understand every word he says.

wc 7.3k (pls give it a chance lol), academic rivals to lovers, unrequited hate, attempt at humor, college au, denial + pinning.. crazy ik, he falls first (and harder), tw stalking by a drunkard, a genius on paper but a total dumbass when it comes to crushes, lil smau at the end!, ft. sumeru gang. art by @/gamegatchihaja on x.

ps. translations ay nasa maliliit na titik, katulad neto!!

ps. translations will be in small letters, like this!!

PROLOGUE: GOD I HATE THIS GUY! (DOES HE THINK IM STUPID?)

the semester is nearing its conclusion, and the imminent approach of finals marks the most critical period of the year; students rush through the halls, clutching their notes and textbooks like lifelines, while you pour every ounce of effort into your studies —not just for your grades, but also to surpass a certain arrogant scholar. 

alhaitham. 

the name tastes like spoiled milk on your tongue, a sour reminder of all the times he’s bested you, even if it’s just by a small margin, leaving you dumbfounded when the difference between your marks during the last exam was a mere 1%. 

you were groveling in front of your professor, “please, just round the marks up?” you could practically feel your dignity slipping away. and the worst part? you were so desperate that you started mentally calculating how many odd jobs you’d be willing to do just to sweeten the deal. 

(maybe you’ll help organize the office, run around the campus to buy him drinks every day, or even wipe down the windows of his car…)

disclaimer: he ultimately said no, but he did compliment your impeccable taste in coffee so, a win is a win? 

anyhow, alhaitham’s nonchalance only adds to your frustration, especially when he switches to a different language mid-conversation. it feels like he’s rubbing salt in your wounds, why of course you can understand him perfectly —after all, you aren’t majoring in linguistics for no reason, plus he's not the only one who’s fluent in multiple languages.

though you keep that to yourself, perhaps because the things he says in those languages, which he assumes you don’t understand, are far from innocent, unknowingly letting you have a glimpse into his true feelings. 

ACT I: WHOLEHEARTEDLY, I DETEST YOU. 

alhaitham would never fall in love —such irrational and illogical emotions held no value to him. 

that was what he always believed, but then he saw you. 

the way you laughed so unapologetically at cyno’s jokes, how you always stood firm by your beliefs, your refusal to compromise who you are; you were a breath of fresh air in a world that often felt stifling.

as much as he tries to act unfazed, he can't help the heat prickling his skin nor the way his composure falters just slightly in your presence. and when his heart raced for the first time in what felt like forever, he knew —he was completely, utterly screwed.

(“fix me, kaveh.” / “hah. who do you think i am, ‘y/n’?”)

when kaveh told him that he just had a simple “crush”, he nearly rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck there permanently.)

likewise, this ugly arrogant handsome bastard here, is one you’ll never fall in love with. 

he’s infuriating, completely insufferable, and yet there’s something about him, something hidden beneath that arrogance, that draws you in. the idea that you could ever fall for someone like him seems laughable, impossible even. he's exactly the kind of person you should avoid and you know better than to be charmed by someone like him. yet, there's that nagging feeling, deep down, that perhaps you’re not as immune to him as you think.

by some stroke of luck, you’re in the same major, same year, and even enrolled in the same lecture periods, which means you end up in the same place at the same time more often than not.

but you can’t deny that, in some twisted way, you admire him. his intellect is beyond impressive, even if it annoys you to admit it. so surely, in his eyes, you’re still inferior, and you often wonder if he even considers your ideas as worthy of attention.

(they are.)

ACT II: YOUR WATCHFUL EYES, I CAN’T IGNORE.

your pen glides across the pages as you jot down notes, fully absorbed in your studies, barely registering the faint sound of distant chatter.

unbeknownst to you, a group of students has gathered just outside the lecture hall, peeking in from the door with curious, amused expressions. they’re clearly there for you, exchanging glances and murmurs, waiting for the moment you step outside.

you don’t notice, but alhaitham, seated a few feet away, certainly does.

his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene. he doesn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenches ever so subtly. as you begin to pack up, you glance up to find him standing in front of you, his tall figure effectively blocking the group outside’s direct line of sight to you.

with a discreet glance over his shoulder, he shoots them a cold, unmistakable glare. they visibly shudder, seemingly getting the message as they awkwardly shuffle away. 

“what was that about?”

alhaitham leans against your desk, “nothing important,” his tone is dismissive, laced with irritation, his gaze still fixed on the now-empty doorway. 

you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “really? you just scared them off for no reason?”

“just getting rid of some… distractions,” he says casually, turning his attention back towards you. you raise an eyebrow, clearly not believing his words. “distractions? they weren’t bothering me.” 

his expression remains impassive, “khi họ cứ để ý đến em như vậy… em thấy không phiền, còn tôi thì có.”

“seeing them constantly paying attention to you… you're not bothered by it, but i am.”

“bởi vì cái cách mà em chú tâm hoàn toàn vào một việc gì đó…  nó quyến rũ vô cùng.”

because the way you completely focus on something… is truly mesmerising.

you blink, feeling a momentary flush of confusion and surprise at the words slipping from his mouth. did he just—? but before you can fully process it, he continues.

“vậy nên tôi cũng không thể trách họ khi họ muốn nhìn em gần và lâu hơn được.”

so i don’t blame them when they want to look at you closer and longer.

his words linger in the air, a moment passes before it clicks —he doesn’t think you understand. that’s why he’s speaking so… freely; letting slip things he’d never say outright in a language you both speak fluently.

“nhưng mà… chắc không ai trong số bọn họ có thể sánh ngang với tôi, em nhỉ?”

but… none of them can compare to me, right?

your chest tightens as a surge of warmth courses through you. 

his detached attitude only fuels your irritation. but there’s also a certain satisfaction in knowing something he doesn’t: you’ve understood every single word he’s said.

feigning ignorance, you raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with what you hope is a neutral expression. "what are you going on about?" you ask.

his expression remains as stoic as ever, not a single crack in his mask. he simply shrugs, eyes still on you, "just telling you to focus more.”

your grip on the pen tightens, there's a part of you that wants to wipe that smug look off his face, to show him you're not as clueless as he assumes. but not yet —you’re curious to see just how far he’s willing to push.

"right," you mutter under your breath, tapping the pen against your notebook. "focus. got it."

he leans down slightly, one arm resting on the back of your chair while the other presses against the table, effectively caging you in.

"you're wasting time, finals are coming up." he takes a brief pause before continuing, "i wish you the best of luck, you’ll need it.”

your eyes snap up to him in a glare, “don’t you have somewhere to be?" you bite back.

alhaitham straightens, giving you a final glance before turning towards the door. “naturally, i have studying to do.”

“bởi vì tôi sẽ chứng minh cho em thấy rằng chỉ có tôi mới xứng tầm làm đối thủ học thuật của em, không một ai khác.”

because i will prove to you that only i am worthy of being your rival, no one else.

why did he frame it as if it’s a privilege only he can claim? or is he trying to… flatter you?!

you shake your head, no way, that’s ridiculous. finals are coming up, there’s no time to dwell on whatever mind games he’s playing. though if the almighty alhaitham wants a rival, then you’ll show him exactly what it means to stand at the pinnacle.

ACT III: IN MY DREAMS, I SCORED HIGHER THAN YOU.

you’re tired, the kind of tired that seeps deep into your bones. every blink stretches longer than the last and you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the words in front of you. stifling a yawn, you feel the pull of sleep tugging at you, whispering sweet promises of rest.

there’s still time till your next class.

maybe you'll take a moment to close your eyes, just for a few seconds…

did you not get enough sleep last night, or did you stay up late studying again? alhaitham watches silently from across the room, his eyes narrowing as your head droops lower, your exhaustion becoming painfully obvious with each passing second. his gaze lingers on the way your pen pauses mid-sentence, the line on your notebook trailing off as your hand grows heavy.

he pushes himself up from his seat, and approaches your desk; he notices the sunlight streaming through the window, harsh and unrelenting, hitting right over the table where you’re sitting. he looks at you —eyes closed, with the faintest crease of discomfort on your brow.

without a word, he reaches out and slips the pen from your grip, the slight shift causing your fingers to twitch, but you don’t wake. 

for a fleeting second, he considers waking you. but then, as you shift again, settling more comfortably into your chair, he decides against it. what good would that do, anyway? you’d probably just brush him off and keep going until you collapse from sheer fatigue. typical.

instead, he adjusts his stance slightly, positioning himself just right to make sure the sunlight is fully blocked from your face, casting you in a cool shadow. 

you mumble something incoherent, and he can’t help but roll his eyes at your state. did you really think burning yourself out like this would help you focus?

“stubborn,” he mutters under his breath. 

you're always like this, pushing yourself past your limits, and while part of him respects your determination to outdo him, he won’t allow it to come at the expense of your health.

you stir from your slumber, lifting your head, your gaze lands on a familiar figure standing to the side of your table. his back turned, facing the sunlight that streams in from the window. 

alhaitham. 

he’s close, so close that his broad shoulders completely block out the sunlight from the window. the sight sends a rush of confusion through your already sleep-addled mind. did he… stand there the whole time? why? 

you shift slightly in your seat, your movement catching his attention. without turning, he speaks in that low, steady tone of his, “you’re awake.”

“alhaitham?” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

he glances over his shoulder, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the calm expression on his face. “you’ve been out for a while,” he comments, a hint of amusement in his voice. “i was starting to think you’d sleep through your next class.”

you rub the sleep from your eyes, “why didn’t you wake me up then?”

his shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, still facing away from you. “you looked like you needed the rest. besides, it’s more entertaining to see how long you’d stay asleep.”

a flicker of annoyance courses through you as you roll your eyes, “oh, so you mean you care?”

he turns slightly, and you can see a hint of a smirk on his lips. “don’t read too much into it. i just prefer my competition functioning at their best.”

you wish you could roll your eyes harder because this man has an uncanny talent for grating on your nerves while somehow being insufferably charming at the same time.

“ah yes —because you need me to keep up with you,” you remark sarcastically.

“exactly.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you lean back in your chair. “you really think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“mushiro, kimi no koto o hijō ni takaku hyōka shiteiru yo.”

if anything, i think highly of you. 

your brows knit together in surprise, and you can’t help but scoff. “what was that? i didn't catch it.”

“i said i won’t go easy on you.” oh, the audacity. he’s lying again, and he knows it.

the corners of your mouth twitch in disbelief as you scrutinise his expression. there’s that familiar glimmer in his eyes, a spark of mischief that tells you he’s enjoying this too much.

“whatever,” you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. “not like i want you to anyway.”

despite your words, you can't deny that his actions earlier were surprisingly endearing. you wonder how long he intends to keep this up. perhaps it’s time you let him know.

“ii ne, kimi ga iraira shite iru toki wa kawaiikara.”

good, because you’re cute when you’re all riled up.

you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at his words, okay maybe you shouldn’t let him know. you instinctively look away, as if avoiding his gaze can help you regain your composure.

cute? what does he mean “cute”?! he thinks he can get away with calling you cute —well… well, there’s not much you can do about it, you’re not ready to confront him about this either.

the mere thought of asking him directly makes your stomach twist with a year’s worth of embarrassment. yet, as you try to refocus on the book in front of you, you find yourself biting your lip, struggling to suppress a smile that threatens to break free.

ACT IV: I WOKE UP TODAY, AND A DREAM CAME TRUE.

the hallway buzzes with excitement as students gather around the large announcement board, eager to see the results of their theses. you push through the crowd, heart pounding, the low hum of chatter filling your ears. 

when you reach the front, you quickly scan the list; the moment your eyes land on your name, your breath catches in your throat.

there it is, in bold red ink at the top of the board —a score higher than you’d ever hoped for, higher than his. and your name, on top of his.

alhaitham.

you glance over and spot him approaching the board, approaching you. his expression is, as always, unreadable. but you know him well enough by now to catch the slight pause in his movements, the brief moment where his eyes linger just a second too long on the board.

you try not to think too much about it as you collect your thesis, with alhaitham following closely behind, his fingers nearly grazing yours as you both sift through the stack of papers on the table.

you take in the glowing praise from your professor, each word making you feel like every all-nighter was worth it. you clutch the paper, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot. 

glancing sideways, you wait for him to say something, maybe some backhanded comment, but he remains silent. your eyes meet, and there’s a shift in his gaze as the usual sharpness in his eyes dulls ever so slightly, your smile lingering like the first light of dawn breaking through the night's embrace.

it’s subtle —just a flicker —but you catch how his gaze falters, softening, if only for a heartbeat. the edges of his stare blur, drawn to the warmth of your expression as though it’s something he hadn’t meant to witness, yet can’t look away from. 

at this moment,

"looks like i finally beat you," you say, not bothering to suppress the grin spreading across your face now.

he feels like

there’s no scowl, no sign of frustration —just the slightest raise of an eyebrow. “hmm. by a point.” he pauses, studying you for a second longer than necessary before returning his gaze to his paper. “enjoy it while it lasts.”

he's in heaven.

it’s as if he’s not bothered by the outcome at all. in fact, if anything, he seems... satisfied?

"hindi dapat ganito kalala ang epekto ng ngiti mo sa akin."

your smile shouldn't affect me this badly.

“—huh?” your mouth drops slightly open at his words; out of everything, you didn’t expect him to say that. it catches you off guard, making your heart race just a little faster. if you peer closely enough, you might catch a glimpse of the gentle arch of his lips, a ghost of a smile. 

the silence stretches on for a beat too long before he clears his throat and shifts his gaze away from you. “ang iyong ngiti ang pinakamagandang tanawin ng aking araw.”

your smile is the most beautiful sight of my day.

“what?” the word slips from your lips, barely a breath, a soft gasp that hangs in the air. it feels almost surreal and you wonder if you’ve misheard him.

each heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythm that matches the erratic flutter in your chest. why is he saying these things, what for in a different language…? there’s no way that he—

"—tulad mo na ang hinangad ko na ligawan, ngunit sa bawat ngiti mo, halip ay mas lalo akong nahulog para sayo."

—like you, who i wish to court, but with every smile, i instead found myself falling for you. 

your breath hitches as your heart stumbles, the implications of his words washing over you like a wave. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, “what… did you say?”

his shoulders stiffen, and there’s a subtle tension in the way his fingers curl against the paper he’s holding. “see you tomorrow, [name],” he mutters, his voice low but hurried, and before you know it, he’s already walking away.

two strange things happened today: 

1. you finally beat your sworn enemy!

2. said enemy… complimented you? 

huh, it’s as if the words slipped out before he could catch them, as if he’s been holding them in for far too long, as if… you notice the way his neck reddens, even as he turns away.

behind the door, alhaitham lets out a quiet breath.

“gago… nagkamali ba ako?”

stupid… did i make a mistake?

to his dismay, an annoyingly familiar voice cuts through the silence. kaveh, who had been waiting just down the hall, notices him standing there, a little too still. 

“oh, what do we have here?" there's a slight pause, followed by a raised eyebrow. "is that—no way, your face is red!” kaveh teases, amusement dancing in his eyes. “what happened there?" he leans in, clearly enjoying himself. "come on, spill the tea..!” 

"not a chance," alhaitham retorts, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defensively.

just then, kaveh spots cyno and tighnari; grinning, he waves them over. “what’s going on? did alhaitham finally crack under pressure?”

alhaitham would rather reorganise the entire library than listen to kaveh recount what happened.

“i’m leaving.” 

"no, i'm afraid you're not getting out of this one.” cyno steps forward, blocking alhaitham’s path; and tighnari, who has been quietly observing till now, chimes in, “don’t leave us hanging.”

“you’re outnumbered.” 

alhaitham sighs and shakes his head. he hadn’t even thought it was physically possible for him, of all people, to do something as ridiculous as blushing —until today.

(on the other side of the door, their banter echoes through, and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself at alhaitham’s misery.)

ACT V: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY, YOU SAY? BUT EVERYONE CALLS IT FLIRTING.

“i think alhaitham likes [name].”

the whole table falls silent before kaveh dramatically slams his glass down on the table, causing a splash of alcohol to spill over the edge. “oh finally, it’s so obvious! have you all seen the way he looks at them?” 

across the table, tighnari taps his fingers absentmindedly on his notebook, his attention only half on kaveh’s (incoming) rant but clearly invested enough, as shown by the slight twitching of his ears, to be listening. 

cyno snickers, “you’re telling me the man who can dissect any philosophical argument can’t handle a little crush? that’s rich.”

kaveh waves a hand dismissively. “come on! remember that time they were partnered up for a project? he was so... uncharacteristically patient! i’d almost say it’s cute if it weren’t alhaitham we’re talking about!”

right, it’d be almost endearing —if it weren’t coming from the most stoic, intimidatingly aloof guy in the entire school. it’d be adorable —if it weren’t alhaitham, who instinctively covers the corner of your table with his hand when you drop your pencil, ensuring you won’t hit your head as you bend down to retrieve it.

oh, you don’t notice (of course not). but your friend dehya, sitting nearby, catches the whole scene out of the corner of her eye. she raises an eyebrow, nudging the girl beside her. 

(“candace, do you see that shit.” / “yeah.”)

“a soft spot for [name], you say? well, i’ve got a story of my own, too.” cyno glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot, then lowers his voice conspiratorially.  “have you noticed? he doesn’t wear his earphones when he’s around them.”

kaveh pipes up, nodding eagerly.

“he’s got those earphones practically glued to his head, he doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t want to, and he certainly doesn’t talk unless he’s forced to. but around them?” cyno pauses, pretending to think for a while. “not once. he’ll put them away entirely, like he’s actually willing to be… present.”

sure it’s small, subtle, the kind of habit no one would pick up on unless they were looking closely. but to anyone who knew alhaitham well, it tells them more than words ever could. 

for him, actions speak louder than words, even if he often doesn’t realise the meaning behind his own gestures.

his earphones slide down, resting forgotten around his neck, all so he can be close enough to catch the delightful lilt of your laughter. his chair inches a fraction closer, seemingly by accident. a subtle upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, so fleeting and often passing so quickly if one weren’t paying attention.

for him, it’s a language without words.

dehya laughs softly. "for someone who supposedly ‘doesn’t like being bothered,’ he sure seems invested in whatever [name] has to say."

and what sealed their suspicions? 

definitely the time when kaveh complimented nilou’s new bracelet. he glanced over at the man beside him, nudging him lightly. “what do you think?”

alhaitham gave the bracelet a cursory glance, before replying, “it’s nice.” though his gaze flickered back; and almost absently, he added after a pause, “[name] has the same one too.”

oh… oh? well that was oddly specific. kaveh’s eyebrow quirked as he fought to suppress a grin.

alhaitham had noticed a detail seemingly insignificant about [name] —the kind of thing he never cared to show the slightest interest in when it came to anyone else.

the glint in nilou’s eyes seemed to mirror kaveh’s unspoken thoughts, silently agreeing with his suspicions.  

now they’re certain —100% sure, in fact —that alhaitham has a crush on you.

“well, speak of the devil… lovely seeing you here, alhaitham,” kaveh quips. tighnari, ever observant, gives him a pointed look. “your jacket’s missing.”

“someone took it,” alhaitham replies, his tone as composed as always, giving nothing away.

—nothing until you walked past. draped over your shoulders, unmistakable, is alhaitham’s jacket. you don’t notice the way every pair of eyes follows you, or the way kaveh barely stifles a triumphant laugh.

...make that 110%.

(translation: he means he borrowed his jacket because [name] was cold.)

ACT VI: IT’S YOU, WHO COMES TO MY RESCUE. 

the quiet night hangs heavy, the road empty and bathed in the dim glow of distant streetlights. you weave through the streets, but no matter how many twists and turns you take, that weirdo just won’t leave you alone.  

he’s been trailing behind you for blocks now, his persistence grating on your nerves, cornering you with endless “compliments” and invasive questions. you’ve tried to shake him off, but his determination far exceeds your patience.

"come on, just give me a chance," he insists, stepping closer, a little too close for comfort. you take a step back. the smell of alcohol reeks from his breath, and his grin is making your skin crawl. 

"i told you, i’m not interested," you say firmly, keeping your voice steady, but the panic was starting to creep in. you glance at the empty bottle in his hand —he’s definitely drunk out his mind.

“you sure?" he completely ignores your clear discomfort. "how about you just give me your number, yeah?" he slurs out.

"no, i have a boyfriend." you lie through your teeth, hoping that would be enough to make him back off.

unfortunately, he’s as insufferable as he is persistent.

he snorts dismissively, "yeah, right. a boyfriend? you’re just playing hard to get."

you sigh, you aren’t in the mood for this, not here, not now, and especially not with someone like him. "i already told you, i have a boyfriend," your voice now tinged with frustration. "so please, just leave me alone.”

"oh, don't be like that," he steps in front of you, blocking your way. "prove it. call your boyfriend. show me you’re not lying."

your heart races as the man reaches out for you, dodging his hand, you take the chance to look behind him for an escape. just then, you see an all-too-familiar figure in the distance. 

alhaitham. 

you barely manage to suppress a relieved sigh as you wave frantically in his direction. he spots you almost immediately and without hesitation, he rushes over.

"what, this your boyfriend?" the guy sneers with derision, still sounding a little too cocky for someone who was about to get a reality check.

alhaitham steps beside you, you can feel his eyes on you for just a brief moment, the faintest flicker of worry flashing across his face. it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you catch it—and it makes your chest tighten.

his voice is low, unmistakably carrying a warning, "yes, i’m their boyfriend. and if you don’t want things to escalate, i suggest you leave." 

the man’s face twists as anger flares in his bloodshot eyes. he takes a step forward, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle, the glass slightly cracking. "you think you can tell me what to do?" he slurs, gaze wild and unfocused. “y-you think you’re some kind of saviour? *hic* a-and you! how… how dare you reject me?!”

alhaitham doesn’t move, his expression cold and unbothered, and that only seems to make the man angrier. his frustration boils over, and with a snarl, he clumsily swings the bottle in his hand, aggressively lurching towards your direction. 

the world seems to slow for a moment. though before you can even react, alhaitham pulls you firmly behind him with one swift motion, his other arm instinctively rising to shield the both of you from the blow. the sound of glass meeting his forearm is sharp and jarring —you can hear the high-pitched tinkle of glass scattering, the jagged shards bouncing off the pavement, and some skittering across the ground.

but he doesn’t even flinch, his stance unwavering as the man stumbles back, glass crunching underfoot. you’re still frozen from shock, your heart racing in your chest as you watch the scene unfold. 

“big mistake,” he starts, and the man visibly falters. “harassment, assault —keep this up, and you’ll regret every choice that brought you here tonight.”

the man shifts around, clearly disoriented. his eyes dart between you and alhaitham, but it’s clear that the fight’s already left him. “you— you can’t do this!” the man stammers, trying to regain some semblance of courage; unfortunately for him, the tremor in his voice is unmistakable. 

“do you really want to find out?” alhaitham asks, to which the man shakes his head vigorously. “get lost,” he mutters. the man, looking more pathetic than threatening now, quickly stumbles away, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath.

you’re breathless, still clutching the edge of his jacket, fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline courses through you. 

"are you alright?"

you nod, forcing a small, unconvincing smile."yeah... i’m fine. thanks to you." 

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. you follow his gaze instinctively, glancing down at yourself. that’s when you notice it —not on you, but on him.

streaks of red stain his forearm, where jagged shards of glass must have cut him during the confrontation. the gash bleeds steadily, a dark line of blood seeping through the fabric of his jacket.

"wait," you breathe, your heart sinking. "you're bleeding."

your stomach twists with guilt.

"why didn’t you say anything?" you exclaim.

he shakes his head, a dismissive gesture that does nothing to ease the knot forming in your stomach. "it’s nothing," he says, but the slight furrow in his brow and the tension in his jaw betray his words.

"nothing?" you fix him with a hard glare. "idiot… you just blocked a glass bottle with your arm, don’t try to downplay this."  

you grab his sleeve, tugging it gently but firmly, the fabric sliding beneath your fingers as you pull it up. “—and unless you think an infection is ‘nothing’, you’ll let me take care of this."  

"hold still," you murmur as you settle beside him on the couch, your supplies spread across the coffee table in front of you.

the scent of antiseptic fills the air as you take a disinfectant wipe and gently dab it against the gash. the sting of the alcohol makes him flinch slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. you mutter a soft apology, your movements slow and deliberate as you try to be as gentle as you can.

you open a tube of ointment, squeezing a small amount onto your finger before smoothing it carefully along the edges of the cut. the cool gel glides over his skin, and you can feel the tension in his arm ease ever so slightly under your touch.

“nǐ zhème guān xīn wǒ, huì ràng wǒ wù huì de.”

if you care so much about me, i might misunderstand you.

your fingers pause briefly, the words catching you off guard. you glance up at him, but he only averts his gaze, his eyes remaining fixed on a distant spot beyond the room.

misunderstand? misunderstand what, exactly?

the bandage wraps securely around his arm as you smooth it into place. as you tuck the end of the bandage, his voice comes again, just as soft, but no less clear. 

“—wù huì nǐ duì wǒ yǒu gǎn jué.”

"—misunderstand that you have feelings for me."

your brain short-circuits, and in your shock, your hands jerk. in turn, the bandage tightens way too much, causing him to wince and tense up. before you can apologise, he lets out a light chuckle.

“suǒ yǐ nǐ dān xīn wǒ… nǐ shì bù shì gù yì ràng rén xīn dòng de?”

“so you're worried about me… are you purposely trying to make my heart race?”

his words only make you more flustered, and you find yourself fumbling to fix the bandage. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to—”

his chuckle only grows softer, and you catch the glint of amusement in his eyes. “it’s fine.”

you quickly finish adjusting the bandage, trying to focus on anything other than how your heart is now racing. (ironically) 

“you seem flustered,” he comments casually, as if he isn’t the one who just made your head spin. “did i say something wrong?”

you shake your head quickly, hoping to hide the flush creeping up your neck. "no, not at all.”

his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smirk.

"nǐ bù bì yǎn shì, wǒ xǐ huān nǐ hài xiū de yàng zǐ, tǐng kě ài de.”

“you don’t have to hide it. i like seeing your flustered expression, it’s quite cute.”

(oh this bastard!!!!)

you try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. what do you say when someone’s teasing you so openly —and they think you don’t even realise it?

after a long moment, he stands, “it’s getting late, i should get going.” alhaitham gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment —and there it was, that trace of softness reserved only for you.

he heads toward the door, you watch him, feeling a strange sense of emptiness when he turns away.

“i’ll see you,” he pauses. "...and thank you for tending to me."

you watch him leave, the door clicking softly behind him, and the silence settles back into the room.

you blink, taking a deep breath. what a rollercoaster of a day. yawning, you turn to start tidying up, but your eyes land on something on the couch.

it’s his jacket, draped over the armrest. you notice a tear on the sleeve, just where his injured forearm had been. what truly catches your attention, however, is a folded piece of paper slipping out of the pocket. 

intrigued, you unfold it, revealing his neat, precise handwriting. 

ACT VII: THE SECRET I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN. 

To [Name],  I once believed you to be little more than a nuisance. A bright, well-meaning nuisance, no doubt, but a nuisance nonetheless. One who seemed intent only on striving for perfection, always seeking to best me at every turn, not out of malice but out of some earnest desire to prove your worth. In my arrogance, I mistook your relentless pursuit for a need for recognition, as if you sought my attention in some petty rivalry. Though very quickly, you made me think otherwise.  You saw the world differently, you also saw me differently. You didn’t treat me with the reverence others seemed to, nor did you shy away from challenging me. You refused to be seen as anything other than yourself; and that, in itself, was what made me admire you —what made me long to understand you more. Now, I find that I am standing with half a heart and an emptiness I never knew I could feel, because you showed me what it truly means to crave something more, something I never thought I deserved. You may think I’m a coward for not expressing my feelings more directly, perhaps you are right. I am a coward for fearing to lay bare the vulnerability of my heart. But even in my cowardice, know that my thoughts have always been of you.  If you have seen through my silence and hesitation, if you understand my actions when my words fail me, then perhaps you have already known this truth. I care for you, more deeply than I can fully express. Though I may never be able to say these things as openly as I wish, I’d like you to know that my actions have always been my confession. Even now, I’m still a coward for you. So please, if you decide to give me a chance, I’ll be waiting at nightfall. Helplessly,  Alhaitham. 

you absentmindedly trace the edges of the letter with your fingers while your eyes skim over his writing for the nth time, the ink seeming to blur together with your thoughts as you try to process everything. your fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, a foolish smile creeping onto your face.

tomorrow’s nightfall feels impossibly far away, yet you can’t wait for it. 

alhaitham lays on his bed, his arm aches slightly from the injury, but it’s nothing he can’t ignore. plus, the bandage you had carefully wrapped around his arm is enough to keep the discomfort at bay. 

(originally, he had only planned to meet you, slip you the note, and be on his way. things didn’t go exactly to plan, but either way, he hopes you’ve read it by now.)

of all the possibilities, he’s never accounted for the one he’d be at mercy of his own emotions; he had always prided himself on his rationality, his restraint. but now? he’s reckless, absurd, foolish even —he can admit that to himself. but he finds he doesn’t care in the slightest.

for as much as he is a coward in your presence, he is just as much a fool in your absence.

ACT VIII: UNDER THE RAIN, I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY. 

“alhaitham isn’t really an expressive person, so don’t worry if he comes off as distant or uninterested. it’s not that he doesn’t care, he just… shows it differently.”

ah well, ‘differently’ indeed.

“—most importantly, alhaitham doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t care about, so you must mean a lot to him.”

maybe you didn’t mind how your heart raced when you heard that.

“don’t fuss over it [name], you’ll know when he’s in love.”

how so? 

if he was in love, what would it look like? would you be able to tell, or would it be just another one of those things you had to catch on to?

you wrapped the his jacket tighter around yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips. it wasn’t the answers to those questions that mattered, but asking them in the first place —that was what made you realize you already knew all along.

the evening air is cool against your skin; a gentle breeze stirs the trees, their leaves rustling quietly, and your heart beats louder than ever, urging you forward.

in the distance, you spot him, standing still in the dim light. and without a second thought, you quicken your pace.

“haitham.”

the sound of your voice catches his attention as he turns to face you; you can’t help but notice how his gaze flickers down for just a moment, his eyes taking in on how his jacket looks on you, before meeting yours. 

his posture is unnervingly perfect, rigid almost to the point of stiffness …is he nervous?

“hey,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “there’s something i need to tell you… though you’ve probably already figured it out. you’ve always been sharp.” 

“i… ” he falters, and it’s the first time you see him hesitate. “i’m not sure how to put it… since i’m not exactly great at this.”

you tilt your head, subtly urging him to continue. 

“but you’ve managed to make me care about things i never thought i would. and now i can’t seem to stop thinking about it —about you.” his voice lowers, softer now, but there’s a rawness there that’s unmistakable.

“i’m telling you this now, because not saying it... doesn’t feel right anymore."

suddenly, you feel a soft mist that barely kisses your skin, a slight chill against your cheeks, then a few tiny drops,  until they start to gather in your hair, the beads of water slipping down the back of your neck, but you don't move. neither does he.

his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, droplets trailing down his temple. his clothes cling to his frame, soaked by the rain, yet his attention remains solely on you.

“[name], i am irrevocably in love with you.”

you stand there, the rain falling relentlessly around you, the pitter-patter mirroring the frantic beat of your heart. the water trails down his face, but it’s hard to tell if it’s just the rain, or something else.

his lips part, as though he wants to say more, but the words seem caught in the storm, swallowed up by the downpour. the rain is cold, but his gaze? his gaze feels impossibly warm. 

it’s only when you feel the dampness of his jacket beneath your fingers, that the words finally come. “you don’t need to convince me of that.”

you take a step closer, and for a moment, the world outside seems to disappear.

“i’ve known,” you add. “but hearing you say it,” you pause, allowing yourself a small smile, “makes all the difference.”

reaching up, your fingers graze his damp skin as you gently push a wet strand of hair from his forehead, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cool skin. 

“'uhibuk aydan, alhaitham.”

i love you too, alhaitham.

a single droplet slides down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw before falling to the soaked fabric of his collar. another follows. and then another. his breath catches in his throat, and a shaky exhale leaves his mouth.

you wrap your arms around him, and he sinks into your embrace, his hair tickling your cheeks, as his chest rises and falls against yours.

“you’re gonna make me cry too, idiot,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, your eyes glassy. “you really are a fool,” you tease softly, a slight smile playing on your lips. “but only for me.”

slowly, his hands rise, trembling slightly, until they cup your cheeks, gently stroking it. 

“la yujad 'ahad akhar 'urid 'an 'akun 'ahmaq min 'ajlihi.”

there’s no one else i’d ever want to be a fool for.

his palms are surprisingly warm despite the weather. his thumb grazes your cheekbone as he leans in, and the world falls away —nothing but the warmth of his presence and the soft press of his lips against yours.

“this is my first time in ten years seeing this guy cry! can you believe it?!” kaveh whisper-shouts, peeking out from behind the shrub. 

nodding along, cyno agrees, poking his head out just right below the blond’s. “[name] is truly exceptional. though i must say, seeing alhaitham cry is quite tear-rifying.”

kaveh rolls his eyes in exasperation. “ugh, you and your puns.” he mutters under his breath while zooming in on his phone, which is currently recording the whole scene.

“quiet down, you two!” a voice hisses from behind them —tighnari, face flushed with panic. “they’re literally right there, and you’re making more noise than a herd of goats.”

“relax, we’re out of their line of sight anyway!” kaveh raises his phone higher, almost giddily, eyes glued to the screen. “and damn this is a good angle.”

tighnari exhales sharply, “you’re incorrigible.”

“look who’s talking,” cyno raises an eyebrow at tighnari… who’s also peeking out from behind the bush. (what a hypocrite)

…

“they kissed oh my g—” kaveh’s voice rises in disbelief, but cyno quickly covers his mouth with a swift hand. the three of them scramble to duck behind the bush just as you turn to glance in their direction.

(“is that… senior kaveh?” you squint your eyes, “cyno, and tighnari?” 

alhaitham clears his throat before glancing over at his friends with a deadpan expression. “yes and unfortunately, they’re very invested in my personal life. so please don’t mind them."

you laugh, finding the whole situation a bit too amusing. “not in the slightest, but i’m sure they’ll never let you hear the end of it.”)

EPILOGUE: IN EVERY LANGUAGE, I HEAR LOVE YOU.

“how long?”

you blink, feigning confusion. “how long what?”

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, an expression you know well. “how long have you understood everything i’ve been saying?”

you bite back a smile and offer a small shrug, “...ever since you started?” 

his lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you can’t tell if he’s upset or impressed. then, he sighs, almost amused. “and you let me embarrass myself all this time?”

“you were being honest,” you shrug, a smirk forming. “plus i knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “may ideya ka ba kung ano ginawa mo?"

do you have any idea what you’ve done?

"mas lalong umibig sakin?"

made you fall in love with me even more?

you tease, but there’s a tenderness in your voice that softens the edge of your words.

“yes, and you really are insufferable,” he mutters with no malice. his tone is different now. softer. warmer, even.

you lean in slightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “that’s not what i heard you say before.” your fingers graze the skin of his cheek before you tenderly pinch it, giggling softly at the reaction you provoked.

in one smooth motion, he catches your hand before you can pull away and tugs you towards him, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. you tilt your head back to meet alhaitham’s gaze.

you’ve often thought he’s the most-perfect boyfriend, undeniably handsome in every way —but there’s really just one flaw: his height.

“ugh, you’re too tall," you grumble, rubbing the back of your neck. "i’m having a neck sore just looking at you."

he quirks an eyebrow at your sudden words. “you could use a stepstool.” 

"or," you counter, "you could get on your knees and save me the trouble.”

he slowly lets out a breath, his lips curling ever so slightly. 

“'akida, 'antaziri hataa 'ashtari alkhatama.”

sure, just wait till i buy the ring.

"wh—" 

he crosses his arms, "what’s wrong? isn’t that what people expect when someone gets on their knees?"

you roll your eyes, half-smiling. "fine, then i’ll eagerly wait for that day.”

his gaze softens as his hand reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face; his eyes drop to your lips for a moment, and you know what’s coming even before he speaks.

this fic was not sponsored by duolingo, but with the help of my beloved friends!! wouldn't have been possible w/o em please give them a round of applause xx

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MASTERLIST.

[cloverapple]

You Already Know How to Shift To Your DR on Command, You Just Haven’t Realized It Yet (And the Proof Is Right There)

This isn’t new information, I’m saying that upfront. I’m letting you know you’ve had the proof you’ve craved all this time, and you didn’t even realize you were looking right at it. Meaning: I’m going to get you to UNDERSTAND, not just tell you to “assume and persist.”

Because understanding is enlightenment. Understanding is freedom. Once you understand, you’ll affirm, assume, persist—whatever you want to call it—because you KNOW, not because you’re trying to know.

Let’s look at the facts. You’ve tried everything, but haven’t shifted yet, right? Maybe you’ve reprogrammed your mind. You’ve probably tried subliminals. You’re using the Law of Assumption. You’ve tried it all. And you still haven’t shifted. Yet...you see other people in the exact same position as you, with the same mindset, who shift. Some people say they shift randomly. They don’t even use the Law of Assumption. Not even methods. They just decide to shift, and they do.

And yet you have poured so much time, effort, emotion, and love into this, but you still haven’t shifted. It’s weird. It’s impossible.

The Weirdness You’re Ignoring

Let’s truly pause and look at this. It’s weird, right? Especially if you’ve been trying for more than two years. It’s really weird. You should have shifted by now, shouldn’t you? Sure, some people take longer than others, but still—you know everything there is to know. You know yourself. You know shifting is real. You know your awareness already knows how to shift, and yet it still hasn’t happened. You’ve tried everything, and you haven’t shifted. You’re not a master shifter. You’re just this person “stuck” in your CR.

It doesn’t make sense that you haven’t shifted yet. It doesn’t make sense that you’re “not in your DR” or that you’re “not a master shifter.” Allow it to not make sense, because you’re going to capitalize on the absurdity.

Let’s look at this from a reality shifting perspective—as people who know there is no fixed reality, that reality is malleable, that strange things are possible. Isn’t it weird that you haven’t shifted yet?

It’s REALLY weird. It doesn’t make sense. At all. Truly pause and look at it. You’ve put all this work into it. You’ve done the research. You affirm. You assume. You persist, and it doesn’t work. It’s WEIRD. It’s really weird, right?

Weird, like a glitch you catch out of the corner of your eye. Weird, like something tastes almost right, but not quite, leaving that ghost of wrong on your tongue. Weird, like the air feels off, like you’re in the right place at the wrong time. Weird, like the street looks the same, but the sky is the wrong shade. Weird, like reality’s a little too quiet, too still, like it’s waiting for you to notice it isn’t real.

WEIRD.

Well, what if I told you that you are in your desired reality? Or that you already are a master shifter? Or that you already know how to shift instantly, that you can shift on command? And that you just haven’t realized it yet?

And I don’t mean this in the “assume it’s done and so it is” sense, nor am I implying that the simple act of choosing brioche over sourdough at brunch somehow proves you can shift realities on command — (though both are true!). I mean it in the concrete, irrefutable evidence sense.

Of course, you’re going to look at me like I’m crazy. You’re going to say, “But I’ve tried to shift so many times and it never works. I would have shifted by now if I were a master shifter. I would know because I’d be in my DR. I’d know how to shift easily. Where’s the proof?”

Ah, right, the proof...

Proof Has Been Here All Along

Look at the fact you’ve been at this for years and claim you still haven’t shifted. Don’t you think that’s eerily uncanny? You’ve done the work, bled intention, rewritten your mind over and over—and you’re telling me you’ve got nothing to show for it? It’s bizarre. And let’s be real: it’s impossible.

Why? Because you’re the creator. You are awareness. The god of your reality. Yeah, I know you’ve heard that a thousand times, but let it truly sink in this time.

Everything that is, exists inside your awareness. Creation doesn’t drip to you, it erupts from you. So tell me, as the one pulling the strings of your universe, doesn’t it strike you as cosmically absurd that you “can’t” shift? That you’re not in control?

It’s unnatural. Like placing a glass of water on the table, blinking, and it’s gone, swallowed by the air. That’s how off it is. Skewed. Unreal. A glitch in a system you’re supposed to be commanding. And you are.

Let me make this clearer with an example:

Suppose reality shifting is like a fitness journey. Someone is unhappy with their body, so they decide, “I’m going to get fit.” They change their diet, exercise, go to the gym, put in the effort, stay focused, and say, “I’m on my fitness journey. I’m getting my dream body.” And in a certain amount of time, they get it.

(Side note: I’m not saying shifting takes time and effort. This is about the mindset)

But what happens so often—and I say this from experience—is that the person gets their dream body, but they can’t see it. They’re so used to their old body that their new body feels invisible. The change was slow and gradual, now they can’t see they’re already fit, that they already look amazing. They look in the mirror, the mirror shows them their perfect body, but they can’t see it. They see the old body. Then what do they do? They turn to extreme dieting, excessive workouts, not to maintain what they have, but because they think they still need to get the dream body that’s already theirs.

And just like I don’t blame that person, I don’t blame you. Because you were born in a world that taught you you’re not the creator, that things only come from hard work, that things are “too good to be true.” So of course you’re stuck in the mentality that you haven’t shifted yet! That you’re not the creator, that shifting takes endless work! I don’t blame you!

But we need to recognize that it’s not true. You’ve put in all this work, done all this existential labor, and you’re not in the same place. You’re not the same person you were two years ago, or three years ago, or even six months ago. You’re not. Even if you chose to start shifting yesterday, and you’re reading this right now, you are not the same person you were yesterday.

You Didn’t Waste Time

From the moment you decided you wanted to shift realities, it was already yours. It was always yours. But maybe your first attempt didn’t work out, and you instantly thought “I need to work for this.” So you tried again, tried new methods, scrolled Tumblr and Reddit and TikTok, because that first “failure” made you think you had to work for it.

This is why it’s so common for shifting (and manifesting, because they’re basically the same thing) to “take years.”

And let me tell you something: You did not waste time. If you’ve spent two years or however long trying to shift realities, you did not waste your time. What you did— and this is incredible— is you created the proof you want right now.

You, yourself, created your own proof. The evidence that you’re a master shifter, or that you’re already in your DR, has been here the whole time.

Your Evidence Isn’t What You Think

Darling, and I’ll say this again later because I want it to stick: The evidence is not the end product; it’s the action you took to receive that product.

Imagine your desire—being a master shifter, your manifestation, your DR—is a dress. A dress you designed and made because you’re a fashion designer. What’s the evidence you made the dress? It’s not simply that you’re holding the dress in your hands, because anyone could have made it, or you could have bought it, or it could have been a gift. The true evidence is the work you put in: the hours of designing, sewing, crafting. That’s the evidence.

The idea that you need to ignore the 3D because the 4D is the only real reality—this also goes into that. Because what you’re seeing in your 4D is part of the evidence.

Now, here’s where it gets mind-bending:

Could you have the dress without the work? No. If you didn’t put in the effort to make that dress, you wouldn’t be holding that dress.

If you didn’t decide to shift, you wouldn’t shift.

But you have decided, so.....?????

You’ve Already Mastered Shifting

So if you’ve done all this work—and by work I mean deciding to shift, trying to shift, reinforcing the fact that you want to shift, soaking in this identity, reinforcing the belief, trying and persisting—shouldn’t you have your desire by now? Isn’t it weird that you don’t? See how uncanny that is?

The truth is, you do. You are a master shifter already. You can shift on command. You are in your desired reality already. You just haven’t realized it yet.

What is realization? It’s acceptance, it’s observation, it’s assumption, it’s attraction—whatever you want to call it. They all mean the same thing: becoming aware of and observing the reality you desire.

You haven’t been observing the reality where you’re a master shifter or in your DR. You’ve been observing the reality where you think you aren’t, where you believe you’re stuck, where you’re still “working for it.” So your awareness keeps showing more of the reality where you have to work for it.

But it’s done. Finished. You don’t need to do anything else to shift realities. You don’t need to affirm or persist. You don’t need to do a method. You don’t need to do anything right now except accept that you are a master shifter, and/or that you are already in your DR.

And I know the old story, and I’m not blind to it. I know it sucks to “act as if” you’re in your DR while your CR drains you, depresses you, makes you feel stuck. You can’t just “fake it till you make it,” I get that. I’m not asking you to do that. That’s not what this is.

I’m asking you to realize and understand.

People think it works like this: they shift/ learn how to shift on command, and THEN they can finally say they’ve shifted and they’re a master shifter.

But it’s actually the opposite. The idea that the result must come before the observation (assumption) is the act of receiving, not creating.

And you are awareness—a creator. To place your faith, power and expectations on anything that does not flow from you is to give your power away. You are in control. Whatever you observe, is.

I’m aware that the ego is hard-wired to search for clues and evidence of your desire before it finally observes it as the only true reality. But freedom and owning your power is realizing that the evidence you seek is already here. You then observe the reality that it’s already here BECAUSE you have the proof.

You Already Live Like This

How creation actually works is simple, almost disarmingly so: you decide what you want, you accept that it’s done, and as a natural consequence, you live in the end—you observe the reality where it’s already yours—because you already hold the proof within you. The evidence is there. It’s a loop, a mirror, an ouroboros swallowing its own tail, endlessly reflecting your decision back to you.

And the funny thing? You already live like this every single day.

“I’m meeting a friend at the park later,” and you generate the proof, without questioning if it will happen, by walking to the dang park.

“I’m making tea,” and you generate the proof, finding yourself in the kitchen, water boiling, mug in hand.

“I’m going to bed,” and you generate the proof: you lie down, close your eyes, and let yourself drift.

When you decide you’re going to school tomorrow, what’s your proof? Is it the moment you walk through the school gates? Or the decision you made the night before?

When you decide to get out of bed, what’s your proof? Is it your feet on the floor? Or the choice in your mind before you even move?

You decide. You accept. You move as if it’s done—because it is.

Your Attempts Are Proof, Not Failures

You’re tangled in this idea that every attempt, every assumption, every observation you make is worthless unless you open your eyes and find yourself physically in your DR. But that’s not how this works. Not even close.

(Ever since I realized this a few months ago, it’s been aching in my soul to see people—powerful creators—say they have symptoms but “didn’t shift,” or that they’ve been trying for years and still “can’t shift,” or that they’re ready to give up because they don’t see proof.

It’s so many powerful people, master shifters in disguise, who don’t know that their creation is already finished. They’re living, breathing proof that it’s done, but they believe their power only counts if they see “proof” in the form of waking up in their DR, not realizing they’ve been looking in the wrong place the entire time.

They don’t see that every symptom, every moment of alignment, every flicker of inner knowing was never useless. It was evidence. It was proof. But you keep dismissing it, waiting for your DR to validate you, when in reality, you are the one who validates your DR into being.

If you’re asking, “Well, how will I actually shift then? Is it a method? Will I just wake up in my DR after realizing this?”

First, you acknowledge that you’re a master shifter. You claim it. You accept that it’s done. Or you accept that you are already in your DR.

And then—naturally, seamlessly—you discover how you shift consistently. How you shift to your DR. What works for you. (I’ll get more into this in a bit)

It’s like you unlock it—cracking open the rock that’s been holding back the river, letting the water rush free, unstoppable, inevitable.

Like a dam finally giving way under the weight of its own resistance, the flow was always there, waiting, ready. All you had to do was remove what was blocking it, and everything moves, everything flows, everything becomes.

Recognition first, revelation after.

You don’t learn how to shift BEFORE calling yourself a master shifter. You don’t shift to your DR before you can say you’ve shifted.

This is ESPECIALLY true if you’ve been trying for a year or more. Odds are, it’s already so ingrained in your mind—your mind knows how to shift, and that it wants to shift—that you’re already done.

But believing there’s more to learn, more to figure out, more to “dwell in” keeps generating more of that and traps you in the loop. Ironically, it generates more proof that you can shift.

And yes, this has been said over and over, I know, but let me tell you: I KNOW how hard it is to force an assumption, to convince yourself of something without immediate proof, especially when your reality is showing you the complete opposite of what you desire.

It’s nearly impossible to believe you’re already in your DR when your CR circumstances suck and are actively draining you. I know that. And believe me, there’s nothing wrong with you because of it.

I know what it’s like to be caught in that mentality, trust me. You’re frustrated, feeling stuck in this endless loop: You assume you’re in your DR → you feel like a fraud because you still have to interact with the 3D every day → that reinforces the fact that you’re “still” in your CR → you crash, frustrated and burnt out → you think you ruined your assumptions and have to start over → back to square one, assuming you’re in your DR from a place of lack and dependency.

It’s because I know what that’s like that I swear to you:

YOU ARE NOT STUCK. YOU ARE NOT BLOCKED. WHAT’S HAPPENING IS THAT CREATION IS FINISHED, BUT YOU HAVEN’T REALIZED IT YET.

If you didn’t feel you needed proof, you’d accept it easily, wouldn’t you? If you had proof, you’d accept it easily too, right?

Well, here’s the thing: the proof is already here. It’s in your awareness, in the work you’ve poured in, in the fact that your awareness already knows how to shift—and there’s nothing you ever did to “learn” it, and nothing you could do to “unlearn” it.

You don’t need to assume, persist, or affirm if you don’t want to. You don’t need to force anything.

You just observe the reality where it’s done, step into the reality where it’s finished, and understand why you’re already a master shifter. And this does not involve forcing an assumption at all, because you have the proof.

Listen to me. You’re Already Done

If you’ve been on this journey for a year or more, I guarantee it’s already done. GUARANTEE. You can shift on command.

Two years or more? You’re already a master at this. Guaranteed. X amount of years with mini-shifts? That’s your proof right there, and you’re denying it.

It honestly hurts my soul when I see people say, “I feel symptoms but I can’t shift to my DR,” when you’re literally already done. The symptoms are part of the proof. You’re already a master shifter, already capable of shifting, but you can’t accept that you’re in your DR because you think the proof has to be physically waking up there, when the real proof is the fact that you already have the ability to shift, that you’ve already decided to shift, or that you already put in the work!

You changed your assumptions!

You felt symptoms!

You had X amount of shifting attempts!

You decided you were going to shift!

You dreamed of your DR!

YOU MADE A SCRIPT!

You affirmed!

Everything you did—whether it was as simple as deciding you would shift, or as layered as listening to subliminals while writing affirmations and practicing meditation—all of it is your evidence. It’s your proof. Your confirmation that it’s done.

I can’t directly implant this POV into your mind; I can only use words, which is why I keep repeating the same point over and over. But I promise you, once you realize this, EVERYTHING clicks. Once you realize it’s done, that it’s been done for ages, all that’s left is for you to accept it.

“But how long will it take? I don’t want to wait forever to shift.”

Once you accept this fully and completely, time won’t matter at all. It won’t. Once you truly accept it, you won’t care about when it happens because you’ll realize it’s already happened.

Again, I can’t force this POV into your mind, but know this: eventually, you will reach this realization. It’s inevitable.

YOU ALREADY HAVE THE PROOF. YOU ALREADY HAVE THE EVIDENCE.

Again, this isn’t new information, but it’s where many get stuck. When you solve a math equation, what’s your proof? Is it the result? Or is it the entire step-by-step calculation you did?

When you cook a meal, what’s your proof you made it? Is it the final dish on the table? Or is it the chopping, stirring, seasoning you did to bring it to life?

When you write a story, what’s your proof you’re a writer? Is it the finished book in your hands? Or the countless hours spent drafting, editing, and rewriting every scene?

You’ve been sitting on your proof this entire time. The WHOLE time.

Proof is not only the physical outcome but the creation of the outcome in awareness.

When you decide to go to school, your decision is the moment your reality pivots toward that outcome. The walk to the gates is just the continuation of that decision unfolding.

Your awareness locks in the reality you’ve chosen, and the “proof” becomes the fact that you chose it. Any work you put into it is evidence and further proof that it’s yours.

The physical experience is the reflection of what is already true in your awareness.

“Oh, but I can’t call myself a master shifter if I don’t know what method works for me, or how I’m supposed to shift.”

The How Will Unfold Naturally

Let me say it again:

The “method,” the “way,” is through realizing. Realize you already are a master shifter. That you’ve already shifted to your DR. Because once you truly accept that you already shift on command, that you’ve already shifted, that IT’S DONE AND THERE IS NOTHING MORE TO DO, the HOW will rush in like a freight train.

A method will suddenly click. Or you’ll realize exactly how to tune your awareness to observe your DR. Or you’ll wake up one day and find yourself there, without effort, without strain. Many different ways.

The how doesn’t come first. It unfolds the moment you claim your power. When you know it’s done, the path becomes clear because your awareness is finally observing the reality where it’s already finished.

That’s manifestation 101. Law of Assumption 101? When you manifest $1000, you’re not spending your time hypothesizing how it will get to you, or manifesting every single step of how it will arrive (unless you’re unhinged like me). You just know it’s yours, and then, inside your awareness, you observe the reality where you have the $1000, whether it comes as a job promotion, a bonus, etc. Why? Because you observed the reality where you have $1000. You lived in it, and there was no need to persist because you just accepted it.

It’s the same with shifting. People can’t accept it’s done without the proof, the how, the mechanics unfolding in front of them.

But my darling, you can’t watch the mechanics unfold and THEN claim you’re a master shifter. Or that you’ve shifted. Because that places creation outside of you, when it has always come from you.

You did the creation; the creation didn’t happen to you.

That’s how it works. Again, none of this is new information, but what I can do—as yet another shifting blog in a sea of thousands—is be another voice reminding you of this.

You are so damn powerful, and no, you don’t need to “stop whining” or “shut up and just shift,” but to UNDERSTAND why you’re a creator, why you’re already this powerful.

Once you realize this, once it truly and fully HITS you, you will be at peace, you will be overjoyed. You will be unstoppable. And if you haven’t reached this realization yet, I am so excited for you! Because you WILL experience it. The realization that you already have what you desire will overwhelm you in the best way.

You already won the multiversal jackpot—you just need to cash in the check. How can you access your fortune (shifting) if you haven’t cashed in the check (accepting that it’s already done)?

All of what I said should be your mentality 100% of the time from now on, BUT we’re going to turn this into a method because we ain’t shaming the use of methods around here, + I regularly use this to shift.

The Realization Method

I prefer shifting at nighttime when I’m in bed—but do it whenever feels better for you, be it during the day, on your break, in the shower, any time.

Get comfortable, then start reviewing your entire reality-shifting journey, no matter how long it’s been. Just immerse yourself in how absolutely strange it is that you're supposedly “not in your DR”, and how much work you've put into it. Even if all you’ve done is simply decide that you’re already in your DR, it makes NO sense as to why you should still be here. Sit with that a little, let the concept of being in your CR feel bizarre, because it is.

Realize, deep down, that you already are a master shifter, and you already are in your DR. It's wild, isn't it? All this time, you’ve put in the effort, and yet you’re supposed to believe you still haven’t shifted? That’s absolute BS.

Start reminding your awareness, yourself, of the proof, the evidence that you’ve been on this journey, that you’ve been creating this whole time. Keep playing that evidence on loop, and soon you’ll realize—you’re already there. You have your end goal. You’ve manifested it already.

The more you marinate in the fact that you already have the evidence, the more you keep turning it over in your mind—that you’ve already done the work, you’ve already done everything needed to shift, and that it’s done—the more you observe that reality. You’re reinforcing the observation that it’s finished with evidence. You’re now observing the reality where it’s complete, and you have the proof to back it up because you’re looking at everything you’ve already done.

You did all of that, so it’s done. It’s not “done” because you’re faking it or pretending you have your desire; it’s finished because you have the evidence to prove it.

Look at what you’ve done. There’s nothing more to do. And as your mind sits with this, it starts to realize—your awareness starts to realize—that it’s done. You have the evidence. There’s no logical reason you should be stuck in your CR anymore. You’re in your DR. You already are a master shifter. Get it?

It’s done. C'est fini. Finished. You did everything, now just accept that it’s already yours. You’re already a master shifter. You’re already in your DR. And you have the proof to back it up. You can’t decide something, observe it in your awareness, and then NOT get that desire.

It’s uncanny. It’s weird. That’s not how it works. You already have it, please wake up.

Related: Wavering doesn’t stop you from shifting | You’ve never had a failed shifting attempt

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ── . “nct dream comforting you after a bad day”.

Haechan, more than anyone else, could easily read the signs of exhaustion, especially yours. And he knew it wasn’t just tiredness, it was life being unkind, again and again, leaving its weight heavy on your shoulders. That’s why he didn’t hesitate to scoot closer to you on the couch, wrapping a warm blanket around you both as he pulled you into his arms. One hand settled in your hair, gently stroking as if trying to untangle the mess inside you. “Wanna talk about it?” he asked softly. You shook your head, and he just nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, his voice a balm to your aching heart. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You know I’m here for you, right?” His words lingered in the quiet air between you, grounding you. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”

It always took Jisung a little while to catch on when something was off, but eventually, he noticed the shift in your mood. You weren’t yourself, and that alone was enough to make him put everything else aside. Comfort didn’t come naturally to him, he never really knew the right words or the perfect things to say. But when it came to you, he tried. And somehow, his effort was always exactly what you needed. So he stayed close, his fingers gently lacing with yours, holding your hand like an anchor. He didn’t interrupt or try to fix anything, just offered a quiet space to let you speak, however and whenever you needed to. And even if you hesitated, thinking your thoughts were silly or small, he always reassured you with those rare, earnest words. “Everything about you matters to me,” he gave your hand a light squeeze, pressing a gentle kiss on the back of it.

Either Mark was spending too much time with you or he had some kind of emotional radar, because he always, always knew how you were feeling. Whether it was happiness buzzing under your skin or sadness weighing you down, he never missed a beat. It was like he could read your mood before you even said a word. So it didn’t take him long to notice something was off. Without needing to ask twice, he pulled you close, settling you on his lap with your head tucked into the curve of his neck, his arms wrapped around you like a shield from the world. “What happened, baby?” he murmured, voice low and close. He listened to every word you said, no interruptions, no rushed reassurances. Just him and his quiet hums of understanding as his fingers drew lazy, soothing circles on the small of your back. His warmth seeped into your skin, grounding you, wrapping you in something safer than words. Then came the soft kisses, brushing against the shell of your ear, each one like a punctuation to his whispered comforts.

Chenle didn’t need you to say anything, he could read it in your eyes, in the way your shoulders drooped just slightly more than usual, in the silence that lingered too long. And once he noticed, he didn’t waste a single second. He was there, arms open, heart open, ready to listen as you poured your feelings out, no matter how tangled or heavy they were. But he didn’t stop at listening. He offered more, gentle truths, fresh perspectives, soft reminders that no, this isn’t the end of the world. That yes, things feel unbearable now, but he believed in you. He knew you’d get through it. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even next week, but eventually, you would.You don't have to be strong right now. “You've been strong for so long. Just rest now, I've got you,” And until then, he’d be there, reminding you that your feelings are real, valid, and worth holding. And of course, once your heart had emptied a little, he was already in the kitchen, making your favorite comfort food, because love, to him, was also served warm. He’d make a whole feast if that’s what it took to bring even a small smile to your face. Later, when you were full and wrapped in his arms, your head resting on his chest, he’d run his hand slowly along your back, whispering sweet nothings that didn’t need to make sense, only to make you feel safe.

Jaemin didn’t need to catch any subtle hints or read between the lines, you always came to him when things got heavy. No words, no explanations, just the quiet way you’d find him, and curl up close, seeking the comfort only he could give. And he was always there. No questions asked, no pressure to speak. Just his arms, his warmth, his steady heartbeat grounding you in the stillness of the room. He’d thread his fingers through your hair, slow and gentle, or tangle his own with yours, playing idly with them. He talked softly about his day—about what the neighbor’s dog did again, what weird thing his coworker said, what he had for lunch—filling the silence in the most soothing way. One of his cats would usually climb onto the bed, settling right on top of the both of you like she knew this was her job. He’d guide your hand to her soft fur, encouraging you to pet her, grounding you even more with that quiet rhythm. Time passed slowly, peacefully, until your heart felt a little lighter and the weight in your chest a little less sharp. Only then would you speak, and he would listen with his full attention, his thumb brushing your cheek with tender care.

If you were feeling bad, Renjun was feeling bad too, your mood was like a string tied to his heart, and he could feel every tug. And there was no way he’d let it stay that way. His way of being there for you wasn’t loud or pushy, it was gentle, patient, and full of quiet affection. He wouldn’t overwhelm you with questions, but his eyes would search yours softly as he asked, “Are you feeling bad?” And if you nodded, he’d only ask one more thing: “How can I make it better?” Sometimes you didn’t have the answer. And that was okay. So he’d guide you to the couch or the bed, putting on a playlist you both liked, or choosing a movie that didn’t demand too much attention. Other times, he’d just pull you into his arms, letting silence do the talking as you melted into his warmth. He never forced you to talk, just stayed close, letting his presence soothe you. A kiss to your temple here, a quiet “I’m right here” whispered into your hair there. His hugs were a safe haven, and his lips trailing soft kisses across your skin felt like magic that slowly eased the storm inside you. With him, even the hardest days felt a little less heavy. His care wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and before you even realized it, the words started spilling from your lips.

Jeno was a quiet listener, and he had a way of making you feel safe without saying much at all. No matter what kind of day you’d had, the moment you saw him, you instinctively reached for him—arms wrapped around his waist, your face buried in his chest like you were hoping your bad feelings would melt away in his warmth. And honestly? Sometimes, it almost worked. He found it endearing, the way you clung to him so tightly, like he was your anchor. His first instinct was always to shower you with soft kisses on your forehead, your hair, your cheeks, before murmuring, “What happened, baby?” His voice low, soft, just for you. As you started talking, venting about your day, he guided you to sit with him, his hands gently working at the tension in your back with practiced motions, every now and then kissing the back of your neck or your shoulder. And maybe he had already sensed something was off. Because when he came home, he had your favorite snacks in hand. No special occasion, no big explanation. Just something he thought might make you feel a little better.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker, @spacejip.

[cosmogyros]

language-learning advice from a pro

(I started writing this post just now as a message to a friend who asked for language-learning advice. But I’m a GIANT NERD when it comes to language learning, so it got wayyy too long to be a message. So I’m posting it here in the hopes that it might help others as well. I have not edited this or even read through it all yet – it just poured straight out of my fingers – so please let me know if you spot any typos!)

Okay, first of all, there are two parts to language learning: active learning and passive exposure. You can choose to do only one or the other, but you’ll have the most success if you do both.

ACTIVE LEARNING

Active learning is pretty much what it sounds like: actively focusing on the language, learning new words, sounds, phrases, idioms, etc. It’s often centered around a textbook, sometimes with accompanying audio, but you can do active learning in other ways too. For example, you can read a news article online and check a dictionary for every word you don’t know. Or do the same thing with a foreign film – when you hear a word you don’t know (or see it in the subtitles), pause the movie and look it up.

Active learning makes you progress fast, but it also tires out your brain and overwhelms it with new information, making it easier to forget things you’ve already learned. That’s why it’s best to space out your active learning sessions and fill the gaps with passive exposure.

PASSIVE EXPOSURE

The goal of passive exposure is for your brain to randomly encounter words and phrases it learned recently and go “Hey! I recognize that!” This is SO important not only for reviewing and consolidating your memory, but also keeping up your motivation! If the only place you ever encounter your TL (target language) is in your textbook, on some subconscious level your brain will think it’s not that important… because after all, you never encounter it out there in the real world, do you?

Passive exposure can include any of the following and much more: listening to music in your TL; watching a movie in your TL (either with English subs, or with no subs at all and just don’t worry if you don’t understand everything that’s going on); skim-reading a book or a short story or a news article or a blog post in your TL and looking for words you recognize, even if you can’t 100% remember what they mean; finding speakers of your TL in real life and eavesdropping on them; watching instructional YouTube videos or short documentaries in your TL (the visuals ought to help you understand some of what’s going on, even if there are no subtitles); etc.

The idea is to let your TL wash over you without straining your brain at all. Zero effort, just relaxation and fun. You will inevitably notice and understand a few words or phrases, and that percentage will increase as time goes on, but you’re not actively studying when you’re doing passive exposure. Remember the two things you’re trying to achieve with passive exposure: 1) effortless review/practice, by inevitably re-encountering some stuff you’ve already learned; 2) reminding your brain that this language is a real cool thing out there in the world, not just a boring chore located in a textbook.

But there are also two more extremely important benefits to passive exposure that are drastically neglected by most language-learners: 3) picking up the correct pronunciation and accent; 4) gaining an instinct for natural, native-sounding language.

These are two things you will not learn in a language class or from a textbook. You can’t learn them except by doing a LOT of listening and reading in your TL. But the good news is that it doesn’t need to be the “Active Learning” kind of reading and listening; it can absolutely be the “Passive Exposure” kind, and you will still pick this stuff up.

The most important thing, above all else, is to figure out a method of passive exposure that works for YOU personally. This means: do NOT force yourself to repeatedly do something that you don’t enjoy, because you won’t benefit from it. To pick the right method, think of your interests and the things you like to do in your free time: watching movies? reading books? listening to music? writing in your journal? surfing the internet? You can do any of this in your TL, too. Yes, you will encounter a lot of stuff you don’t understand at the beginning. But A) that’s good for you, it helps you learn patience, which every language-learner needs, and B) the internet has free translation tools everywhere you look.

COMBINING BOTH

Personally, I like to pick a well-respected textbook with accompanying audio (Assimil is my favorite; Teach Yourself and Colloquial can also be very good, especially the older editions; Linguaphone used to be fantastic but I’m not sure if it’s still around) and work my way through it, doing one lesson per day if possible. That takes only about 10 to 20 minutes, so that leaves a lot of time for passive exposure. My preferred method is listening to music (I learned a good 50% of my German from just obsessively listening to German pop music in high school), but here are some other things I like to do:

find an internet talk radio station in my TL and put it on in the background

same deal with a podcast

translate a few keywords related to my favorite hobbies/interests into the TL and then paste that text into YouTube and watch random videos in my TL

read a news article in English, and then find a news website in my TL and see if I can find an article about the same topic in that language

watch bad reality TV or soaps in my TL with no subtitles, just trying to guess what’s going on from context

etc.

No Duolingo. No Rosetta Stone. (I’ve written a whole post about the latter here.) You don’t need to spend any money at all, though if you e.g. use a pirated resource to learn and find that it really helps you, I strongly suggest buying it from the original producer after the fact, to say thank you.

MEMORIZATION

This is very much a “YMMV” piece of advice, but: if you’re having trouble memorizing stuff, just don’t. Don’t bother trying to remember anything. Remember that “passive exposure” bit? It does a lot of the heavy lifting in terms of memory. If you keep bumping into the same word or phrase over and over again, you will incorporate it into your body of knowledge almost effortlessly. Of course this is easier with more common words that turn up again and again – but you’d be surprised how well you can get by, especially at the lower levels, with only the more common words!

Intentionally memorizing vocabulary can of course be very beneficial, so there’s nothing wrong with it. But I notice that it’s often one of the biggest pain points for language learners, and I believe language learning should be pain-free.

FROM INPUT TO OUTPUT

Once you’ve gotten a good grasp of the basics of the language, a really effective way to consolidate the knowledge you’ve gained is to use it actively and creatively yourself, in speech or writing (or ideally both!). For speaking practice, besides simply making friends who are native speakers of the language, you can search for a physical or virtual tandem. This is when you meet up with someone who’s a native speaker of your TL and is trying to learn your own language. You can meet for, say, an hour, and chat together for half an hour in your native language, and then half an hour in their native language. So both of you benefit!

Don’t underestimate talking to yourself, too. Whether it’s narrating your actions, complaining to your pet (okay, I guess that’s not technically “talking to yourself”), or simply having an imaginary conversation with someone else, it’s actually a good way to practice.

I also really enjoy writing in my journal in my target languages. The act of hand-writing a word does a lot to help me remember it. If you like writing, of course, you could also look up penpals who speak your TL.

And that’s about it. As always, I am more than willing to answer specific questions on language learning, as this is something of a specialty of mine and I absolutely love to help other folks get started on their own language-learning journeys. Please feel free to drop me a line if you need any concrete advice or are struggling with some aspect of your current language-learning efforts!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Enemies Within (2) Platonic Yandere Demon Queen Headcannons

Introduction | Part 1 | Kofi

“Don’t think about doing anything to my Queen’s baby! I’ll kill you long before you’ve begun to act on it!”

“Hmph you think you could stop me. The Queen is clearly disillusioned and neglecting us and her empire for that…thing.”

“DON’T YOU–”

“Silence Milune. Enjoy your time with the toad, while you can it won’t get old enough to speak.”

The threat is from the 2nd concubine, the likely father of the Queen’s first child-Silk of the Silver Snow Mountains

Hailing from the wintery mountains, his beauty is garnered in his pale uniqueness

Eyes as blue as the sky and hair white as snow

With a soft and attractive face

As the prettiest it was a given that the Demon Queen would claim him eventually 

But he didn’t go without a fight

Legend has it that the scuffle to decide who would be a concubine to who ended in a change of geography so great new maps had to be issued

Almost matching in strength with the Queen his pull within court and among the concubines is clear

Not to mention his unofficial King status given the short life of his daughter

Milune understands this all so painful for him

Her emotional intelligence her greatest strength among the Queen’s court

Practically begs the Queen to be wary of him even though she’s being needed more as the efforts to exterminate humanity continue forward

While the Queen takes her warnings seriously, she hardly spares the time to even look him in the face anymore

“Don’t go anywhere near my baby, Silk.”

“Why? Worried the curse of our union will happen again?”

“Stop it.”

“Scared that you might see me? That I might remind you of our daughter?!”

“STOP IT!”

It’s from places of such deep pain that they don’t communicate much anymore

And it’s killing him

So much so that while she is out overseeing the latest weapon against the Hero, he sets out to the dungeon

Easily killing the guards and walking through the traps like they're minor annoyances

“With such weak things it almost seems that she wants this child to die.”

“Silk?! Don’t you dare—”

“Move.”

He incapacitates Milune with a sharp spell of ice, rendering her immobile as she flops to the ground

Able to turn she tries reaching out for you is just waking up from a nap, cooing for her to grab you

“--y–/n—!”

Silk easily produces an icicle in one hand as he holds the quieting babe in his other

And with medical precision he slices at your knee

The blood that pours out is immediate

And so is your crying

“WAAAAA! WAAAA! WAAAA!”

Silk finally pauses 

Not that he wasn’t expecting you to cry

But he wasn’t expecting to be brought back to the moment of the Queen’s delivery

Standing there filled with joy that morphed to horror…all because his baby wasn’t crying 

Recalling over the hour of the healers and medics trying multiple things there was no crying

None but the Queens 

And he’d realized how deeply he desired to hear a cry…because hearing that would have meant everything was okay

When the Queen returns she immediately goes for the dungeons, excited to hold her baby after a day of grueling failure

Only to be filled with dread at the state of the hallways leading to the nest

Dead guards of her choosing and traps sprung with no sign of damage to the one who triggered them

Her heart prepares for the worst, thinking back to her first baby

“NOT AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN!”

She dashes with complete abandon uncaring of the way she makes holes in the walls and craters with her steps

Coming across her opened nest to find an odd scene…

There is Silk in his cold and detached visage holding her baby who’s being put to sleep again

Milune looking hurt, sighs in relief as she stands a little ways away from the other concubine

A waft of her infamous healing magic being sent in her baby’s direction

“Silk?! What is this?”

“If you plan to replace our daughter with this child I’ll never condone it.”

“Silk.”

“But if you raise (Y/n) as themself than I will do everything in my power to raise them well….and certainly upgrade the measly mousetraps you had set up before.”

Milune cringes

Waiting for the Queen to explode, to stab him, to envelope the both of them in incinerating heat

But she doesn’t she smiles

Entering her nest and leaning over to kiss your head

“I never would dare replace her. This child will never be a replacement for her. They are my own little human baby who’s been found at the perfect time.”

Silk smiles at this and changes the way he’s cradling you, allowing her to pick you up

“By the way Millune why are you using your magic?”

“Well…it’s for–”

Before she can sheepishly explain The Queen finds it

The scratch on your chubby knee slowly being closed up

The temperature drops

Causing you to wail in discomfort

“Millune if you’ll feed them and put them down for a nap, please.”

“Yes my Queen!”

“Silk. Come we have much to speak about.”

The fight that she has with him is more of a one-sided beatdown

Silk doing the bare minimum as a valid punishment for even coming at you with the intention to harm

But the surface level scratch was an absolute crime

She actually leveled multiple mountain ranges this time

And was satisfied when Silk was left with three fingers missing

After being talked down from taking the whole hand

Sincet then the Queen is quite pleased with her concubines

Both of them attending to you when they’re not by her side

Dutifully beginning to shape you into the Demon Royalty you’ve come to be 

“Wah!”

“Put your hands down, little one it ruins you’re official wear.”

“Wah, wah, wah!”

“Do no take that tone with her! Apologize little one.”

“Mmmm. Reh?”

“That will have to do.”

The last of her loyal concubines to fall for you is her third and dearest friend

One of her generals…her most high general responsible for leading her to you in the first place

Because he’s more of a fighter less of a lover

He prefers to be aiding her on the battlefield 

And he doesn’t mind much since he hasn’t seen you since she first adopted you

The next time he sees you it’s somewhere he never expected

“Buuuu!”

“....Where did you come from?”

He was in the training room practicing his sword swings on the battered dummies when he felt a tiny hand grab onto him

Leaning on his calf for support is itty bitty you

He stands there for a little while just trying to comprehend 

The why

The how

The what ifs

Before he feels your little hand leave him and your on the move again

So busy being a general he’s never thought about children or the fact he’s never held one

And thus he’s afraid that he’d smash you to bits if he held you wrong

But as he watches you struggle to walk before reverting to quickly crawling 

He realizes he should follow after 

So that’s what he does for the rest of his mandatory day off

Following after baby you who’s just discovering every which way of the kingdom's sub level

Its only when you seem to step forward with upmost confidence towards some steps that he actually goes to carry you 

“So…light!”

He discovers he has no issues with holding a baby without squashing them

But he does seem to have trouble keeping a squirmy baby in place

“I thought you were supposed to stay in my arms…oh please be careful…and don’t hang off my horn you’ll stick yourself.”

It’s when he finally ventures to the Queen’s nest; a place he’d almost forgotten where it was

That he notices the temperature drop

Seeing the new guards quiver 

He makes sure to cuddle you tight, seeing you curl into his hair

But when he gets there all he sees is the other two concubines absolutely frightened

“THEY COULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN FAR!! YOU CHECKED THE ARMORY DIDN’T YOU!?”

“AND THE THRONE ROOM AND THE TORTURE CELLS! I CAN’T FIND THEM ANYWHERE!? SHOULD i KILL MYSELF OR WAIT FOR THE QUEEN TO!”

“Don’t lose hope! I’ll dash around in high speed to find them!”

“But if you miss they’ll get hurt from the aftershock!” 

“Curse humanity! WHY CAN’T THEY BE LESS PRONE TO DIE!?”

“...Uhm you guys looking for them?”

“(Y/n)! Oh thank the Queen!”

“YOU NAUGHTY INFANT! YOU COULD’VE DIED!”

“Maybe stop cooling the place down and they won’t.”

When the Queen returns her concubines are honest and she’s looking to her highest general 

“Thank you, Mordecai.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

“Not just for caring for them this time…for them entirely.”

“Anytime my Queen. Finding the heir to your kingdom is among my duties.”

“I hope you’ll continue that for centuries to come.”

From the Demon Queen and her concubines to the entire demon kingdom you’re destined to grow up pampered and protected

Though it would be a shame to know that the one who’d raised you for the role, could no longer be there...

TBC

[ribbonedreverie]

He Won’t Say I Love You

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Osamu Dazai – “Don’t Die Before Me”

Dazai doesn’t say “I love you.”

Dazai’s way of loving is contradictory, elusive, and impossible to pin down. His words are always laced with meaning, but never in the way you’d expect—because he does not speak plainly, not about things that matter. Love is a game to most, but to him, it is a ghost—something he has studied, something he understands deeply, yet something that has always evaded him.

That’s why he won’t say he loves you.

Because love, in its purest form, has never been kind to him. He knows love from the pages of books, from the way poets drown themselves in it, from the way people call it devotion but mean self-destruction. And Dazai is a master of self-destruction.

So instead, he turns love into something abstract. Something for you to decipher, something for you to chase, if you’re willing.

He flirts without effort, spins sweet words with a poet’s cadence, smiles like he’s already figured you out. But if you pay attention, you’ll notice the gaps—the empty spaces between his words, the careful distance he keeps no matter how close he leans. The way he offers everything and nothing at the same time.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll hear it in the way he remembers things he shouldn’t—the way your voice sounds when you’re tired, the exact time the streetlights in your neighborhood flicker on. You’ll see it in the way he steals your pen but always returns it, tucked next to a note written in his elegant, half-mocking script.

You’ll feel it in the way his fingers brush against your wrist just long enough to make you wonder if it was intentional.

You’ll notice it in the way he never lies to you. Not because he is kind, not because he trusts you, but because if you saw through him, if you recognized what he really is, he wonders if you would stay anyway.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you do leave, if you choose to walk away, he will not chase you. He will not beg, will not plead. He will laugh it off, throw some teasing remark over his shoulder, and turn the page as if you were just another fleeting story in his collection.

But late at night, when the city is quiet and the ghosts press in too closely, he will still pour two cups of tea.

“Don’t die before me.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Chuuya Nakahara – “You already know, don’t you?”

He won’t say he loves you.

Not because he doesn’t want to—he does, more than he’d ever admit—but because love, real love, isn’t something spoken. It’s something you prove.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he proves it in the way he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk, shielding you from passing cars. In the way he places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, steady, present. In the way he always remembers your favorite drink and orders it without asking, as if knowing your preferences is as natural to him as breathing.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he loves like a storm—fierce, untamed, all-consuming. But around you, that fire softens into something warm, something safe.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will roll his eyes when you forget your scarf but wrap his around you without a second thought. He will complain about your reckless habits but pull you into his arms the second you stumble. He will grumble that you’re a handful, that you make his life harder, but his hands will never let you go.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he loves with his entire being. He will hold you like you’re something precious, something irreplaceable, like he’s terrified that one wrong move will shatter the moment. He will kiss you like it’s a promise, like he’s memorizing the way you fit against him in case fate decides to be cruel.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you are hurt—if you so much as wince in pain, if you ever cry in front of him— he will carry the weight of it himself. He will fight with his teeth bared, his fists clenched, his body a shield between you and the world. Because no one gets to hurt what’s his.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will never ask you to stay. Not because he doesn’t want you to—but because he wants you to choose him, freely, without hesitation. He doesn’t need declarations, doesn’t need grand confessions—he just needs to know that when he reaches for you, you will be there.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when he stands beside you in a room, offering his hand with a smirk that softens only for you, it’s there in the way he holds you.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when he sleeps better with you tucked beside him, when his hand finds yours even in dreamless nights, when he fights like hell to keep you safe, it’s there in the way he chooses you. Every time.

“You already know, don’t you?”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Ryunosuke Akutagawa – “Don’t die before I can protect you properly.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Not because he doesn’t feel it, but because love is foreign to him, something distant and unreachable, like the stars above the slums he grew up in. It is something delicate, something soft, something he was never meant to hold in his own hands.

He won’t say he loves you.

Because love, to him, has always been synonymous with loss. Everything he has ever cared for has been taken, ripped from his grasp before he even had a chance to understand it. So why would this be any different?

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll feel it in the way he teaches you how to fight, how he watches your every movement, memorizing the rhythm of your steps as if preparing to shield you before you even fall. You’ll see it in the way Rashomon hovers near you, shifting subtly, positioning itself between you and danger like an unspoken vow.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when you speak, he listens—truly listens, in a way he never does with anyone else. He absorbs your words like they are gospel, lets them settle deep in his chest, turns them over in his mind long after you’re gone.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you are hurt—if someone dares to lay a hand on you, if you ever bleed because of another, his rage will be instant, merciless. Not because he is angry, but because the sight of you in pain is unbearable in a way he doesn’t have the language to explain.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will stand beside you in silence, his presence unwavering, his eyes dark with something unspoken. He will never call you strong, but he will only ever respect those who are, and you are the only one he allows close.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever left, he would never stop looking for you. He would never say your name out loud, but it would echo in his mind like an unfinished sentence, like a prayer whispered too late.

“Don’t die before I can protect you properly.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Fyodor Dostoevsky – “You amuse me.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Because love, to him, is a human weakness. A flaw. A crack in the foundation of something that should be unshakable. Love clouds judgment, warps perspective, turns the brilliant into fools—and Fyodor Dostoevsky is no fool.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you are an exception. A variable he did not account for. A contradiction he cannot solve. And that interests him.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will watch you—not with longing, not with sentimentality, but with the gaze of a man who is used to understanding everything, and yet, somehow, does not understand you. He studies you the way he studies a chessboard, as if you are a piece that does not belong, a move he did not anticipate.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will never lie to you. Not because he is kind, not because he respects you, but because there is no need to deceive something he already considers his.

He won’t say he loves you.

But his touch, when it comes, is deliberate. He brushes his fingers against yours as he hands you a teacup, lingers just long enough for the contact to mean something—but not long enough for you to be sure. He never calls you by your name when he can call you something softer, something more intimate, something that makes it feel like you are special, even when you know you shouldn’t be.

He won’t say he loves you.

But his affection is in the silences, in the spaces between words, in the moments when he allows you to stand close when he would never tolerate another. He lets you speak your mind, even when he already knows what you will say. He allows you to question him, because he enjoys watching you try to unravel something that cannot be unraveled.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he lets you live. And that, more than anything, should terrify you.

“You amuse me.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Sigma – “Tell me I’m real.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. He is a man who did not exist until recently, a being with no past, no childhood, no proof that he belongs in this world at all.

He won’t say he loves you.

Because to love means to claim something as your own, and he is still unsure if he is allowed to claim anything. He does not know what he is, where he came from, or what fate has planned for him—but he knows you.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll feel it in the way he always makes sure your favorite things are stocked in the casino, even if you never ask. In the way his hands hesitate before pulling away, as if he wants to hold on just a little longer but fears what it might mean.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you are the only thing that makes him feel real. The only proof he has that he exists as something more than a placeholder in a story someone else wrote.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will memorize your schedule, not out of control, but out of a quiet longing to be part of your world. He will watch you from the corner of his eye, wondering if he can be someone worth staying for.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when you leave a room, he waits an extra second before breathing again, as if your presence alone steadies him.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever tried to leave for good, he would not beg you to stay. Not because he doesn’t want to—but because he fears that if you go, he will forget what it felt like to be wanted at all.

“Tell me I’m real.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Nikolai Gogol – “You’re the only one who makes me stay.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Because love is a chain, and chains were meant to be broken. Love is something that binds, tethers, shackles—and he has spent his whole life cutting himself free.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he lingers longer than he should, just close enough for you to wonder if he means to stay. He calls you his little trick, his favorite act, his most entertaining performance—but the way he watches you when you aren’t looking? That’s not an act.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll feel it in the way his chaos never quite touches you. In the way his games are never at your expense, the way he teases but never cuts too deep, the way he pretends to be fickle but always, always finds his way back to you.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when he speaks of freedom—his one obsession, the thing that drives him, the only thing he has ever truly wanted—you notice he never includes you in the things he wants to leave behind.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever tried to run, he would let you. He would laugh, twirl his cane, bow like a gentleman as if bidding farewell to a fleeting amusement. But if you watched closely—if you really knew him—you would notice the hesitation, the half-second of stillness, as if something inside of him had just unraveled.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever truly disappeared, he would burn the world down looking for you, laughing all the while, like it was all just another game.

“You’re the only one who makes me stay.”

That’s what he really means.

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 27

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- ahhhh sound off guys 💔 like and rb for meee! Happy late v-day btw!

Billie’s POV

Ellie sighed, “I’m sorry, you need to talk.” She walked out, closing the door behind Remy.

She tried to turn the doorknob, but apparently, Ellie was standing outside, holding it shut.

I rolled my eyes as she jiggled the knob to no avail, pushing on the door once more. I know how persistent Ellie can be.

“Your girlfriend is… nice.”

I said nothing, just turned slightly, still not facing her completely.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your party. I just thought you wanted to see me.” Sarcasm dripped over her tone as she fidgeted with her jacket zipper.

“Yeah, show up two weeks before I leave for months.” I breathed out a stupid laugh.

“This was a mistake” She crossed her arms.

“Yeah, sorry you had to make such an effort to come say goodbye.” I scoffed, sarcastically.

“Why do you hate me so fucking much?” She took a step closer.

I looked her in the eyes for the first time in months. My stomach dropped. I became captivated by her presence. Her lips were formed into a perfect pout. She looked like she’d been crying. Her nose rosy and her cheeks flushed were a dead giveaway.

“You think I hate you?” I shook my head, “I loved you! And you forgot all about me. You made me feel like I was nothing!” I pointed my finger at her, the words pouring out of my mouth with no filter.

“Billie, you have to know by now that that is not true.” She waved her hand in denial, her eyes wide.

I shook my head, at war with myself. I wanted to cuss her out, run to her and hug her, and cry all at once.

When I walked into my kitchen and laid eyes on her for the first time since her accident, since our fight, I froze. I felt like I was going to shatter into a million pieces, and then I was overcome by anger. Every feeling I had suppressed for the last couple months resurfaced and I just wanted to melt into a puddle.

And now, here I was, looking in her eyes. Her chocolate brown hair was longer than before, almost down to her waist. She usually couldn’t stand when her hair passed her shoulder blades. She looked unreal and I couldn’t believe she was here.

“I don’t know how else to say it to you. I don’t know how to convince you. I tried my best every single time.” Her voice was shaky, but she stood her ground.

I broke our eye contact. Her voice tore a hole in my chest. I know if I look at her any longer, I would burst into tears.

My cheeks were hot and my throat burned from holding back sobs. I wanted to tell her to leave, because if she didn’t, I’d forgive her and continue to live everyday wishing she was mine. I had to move on.

“I’m sorry, okay! I’m sorry that I left you hanging so many times. I’m sorry that I kept making promises that I couldn’t keep! I was trying to balance everything and everyone at once, and I failed! I fucked up!” She shouted.

“No, you fucked your way up to the top at work. You failed me!”

“It’s not true! Stop saying that. You know me better than that. Don’t you hear the way you’re talking to me? It’s me, I’m not some random bitch you can just insult whenever you want!”

“You’re different now!”

“Billie, how am I different!”

“Your clothes! You want to suck up to your boss-“

“I wear dresses and skirts all the time! You’ve never had a problem with that before!”

“It’s not that! It’s the reason you’re wearing them! You think it’s going to get you ahead it’s fucked up! Just like Rachel!”

“Stop talking about my clothes! God, I don’t understand why that matters to you so much!” She was so flustered, I could hear the gears in her head moving and the steam coming out of her ears. Maybe this is the reaction I wanted. Maybe I just wanted to make her hate me so it’d be easier to watch her leave. So it’d be easier for her to leave me be. To assure she didn’t miss me.

I sit down on the accent chair, putting my head in my hands. “Just forget it.” I sighed, my head throbbing already. “You’re not even hearing me.”

“No I am, Billie, you’re not hearing yourself.” She walked over; standing closer to me, her arms still crossed. I could smell her perfume. It made me miss her more.

It made me think of how she made my bed smell when she slept over. How her scent lingered on my pillows, and the next night I’d dream she was still tangled in my sheets. I should’ve cherished all the mornings I spent waiting for her to wake up, tracing the silhouette of her body with my eyes, watching her lips move as she dreamed.

“I just don’t want to do this anymore. I didn’t ask for this.” I breathed out a long breath.

“Well I’m here now, I came all the way up here to see you, because I’ve missed the fuck out of you. So look at me!“ She stood in front of me.

I ignored her.

“Billie, look at me!” She squatted in front of me, putting a hand on my knee, hoping I’d give in.

“If you missed me, why didn’t you come see me the entire time I was in LA, huh? Why come out literally right before I leave the country again. Is it less of a commitment this way?” I snapped back.

“No, I was afraid! And hurt! And you have no idea what I’ve gone through since the accident!” She let out an aggressive sigh.

“What? Joe had you run all the way to Burbank to get him coffee?” I rolled my eyes.

She stood back up, “Yeah, Billie. That’s great. Thank you. My life is so easy compared to yours because I don’t tour around the world all year. You know, this is the exact bullshit that made me so afraid to say no to you.”

“No, actually it’s because you’re a coward, who doesn’t say no to anyone.”

“Right, I’m sure you loved that while you could, didn’t you?”

“No, dude, I didn’t want you to say yes to me all the time. I wanted you to be there when you said you’d be there! And I wanted you to keep your word! And make time for me once in a while! Is that so much to ask for?” I lifted my head from my hands, standing up again.

She took a step back, making me realize how loud I was being. I took another deep breath, rubbing my face.

“I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, I never meant to make you feel like this. You have to know that. I don’t care if we never speak to each other again, I need you to know that I have always loved and cared about you. I tried my hardest to make everyone happy. I know I fucked up. Please, know that!”

“Please, just go. I don’t want to do this.”

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“Yes. I heard you. Now go.”

“You pushing me away won’t fix anything.” She looked at me, demanding I meet her gaze.

“You should’ve just stayed at home working.” I said anything at this point to make her leave. She was right, I was pushing her away.

She looked hurt, and rejected. The all too familiar emotions she made me feel. She opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped herself. I wanted to apologize but my pride got the best of me.

“I needed you too and I never asked you to stop what you’re doing for me.” She finally spoke, her eyes glossy. “Not once.”

I knew she was right. The difference is, had she asked me to, I would’ve done anything in my power to be at her side. That’s when it dawned on me that I had power. The power that she didn’t have in her life.

“I love you, Billie. More than you know. Have a good trip.” She walked over to me.

I watched her every move as she barely extended her arms, attempting to give me a hug. I wanted to, I did. But, I couldn’t. All of the progress I made with Ellie, and all of the hard work I did trying to forget would be pointless if I gave into her embrace. I knew if I touched her, I’d fall apart in her arms, letting go of every grudge I held. All of the weight would come off my shoulders in a matter of seconds.

In a perfect world I would give in, let her back into my heart, and let her hurt me over, and over again, as many times as she’d like. I would never let her go again, even if it killed me.

This reality is far from the perfect one I wish we lived in.

She stood in front of me, giving me the most vulnerable look, her eyes begging me to let her hug me goodbye. She dropped her arms, hanging them limp in front of her.

I bit the inside of my lip nervously, looking down, and walked right past her, leaving the room.

A surprised Ellie, who had left her post, was holding her ear against the wall, listening in on us. She stood up straight, fixing her dress and giving me a look.

I walked past her too, heading upstairs. She went into the room Remy was still in, probably to apologize for me.

I swung my bedroom door open and closed it, not caring if any of the guests noticed. They were all entertained by loud music and conversations anyway. I sat on my bed, rubbing the horror off my face. It felt like an out of body experience seeing Remy here in my house. I leaned back, throwing my back on the mattress, closing my eyes in hopes today would go away.

“Come here.” Ellie brushed the hair off my face. I hadn’t even heard her come in.

I moved away from her, getting up and stomping to the bathroom. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?” Ellie sat on the bed, following me with her eyes.

“I can’t believe you told her to come.” I began to cry, leaning my arms over the bathroom vanity.

She floated over, rubbing my back, leaning her face into mine. “I just wanted you guys to talk, I thought you’d talk and work things out! I didn’t even think you’d be upset she was here…”

I completely gave up, my head already exhausted from the events. I didn’t have it in me to fight her too. I melted into her soft skin, burying my face in her neck and crying silently. The strong feeling of wishing I were in Remy’s arms instead emerged, making me nauseous and weak.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted you to be happy. I know how much you miss her.” She swayed us back and forth, rubbing my back in circles. I know she meant well. She didn’t know any better.

I couldn’t even put my feelings into words. How could I?

What could I say?

This is so hard on me because the love of my life is here and I can’t tell her how much I love her, because if I can’t have all of her I don’t want her at all.

I just cried and cried into the sweetest, purest arms. The arms that did nothing but pick up my shattered pieces. Because, I can’t have my cake and eat it too. There is no world where Ellie and Remy could exist at the same time.

She pulled away, grabbing my face in her hands. “I won’t meddle anymore, I’m sorry. I thought I was doing a good thing.” She wiped my tears, panic on her face. “I didn’t meant to ruin anything.”

“I know you didn’t, I did.” I mumbled.

She furrowed her brows, confused, trying to read my mind. Before she could, I lifted her up by her waist, sitting her on the bathroom counter and standing between her legs.

“I’m so sorry, it was a stupid idea.” Her voice small, ashamed even. She wrapped her arms around my neck, wiping away stray tears that remained on my cheeks.

I kissed her, not wanting to keep discussing it. I didn’t want to think about the fact that I need to start all over and push down every sentiment.

She kisses back, not expecting the intensity of which I met her with. My hands pressed on her hips, pulling her closer to me.

She pulls away, looking in my eyes and noticing more tears coming down, involuntarily. “Hey.” She stopped me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, leaning in and kissing the soft, warm skin on her jawline, trailing down to her neck, smelling a fresh, familiar scent.

“I think… we should really get back downstairs. Our friends-“

“You smell… different. What is that?” I asked, between breaths, pushing her hair back as I kissed down to her collarbone.

“Oh, I used that shampoo on the top shelf today, in your shower. I ran out of mine.” She smiled softly.

“I love it.” I groaned in her ear, realizing it was Remy’s shampoo. It smelled so good on her. Images of her face, her smile, her mouth telling me off earlier. It felt so wrong to think of her when I’m kissing El, but I couldn’t stop.

I skimmed her thighs with my hands, sliding my fingertips between her thighs, under her silky red dress. I brought my lips back to hers, granting her tongue entrance, wanting her more and more by the second. I could tell she wanted me too.

She moaned into my mouth as I entered her, her thighs tightening on my hand. I could feel her tightening around my fingers too. I grabbed onto her with my other hand, placing it on the small of her back to keep her from sliding back, wanting her to feel every bit of this.

She bit my shoulder, her thin dress straps sliding down her's, highlighting that collarbone I love sucking on so much. The outline of her breasts made made me want to rip off her clothes.

She threw her neck back, unable to keep quiet as I pushed her to her cliff’s edge. I cupped my hand over her mouth, attempting to muffle her loud breathy moans.

When I finished her, she looked at me, out of breath. Her eyes were hazy, gasping for air profusely. I lifted her up and wrapped her legs around my waist, carrying her satisfied body and throwing her on my bed. I shut and locked the door, walking back to her body.

I just wanted to be in control of something in my life, as long as she’d let me.

[loredrinker]

Is it weird that I take a kind of perverse delight in discourse that can’t stop criticizing Solas and, in particular, the Solas/Lavellan romance world state?

There are plenty of players who reject 'Solavellan' for their own reasons, many of which I understand completely - and most just go on their merry way, playing the game their way and not giving a second thought to it. But others... can’t seem to let it go. Despite claiming to have no interest in the story or proclaim a deep dislike for it, they remain preoccupied by it. And honestly? I love that.

Solas and Lavellan living rent-free in people’s minds is proof to me the writers have hit some kind of nerve. And isn’t that what we want from stories? To feel? Whether it’s good or bad or disgusted or elated?

One of my absolute favorite fandom phenomena is the emphatic declaration: “Not my world state.” A sacred incantation. A verbal sage-smudge meant to ward off emotional investment in a narrative one claims to disdain.  In the case of Dragon Age - it’s often a Solas and a romanced Lavellan.

And yet…still the critical posts come. Still reblogging. Still writing 3,000-word critiques about a character some allegedly don’t think about or a pairing that people find...problematic. Fascinating. Because if it truly wasn’t their world state, why not just ignore it?  I can so easily ignore any world state that I don’t resonate with.  I also can easily read great meta, enthusiasm and critiques on various world states that I don’t subscribe to but can appreciate and learn something new all the time.  

I genuinely believe in everyone finding joy in the game they play. Sincerely. There’s more than enough pain in the real world - we all deserve our escapes. So play your way. Love what you love. Let the rest fall into the Fade. (I appreciate those who do post very respectful discourse and criticisms without resorting to insults.)

But yet

…yet

... some linger. Some rage. Some cry “cringey romance trope” and some cry “horrible misrepresentation” with the same intensity Solas cries “vhenan” during post-Veilguard sex with Lavellan. And that’s okay. Because, to me, it means they felt something.

If people are still talking about it - still critical of it, still dissecting - the story got under the skin. It touched something raw. It stirred something.  Maybe it unsettled a sense of what a “good” fictional romance looks like or what forgiveness looks like. Maybe it made someone feel uncomfortable. Maybe some resent how powerfully others have connected to it. Who knows!?

But stories - especially emotionally and controversially charged ones like Solas and Lavellan - rarely seem to leave people untouched. They provoke. They unsettle. They inspire.

The writers should feel flattered. It means the story had teeth. It left a mark. Some connect with it and lean in. Others don’t and abhor it. But either way, they still let themselves be tethered to it. The effort poured into disliking Solas and Lavellan I see at times only confirms how potent the story really is. Why spend so much time dissecting something that didn’t affect you?

One of the biggest misconceptions about the Solas and Lavellan story is that it excuses Solas (ok, maybe some fans do). But what makes the story so compelling to me is what’s found in the contradictions. It doesn’t ignore Solas’s flaws - it stares them down. Because stories of love can exist in tension with truth. And they can be messy as hell. 

I like the tension. I like that Solas is morally grey, sometimes cruel, sometimes tender. I like reconciling that contradiction - not to absolve him, but to explore what love looks like when it exists alongside pain, grief and betrayal. I don’t need him to be perfect to find his story compelling. And I don’t need Lavellan’s love to be easy or pure to see its value or symbolism. 

And it doesn’t threaten me that he’s flawed or that their love story is flawed. I’m comfortable holding both truths at once: that he’s done harm, and that he’s capable of love. That’s where the story lives for me. Lavellan’s response to him is also complicated and her own imperfection doesn’t diminish the story (and it is just a story after all).

This is not fandom criticism believe it or not (well, maybe? But like, with affection). Like I said, I delight in it. If anything, it just deepens my love for Solas’s story and for Inquisitor Lavellan’s - and their journey together.  It challenges me to dig deeper into understanding what resonates with me.

There is a little secret voice in my head that thinks, if people who dislike it so much are still talking about it, still trying to tear it down - then maybe they are living in the same world state as me after all. 

And I do so enjoy the company. 

[m1d-45]

snapshot

summary: short, soft moments with your lover, featuring tighnari and neuvillette (separately) in that order.

word count: ~1k composite

-> warnings: big mention of bugs in tighnari's ! none shown but theyre discussed, as are bug bites. none for neuvi.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

bug bites were common among forest rangers. a special bug repellent was included in every pack, a black bottle with plain instructions. tighnari put effort into making it easy to apply and easier to understand, constantly finding new ways to promote its usage. if gone untreated, even small beestings can become serious. add onto it the fact that he was the one that inevitably had to treat them, and he had every motivation to ensure it was used. he made sure that spares were easily accessible, included demonstrations in training, and emphasized the importance of proper application before every patrol.

so why in teyvat did you keep getting bit?

every time, without fail, you returned from patrol scratching your wrist or ankle or wherever you inevitably got bit. and every time, he had to be the one to drag you to the medical hut. at least if you acknowledged the severity of the situation and brought your injuries to him on your own, that’d be understandable. he understood that the feeling of lotion wan’t bearable for everyone—he was in the process of transforming it into a mist to make it even easier—and he’d be happy to find ways to keep you inside if that was the case. there was no shortage of small chores to be done, and with collei now in full recovery, you could easily take her place.

but no. of course not. that would be too easy. his partner happened to be the most stubborn ranger on the squad, with the worst affinity for bugs he’d ever seen.

“how does this always happen to you?”

you shrug, pulling his mint plant off the shelf and beginning to tear off a few leaves. part of him is proud you at least know the proper treatment, though it’s quickly overshadowed by the angry swelling on your hand. he takes the leaves and nudges you toward the chair, searching his drawers for the rest of the poultice.

“how long ago did you get bit?”

“maybe half an hour.”

“half an-” he twisted open the tin with too much force, sighing. “and you didn’t come back immediately why?”

he can hear the smile in your voice. “it wasn’t that serious.”

“…what color was it?”

“yellow.”

“really?”

“and striped. probably a wasp.”

he didn’t know how you had the energy to be sassy, tearing the leaves into shreds and mixing it into the tin. your eyes were red with tears and you hissed when he spread the medicine over your wrist, clearly in pain. the area around your bite was hot to the touch, and he could feel his ears pull back in worry.

“why do you insist on going on patrol?” why do you insist on getting hurt?

“it’s not a big deal.” i don’t care about my pain.

“it is.” i do.

he wiped off his hands and grabbed a roll of bandages, wrapping your hand. your fingers flinched whenever he pulled it too tight. how could you insist on putting yourself at risk like this?

he taped down the end, holding your hand in his. “if it gets too itchy, come back to me, okay?” will you let me care for you?

“of course i will.” i’ll try.

he brought your hand to his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

maybe this time, you’d mean it.

rain was common in fontaine. gutters lined every road and fountains sprayed wherever there was enough room to put one. carved bricks channeled water out of the plazas, every inch of the city designed with rainfall in mind. steep roofs fell over wide awnings, thick greeting rugs in front of every building. when it rained, it poured, though no puddles lay in the streets. sharp lights cut through the dense fog hanging over ivory walls, lighting up the city even when the clouds blocked out the sun.

but the world did not come to a standstill merely because the weather asked it to. boots were sold covered in waterproof wax, many-layered skirts designed to flick off water in a single twirl. fashion was as beautiful as it was untouchable, the very idea of something being vulnerable to waterlog appalling and confusing. who would create such a thing? who would wear it without an umbrella? and, entirely separate from that: who would ever consider leaving the house without an umbrella?

umbrellas were as vital to fashion as they were to the ever-changing weather. they came in every color and shape, made to match every conceivable outfit one could wear. and if, by some miracle, you couldn’t find one that did, there were a plethora of boutiques offering custom embroidery. the steambird was eager to comment on the shifting designs across officials’ umbrellas, trends flowing in and out of their fashion column like the tide. everyone who worked in the court that had stepped outside on a rainy day—which was about as common as the sun rising—had their appearance meticulously documented; unless they refused being in the paper, of course, in which case other less-reputable sources picked up the story instead.

all were reported on, making the front page if not the headline. all, but one.

the iudex did not carry an umbrella. he also declined to entertain any questions as to why, merely stating that simple fact and moving on with his day. his hair clung to his face, even his suit darker with water. he walked down the less crowded roads so he wouldn’t bump into anybody, seeming entirely unbothered by the rain. sometimes he’d turn a palm toward the sky, as if checking that it was still there, and then continue on his way.

you always hated this habit of his. no matter how many times he insisted that he wouldn’t get sick, it was always worrying to open your door and find your lover soaked from head to toe. no water slips from him to your floors, not even from the soles of his boots, the click of his heels and your worried tone the only sound in the house. it was already late as it was, and there was no point to fuss about details at this hour.

“what happened?”

he shed his coat, suspended droplets hovering in the air around him. “the marechaussee phantom were called to mount automnequi; a melusine was badly injured by a rogue mek, and a fisherman had to pull her from the sea. i paid her a visit after work.”

that would explain things. he lets you wipe off his face, careful not to smudge the eyeliner that never seems to fade. already, the rain was beginning to let up, lightening from a downpour. rain in fontaine was as fickle as it was frequent…

“is she alright?”

“of course. the gardiennage provides excellent doctors.”

“then there’s no need to worry.” cupping his now-dry face in your hands, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “she’ll be back in her feet in no time.”

the slightest of smiles crossed his face, his hands keeping yours on him. outside, the skies were clearing, pale blue quickly streaming through the clouds.

perhaps umbrellas would fall out of fashion soon, if rains could cease before they truly had the chance to begin.

[writtenbymoonflower]

can i please request any of the marauders (dealers choice) with a shy quiet reader who’s just a little lonely, and doesn’t quite understand why he (the marauder) wants to be her friend but he just follows her like a lost puppy! if not totally cool- also it can be romantic i don’t mind but i just love the way you write the boys they’re so perfect

definitely did not use this request as an opportunity for MAJOR projection... of course not. Not sure if he's as openly needy as you were wanting, but I hope this is okay! Thanks for requesting hunny! shy!reader x flirty friend!Sirius Black

cw: drinking, smoking, kinda mean friends

1.4k words

Much to your dismay, your drink didn’t look any more interesting than the last twenty times you stared into it. Still, it was better than letting your eyes roam around the party and looking as lost as you felt. The friends you had come with ran off about thirty minutes ago, pulling attractive strangers onto the floor to dance. You were sat on the microfiber settee, swirling your drink and playing with the frays on your jeans. The jeans that your friends had stuffed you into, claiming they ‘make your ass look fantastic.’

Unfortunately, the effort was for naught, because you had been sitting down the whole night. The whole room was a mix of sounds, loud laughter, cups toppling over, the thump of the music from the stereo. You scanned the room, trying to see if there was anyone you recognized, you didn’t have to even look over for someone to call your name. 

“Y/N, love! I didn’t know you were here!” You looked up to see Sirius Black bounding towards you, not having any time to process before you were being hauled up into a hug. He was holding you far too tight to be socially acceptable, considering how you didn’t really know each other that well.

You had met at a party similar to this, one of your friends had a thing going on with someone in their group. Since then, it seemed like anytime he clapped eyes on you, he pulled you onto his arm. 

“Hi, Sirius.” You said quietly, still having the air squeezed out of you by the tattooed boy. He smelled like strong, clean cologne, tinged with musk, hair product, and makeup. It wasn't bad, actually kind of nice. He pulled back, but didn’t let go of you. You noticed he was far too pretty to be fair, smokey and sparkly liner rimming his eyes, high cheekbones topped with glitter that shimmered in the colorful lights, and dark, glossy lipstick, slightly smudged and blotted from his cup. He always looked his best at parties, but he took your breath away extra tonight, maybe because you hadn’t had enough to drink, too scared to run out and go up yourself for a refill. 

“What’re you doing, sitting here all by yourself, you goose.” He playfully scolded, finally letting his arms drop from around you. 

“My friends ran off, I was trying to get drunk.” You laughed pitifully. He was looking at you with enough intensity to make your ears burn. He peered between the two of you to look at your cup of beer. 

“Oh you poor thing, you’re never gonna get drunk enough on that. Come with me, let me fix you up.” He grabbed your free hand and dragged you over to the drinks table, you felt bad pulling him away from the people he came with.

“Aren’t your friends gonna worry? I don’t wanna steal you” You said, setting your red cup down to pick at your nails. 

“Let them worry. Besides, I’d let you steal me any day, dollface.” He winked at you, making heat rush through your body. “Anyway, let me make you a drink.” He picked up a bottle of red juice. “The key is, stay away from things that taste nasty.” He acted like he was teaching a class. “If you want to be drunk, you have to not suffer while you’re drinking.” He poured the fruit punch into another red cup, before grabbing a bottle of tequila and pouring a hefty amount in with it. He swirled the drink before handing it to you. 

“Thank you.” You said, looking at your shoes.

“Anytime.” He smirked at you. You hid your face in your drink, taking a tentative sip. It tasted mostly like fruit punch, with a tinge of warmth as it went down your throat. 

“This is dangerous.” You laughed nervously. “It’s really good, thank you.” You were smiling so shyly and sweetly at him he thought he could cry. 

“No need to thank me.” He shook his head like you were being silly. You looked over to see his usual tribe, smiling and laughing. Your heart burned, wishing you had a group like that. You liked the friends you had come with, but they treated you more like a pity project than anything else, it was embarrassing. Sirius was probably doing the same with you. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m gonna go outside for a smoke.” You started to turn on your heel towards the patio. 

“They’ll be okay, I promise. Let me keep you at least.” He pleaded. “I could use a smoke too.” He caught up to walk beside you. 

“Only if you want to.” You said, barely looking at him. 

“Can’t think of anythin’ I’d rather do.” You didn’t miss the way his eyes roved appreciatively over your form, making you want to hide and show off to him all at once. He held the door open for you, both of you sighing as the cool air hit your overheated bodies. 

“Thank you.” You muttered again.

“Lose the pleasantries, babydoll. It’s just me.” He shook his head like you were being silly while he pulled out a pack of cigs, handing one to you before sticking another in his painted mouth. 

“I don’t wanna take your stuff.” You said, ashamedly. You were already causing him enough trouble, pulling him from his friends, making him babysit and play bartender, now stealing his substances. You were quickly working your way to mooch status.

He spoke around the unlit stick in his mouth. “You’re not taking, I’m giving. Now c’mere.” He pulled you by your arm, wrapping his hand around your baggy jacket. He grabbed the cigarette from your hand. “Open,” He said, unusually quiet. You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, making him laugh. “Open your mouth, silly.” 

“Oh,” You said, complying with his odd request. He placed the cigarette on your lips, letting you close your mouth around the filter. You thought your heart jumped into your throat as he stepped closer, cupping his hand around the side and flicking his lighter on, lighting the end of your cig for you. You could feel your pants turn to ash on the spot. 

“There you go.” He whispered, stepping away to light his own. Your brain short circuited, struggling to process the last few seconds. You took a drag of your cigarette before taking it out of your mouth. 

“Thank you.” You looked at your shoes again. 

“Bad girl, what did I just tell you?” He laughed loudly. You took a deep breath. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” You whispered, cheeks flaming. He blew smoke out of his nose, face pinched in confusion. “Babysit me, I mean. I know you just feel bad cus’ I was sitting by myself.” You picked at the lint on your coat. He looked offended, making you want to pass out on the spot. 

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret.” He said, hushedly. “It seems you don’t realize it, but I’m mean.” You must’ve looked as confused as you felt, because he kept going. “I’m not really very nice, I don’t do things for the sake of others, not like it seems you think I do. So, I’m not doing this for your sake, I’m doing this for mine.” He smirked at you, his sharp canines glinting in the moonlight. 

“I don’t believe that.” You looked him in the eye for the first time that night. 

“And I don’t believe that anyone would pass up the opportunity to be with you, but here we are.” He smiled at you. “Now, if you’ll let me, I would like to spend my time with the person I really want to see. My other friends will be fine, trust me. They’re probably thanking their lucky stars I’m finally leaving them alone, actually.” He wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you into his side and swinging an arm over your shoulders. 

“Okay.” You said, looking at your shoes again, voice barely louder than a mouse. He shook his head again. 

“You’re so fucking cute, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. You let your fingers swipe the area gently. 

They came away with his pretty burgundy lipstick staining them.

[staylovesmiley]

Collision— Chapter 5

ᯓᡣ𐭩Pairing; Stray Kids x afab!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩Summary; You’ve known him for years but you never would have guessed the charming guy you’ve been online gaming with has been an idol this whole time. (masterlist here)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩Warnings; implied afab reader (only they/them pronouns used for reader), mild angst?, pls I haven’t written fanfics since 2018 patience and kindness is appreciated

You weren’t sure how long it had been since you made your way down the corridor of the JYPE building after leaving the practice room. After retrieving your drink from the vending machine you sunk down to sit beside it on the floor, taking small sips as you got lost deep in thought. It must have been long enough for the boys to start to worry since you saw Han coming into view as he bent down to meet your eye level where you sat criss cross against the wall. “There you are! You okay? We were starting to think you got lost.” He said with a soft smile before noticing an off look on your face, his smile falling. “What’s wrong?” You shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your baggy tshirt and making a conscious effort not to meet his eyes again. “The lights in there were starting to make my head hurt and there were so many sounds-“ you spoke only telling half of a lie. Yes, you were starting to feel a bit overwhelmed in there but it wasn’t from the lights and sounds alone but from all the thoughts racing in your mind. “Oh! You should have told me….it’s kinda bright out here too here follow me.” Without waiting for your response the rapper took your hand and pulled you down another hall and into a room. He flicked one of the lights and only the light inside the recording booth turned on to provide a dim light in the studio. “You can stay here until you start to feel a bit better, okay? I sit in here some times too when I get overwhelmed.” You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. “Thanks Ji- gosh you’re so sweet.” He blushed, hugging you back before giving you some space. He gave a soft nod before heading for the door. “Wait- could um…can you sit with me for a bit? I’ll be okay in just a second but I’m afraid I’ll get lost trying to go back on my own.” His eyes widened like he hadn’t thought of that before he nodded and sat with you on the black sofa against the wall.

You both shared off into the distance, sitting in silence for a while before he spoke up. “You figured it out….didn’t you.” You sighed softly, for a member of paboracha he really was too clever for his own good sometimes. “Yeah-“

Jisung took a deep breathe before playing with the sleeves of his hoodie. “And?”

You furrowed your brows, staring down at your feet. “Why did none of you tell me? Not even Felix….I just- if you guys trust me enough to allow me to stay with you and had me over almost all the time before that, why couldn’t you trust me with this?” You were hurt, upset and afraid you did or said something that gave off the impression that this was something they had to hide from you. Han’s head raised as he looked at you, placing a hand on your knee to get you to meet his gaze. “Hey, it’s not what you’re thinking. Get out of that head of yours for a second, Star.” He chuckled airily, trying to lighten the mood as you looked into his soft brown eyes. “Then what is it?” You poured at him, making sure to hold eye contact. “Ah don’t none of that- don’t give me that look.” He whined, your cute pout too much for him as he started to fluster. “We wanted to tell you but- I know you’re from America and everything is different there but here people are less than not understanding about this sort of thing….” “And what exactly is this thing?” You questioned, wanting him to admit it now they you knew and he knew you knew, for the most part. “We are together, all of us. Since- well since our second anniversary as a group. Some of us longer than that but that was when we all were officially with each other.” He cringed slightly, like he was waiting for you to scold him or be disgusted. Instead you wrapped your arms tightly around his middle with a soft smile on your face. “I’m sorry you guys have to hide it, but I’m happy for you all. If you’re comfortable, now that I already know, you don’t have to hide around me anymore.” You assured him, your eyes meeting as you pulled back from the embrace. “Especially with me staying with you all while my apartment is being fixed….it could become suffocating to hide especially if it’s for my sake or the fear of me not understanding.” Han just blinked at you for a bit before hugging you again, fighting the urge to cry at hearing your support. “I told them you’d be chill about it- Lix too, so you know….he really wanted to be honest with you since the beginning but some of us were hesitant.” You sighed a bit in relief at this, giving the man a squeeze with reassurance. “Thank you for letting me know. Are you ready to head back?” He pulled back with a nod, standing and taking your hand. “Let’s go.”

Once you arrived back inside the practice room Han gave your hand a slight squeeze before raising it up above your heads. “Cats out of the bag, guys. Sorry-“ they all stared at him in disbelief, about to argue over how he shouldn’t have told you before you put your hands out in front of you in defense. “Don’t be mad at Han okay? I figured it out. You know, you aren’t as subtle as you think you all are.” You said with a slight smirk, taking in their shocked expressions before Seungmin spoke up with a dry tone. “Well? You know now….what does that mean?” You raised an eyebrow at him, trying not to be offended at the lack of trust they seemed to have for you in this moment. “You could have told me sooner and saved yourselves a lot of headaches.” There was an audible sigh of relief from the entire room and you walked up to your close friend and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Especially you. I can’t believe you thought so little of me.” You gave him a pout, Felix going from looking like he saw a ghost to looking like he was a child being scolded by a parent. He returned your pout and looked down at his feet with shame. “I’m sorry, Star….I wanted to- but we couldn’t be sure.” You rolled your eyes playfully before hugging him tightly. He recovered from his sulking quickly and hugged back with a squeeze, Hyunjin soon joined to hug you from behind as well and then the rest of the group followed until you began to shout about being claustrophobic and shimmied out of their hold and to the ground where you then crawled out from what felt like a forest of their collective pairs of legs. They all laughed at the display, you included as they all settled down comfortably. “For all of your information, by the way, I myself was in a poly relationship in highschool. Not like this- we didn’t all date each other but it was an open relationship situation.” Now they all stared at you in shock for completely other reasons. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Felix gasped, looking at you with mock offense. “You never asked?” You shrugged, laughing at their expressions. “Anything else we should know?” Minho questioned now, ever the curious cat. “Yeah” you started, the sound of your stomach growling echoing in the practice room. “We should probably get something to eat soon.” Everyone laughed and Jeongin pulled out some take out menus from somewhere in the room. The air felt lighter and they seemed even more relaxed than you had realized before that something was causing a tension, that something being them trying to hide their affection for each other.

It was a month and a half later and things were becoming blissfully domestic with living at the dorms. You had never gone to college, choosing to start working straight out of highschool instead for a family friend, but you assumed this is what it would have been like if you ever got to live with roommates on a campus somewhere. Your free time was spent buying groceries with Seungmin and Jeongin, watching dramas with Hyunjin, being a taste tester for whatever recipe Minho decided he wanted to try or for Felix baking endeavors, or sitting in the studio curled up on the couch while 3racha worked on new projects like you were now.

It was pretty late in the evening and you felt yourself dozing as you leaned against an already sleeping Han, whose body was twisted in a way you thought had to be uncomfortable as he snores lightly into your shoulder. You never paid much attention to what they were working on unless they asked for your opinion on something, usually keeping your headphones in while gaming or scrolling through various different social media platforms. You were enjoying your time living with them so much you felt a small pit in your stomach fill with dread every time you remembered it wouldn’t be forever. They had been more openly affectionate with one another ever since you finding out about their relationship, kissing and cuddling in front of you like it was nothing because well- it wasn’t.

You began to open up to them as well, your introverted walls crumbling as you got closer with the group to where you began to be more affectionate with them also. It was healing a part buried deep inside you being able to express yourself how you wanted, your family and others always shunning you for being too emotional. When you would give one of the boys a hug as greeting, or cuddle up during a movie night it was immediately reciprocated and it caused your chest and face to warm instantly at the acceptance of your touch and presence. As you scrolled, trying to stay awake as long as you could, you heard Changbin push his chair back and stand abruptly. “Ya- we’ve been working at this for too long, Hyung. I feel like my eyes are gonna fall out of my head.” He whined, nudging the older with a pout. “Why don’t you take Han and Star home, then? I’m good to keep working for a bit longer…I wanna finish this up before I can stop.” The muscular rapper sighed and shook his head, knowing Chan would likely be there till well into the early morning hours. “Come on, Hannie time to go home.” He said softly, poking the younger’s cheek causing him to whimper slightly in his sleep and reach up to bat his hand away. He chuckled, leaning down to kiss his forehead while looking to you for help. You giggled a bit and reached over to tickle at the young rapper’s side causing him to jolt awake. “Ya! Star how could you- that’s such betrayal!” He whined, pointing a finger at you accusingly. You just laughed and shrugged your shoulders. “You guys go on without me, I’ll stay and keep the old man company.” You teased, standing up and stretching before stealing the spot in Changbin’s rolling chair beside Chan. “Oh woah that was so uncalled for- you’ve been spending too much time with Seungmin.” He laughed, shaking his head at you while you smiled at him sweetly.

“As long as you’re sure….don’t let him stay here all night, yeah?” Changbin begged you, patting the top of your head. You nodded towards him in a silent promise, wishing them a good night and a safe drive home as the door closed behind them.

You started to doze off again soon, almost falling out of the chair causing Chan to chuckle at you. “You sure you wanna wait up on me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You nodded, covering your mouth as you yawned. “Mhm I gotta make sure you leave before dawn.” You teased, stretching your arms up causing your crop top to raise slightly and show the bottom of your bra which caught his eye and caused him to bit his lip and force himself to look away. “Why don’t you take a nap on the couch and I’ll wake you in an hour and we can go home, yeah?” You felt a slight blush creep up your neck and face at his words. Home, that’s definitely what it was starting to feel like staying with them. Though you mainly stayed in Felix room with him, you had slept over with the other plenty of times while having been staying there for various reasons. Tonight you had texted the younger Aussie that you’d be crashing in the 3racha dorm since you’d been with them so late and didn’t want to wake him up by coming in. He had sent a round of pouting emojis and a message about his bed being too cold without you but that he would manage.

You had blushed like crazy at that, your mind reeling any time he said something of the sort making things feel all that more intimate between the two of you. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you had realized you had feelings for the other gamer after about two weeks of staying at the dorms when you caught him slow dancing in the kitchen with Leeknow and felt yourself longing to be the one with your hands on his waist while you spun around with him looking into your eyes longingly. It wasn’t so much that you were jealous and didn’t want him to be doing that with one of his partners, but that you wished that title included you and that night you couldn’t help but cling a little tighter to him as you cuddled in your sleep and dreamt of him calling you as such.

Doing as Chan had suggested, you curled up on the sofa and hugged one of the pillows to your chest as you allowed yourself to finally drift off to sleep. It wasn’t for long, it felt as you were being lightly shaken awake by a lightly amused Bangchan. “Ya, Star- it’s been a little longer than an hour but I’m ready to go now.” You grumbled and shook your head, refusing to get up. “M’no way it’s been longer-“ you groaned, causing the older to laugh. “Do I have to carry you to the car? I can if you make me but I’m giving you the choice now cause it’s late and if the others found out I kept you here this long they’ll kill me.” You huffed, only holding turning over as a response. “Alright then, here we go.” He chuckled before lifting you up into his arms bridal style. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around him to hold on as he carried you down the hall and out of the building towards his car.

After arriving back at the dorm you fully woke up and rubbed at your eyes sleepily. “Are we home yet?” Chan smiled warmly and nodded. “Yeah, just pulled up. Think you can walk in or do I need to carry you again?” Embarrassed slightly, you chuckled and got out of the car. “I’ll walk this time, thanks for earlier though.” The two of you made it in and you cursed slightly when you made it to his room. “I forgot to ask Lix to drop off some pajama’s for me tonight-“ you cursed yourself mentally and cringed at the thought of sleeping in your jeans. “You can just borrow something of mine, it’s fine.” The Aussie reassured you, going over to his drawers. “Do want sweat pants or shorts?” He asked, rummaging around as he pulled out a pair of sweats for himself. “Um- shorts please?” You asked, remembering from previous sleep overs with the oldest member how much of a human furnace he tended to be. Tossing over a baggy black tee and a matching pair of shorts he turned around to give you some privacy and you did the same as you changed. You had done this a few times, not caring to make the walk down the hall to the bathroom to change and just turning to give each other privacy. You both settled under the covers and you could feel him stare at you for a while before you poking him in the chest. “At least try and get some sleep, yeah?” He smiled, chuckling lightly as he shook his hard. “I’m trying but it’s so hard when I have someone so cute in my bed, wearing my clothes.” He teased making you blush and hit him lightly on his bare chest. “Not funny, Chris. Sleep, now.” You turned around so your back was facing him and felt him drape an arm over your side and pull you flush against his back. “Wasn’t a joke, but good night Star.” He said before you soon felt the deep rise and fall of his chest against you signaling that he was drifting off to sleep. His words flustered you more than usual, being so close and in such an intimate setting with him. That was another thing you had come to realize over your time being here with them was how you seemed to have blossoming feelings for each of them, their charms and humor brightened your days beyond imagine and you felt completely blissful in their presence. Still, you held back those feelings to yourself for fear of interpreting their teasing for something more than it could be and ruining what you had going on as it was, even if you felt they were being obvious about the possibility of them feeling the same way. That little voice in your head told you not to be stupid, that they wouldn’t like you back and that it was all in your imagination and they were just being friendly.

Soon, you too fell asleep feeling the rise and fall of Bangchan’s chest behind you and hearing his snores.

In the morning you woke before Chan, smiling at his sleeping face before slipping out of bed and going next door to shower and get ready for the day. You were met with your four temporary roommates sitting and eating breakfast. “Morning, Star!” Jeongin said with a smile that you returned as you slipped your shoes off at the door and made your way over. “Morning! Sleep well?” The all nodded, all except for Felix who looked at your appearance and huffed. “Lix?” You tilted your head in confusion and made your way over to him. “Missed you.” He said with a pout before reaching for you and pulling you down into his lap to nuzzle his face into your neck. “Hey- I missed you too but i really need to go wash up, yeah?” He whined, but let go nonetheless and you leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek. You weren’t sure why you made the gesture, but something told you he needed the extra affection. You watched as his cheeks heated up and Minho immediately spoke up. “Ya! Why does he get a kiss? I want a kiss!” He shouted, causing you to roll your eyes and approach him as well. Smirking, he turned his cheek to you for a kiss only for you to give it a quick little pat before running off in a fit of giggles to get your clothes and take a shower. “No fair!!” He screeched, causing everyone else at the table to erupt with laughter.

While I’m the shower you heard a knock on the door. “Star? Do you mind if I grab something real quick? I promise I won’t look-“ you heard Felix familiar deep voice call out to you. “Sure! I think I actually left the door unlocked anyways-“ you reply, hearing the door open and soon after close. “I locked it back for you!” He said, and you quickly called back a thanks as you heard his footsteps walking away mixed with the water hitting the tile of the shower.

When you got out and dried off, starting to get dressed you noticed the shirt you had picked out had been replaced and you raised an eyebrow. Holding up the shirt that had been set with your other folded clothes you blushed a bit to see it was one of the young aussie’s shirts, his cologne still clinging to the fabric and causing a soft blush to tint your cheeks as you slipped it on over your sports bra before pulling on your loose fitting jeans. Why he switched your shirt with his own you weren’t really sure, fighting with yourself mentally over the meaning behind his actions. When you exited the bathroom and made your way to the kitchen to grab something to eat before class you felt all of their eyes on you and turned to catch Felix smirk before he turned away and took a sip from his mug. You ate quickly before grabbing your bag from the hooks by the door and slipped on your sneakers. “Bye guys, I’ll see you later!” You called, throwing them all a smile and wave as you started to head out. “Have fun at class!” They all called, starting to get ready themselves to head to JYPE for work.

After class, you made your way to JYPE with the takeout the boys had requested for dinner since they were practicing late that evening. As you were making your way into the practice room you heard a bit of commotion. “You’ve gotta be more careful, Chan! Really, I thought you’d know that better than all of us.” It was Minho, raising his voice as he gave the oldest a look of disappointment. “It was late at night and I was just carrying them to my car it wasn’t like we were caught hooking up or anything!” He shouts back, throwing his hands in the air. You weren’t sure what to do, awkwardly standing behind the door with the bags of food in your hands. “Guys, just calm down we can sort this out but we need to get it together before they get here it will be any minute now-“ Hyunjin said to try and ease them down from more of a fight. “Actually their location is showing they are already here.” Felix spoke up, holding up his phone for everyone to see. You decided to open the door slowly, wincing a bit as all eyes shot to you. “S-Sorry um….I can drop the food off and go back to the dorms if you need some privacy?” You said, walking cautiously towards them and setting the food on the table in the back. Chan sighed, shaking head head. “No, don’t go….some- uh, unfortunate events happened that just have us a bit on edge.” He said, looking back over to Leeknow. “I’ll say. A fan, or reporter one it doesn’t really matter, saw Chan carrying you to the car last night and got plenty of photos that are now all over the internet. Dispatch is having a field day.” He said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

The color drained from your face and you felt a bit faint. “What?” Was all you said, Hyunjin was by your side in a second, placing a hand gently on your lower back as he guided you to a seat. “I’m so sorry I- I don’t know what to say.” “It’s not your fault, so you don’t have to say anything.” Minho huffed, keeping his gaze locked on the oldest member. “Don’t blame Chan either then- it was really late and Star looked so tired in those pictures I’m sure they were out cold.” Changbin spoke up, standing to be beside the leader. “When we left they were already struggling to keep their eyes open and that was way before they got home. “This all goes back to why you shouldn’t be staying so late in the studio, then. Or else this wouldn’t have happened.” Minho spat back, pointing an accusatory finger at the producers. “Please stop-“ you said, looking at them all with worry. “Is there anything I can do to make it better? We could say I’m staff and I wasn’t feeling well?” You suggested, sitting on the edge of your seat now. “That could work- stays would eat that up since Chan is already so kind to our staff.” Seungmin spoke, pondering the idea for a bit. “No.” Felix said, glaring at the floor. “We should just tell them the truth. Star is my friend and they’ve been hanging out at the company with us but stayed too late and fell asleep. It’s the same as if a staff member got sick, Chan is the gentleman he is and was giving them a ride home.” Everyone stared at the blonde, concerned and skeptical faces among them. “It would be less lying and then we don’t have to feel like we are sneaking around…..it’s not like anything scandalous is going on anyways.” He said that last bit with a little huff of annoyance, almost as if he wished there was. You looked down to where you were still in his shirt, blushing a bit. “I’ll talk it over with management before we make any statements but- that isn’t an awful idea…” Chan said, Minho actually nodding in agreement. “It could work. If you’re okay with that, Star….people will inevitably find out who you are and you’ll most likely be pushed into the public’s eye to a degree.” You say and thought it over for a bit, biting at your lower lip as you contemplated the possibility. “Well- if I know anything about fandom culture they probably already know who I am if they saw my face….as in like- my name and stuff. So I can’t see the harm it would do to be honest-“ you shrugged, looking at Felix before leaning into him for comfort seeing he still looked a bit upset. “Then it’s settled….I’ll talk with management once we finish dinner.” Chan spoke, nodding over to the food and everyone made their way over to make a plate for themselves besides you and Felix who stayed in your spots on the couch. “Lix….are you okay? Somethings been off today-“ you questioned him, rubbing his back softly as you looked into soft brown eyes. “It’s nothing- I’ll talk to you about it later, okay? Before we go to bed..” you nodded, biting your lower lip again before rising. “Okay. Let’s go get some food before it’s all gone, yeah?” Smiling up at you he nodded before taking your hand.

The whole rest of the evening you felt your stomach twisting in knots with the anxiety of what it could be that he wanted to talk about when the two of you were alone.

author’s note: ooohh what do we think Lixie is gonna have to say to Star?? ૮꒰ྀི∩' ᵕ '∩꒱ྀིა thank you so much for all the lovely feedback I’ve been getting I try to reply to everyone but sometimes I’m either not sure what to say or I just forget to and then feel like it’s been too long to say something when I do remember to and just- I’m a very anxious person if you hadn’t guessed already heh but anyways I hope you enjoy and look forward to the next update soon ᕱᕱ⊹ ࣪ ˖

tag list (if your name is pink it means I was unable to tag you); @softkisshyunjin @coastinglove @palindrome969 @amara-mars @whiteghostt @ihrtlix @queen-in-the-shadows @soaplickerrr @skzswife

[book-of-forbidden-knowledge]

An Exhaustive Analysis of the Ninth Gate

(Update to this post.)

For those who don’t know, The Ninth Gate is a 1999 film by Roman Polanski starring Johnny Depp, based on a novel called The Club Dumas by Arturo Pérez-Reverte. It’s about a rare book collector and appraiser called Dean Corso who is hired to authenticate a mysterious grimoire called The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows. The client, Boris Balkan, is convinced that only one of the three surviving copies of the book is authentic, because his attempts to summon the Devil have been unsuccessful. Corso travels throughout Europe, comparing the cryptic woodcuts in the grimoire with those in the two other existing copies. But there’s a series of deaths and other unsettling events around the book, and he has a mysterious girl helping him. As you might expect, this is a spooky-Satanic-cult thriller, but it’s not your average spooky-Satanic-cult thriller.

Occultists love this film, because so much of real occultism consists of pouring over old books and trying to make sense of them, and also because The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows is the most realistic fictional grimoire. Almost everything about it feels extremely authentic — in particular, the set of nine woodcuts that are the key to the film’s mystery. They were drawn by Francisco Sole for the novel, but at first glance, I’d be fooled into thinking they were real seventeenth-century woodcuts. They also utilize plenty of real occult imagery, which gives the film a legitimately spiritual dimension. The woodcuts were so compelling, I immediately tried to figure them out for myself, just as Corso and Balkan do in the film. It’s hard to look at these spooky, arcane images and not go, “But what does it meaaaaan?”

From this point on, I’m going to assume you’ve seen the film. I’m going to try and avoid spoilers for the book, though.

I would argue that the real solution to the engravings is spiritual growth or enlightenment, which is the goal of most occultists. Boris Balkan sort of understands this, which is why he has so much disdain for Telfer and her edgy coven of Hollywood-Satanist cosplayers. Telfer and her coven use The Nine Gates as a prop — they aren’t actually interested in deciphering Lucifer’s secrets. But Balkan also fails, because he’s after power, not enlightenment. In that sense, both Balkan and Telfer misunderstand Lucifer. They believe him to be the kind of Lucifer that you usually see in these kinds of movies, when he is actually a spirit who brings spiritual knowledge to humanity, like the serpent in the garden. If we assume that the Girl is Lucifer (which she explicitly is in the book), then she is more benevolent an influence than anything else. (Hell, Corso doesn’t even suffer any “temptation” consequences from having sex with her!) Corso wins in the end because he puts in the effort, and the Girl judges him worthy. Lucifer’s own versions of the engravings seem to emphasize that s/he is genuinely invested in helping his/her followers towards enlightenment.

Early in the film, Balkan says that the engravings form “a kind of satanic riddle” that will summon the Devil if the engravings are assembled correctly. They’re numbered one through nine. At the end of the film, when Balkan assembles the engravings in the “proper” order, this is his interpretation of the riddle:

To travel in silence, by a long and circuitous route, to brave the arrows of misfortune, and fear neither noose nor fire, to play the greatest of all games and win, foregoing no expense, is to mock the vicissitudes of fate and gain at last the key that will unlock the Ninth Gate.

Well. I can say definitively — as both an occultist, and as a scholar who’s looked at a lot of weird occult pictures in old books — that this is incorrect. And not just because the whole sequence is rearranged.

Last time, I interpreted the engravings in the order of Balkan’s sequence, but this time, I’m going to interpret them in their numbered order, because I personally think that that’s correct. That’s why the numbers are there.

The first engraving shows a knight traveling towards a castle, with his finger to his lips. In the AT version of the engraving, the castle has four towers, while in LCF’s version, it has three. Balkan’s interpretation is “To travel in silence,” and the caption is “Silence is golden.” That caption immediately reminded me of the common occult maxim, “To Know, to Will, to Dare, to Keep Silent,” which is directly referenced in the book. In the book, the caption is different: “Only one who has battled according to the rules will prevail.” But these two captions mean essentially the same thing. The narrator says, “The rule is to know and to keep silent. Even if there is foul play, without the rule, there is no game.” The significance of this maxim is that one should not “cast pearls before swine,” share occult secrets with people who won’t understand or respect them. “Silence is golden” doesn’t have the same occult ring to it as “to know and to keep silent,” but it is a simpler, if pithy, version for the sake of the film.

This the only engraving in which there is no obvious tarot imagery. There are four Knights in tarot, one for each suit — wands, swords, cups, and pentacles. But this knight doesn’t have a symbol of any of the suits, or anything else that would connect him to the tarot knights. The important difference is in the castle towers — three in LCF’s, four in AT’s. In traditional numerology, three is a number symbolizing perfection and creation, as in the Holy Trinity, while four is the number of the solid and material, which is sometimes unlucky. (Source: Richard Cavendish, The Black Arts). Sets of three are especially common in fairy tales and mythology — three siblings, three tasks, three encounters, three magical objects, three questions, three trials or tests, repeating an action three times with the third time being different or conclusive, etc. Lucifer’s castle at the end of the film also has three sets of towers.

In the tarot, the threes also represent the completion of the first stage of a venture — the Three of Wands represents a successful enterprise, the Three of Cups represents celebration and fulfillment, and the Three of Pentacles represents recognition for your achievements. All of them have something to do with attainment except for the Three of Swords, which represents loss, heartbreak, betrayal, etc. The fours aren’t bad, representing stability and structure — the Four of Wands is joyful and peaceful, the Four of Swords takes time to rest and recoup, the Four of Cups is bored and listless, and the Four of Pentacles receives material abundance. All of them are a bit more grounded and material. Four has a spiritual dimension through the four letters of the Tetragrammaton, and has a lot of occult significance through the four elements, four directions, four alchemic properties, etc. Agrippa says that it “makes up all knowledge.” But I think in this instance, the most obvious interpretation of this engraving is that your destination will be either material gain (AT) or spiritual advancement (LCF).

The second engraving, eighth in Balkan’s sequence, shows an old man with a dog, holding two keys in his hand. In AT’s version, the keys are in his right hand, and in LCF’s, they are in his left hand. Balkan’s interpretation is “gain at last the key,” and the caption is “Open that which is closed.”

This is an obvious tarot image. This is clearly The Hermit with his lantern. IX The Hermit represents withdrawing into solitude for contemplation and meditation, to gain spiritual wisdom and awareness. He’s the archetypical guru on a mountain, and he holds the keys to enlightenment. Keys represent access to information, and the ability to pass between worlds. “Open that which is closed” is pretty straightforward — unlock the gates, receive spiritual insight.

LCF’s version has the keys in the left hand instead of the right. The Latin word for “left” is sinistram, and the word “sinister” has its current meaning because left was considered unlucky or Satanic. Left-handed people were discriminated against for this reason, until as late as the mid-20th century. In Western occultism, Satanism is especially associated with the “Left-Hand Path,” which is an iconoclastic approach to magic that emphasizes self-deification. LHPers tend to reject tradition and dogma in favor of individualism. I think that the Right-Hand- and Left-Hand Paths are a bit of a false dichotomy (you use both your hands, don’t you?), but anything Satanic is usually considered part of the Left-Hand Path by default.

Also, that Hebrew symbol next to the Hermit is the one for the number nine. In numerology, nine is a magical number, being three times three. It represents completeness, spiritual achievement, and initiation. So, that’s self-explanatory. In tarot, tens are the ultimate state of completion, so the nines are the penultimate step — the Nine of Wands gives you the strength and willpower to overcome obstacles, the Nine of Cups represents success and contentment, and the Nine of Pentacles represents celebrating an accomplishment. (Once again, the Swords are the outlier, representing fear and despair.) Nines in general are good, the perfection of three multiplied by itself. (The Hermit is also the ninth card of the Major Arcana, if you noticed.)

(All of the engravings actually have Hebrew letters on them, at the top left, but I haven’t actually studied gematria or the significance of the Hebrew alphabet in modern tarot that much. Hebrew isn’t super relevant to my own practice. So I’m going to skip over that.)

All nine engravings have a door somewhere in them, because they’re the nine gates that one must pass through in order to be initiated. The door is the most obvious in this engraving. In the first engraving, you (the Initiate) decided to walk the path. Now, you have to make the choice of whether you’re going to continue on it — take the keys, unlock the door. Shit gets real past this point.

The third engraving depicts a traveler walking towards a bridge. In the clouds above him, there’s a Cupid-like figure with an arrow pointing down at him. Balkan’s interpretation is “to brave the arrows of misfortune,” and the caption is “The lost word keeps the secret.” AT’s version is pictured here; in LCF’s version, there are two arrows, the other one pointing upwards in the quiver.

This traveller looks much more like the traditional Tarot depiction of 0 The Fool than the jester in the fourth engraving. He has his little bindle over his shoulder, and is setting off on an adventure. The Fool is happy-go-lucky and doesn’t notice the danger he might be walking into. According to TV Tropes, “The Fool” trope in media describes a person who, despite their naivete, manages to avoid harm through their luck and innocence. So, the traveler will probably not be hit by the arrow, the same way Corso avoids the collapsing scaffolding. However, in alchemy, Cupid’s arrow represents the universal solvent that reduces all matter to primordial prima materia, the necessary first step of the alchemical process. The essence of love in the arrows represents their higher spiritual nature, so maybe the traveller will have to be hit to continue onward. Corso is hardly an innocent person, but he does walk blindly into solving the Nine Gates mystery, and he wins because he’s not expecting to get anything out of it beyond understanding of it.

The two arrows in the LCF version seem to reinforce the idea of there being two possible outcomes. The arrow pointing up and the other one pointing down could also reference the famous occult maxim, “As above, so below,” adding another spiritual dimension to it. Balkan’s interpretation of the engraving reminded me a lot of a certain famous soliloquy: “To be or not to be, that is the question: / Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, / Or to take arms against a sea of troubles / And by opposing end them.” In this scene, Hamlet is considering whether or not to take his own life. But when applied to this engraving, these lines seem to once again suggest the two possible outcomes — you can suffer and die, or move on towards your goal.

And then there’s the caption. “The lost word keeps the secret.” Well, it’s pretty obvious what that refers to — the ninth engraving, replaced with a forgery that changes the meaning of the entire thing. The missing engraving contains the secret. But that caption seems completely irrelevant to this engraving, except that the face of the archer doesn’t look remotely like a baby’s, as putti usually do —it looks like an old man’s, specifically, the Ceniza brothers’, who removed and replaced the missing engraving. That was a change made for the sake of the film; in the book version, the archer has a more traditionally angelic face. The book also provides a poem that is supposed to indicate the correct sequence of engravings, which ends with “And when the reflection in the mirror shows the way, / you will find the lost word / which brings light from darkness.” According to Baroness Ungern (Kessler in the film), “the lost word” is the Devil’s true name — the Satanic equivalent of the Tetragrammaton, which turns darkness into light. Finding such a secret necessitates taking some risks.

The fourth engraving, which is second in Balkan’s sequence, is of a jester standing at the entrance to a labyrinth. In LCF’s version the labyrinth’s exit is open, while in AT’s it is bricked up. Balkan interprets this as meaning “by long and circuitous route,” while the caption reads “Fate is not the same for all.” that seems fairly straightforward — Balkan and Corso have different fates. Corso is able to find his way out of the Labyrinth, but Balkan’s exit is bricked up. This is because he never properly experienced the journey the way Corso did, he just wanted the payoff and tried to take shortcuts.

The Labyrinth is a very old symbol, and it carries the dual symbolism of a death trap in which there is a Minotaur, and a path to spiritual enlightenment. It can represent the Underworld or the darkness of the subconscious mind, with the Minotaur being your Shadow. Either you are trapped in the Labyrinth and eaten by the monster, or you find your way back out into the light having gained some self-awareness. The jester is probably meant to represent The Fool again, the naive adventurer who travels over the threshold and into the realm of the subconscious and symbolic, i.e. the Labyrinth. You can be the Fool in the tarot sense, and set off on your spiritual journey, or you can be the fool in the traditional sense, and enter a death trap with no exit.

As for the dice in the foreground, this seems to reinforce the caption’s point about fate. But dice, like tarot cards, can be used as both a game and a divination tool — it is the assumption of the diviner that random chance is always meaningful. And indeed, the visible faces on each die add up to 6 — 666.

The fifth engraving, which is sixth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man counting coins while Death stands behind him with a pitchfork and hourglass. Balkan’s interpretation is “and win, foregoing no expense,” while the caption reads “In vain.”

Balkan is an idiot. Exactly like the man in the engraving, he is focused entirely on the money and power, and completely misses the literal shadow of Death standing behind him. How does one overlook the significance of that? There’s a big difference between “I won the game so now I get money” and “in vain”! Of course, this means that Balkan is too focused on material pursuits and misses that he is about to die. In AT’s version, the sand is at the top of the hourglass, while in LCF’s version, it is at the bottom — the man has run out of time. The expression “you can’t take it with you” comes to mind. Money and material goods don’t ultimately matter compared to spiritual growth. Fixation on them is ultimately pointless.

In tarot, XIII Death almost never represents physical death. Instead, it represents change, usually a change for the better. Death is about letting go of old things so that new things can come, stepping through a threshold into another life or state of being. This can be difficult or emotionally painful, but it is necessary and ultimately beneficial. If The Hanged Man is the chrysalis, then Death is the emerging butterfly (the Greek word psyche means both “soul” and “butterfly,” because butterflies represent the souls of the dead). Death is a required step towards enlightenment, and if you refuse to acknowledge this, it isn’t going to go well for you.

The checkerboard floor probably continues to reinforce the theme of duality. As for the pitchfork, maybe the reason Death has a peasant’s pitchfork instead of a scythe is because pitchforks are associated with Satan, or it could be a representation of peasants taking revenge on rich people. Or it could be a reference to American Gothic. I think it’s the first one.

The sixth engraving, fourth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man hanging upside-down by his ankle, and an arm with a flaming sword reaching out of a castle tower. Balkan’s interpretation of this is “and fear neither noose nor fire,” which proves he knows fuck all about tarot. No wonder he got the riddle wrong. This one is so blindingly obvious. The man isn’t hanging by his neck, he’s hanging by his foot. He’s the Hanged Man.

XII The Hanged Man is a strange and disturbing card at first glance, but it has become one of my favorites. The Hanged Man is almost never depicted hanging by his neck; he hangs by his foot, and has a serene expression, indicating that he wants to be there. He represents endurance of a period of tribulation, suffering, surrender, or introspection in order to obtain wisdom, enlightenment, self-awareness, and insight. Like the Hermit, he indicates a need to be passive in the service of introspection, but in a different sense: while the Hermit contemplates in solitude, the Hanged Man undergoes some kind of ordeal. He goes through a metamorphosis, just like the caterpillar that hangs upside-down in its chrysalis to become a butterfly. He’s a Christlike figure, evidenced by the halo around his head in the Rider-Waite-Smith deck, and the fact that he willingly suffers for a higher purpose. He even wears the same colors as Jesus in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper in the RWS deck, although I’m not sure if that’s on purpose or not. The Hanged Man in the RWS deck hangs by the right foot, but in LCF’s version of the engraving, he hangs by the left foot, maybe reiterating the Left-Hand-Path association.

The caption to the engraving is “I am enriched by death,” which is a million times more meaningful than Balkan’s interpretation. If you’re an occultist, that line is probably self-explanatory. Pretty much everything mystical involves that theme of (symbolically) dying and being resurrected. The alchemical process has three stages — nigredo, which is death, albedo, which is the ascension of the soul, and rubedo, which is returning to life in a “purified” body as a more spiritual being. The Hero’s Journey follows this same pattern — the hero entering the Underworld or the Labyrinth and facing trials that allow them to spiritually ascend and achieve apotheosis (or something close to it). It’s everywhere in books, movies, and video games. It is the initiation ritual. Most occultists figuratively go through it in one way or another. And in tarot, XII The Hanged Man is at the rough midpoint of the Fool’s journey through the Major Arcana, and immediately followed by XIII Death. It is a difficult step, but a prerequisite for spiritual advancement. “I am enriched by death.” You cannot be reborn as a new and better version of yourself without first having died.

(It is sort of odd that this engraving comes after the one representing Death, though. In a tarot deck, it directly precedes Death.)

I don’t have much to say about the flaming sword. It could be foreshadowing Balkan’s death (more on that later), or it could represent the flaming sword of the angel of Eden (i.e. guarding spiritual knowledge, which Satan famously offered to humans). It could also be a symbol of burning away the old self, which relates to the Hanged Man image. It’s also held in the left hand.

The seventh engraving, fifth in Balkan’s sequence, is of a king and a peasant playing a chess game. Two dogs are fighting in the background, and the moon can be seen through the window. In AT’s version, the board is black, and in LCF’s, the board is white. Balkan interprets it as “to play the greatest of all games,” and the caption is “The disciple surpasses the master.”

The tarot symbolism that I see here is that of XVIII The Moon, which has dogs baying at it in the Rider-Waite-Smith deck. The Moon represents the subconscious, imagination, and dreams, but also nightmares, madness, and illusion. The illusion here is probably the missing engraving being replaced by the forgery. The themes of the subconscious are again reinforced. Underneath the Moon, a black dog and a white dog fight each other, almost seeming to create a yin/yang shape — this brings the dark and the light into balance, the same way the Moon spends equal times dark and bright as it goes through its phases. The game is chess, which is played with black and white pieces, and the board is either black or white. The game seems to be a draw, making the peasant and the king equals, just as the dogs are unable to defeat each other. So, this engraving is all about reconciling dualities.

There’s another layer to this. God is the “King of Kings,” so this could demonstrate a human becoming God’s equal. This is basically the goal of occultism — to become like God, in some form. Left-Hand Path’ers in particular seem to like the idea of becoming gods themselves, or even “surpassing” God. Since the book was created by Lucifer, this could tie in to Lucifer’s desire to become God’s equal that got him cast out of Heaven (but I’m not the biggest fan of that story, so I won’t go any further with that). To the occultist, man can participate in divinit, just as God can become a man — as above, so below. That’s also a form of reconciling the duality of human and divine.

The caption, “The disciple surpasses the master,” probably refers to this, but it could also refer to Corso surpassing Balkan and succeeding where Balkan failed. Any good teacher wants their students to have learned so well that they surpass them. God (or Lucifer) intends for his disciples to surpass him, but Balkan tries (and fails) to prevent Corso from surpassing him.

The eighth engraving, which is seventh in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a praying man about to be bludgeoned by a knight with a mace, with the Wheel of Fortune in the background. In LCF’s version, the knight with the mace has a halo. Balkan’s interpretation is “to mock the vicissitudes of fate” and the caption says “Virtue is defeated.”

This engraving is the most changed between its book and film version, so much so that it changes the meaning significantly. The figures in the engravings were altered for the film to make them look like the actors: this one depicts Balkan hitting Corso in the back of the head with a mace, which happens in the film. The halo around Balkan’s head in the LCF engraving makes very little sense, since Balkan obviously isn’t the hero here. Is this about villains defeating virtuous people? Corso isn’t exactly a virtuous person.

The book clarified this engraving for me. In the book, the engraving depicts a knight about to behead a lady:

Long story short, the book has a whole second plot revolving around a manuscript of The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas. The woman in this engraving is identified with Milady, one of the villains of The Three Musketeers. The knight has a halo in LCF’s version because his execution of her is righteous. He’s the protagonist whom we’re supposed to be rooting for, and she’s the villain whom we’re supposed to despise. As for the caption, virtue is defeated when the protagonists sacrifice their moral high ground in order to defeat the villains, which will inevitably require force, violence, or deception. All of that gets lost in the film’s version.

This is also an alchemical image of beheading, which represents dissolution, the “nigredo” or spiritual death. The praying person represents the matter of the Philosopher’s Stone, and the weapon represents “mercurial water,” the universal solvent that dissolves the matter into prima materia so it can be remade. This is the first major step in the alchemical process, which separates the soul from the body and paves the way for initiation and spiritual understanding. So, that reiterates the death/rebirth theme of the sixth engraving. In this context, the halo indicates that this stage is necessary for spiritual development.

The Wheel of Fortune in the background is a medieval motif that shows how the whims of fate are apparently random. Some get to be kings, others are serfs, and your fortunes can turn at any moment. Just when you think everything is great, someone hits you on the back of the head. In tarot, X The Wheel of Fortune means exactly what you would expect it to — a twist of fate, a change of fortune. Whether it’s for better or for worse depends on the context and the cards around it. Life is full of ups and downs, so enjoy what you’ve got while you have it, etc. Sometimes when it shows up, it can mean that you should trust in fate. Nothing about this card suggests mocking it.

And finally, we come to the ninth and final engraving. This depicts a woman who looks suspiciously like the Girl reading a book, ostensibly The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, and riding a dragon with seven goatlike heads. There is a castle in the background, and the castle is a real place. There are three versions of the engraving — this one, which is signed by AT and has the castle as-is, a forged LCF engraving that shows the castle in flames, and the real one. Balkan’s interpretation is “that will unlock the Ninth Gate,” and the caption is “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.”

The woman is apparently an image of the “Whore of Babylon” from Revelations, who rides a seven-headed dragon. I’m not really sure what she’s supposed to represent, beyond being generally Satanic. Of course, Crowley recast her as a sex goddess; in Thelema, Babylon is the feminine version of the divine creative principle. The seven heads of her dragon are significant — seven is the number of secrets, mysteries, magic, introspection, and searching for inner truth, which have been running themes this whole time. Seven also signifies creation, completeness, and rest, since God created the world in seven days. In tarot, the sevens present a new challenge after the perfection of the sixes — the Seven of Wands brings new obstacles that require determination to overcome; the Seven of Cups represents imagination, dreams, and illusions, so back to The Moon again (and the illusion of the forgery); the Seven of Swords represents deception or a con artist (like the Ceniza twins, or maybe Balkan); and the Seven of Pentacles represents a threshold or a new opportunity, and reflecting on one’s achievements. That all aligns scarily well with the situation here.

The critical illusion is that the “LCF” engraving with the burning castle is a forgery. So, Balkan sets himself on fire for no reason other than egomania. This image is similar to XVI The Tower in Tarot:

The Tower is one of the scariest cards to get. If Death is a difficult but beneficial change, The Tower is a dramatic turn for the worse, complete destruction and devastation. It is struck by lightning and destroyed, going up in flames. I drew this card shortly before the pandemic hit. That was The Tower — destruction, upheaval, devastation, but with the promise of rebuilding. I also had to deal with a lot of emotional turmoil because of an unrelated thing that happened around the same time, and it shook me to my core. So, obviously the forged engraving leads to Balkan’s destruction.

The true ninth LCF engraving shows the sun shining from behind one of the castle’s towers:

Replacing The Tower with The Sun is a drastic difference. If The Tower is one of the worst cards to get, XIX The Sun is one of the best. The Sun is a good omen in every capacity. It represents everything that these engravings have been working towards — spiritual growth, fulfillment, success, enlightenment, revelation of secrets, good fortune, etc. It fits right in with Lucifer’s status as the Light Bringer, and it is the solution. (The true engraving is also very reminiscent of The Star, which directly follows The Tower, and represents hope and the light at the end of the tunnel.) The jagged rocks at the bottom of the castle in the other two versions are missing here, and the castle is more accessible, with a visible path. The woman gestures directly to it.

The rest of the scene is much more shadowed in the true version, which fits right in with the caption: “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.” I, in my obsession with Shadow work, interpret this as confronting the dark parts of oneself and bringing them out into the light to become a whole person, and to grow spiritually. This goes back to the Labyrinth, needing to enter the dark Underworld or the realm of the subconscious in order to gain spiritual wisdom and finally achieve enlightenment. Everything in the engravings seems to point back to that — needing a period of introspection, reconciling of duality, obtaining safe passage through the various trials until you see The Sun, which is followed by Judgement (resurrection) and The World (fulfillment). The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows are like the seven gates of the Underworld that Inanna must pass through (and that eight-pointed star is a symbol of Inanna). Corso passes through the Ninth Gate, out of the Kingdom of Shadows and into the light.

Throughout all of this, the Devil acts as the facilitator of Corso’s initiation. As the Supreme Magus and the bearer of spiritual knowledge, she (he? it?) set this book out in to the world in the hopes that someone will complete the nine stages of their initiation and reach enlightenment. The power that Balkan seeks is like a side-effect of that enlightenment. When you achieve mastery, you do get power, but power was never the point. If you seek power first, you’re more likely to be led astray. Not that The Devil cares either way — I’m sure it’s all very amusing to her.

So now we’re left with one more piece of the riddle: the correct order of the engravings. This requires a bit more context from the book, which provides this poem as a clue to the correct sequence:

It is the animal with the tail in its mouth that encircles the labyrinth. where you will go through eight doors before the dragon which comes to the enigma of the word. Each door has two keys: one is air and the other matter, but both are the same thing. You will place matter on the serpent’s skin in the direction of the rising sun, and on its belly the seal of Saturn. You will break the seal nine times, And when the reflection in the mirror shows the way, you will find the lost word which brings light from darkness.

(This sounds so authentic, I went and checked to see if it was referencing a real alchemical text.)

Based on this, I’m guessing that the fourth engraving is supposed to be first: the Fool setting out on their journey through the Labyrinth, which is identified with the ouroboros, the serpent eating its own tail. The ouroboros represents prima materia, the innate interconnectedness of everything, and the cyclical nature of life and death. Next, “the enigma of the word” references the caption of the third engraving, braving whatever danger to discover forbidden knowledge. The mention of two keys refers to the second engraving: the two keys themselves, of air and matter, refer to the alchemical states of “fixed” (material) and “volatile” (spiritual). They are “the same thing” because, in alchemy, matter must be converted between fixed and volatile states over and over and over again, until it reaches a perfect balance of the two, which is the Philosopher’s Stone. Beyond that, I’m kind of at a loss. There aren’t any other obvious references to the engravings in the rest of the poem, and the remaining lines are much harder to interpret. Here’s my best guess: The “serpent’s skin” reflects the scale pattern above the door in the seventh engraving, where the chess players are carefully placing pieces. The “seal of Saturn” probably refers to the seventh engraving, since Saturn is associated with death and frugality. Breaking the seal nine times might refer to the eighth engraving, of the beheading, and the reflection in the mirror might refer to the sixth engraving, since the Hanged Man is all about introspection. The final line about bringing light from darkness of course refers to the ninth engraving.

But I’m guessing at this point. It seems these engravings still have secrets to reveal to me! Hey, at least I know more about it than the book’s equivalent of Balkan, who takes the poem extremely literally. It goes about as well for him as it does for film!Balkan. Maybe I'm reading too deep into it, but it sure is fun!

[poppyseed-cookie]

It’s pretty interesting, ignoring Silent Salt cuz we don’t know anything yet (tho I could see them following this pattern), all the beasts are like… REALLY similar when you boil them down.

All of them so far have basically the same backstory and motivation: they lost faith in the world, have their own ideas on how to escape that terrible reality, and try to “save” their ancients.

It’s really funny cuz you can imagine all of the beasts agreeing with each other but then arguing cuz they all have different ideas on what the Correct solution to the problem is (problem being The Way The World Is).

I’ll break it down if people don’t see it:

Lost faith in the world:

Mystic Flour: saw how greedy and selfish cookies are

Burning Spice: saw that nothing lasts forever and change always leads to the same thing

Shadow Milk: little more vague, but saw that lies and truth didn’t really matter and cookies would believe whatever they wanted to I guess

Eternal Sugar: saw cookies being unhappy!!!! Whenever she couldn’t watch over them!!

Got ideas on how to escape that terrible reality:

Mystic Flour: if nobody had individual desires, they couldn’t be selfish greedy or terrible anymore. Also her whole apathy thing is very “here’s how to continue living when everything seems pointless: just embrace that it’s pointless!”

Burning Spice: if everything is going to be destroyed anyways, might as well pour all your energy into the destruction so that your efforts don’t go to waste. Make everything the way you know it will end up anyways.

Shadow Milk: umm embrace deceit lol!!! If Truth and Knowledge don’t really mean anything then just make something up! Make it more fun!

Eternal Sugar: don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave- (ok I’m being vague with hers I just feel like she’s pretty obvious. We all understand what she’s doing and why, right?)

Try to “save” their ancient:

Mystic Flour: and all of cookiekind, of course. She knows that he cares a lot about his kingdom and all and she knows that it’s all futile and tries to show him that so he can escape the pain of living I mean Not Being Apathy ig

Burning Spice: the most deviant of this pattern I’d say, for I don’t think he’s trying to save Golden Cheese as much as he’s trying to get HER to save HIM (by killing him). But you could see him destroying everything she loves as a means of “saving” her, since everything she loves will be destroyed anyways might as well get it over with.

Shadow Milk: umm fall into deceit lol!!! It’s pretty clear that he projects a lot onto Pure Vanilla, and with how he’s trying to get Pure Vanilla to follow his same path, it’s safe to say that tormenting him so that he realizes truth is meaningless is sort of mystic flour style of “saving” but more devious. He wants Pure Vanilla to end up like he did. And he seems happier… right?

Eternal Sugar: I mean REALLY obvious. She says all the time that she’s trying to save Hollyberry from the suffering that her Passion will bring. She wants to protect her happiness in her garden.

I have more to say about Eternal Sugar tbh but I feel like that’s a whole different post cuz it’s not totally relevant to the main point I’m trying to make here which is: All The Beasts Are The Same But With Key Differences And That’s Beautiful.

(Sorry smilkheads for my questionable analysis of him, the more I look into his character the less I know how to articulate it LOL. I also don’t want to dive too deep into theory/headcanon territory in a post like this)

[idleoblivion]

"Life Cycle of a Maggot" Idia Shroud x GN Reader

Synopsis: The evolution of your relationship with Idia, as compared to a fly.

A/N: I guess I was kind of experimenting with this one, tbh I don’t know how great I wrote his character but enjoy the angst at least. 

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: angst, Idia/reader both implied to be depressed

Phase 1: Egg

Flies deposit eggs into rotting organic material. 

…and there couldn’t have been a better description of him when you found him. Rotting material. 

He spent nearly every waking moment immersed in technology. It felt natural, always having been surrounded by it. It almost felt like home. 

Only almost though. Because nowhere truly did anymore. 

He could never find solace from the painful memories in the forefront of his mind. Despite his best efforts they always stayed there. He couldn’t think of ‘home’ without thinking of his failures, of his regrets, of Ortho…

So he stayed online. In a space he could control, where everything worked the way it was supposed to, where there was no school or anxiety or brother to remember. He neglected himself, his body, in favor of the computer screen. 

He couldn’t name a single other student he considered a friend, and as much as he needed his own space it had started becoming lonely. He couldn’t remember if he’d gotten all of his homework done, and he didn’t particularly care. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept right. Or if he had even had a full meal on any given day. He certainly felt like he was rotting, and he was sure he looked it too. 

And then you came into the picture. 

He knew of you before you met, he’d heard of you in the short moments he spent with the student body. You hardly spoke a word to anyone and could barely bring yourself to make eye contact. Notorious for being shy, nobody could list a single other thing about you.

When he begrudgingly had to partner up with someone for a potionology assignment, he looked around the room with a knot in his stomach. Everyone was finding their partners easily, forcibly reminding him of the wall of isolation he’d created for himself. While he was debating whether or not to just ask for 0 and move on, you were walking up behind him. 

When you lightly tapped on his arm to get his attention, he turned to find your nervous face staring down at the floor. 

“Do you have a partner yet?” He shook his head no at you. “Will you be mine then?”

He considered his options. He could risk getting stuck with someone random, take the 0 like he wanted to before or give you a shot. He didn’t know anything about you, but the more you uneasily rocked back and forth, the more certain he felt you’d be someone he could handle personality-wise. At least compared to your other peers. And unless he wanted to risk ending up like Leona, he really needed to get his grades together. 

“…S-sure.” Is all he offered in response. But that seemed enough for your shoulders to drop in relief, and for you to finally look at him. The small smile you wore confused him, why would anyone be happy they got stuck with him? 

“Thank you. We could just call to work on it if you didn’t want to meet for real.”

That was…surprisingly considerate. He guessed he made the right choice after all. 

Phase 2: Maggot

Maggots will eat the rotting material around them. They thrive in their environment of decaying matter. 

Calls about the project turned into much more rather quickly. It felt like one day you were a stranger, the next you were pouring your hearts out to each other.

Misery loves company, and your company was inexplicably inviting. You made him want to unleash everything he suppressed. All the suffering his pride wouldn’t let him show, he wanted to share with you. Somehow he just knew you’d get it, you’d understand what nobody else could.

He isn’t proud of the trauma-dumping that ensued at the end of a meaningless hang out one day. He’d granted you access to his room, to meet in person for the first time. The reality of which set in immediately after you arrived. That you had accepted his invitation to his space, that he wasn’t alone in that moment. And an innocent “Are you alright?” from you ended up being enough to break him.

He cried, he gasped for air, he thought he remembered screaming but he wasn’t sure. He fell to the floor with his head in hands, sobbing and blubbering about everything weighing on him. He knew he blew it big time, melting down the second you showed up. He knew you’d leave, you had no obligation to help his pathetic self after all.

He didn’t expect tears from you as well. It shocked him so much his crying nearly halted.

You detailed your own struggles to him. Your own struggle to fit in and feel accepted, and the loneliness that came with it. Your own regrets, things you’d give anything to change. You sat across from him on the floor, tears falling gently as you rambled and rambled.

He didn’t know what came over him, but he put his hand out. He flinched when you actually took it, but didn’t let go. He managed a meager smile as he relished in the peace he’d found with you. You sit in silence for a while.

He’s visibly relieved when you agree to try hanging out again sometime. Relieved he’d finally found someone to rot with.

Vent sessions became regular, though not as emotional as the first. You became his only confidant. You were almost always in his space or talking to him online. It was almost obsessive, and he loved it. 

You both fell further into solitude, into your own despair, but together. You thrived in it, and so did he. It was the best kind of miserable he had felt in a long time.

Phase 3: Pupae 

Maggots then encase themselves in a puparium, where the maggot's body will begin changing. 

Of course, it couldn’t last forever.

You started hanging out with him less, turning him down when he’d invite you to play games or vent like you had been. He tried not to take it personally, remembering how much he loved to self-isolate when he was especially down. Maybe you were going through something extra rough right now, and you wanted your space from him. He’s down the same to a lot of people, so he couldn’t blame you. 

Until he realized how naive it was to think that was what had you busy. He was rushing to class to turn in a paper he had to finish without your help when he spotted you in the hall. 

It was nothing like the first time he saw you. Or any time he’d seen you when you two were alone.

You had people around you, a small group. They spoke to you. You spoke to them. You weren’t looking at the floor, you were looking at one of their faces. You laughed at something they said and he felt his chest tighten.

Worst of all, you were positively beaming. 

He immediately felt bad for thinking that. He should want to see you smiling like that. If he cared about you, he would want you to be branching out, making new friends. Especially when you had expressed how alone you felt. 

He did care, just maybe not in the way he was meant to.

Because he couldn’t bring himself to be happy for you. Because he recognized where this was going to head immediately.

You were changing. Somehow, some way, you were finding the strength to grow. Strength he knew he would never find himself.

He didn’t bring it up the next time you met in his dorm. But he felt it, the difference in the atmosphere. Like his negativity and sorrow didn’t reach you the same way anymore. Not like you didn’t care, but like you couldn’t relate the same way. But he pushed those thoughts down for as long as he could, not wanting to admit the reality of the situation.

You were changing. And he simply was not.

Phase 4: Fly

Eventually, a fly will emerge from the casing to leave and continue on with its general life cycle. 

Rain checks turned to missed calls turned to ghosting altogether. 

His pride wouldn’t let him beg for your attention, but he missed it. He mourned it. Grieved the friendship that really never was, but meant so much to him.

He resented you for it, but a part of him couldn’t blame you. You were nothing like him now.

He spent even more time in his room if that was possible. But on the rare occasion he’d leave for class and spot you, you always had people with you. People who could be funny and casual, people who could hold a conversation without saying something depressing, people who you could do activities outside of school with. People who weren’t him, or anything like him.

You were kind enough not to say it, but he could see it with his own eyes. How he had become a burden to you, a weight on your chest. While you were trying to improve yourself he only ever got worse. 

You weren’t content to rot, clearly. You had this ambition, this drive to escape the hell you had created for yourself and start over. You would always understand him and his pain, but you had pushed through your own misery and found yourself happier. And with no room left for him and his lack thereof.

You were moved on. Because what was temporary weakness for you was eternal for him, like his curse.

Had he known that from the beginning, he would’ve never gotten involved. He had to figure out what you were, but he knew right from the start what he was.

You had flown away, sprouted wings and left the rot behind. Like you were meant to.

And he was a hungry, starving maggot. And always would be.

[velchronica]

imperfect love ♬~*.°₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ itoshi sae

maybe i'll cry for a love that isn't perfect yet

but i wanna make endless stories

like the ones hidden inside an old book

or, since meeting you, all itoshi sae wants is a sappy happily ever after with you.

content: established relationship, gn!reader, fluff, sfw

wc: 1.0k

sae falls asleep to the sound of your breaths, the rise and fall of your chest underneath the weight of his arm over your waist. he’d rather fall asleep next to you every night—and most nights he does—but sometimes it simply cannot he helped, so when he’s away from home, he facetimes you until one of you falls asleep or has to go.

he easily falls asleep to your voice over call, phone on the bedside table next to him, and you only hang up once he’s quiet for at least half an hour and is no longer responding to you with a barely-there ‘mhm.’ after all, sae has never been much of a chatterbox to begin with, per se, so it’s not unusual for him to just listen, to savour your voice telling him about your day, to bask in the mimicry of nomalcy as you go about your day as usual on the phone to him, as if he’s there with you.

people are, more often than not, surprised by the sweet and affectionate nature of your longstanding relationship. while you’re all soft smiles, sunshines and rainbows, he’s terse, with sharp edges and a mind and mouth just as sharp. he’s cold, and spares no effort to sugarcoat his opinions nor fake humility to the masses, whereas you are warm and modest, never asking for anything in return for your kindness and hard work. still, despite this, your relationship is built upon strong and sturdy foundations, and the home you have built together is full of love and joy.

where he is can be too closed up, sometimes too wrapped up in himself, you encourage him to be more open-minded and compassionate. where you can be careless and impulsive, he is there to tie up any loose ends you’ve left behind. though your worlds do not excessively collide, they do overlap. while you don’t necessarily need each other to complete your own individual existence, you bring out the better and the best out of one another. you’ve learned through time and patience that symbiosis is often the better alternative to codependency.

there have been ups and downs to your relationships. you’re both only human after all, and no relationship is perfect; with personal flaws can come misunderstandings or miscommunication. the thing that sets successful couples apart from those that break up, however, is how you maintains and manages the things that strain your relationship. to maintain a balance between your independence and your time together is key, especially when sae is away from home so often.

it’s not uncommon for you to fall asleep in sae’s arms, only for the bed to be cold and half-empty in the morning. sometimes his voice or his face over the phone isn’t enough to keep out the doubt and anxiety gnawing at your heart. you don’t want to welcome him home with frustration and tears, but on the rare occasion you do, sae understands. he knows how much trust and faith it takes for you to wait for someone who will leave not long after.

but you also know it was your choice. you knew, when you agreed to start dating sae, that it wasn’t always going to be candy-floss and kitten fluff. you knew how much sae treasured his dreams, his work, his success, how much effort he had poured into crafting the formula to take over the field. you admire him for his tenacity and diligence, and you would never expect him to give up football for you.

you’d never understood why people say you should be willing to sacrifice in a relationship. compromise, yes, but sacrifice? if the person you love can’t accept you for what you are and do, then they don’t love you, not really. at least, that’s what you think.

but that’s why sae is your forever and always. sae loves you for your flaws, not despite them, and that makes all the difference in the world. he never expects you to show him the ‘best side’ of yourself at all times, because he knows how much faith you have in him to bare yourself wholeheartedly to him, to not shy away.

you’re lucky, you think, so unbelievably lucky to have sae in your life. for him to love you. for every day you spend with sae.

unbeknownst to you, sae thinks the same thing. he thinks it so often, hundreds of times a day, and he thinks you’ll say yes if he grabs that little box out of his suitcase and gets on one knee someday soon.

he hopes you’ll cry—tears of joy, not anguish or pain. that way he can wipe them away for you, hold your face in his hands and kiss you like there’s no tomorrow. hold you in his arms like the fool in love he is, so utterly enamoured and enchanted by you.

he doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s not complaining that it did. somewhere along the line he’d ended up completely bewitched by your mellifluous laughter, your sunny smile. there’s something perfect in coming home to you, knowing someone yearns for him in such a way. perhaps it isn’t this penthouse that’s home, but your warm and loving presence. he’s not quite sure. almost, though.

but what he is sure he knows is that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. where he once wanted to write his name into history with a football career like no other, something deep inside would be wholly content to just have the memories of being yours. he wants to spend every day cherishing you, loving you, never yearning from thousands of miles away, but rather holding you close, lovesick and sappier than ever. happier than ever. happier than he’s ever known.

itoshi sae’s happily ever after is a forever after with you.

he can’t believe what you’ve turned him into. a lovesick, lovelorn fool. but still, waking up to the sound of your shallow, breaths, your body curled up into his, and the warmth of your presence—it’s fine.

this is his happily ever after, an imperfect love it may be.

© velchronica 2024

[impossiblesuitcase]

This You I Choose - part ii.

Part i.

I almost wish I’d come to this conclusion earlier. That even before the first Games I had determined that, yes, I will always love Gale, but I cannot ever love him as mine. I can’t say that I feel nothing for him. I understand why I felt what I did when he lay on that table, whipped and drugged beyond comprehension. But I retract my decision to choose him. I cannot give them both my heart, and I’ve tasted life without Peeta. That’s a malnutrition I can’t supplement with anything else.

I stop wearing the locket, relegating it to a drawer in my room that I never visit. The pearl I keep in my pocket at all times. I showed it to Peeta once like Prim had suggested. He merely glanced at it, let out a soft “huh,” then returned his ardent gaze to me.

Now, having cleared my head of cobwebs, it’s easier around both boys. I chat to Gale casually, comfortably, and I realise that I feel so much lighter without any obligation towards him. The kisses I once thought could mollify him are no longer the currency I use to buy his patience.

Peeta is even easier to be around. I kiss him an awful lot, even more than those fake kisses on the Victory Tour, to the point that I’m surprised by myself. I keep telling myself to slow down, hold back, then an episode of terror and screaming suffocates him and I abandon my inhibitions.

Three weeks into his recovery, we’re enlisted by Plutarch for a propo. He’s been dying to make one since Peeta first arrived, but with no meat on his bones Peeta was in no shape to be galvanising revolutionary efforts. Plutarch and Coin want to show Panem that Peeta is on our side to sweep away resistance from any citizens still on the fence about the validity of the rebellion. I don’t mention that I’m on the fence about supporting this rebellion. 

No, not the rebellion. District 13. Coin. I know Peeta feels the same just from the way he looks at her.

We’re sent above ground to where the rose petals were strewn by Snow’s hovercrafts. Though most have been cleared away, I find some hidden in the mud. It makes my stomach turn.

Cressida and her crew get to filming and we’re instructed to act as though we’re training. We’re given weapons to assemble and drills to practise. There’s a band of at least two dozen other soldiers to fill the shot. They need no practice—they’re trained for combat; Peeta and I are the pretty sitting ducks.

“I want you two close together,” directs Plutarch, gesturing to Castor to zoom in on us. “Keep working but talk a little too. Smile, laugh. We want to show that Peeta is safe and well and with the Mockingjay.”

It’s curious to me that they didn’t make Peeta’s first propo an interview. Surely he could deliver their drivel on those teleprompters more convincingly than I ever could. Maybe they are afraid of what unscripted things could pour off his persuasive tongue.

Peeta and I get to assembling the guns. It’s familiar to me now after a few prior rounds of practice, whereas he is haplessly out of his depth. I instruct him as best as I can and he makes good progress until I accidentally forget a step and leave his gun lopsided.

He frowns. “What did I do wrong?”

Instead of admitting my fault, I perch my elbows on my gun, resting my chin in my hands. “Come on, Peeta, it’s not difficult.”

Peeta dismantles the gun and tries again without my direction. He manages okay until he inserts the spring backwards, groans, and tosses it into his lap.

“Not as easy as frosting cookies, is it?”

He rolls his eyes. “You barely know how to do it yourself.”

I bite back my smile. That’s true.

As I gaze at him, he looks back at me curiously. 

“What?”

“You’ve been teasing me a lot lately,” he says, sounding confused.

I suppose I have been, though not intentionally. For every moment I’ve seen him sobbing or thrashing or whimpering in pain over the past weeks, every fibre of my being has needed to replace it with safety, laughter and that little smirk of his.

Instead, I say, “I like seeing you annoyed with me.” Because it’s cute how your lips curl up, I don’t say.

His lips curl up, as do mine.

“Okay,” Cressida calls out. “We’re going to get some establishing shots. We’ll take five.”

She begins consulting with her crew, pointing in various directions across the barren landscape.

The soldiers next to us are practising tackling manoeuvers. I’m about to ask Peeta if he knows this particular stance from his wrestling days when a soldier lunges on another too aggressively. They plummet to the ground. 

The shriek of agony stops everyone dead.

I shoot up to sprint over to them but Peeta’s hand is locked around mine, freezing me to the spot. I turn to shake him off when I see something dark on his face. He’s trembling. I reach out, steadying him under my palm. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes are squeezed shut. The tremors take over his whole body.

“Peeta? Peeta!” I have seen him like this in the hospital, his instability manifesting in ear-splitting wails and knocked down meal carts. But the doctors were always there to sedate him.

I hurl the guns away from us. Indistinguishable mutters spew from his mouth between choked breaths. I don’t know what set him off; the scream reminding him of a tribute’s death cry in the arena? Or did the wrestling remind him of his brothers, their remains under the charred debris of the bakery?

“It’s not real, it’s not real,” he repeats, “It’s not real.”

I grip his shoulders. “What isn’t real, Peeta? What is it?”

His eyes snap open, pupils rapidly flitting left and right as they stare down at his clenched fists. Panic transfers from his face to my own.

“Look at me,” I plead. “Just look at me. Just breathe, Peeta.”

It’s an active battle. He fights to concentrate on me as fiercely as he has fought mutts and monkeys and mockingjays. His breaths stabilise slowly, and endless minutes later when the trembling releases him, he slumps into my arms.

“Just an episode,” he manages faintly.

“What was it?” I whisper. “What were you seeing?” 

“You,” he says, eyes wide and mournful. I have a horrifying moment where I fear the torture has turned him against me. But no. No one could make Peeta forget that he loves me.

“Me?” I probe gently.

“The Games. The interviews. When they…when the Capitol got their hands on me they…targeted a lot of those moments. Fed me lies about you. I knew they weren’t true, but…when I think of them sometimes I—I don’t feel in control.”

His hands fold around mine and squeeze them and that’s how I know he’s back. He scowls in the camera’s direction. “That makes it worse.”

“The filming?”

“The pretending. I’m sick of it.” He grips me tighter. “I know you’re helping them, Katniss. But it makes me remember: It’s still just a show. A game. Another story to sell.” His breath hitches. “I don’t want it to go back to how it was between us.”

What had been between us was coldness. I wasn’t exactly kind to him that year after our Games and before the Quell. I downright ignored him for a good chunk of it.

“We’re different now, Peeta. We won’t lose each other. We won’t shut each other out,” I insist.

He glares at me. “It was you shutting me out, thank you very much.”

An abrupt laugh tears out of me, a clear, melodic sound. It echoes around us despite the barren acoustics on this wasteland. That’s when I look up. It’s a mockingjay reverberating the sound.

We hear Plutarch start to prattle on about the bird, how they should get some clips of me singing to it. Two Mockingjays: United, he wants to call it. Peeta and I try to hide our laughter.

It’s been so long since we laughed together. Joked the way we did in the cave. That period of avoidance after the first Games is painful now in retrospect and had only served my pride. He was a living reminder that the life I had built was gone. He and the Games were intertwined, his the face of the pretending. But that wasn’t his fault. And even if I hadn’t loved him, I could have had the decency to treat him as a friend.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” I apologise.

He shakes his head. “I know it’s different now. If we have to pretend to be in love again for the cameras, I’ll do it. It’s not as bad anymore. You’re nice between the scenes.” He smirks like it’s a joke, and I hate him for being so facetious.

“It’s not pretend!” I burst out. Tears are springing to my eyes and I’m shocked. At him. At myself.

He gapes. “It’s not?”

“No! Maybe before, but not now. Definitely not now.” Couldn’t you tell? I almost ask. But that’s supremely unfair, given how I’ve treated him and our public love story since the beginning.

“...Gale,” he says weakly.

“Sorted.”

“Katniss, I saw you with him in your kitchen after he was whipped. Please don’t feel you have to forget that just because I’m bac—”

I don’t let him finish. My lips are on his and I feel the confusion beneath them, the words unuttered.

“It’s not pretend,” I say against his lips, and in case he didn’t catch it, I inch away, resting my nose along his, eyes milimetres apart. “It’s not pretend. It’s you.”

His eyes, blue and endless, pierce my ribs, lungs, chest, all of it with their warmth. “Since when?”

“Since you came back. That’s when I realised. But I know it’s before that. The train, and the rooftop, the plant book.”

He chuckles. “Is that why you’ve been kissing me every other breath lately?”

I kiss him again. “Complaining?”

He must not be, because for a good while he’s otherwise occupied.

———

We dance together at Annie and Finnick’s wedding. Peeta twirls me under his arm and kisses me and the crowd raucously cheers as though they haven’t witnessed such affection from us before. Which isn’t true. Thanks to the propo circulating of us, everyone has seen Peeta and I kissing when we were above ground, when Plutarch and Cressida were supposedly getting establishing shots.

This makes me jittery now, more than with any Games footage, because for the first time, it’s unequivocally real. 

As he spins me again I notice Gale on the other side of the hall, arms crossed but not tense. He’s accepted it, I suppose, and the more time that passes since I cut his thread loose, the clearer and clearer it is to me. Gale reminded me of the past I desperately clung onto. The simplicity—hunt, trade, care for Prim. But I’m starting to suspect we never would have happened anyway, even if Peeta had not existed at all. In strategy meetings with Coin, Gale begins to propose more radical and destructive tactics. I grow secretly horrified and as he reasons on each decision—the loss of some life to staunch a greater bleed—I fear that I will one day agree with him.

Then Peeta chimes in, my dandelion, opposing such carnage, and I remember that I could never agree with such strategies. Not when my conscience walks the halls with golden hair and ferocious compassion.

No, Games or none, I couldn’t have stuck it out with Gale. But the boy with the bread…

I’m starting to think that any Katniss, in any time, might have been convinced.

———

I have never been an optimist, and I hate Peeta for rubbing off on me. Somehow, I had started to become one.

Peeta is back. He has his episodes, but he is still himself. And he’s getting better and stronger every day. He thoroughly fooled me into believing that he was not broken. That he was still whole.

When Joanna told me in a snarky voice that since returning Peeta is only kind to me, I didn’t believe her. Ignores most of us and is snappy with the rest, she had sneered. How could I believe her? Peeta—my Peeta—sweet and warm and boundlessly gentle?

We’re with our squad heading to the Capitol through a square: Bogs and me and Peeta, Gale and Jackson, the soldiers and the camera crew, when Peeta accidentally triggers a pod that blows up a soldier. 

He is furious. Inconsolable. When one of the soldiers tries to placate him, laying a hand on his shoulder and assuring him that it was a mistake any of us could have made, Peeta snaps. He wrestles him to the ground, his hands locking around his throat. Jackson and Bogs just manage to tear him away.

Peeta screams us all down. My hands shake and eyes water because I simply don’t believe these sounds—this delirium—could come from him. I’ve seen him hysterical, yes, but never to the point of hurting someone. Not choking them. Not on purpose. His bloodshot eyes catch my terrified ones and I expect them to soften. They don’t.

He steps towards me. I retreat back. Gale moves in between us and I let him. I don’t love him, but I still trust him.

A scowl hardens in Peeta’s face as he takes the two of us in.

Bogs eventually manages to move us all along. Peeta is silent the rest of the day. He falls asleep that evening with his head beside my hip, close to me as always as if nothing is different. I am sitting up, having volunteered to take the first watch, but my real motive is to examine him. I trace my eyes over his nose, lips and brow. My hands stroke his hair, trying to feel for a difference, something fundamentally changed in even the very fibres of his being.

“You’re scared of him,” says Gale, voice rough from disuse. He’s sitting across from me with Jackson’s sleeping form between us. We’re the only two on watch yet we haven’t spoken once.

“No I’m not,” I say immediately.

He chuckles, a dry, mirthless sound. “Yes you are. You’ve got the same look on your face you had the first time I taught you to shoot a deer.”

I purse my lips.

“He was tortured, Katniss. I saw some of the instruments they used on the tributes when we rescued them.” Gale brings his knees up to his chest. “I know he’s good when he’s with you, but be careful. He might not always be.”

I say nothing. Peeta stirs beside me and I glance down. He’s so serene now, so unlike what I saw in the square. I try to recall instances of Peeta interacting with people other than me since he was retrieved. He was always harsh with the doctors, but that was only natural given how much they poked and prodded him. He is cold with Haymitch, but Haymitch lied to us. He just...ignores everyone else. But there have been times when I’ve been away from him, and I’m beginning to wonder what Peeta becomes in those moments.

Why didn’t Coin and Plutarch make him give a speech to throw it back at Snow and the Capitol? It would have done more for the fight than a propo of us kissing ever could. Perhaps they tried. Perhaps Peeta was the one who was uncooperative.

No. Unhinged. Unstable.

A whimper leaves his mouth. Peeta begins squirming in his sleep, his nose twitching. His face scrunches in pain, his breathing shallows. He’s having a nightmare. I’ve seen this every night since he came back, when I would watch him as he slept to convince myself that he’s still alive. And every time I see this sign I move closer to him.

For the first time, I move away.

———

We fall apart as my arrow sinks into Coin’s chest.

I go feral. Rabid. Animalistic. My sister is dead. I am locked away. I am a husk of a girl. I forget about Peeta. I forget about myself.

Haymitch takes me to 12 after I am exonerated. I live alone; empty, cold, unclean for weeks. 

When I see Peeta planting primroses outside my house, I don’t remember that we were no longer playing pretend. That we are in love, or we as good as said it to each other. Nothing in me can love now. It was cremated with my sister, charred away with my flesh.

He makes no attempts to romance me, either. He was barely holding on as it was, toeing the line between sanity and lunacy. As he writhed in pain with flesh burnt by the explosion, I think he finally lost the battle. He was detained in the Capitol for a while, apparently being treated by the same drowsy Dr. Aurelius that ‘treated’ me. I doubt it worked.

It’s many, many months before we begin to grow back together. I don’t accept his warmth or accept his bread. I figure in his paintings, bloodied and murderous, and they horrify me. Haymitch is a mediator in our every interaction and often walks away groaning about how “You two couldn’t keep your hands off each other and now you won’t touch each other with a ten-foot pole.” 

I don’t pick up any calls, not from Effie nor my mother nor Dr. Aurelius. I only know it’s them calling because Greasy Sae listens to the voice mails and tells me they’re trying to reach me. She might be trying to reach me too. I only care about her stew reaching my stomach.

Nightmares haunt me at all hours. I am glad that I had decided not to love Gale earlier, because I feel less guilty when I dream of him personally shooting Prim in the heart. In spite of it, I don’t hate Gale, though I know I could never let him into my life again. Peeta rarely features in any of my dreams. He is always a background character, his face obscured.

Then one night, many months into my pariahhood, I have a pleasant dream. Someone is holding me, stroking my hair back. At first, I think it’s my father, but then he never smelled sweet. Always of coal dust and sweat. His hair was never honey dappled in light.

I don’t go to Peeta for comfort when I’m screaming, drowning in my own memories. I go to him when I dream.

It’s the middle of the night that I trudge over, let myself in and sit on the edge of his bed as he sleeps. He doesn’t hear me—I was always the one with the stealthy tread between us.

I watch him until sunrise, then I slip home.

After that, I let Peeta back in, and when he doesn’t sprint over, I invite myself into his life. Just as I had forgotten why I loved him, I now forget why I ever thought I couldn’t. Maybe I don’t know how to love him in a normal way, a healthy way. But I am willing to learn. He is still hesitant and that’s okay. A smile is enough to sustain me a whole day.

On the days he isn’t so accommodating, I have to force myself to pardon him. To push through my defences, the instinct to yell at him and shut him out because how could he hurt me when he knows I have nothing left but him. On those days, I begin to pick up the phone. Dr. Aurelius tells me that Peeta has been psychologically crippled but shows promise for recovery. Apparently, the stimuli that most often returned him to a calm, familiar Peeta was images of me.

It takes effort, but I learn patience. Peeta is a wearier, colder man than the boy I first met. But everyday, I choose this Peeta. And eventually, he again chooses me. 

I offer my warmth and my freshly hunted game. I figure in his paintings—pastel smiles and brushstroke daffodils in my hair—and they heal me. Haymitch heads off early after dinner, content we won’t rip out each other’s throat. Peeta begins smiling at the townsfolk again, distributing cheese buns to giggling children and sneaking bacon to Buttercup when he thinks I’m not looking.

We carve out a space for the two of us and smile and sing and cry doing it. Our burn scars match and if we align our arms just right they look like one continuous line. Shared skin, shared being.

It’s at least a year and a half after our return that he asks if I love him. I tell him I do. We both knew it and yet he smiles. 

“Can you imagine if we hadn’t been reaped? How different things would be?” I ask one day when things are better, as I watch him knead dough under his steady fists. His muscles have returned and are stronger than they’ve ever been. I hate to admit how much time I dedicate on a daily basis to watching them contract and flex.

He laughs sardonically. “We’d be poorer. And hungrier. Probably less scratched up at that.”

I trail my finger through the flour on the bench. “Happier?” I venture.

He looks away from the dough, contemplating. “I don’t know.”

I flick the finger towards myself, gesturing him to come closer, and when he leans in I swipe the flour on his nose.

“Weirdo,” he says, but it sounds akin to sweetheart to my Capitol-perfect ear.

I ponder the thought for another moment. “I think we’d be more scared.” 

I’m not entirely whole anymore, nor will I ever be. I’m riddled with every trauma symptom you could fit in a medical encyclopaedia. I’m terrified of the outside world, of the things that could be coming for us. But I’m not so scared anymore when I’m here at home, with the serene woods nearby and Haymitch across the way and Peeta in my kitchen.

“I would have been scared. You less so,” he asserts. “I wouldn’t have inherited the bakery, not with two older brothers. I don’t know how I would have lived. Meanwhile you would’ve done like you’d planned. Cared for Prim, never married. Hunted and worked. Once she was free from the reaping you wouldn’t need to be scared, so long as there was always a squirrel to shoot.”

It’s interesting that he assigns this version of me as single. Back in the Quarter Quell, he handed me his locket with the picture of Gale in it, bestowing upon me a life with him as the one I would choose. Now, Peeta rarely mentions Gale, not even in this hypothetical. Perhaps the girl in the woods could have tried to make something of it, but Peeta knows that a songbird cannot sing away a bushfire.

“No,” I disagree, “I would’ve been scared for you. I would have been scared for us.”

His arms go taut as they pause on the bench. Confusion is sprawled over his face. “Us? What us? We only connected because of the Games.” I can hear his ‘you said you would never marry,’ though he leaves it unspoken.

Well, it’s not like I’ve said I will marry him. After all, we’re both only nineteen. But, not for the first time, the thought settles comfortably between us. Not for the first time do I see bread like this used one day for something other than a nice Sunday meal.

A foregone conclusion. This future, I choose.

“No. We had the bread long before that. I didn’t have the courage to thank you then. I might not have for a long time.” I curl my hands around his arms and lean up to kiss the remnants of flour off his cheeks. “But this would’ve happened anyway.”

This does. Every time. Any way.

Notes

Thanks for reading. I honestly wrote this as my own way of trying to parse out and understand Katniss's complex psyche in Mockingjay. I’ve also seen some non-hijacked fics where Peeta comes back all smiles and rosy and that always struck me as unrealistic. Even without the hijacking, the torture would have serious psychological consequences which I hoped to convey.

I really think in any scenario they would have to grow back together in the end, because they have a lot to recover from. Their relationship doesn't 'fix' their trauma; they begin to heal and their relationship progressing coincides with that.

@wenslena @distractionsfromthefood @samsicle8 @pitualba2015 @thefinaldefenseofthedying @heartforeyes @unnamednarrator @tetheredfeathers @ohwellokcomputer @gingerale2017