#and you go through all the stages of grief for someone who is actually living

[valeisaslut]

DEAD – LYRICS ANALYSIS PART ONE OF READER’S ALBUM — PARALLELS W/ COLLIDE (BECAUSE I’M DERANGED)

i’ve been working on this for like a month now and when i say i’ve dissected every line, every note, i mean it. this isn’t just a tracklist—it’s a map. a mirror. a heartbreak scrapbook. the "album" lives in collide's world, and if you read closely (and listen even closer), you’ll find the parallels everywhere. the lyrics aren’t just songs—they’re memories. confessions. everything she couldn’t say out loud.

especially with the music—this is the heart of the story. the sound of losing her. the sound of still wanting her. the sound of standing on stage with a smile while bleeding under it.

thank you everyone for helping me build this!! every anon and follower that has suggested their songs and analyzed why they thought they fitted the story completely <3

this is where the pain lives. and this is how she sings through it.

TRACK 01: THE GREATEAST.

this is the first track on the album, the opening shot, the raw nerve—it's everything you never got to say to ellie when things first shattered, when the lines blurred from pretend lovers into something real and devastating.

"all the times i waited for you to want me naked" : this isn't about sex, not really. because yeah, sex was easy, effortless—fucking in hotel rooms and dressing rooms and anywhere else your bodies collided, tangled, desperate, hungry—but this was about something else. something more vulnerable. something that felt impossible to ask for: you waited for ellie to see past the fame, the chaos, the fake dating that felt too fucking real, and want you stripped bare emotionally, too. you waited for her to crave not just your body but the whole messy, complicated disaster that you were becoming together.

all your love, your patience, your desperate admiration for the person she could have been, was left bruised and unappreciated. it felt worthless.

"you could've been the greatest"

it’s not an accusation—it’s grief. mourning the ellie who wrote songs about you, who kissed you breathless backstage, who whispered promises she wasn’t strong enough to keep yet. mourning the person she was underneath drugs and cameras and the fucked-up pressure of fame that tore you both apart.

TRACK 02: MY EVERYTHING.

track two—"my everything"—is the aftermath of the greatest. the ache settling deep in your bones once ellie was actually gone, when she left to heal, leaving nothing but silence behind.

"you weren't my everything till we were nothing": when ellie was there, tangled up in addiction and chaos, breaking promises faster than she made them, you convinced yourself you'd survive losing her. but then she left, the room emptied out, and suddenly all the little things turned into everything you ever wanted, everything you lost.

"pain is just a consequence of love": it’s a confession, a surrender to reality. loving ellie meant accepting pain, accepting loss, accepting that maybe your pride had kept you from truly showing her how deep your feelings ran. maybe you were scared—scared of being vulnerable, scared of rejection, scared of loving someone whose demons threatened to take you both down.

"if i cross your mind, just know i'm yours": here’s your heart laid bare, bleeding openly. you’re begging ellie from afar, wherever she is, to understand your love didn't disappear with her. if she ever doubts it, if she ever wonders late at night, you want her to know you never really let go. your heart still carries her name, her touch, her chaos, even in her absence.

this track isn’t just regret—it’s clarity. the kind of clarity that only hits you after loss, when you’re forced to admit the messy, undeniable truth: ellie was—is—your everything.

TRACK 03: THE SUBWAY.

track three—"the subway"— (IT GOT COPYRIGHTED AND ISNT IN THE PLAYLIST IM GONNA DIE PLEASE) is that bitter, aching moment when reality hits and you're left behind, trapped in memories.

"she's got a way" vs. "she got away": perfect parallelism of heartbreak. ellie's charm, her way of drawing you in, her effortless cool—“she’s got a way.” but that same charm meant you couldn't hold onto her, couldn't stop her from slipping through your fingers—“she got away.”

"made you the villain, evil for just moving on": this line screams guilt. ellie left to save you, and you know deep down it’s not fair to resent her for it. but it doesn’t make your anger hurt less. it doesn’t stop you from seeing her shadow everywhere, even in the dark.

"fuck this city, i'm movin' to saskatchewan": reader is from the south originally, and when everything crumbled, your mom told you over the phone to just come home.

"it's never over": direct parallelism with ellie's song, she writes it after—"lover, you should've come over"—

TRACK O4: PAPER BAG.

track four—"paper bag"— (we LOVE FIONA APPLE IN THIS HOUSEHOLD) is raw hunger, emptiness, the brutal truth of realizing your hope was just an illusion. it’s about reaching desperately for something beautiful and real, only to realize too late it was never really there.

"i thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag": you mistook ellie's promises, her kisses, her whispered reassurances as something tangible, something true. but in the end, they floated away—empty, weightless, meaningless. the metaphor hits painfully deep because it mirrors your hunger, literally and emotionally. the emptiness left behind by ellie’s absence turned into something physical—starving yourself unintentionally, appetite replaced with heartache.

"i thought he was a man, but he was just a little boy": you thought ellie was steady—strong enough to love you, to choose you—but in the end, she was still that scared, reckless kid. the drugs, the outbursts, the running away… all of it screamed someone who never got to grow up.

when writing, i often portray ellie’s mannerisms—especially in the harder, rawer moments—as childish. not in a mocking way, but in a devastating one. her reactions, her outbursts, the way she shuts down or clings too tightly—they come from a place of arrested growth. like deep down, she’s still that scared, unloved kid who never got the chance to grow up before the world demanded too much from her.

"hunger hurts, but starving works when it costs too much to love": this line is heartbreakingly powerful. the ed worsened as ellie disappeared, your inability to eat mirroring your inability to move forward. pain became comfort, emptiness felt like control, something to hold onto when everything else slipped away.

TRACK O5: SPRING INTO SUMMER

track five — spring into summer — is the dream-state track. the foggy, weightless fantasy where ellie comes back, where love wasn’t lost before it was fully yours. it’s soft. it’s aching. it’s the kind of song that only exists in that cruel half-asleep place between memory and want.

"nobody knows what it's like to be us": that’s the truth at the center of everything. you and ellie were chaos, yes, but you were also real. no one knew what it felt like to share stages and secrets and sleepless nights in hotel rooms. no one knew the inside jokes, the way your bodies curled into each other after shows, the way ellie always grabbed your hand before going on stage like she had to touch you for luck. you were something rare. something nobody else understood.

"i'd never let you leave": she did leave. and maybe that was the right thing, maybe she had to. but in the dream version, the one that plays behind your eyelids when you’re too tired to fight it, she stays. she sees everything clearly this time. she doesn’t run. you don’t wake up empty.

"love you like i mean it just because i can": there’s something gentle here, a kind of tenderness you never got to hold onto when it all crashed down. this line is a fantasy: loving her fully, openly, without the fear. without the addiction. without the press. just love. just because.

this whole track feels like lying in the sun after a brutal winter. it’s not real, but you wish it was.

TRACK 06: FADE INTO YOU

track six — fade into you — is numb. not loud, not desperate—just quiet devastation. the moment when you're so emptied out, all you can do is stare at the person who ruined you and wonder if they ever really saw you at all.

"i look to you and i see nothing": this line is the collapse. the final straw. you loved her so deeply you forgot to protect yourself, and now when you reach for her, there’s nothing left. no light, no promise. just a shell. you look for answers in her face and find a void.

"you live your life, you go in shadows": ellie, with her addictions, her silences, her ghosts. you watched her disappear into herself over and over again. she was there but unreachable. a shadow in the bed next to you, the studio across from you. never fully real. never fully present.

"i wanna hold the hand inside you": this is the most intimate kind of wanting. not lust—not anymore. it’s that terrifying, tender desire to touch the parts of her even she can’t access. the parts she hides. the scared kid under all that bravado. you wanted to love her there. and she never let you.

this track doesn’t cry or scream. it just… aches. like the aftershocks of everything that’s come before. like you're dissolving into her memory, and she never even noticed.

TRACK 07: J'S LULLABY (DARLIN' ID WAIT FOR YOU)

track seven — j’s lullaby (darlin’ i’d wait for you) — is devotion. soft and impossible and unconditional. it’s the vow you made without ever saying it out loud: if ellie asked, you’d wait forever.

"when dividin’ up the universe, you could have mine": a direct, aching mirror to the supernova—ellie where she promised the universe but didn’t stay long enough to give it. here, you’re offering yours without hesitation. if the world had to be split, she could have all the light. you’d sit in the dark if it meant she’d feel warm.

"i’d give you the sun if you asked me": this line feels so young, so wide-eyed in its love. it’s a memory and a wish at the same time. how you used to look at ellie—like she made gravity optional. like she deserved everything. and maybe that was the problem. maybe you gave too much of yourself just trying to get her to stay.

"i’d put the piece in your backyard / in hopes to be enough for you to stay": this is where the heartbreak seeps in. you would’ve built a whole life around her, buried pieces of yourself in the hope she'd finally feel rooted.

this track is all the things you never said when she was here. and now you whisper them into the silence, hoping somehow she’ll hear.

TRACK 08: LOLM. AND OH. WE HAVE TO ANALYSE.

track eight — loml — is the THESIS of the album. in the MIDDLE. the collapse, the clarity, the quiet resignation. it’s everything you never got to say in that green room. it’s what you should’ve screamed when she walked away. it’s what still sits on your chest when you try to sleep.

"we embroidered the memories of the time i was away / stitching, 'we were just kids, babe’”: this is how you both survived it. by romanticizing it. by pretending it wasn’t as messy or painful as it really was. "we were just kids, babe.”

and babe—that was hers. the way ellie always called you babe even when you weren’t really hers, even when it was "fake dating". she said it like a tether. and you held onto it like it meant safety.

"in your suit and tie, in the nick of time": the grammys. self explanatory. the moment everything started being real, when the feelings poured and soaked the both of you. that is the moment with her you cherish the most.

"are they secondhand-embarrassed that i can’t get out of bed?": because the world moved on. the fans stayed entertained. but you—you're still in the wreckage. still in the hoodie she left. still in the ache. still in the bed. you wonder if people are tired of you being sad.

"what a valiant roar, what a bland goodbye / the coward claimed he was a lion": the green room. the breakup. that fight. and then she walked out like she was doing you a favor. like she’d decided to let you go, when in reality, she just couldn’t stay. and then trying to be strong for the crowd, to show the part of her everyone wished to see. the lion.

"but i’ve felt a hole like this / never before and ever since": because no one else comes close. no one else makes you feel like she did—high and low, wild and full and wrecked all at once. the hole she left is too specific, too jagged, too hers.

"you’re the loss of my life": not just the love. not just the muse. the loss. because at the end of everything—after the fake dating, the sex, the songs, the drugs, the award shows, the endless nights, the promises—what you’re left with is just that: she’s gone. and she took you with her.

TRACK 09: COOL ABOUT IT.

track nine — cool about it — is to talk. to smile. to pretend you’re okay. it’s playing house with grief. wearing a version of yourself that doesn’t scream when she walks in the room.

“i’ll pretend bein’ with you doesn’t feel like drowning”: this line is the quietest heartbreak. she’s could be sitting across from you, probably with a smile, maybe even sober, maybe even okay. and it still feels like drowning. and you still won’t let it show.

“once, i took your medication to know what it’s like”: this is devastating. because ellie’s addiction shaped everything. and maybe, in the worst moment, you tried to understand. to feel what she felt. and now you carry that knowledge like a curse. like a shared secret she doesn’t even know you have.

“wishin’ you were kind enough to be cruel about it”: because the worst kind of heartbreak is the soft kind. the kind that lingers. that doesn’t come with a slam or a scream or a final blow. ellie left gently. so gently it still confuses you. and you almost wish she’d just break your nose instead. at least then it would make sense.

this song doesn’t cry. it doesn’t rage. it just hurts. quietly. constantly. like her presence. like her absence. like everything that went unsaid.

FOLLOWING IN PT.2 BECAUSE TUMBLR DOESN'T LET ME ADD MORE THAN 30 IMAGES FUUUUUUCKKKKKK

[seadem-on]

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[writtenbyan-aries]

since you’re such a big fan of tvd (same girly same) can you done something with Damon Salvatore please???

Summary: Reader stumbles upon just the person she’s looking for with her return to mystic falls

Warnings: tension, angst, slight swearing, mentions of alcohol, vampire!reader, blood, blood drinking, mentions of death, slight arguing, kinda fluffy at the end

Word Count: 4.3k

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Welcome to Mystic Falls, Virginia.

You smirked as you come to a stop, reading over the sign, “Welcome, indeed.”

You continued driving forward, entering the town that you, actually have only ever been to once. You’re just looking for someone and you know that this is where they reside, or so you hoped they still do.

You pull into the parking spot, getting out as you look around.

You spot a place across the street, getting a feeling that is a good place to start. You push your door shut, looking both ways before crossing and you walk up to the doors as you look up at the sign - Mystic Grill.

You pull the door open and walk in.

The place was packed. It honestly kind of shocked you because you didn’t think this many people actually lived here, not with the amount of supernatural creatures that are suspected to be here.

As you walk down towards the bar, your eyes scan over the crowd and you stop, smirking as your eyes lay on just who you’re looking for.

You tilt your head, biting down on your lip to compose yourself as you head down to the bar.

“What can I get you, Miss?” The bartender asks, and you purse your lips, “I’ll have a red wine, please.” He nods and sets the glass down in front of you, grabbing the bottle before pouring it.

“Thank you.” You hand him a ten, “Keep the change.”

“Thank you.” He smiles and you grab your glass and walk away, stopping at the brunette that’s standing by the bar, “Your necklace is beautiful.”

She looks up, kinda startled before she smiles, reaching up to grab it, “Thank you, it was a gift from my boyfriend.”

She points to the guy standing across from her and you look at him, enjoying the way his face go through all the different stages of grief while trying to remain as normal as he can.

“He has good taste.” You look back at the girl and smile before walking away. As you come to an open spot on the other side of the bar to sit, you listen in.

“Do you know who that was?” The girl asks and he shakes his head, “No, no. I haven’t seen her around here before.”

Liar, you think as you take a sip from your glass. You glance over, watching him motion to his glass and, yep, just as you thought.

Damon still likes his bourbon.

You smile as the girl looks over at you and she smiles back, turning to whisper something to Damon, “Why do I feel like she’s watching us?”

You could tell Damon looks over at you, but you finish your glass and walk away.

As you make your way towards the doors, a guy steps in front of you, “Hey pretty lady, haven’t seen you around here. Are you new?”

“I’m actually leaving.” You go to step around him and he stops you, “I literally just seen you walk in two seconds ago.”

“Clearly your timing is off, now move. Please. I have somewhere to be.” You look up at him and he furrows his brows, “Oh please, it’s a Friday night. Nothing important is happening right now.”

“Maybe for you.” You push him out of your way and push open the doors. You were getting a little hungry, so maybe it wasn’t a bad idea that you hoped he follows.

You glance behind you, watching as he walks out, “I knew you’d change your mind.” He laughs as he runs up to you.

You lead him into the ally next to the building, and before you could do anything he was already trying to kiss you, “Whoa.” You lean back, “Did you really think that’s what I brought you out here for?”

“Well..” the guy shrugs, “Yeah. I mean why el-“

He grunts as his body tenses, looking down before his body drops to the ground.

You scoff, looking up at Damon, who is holding the guy’s heart in his hand, “That was my dinner, Damon. What the hell?”

“Really? A douchebag with a bad haircut was your dinner?” Damon tosses his heart into the open dumpster next to you, “You can do better.”

You roll your eyes and Damon sighs, “Why are you here, y/n?”

“Why do you think?” You tilt your head and he shrugs, “I don’t know, that’s maybe, I don’t know, why I asked you?” His eyes track you as you walk up to him, “Maybe because I want to find out why you left me in 1942, specifically, in New Orleans in room two. Thirty. Six.”

Right before Damon speaks, his girlfriend catches both of your attention, “Damon?”

You were gone before he turned back around.

You made your way to your car, getting in and leaning back against the seat as you take a breath. You were close, this close, to finding out why you were just up and left alone.

“Oh my god, Damon.” You laugh as you lay down next to him on the bed, “I had so much fun tonight.” You prop yourself up on your elbow, “Oh, you have a little..”

You reach up, wiping the blood from his bottom lip with your thumb, “a little blood.”

“Mm.” He hums, watching as you press your thumb to your tongue and lick it off, “I think that was Cherie.” You smirk and he chuckles, “You have such an act for that.” He pulls you in for a kiss, “Remembering everything.”

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, “I just hope you don’t remember this.” With a swift flick of his hands, your body fell limp in his arms, and he gently laid you on the bed before departing that old hotel room.

You laugh at the memory, thinking about Damon snapping your neck was hilarious to you. He thought he could just snap his way out of your life, well he thought wrong, so very wrong.

You start your car and head to the old Salvatore Boarding House. You knew you weren’t going to be able to be left in right away, especially if no one was there, but you had all the time in the world to wait.

And hope that someone else was there.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Once your parked your car a little ways from the house, it didn’t take you long to vamp through the trees and come up to it.

You couldn’t lie, having the vampire speed was probably your favorite. It got you out of some pretty complicated situations fast.

After making sure there was no sight or sound of Damon, you walk up to the door and give it a knock.

If anyone was happy to see you, it would be Stefan.

You step back as the door opens, big smile on your face as you see his shocked face appear, “Surprise!”

“Oh.. my god!” Stefan walks up to you, pulling you into a tight hug, “What are you doing here?”

You give him a squeeze back and sigh as you lean back, “Look at you, you don’t look a day over 123.” You laugh as he nods, “Thanks, thanks.” He shakes his head, “So are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

“Can we do it over a glass of red?” You raise your brows, “and I don’t mean wine.”

He nods, “Yeah, please.” He motions to the door, “Come in.”

“Thank you.” You smile as you walk through the threshold of the door, “I wish Damon had that same reaction.”

“You saw Damon?” Stefan asks as he closes the door, and you nod, “Sure did. At that diner and bar place in town.”

“Mystic grill?” He asks and you nod, “Yeah, I was going to grab a bite there but then my dinner got his heart ripped out before I could even do anything, so now I’m here.”

Stefan stares at you, “Right, okay.” He walks over, “Come with me.” He leads you into the kitchen and grabs a glass, “I was actually wondering about you.”

“I’m glad someone was.” You laugh slightly, taking the glass from him, “I didn’t know Damon had a new girlfriend, last I knew he was snapping my neck and leaving me stranded in New Orleans.”

“You know..” Stefan starts as he pours some blood from a blood bag into the glass, “He never did tell me what happened between you two.”

You shrug, “There’s not much to tell, really. Just a lot of open endedness and empty promises I guess.”

“Empty promises?” Stefan tilts his head, “Like?”

“Nothing serious, just him promising to always love me and how he vowed that no one could ever replace me, but yet, here he is. Happy and coupled up with some pretty bitch.”

“Elena.”

“That her name?” You ask and he nods, “Elena Gilbert.”

“Well, she’s pretty so.. I’ll give her that.” You laugh slightly and sigh, “The night he left, it was right when we got back from having the best night of our lives at that one club. We danced, fed together, it was just a great night.. and then..”

You set your glass down and mimic breaking your neck, “I was dead, again, and he was..”

“Gone.” Stefan frowns and you nod, “Haven’t been able to find him since, I mean. A part of me knew he would be here, but another part of myself just couldn’t bring myself to come back here, so I guess..“

“It’s not that you couldn’t find him, it’s just that you didn’t want to?” Stefan asks and you nod, picking up your glass and taking a sip, “Right.”

“Well I-“ he stops, pointing, “He’s back.”

You let out a slight laugh, shaking your head as you finish your glass.

“Brother, we have a-“ Damon stops as he sees you sitting on the barstool, “I see you already found that out.”

“A what, Damon?” You tilt your head as you look at him, “A problem?”

“Well, not for Stefan at least..“ he sighs, “I gotta go tell Elena to go home.” He backs out of the kitchen and Stefan looks at you, “I don’t think he ever expected to see you again.”

You shrug, “I guess not. But it’s not like I’m going to kill him or something. I just.. have some questions.”

Stefan chuckles, “Yeah, good luck with getting him to talk. I can’t ever do that and he’s my own brother.”

“Can’t hurt to try right?” You shrug, “Hey, do you mind if I crash here for a few days, or how ever long this takes?”

Stefan nods, “I don’t have a problem with that.” He smirks, looking up at the doors as Damon walks back in, “If she’s staying here, then I’m going elsewhere.”

Stefan follows him out, “Where are you going to go, Damon? Elena’s?”

You follow Stefan as he keeps going at Damon, “Then what? Huh?” Damon doesn’t say anything and Stefan continues, “What are you going to tell Elena? It’ll be pretty weird that all of a sudden after you just sent her away from here, you’re staying at hers without an explanation, would it not?”

“You know what Stefan.” Damon turns around, glancing over at you, “Why don’t you just stay out of it. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Actually, it does. Because if I remember correctly, I was the one who talked you into getting your head on straight for her, and clearly, I was screwed on that, too.” Stefan sighs, “I’m just lucky she doesn’t blame me for your screw up.”

“It’s okay Stefan.” You step forward, “You’re not the one who snapped my neck and left.”

Damon mocks you, groaning, “I’m sorry.” He shrugs, “If an apology is what you want, then there. I’m sorry. See, done, boo boo is all bandaged up.”

You roll your eyes, “Okay.” You look at Stefan, “Which room do you want me in?”

“Any one after the first two.” Stefan nods and you sigh, “Okay. I’ve been driving all day and I’m pretty sure I have blood in my hair so I’m going to go take a shower.”

As you walk up the steps away from them, you listen in as they continue talking.

“Why can’t you just talk to her, Damon? All she wants is for you to answer her questions that she has.” Stefan asks and Damon sighs, “Did you not hear her, Stefan. I snapped her neck then ran like a coward.“

Stefan pats Damon’s shoulder, “At least you’re self aware, brother.”

You make your way into the bathroom and turn the shower on. You strip off your clothes and step into the heated stream of water.

You let out a sigh as the water feels good on your body, humming a tune of a song you and Damon used to dance to as you wash up.

As you step out, continuing to hum, you notice a presence move into the room outside the door, “Finally ready to talk?” You ask at normal tone and you hear Damon sigh, “Just thought you’d need something to wear, I didn’t see a bag anywhere and Stefan wasn’t going get you anything so..”

You wrap the towel around your body and walk over to open the door.

Damon’s eyes travel down your body before snapping back up to your eyes.

You smirk, walking over to the bed, “I’ll give these back to you tomorrow. I’ll go shopping for a little so you can spend time with your precious, Elena.”

You hear Damon snort lightly, “Don’t worry about it.”

You drop your towel, bringing the shirt down over your head before flicking your wet hair out of it, “You sure?” You glance back at him and his eyes move up from your legs, “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.”

You step into the sweats, pulling them up to cover your legs, “Okay.”

After a few seconds of staring at you, Damon shakes his head, “I was hoping you didn’t remember that night.”

“It was one of the best and worst nights of my life, Damon. How could I forget?” You sit down on the edge of the bed and cross your arms, “I-“ you shake your head and laugh, “Nevermind.”

“Say it.” Damon takes a step towards you and you look up at him, “If I say it, I’m only breaking my own heart all over again.”

“Maybe you won’t.” He reaches out and his fingers gently brush over your cheek.

“Damon!” You hear a girls voice yell, her steps quickly flying up the stairs, “Where are you?”

Damon vamps out of the room, closing the door behind him, “What do you want, blondie?”

You furrow your brows, listening in as the girl sighs, “Elena is worried about you. I came here to make sure everything was okay.”

“Everything is fine, dandy, in fact. Now that you know that, you can leave.” Damon’s words make you smirk and the girl isn’t giving up, “Why are you guarding that door like your life depends on it?”

“I’m not.. hiding anything, Caroline. Stefan, a little help please.”

“No can do brother, I’m.. uh, busy.” Stefan yells from downstairs and you cover your mouth. You missed their banter.

“Yes, you are. Your voice goes all high like that when you’re lying.” Caroline huffs, “Now open the door.”

“No.”

“Damon.”

“Caroline.”

You hear the doorknob rattle so you quickly gather all of your clothes and towel and hide in the bathroom.

She walks in and sighs as she looks around, “if nothing is in here, then why are you acting all weird?” Damon sighs, “Because it’s my house and I can be weird about rooms if I want to be now, please. Get out of my house, tell Elena I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“You’re hiding something Damon Salvatore, and if you do anything to hurt my best friend’s feelings, I will hunt you down and end you. Got it?”

Damon chuckles, “Ooh, scary.” He sighs, going serious, “I’m not going to hurt her feelings, so now if you’ll just..”

“Fine.” Caroline huffs and you hear the footsteps departing, waiting until you head the front door close before even moving an inch.

You let out a sigh, walking out of the bathroom and you jump when you see Damon standing in the doorway, “well, that was Caroline Forbes. Elena’s best friend.”

“She sounds scary.” You try not to laugh and Damon furrows his brows, “Are you mocking me?”

“No, I just- okay.” You laugh, “Yeah, kind of.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs, “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” You drop the clothes to the floor and follow him out of the room. You walk down the steps and Stefan nods to Damon as he passes you on the steps.

“Do you have a preference, A, B, O?” Damon glances back at you, you shake your head, “Whatever you have.”

He nods, grabbing two glasses and setting them down. You walk over to the big fireplace that’s lit, staring in to it.

“I’ve always thought this place was beautiful.” You look over as you feel a nudge on your arm, “Thanks.” You take the glass, your fingers brushing against his and clearly there’s still something there.

“Partly why I came back.” Damon moves to stand next to you in front of the glowing flame, “and before you ask why I didn���t bring you..” he pauses as he takes a sip from his glass, “I was scared..”

“Of what?” You look over at him, “Of.. having a life with someone who would always be by your side no matter what?”

“No.” He shakes his head, tilting it as he sighs, “Yes.”

“You do know that there’s a thing called talking.. you don’t always have to resort to neck snapping, right?” You laugh slightly as you walk to sit down on the couch.

Damon keeps his eyes on the fire, “Being tied down scared me, y/n. I wanted freedom. I wanted what we had, just with no.. labels.” He shakes his head, looking down into his glass, “I didn’t want to feed on humans day in and day out.”

“Again, that’s when the whole talking it out thing could have came into play.” You sigh, taking a sip from your glass, “If you want me to leave, then that’s what I’ll do.”

You finish the contents and set the glass down before standing up. As you turn, Damon’s whispered voice rings through your ears, “You were the best thing to ever happen to me, y/n. I loved watching you do what you did, ripping people throats out because you let your hunger get the best of you. No one has ever looked as beautiful as you when you were covered in blood.”

You slowly turn around, “you left because you thought you were holding me back?”

“I was holding you back.” He turns to face you, “If I didn’t go, who’s to say that one of us, or both of us, wouldn’t be dead dead right now.”

“You’re acting like I didn’t have control of myself, Damon.” You stare at him and he scoffs, “Because you didn’t, y/n. You were so far out of control, not even I could bring you back.”

“Did you even try?” You ask, tilting your head as you step towards him, “Did you even think about what to do, or how to do it?” You take another step, “Was I even worth it for you to try and ground me and make me see that what I was doing was dangerous?”

At this point you were standing so close to him you could smell the blood he just drank on his lips.

He stays silent but you don’t, whispering while looking from his lips to his eyes, “I guess I just fell in love with the wrong person.”

You go to walk away but Damon grabs your bicep, pulling you back in towards him, “You don’t think I loved you?”

“Did you?” You raise your brows and Damon nods, “I made a promise to you, y/n. I will always love you.”

You scoff, “So coming back home, knowing I didn’t have it in me to chase after you for years and shacking up with a new girl who isn’t even a vampire is you always loving me?”

“No, it’s not-“ he sighs, “I-“

You cut him off, “What about the other promises you made, we’ll see the world together promise, or the, my favorite one actually, you will always choose me, one, huh?”

Damon just stares down at you, his eyes holding onto yours, “You didn’t come after me like I had hoped you would have.”

“You left.. me, Damon.” You feel tears welling up in your eyes and he reaches up before you can to brush a stray one off your cheek.

“How..” your voice breaks, “How could I have come after someone who I wanted to kill right then and there, if I did, who’s to say that you wouldn’t have killed me by defending yourself?”

“I would have let you, hell.. I’ll let you do it right now.” He bends down, setting down his glass next to yours, “Take your best shot, sweetheart.”

You bite down on your inner lip, snapping your head towards the door when it busts open, “Damon?” Elena frantically calls out, “Damon.”

She slows her pace as you back away from him, “I was just.. leaving.” You glance from Elena to Damon and head towards the door.

Stefan comes down the steps, “Hey, what-“

“Who was that, Damon?” Elena’s voice rings through your head, “You told me at the Grill you didn’t know who she was and now she’s wearing your clothes?”

Stefan vamps in front of you, his hands on your shoulders, “Hey, what- are you okay? Where are you going?”

“I’m fine.” You nod, wiping away your tears, “I’m just.. leaving I guess.”

“Y/n, you don’t even have your shoes on. Let’s just-“

“No, Stefan. I’m not getting anywhere with him, so I might as well just go live out the empty promises he made to see the world myself, or.. something I don’t know.”

Stefan looks behind you as he sees Elena storm out of the house, “I don’t think he told her anything.” You turn around, watching her walk up to her car, “When you’re ready to tell me the truth, Damon. You know where to find me.”

Damon watches as she gets into her car, driving away without moving a muscle. You hold your stare on him and he glances at you before turning and waking into the house.

“Do you think I should talk to him again?” You look at Stefan and he shrugs, “I think you should do what you think is right.”

You sigh, “That’s no help.” You laugh slightly and he pushes you forward, “Come on. You’ll know when you see him.”

You walk back towards the house and enter, looking around for Damon. He comes in to view as you walk into the living room, “I’m just going to go to bed, I didn’t mean to cause any problems between you and Elena.”

You stand there for a second before turning towards the steps. You walk up a few before Damon’s voice in your ears stops you, “You didn’t ruin anything. I did by not telling her the truth.”

“What’s the truth?” You reply, slowly glancing back at him. He turns around, slight smirk on his lips, “Get your shoes on, I think I owe you dinner.”

You can’t help but smile and you nod, walking up to get your shoes on. You come back down, meeting him by the door, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Damon opens the door and leads you to his car. You get in, just as he does and he starts it.

The drive is quiet at first.

You stare out the window most of the time, watching the trees go from lit from the headlights to total darkness.

“Stefan was right, you know?” Damon breaks the silence, “He tried hard to get me to understand that even though we had our moments, we were good for each other.”

“By, moments.. you mean when I had no control of myself?” You ask quietly and he shakes his head, “No, you did. You were so good for me, too good for me, that I was scared I would lose control and just go on a massacre with anyone who even thought to look in your general direction.”

You chew on your inner lip, letting out a quiet sigh, “Oh.”

“I loved you, so much, y/n.” He glances over at you, “I still do, and I know nothing I can say or do, can make up for what I did to you that night.”

You look around, “Before anything else is said..”

“I chose you.” Damon cuts you off, “I chose you the second I heard your voice at the Grill.”

You look over at him and he looks over at you before looking back out to the road. He reaches over, grabbing your hand and interlocking your fingers with his.

“I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen good.” Damon glances over at you and you raise your brows, “Okay?”

“I’m sorry.. I’m so, stubborn.” He chuckles, “Sorry, I just-“

“I know you Damon.” You laugh, “And trust me when I say that I know you’re stubborn. You have been since the day I met you.”

He gives your hand a squeeze and shakes his head, “Get comfortable, because we have a long way to Louisiana, baby.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

This was my first time writing for Damon. Feedback is majorly appreciated with this! Thank you so much for reading! I love you so much! Catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[aventurineswife]

Melancholy Symphony

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Robin x Reader, Mizi (Alien Stage) based Reader, Angst, Emotional Healing, Trauma, Soul-searching, Vulnerability, Slow Burn, Relationships.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, Emotional distress, Dark themes of grief and isolation.

A/N: this is an actually interesting concept! 🤔

Requested by: @lotusluan

The flicker of neon lights danced across the dimly lit room, casting a sharp, shimmering reflection on Aventurine's well-tailored suit. His smirk, confident as always, never seemed to fade—yet there was something in his eyes tonight. Something different. He observed you, his gaze sharp, and his curiosity piqued.

You had entered his world like a whirlwind, an air of mystery about you, much like his own. The way you carried yourself, blending strength and fragility in a dance he could understand—he’d seen it before. Survivors always stood out to him. But your silence, the layers of unspoken pain beneath the cold mask you wore, was a puzzle he couldn’t resist.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Aventurine’s voice cut through the tension in the room. He tilted his head slightly, eyeing you with playful intrigue. “You look like someone who’s mastered the art of survival, but at what cost?”

Your hand clenched around the glass of wine you’d been holding, but you said nothing. It was clear to him now—you weren’t like everyone else. Your past hung over you like a shadow, much like his own. Maybe that’s why he found himself drawn to you. You weren’t here for his games, and yet, you were. A perfect match for his own chaos.

“I could say the same about you,” you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to pierce his carefully constructed persona. “You hide behind that smile, but it doesn’t fool me.”

Aventurine’s smile widened, and for a moment, it seemed genuine, like he was actually intrigued rather than playing his usual role. “Ah, we both know the game, don’t we? You can’t survive without some kind of mask.”

You met his gaze, and for a heartbeat, the tension between you both was palpable—two players in the same deadly game, each hiding their scars beneath carefully curated exteriors.

“A game of chance, then?” Aventurine mused, stepping closer, his voice low and almost a challenge. “Let’s see if you’re ready to gamble with your soul.”

The sound of soft footsteps echoed through the hollow corridors of the Astral Express, but Sunday’s presence seemed to fill the space with an ethereal calm. His wings fluttered softly, as though reacting to something only he could feel. He had been quiet lately, but today, something about you had caught his attention.

You weren’t just another person on the Express. There was a sadness in you, one that mirrored his own—quiet, haunting, and difficult to shake. He could feel the weight of your past, the heavy toll of loss and guilt that clung to you like a second skin. Your silence spoke volumes, and it resonated with him deeply.

He approached you slowly, his golden halo shimmering faintly above him. “I’ve seen the way you carry yourself,” he began, his voice gentle but steady, as though he’d spoken this way a thousand times before. “There’s a storm inside you, isn’t there?”

You looked up at him, startled by his perceptiveness. How could he possibly understand? The trauma of your victories, the cost of your solitude—could he truly grasp that? He had lived his own kind of hell, after all.

“I’m sorry,” Sunday continued, his wings giving a subtle flutter, as though he was trying to offer some kind of comfort. “Sometimes, we try to outrun our past, but it follows us wherever we go. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. You’d expected someone to offer you solutions, quick fixes, but Sunday wasn’t like that. He was offering you understanding, a safe space to heal.

But could you let him in? Could you trust him with the fragments of your broken soul?

“I’m not sure I can,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “I’ve lost so much already. How do I keep going?”

Sunday gave a faint smile, his eyes reflecting a depth of pain you hadn’t expected. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to consider the possibility of letting someone close. Of letting go of your isolation, even if just for a moment.

[Header credits]

The soft hum of melody drifted through the air as you entered the room. Robin sat at a grand piano, her hands lightly brushing the keys, her hair cascading around her face like an ethereal halo. Her eyes flicked up when she noticed you, and a soft, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

You had been traveling alone for so long, and yet, there was something about her presence that immediately made you feel like you weren’t as isolated as you thought. It was the quiet solace of someone who understood the pain of loss, the agony of victory at too high a price.

“Ah, you’ve come,” Robin’s voice was soft, but there was a warmth in it, like a gentle embrace. “I was hoping you would.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. The memories of your past victories haunted you still, their weight pressing down on your chest with every breath. And yet, Robin’s music—her presence—was a comfort you hadn’t known you needed.

She gestured to the seat beside her, her smile never fading. “Come, sit with me,” she invited, her fingers pausing on the keys. “I know the burden you carry. I’ve felt it too.”

You sat beside her, your heart thumping in your chest. She was right. There was no need to explain. In the silence that passed between you, there was an understanding—one that transcended words.

Robin began to play, her fingers dancing across the keys with the elegance of someone who had lived through a thousand lifetimes of sorrow and joy. The music wrapped around you, and for a moment, the pain of your past seemed to lessen. She was the melody to your silence, and in her song, you found something you hadn’t known you were searching for: a semblance of peace.

As the last note faded, Robin turned to you, her golden eyes soft. “I know what it feels like to carry pain, to wonder if it will ever go away. But we keep singing, don’t we?”

You met her gaze, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

If you're looking for prompts, I've got a little idea, ,,,, I wanna see Nik fight someone for John. Maybe some asshole doesn't like what he sees when they're outside together, or an enemy, or whatever suits your fancy, but Nik unleashing the beast and maybe going too far but no one touches his love while he's around. Nik losing control of himself for a moment and then waking up, feeling very bad about it all. Angst with comfort, you know :3c (if you haven't written anything similar already, of course !! )

Nik believes Price is dead. He tears the world to pieces in his grief.

cw: extreme violence, torture, child endangerment, no MCD. Nikolai goes off the deepend. (Also for Anon who asked for the same.)

Laswell had delivered bad news many times in her career. It usually started the same way. 'Please sit down...' and then you moved onto the facts of the matter - the ones you could actually tell them - 'they died in the line of duty, they were killed by... they served with distinction' - and finally, you finished with 'I'm sorry for your loss, the United States government is at your disposal if...'

She knew what the relative, or relatives, looked like at each stage. The disbelief, the cracks of emotion spidering through their eyes as they tried to keep themselves together, and then the inevitable disintegration. Some people wailed, others sobbed softly into their hands, one person had roared in anguish and dropped to the floor. Grief looked slightly different on everyone, but she had seen every permutation.

There was usually another family member to pick them up, to offer comfort. It was hard. People got through. They healed, or they didn't. But that, as brutal as it was, was none of her concern. She had no loyalty to them and no history.

Nothing in her career had prepared her for telling Nikolai that Captain John Price had been killed in the line of duty.

John's task force stood with her as Nik walked into the room. She had placed damn tissues in the table. Tissues. Like Nikolai, of all people, would disintegrate into weeping and mucus. Perhaps it would have been easier if he had.

"Laswell," Nik greeted her in his usual manner, eyes crinkled in the corners, his hands spread. He looked at the three men standing around her in turn and instantly noted a fourth missing. The one he looked for first every time. The one that owned his heart and soul. His gaze lingered on Gaz, whose head tilted as if to begin an apology, and then finally Nik looked at Laswell. "Where is the captain?"

"Nik, take a seat." She gestured at the chair next to the table. Nik glanced at it, and then looked back at her. There was no point insisting. He was as stubborn as John was... had been.

The facts. "On 8th October, the 141 were involved in a raid on a base in search of a high value target. The mission went awry, and John was... killed covering the escape of his men." She swallowed, lowering her voice. For the first time since she had learned the news herself, she felt a stab of pain in her chest. "I'm sorry, Nik."

She believed she had seen grief in all its forms, but what she saw in Nikolai's eyes added a new dimension to her understanding. It was like all the light vanished in an instant; the jovial, lively man she had known for years since he turned informant for MI6 dissipated like smoke in the wind. It was a silent death; his face turned hard, his eyes darkened, and his huge body seemed to expand, casting a bigger shadow. The Nikolai she knew, and loved in her own way, disappeared before her very eyes.

"How?" he asked, his voice no more than whisper.

"He was shot," Sergeant MacTavish stepped forward. The scar down his face was still raw; a livid red in the artificial lights. "Savin' us. Watchin' our backs. Like he always did." Soap pulled something from his pocket and slid it across the table to Nik's hands. A boonie hat, Laswell noted. "Don't even 'ave his dog tags tae give ye, I..."

Nik looked at the folded beige cloth in silence, his eyes moving left to right as if he was reading something from it. When he picked it up, he touched the folded rim to his lips and then his forehead, before gazing down at it in his palms. "Who?"

"Nik?" Laswell asked, watching him carefully.

"Who is to blame? Give me the name."

"Nik, I can't--"

"A name, Kate!" His voice snapped like a whip through the room, with all the impact of a gunshot. She saw the fury in his eyes, the sharp edges, the fury, turning his usually warm brown hue into two bottomless pits.

"Makarov," Lieutenant Riley said. "Vladimir Makarov."

"Ultranationalists." It rolled out of Nik's mouth like he was spitting poison from his tongue. The corner of his eye twitched, his lips curling in a sneer. Laswell often forgot how dangerous, how volatile, Nikolai had been in those early days, when his wounds were raw and open, before John had helped him heal into the best version of himself. But she remembered now as she watched those proverbial wounds split open again, rending through psychological scars long since faded. Nik said nothing more, but tucked John's hat into the loops of his belt as he turned to leave.

"Nikolai, whatever you're planning on doing, we must ensure you--"

"There is no 'we', Laswell," Nik said. "There is not even a 'me' anymore."

She watched him leave, her words lodged in her throat. No one else tried to stop him either. They had lost their mentor, their captain, their friend. Nik had lost his heart. She cast a glance at Riley. "If it gets bad, if he goes too far, it'll be you that has to put him down."

Soap scoffed. "Why'd we do tha'? Hope he gives 'em hell."

"The only thing that kept Nikolai on our side was John Price," she said. "And once he's finished tearing through Ultranationalists and realises it hasn't healed his grief, or brought him peace, who do you think a man like Nikolai will come for next?"

They stood in silence.

***

"König, ich möchte dich einstellen."

"Ha! Nikolai? Was ist mit Chimera passiert?"

"Dafür brauche ich eine andere Strategie."

***

"Do your worst. I have nothing to tell you," the prisoner spat, a globule and saliva and blood landing on the floor near Nik's boot. Nik had already torn out three teeth with pliers, broken his ribs and two fingers. The man, one Ivan Yegerov, was tied to the chair with rope and barbed wire, which meant every convulsion tore into his skin, leaving deep welts of rended flesh leaking onto the floor.

He wasn't the first. Not even tonight.

Nikolai had shattered Yegerov's friend's skull with the wrench propped up against the wall nearby. The blood had spattered up his bare torso, matting his chest hair, stained the side of his face. Shirtless, with a buzzcut he hadn't worn since his time in the Russian Air Force, he looked every part the madman he had become. He had ignored Laswell's attempts to contact him, leaving bodies for her men to find, with notes pinned to their foreheads containing their sins. She had stopped trying after two years, but he knew she was still following his blood trail.

Yegerov and his ally had been at the base in Ukraine and, with KorTac's help, it had been a simple matter of extracting key links in the chain for a conversation. Nikolai was tracking them down, one by one, and once he was done there, he would make his way slowly to the top.

"This is not an interrogation," Nik said as he ran his fingers over the tools on the table. "This is revenge. The interrogation will start soon."

Nik selected a serrated hunting knife and turned it over his fingers as he walked towards his captive. Yegerov leaned back in the chair as Nik planted his hands over his broken wrists, seething and whimpering in pain. "Do you know the best way to extract information?" Nik asked. Yegerov said nothing, so Nik squeezed his wrists. "Answer."

"Ah, no! No! I do not."

"They truly do not make terrorists like they used to," Nik said quietly. "I will tell you." Nik ran the tip of the hunting knife down Yegerov's cheek as he spoke, not quite pressing hard enough for it to cut in yet. "You must find a bargaining chip. Every man has something in their life that they cannot live without, a line they will not cross. It is their reason to breathe, it governs their actions, it helps them... find their limit."

Nik stood up straight and reached into his back pocket, his fingers skimming over the folded boonie hat threaded through his belt loops. The picture he pulled out was crumpled and worn, spattered with sweat and blood. It had been pristine when he had snatched it from the overhead screen of his Black Hawk, the rage running in torrents of tears down his face as he had pressed it to his lips.

He had torn himself out of it, because he looked nothing like the man he had; his hair buzzed down to a military shave, his body leaner, his eyes dead. Only John remained, with his big grin and his glittering eyes. Nik pushed the picture close to Yegerov's face as he had done with every man he had killed so far. "He was my line. My reason to breathe. And you took him away."

Yegerov squinted, terrified eyes lifting away from the picture of a smiling John Price to Nik's. Before he could say anything, the nearby door burst open and König forced two hooded figures through in front of him, one so small he barely reached his hip. "Ah, bargaining chips," Nikolai stood, throwing the hunting knife to the table. "Shall we find your line, comrade?"

König shoved his hostages forward to stand before Yegerov and then tore their hoods off. Yegerov let out a strangled wail of horror as he drank in the tear-stained faces of his wife and daughter. "No, no!"

"This is how it works," Nikolai said. "You give me name of someone who will know the current whereabouts of Makarov, and I will allow you to choose who survives." It was unlikely Yegerov would know anything. Nik just wanted him to experience the feeling of powerlessness as his loved ones died before his eyes.

The same feeling Nik had felt when he had been considering turning his Black Hawk towards the White House; suicide by F-15. Numb emptiness, desperation, a bottomless, writhing grief that shredded his heart. He had decided then to leave a trail of bodies in his wake first, only then would he join John.

"No, please... please, no."

Nik picked up his M9 and checked the magazine. "I count down; five, four..." He pulled back the pistol slide and turned the weapon first to the woman, who cowered, clutching her child's head to her chest.

"Please, she is just a child!"

"...three, two.."

"Wait! Wait! He's alive!"

Nik's finger lifted from the trigger just as he was about to pull it, settling along the barrel. He looked first to König, and then to Yegerov. "Repeat."

"He's alive... John Price," Yegerov said, almost hyperventilating. "Stop pointing that gun at my wife! I will tell you! Tell you everything. Please."

Nik hesitated. For the first time since this crusade had begun, he hesitated. He returned the M9 to the table and trudged back to his captive, both hands slamming down onto his broken wrists. "If you are lying to me, I will make you watch as I peel every inch of skin from your wife's body while she is still alive."

Yegerov swallowed. "On her life, he is alive. Prisoner 627. He is at a gulag in Petrovpavlosk. Please. He is alive. You can check using my... my passkey in our system. Do not kill my family. Mercy."

Nikolai looked at König who inclined his head, disappearing from the room to follow the lead. The two hostages sank against the wall, whimpering and shivering, and Nik straightened slowly. His fingers ghosted over John's hat, and then found his picture again. Hope was a dangerous thing and Nik resisted the heat of it burning in his chest. "Mercy is for those with a heart," Nikolai said. "You tore mine out the day you took him from me. Pray that we find him."

***

"This belongs to you, sir."

***

Price watched the drills in the parade square outside and wondered whether the drill sergeant noticed the trooper lagging slightly out of step in the third row.

The medics had cleared him to leave. There was a pamphlet about PTSD shoved in the side pocket of his bag, and he had weekly meetings with the base psychologist until they were happy he wasn't going to snap at the wrong moment. He wasn't sure what the road forward looked like, or how to even take the first step, but there was one person who he knew he wanted to be there when he did.

The door behind him opened and Price turned. The man that stood in the doorway was leaner than he remembered, his black hair cut in a military-short back and sides he hadn't seen for nearly a decade. Nikolai looked knackered, no better than Price did, which was understandable given what Price had been told.

Nik walked in tentatively, as if he felt like he was intruding, and that cut Price down to the quick. If there was one fuckin' person he had wanted to see all this time, it was the weary Russian pilot currently stood before him. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Nik's broad chest and burying his face in his shoulder. Nik squeezed him back, just as desperate.

They held each other in the quiet, confirming, checking they weren't dreaming, until finally Price pulled away to study Nik's face. "Yer hair looks shit," he croaked.

Nik smiled, just as lopsided as Price remembered. "And your beard is bad."

"Least I had an excuse," Price said, scratching at the scruffy stubble on his jaw.

Nik's eyes saddened. "As did I." He lifted a hand and cupped Price's face, bringing their foreheads together. "My life ended when I lost you."

"Ya didn't lose me. Ya found me, didn'tcha? Tore the world to pieces, Simon said."

"My hands got dirty, John," Nik rasped.

"Dirty so that my men could stay clean.'

Nik lifted his face away, studying Price's eyes, looking for condemnation, anger, disgust. He would find none of it, Price was certain. All he felt in that moment was gratitude, relief, exhaustion.

"Laswell has agreed to waive my arrest warrant," Nik said, clearing his throat. "Under the agreement that I am to retire when we have defeated Makarov."

"Sounds fair. I've always thought ye'd make a good stay at home husband."

Nik looked startled, and Price leaned in to kiss the stupid look right off his face. Bewilderment broke into relieved laughter, and then eventually tears. Price held Nikolai's face to his shoulder as the sobs shuddered through his body.

"S'olright, I'm home."

[rubra-wav]

Hiya! I absolutely loved your posts about the HH main cast dealing with a sick reader and them being sick. You did a phenomenal job with them!

As for a request, what about Vox, hell’s resident bipedal tv, hc’s of him realizing he’s legitimately falling for reader?

Vox realises he has feelings for you

A/N : Thank you so much seriously!! 💛

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, suggestive comment at one point, angst-ish/ Vox coping

- It'll be a good long time before he realises he's fallen for you, and when he finally does, he's fully in it. There's no turning back and there's no backpedalling. He's absolutely whipped.

- It hits him one day like a train that he's actually in love with you all at once.

- He hung out with you the afternoon, and that night he's laying on his back with his phone gripped in his hand against his chest.

- It's been exactly 3 and a half hours since you were out together on a movie date at the VIP premiere. (as in in the ridiculously lavish movie room he had within Vee tower)

- He had been counting.

- You hadn't texted him back yet, and he was tapping his claw impatiently waiting for you to message him back with the world's biggest pout on his face.

- He'd already sent 4 texts, and none of them had been answered yet. He had to stop himself from sending more because he didn't want to seem too desperate. (Even though he was)

- He told himself he'd be mad that you had made him wait whenever you got back to him. He'd blow up over it.

- However, the second his phone buzzes and he sees the notification from you saying you had fun and were sorry you hadn't gotten back immediately it's like his dopamine receptors have been kicked into absolute overdrive.

- He's giddy. Warmth is flooding his chest, and he starts breathing heavier as the world's dorkiest smile spreads across his face.

- It isn't then that he realises exactly, but it's when you leave to go to sleep after texting him for a couple of hours with a flirtatious comment that has his head spinning and sparking.

- You were talking about how you'd washed your sheets that day and were making your bed. He acted like he was bored, and your next words absolutely took him out.

- "Fine. Next time, come over, and I'll spread you out on my bed then."

- When he calms down, it's messed up again as he's questioning himself.

- Why did I glitch out to them saying something that resembles a shitty pick-up line? Why did I count every minute that passed the second you went home? Why do I feel like I'm on drugs the second you pay me the slightest bit of attention.

- OH FUCK -

- He goes through all stages of grief as he realises he's in love with you in a single second and ends up causing a blackout in his bedroom in the process.

- When he roboots, he holds his head in his hands and chugs delulu juice instantly feels absolutely terrified.

- It's humiliating for him to have such delicate feelings, let alone for someone who surely doesn't feel the same way. His experiences with real, genuine romantic love for other people have hardly ended well.

- He likely tries to distance himself from you because he's scared of the fact he is so attached to you.

- It's been ages and ages of being attached to you but he's only fully realised - or at least fully acknowledged the extent of that attachment.

- His distance from you is shortly lived however as he craves you and your presence so badly he's disgusted at himself.

- He would not be the one to confess 9 times out of 10.

- Even if it's glaringly obvious you are also into him, he copes so fucking hard he's actually delusional with the excuses he makes about it.

- He basically friendzones HIMSELF.

- You could kiss him on the cheek or hold his hands in yours or cup his face lovingly and he would be there glitching while thinking about how you must just be like this with everyone else-

- He's charismatic, charming, and can often read everyone around him like an open book - analyse their behaviours, true intentions, expressions, thoughts under it all, etc.

- But he's so terribly stupid with love.

- You need to confess to him first most likely and he'll probably still think you're bullshitting him.

- Literally finds every reason of why you aren't in love with him and tries to twist everything that way.

- Even when he's in love, he wants it to be reciprocated obviously. The thought of it not being requited as he expects is embarrassing at best.

- But, he's genuinely probably even more terrified of what that means if you do love him back.

- It's easier if you don't love him back for him because he's scared of the way you might further bring out whatever imperfections and vulnerability he's shown you already after actually being in a relationship with you.

- He craves being in a relationship with you and the security you could bring him to expose those parts of himself he desperately conceals with masks resting on masks, but also its deeply unnerving to him simultaneously.

Infuriating watching the process of this man actually realising he's in love for real, honestly 😭

[signanothername]

Heyo! I love your art so much, as well as your mean girl Nightmare(I've halfway been imagining him with a *little* Regina George every time I've read that on this blog, no apologies for it) I was wondering, how do you think he'd react if Dream, Killer, just somebody who knew of his past just says; "You're just like them. The villagers.". Or ANY variation of that? Just the thought of him being the same as his past abusers, tormenting someone he dislikes, for what, because what have they truly done to deserve it? The idea of becoming the same of those who have hurt him, how would he react to that? I feel like if Dream said it, it would be more of an acceptance of how different his brother is, and how he'll never get his Nightmare that he knew and loved back, because his brother would never do this. Killer might say it to be a lil shit and torment him.

Just a thought I had! Hope you're having an fantastic day!

Hello!!! Thank you so much!! <33333 and good good don’t apologize cause it’s completely accurate to think of Regina George and I’m actually guilty of thinking the same thing like honestly fits shhshs

Here’s the Regina George Nightmare we all need

Now back to the main point shdhhd

Y’know funny thing is I can imagine his reaction would definitely differ depending on who says it, if it’s someone like Killer or anyone else other than Dream, I can imagine him feeling slightly offended/angry by it, but it wouldn’t have much of an impact, cause what does Killer truly know? Killer never saw/ known those villagers, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, at least that’s the mindset Nightmare would have, he’d just threaten Killer to zip it or simply throw him across the room

I can’t truly imagine Dream saying such a thing to Nightmare but I can definitely see the opposite with Nightmare saying it to Dream (which cough i already drew before >:) ) but we’re talking hypothetically so let’s talk about how he’d feel if Dream said it cause god, I wholeheartedly believe if Dream said it then hell would break loose

Cause the thing is, Dream was there, he knew those villagers, he knew how they were like and he knew how bad they were, Dream lived those days with him, but even then, while Dream endured a different kind of abuse, the villagers actually loved Dream, and they hated Nightmare, so how could Dream, who never had a single villager lay a finger on him, how could his twin of all people to say to him that he’s like his abusers??? Nightmare would go through the five stages of grief in 5 seconds

He’d be in so much denial, only to settle on pure unfiltered rage, cause how dare Dream, his twin, his blood and magic, tell him that he’s like them?

I can see Nightmare making excuses for his own actions, that he’s only doing all this to make them pay, he’d even say something along the lines of “so what if i am like them??” To convince himself that the idea of being like them doesn’t bother him (all while it fucking eats away at him) I can see Nightmare making excuses for why Dream would think such a thing, “you’re just drained of your magic, you’re confused”

I can see him go after Dream all the more aggressively, intent to kill cause how fucking dare he??

But then I can see the rage and fight leave Nightmare to finally settle on depression and resignation, all while part of him is still (and will forever be) in absolute denial

He knows he’s not like them, he never was and never will be

But why would he be an absolute mess by Dream saying it? Cause I wholeheartedly believe Nightmare would never expect Dream to compare him to the villagers, cause when your own twin says it it just cuts the much much much deeper

Hell I can even see Nightmare actually crying tears of frustration, maybe not in front of Dream cause Nightmare had become so used to isolating himself and keeping his emotions inside, and with his mindset of never wanting to appear weak he’d only let those tears out once he is sure he’s all alone

Because by god, he never thought it’d hurt so much to hear those words uttered by his brother, but they did hurt, and he’ll hurt Dream all the much worse for it

(Same to you!! Hope you’re haveing a wonderful day/night <333)

[tobiasdrake]

So I finished Oxenfree 2 recently. Very good and forms a complete story with Oxenfree 1. It's like what Alan Wake 2 was trying to be for its predecessor except that it does a better job of it.

(Probably because it doesn't have to deal with trying to integrate a whole bunch of lore changes that a mostly unrelated side game by the same developer bolted onto the original story. But I digress.)

That choice at the ending was brutal, and really got me thinking about one of my personal wonks: the flexibility and complexity of circumstantial morality.

I will die on the hill that right and wrong are often highly contextual, and not easily hammered into ironclad rules. The Talos Principle 2 is probably the game that landed most closely to my moral beliefs. Specifically when it said the one true moral principle is that you must always follow your reason and your compassion to wherever they will take you.

And it was that very thing, following reason and compassion, that left me momentarily paralyzed by the endgame choice of Oxenfree 2.

So. Like.

Setting the stage for a moment.

The "villains" of Oxenfree 2 are a trio of teenagers named Charlie, Violet, and Olivia. The main plot-moving force is an MCU Sky Portal made of radio waves that they've opened up which is shattering the fabric of reality and threatening to take over people's bodies and fill them with ghosts.

Right.

But Charlie, Violet, and Olivia are the antagonistic characters you actually spend most of the game getting to know. They're the ones you interact with, while the Sky Portal is really just the stakes of the thing.

But also they're just dumbass kids fooling around with forces they don't really understand because Olivia's grieving her dead parents. She is nasty and mean throughout the game, at one point even trying to convince Charlie to stab protagonist Riley with a knife, but it's clear this is coming from a place of traumatized desperation.

Olivia's been promised that she can see her mom and dad again if she goes into the sky portal. Which is true. If she goes into the sky portal, it will imprison her in her happiest temporal memory in exchange for letting someone currently trapped inside out.

Olivia wants to make that trade. She wants to spend eternity locked in a time when her parents were alive. To never grow up, never move on from them, never recover from her grief. To simply languish in the memory forever.

And the main reason we can't let her is because there's a bunch of angry spookers on the other side who see the opening and are all trying to forcibly come through the portal and take over random bodies and shit, potentially ripping apart the fabric of reality in the process. So the portal needs to be closed.

Also there's Alex, the protagonist from Oxenfree 1. A teenage girl who went to a spooky island with her friends that she wasn't supposed to go to, who became imprisoned in the Sky Portal and locked in an eternal temporal prison of repeating memories right alongside all of her friends because she had to sacrifice herself to save the world.

Alex just fucking wants out. She is a teenage girl who had to die and go to Time Hell because she did some misdemeanor trespassing.

She made a deal with Olivia to trade Olivia for Alex. Olivia wants in, Alex wants out, fair exchange. And also all of Alex's friends will be released alongside Alex if she gets out because of... something something. That's not important.

(That Olivia is metaphorically trying to commit suicide is pretty blatant.)

So we arrive at the endgame.

Someone needs to close the Time Portal from the inside. And the player has to choose who stays in Time Hell. The one option is Protagonist Riley, a grown-ass woman we've spent the game getting to know, who's lived a complicated but mediocre life. The other option is Olivia, a traumatized teen girl trying to kill herself out of grief but who technically caused all this.

Like. Starting at the fact that "Do you (correctly) sacrifice yourself or this other person (you coward)?" is a pretty common moral choice in video games. The way Oxenfree 2 handles it is... interesting.

See. I think most people, facing this choice, aren't going to have a very hard time with it. Olivia seems tailor-made to produce one of two kneejerk reactions.

1 - Olivia is the villain who did all this. Fuck her. She should die and go to Time Hell.

2 - Olivia is a child lashing out over her trauma. She deserves a chance to recover and get better, and my protagonist's life is a small price to pay for that.

Depending on how much sympathy you have for troubled children whose emotional hardships manifest in ways that aren't convenient to handle and easily brushed aside in a five-minute pep talk. Personally, my kneejerk is the second.

But this is where things get complicated.

Because. Like.

The thing about Riley is?

A lot of this game is subtextually about the complicated relationship between parents and their children. There's a reason you're cast in the role of a grown-ass adult who's still figuring her shit out and isn't ready for the burdens of parenthood in a conflict whose central antagonists are troubled children. Children who need an adult, and can't wait for you to get ready.

Riley is two months pregnant. This is happening. Rex's birth and all the struggles that entails are bearing down on her. She doesn't have time to figure things out anymore. She needs to be ready now. And this manifests in the plot in the form of these children who need someone to guide them now. Charlie, Violet... and Olivia... and Alex.

And it manifests in Rex. Through the temporal flashes and undoing of reality that strikes throughout the game, Riley sees visions of her life with Rex. And it's. Not great?

Like, it's not terrible.

But it's just. Moments of drama and the struggles of raising a child as a single parent. Riley isn't a Hollywood Parent armed with all the right answers, and she struggles to connect with her son as a single mom raising a boy who's just as much a troublemaker as she was for her father, who she no longer has a good relationship with.

She's just. A mediocre person leading a mediocre life. Raising a son who isn't going to be easy to raise, but who - by his own admission in the final conversation with him - will grow up to be a mediocre person with a mediocre life, but one who's satisfied with the mediocrity his mother instilled in him.

Riley is nobody special. And Rex will grow up to be nobody special. And it's going to be difficult and painful getting there.

And now Riley has to decide the fate of two three people.

And. Also. Uh.

Alex is lying to you.

Specifically, in the endgame choice.

Alex wants to get out. She wants Riley or Olivia to stay behind. She doesn't really care which. She is on the cusp of her freedom and she needs one of them to go into the portal and shut it down, in the process trading themselves for her.

Alex says that it's okay for Olivia to go in because Olivia's doomed. Olivia will never recover from her grief. Never come back from her trauma. Letting her metaphorically kill herself is the best possible outcome for her.

This is a bald-faced lie. In the same conversation, she admits that Olivia's future is cloudy and uncertain. She has no fucking idea if Olivia can recover or not. But she says it with certainty anyway because she doesn't want there to be any complications with letting Olivia trade herself.

Olivia's fate is, indeed, uncertain. If you sacrifice Riley, then Olivia goes one of two ways. She may wallow in despair and resentment and bitterness for the rest of her life. But if treated with kindness, if shown the patience and understanding of an adult to a child, Olivia goes into therapy. She comes back from the edge and moves on with her life.

Alex was wrong to say there was no hope for her. Or, more specifically, Alex was lying. Because she wants Olivia to go into the portal.

Alex also says that Riley's relationship with Rex is doomed. Rex is going to grow distant from Riley and ultimately separate from her. There's going to be a breaking point that they never come back from. But if Riley goes into the portal, then she can live eternally in a temporal snapshot from the best days of Rex's childhood.

She can be happy with her son and never face the doomed future of her inadequacy as a mother.

Alex lied to your face about Olivia's hope of recovery. There is no reason to believe that she's being honest about this. Alex tells Olivia and Riley what they need to hear in order to be willing to condemn themselves to a fate one of them must suffer.

Alex is lying, or at least spinning coercive interpretations out of a foundation that may or may not be true. She wants someone to sacrifice themselves to the portal. Nothing she says here is unbiased, and thus, nothing she says should be counted as part of this consideration. There is hope. For Olivia and Riley both.

(Technically you can also sacrifice Jacob. But only if you've gone out of your way to make him feel miserable and unloved by the world. And let's be real, if you bullied a man whose only crime is being lonely so that he'd be willing to commit suicide for you, you're the bad guy.)

So. The choice.

This is where things get hard.

If you were to ask me, "Does Olivia deserve a chance at recovery?" I would say yes. In a heartbeat. And, in fact, I love that she can actually get that chance if treated with kindness and understanding in the face of her lashing out.

It means the world to me that this outcome exists. The game makes a firm statement that even a child as troubled as Olivia is not a monster. She is just grieving and wounded, and she can get better. But only with the help of adults willing to suffer through the trials and tribulations of trying, of not giving up on her even when her pain pushes her to strike out.

It's not easy to change a life. This is why foster children have a hard time finding permanent homes. People think "Yeah, I can handle a troubled kid," but then give up and write the kids off as unsalvageable when their problems can't be solved overnight.

Olivia isn't going to get better because you said the right thing to her at the right time and made her anguish go away.

But Olivia can get better. With time. And work.

...

But.

The problem is Rex.

Because, as much as what Alex is saying is a lie, the choice itself is just as much of a lie. It's not a choice between Riley and Olivia.

Rex is not a hypothetical future that Riley might have one day. Nor is he a child waiting for her at home, who can be taken in by Jacob or someone.

Riley is two months pregnant with Rex. The gun to Riley's head is a gun to Rex's too. If you sacrifice Riley, Alex's endgame letter to Rex changes to a letter to Riley's father. This is because Rex went into the portal with her. He will never be born, existing only as a temporal shadow in Riley's memory of a future Rex will never be allowed to live.

This isn't a choice between Olivia and Riley.

This is a choice between Olivia and Rex.

Fuck, is this complicated.

For me, the presence of Rex in this equation, the fact that there is no way to sacrifice Riley without also sacrificing Rex, changes the math considerably.

At this point, it is no longer a question of, "Do you, as an adult, sacrifice yourself for a troubled teenager?"

Now it's become the Trolley Problem.

Down one track, there is a teenage girl waving at the trolley and shouting "COME ON, HIT ME!!! I WANT IT TO HIT ME!!! GO AHEAD AND HIT ME!!!"

Down the other track is my goddamn son.

...

And I know what my answer to that question is.

[one-beer-is-not-enough]

Okay first off I absolutely love your art and the way you render.

Secondly I wonder what Marcel would think of Crow? (His profile is a bit buried on my blog but I use the #crow for him)

Crow hates the preps and rich people in general so Marcel would be on his shit list. He blatantly charges rich students more for his services and he would do that to Marcel as well but upon realizing that he literally doesn't have that much money on him he would quietly lower his prices. Just don't mention it to him his pride doesn't want to acknowledge that he's being nice to a rich kid. He'd feel bad that Marcel is clearly being used by the other preps but just shrug it off as "not my problem".

Thank you, your art is an absolute banger too!! And sorry for the long wait!

I love Crow so much, his swagger is immeasurable and his nonchalance an endless sea. And his backstory is so well-written, I loved reading through his tag :D

I had a couple ideas and couldn't decide which one to draw, so I made both but kept the second one b&w :')

Here’s how I think they’d interact:

First off, I wrote more for Marcel’s lore that I haven’t posted at the time of this ask, which might make Crow not lower his prices after all (💀). Marcel starts using moderate blackmail against people that get on his bad side, mostly embarrassing secrets he finds out from his sister and Christie's group. What’s worse is he steals people’s belongings for ransom. Like, for example he’ll steal your skateboard and tell you to buy it back, or he’ll sell it off to someone else. Fortunately he would only do this to someone he really despises

He doesn’t begin doing this right from the start, so Crow could lower his prices out of pity at first and then make them skyrocket when Marcel gains notoriety for his shady methods lmao

That aside, Marcel respects the hustle. He actually tries to copy Crow… Complete flop. His prices aren't better than Crow’s, and nobody trusts a preppy vendor to begin with. He never lives this one down

Considering Crow’s background with the Harringtons and Marcel being kinda insane about Derby, they’re bound to have a massive conflict sooner rather than later. All it takes to change Marcel’s opinion on Crow is overhearing shit-talk about Derby. The other preps are mostly fair game, but Marcel is corny as fuck, so as soon as he registers the insults to his crush, he’s making a mad dash towards the offenders…

…Realizing one of them is Crow, he begrudgingly holds back from a physical fight, in fear of his prices becoming even more atrocious. He needs his cigarettes and liquor, and having to resort to the townies every single time would be a pain the ass. Still, it’s not enough to stop him from verbally assaulting Crow any time he bad-mouths Derby... Who probably does this just to taunt him, because Marcel reacts like he’s got stage 3 rabies lol. Bloodshot eyes, trembling from anger, the whole shebang. And he can’t do SHIT to Crow, so it’s hilarious to witness him silently going through the 5 stages of grief. He buys a pack of cigarettes immediately after too. With shame.

Marcel may find out about Crow’s history with the Harringtons if Derby ever mentions it in passing. Knowing this, he knocks the anger meltdowns down a notch, but he won’t go much further than that. He thinks he’d look weak if he admitted to being a prick, so he tries to be a little more civil without acknowledging the sudden change

“The hell you mean you don’t sell weed?” <- “None of your business. Also cigs are $20 more now” <- “Fanabola…! I’m gonna become a lawyer just to sue you for extortion!”

On rare instances that Marcel is in a really good mood and Crow doesn’t rile him up on purpose, they might have a smoke together, maybe even talk about the most recent gossip floating around. One of them will probably ruin the vibe immediately after, but for like two minutes they’re chill like that

[unlikeable-female-character]

Being angry at someone you don’t know personally for simply living their life is beyond insane. I keep seeing the words angry and mad and pissed being thrown around and all because shock! horror! someone took a picture with him and his girlfriend. At what point does this “fan” behaviour start getting called out because it’s long overdue. How he chooses to live his life is none of our business and if he triggers anyone to the point where they’re abusing and harassing him and his loved ones, it’s a sign to move tf on. Stop stanning him. They can move on to the next dilf or whatever since he’s a piece of meat to them anyway and all they do is sexualize him.

Right? I’d LOVE for someone to explain to me exactly what they are so angry, mad and pissed off about. Are they this angry in real life? Like, do they tell people in actual real life that they are mad at the fact that Hugh Jackman is in a relationship? Wonder how that goes for them? I’ve also seen someone saying they ‘literally’ felt betrayed. Literally? Really? In what way have they ‘literally’ been betrayed by someone they have, quite literally, never met?? I also remember someone commenting on a post of mine early on and talking about how they’d gone through the stages of grief. Really? Really though??? None of this *waves hand around* is a reasonable reaction.

I saw that the lovely lady who posted the pic of Hugh and Sutton deleted it - I don’t know why but I would bet money that she was getting hate for it. Which, if she did, is unhinged on about a million levels. There is no planet on which harassing a total stranger because they posted a pic of Hugh and Sutton is acceptable. But we know this isn’t an isolated case- this sort of toxicity is almost par for the course in fandoms now and that’s just sad and does nothing but ruin the experience for everyone. It really does feel like something snapped and shifted in the last few years and people have no concept of boundaries or acceptable behaviour anymore. Threats and abuse seem to come so easily, believing that they can and should have some sort of say in the lives of strangers.

(And what’s the betting that the same people who would crash out over the pic yesterday are the same ones who keep bitching about Hugh not making her ‘instagram official’ or whatever the fuck it is they want. Is anyone really surprised???)

As much as I would love for Hugh to call people out and make some sort of statement i truly don’t think it would make any difference. If someone is so broken by an actor they like getting into a relationship then no amount of logic is going to help. I truly wish they would move on but who’s to say that they wouldn’t just transfer the same toxicity to someone else and their relationship.

[rapunzellovesbooks]

One thing that gets me about Syril specifically is that, yes, he loves the Empire and in no way does what I am going to say exempt him from things he is doing, but he genuinely thinks they are the good guys. So him going to be a spy is him thinking oh I am going to expose bad people who should not be rebelling anyway against the system I love, I am simply catching them and the rest of the people can go on. BUT what Dedra is keeping from him is that eventually this is going to be expanded to all the citizens whether they are actual rebels or not. Syril believes in justice, an indoctrinated version of it, but justice. If you keep in line, you are fine. These folks probably are lying about what the empire is doing cause they are evil. Cassian killed two men so he has to go to prison. It is a very idealistic fantastical idea of justice.

So when he finds out that stuff is more complicated, his mind is fucked. He is gonna go through the five stages of grief and then you have Dedra who is a step beyond him in indoctrination. She will never ever see a gray area and Syril might. But she is also feeling things, she now has someone she cares about too, in her own way. Like man it is so complicated and fascinating. And tragic cause yeah these people have brains and they could have looked beyond what they have been told their whole lives but also, who are we to say we would be different? Would be hate our „home“? Wild. Like Dedra is not sadistic, but she will do anything to get what she wants, she is not a lets listen. No she is like everyone who is not us needs to just follow orders. While Syril is I follow orders but only when they make sense like we saw in season 1.

But then again Dedra finds loopholes. Man they are so fucking well written. I am supposed to want them to lose but all I want is to have them on screen as much as possible cause yeah Syril and Dedra have done messed up shit (like Syril just took the first step for the Ghorman massacre) but they are also so human. This damn show I swear.

[silvysartfulness]

Hey, people.

I know the world is rough for everyone right now, but I would like to ask you to help out a little, if you can.

My friend in Ukraine, who is also the one translating Heaven Has A Road into Russian, is going through a nightmarish time right now. Aside from the ACTUAL, LITERAL WAR ravaging their country, a few months ago, they were brusquely informed by a doctor that their mom was suffering from stage 4 cancer and didn’t have long left. It was supposed to be a routine check-up, and instead their lives fell apart.

Their mother died last week.

She was the last family member my friend had left, and now they’re struggling not only with the impossible shock and grief, but handling all the necessary preparations all alone, and trying to save up money to fulfill the last promises they made before their mom passed.

If you could donate a few dollars, it would make a huge difference. To help fulfill those promises, and maybe even offer my friend a chance to take some time off work just to mourn and recover.

Their paypal is rinsmit369@gmail.com

They're also offering translation commissions, if you want your writing to reach a wider audience, as well as photo retouching.

If you want to commission them, you can contact them at the email above, and they’re ShiftlessRedFox on twitter and the same name on Instagram.

This is my friend, and I will 100% vouch for them. These horrors is also why Heaven Has A Road hasn’t updated very frequently lately despite technically being finished – we always post the original and translated chapters at the same time, and understandably my friend has had more important things to do than translate fanfiction.

I hope you can help, every single dollar makes a difference. And if not, at least maybe signal boost and/or offer a few words of comfort to someone who is very alone and hurting right now.

Thank you.

[leporellian]

How are we meant to look at operas, anyway? (and what are they?)

Operas are my favorite art form of them all. This is because I think they are "just really neato" and "the most interesting to study". However, if you were to go around and ask what Defines an opera? Nobody would have a concrete and true answer to the question. They aren’t ‘sung through stage works’ because many operas aren’t sung through and non-operas that are. They have no specific orchestra or singing requirements. Even determining them on a cultural basis doesn’t entirely fit. I actually think ‘art’ is too loose and philosophical a term for what they are either. (I mean, yes, they are art. But how are they so?)  

I think that while there’s no concrete definition for what an opera actually is, there ARE certain sets of… rules (for lack of a better word) that dictate how operas Are and what we should do when Seeing them. Funnily enough, the most complete rules I’ve seen for operas I found in an essay that has nothing to do with operas at all- “Monster Culture: Seven Theses” by Jeffrey Jerome Cohen. My rules for How To Look At Operas are heavily derived from that essay, interpreted in ways to best fit the art form. 

My Rules of Opera (with apologies to Mr. Cohen):

1. The Opera’s Body is a Cultural Body.

Operas are sociological and anthropological records that entail a gap in time between their composition and their performance. They contain as many perspectives as there are people aware of them. Every time you watch an opera, you are negotiating with something or someone else. And these records are always being added onto- no opera is ever truly ‘complete’. 

Operas cannot truly be escapist entertainment because they directly reflect societal problems in both the composer’s time and ours. La Traviata’s main conflict- the way sex workers are demonized and unsupported among ‘polite society’ and how societal expectations and the pressure to conform destroys lives- is something that existed in Verdi’s time, and our own. La Traviata is about the sex workers of today who can’t find work anywhere. It is also about how Giuseppe Verdi’s wife was poorly-treated by the people around her for having been sexually active before their marriage. It is also about the gap between these two events, and how one thing became (or still is) another. 

An opera production is not a recreation. No matter how ‘original production accurate’ they claim to be, they are always a negotiation. There is no such thing as accuracy, as civic law. Once one is freed of the expectation of ‘canon’ or ‘what ought to be’ in an opera, one can deal with these creatures more handily. 

2. The Opera Always Escapes.

No matter how many times Don Giovanni is dragged off to hell at the end of Mozart’s opera of the same name, he always reappears again in a fresh new staging. He never stays down there. Maybe the gates to Hell are looser than we imagine- or, more likely, this is because he represents something that cannot be defeated. What does the character represent? Abuse, sexual violence, power (with class, with gender, with religion); grief, loss, death. None of these things will go away in our lifetimes or the next, and so Don Giovanni as an opera remains relevant. 

In fact, there are no ‘irrelevant’ operas in the standard canon as we know them. Any irrelevant operas that did exist are long gone because there would be no reason to revive them. Even operas that have ‘aged poorly’, like Turandot, confront us with why they’ve poorly aged and force us to reckon with some part of our current world. We react to them in some way and therefore they are worth further looking into.

I call this the “All Dogs go to Heaven” theorem because it doesn’t argue that all operas adhere to the same standard of quality, or are even written with good intentions in mind- but it does argue that they all are worth studying and experiencing. And any opera, as long as a copy of its score and libretto exists, can come back from the dead. So just like the movie, not all of them stay there.

3. The Opera is the Harbinger of Category Crisis.

One of the most common ways to explain away what an opera is, against a musical or a straight play, is to claim that operas are sung through while musicals feature spoken dialogue. Respectfully, this is wrong and insane. Two of the most famous operas of all- Carmen and The Magic Flute- feature extensive spoken dialogue, while Hamilton and Cats (both sung through) are musicals. The notion of operas having specific orchestral or voice requirements isn’t quite true, either- each era of opera, and each opera, is a separate animal.

Is Porgy and Bess an opera, or is it a musical? It features many musical qualities with the latter, and was written by musical-writers - yet it is referred to as an opera. Sometimes it is both. Maybe at some point it could also be neither. Operas do not participate in the general categorization of their Western theatrical siblings. Musical, straight play, ballet- these art forms are immediately distinguishable as themselves. (Note that musicals, despite having a lot of variety, do not have as wild a diversity as operas do owing to their relative youth as an artform.) But an opera can be all three of these and still be an opera. Not only that but there’s so many ways for operas to be- chamber opera, verismo, singspiel, music drama, opera-in-jazz. The opera may borrow from any art, at any time. Its incorporeal form grants it the ability to shift. This is both opera’s great weakness and its greatest boon of all, maybe its most defining operative feature of them all- it can be anything you want it to be.

4. The Opera Dwells at the Gates of Difference.

With their characteristic exaggeration and other oddities, operas are immediately recognized as depicting a world that isn’t quite our own. It’s a world rooted in our own (see point 1) but it isn’t our world. We don’t sing, or gesticulate to that degree, or stab people at the drop of a hat to solve a problem. As much as opera tries to be ‘like us’, it never is entirely so, in a sort of Frankenstein way. 

In this way it is no wonder that all operas focus around difference- from each other, from society, from ourselves. Sometimes this difference is explicit- the ‘othered’, shunned main characters characteristic of the Verdi operas, as in Rigoletto and La Forza del Destino- and sometimes it is more implicit (Tamino and Calaf being strangers to the people around them, Figaro’s position of a lowly barber among Counts and Dons, even Orpheus out of place in the Underworld). The opera seeks to represent the Other. Oftentimes the opera itself is the other. We are all made to learn a new set of social rules when we come to the opera- this equalizes us as an audience, and paradoxically renders us the Other. Opera is about othering and being othered. This is not necessarily good, or bad- it is just a neutral feature. 

5. The Opera Polices the Borders of the Possible.

Every opera begins with- and then revolves around- some kind of transgression. Moral (Don Giovanni slays the Commendatore), cultural (Pinkerton marries Cio-Cio San), societal (Alfredo falls for the courtesan Violetta). The way the opera’s narrative body reacts to this transgression is what will come to define that opera’s theme and what it stands for. Even in the most comic operas, the inciting incident is always a transgression; it is up to the interpreter to detect what the transgression actually is, and from this point the opera emerges all at once like a cracked egg.

Die Meistersinger Von Nurnberg is an interesting case study in transgression. The initial transgression may be seen as Walther joining the Meistersinger contest to win the hand of Eva- he is, after all, not initially a singer, and an intruder on the world of the (educated, cliquey) Meistersingers. But this is not true. Walther initially disrupts status quo when he boldly joins them but he doesn’t stay that way- he is a literal knight in shining armor; masculine and chivalrous, the exact image of how men ‘ought’ to be. Beckmesser, the clerk of the Meistersingers, is consistently depicted as an Other, the nitwit among geniuses; he is effeminate and overconfident, we laugh at his attempts at music making. It is Beckmesser entering the contest himself as a competitor to Walther that is the true transgression in the opera, and the opera surmises this as a bad thing that must be punished through public humiliation and further exclusion. While there is no proof that Wagner wrote Beckmesser to be explicitly antisemitic, the character appears to subconsciously reflect many of Wagner’s antisemitic talking points, adding a particularly cruel underbelly to the way the opera sees the transgression of Beckmesser’s inclusion.

6. Fear of the Opera is Really a Kind of Desire.

Operas are marked by multiple features: Their otherness, their transgressions, their propensity to shift. These all give operas a certain other quality: They are a vehicle for catharsis. The fact that opera is so physically demanding adds to this- an opera is a workout in which emotions about a certain endless topic can be expressed. Salome is terrifying, but through her we can express rage and pure obsession that otherwise would have no place in society. This is also where the falsehood of opera as escapism takes root: When the opera is not given the space to threaten, its catharsis is cauterized into fantasy.

Opera is a space where we can play- already something rare in adulthood- and through the opera we are allowed to play with terror (something even rarer). It is an abstract liminal location only maybe rivaled by a rollercoaster, a playroom, or a shrink’s couch. This sheer radical expression of emotion makes it also easily-mocked by a popular culture unfamiliar with it. I suspect this is because, really deep down, operas are envied. They are so upfront, so passionate, so heartbreakingly sincere that they make those who laugh at art seem small, laughable. But the art form carries on, being unapologetically itself because it cannot be anything else. 

7. The Opera Stands At The Threshold… of Becoming.

What Cohen writes here in the original essay is maybe my favorite paragraph about literary analysis ever written so I’m just going to leave it here in its entirety:

Why do we love opera? What are we meant to do with them, and why are they the way they are? We come to the opera to find ourselves. The rest is just postscript.

[gay-wh0re-slut]

Thank you so much for doing my angst request! It was so good!Can I request a new one? I’m in a mood for angst lately, but with smutty ending lol

Reader and Rhea have broke up a while ago, but Rhea is taking it harder than she thought she would. She hears that reader is going on dates (which is actually just to kill time and as an effort to move on, but Rhea doesn’t know that). She feels angry and jealous that she’s replaced so fast and confronts reader about it. During the argument things are getting heated and “somehow” they resolve the misunderstanding horizontally 😅

i’m so glad you liked it! I’m hoping it was the one with the prompt bc that one was fun to write. thank you for making another request!

after writing: it’s a bit more sad than angry bc i lowkey went thru this a while ago lmaooo so sorry bout that but i hope you like it hahahahahaoops and they’re not really horizontal but it’s still hot lmaoo

Over

rhea x fem reader

content: angst-ish with sad rhea, smutttttt, oral sexxxx, fingeringggg, hot buff goth woman kissing youuu ooooooo

It’s been two months since you and Rhea have broken up. The first month was hard on you but the second month you wanted to get your mind off of it so you decided to download all the dating apps you could think of. You’ve been on a few first dates and a few second dates but none have lived up to your expectations.

It has been really hard on the wrestler though. She claimed that she did it because she was getting so busy that she felt it wasn’t fair to you that she wasn’t able to be around as much as she wanted. So she decided to end things, unfortunately for her, she didn’t realize how much she relied on you to get away from all the buzz.

You haven’t spoken or texted Rhea for three weeks and it was hurting you, but she was the one to end things so why should I try? you thought. You and her had mutual friends that you would hang out with sometimes and they would try to tell you updates on her but you didn’t want to hear them.

“She really misses you,” they would say.

“Then she shouldn’t have left me,” said the anger stage of grief.

Part of you knew that the friends were telling her that you were going on dates and how you were doing but you didn’t care. You wanted to seem like the ‘bigger person’ and make it seem like you moved on.

One night, you had been chatting with a girl on one of the many dating apps and things were going suspiciously well so you set up a date for the next day, just to see. It was at a local coffee shop because you wanted it to be in public in case something went wrong.

You wore a long maroon, but sort of tight dress that showed off your curves just right, some light makeup, and your hair natural; you didn’t want to try too hard. The time came and you headed to the shop, ordered coffee and sat down at a small table in the corner.

People came and went and you were there for about twenty minutes, checking your phone and scrolling through social media. Because you were waiting for quite a while, you didn’t want to come off as someone who got stood up, so you decided to text her.

“You still coming?”

“Sorry, something came up, maybe another day?”

Of course. This wasn’t the first time this happened and it sure wouldn’t be the last.

“All good,” was the only thing you said. You didn’t like putting effort into something that wasn’t going to go anywhere. If they wasted your time, then they don’t care about you, your friend would say, but something seemed off.

You brushed it off, drank your coffee and enjoyed your time alone, it was nice. You rarely went out by yourself, so it was good for a change.

You finally finished your latte, so you head back home. To your surprise, there was a familiar black truck in your driveway.

“No fucking way,” you growl as you park the car. You sit for a few minutes contemplating going somewhere else in town, maybe a movie or something long enough to where she would leave on her own, but you decided against it. “If she wants to talk then let’s talk.”

You slammed the car door and stomped inside to her helping herself to a glass of water.

“Sorry to show up out of the blue,” the australian admitted.

“No you’re not,” you threw your keys down on the counter.

“Excuse me?”

“Obviously you have something to say that you couldn’t call or text about so…” you crossed your arms keeping your distance.

She was silent but you could tell she was trying not to go off.

“So?” you push.

“You’ve been going on dates,” she finally said.

“Yeah and? Why does it matter? You broke up with me,” the lump in your throat began to form, you were never good with confrontation but you swallowed it down.

“It’s only been two months!” she barked as she threw her hands up.

“People grieve differently!”

“You’re not grieving, you’re trying to get back at me.”

“I’m not. I’m trying to move on,” you glare.

“Moving on means seeing other people after two months?” She walked to the kitchen table and leaned on the back of one of the chairs, gripping it tightly.

“Yes, it does because I’m tired of throwing myself a pity party every night.”

“As if I haven’t done that?” she gestured to herself.

“You broke up with me,” you reiterate.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you!” She walked to the bar area of the kitchen counter.

You let the words hang in the air, you genuinely didn’t have a response to that.

“It’s like you didn’t even care to reach out,” she sighed under her breath.

“The phone works both ways,” you rebutted.

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to!”

“Of course I did! I wanted to remain friends,” her cheeks were flush.

You try to calm your breathing and think hard about what you’re going to say because you didn’t want to get her feelings anymore than you did, apparently. “It’s hard to remain friends with someone you had fallen in love with and been with for a year.”

“As if I don’t know that?!” She crossed her arm and held her forehead with the other, “I had hope that we could work our way back.”

“Well…”

She took a long deep breath, before looking back up at you, “so you don’t want to try?”

“Literally when did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to say anything! I can tell with the way this is going that you don’t want to,” she was trying to calm herself down but you could tell she was struggling.

“No, no, no, back to the main question, why do you care that I’ve been seeing other people? We broke up!” you uncrossed your arms and got yourself some water too, your hands needed to do something.

“Because!” she huffed, “Because I still care for you and I don’t want you to get hurt,” she sighed once more, “and I miss you.”

You stop in your tracks and set the glass down gently before your impulse took over to throw it. You glare at her, “then why did you leave?”

“Because it wasn’t fair to you! We barely saw each other and when we did we would fight! I loved you too much to do that to you,” tears began to form in her eyes but she didn’t dare let them fall.

“I was perfectly fine letting you do what you love and was willing to work it out, you never talked to me about how you felt! You just up and left!” you threw back.

“Are you serious?! I had a flight that morning I had to leave, it was nothing to do with you.”

“You could’ve waited,” you growled.

“And make you feel more miserable?”

“I wasn’t!! That’s what I’m saying! I loved you, hell I still do, but that was bad the way you did it and you know it,” you pointed at her, hoping that she didn’t catch that one part.

“You what?”

Damn it, “you heard me.”

She sat at the bar and hung her head in her hands, sniffling.

“Rhea…” you start, and the lump in your throat was getting bigger, “I was distracting myself so that I could stop thinking about you. You consume my life, I think about you all the time,” a tear fell and you wiped it away before she could see. “I couldn’t do anything that first month, I was miserable, I had to do something.”

She lifted her head, her face was red and covered in tears. “I never stopped loving you,” she admitted.

“That makes two of us,” you said under your breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you again,” she wiped her nose with a paper towel.

You couldn’t think of anything to say. You sat there staring at her, thinking of everything you’ve ever done together and where it went wrong, but it never came up. “What do you want me to say?” you sigh.

“I don’t know,” she caught your eyes. Those icy blue perfect eyes staring back into you.

“Then what do you want from me?”

She sat for a minute racking her brain, trying to think of an answer that was different from what she wanted to say, but what’s the use, she thought and decided to shoot her shot anyway, “Another chance?”

You contemplate for a few short seconds, “You have to promise me-”

“I’ll do anything please, baby,” she didn’t mean to call you that, but you let it slide.

“You have to promise me that you’ll keep me informed on your schedule no matter what. We will make it work. Take me with you, I’ll pay for the extra bed, I’ll pay for the tickets, just…” you take a deep breath, “don’t give up again.” You didn’t think you would fold so quickly, but here you were.

“I promise, I’ll send it right now, the whole month. And when the next one comes I’ll send you that too,” as she took out her phone and sent it, “we can download a shared calendar app.”

“Thank you,” you took a sip of your water and set it back down. “Now are you going to admit that you were supposed to meet me at the coffee shop or what?”

“I had to get to you somehow,” she smiled nervously.

“You didn’t think that Leah Shipley wouldn’t raise an eyebrow?”

“Hey, what can you do?” she shrugged.

The two of you sat in silence for a good minute smiling at the thought of her trying to trick you.

“So are you going to kiss me or what?” you said a little too confidentally.

She basically ran around the counter and slammed her mouth against yours, holding your jaw. Your hands grabbed her waist and pulled her in tightly.

“God, I missed you,” she breathed.

“Shut up,” as you kiss her again.

She carefully walked you backwards towards the counter as your lips danced against hers. Your hands found themselves roaming her body naturally, like it was never gone.

She picked you up onto the counter, carefully moving things away. Her hips shoved their way in between your thighs pushing your dress up as she went, as you wrapped your legs around her, pulling her in as close as possible.

A hand found its way into your hair and yanked it to the side letting a whimper spill out of you. She kissed down your neck, biting delicately sending shockwaves down to your core. She kissed her way down your chest until she couldn’t find anymore bare skin. Suddenly, her arms pulled you forward to where you almost fell off the counter, yanking your dress farther up. She planted soft kisses on your inner thighs which made you crazy.

“Can I-” she whispered before you cut her off.

“Do it. I don’t care just fuck me, please baby,” you had missed her touch so badly. No one had ever made you feel the way she did, it was insane. She knew how to work you out just right.

With a devilish smirk she bit harder on your thighs spreading them as far as they would go. Your hand tangled itself in her hair as you used the other one to lean back. She grabbed at the waistband of your underwear and slid them off of you. A shiver hit your body as the cool air hit your hot center.

Her eyes widened at the sight of you basically dripping onto the counter, “Damn, baby, you missed me that much?”

“Shut up,” you said once more and shoved her head into you.

She immediately began lapping at your juices. You moan loudly with your head slamming on the cabinets behind you. A small “fuck,” fell from your lips followed by another moan. Her hand grazed up your thigh, lightly scratching its way up. It reached around to the small of your back and pushed you more forward into her. Riding her face, your hand gripped hair tighter. The hand sneaked its way back around and prodded at your entrance.

“Please, yes,” you whine.

And so she did, gently plunging her two fingers into you. “God,” you groan as your eyes rolled back.

She kissed the inside of your thighs before returning to your neck and kissing her way up to your lips. You grab her face, kissing her intensely, as she’s now pounding into you. Her other hand returns to your now swollen clit and adds to the knot growing inside of you.

“You missed me, baby?” she coos.

“So… fucking… bad,” you breathe.

“Then show me,” she growled.

Only a few seconds pass and you released all over her hand with a loud moan, squeezing your legs closed but was stopped by her hips blocking your way. Your back arching into the woman in front of you, “ffffffucccckk,” you whine as she kisses your neck. Your nails are digging into her shoulder blades as she continues to pump in and out of you letting you enjoy the high.

As you came down, catching your breath, you release your grip on her shoulders. Your head lolled forward leaning onto the wrestlers forehead for a few breaths before leaning back onto the cabinet. She gently pulled her fingers out of you and brought them to her mouth, cleaning them off.

“I forgot how good you taste, princess,” her accent was so thick you almost came undone again.

“It’s been too long,” you sigh.

“I guess we have some catching up to do, then huh?” she smirked. She picked you up with a giggle coming from both of you and began to carry you to your bedroom.

[drdemonprince]

Hi I keep thinking back to your book unmasking autism, I recently was diagnosed with level 1 by my new psychiatrist but with losing my healthcare I feel lost on how to function without medical assistance. I typically mask and been learning how not to, but it always feel at the opportunity cost of more money, overly explaining to family or grief. I’ve been in a loop of feeling I shouldn’t exist due to my disability and it a sad feeling.

I am so sorry to hear that you are going through this. I'm certain you already know this, but it's not the case that you shouldn't exist because you are disabled. The vast majority of people on this planet find it absolutely soul-sucking and exhausting to present as what gets called "neurotypical" at work. It's too many hours of pretending to be someone you are not, with no space allotted for your full humanity, with not enough energy or hours left behind to look after oneself, have nourishing authentic relationships, and ample space to recover, be playful and joyful, and dream. Every person requires ample time and space for themselves to recouperate, and to listen to the actual feelings that they have inside, and capitalism instead demands that we suppress all of it, and it can slowly eat away at us and make it difficult to access authentic pleasure or connectedness. For Autistics it's especially pronounced because we are such a bad mismatch with what capitalism demands, and because we need so much energy recovery time, but it's simply the case that you are not broken or defective for failing to fit within such an oppressive system. It is that system that should not exist, and that terrorizes everybody, to varying degrees. I bet if you look at the most "well adjusted" hard working people that you know, you see how their lives have been totally ruined by overworking and killing what's wild and free about themselves, or what used to be those things.

I have spoken to hundreds of Autistic people in the situation you are in at this point, and I have found that for the majority of us, embracing our disability and articulating our needs means that very dramatic changes have to happen in our lives. Some people have to reorient how they interact with their families, establish new boundaries, push to really educate them on neurodivergence, go no contact, or rethink what family means to them altogether. Lots of us leave careers or switch to part-time or remote work, or have to get incredibly creative and resourceful in order to survive in a way that we can stand: going on disability benefits, public assistance, living with friends, pooling resources, going off the grid in some way, finding some side hustle or scam that makes it possible to survive, doing sex work or freelance, taking on childcare or eldercare duties for a friend who is employed, or something of that nature are all options I've seen a lot of unmasking Autistics pursue. None of these options are ideal, and they all come with significant costs and risk factors. But then, so does killing oneself slowly with work.

I have a whole book coming out next year in March about these specific considerations, with lots of tools and decision trees and research and quotes from other Autistics. The book is designed to help Autistics who are in that second stage of their unmasking journey sort out what a life where it is possible to be less masked means for them. Where can they live? Who is gonna support them? What matters to them in their life? How can they reset their relationships in light of their neurodivergence? What does it mean to grow old as a disabled person? These are the kinds of questions the book will hopefully help me explore, and discover the best answers for themselves. Of course, many people would say that their only way out of this is the downfall of capitalism, but I personally am of the mind that we have to make that end happen ourselves by working less hard, consuming less where possible, leaning on other people, providing support to our neighbors, becoming less reliant upon our employers and the government, and building our collective escape from the capitalistic machine. And we can all have some small part in that, even if only for ourselves and those immediately closest to us. That's enough.

I hope that you find a way of life that is sustaining and feels whole and good for you. As neurodivergent people we do things very differently. And that is both the curse and the beauty of us. The prescribed script we've been given for how life is supposed to look is never going to work for us. Indeed, it's not working for most anybody else either. There way forward will not be easy, and the lot you've been given to deal with is not fair, but there are also millions of other disabled people just like you who are leaning on one another, slowing down, refusing to play into the existing system's hand as much as is possible for them, and making a new world. And just by pondering the things that you are, you're helping already to make that new world too.

[absurdumsid]

I need info on saejun an you obviously know him better than me, so can i have you favorite hcs, theories (how he joined the mtt), or interactions on him w/ the mtt :)

OF COURSE U CAN !! so sorry, it took me a bit to compile all of this from my older notes aaaa have a compensation doodle bc i took SOO long GHGHHHGH

anyway saejun nation pspspspss

saejun !! THE beloved if u will

he regularly speaks korean but learned english after meeting nightmare and killer

i love to think he's very very strong, he can beat the mtt in a fistfight kind of strong (not like he would, but he'd win)

he can cook decently but he'd choose his brother's cooking any day (even if pilsu is still um learning)

he also really likes spicy dishes !! he bonds over that with dust !

he'd forgive ppl who steal from the farm but he wouldn't forgive harming the crops

he HATES pesticides (i think this is canon actually) but also really hates strong smells in general

sleepy 24/7 he lays in the grass to photosynthesize (he just passes out, pilsu wakes him almost every time)

probably knows a lot of offhand herbology/biology trivia (he can explain the aerobic and anaerobic cycle by heart)

his general attitude toward the mtt/bad sanses is not to pry unless they're the ones who open up to him (even now he only rlly learns about their situations through nightmare who doesn't talk that much about it anyway)

he accepts mtt with open arms and its that accepting (almost forgiving) nature that makes them so super attached to him !!

for me, it's the concept of meeting a version of yourself that lives the most peaceful life and being happy for him, but ALSO not being shunned by that alternate version for being violent and hurting the people that you both love

as for how saejun met mtt, my general interpretation of it is that nightmare struck a deal with saejun for food supplies in exchange for manual labour (so mtt and nightmare help a lot with the harvests! the only ones who really know about it is pilsu, saejun, anseung, and suggu)

killer // 고통씨 (Mr. Misery/Grief)

saejun meets killer first and was the only one helping around the farm

i don't think saejun would be the type to pry into their pasts so he doesn't question killer about himself or anything

killer is the one who opens up to him one stormy night after a stage 3 episode where he holed himself up in the shed and saejun found him cold, shaking, and curled up embracing himself

he calms killer down and tells nightmare abt it and that's how he finds out about killer's past (he doesn't bring it up, but he's always there to help killer after his panic attacks)

he likes to do the chores with killer most of the time just in case he has a run in with chorongi or suggu (the kids are very silly and tend to mess with him and he doesn't know how killer is with children)

they photosynthesize together and sometimes nightmare just comes to get killer in the evening and finds them in the grass

horror // 취급주의 (Handle with Care) or 주주씨 (Mr. Vermillion)

he meets horror second (after he gets kidnapped by nightmare) and saejun isn't really scared of him because he figured that he probably has some hidden issues like killer

saejun thought horror was really fragile at first (because he was very thin and had a skull injury) so he actually had him do mostly little chores like going to the market or gathering eggs from the chickens

after a few months killer doesn't come in (was sent to a mission somewhere else) and saejun needs someone to handle the heavy hay bales (<- he could've done it himself but hes lazy) and horror just kinda Does It and surprises saejun

he starts to depend on horror more and actually admits that he was underestimating him out of concern for his wellbeing and horror says its ok because he was also underestimating saejun (until he saw him carry killer AND a bunch of crops home that one time)

they start to cook together and do the heavier chores (while making silly jokes abt killer) together

horror starts to learn korean by talking with dorihye, saejun, and pilsu as well as asking nightmare for some reading material ! (after finding out that dust also speaks korean, he starts practicing conversation with him !)

dust // 유골씨 (Mr. Ashes)

saejun's meeting with dust was noooot planned at all, nightmare just kinda forced mtt into a portal to farmtale during one of errors visits

horror mostly stayed with dust at first who was just dead silent and stayed in one spot (saejun asked if he wanted any drinks and it took ten excruciating seconds before horror had to answer water for him)

its not until pilsu comes into the house and greets killer and horror and makes a remark about a new brother that he starts to actually talk

dust doesn't exactly warm up to pilsu and more like forces himself to because pilsu starts to ask him what his favourite pasttimes are, his favourite food, if he wants any snacks, etc (killer and horror went through the same thing)

dust eventually gets carried off to the kitchen to cook with pilsu and that's how pilsu finds out dust speaks fluent korean even though they have different dialects

saejun goes into the kitchen and has a little talk with dust (where he learns they both speak korean !! and that that's why dust wasn't speaking that much !) and they bond over pilsu's silliness (dust talks about how his papyrus also loved to cook etc etc, saejun notices that its in past tense but doesn't dig any deeper)

dust eventually starts to visit farmtale with horror frequently to exchange makguksu and ramyeon recipes with pilsu !!

dust is also relatively close with dorihye, anseung, and suggu who tend to remark that "the other saejuns dont really talk much" to which horror always chuckles

that's all (for now) !! TYSM FOR ASKING ABT MY BLORBOS BGHGHRGRHG