#doing this to avoid working on my thesis

[diamondkat]

Due to Hazbin Hotel, mainly Alastor, being my current hyperfixation it is hard to listen to any song without imagining scenarios related to them. I put most of these ideas into the Child of Roo AU that I have in my head. I have made a few posts about parts of the AU and their song inspirations. There are several other songs. Hazbin Hotel is a musical so it makes it easy to imagine the characters singing certain songs. Below is a summary of several parts of the story along with the songs that inspired them, arranged in chronological order

Never Trust a Smile: As an Alastor fan song that sounds like a woman singing a lullaby, makes me think of Alastor being raised by Roo after the death of his mother. She raises him to be cunning and manipulative. Alastor grows to be a successful serial killer and radio presenter in life and a powerful sinner in death. He considers his upbringing with Roo, who he also views as his mother, a major part of the reason for his success. In this AU, Roo is also Eve making her the mother of mankind. Alastor recognises her as both his mother and the mother of mankind.

Monster: When Alastor first gets to hell, he loses contact with Roo. After barely being saved by his birth mother's voodoo protections from going mad due to suddenly being flooded by an overwhelming amount of power, he is attacked by an overlord who sees his first display of power and considers him a threat. He ends up killing the overlord, who he eats immediately afterwards as he is starving and barely sane. He is found in the process of this by Rosie who takes him in as one of her own but also because she sees his potential. At first, living with her, he mutes his colours so that he blends in with the rest of his cannibals. Even though he is in hell, he wants to try living by the morals his birth mother tried to teach him a little bit more. However, when the cannibal town comes under attack from an overlord wanting revenge for the overlord Alastor killed, he must embrace the monster he was meant to be to solve the problem. Reconnecting to his true self enables him to reconnect with Roo once again. He begins his journey to being known as the sinner who rose to power overnight by hunting overlords. On the other hand, Rosie gets herself a powerful new ally that allows her to be treated with more respect by other overlords who consider her the only one who can convince the radio demon to do what she wants.

Done For: The first half of the song takes place soon after Alastor reconnects with Roo and the second half of the song takes place after Nothing Left to Lose. Alastor approaches Lilith on behalf of Roo to propose an arrangement. Lilith has been killing the children of Roo when they arrive in hell as they tend to pose a danger to the stability of hell and their existence was partially responsible for heaven deciding that Hell was planning and capable of staging a revolution. In the first half, they come to an agreement that allows Lilith to borrow Alastor's services when needed and Roo promises to help Lilith with her plans to reduce heaven's influence in hell. In the second half of the song, Lilith turns against Roo. Lilith figured out that Roo was using the deal to bid her time to break free from her seal while strengthening Alastor as her most powerful weapon. The second half of the song is Roo setting Alastor against Lilith. It fight ends with Lilith having to compromise as for some reason the fight was causing the seal to break. Lilith agrees to leave hell and not attack Roo in exchange for Alastor protecting Charlie and not sabotaging Lilith's escape. It ends with Alastor getting sealed away for 7 years.

Shatter Me: This story references the picture from the pilot where Alastor seems to be a tent. Alastor meets Niffty while investigating an overlord that he is considering killing. The overlord runs a kind of circus where they use other sinners as attractions. One of the attractions is a small bug-like sinner trapped in a freezing cold dome. She is only able to move slowly within that limited space. Alastor on seeing her decides that he is going to kill the overlord. He makes the circus into an alternate dimension that he controls and burns the overlord and his followers to death. The bug-like sinner who he names Niffty is one of the sinners who survives the massacre as Alastor spared those who were attractions. Afterwards, she asks him if he saved her because he is a good person and he replies that he is actually a bad boy. Niffty is one of the first souls that Alastor acquires. He later goes on to focus mainly on collecting the souls of overlords and those on their way to becoming overlords as he considers them more valuable for collection than the average sinner's soul. He also has a habit of giving the souls of random sinners to Niffty. This means that over time, Niffty became an overlord in her own right but she doesn't know.

Nothing Left to Lose: This occurs after Lucifer discovers that Lilith made a deal with Roo. Lilith wants to do something about the control Heaven has over their kingdom. However, Lucifer does not want to challenge heaven. This argument is the start of the end of their relationship.

Eyes on You: Season 1 in this AU is the same as in the series because despite this AU! Alastor being more powerful than canon! Alastor, he is restricted by his deal with Lilith from harming him as it fell under tampering with her escape which she achieved based on a deal with Adam. In the Child of Roo AU, overlords are usually careful about how they expand as no one knows what triggers Alastor to come after an overlord. This played a role in the stability of the overlords particularly those at the top. Even with Alastor gone for 7 years, with no evidence that he was actually dead, people were still cautious. Season 2 has Vox reacting to Alastor being injured and potentially weakened after his fight with Adam takes this opportunity to take over the pride ring. He and the Vees target all the other overlords and the hotel as part of their plans to become the true rulers of the pride ring.

Hold Them Down: Vox, at some point, tries to convince the other overlords to turn against the Morningstar family, particularly Charlie. He discovers that Charlie's redemption plan works and tries to convince the other overlords that it will be worse for them than the exterminations.

Ruthlessness: Alastor has been keeping out of what has been going on as he focuses on healing and trying to find a way to fix his staff. He has been healing slower than usual considering the cause of the injury but the corruptive nature of his magic has been corrupting the angelic magic allowing him to heal. However, fixing his staff has been proving to be a problem. He needs to fix it because while he can still perform magic without it, it is not as controlled as he would prefer. He has ignored approaches from overlords and even those at the hotel asking him to do something about the Vees. But, he finds himself unable to ignore them after one of their schemes hurts Niffty. He wants to kill them but Charlie argues against it. Alastor finds himself lecturing them on how ruthlessness is mercy on oneself. He points out how Vaggie leaving Lute alive could harm them in the future and how he had an opportunity to kill Vox in the past but allowed him to be saved. In the end, Charlie is still able to convince him to be patient.

Villain: With everything that is going on, Lucifer starts talking about how sinners are the worst. Alastor takes it upon himself to point out to Lucifer that his view is too black and white. After the end of the song, he reminds Lucifer that in a way Lucifer is the first sinner as the first one to break heaven's rule. He doesn't reveal to Lucifer that as a child of Roo, while he doesn't mind the fruit being given to Eve as his mother deserved the right to choose, he resents Lucifer for giving her the fruit with no warning or guidance in a way that allowed for the Evil to take control of her in a way that she still struggles with.

Get in the Water: At the end of Season 2, as Vox thinks he is close to achieving his goals, Alastor finally comes after him. After trapping the entire Vee tower in an alternate dimension, he corners Vox and asks him to sacrifice himself if he wants the remaining Vees and those under him to survive. Vox tries to beg for his life and the life of the other instead, trying to call on their past friendship to get Alastor to spare his life. Before coming, Alastor had actually reached an agreement with Charlie that if she could fix his staff, he would spare Vox and the Vees. Alastor, who could have killed Vox and the Vees at any time, allows for the delay because he believes in Charlie. Charlie is able to finish the staff in time, saving Vox and the Vees who Alastor threatens to never cross him or the hotel again. He also lets them know that they were only saved by Charlie's mercy. He uses this as another opportunity to continue to build a bond with Charlie.

[raskies456]

literally just looking at various potential research labs for grad school and my brain has the audacity to give me the “fucking up the protein purification in front of everyone so badly they all think I’m an idiot” nightmare again

[i-am-a-fan]

my goal in life is to buy a ton of books

then give those books to my loved ones and library

so that the books I love can be shared

[derinwrites]

The Three Commandments

The thing about writing is this: you gotta start in medias res, to hook your readers with action immediately. But readers aren’t invested in people they know nothing about, so start with a framing scene that instead describes the characters and the stakes. But those scenes are boring, so cut straight to the action, after opening with a clever quip, but open in the style of the story, and try not to be too clever in the opener, it looks tacky. One shouldn’t use too many dialogue tags, it’s distracting; but you can use ‘said’ a lot, because ‘said’ is invisible, but don’t use ‘said’ too much because it’s boring and uninformative – make sure to vary your dialogue tags to be as descriptive as possible, except don’t do that because it’s distracting, and instead rely mostly on ‘said’ and only use others when you need them. But don’t use ‘said’ too often; you should avoid dialogue tags as much as you possibly can and indicate speakers through describing their reactions. But don’t do that, it’s distracting.

Having a viewpoint character describe themselves is amateurish, so avoid that. But also be sure to describe your viewpoint character so that the reader can picture them. And include a lot of introspection, so we can see their mindset, but don’t include too much introspection, because it’s boring and takes away from the action and really bogs down the story, but also remember to include plenty of introspection so your character doesn’t feel like a robot. And adverbs are great action descriptors; you should have a lot of them, but don’t use a lot of adverbs; they’re amateurish and bog down the story. And

The reason new writers are bombarded with so much outright contradictory writing advice is that these tips are conditional. It depends on your style, your genre, your audience, your level of skill, and what problems in your writing you’re trying to fix. Which is why, when I’m writing, I tend to focus on what I call my Three Commandments of Writing. These are the overall rules; before accepting any writing advice, I check whether it reinforces one of these rules or not. If not, I ditch it.

1: Thou Shalt Have Something To Say

What’s your book about?

I don’t mean, describe to me the plot. I mean, why should anybody read this? What’s its thesis? What’s its reason for existence, from the reader’s perspective? People write stories for all kinds of reasons, but things like ‘I just wanted to get it out of my head’ are meaningless from a reader perspective. The greatest piece of writing advice I ever received was you putting words on a page does not obligate anybody to read them. So why are the words there? What point are you trying to make?

The purpose of your story can vary wildly. Usually, you’ll be exploring some kind of thesis, especially if you write genre fiction. Curse Words, for example, is an exploration of self-perpetuating power structures and how aiming for short-term stability and safety can cause long-term problems, as well as the responsibilities of an agitator when seeking to do the necessary work of dismantling those power structures. Most of the things in Curse Words eventually fold back into exploring this question. Alternately, you might just have a really cool idea for a society or alien species or something and want to show it off (note: it can be VERY VERY HARD to carry a story on a ‘cool original concept’ by itself. You think your sky society where they fly above the clouds and have no rainfall and have to harvest water from the clouds below is a cool enough idea to carry a story: You’re almost certainly wrong. These cool concept stories work best when they are either very short, or working in conjunction with exploring a theme). You might be writing a mystery series where each story is a standalone mystery and the point is to present a puzzle and solve a fun mystery each book. Maybe you’re just here to make the reader laugh, and will throw in anything you can find that’ll act as framing for better jokes. In some genres, readers know exactly what they want and have gotten it a hundred times before and want that story again but with different character names – maybe you’re writing one of those. (These stories are popular in romance, pulp fantasy, some action genres, and rather a lot of types of fanfiction).

Whatever the main point of your story is, you should know it by the time you finish the first draft, because you simply cannot write the second draft if you don’t know what the point of the story is. (If you write web serials and are publishing the first draft, you’ll need to figure it out a lot faster.)

Once you know what the point of your story is, you can assess all writing decisions through this lens – does this help or hurt the point of my story?

2: Thou Shalt Respect Thy Reader’s Investment

Readers invest a lot in a story. Sometimes it’s money, if they bought your book, but even if your story is free, they invest time, attention, and emotional investment. The vast majority of your job is making that investment worth it. There are two factors to this – lowering the investment, and increasing the payoff. If you can lower your audience���s suspension of disbelief through consistent characterisation, realistic (for your genre – this may deviate from real realism) worldbuilding, and appropriately foreshadowing and forewarning any unexpected rules of your world. You can lower the amount of effort or attention your audience need to put into getting into your story by writing in a clear manner, using an entertaining tone, and relying on cultural touchpoints they understand already instead of pushing them in the deep end into a completely unfamiliar situation. The lower their initial investment, the easier it is to make the payoff worth it.

Two important notes here: one, not all audiences view investment in the same way. Your average reader views time as a major investment, but readers of long fiction (epic fantasies, web serials, et cetera) often view length as part of the payoff. Brandon Sanderson fans don’t grab his latest book and think “Uuuugh, why does it have to be so looong!” Similarly, some people like being thrown in the deep end and having to put a lot of work into figuring out what the fuck is going on with no onboarding. This is one of science fiction’s main tactics for forcibly immersing you in a future world. So the valuation of what counts as too much investment varies drastically between readers.

Two, it’s not always the best idea to minimise the necessary investment at all costs. Generally, engagement with art asks something of us, and that’s part of the appeal. Minimum-effort books do have their appeal and their place, in the same way that idle games or repetitive sitcoms have their appeal and their place, but the memorable stories, the ones that have staying power and provide real value, are the ones that ask something of the reader. If they’re not investing anything, they have no incentive to engage, and you’re just filling in time. This commandment does not exist to tell you to try to ask nothing of your audience – you should be asking something of your audience. It exists to tell you to respect that investment. Know what you’re asking of your audience, and make sure that the ask is less than the payoff.

The other way to respect the investment is of course to focus on a great payoff. Make those characters socially fascinating, make that sacrifice emotionally rending, make the answer to that mystery intellectually fulfilling. If you can make the investment worth it, they’ll enjoy your story. And if you consistently make their investment worth it, you build trust, and they’ll be willing to invest more next time, which means you can ask more of them and give them an even better payoff. Audience trust is a very precious currency and this is how you build it – be worth their time.

But how do you know what your audience does and doesn’t consider an onerous investment? And how do you know what kinds of payoff they’ll find rewarding? Easy – they self-sort. Part of your job is telling your audience what to expect from you as soon as you can, so that if it’s not for them, they’ll leave, and if it is, they’ll invest and appreciate the return. (“Oh but I want as many people reading my story as possible!” No, you don’t. If you want that, you can write paint-by-numbers common denominator mass appeal fic. What you want is the audience who will enjoy your story; everyone else is a waste of time, and is in fact, detrimental to your success, because if they don’t like your story then they’re likely to be bad marketing. You want these people to bounce off and leave before you disappoint them. Don’t try to trick them into staying around.) Your audience should know, very early on, what kind of an experience they’re in for, what the tone will be, the genre and character(s) they’re going to follow, that sort of thing. The first couple of chapters of Time to Orbit: Unknown, for example, are a micro-example of the sorts of mysteries that Aspen will be dealing with for most of the book, as well as a sample of their character voice, the way they approach problems, and enough of their background, world and behaviour for the reader to decide if this sort of story is for them. We also start the story with some mildly graphic medical stuff, enough physics for the reader to determine the ‘hardness’ of the scifi, and about the level of physical risk that Aspen will be putting themselves at for most of the book. This is all important information for a reader to have.

If you are mindful of the investment your readers are making, mindful of the value of the payoff, and honest with them about both from the start so that they can decide whether the story is for them, you can respect their investment and make sure they have a good time.

3: Thou Shalt Not Make Thy World Less Interesting

This one’s really about payoff, but it’s important enough to be its own commandment. It relates primarily to twists, reveals, worldbuilding, and killing off storylines or characters. One mistake that I see new writers make all the time is that they tank the engagement of their story by introducing a cool fun twist that seems so awesome in the moment and then… is a major letdown, because the implications make the world less interesting.

“It was all a dream” twists often fall into this trap. Contrary to popular opinion, I think these twists can be done extremely well. I’ve seen them done extremely well. The vast majority of the time, they’re very bad. They’re bad because they take an interesting world and make it boring. The same is true of poorly thought out, shocking character deaths – when you kill a character, you kill their potential, and if they’re a character worth killing in a high impact way then this is always a huge sacrifice on your part. Is it worth it? Will it make the story more interesting? Similarly, if your bad guy is going to get up and gloat ‘Aha, your quest was all planned by me, I was working in the shadows to get you to acquire the Mystery Object since I could not! You have fallen into my trap! Now give me the Mystery Object!’, is this a more interesting story than if the protagonist’s journey had actually been their own unmanipulated adventure? It makes your bad guy look clever and can be a cool twist, but does it mean that all those times your protagonist escaped the bad guy’s men by the skin of his teeth, he was being allowed to escape? Are they retroactively less interesting now?

Whether these twists work or not will depend on how you’ve constructed the rest of your story. Do they make your world more or less interesting?

If you have the audience’s trust, it’s permissible to make your world temporarily less interesting. You can kill off the cool guy with the awesome plan, or make it so that the Chosen One wasn’t actually the Chosen One, or even have the main character wake up and find out it was all a dream, and let the reader marinate in disappointment for a little while before you pick it up again and turn things around so that actually, that twist does lead to a more interesting story! But you have to pick it up again. Don’t leave them with the version that’s less interesting than the story you tanked for the twist. The general slop of interest must trend upward, and your sacrifices need to all lead into the more interesting world. Otherwise, your readers will be disappointed, and their experience will be tainted.

Whenever I’m looking at a new piece of writing advice, I view it through these three rules. Is this plot still delivering on the book’s purpose, or have I gone off the rails somewhere and just stared writing random stuff? Does making this character ‘more relateable’ help or hinder that goal? Does this argument with the protagonists’ mother tell the reader anything or lead to any useful payoff; is it respectful of their time? Will starting in medias res give the audience an accurate view of the story and help them decide whether to invest? Does this big twist that challenges all the assumptions we’ve made so far imply a world that is more or less interesting than the world previously implied?

Hopefully these can help you, too.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐱 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ your task was to keep an eye on the enigmatic salesman while gi-hun attempted to join the games again, but it turned out to be harder than expected as you end up falling in love with him

warnings_ age gap (not specified but legal) reader is implied to be American but not specified, sexual tension, reader is constantly bullying the salesman, ooc salesman, fluff?, angst?, violence, manipulation, stockholm syndrome???, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls

notes_ i can’t stop associating so bad from Jesse Jo Stark and IT girl from JADE with this man sorry. RECOMMEND SPECIFIC DRAMAS OR MOVIES WITH GONG YOO TO WRITE MORE FICS, I ALREADY PLACED HIM IN MY PHONECASE, MAKE THIS CRUSH WORTHY

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lies can’t be considered to be completely bad. Sometimes you must avoid the truth to be safe, to protect… to seek. You left home with the excuse of a research project for your thesis. Truth is, you wanted to know what happened to your brother.

He graduated with a business degree and left for Chicago but after hearing nothing from him two months later, your parents went to the police.

None could be done. He was simply gone.

But you didn’t believe that. There was more, there had to…

With luck, you discovered your brother left Chicago two days after his arrival, and then boarded a plane with a route to Seoul. With almost zero comprehension of why he would leave the country, hell, the damn continent! It resulted astonishing to you.

It was so great you needed to get answers that you ventured into the unknown. You didn’t know how to speak Korean, you didn’t know much about the country you landed eight months ago.

And you didn’t believe a hundred percent about faith or destiny. But your first clues to your missing brother lead to a man who looked at a card in his hands while he flipped it continuously.

That was Seong Gi-hun. A man who had lost everything and then won but didn’t feel like that afterward.

For some weeks, you couldn’t process the fact that your brother was dead. He had joined some games deathly games that were worth it for many since you could leave as a wealthy winner.

Even more senseless because perhaps your family wasn’t rich, but your brother couldn’t have anything else than student debts and that was something that most adults could deal with.

It all led to drowning in sorrows and thinking your efforts to find him were in vain. The year your brother played the games was 2022 and the winner wasn’t him.

Gi-hun didn’t give up on you. He took care of you when he didn’t have to. Later told you about his plans and suggested you join him.

For your brother.

It was for his memory that you agreed to learn how to wield and use a gun. For his memory, you decided to stay and overcome the people behind those hideous games.

Leading you to become a ghost. Working as a teacher’s assistant until the plan was coming closer and you had to quit. Living in a rented apartment until you had to move out to a little house Gi-hun bought under a pseudonym for you to use while he was inside the games. He assured you could take all you needed from the money he had. Although you didn’t like to do so, you had to because you no longer had a job.

And for a long time, you had to be at the subway station looking for an apparent handsome, tall businessman who offered to play Ddakji and slapped people when they lost. Nobody had seen the salesman yet.

You avoided judging beauty but you hadn’t seen anyone who you considered to be handsome, and no man was slapping people.

Between lifting weights, practicing core strength, having no job and searching for a businessman who bullied random people, you had found a routine.

A lonely routine. You held some camaraderie with the men who also looked for the salesman, but you hadn’t found a real friend other than Gi-hun.

It was late when you were told they had found the salesman. Rain poured and you were at a restaurant having dinner. With hurried feet you took a cab that left you at the door of the solitary pink motel, never noticing certain cops looking from the other side of the street.

When you opened the door, you heard voices and secluded cries. You pulled out your gun and carefully walked towards the pleading sounds.

In a room, there lays a tied man, pleading for freedom. You know him; it’s Choi Woo-Seok.

His eyes are teary, he’s beaten and shakes desperately. You only let him know with his hands to quiet down and to calm down.

Both of your hands are on the trigger. You slowly walk back towards the entrance, where the voices can still be heard. You identify Gi-hun as there. So you try to be more careful, even when the music playing disturbs you.

The darkness of the room makes it easier for you to disguise. That’s when you can see the men sitting in the middle of the room.

They’re playing the Russian roulette and it makes you frown from cringe and panic.

It wasn’t hard to understand that the man facing Gi-hun was none other than the salesman.

He was indeed handsome. He looked like a clean and neat businessman, and the way he arrogantly spoke and held his gun said a lot about him. He was insane.

The only thing you can care about is to prevent death. Your hand doesn’t shake, fingers confidently on the trigger, waiting for the right moment while your free hand sneaks inside the pocket of your coat, pulling another loaded gun.

When the salesman raises the gun, pointing at the ceiling and he is busy talking, you pull the trigger.

Both men turned to look at you in surprise.

Gi-hun suddenly looks relieved, while the salesman stares at you so deeply that it makes you nervous for a second.

But your reflexes were fast enough to see that he was about to move, so you pointed at him with the other gun, shooting at him with a potent sedative right in his shoulder.

“Where did you get that?” Gi-hun asked you. “A month ago, in the kitchen of the Chinese lady’s restaurant around the block”

“Thank you” You nod at him, seeing how he went straight untie the man in the other room.

You look back at the salesman, who is unconscious on the couch. Slowly, you walk towards him. Almost nervous that he would move, jump out and kill you, but it’s impossible.

Your hands start wandering around his neck, taunting his skin and fabric covering it to see if he possesses a microphone or camera that would put everyone in danger.

At the same time, a cop arrives, accusing you and Gi-hun of killing the salesman.

Everything changed in the span of a night.

…

He woke up to the smell of alcohol. His eyes could barely focus but he knew his head was in the lap of a woman. He knew he was in handcuffs and his feet were tied up.

Between faded memories, he remembered your face and hands pointing a gun at him.

When he tried to focus his view again, he realized you had stood up, he saw your blurred silhouette glancing around the room until he felt more oriented. He could hear you talking in English, often mixing words in Korean with bad pronunciation. Something about a doctor and ordering Mexican food for takeout.

Pretty woman, he thought. From your sophisticated and unusual pick of heels, your dress and coat, your earrings, hair, and shade of lipstick. You truly were a sight.

Once you hang up, you turnto see him seemingly awake.

“Gi-hun! The freak is awake!” you yell, making him frown.

Freak? He has been an honest gentleman with you.

“Your Korean is not good” his voice sounds raspy and he can barely sit straight with his extremities tied up.

“Neither is your English” he chuckles briefly.

Choi Woo-Seok appears at the door and looks scared at the salesman, who barely eyes him, still focused on you.

“Gi-hun left with Jun-ho to speak properly” You roll your eyes, nodding.

“Alright. I ordered food for everyone, the dentist is coming to check Gi-hun and this man over here. Keep an eye on that, please” he nods, closing the door and leaving you alone with the salesman again.

“I guess I’ll have to do it myself” you basically whisper to yourself.

“A doctor?” Ignoring the man, you step almost between his legs and you sense he got taken aback by the proximity.

“Take off your clothes” his eyes opened a little more and you almost laughed.

“Excuse me?” one of his brows looked slightly arched, half playfully and half taken aback.

“Take off your clothes, sir” you repeated, trying to sound calm.

“I’m afraid I’m handcuffed and tied from my ankles, miss” he shows you his hands and oddly moves his free fingers.

“Hmm, too bad. I will then…”

You only made him look like a mess. But you found a tiny camera and microphone well hidden in his blazer.

Your hands never trembled over his skin. And unbeknownst to you, he was on fire. You even cleaned the blood on his face and he discovered how soft your hands were.

Once you crushed the camera and microphone, you took a seat in the same place Gi-hun was an hour ago, facing the salesman.

“Two years ago you handed a card to a man. He was non-native, had green eyes, ebony hair, tall like you, and was very friendly” you start, feeling a pang in your chest while describing your brother.

Meanwhile, the man thought back on the hundreds of people he had tricked. It was easier since less than 8% of the players were non-Koreans.

“Ah, yes, I remember him. Very expressive and handsome. You people from the occidental are very extroverted” he said with a cheeky smile and you almost rolled your eyes. “That was your brother, I’m assuming”

“He was, and yes; While you only made an offer and he accepted, you didn’t tell him his life was at stake” The way he looked at you with arrogance made your blood boil.

“Ma’am, the games are made for the mere reason of helping people. It is just one lucky individual who takes the prize”

“Bullshit. It is entertainment for the rich and a purge of innocent people you and your shitty folks believe are useless. I come from the epitome of capitalism, don’t fool me” he stares too much at you. In his head, he wondered why you got so invested in the whole situation. You seemed young, smart, pretty even. Why were you wasting your mundane life trying to be a hero?

“You and Gi-hun are not saviors, miss. Him trying to contact my boss is useless. You keeping me here, is pointless. The games will go on and my superiors will succeed, while you will watch and hate that your attempts to stop it were worthless” he says.

You huff tired, walking back and forth in the little motel room.

“Good lord, Why are you so obsessed with protecting an organization that will likely replace you the moment your heart stops beating?” He tilts his head, with his hands in cold handcuffs under the table and a little smirk. He almost looks adorable.

“I know where you come from. I know you have never experienced the extreme lack of money. I was doing my research when my superior; The Frontman, found a foreign woman working with Mister Gi-hun” In his words, you try to hide the fear. Of these people hurting your family. Of them knowing more than they should about your plans with Gi-hun and Jun-ho. “Don’t be fearful, ma’am. We have no business with people outside of Korea. But you shouldn’t be digging along those filthy scums. Now you’re also part of this”

The silence makes him feel like he won. His smile is pretty, but he was a fucking asshole.

“And for what miss y/n? For your brother? Who proved to be desperate and needy like everybody else. A man who died and nobody came for him…” he leaned, showing you his cuffed hands and mocking you with every bashful word he spitted out.

Your eyes get teary. You sigh, nodding and looking away. The salesman stared at you with ease, believing he had won once again.

But you take him by surprise when the heel of your boot kicks his ribs and sends him to the floor.

You quickly grab your gun and kneel beside him. The barrel of the gun traces his temple and cheekbone slowly as you lean to his ear.

“You are a man and I’m a woman who are simple mortals. Quit with the arrogance and start speaking the truth” you spit out with feigned sweetness. Your knee brushes his lips and he only looks at you defenseless, but soon goes back to smile. “Why don’t you try to be a good boy for me, sir…”

“You waste your time, dolly,” he says in Korean and makes you frown.

“Fuck you” you spit at him, literally. You couldn’t care less if you weren’t acting decent. The salesman could go to hell. You just grew more eager for Gi-hun and Jun-ho to accomplish the mission.

…

The door was softly closed even when your ears were ringing in anger. Gi-hun and Jun-ho were standing, expecting you.

“Did he say anything?” you sighed, shaking your head. “He’s a fucking asshole”

“We can’t give up. The plan must keep going but now that we have him, he could give us details” You nod at the young ex-cop. Gi-hun only huffed but ended up agreeing as well.

“The only way to keep him steady is if you stay with him” Your heart almost stops as you look at Jun-ho feeling mortified.

“Me?” He nods, crossing his arms.

“Either way is dangerous for y/n. She’s definitely not coming with me to the games, she shouldn’t go searching the island, and staying alone with that sociopath will not calm me while I’m gone” The worry in Gi-hun made you smile a little, he really cared about you and it made you feel like everything was worth it.

For him, your brother and anyone who had joined or planned to join the games.

“I will stay with him. We would be pretty much isolated and if we stay together 24/7, I shall be fine”

“You will be protected, you have my word,” Jun-ho says softly.

“I won’t be able to see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, use any of the money, and do not give up on making the salesman speak” The tone the older man uses makes you feel a little teary, it’s a goodbye. “Jun-ho and Woo-Seok will keep you safe. And if anything happens to me, take all the money and go back home”

You frown, continuously shaking your head.

“Gi-hun, I wouldn’t be able to leave if something happened to you. I would stay until I knew what happened” he smiled, giving you a quick hug before he got his jacket.

“Keep your eyes open, kid” you nod, wishing him farewell.

The room fell into silence. And it was only you and the salesman in the other room.

…

If anyone walked into the house in one of the most humble districts, they would believe it was a social experiment. A man tied up from the hands and toes has to follow a woman like a lost puppy each day.

From having breakfast, lunch, and dinner together, him being blindfolded while you took a shower and you playing games on your iPad while he took one too.

The silence was the excruciating part. He barely talked and when you tried to pry about him, it likely ended up with you furiously pulling his hair and leaving the room made a mess.

“I could be useful, ma’am,” he said, sitting straight at the table. “The least I can do in lockdown is to help you with banalities”

Out of his suit-tailored suit, he almost made you think about the word ‘domestic’. He was wearing a grey hoodie, black sweatpants, and white socks.

“The only thing I’m asking you to help me with, you cannot provide” you reply, serving him a cup of coffee.

“I don’t drink coffee” he politely declines de cup, and you roll your eyes.

“Really? You look like someone who needs a lot of caffeine” The playful tone came out of nowhere and it made you bite your tongue.

“And I wouldn’t take you as an addict for it” It’s the first time both of you actually speak and it’s odd. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Yeah, I like it very toasted with just a smidge of almond creamer” You hear him chuckle and it makes you smile. But you remember the reason why you are there.

You aren’t there to talk about coffee.

“So… How long had you been doing… your job” one of his hands was cuffed to the chair beside him, and with the free one, he was able to eat.

“Some years, five, maybe seven. But I’ve been in the organization for longer” You almost dropped your fork, surprised to hear he was actually answering.

You wouldn’t push it too far.

“Are the games really that terrible like Gi-hun said?” The man tilts his head.

Perhaps he was getting dementia and he was forgetting you had him captive in a random house. But he was willing to answer.

“They are. But that’s what they sign up for…”

“No. That’s how you and your peers have shaped the games” he makes a feigned pot, cleaning the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “We’ve already talked about this…”

“Listen asshole, I just need you to tell me where the fuck is that damn island” It’s obvious you were getting exasperated and he was enjoying it.

Wearing a sundress and sandals, messy hair, and barely traces of makeup, you looked lovely to his eyes. Almost impossible to imagine you could get angry so easily.

“If your friends were smarter, perhaps they would have already figured it out”

“You really rather die than accept you’re just their dog. Just a messenger who will be replaced once they notice you have mysteriously disappeared…”

Now was his turn to get angry. You could see the way he was tense.

“Not very different than you, ma’am. You were left behind to keep an eye on me. Just a little ragdoll to use”

You slap him so hard that even some birds peeking in the window fly away at the sound. The red tonality starts spreading across his pale cheek.

“Do it again” he blurts out and it boils your blood. He must’ve felt hard by your harsh action but you were enraged.

So you did again, harder this time.

His expression was indescribable. He seemed pleased and you hated it.

“Fuck you!” You yell exasperated by him.

“I told you once, this is pointless” You harshly grab his jaw and make him look up at your eyes. He has a playful smile and some of his hair falls scattered across his forehead.

“I will make you spit out every dirty little secret of yours. Even if it takes longer than needed”

He leans even closer and you literally feel his dry lips against yours but it doesn’t make you flicker.

No matter how wet the whole situation is making you feel.

“Why so quiet, doll?” he asks, grabbing your hip and moving his hand dangerously back and forward towards your ass.

“What a shame you are not complying. If you did, you’d had me begging for you to fuck me hard”

He gulped shocked, you won.

Your free hair, the view of your cleavage, the proximity to your lips, and the words that spilled out of your mouth were driving him crazy.

“You’d love it, right? I can tell no one has fucked you good enough. That’s the real shame, sweetheart” You want to ignore the way you feel you are throbbing, as well as the sight of his tightening pants. “No need, I can get wild by myself”

“Really? You like to get messy in the sheets?” You nod, feeling bold and sassy, gently touching his inner thighs and abandoning the touch once you’re inches away from feeling his hard cock.

“Yes, sir. I love watching my own reflection, gasping and moaning while my fingers slip in and out of my cunt and I feel so close to squirting”

“Fuck…” he curses in Korean a trail of words, which makes you smile as you leave.

…

The salesman was once very poor, he was a guard in the games, became head of them, and then jumped to be the recruiter.

He killed his father and became the most isolated man to protect his and the organization’s identity.

At least that’s what he revealed when you forced him to get drunk. You also got drunk to set it equal but both of you remembered everything. The salesman even earned the right to be out of the handcuffs. Which resulted odd to you, because he hadn’t tried anything to kill you or escape.

It also made you wonder if he was feeling weird things like you.

Sat on the balcony at midnight during a sudden heat wave, watching the skyline of Seoul at a fair distance, it almost felt like a simulation. Where he wasn’t your captive, he was a good man and both of you were having a date. As ridiculous as it sounded.

“Okay. I get you’ve had enough in life, but don’t you want to actually live? To wander and experience tranquility. You’re getting old and time will pass” you unexpectedly said, even taking yourself aback.

“I chose this life some time ago. It’s what I get…” you wanted to take his hands and tell him he had a chance.

But he was just the salesman.

“I would like to beg you to think twice. To question yourself if you want to die as their… dog, or start living. But you won’t listen, you are missing the warmth of life… and love”

You didn’t mean to say all that. But you were also drunk. And that’s what you honestly thought about him.

And that was two days ago.

The most important phone in the house rang. And you literally jumped out of the bathtub to pick up the call.

In a drenched dress that was supposed to be your outfit of the day and hair tangled up in a towel, you get towards the phone, ignoring the salesman seated steps away.

“Hello?…” you are greeted by a distorted voice but soon you know it’s Jun-ho.

“…y/n!… Hope you’re alright, Have you found out anything?” You sigh, already answering the man.

“No. Tiny details of the man but nothing that would actually lead to the island” you almost whisper, hoping the salesman won’t hear you.

“Not much luck here either. A storm will impact tonight. And we lost contact with Gi-hun”

“WHAT?” You nearly scream, the salesman looks up at you with curiosity and you continued the call, opting to whisper if needed. “Yes, the microphone is gone”

“For fuck’s sake…”

“If nothing can be done. We will return tonight, but I have high hopes” he says.

“I’m hopeful too. I will try again with the salesman, Jun-ho” The call was getting harder to understand, you could barely hear the man on the other side. You only hear one thing.

“If needed, kill him, y/n” he hangs up and it leaves you made a mess.

You look back, finding him charming while trying to flip the page of a crossword book.

You couldn’t kill the salesman.

Developing feelings for the man who tricked your brother into joining the games, was almost insane.

You sobbed without care sitting on the couch facing the bed, feeling like you were dancing on your brother’s grave. Like you were failing Gi-hun, Jun-ho, and all the crew. Your friends…

But your salesman was interesting, every conversation with him made you forget about everything as simple as it could be. You liked his big hands and his silly smile whenever you tried to outsmart him.

You are so screwed.

He stared at you sobbing with your hands covering your face. And something made him feel sorry. He hadn’t realized that spending a week with you made him remember a lot of things about humanity.

He knew you were stressed out and scared of losing your friends. He never had friends or girlfriends to rely on, because he thought he didn’t need them. He was better off alone, feeling powerful and condescending for finally being on the other side of the coin.

But what was life without love?

“Let’s play a game,” he says.

“Not in the mood for your bullshit” when you turn to look at him, he is pointing at the open balcony and the view of the city.

“We’ll play mimic. I will tell you the location of the island and you only have three guesses” You roll your eyes. “You can say random shit to confuse us”

“You have my word. This is your only chance…”

“And if you win?” He shrugs. “We can talk about that later”

He would make sure you won.

“Three guesses…” You nod at him, noticing he wasn’t being playful and cocky as usual. He was calm and almost looked innocent.

Slowly, he points at the painting above his head; it’s the sea.

“In the sea, yes, we know the island is on the sea, genius” he smiles, then points at the painting again. This time, his fingers trail downwards, trying to reach one of the edges; to your left.

His hair hadn’t grown in the slightest, but out of his suit, with ordinary clothes and no way to tame his hair, your salesman looked divine. With an adorable expression, hoping to make you understand.

You loved him.

“You are not paying attention” you huff in annoyance.

He trails his fingers down the painting and then points at the decoration of candles at the little table between you two.

His fingers touch each candle, making you follow the pattern of a simulated bridge.

“Dammit, Couldn’t you be less specific? I don’t understand shit…” he sighs, shifting on his seat.

“One more guess…” you’re not sure if you believe him. He could either keep making lies to shift your attention somewhere else. And you didn’t have the heart to call Jun-ho with uncertain hopes.

The salesman points at the painting one last time and you pay real attention. He had big hands and long fingers, fitting a pianist. They move downwards above the sea of dried oil paint. Then, he points at the skyline of the city and finally trails the candles forming a bridge.

Inthe sea, left, south, bridge and the city.

Your eyes snap open.

In the sea, towards left and south, with a bridge that connects to the city.

“THE ISLAND IS LOCATED SOUTHWEST, ALIGNED WITH THE PIER OF THE CITY!” you scream in happiness and the salesman nods in silence, you cheer, typing the message and sending it to Jun-ho “OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU”

You were about to hug him, but you stopped. Quickly, you stand up but you feel his hand pull you down again.

“Say it again…” his voice sounded deep and it made you feel even more embarrassed after all.

“I’m sorry. I hate to admit it, but I’m human. We’ve spent so much time together that…” Feeling completely helpless and embarrassed you look away. But his touch is there again, caressing your thigh. This time his touch is delicate, unlike the first days where he would seek control and indulge pain even in the slightest.

“I feel things too” he admits, shocking you.

“You feel things?”

“By telling you where the island is, your friends can succeed and with luck, everything will be over. You’ll have avenged your brother and helped future people who could’ve died in the games. The government would step in and I would be charged, you’ll likely get deported or fined even when you did the right thing” You let him speak and trace random patterns in the skin of your thigh because it felt right. “I am no good and I shouldn’t say anything else, but if you’d have me… I would gladly run away with you”

Your heart makes your cheeks bloom a beautiful color of blush. It was wrong, not part of the plan, out of your mind. But it felt right, an inevitable consequence.

You literally jump to kiss him. And in an amazing turn of events, the salesman transformed into the most submissive man.

His hands were almost trembling while they held you.

He couldn’t believe it. All the efforts he put into being loyal to the island that gave him the chance to become someone, were over the floors. All he knows is that when he looked at your bright eyes, he wanted it to be his sight forever. Your company matches him perfectly, you are the type of woman he didn’t know he craved.

“We might need to go to therapy and this is a terrible idea but I’ll pretend you’re worth it,” you say in his lips, biting his lower lip gently.

He smiles. Unsure if he’s making the right decision but confident that he’s choosing the right partner. The salesman believes he doesn’t deserve a second option. He hated himself for a variety of reasons. But he couldn’t comprehend the way you made him feel. It was his obsessive nature what had been completely shattered by your arrival. Transforming into something else, unknown and prone to make him addicted.

He hated vulnerability, but he was welcoming it with open arms for you.

“I don’t want to ever let you go”

“Don’t you dare, darling” you say, moving to straddle him and kiss him a little more.

___________

SALESMAN X READER X FRONTMAN FIC NEXT AND IT’S WEIRD AND MESSY AND A DISAPPOINTMENT, STAY TUNED

[unpretty]

i have a thought percolating about, like. engagement. the concept of engagement. and how i think it's a flawed concept in part because there's a significant segment of the population that's just... not going to do that. for whatever reason they are only really interested in consuming things passively. art, news, whatever. they are not interested in engaging. they will only ever get the surface-read on anything. if something demands engagement and doesn't allow for surface-level readings it's not for them. they will use whatever app or social network or website that allows them to use it as passively as possible.

mostly i am thinking about this in the context of engagement hacking and 'the algorithm'. posts designed to be infuriating to maximize engagement. headlines crafted to upset you for engagement. and for the right subset of people, it works. but for the passive people, i think they move on. instead of getting them to like and share or whatever it chases them off. the post made them feel bad, so they don't like it. they're going to find posts that don't make them feel bad, instead.

i am thinking about this in the context of living in deeply republican bumfuck nowhere, surrounded by trump supporters who have no idea who mitch mcconnell is. they are unclear on what the supreme court does or who is on it. they do not know the difference between the house and the senate. if you try to talk to them about politics or the news - not even a serious discussion, just trying to explain facts - they will say something like, "oh, i don't follow politics. i don't watch the news. it's all so bad. it just makes me upset. i avoid all of that." and if you keep trying to explain basic facts despite that, they will respond like you're trying to describe the graphic details of a snuff video. there are people who come into our office who my coworkers avoid by pretending to be on the phone, because if they don't, they might try to talk about the news.

the only news or politics they ever see is something that gets enough engagement from the people who care that it makes it onto their feed of funny animal videos and 5 minute crafts. they extrapolate that there's a whole world of nightmares out there that they can safely avoid by never looking. they don't know in any conscious way what it means to curate your feed, but they'll treat a link to anything 'political' like a virus that will turn their phone into a doomscrolling machine that makes you crazy.

i don't know if i'm expressing anything coherent here, i don't have a thesis statement or a hypothetical solution to whatever you would call this. i'm just tired.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Forbidden - Part 1

In which you reconnect with an old friend, much to the dismay of your brother.

Warnings: None. This is mostly background and will be several parts.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x LeClercSister!Reader Word Count: 2.6k words Masterlist Here

It started slowly, this thing between your brother's best friend and biggest rival and you. So slowly that you hadn't been directly involved, you probably wouldn't have even noticed the clandestine brushing of fingers to skin in the paddock or the flickering looks that lingered just a bit too long. Even the way Max managed to stare at you from his garage went unnoticed by everyone but you. But what started slowly over one summer quickly snowballed into something that nearly destroyed you both.

You'd known Max since you were young, of course, so maybe that was why the pair of you managed to keep things hidden for so long. You two being friendly wasn't all that out of the ordinary so maybe that was why it took people longer to connect the dots. You two had always been friends, but it was a quiet friendship so not many people picked up on it, even back then. But he had always been firmly in the ‘my brother’s best friend and track rival’ category for as long as you could remember.

Did it drive you crazy that they were much quicker to involve your younger brother, Arthur, in their antics instead of you? Yes. But Charlie and his friends were like the untouchable super hero's you watched in movies: larger than life and totally invincible so you always lapped up any ounce of attention they gave you.

As you got older though, your trips to the track became less and less frequent with you picking up your own interests. You traded weekends at the track for weekends spent with friends your own age who didn't worship the ground your brother and his friends walked on. Before long, you were headed off to university in New York City, wanting a bit of space from your famous brother and his aura. You loved Charlie and Arthur to death, they were your favorite people in the world after all, but it was difficult being the 'normal' sister to such talented men and the space had allowed you to thrive on your own, in your own way. 

You went home to Monaco infrequently, the trip from New York to the small principality being just long enough to be annoying to do regularly and traveled to races even less. It wasn’t that you didn’t support Charlie. You always made sure to be at his home race in Monaco and the race in Monza of course, but your life was in New York. First it was your rigorous coursework for your degree in economics from NYU that kept you away and then you continued on with a Master’s degree in economics and international business, the intensity of both programs serving you well crafted excuses for years. 

“You’re really going to come travel with us?” Charlie was unable to hide his surprise and excitement this morning when you called to tell him your post-graduation plans. 

“It’s been the hardest year of my life, between my thesis, interning at the investment firm in Manhattan, and finishing up grad school, I’ve barely had a chance to breathe for years. I need a break Charlie.” You sigh, settling into your couch that faces the floor to ceiling windows in your New York apartment that was currently full of packing boxes. 

“I know you do. You’re the hardest working person in this family.” 

You chuckle, knowing that this wasn’t true. Your two brothers worked just as hard, if not harder, at their careers in motorsport. There was no way Charlie would have reached F1 if he hadn’t been a hard worker. You might be the smartest LeClerc though, although you knew Arthur would never admit to that even if Charlie would. 

“What happened to that job in London?” 

You pick at an invisible piece of lint, wanting to avoid the question, as you shrug even though your brother couldn’t see you. “I told them I wasn’t interested. They wanted too much from me and I’m just so close to being burnt out. I’m taking on a consulting gig with the Bank of London. They’ve agreed to allow me to work remotely so I can live in Monaco and travel. I’ve missed so much of your career Charlie, I hate that I’ve been so absent from everyone for so long.” 

Charlie’s voice goes soft at the sound of regret in your voice, “Oh, petit papillon.” My little butterfly. You can’t help but smile at the nickname, despite the melancholy mood that had settled over you. “We know you did what you had to do to make you happy, we don’t blame you for being gone for so long. All that matters now is that your studies are done and we get to see you more.” 

Your heart warms in your chest. Of course Charlie hadn’t held your distance against you, it wasn’t in his nature to hold grudges against you, even when you fought the hardest. “I’m so excited to come home, Charlie.” 

*Six Weeks Later*

A faint tapping on the front door catches your attention from where you sat in Charlie’s living room, staring at the same spreadsheet you had been working on for the last hour. “Saved by the knock.” You mutter, getting up from your spot on you’re brother’s couch. You’ve spent so much time on the plush piece of furniture over the last few days, busy with work, that you’re surprised there’s not a permanent indent of your backside on the cushion. 

Finding an apartment in Monaco was proving harder than you had thought. Every flat you looked at in the city was either so far out of your price range or was missing something you deemed essential to have in your living space so for the time being you were staying with Charlie and Alexandra in their guest bedroom until the right place came around. 

“Coming!” You call out, hoping to alert the person knocking on the front door to your approach. Although you couldn’t fathom who would be at the door in the middle of the day on a Tuesday afternoon. You quickly run through an inventory of where the important people in your life were: Charlie was at a sponsor event while Alex was at doing some content creation in Paris for the gallery that she worked for. Your mother was at work of course and Arthur was off somewhere with his girlfriend Jade today. Everyone accounted for and busy. 

Without checking the peephole, you swing the door open wide, relieved for an excuse to take a break from the project that had found its way to your inbox early this morning. 

“Maxie!” You gasp, launching yourself into the unprepared arms of the Dutchman who you hadn’t seen in years. 

Max was thankful for his quick reflexes that were required of a world championship winning F1 driver because without them, the two of you would have found yourselves in a heap of limbs on the floor. “Beestje! You nearly took me out.” Max sets you down carefully but not before you have a chance to swat at his arm. 

“You know I hate when you call me that.” You pout, nipping at his finger when he teasingly swipes at your lip. Max had called you ‘little beast’ for as long as you could remember, always delighting in your cries of protest when he did. If there was one thing Max loved, it was teasing Charlie’s sister.  

He grins down at you, dimples winking out at the corner of his mouth. “That’s why I do it.” 

Rolling your eyes, you open the door wide enough to allow the both of you to enter the empty apartment. Max follows you into the living room, where your computer sits discarded. 

“I didn’t know you were visiting.” Max says, trying to remain calm as you settle down on the couch opposite of him. 

You had always been gorgeous, those good looking LeClerc genes that Charles was so famous for had obviously been passed on to you as well, but now? You were hands down the most stunning woman Max had ever seen in his entire life. Your social media presence was sparse, at best, so while he followed you, it was rare for you to post much of anything. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw you in person either, knowing that you much preferred to avoid the harsh light of fame that came with being a LeClerc. 

“Charlie didn’t tell you? I moved back!” You wave a hand towards your laptop, “I got a job with the Bank of London doing consulting work, fully remote.” 

“No, Charles didn’t tell me.” Max says, narrowing his eyes. He had just played padel with Charles and Carlos the other day and he hadn’t made a single mention of you being back. “Where is he, anyway? I came by to see if he wanted to go for a run tonight.” 

You shrug, trying to force your heart rate to slow to a pace that couldn’t potentially be heard by people playing the slots at the famous Monte Carlo Casino down the street. You had always had a juvenile crush on Max. Honestly, who wouldn’t? His demeanor on the track and in the paddock was completely opposite of who he was in private. You may have not spent much, if any, time with him the past decade but you knew that the Max that had been your brother’s childhood best friend and rival was the same Max sitting next to you right now. Nothing had changed.

“He’s at some event for Ferrari. I’ll never understand why people want to pay thousands of dollars to get to talk to the likes of you chuckle heads. How would those donors feel knowing they invested so much in a person that once got so drunk on their birthday they thought the Uber driver was trying to kidnap them because they, and I quote, ‘could totally make a killing with the ransom Christian would pay to get me back.’” 

“That was ONE time!” He croaks, blinking at you in surprise. “And how the fuck did you know about that? Charles swore he’d never tell anyone about that.” 

You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out and Max momentarily forgets how embarrassed he is that you know that story. It’s light and airy, the notes dragging their fingers down Max’s skin. “I’m not ‘anyone’, Maxie darling. You know that.” 

And boy did he. Just the way you wink at him while calling him ‘Maxie darling’ is enough to send his mind into overdrive, wondering how it would feel if more of your attention was turned his way. 

Max just smirks back, fighting to keep up the cool facade he’s usually got so carefully constructed in place. He expertly steers the conversation away from anymore potentially embarrassing stories and towards you. How you’ve been. The near year you spent writing your thesis paper for your Master’s degree. The life you’ve built so far away from Max. It makes his heart squeeze something fierce knowing that you two have drifted so far apart.

Before you know it, the sun is sinking low in the sky, casting a glittering glow over the water just outside the apartment. The sunlight filters in through the half-drawn curtains, bathing you in a golden light. Max had never understood why everyone raves about the beauty of ‘golden hour’ until he saw the setting sun reflected in your eyes. 

He was in so much trouble. 

You two are so lost in your conversation you don’t notice the front door swing open or Charles bustling through the door hours later. Charles pauses when he sees the two of you sat on the couch together. Somewhere between the first and second glass of wine that you had poured when it became evident neither of you wanted the afternoon to end, you had ended up quite close to Max. His hand sat outstretched over the back of the couch, hovering just out of reach of your shoulder. You were leaning into him ever so slightly, laughing at something Max had said moments before. The obvious intimacy between the two of you set off alarm bells for Charles, not liking how Max was looking at you over the rim of his wine glass. 

The thing was, Charles is quite protective of you. It was one of the reasons you always tried to leave the details about your love life out of any conversation you had with either of your brothers. Arthur was bad enough, but your twin? Charles was of the opinion that no one was ever good enough for you. Especially someone like Max. While he wasn’t as bad as some of the guys on the grid (lookin at you Lando Norris), Max still liked to party and take advantage of how often pretty girls threw themselves at him. He did not want someone like that interested in his sister. He knew how much you valued your privacy and that was not something someone like Max could offer you. 

“What’s going on here?” Charles fought to keep the hostility out of his voice, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Max jumped off the couch like it had suddenly burst into flames. He knew how protective Charles was over you and judging by the stormy look on your brother’s face, he wasn’t happy to find him there tonight. 

You, on the other hand, found it amusing how quickly your brother’s protective side reared it’s ugly head. There was nothing to be ashamed of, you knew that. You were just two friends catching up after being apart for so long. Totally innocent. Right? Right. 

“Max stopped by to see if you wanted to go on a run and we just got lost in conversation is all, Charlie.” You sooth, knowing your brother has a short fuse when it comes to you. 

Charles narrows his eyes at Max as if he doesn’t believe your words and to be honest, he probably shouldn’t. If he had known the thoughts racing through Max’s head over the last few hours, Max would have probably found himself in the gravel pit of whatever race was next on the calendar. 

“I was just leaving.” Max stutters, glancing down at where you still sit on the couch, amused grin playing at the corner of your lips. 

“It was nice to see you Maxie.” 

Max doesn’t miss the way Charles clenches his fists when you say his name like that. 

“Always a pleasure, Beestje.” He teases, hoping that Charles doesn’t pick up on the nervous waver in his voice. 

You tip your wine glass towards him in a mock salute before picking up your laptop where it’s sat discarded for the last few hours while Max makes a beeline for the front door. Charles follows him out, eyes trained on the back of his friends head, trying to calm the storm of anger that is swirling around his gut. 

“I don’t think it needs to be said but stay away from my sister.” Charles practically growls when Max’s hand closes over the doorknob. 

“We’re just friends Charles. I haven’t seen her in ages, we were just catching up.” 

“I don’t look at my friends the way you were just looking at her.” Charles grouses. “Just don’t, okay? I don’t want to give her any reason to leave again. If you hurt her, she’ll go running. Leave her alone.” 

Max nods, unable to find the words he wants to use because he has a feeling ‘fuck you, I’ll do whatever I want with your sister’ seems like a bad way to end the conversation. But as he waits for the elevator in the quiet hall, he knows that staying away from you is going to be near impossible. 

[elumish]

In the wake of what's going on in the world, I see a lot of rhetoric that basically boils down to the idea that everyone has a responsibility to watch every bad thing that's going on in the world all the time. That awareness itself is a responsibility that everyone has always.

I'm not going to say that people do or don't have a responsibility to be aware of things, but I want to talk about how to take care of yourself and others while doing so.

For some context, I spent close to a year and a half reading about every terrorist attack in the world as part of my work on the Global Terrorism Database. It was 2015/2016, so this was the height of ISIS/Daesh, it was a major time for Boko Haram, and it was when there was a lot of political violence that we weren't sure how to classify in places like Yemen, Crimea, and Libya (stuff the GTD didn't know how to classify had all of is information recorded, and then it went into purgatory until someone above my paygrade decided what to do with it). What this means is that I was spending 10-20 hours a week reading about hundreds or thousands of attacks a month and, in my case, recording infomation about the type of attack and the type of weapon. Much of my life was reading terrible things.

Limit what you do in isolation. One of the worst changes for me during that time, mental health-wise (even though it was great for my commute) was when I went from working in-person to working remotely. With other people, there are ways to diffuse the pain. A burden shared is a burden halved and all that. That may mean talking about it, or joking about it, or finding some other way to engage with it that isn't just reading about the most horrible things in the world and then stewing in your own thoughts about them.

Find something to do that's totally unrelated. I highly recommend finding something to do with your hands, if you can (knitting, Lego, cooking, whatever), but regardless of what it is, you should have some time when you entirely switch away to something different. During a fair amount of my time with the GTD, I was also doing my undergrad thesis about terrorism on TV, so a huge amount of my life was about terrorism in some way. The only other thing I watched was Great British Bake Off, and I would just rewatch the episodes, over and over.

Be compassionate about how you share information and with whom. Use trigger warnings, and consider using consistent tagging on places like Tumblr so people can blacklist it if they need to. Also consider whether it's appropriate or necessary to share photos of bodies or other results of horrible violence. What is it accomplishing, to show that? Can that goal be accomplished other ways that don't require the equivalent of jumpscares of unexpected photos of dead or brutalized people? Are you just showing it because you think that everyone should have to see it? If you are showing it, are there ways to mitigate against harm it may do?

Do what you can to avoid an echo chamber. Sometimes, when everyone around you is upset or angry about the same thing, it just amplifies itself, and you all get angrier and more upset in perpetuity without accomplishing anything.

Work towards action. Watching terrible things happen for the sake of saying that you haven't looked away isn't as meaningful as taking action in some way. Write to your Congressperson. Donate. Do whatever is appropriate for the thing you want to stop. But penance via watching terrible things happen doesn't accomplish anything.

Recognize compassion fatigue and do what you can to mitigate it. If you spend long enough doing this, you start to lose context, and you start to become less able to have compassion about things. If you're reading about attacks with dozens or hundreds of deaths regularly, five can start to not seem like that many. If you're reading only about the worst suffering in the world, "lesser" suffering of those around you can start to seem unimportant and petty. Do what you can to mitigate that.

Be kind to yourself. You do nobody any good if you burn out. Look away, if you need to. Take a break. Do things so you can enjoy life, because otherwise you are just another person suffering in the world. Other people's pain isn't a hair shirt for you to wear.

[pennyellee]

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ELIXIR pairings: mafia hoseok x female reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s, arranged marriage, childhood friends to lovers word count: 22K/tba release date: 02.18.25 beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: "And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows" prompt 2: you were apparently promised to the heir of Jung's criminal empire since birth, not that you ever took that ongoing inside joke seriously. You grew up alongside the said man, yet your mind is conflicted about upholding your part and saying I do until one drunken night reveals a lot more than you'd like.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | explicit language, hurt men's ego, mild yandere behaviour (warnings were reduced to avoid spoilers)

author's note: ionoiafhoianfoaif, yalllll, I was writing this like foreveeeeerrrrr. So this is where it all basically started in my head when I created the retelling of what happened around the year 1996. Still, somehow Champagne Confetti and Anubis got out first, mainly because I will continue them, but this is one shot exclusively (I'm open to filler tho). Why? The story of Princess and Hoseok never dies throughout both the fics that are already out and those that will only come. Mainly with Anubis' chapters, you'll get to see them. I'm just as nervous to put this out as I am with every fic but very excited to throw Elixir in the world. I'm simultaneously working on my MA diploma thesis so bear with me when I'm radio silent, but I love you all! I appreciate you reading my stuff my good little fairies ♥ I'll see ya at Hobi's birthday! ♥ Enjoy!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, bloodshed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, and old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

main masterlist 𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑

Winter 1995 You spotted Hoseok seated at the table, a serene picture of composure, his fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee he enjoys in the mornings.

He looked up at your approach, his eyes locking onto yours. There was no trace of anger on his face, no sharp edge to his expression. If anything, he seemed calm, almost disarming.

"Hobi—" you started before he quickly interrupted you.

"Sit down," he said a bit more firmer than he'd want to, gesturing to the seat across from him.

You hesitated for a moment before lowering yourself into the chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. A plate of food sat before you, untouched. Your stomach churned, but the thought of eating felt impossible.

"Are you?—"

"I'm not mad, no," he cut you off gently, surprising you, as if he knew what you were suggesting before you even managed to let those words roll on your tongue.

"So?—" you echoed hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what to expect now. Maybe it would be better if he'd be mad and you knew that you have to make it better just like it used to be, instead he is not showing any kind of position in this situation and that was making you uneasy beyond comparison.

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

"You're still here. That's what matters to me for now." He began, his tone measured. For now. Hoseok was always skilled at this—at saying something that sounded kind but felt like a command.

"I panicked," you admitted softly, the honesty slipping out before you could stop it.

"I know, baby, you chose wrong—" he replied, his gaze unwavering.

"—twice," he added fuel to the fire, salt to the wound. But you knew why. He wanted you to submit to him, and he needed to work overtime to do so.

"You need to show me you're willing to make this right, love," you swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it nearly impossible to respond. His aura and magnitude of how he could move you however he liked now was overwhelming. You cannot run away, not when he dragged you back to this place instead of his brownstone at 57th street. You're not only under his surveillance here, but the Kkangpae and the rest of the family.

“What’s it gonna be? Cuz’ I can’t fucking pretend anymore–” 

His gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he reached into his pocket. You stiffened instinctively, already guessing what he was about to do. Sure enough, his hand emerged clutching the familiar black velvet box. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

"Hoseok," you said softly, your voice trembling with unease. "Please—"

"I don't think I will be so forgiving if you'll choose wrong for a third time, Princess." He ignored your plea, opening the box to reveal the ring again. The one you'd angrily thrown at him that fateful night when he tried to force it down your finger after you explicitly said no to him.

The one that symbolised everything you were not ready to accept, but you had to. It glimmered in the soft light of the room, deceptively beautiful.

"I'm done asking," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. Your breath hitched, but before you could speak, Hoseok reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, yet the weight of his action was suffocating.

You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make it clear you weren't going anywhere. With deliberate precision, he slid the emerald ring onto your finger.

"There," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You stared at the emerald ring, your mind racing. It looked almost serene on your finger, as if it had always belonged there. Hoseok sat back, satisfied, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Before you could respond, the soft thuds of certain leather shoes announced another arrival.

"Joon-ah!" Hoseok greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I assume there's news?"

Namjoon glanced at you briefly, then back to Hoseok. "Yes. We've made progress with the Anubis situation. The distilleries have been secured, but the reports of interference need attention."

"Anubis situation?" You echoed Namjoon's words. Hoseok's smile didn't falter, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss your question. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers interlacing.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a quiet finality that suggested the topic was closed.

Namjoon, however, wasn't as careful with his expression. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a crack in the façade of calm efficiency he usually wore. It was gone as quickly as it came, but you caught it, and it only fuelled your curiosity.

"Anubis is my responsibility, Hoseok, you cannot—" you pressed, your tone sharper now. You'd learned long ago that brushing things under the rug only meant tripping over them later.

"Not anymore."

Hoseok's words cut through the room with an authority that left no room for argument. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of complete control, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity.

"What?!" You breathed out rather loudly now.

"Not anymore," he repeated, slower this time as if daring you to challenge him. And challenge him you did.

"Hoseok," you tried again, your voice quieter this time, laced with both frustration and fear. "This isn't—"

"I gotta punish you somehow, Princess," his one was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind his words was anything but. Your stomach churned as his lips curved into a faint, disarming smile—a predator's smile hidden beneath a veil of warmth.

"Punish me?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Exactly for what you gotta punish me, Hoseok?

"For running," he said, the amusement in his voice doing little to soften the hurt he felt inside. "For throwing the ring. For abandoning me this morning after we made love last night—"

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a raised hand. "Don't misunderstand me, Princess. I'm not angry. But actions have consequences."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. His calm demeanour made it worse. It took one wide-eyed glance for Namjoon to excuse himself and quickly retreat to Kkangpae's office to leave you two alone.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Namjoon seemed louder in the heavy silence that followed. Your eyes darted to it, half-hoping for an interruption, but it was futile. Hoseok's gaze was fixed on you, unrelenting and unreadable, trapping you in this moment.

"Hoseok," you began, your voice trembling. "This isn't fair. You can't just—"

"I can," he interrupted his tone steady but brooking no argument. "And I will. You know I don't take betrayal lightly."

"Betrayal?" you repeated, the word stinging as it left your lips. "Is that what you think this is? Hoseok, I—"

"You ran," he said simply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His fingers interlocked, creating a casual posture that only heightened your unease. "You left me, you threw the ring at me, you abandoned what we're building. Call it whatever you want, Princess, but to me? That's betrayal."

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "I needed time," you whispered. "Time to think, to—"

No, you needed Mark. But you also needed your best friend.

"Think?" Hoseok's laughter was soft, almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What is there to think about? You're mine. You've always been mine. And this?" He gestured to the ring now firmly on your finger. "This makes it only official."

"You can't force me to—" you said, the defiance in your voice surprising even you. This was never a discourse you or Hobi ever had. Everything was thought to be just platonic. Not for him.

"To what?" he asked, cutting you off again. His tone was low, dangerously calm. "To wear a ring? To stay by my side? To stop running every time things don't go the way you want?"

You flinched, the truth in his words hitting too close to home. Hoseok sighed, his expression softening just enough to make your heart ache. You were running each time you did not feel like the family was doing you justice. And each time it was Hoseok who came to talk sense into you. But this is different. You are not kids anymore, or teenagers. This is serious. Hoseok is serious this time.

"You know what Anubis means to me—"

"And you still thought it was something you could just walk away from?"

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as the urge to argue warred with the fear.

"I didn't walk away from Anubis," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed space, Hoseok."

"You said you were tired, love."

"You misunderstood—" Hoseok shook his head slowly, cutting you off once again, his gaze hardening.

"I never wanted it to come to this," Hoseok said, his voice softening as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. "But you forced my hand, Princess. And now, you don't get to run anymore. Not from me. Not from us."

"But Anubis—"

"It's still yours. But until you learn your place, Namjoon will suffice."

You bit your lip, caught between the suffocating desire to fight back but all you could do is shut your mouth and obey, telling yourself that this is only temporary.

He was, indeed, not mad.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟎𝟐.𝟏𝟖.𝟐𝟓

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story is up for reading, you can write in the comments and I'll create a tag list!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[kinichval]

all at once, everything is different

he finds no meaning in celebrating the day of his birth (or creation), yet this year he finds himself whispering a wish — please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh he can recognize anywhere.

content. wanderer x rtawahist!fem!reader, wanderer is addressed as hat guy, reader can see aranara, not dating but clearly in love ykwim, one (1) kiss, hat guy hates his birthday, not-so-mean because his soft spot is showing lol, mediocre writing, slight angst if u squint. | 3.5k words

“hat guy, you have a visitor!”

the said man groans and shuts his eyes, displeased with the interruption. if ignoring the knocks were not enough to convey the message, then he will not be liable for his harsh tone over the unwanted company.

except, well, the visitor on the other side of the door happened to be his new friend — durin.

wait, what the fuck is he doing with nahida?

“hat guy!” the little dragon's enthusiasm explodes across the room. he quickly flies over to the indigo-haired scholar, taking a peek at the paperwork on his desk. “what are you doing?” his curiosity is rather adorable, though hat guy would not let that thought slip out his lips (and hopefully the dendro archon wouldn't attempt to read his mind).

“i'm working on a new thesis.” he simply responds, durin lets out an innocent ‘woah’ although he knows he doesn't fully grasp the concept. nahida giggles; the thesis proponent has been cooped up in this room for days, it's a given that scholarly papers and academic writing generally takes months before completion, but it's also clear to her that his response was merely an excuse.

“let's go out, hat guy!” durin initiates, flipping in the air as excitement rushes through his little body as he expects his first friend to agree — only to frown when hat guy scoffs, “i'm busy right now. let's plan another time.” hat guy hopes the compromise would convince his dragon friend to leave him alone and so will the dendro archon.

but no, both of them are determined to reign victorious against his convictions.

hat guy knew what day is it today, he sighs heavily, eager to stay put in his lair doing whatever academic duty there is just to avoid the light of day and utmostly reject the idea of celebration.

it's as if a simple greeting of ‘happy birthday’ bears no sense of something, it feels awkward to receive such words when he feels nothing about the beginning of his existence. was he supposed to say ‘thank you’ when in the first place it's an unsolicited message?

one of these days, he's sure to receive a smack on the back of his head if this attitude continues.

(he'll just protect his head then.)

(unless the prevailing lord of sumeru casts a more perilous punishment when he wears her patience thin.)

durin's crimson eyes dulls, the drop in his float and lowered head presents his broken heart, “allow me to go through your progress and i'll leave my own criticisms, take it as a partial checking. we wouldn't want to finish a thesis then realize the whole paper is wrong, would we?” nahida suggests, her eyes round and pleading. hat guy stares down at his desk, almost praying to some other god — probably the anemo one, though he doesn't have much faith in the freedom archon — to make nahida and durin realize that he is unavailable at the moment.

“come on, hat guy, today looks like a good—” nahida's words are immediately cut off when hat guy finally looks at their gazes, “fine!” he abruptly stands up with his palms on the desk, the split second of his widened eyes being enough evidence for nahida to see his true feelings without needing to use her mind-reading prowess.

“really?!” durin's eyes sparkle and wings flap in triumph, hat guy groans in defeat, and nahida smiles brightly. “but i'll decide when the day is over.” his tone is as cold as his color palette, but durin does not complain about his condition, his little cheers soften hat guy's bleak exterior.

hat guy detests walking around the heart of sumeru during this time of the year, he remembers in the previous year when akademiya students ambushed him just to get him to blow a sickeningly sweet birthday cake. he lowers his head, until now he can't fully comprehend the nature of birthdays and its significance — for mortals, it may be because their lifespans are merely a flick of a finger compared to non-human races.

he has already lived for so long and will continue to do so, but what part of birthdays satisfy fulfillment if he rejects it himself? it's even so absurd that he is expected to extend gestures to others on his own day.

“hey, hat guy, do you know those tiny things with hats and a smiley face?” the little dragon's query snaps hat guy out of his zoned out state, he momentarily pauses to think what creatures he is referring to before furrowing his brows at the unsure conclusion in his mind, “what things?” the boy envisions the forest spirits around sumeru, the aranara. he doubts durin means the smiles as they do not have a smile, still he remarks those elemental clusters as cute.

“those little things! with hats like yours!” durin tries his best at composing his description, “wait, they have pointy hats, yours is flat.” his voice is small at the realization of the difference in design, “you should know what i mean, right?” he flies right in front of hat guy's face, hoping that his thoughts will get through to his friend.

“perhaps you mean the aranara? they're plant-like forest spirits in sumeru. where did you see one? they don't often show themselves as i've known.” hat guy explains, he sees the bright grin on durin's face, the sight melts him.

he knows the aranara only allows their presence to be known by children (adults can see them but terms and conditions must be met first, e.g. the traveler), and deep down he hopes for durin to take sight of those little things. he believes that durin is a child at heart, not only his small size and curious nature, but his core is akin to a little kid who dreams and hopes.

“they're called aranara? it sounds adorable!” durin giggles, “i saw a couple of them tailing behind the archon! do you think i can befriend them?” hat guy smiles, his sentiments mirroring durin's aspirations. “you can go find them and ask for a friendship contract.” he smirks, obviously teasing the little dragon, though his words carry genuine wishes for durin to create friendships.

“do we like call for them? i want to talk to one!” durin's eagerness at meeting the aranara spreads warmth in his chest, “you have to be patient. they'll appear whenever they deem right.” hat guy responds, he's not entirely knowledgeable about their decisions when or when not to appear, but he knows enough that the aranara values the people of sumeru — even if they're unseen, they're the nation's closest companion.

and he's assured enough that the aranara will welcome durin just as much as he was accepted as their friend.

“there you are!” a deep voice pipes up nearby, durin hastily flies behind hat guy to hide from the unknown voice. “who's there?” the little dragon closes his eyes, the fear of being judged is still within him, hence hat guy extends out both his arms as an act of protecting durin as his gaze seeking out who had spoken to them.

the general mahamatra comes to sight, albeit the most distinguishable factor for hat guy is the tall ears poking out from his hat. his right eyebrow is raised, posing a skeptical expression at the big-eared hat guy's presence and intentions with him.

“ah, the famous hat guy of the vahumana darshan. i believe you remember me from the interdarshan championship last year?” cyno utters, there's a prideful look on his face that makes hat guy even more wary of where this is going. “i recall our sparring moments during the competition, yes, you were the representative for spantamad.” hat guy responds, he knows this man is a big persona in the nation although he couldn't dig it in his memory what his name was.

“speak your intentions, i do not have the luxury of time right now.” hat guy asserts, he watches as cyno takes a deep inhale — and wonders what it's for — before he takes hat guy's hand and slaps down a stack of cards (dear archon, how did he manage to hide a tall stack?)

“do you know about genius invokation tcg? i've been meaning to find you and discuss the game. i have high hopes that you'll be a prodigy of a player, so please hear me out. i have read a few of your research, i applaud your intelligence and critical thinking for curating reasonable claims and powerful arguments. you know what else uses the same strategy? tcg! with your keen observation, wits, and quick analysis, i'm sure you'll be sumeru's second best player — i'm the first, of course — please accept my offer and play with me, i assure you that it is an efficient mental exercise outside of the akademiya. furthermore, playing with others allows a space for building relationships and strengthening bonds. what do you say, hat guy?”

oh, cyno definitely needed that deep inhale. hat guy, on the other hand, is bewildered.

“hat guy, what is he talking about?” durin whispers in his ears, still out of sight.

“you should take upon his offer, hat guy. not only will you gain friends in sumeru, but also acquire a reputable image across teyvat.” the green-eyed desert guy (who hat guy knows as the one who's oddly interested in his hat) shows up and backs up cyno's claim.

right now, he feels like nahida casted him in some weird dream spell because what the hell is going on?

hat guy scoffs, “only brains as small as a sweet flower seed would reckon that a measly card game is enough to be a backbone of life-and-death bonds.” still, the stack of cards remained in his hand.

as if cyno was about to take no for an answer, “keep the stack, hat guy. maybe one day you'll have a change of mind, come find me if you find it in yourself to admit that this game is—”

“hat guy!” another voice pops up in the scenario, but rather than having his guard up higher, hat guy's shoulders seem to relax upon hearing your voice.

as you enter the scene, you immediately realize the situation. there's a look of dread in hat guy's eyes that shows his disagreement towards card games. “general mahamatra, pardon for the intrusion, but please do excuse hat guy and his… displeasure with tcg. i'm sure there are other skilled scholars who are more interested in playing a match with you.” you intervene, a nervous laugh at the end because despite this silly interaction, cyno still holds a high position and you know the power this man has.

cyno was about to respond, but sethos — the green-eyed desert guy — beats him to it, “apologies, my lady. the general here just wants a formidable opponent because apparently i don't play enough tcg.” sethos explains as he casually points his thumb at cyno, “i'm not interested to be your opponent.” hat guy coldly rejects.

“no! you will play tcg with me one da—” sethos covers his mouth that he almost stumbled backwards, they bicker among themselves.

“hey, yn! long time, no see!” you hear durin's little whisper, you assume he's hiding behind hat guy, a giggle passes your lips and the endearing thought. “hey, durin. i missed you!” for a moment, you reminisce the first time durin visited the real world — you met him them as he and hat guy relayed to you the tales of simulanka and all the shenanigans that occurred.

“anyways! hat guy, you know you'd be so cute with your hair tied up.” sethos grinned, the change in topic also brightened up his aura however it only dimmed hat guy's. he takes off hat guy's hat, now he's just guy, and his fingers swiftly grabs a portion of his midnight-hued hair and ties a little bun.

and the cherry on top, a bow.

“...tch.”

hat guy never had his hair tied, you had played with a few strands whenever he lays down on your lap, but that's the closest his hair ever got touched. mini durin struggles to hide his laughter at the sight of his best friend's angered face being ten times more adorable with the new hairstyle.

he's extra convinced that this is just another dream simulated by nahida.

“i wonder what you would look like with your hair braided.” you giggle, envisioning different styles on his jellyfish-like haircut. “whatever it is, don't.” hat guy rolls his eyes.

you, hat guy, and mini durin continue to walk to whoever knows where, your path has strayed away from the city but it's no issue when hat guy finds relief in not having to be jumped on by scholars.

along the way, laughter and banter were thrown back and forth. “don't pretend it's erased in history that you broke my favorite pen!” you nag him, “it was already cracked, it just happened to break apart in my hand!” he defends himself, this argument has been going on for months now, it's your personal grudge against him that you bring up whenever he tries to drag you down.

“it's raining!” durin points out as the rain loudly splatters on the ground, “oi!” hat guy yelps as you take his hat and hovers it over your heads. “c'mon it's big enough.” you reason out, he sighs and rolls his eyes, durin is in between you two as you walk to find a better shelter.

until a small meow catches your attention, as if on instinct, your eyes darts toward the sound's origin. it didn't take long to find a small cat inside a pot, wet in the rain. the little guy seemed to be alone with no owner or parent cat around.

and it didn't take another thought for hat guy to grab his hat and cover the white cat's head, leaving you and durin exposed to the rain, “i'll take you to the shelter. follow me if you want.” he says, but instead picks up the cat in his arms — talk about personal autonomy, no?

shortly, he returns to you and durin, the hat barely covering your group but settles with whatever his hat can provide. it's a wondrous sight, no words were spoken at this moment, even durin who enjoyed conversing let the serene silence overpower the rainfall.

and hat guy realizes that not a word had fallen off your lips about his birthday. you certainly had not forgotten, right?

suddenly, his chest feels empty, which is weird enough for he doesn't even possess a heart. a human heart. his ribs feel tight, as if clenching on nothing; he doesn't understand the anomaly taking place within his core, the cat meows and snuggles against his chest, serving as a temporary remedy for the internal ache.

sometimes you were infuriating. not for reasons that are shallow and certainly he doesn't wish for your demise; he finds you the cause of the berserk inside him, for whenever you two are within each other's parameters, suddenly he's at ease and for some reason that he time and time again fails to provide an answer for, troubled.

dear archons, hat guy could almost solve all of sumeru's political issues — if he dared to — but this predicament that involves you bears no fruition to his efforts in understanding the effect you have on him. the lack of an emotional organ within him feels more and more apparent when there's a rampant of feelings flowing in his blood.

is this what a heart is for?

“the sky's clearing up!” durin beams, flying forward. “don't fly too far, you don't know where you're going.” hat guy scolds the little dragon who muttered an apology and returns close to him. 

you settled in an abandoned hut, based on the nearby surroundings, it's safe to assume you're around the region in between avidya forest and vanarana. “are you hungry little guy?” durin converses with the lone cat that chooses to stay on hat guy's lap, rendering him immobile until the cat is satisfied with its rest.

“say, durin, do you know what today is?” you ask the dragon, he tilts his head in response, “hat day, is today a special day?” you softly smile at how closely tied durin is to hat guy, you've known him since the day he started as an akademiya student, you were together at the same table in the library. he wasn't the sociable type, he made that clear, but you were persistent to break into his personal bubble until you finally claim a spot in his vicinity.

“it's just a normal day.” hat guy rolls his eyes, but the slight tint of pink on his cheeks doesn't go unnoticed. for hat guy, you were like a cat that demands to be paid attention to, a ginger-colored one that he can not seem to predict. 

“really? the sun seems to be too bright just for today to be normal.” he's confused, were you about to break open the forest and have the entirety of sumeru to sing him a happy birthday or there's something else up your sleeve that he can't guess.

“is that an aranara?!” durin squeals upon the sight of a blue aranara walking towards the group, hat guy follows durin's line of sight and spots not just one or two, but a small group of aranaras… and origamis?

his brows furrowed in disbelief, “what's going on?” hat guy looks at you with a puzzled face, you want to snort at his expression because clearly he's trying to avoid his birthday.

and you were not about to let him disregard his day like that.

the army of aranara and origami surrounds hat guy, the aranara orients a necklace of origami flowers around his neck. their little squeals speak of their joyous sentiment for this moment, a moment that belongs to hat guy.

“happy birthday.”

hat guy is stuck in a trance when he finally hears you say it.

“happy birthday, hat guy!” durin exclaims, he's flipping in circles, finally releasing the words he desperately tried to hide since he saw him.

“happy birthday, blue nara!”

“happy birthday, hero of simulanka!”

hat guy puts his hand on his chest as the greetings continue to echo in his ears, is this what happiness feels like?

“thank you.” he simply responds, clearing his throat to regain his usual composure. 

“we have gifts for you!” you crouch down in front of him, a big smile on your face. you gesture the aranaras and paper squirrels to come forth, they carry boxes filled with secret stories whose main character is hat guy.

“i got one too!” durin flies down to sit beside hat guy, his own little gift in his embrace.

“why would you celebrate my birthday?” his voice falters as he lets the question fly past his lips, “because i care for you, hat guy. you're special to me.” you simply reply, hoping that it delivers the deeper meaning of his existence to your life.

you love him, you will forever do so.

hat guy hums, unsure how to reply when he's fighting his innermost turmoil of crystalflies. he resorts to opening the gifts instead, one box containing a hand-crafted paper doll of himself, the enraged expression has him instinctively mirroring the same look, “is this how you see me?” he scoffs, but they let him tell his rough comments and cold feedback as he continues his unboxing spree.

“i've got plenty of unusual stuff from you and you still haven't run out of ideas? even durin has his own contribution.” he sighs, his indigo orbs lingering on the gifts you prepared. the stack of tcg cards from cyno still in his possession.

“because you deserve to be reminded that you're loved and wanted.”

loved and wanted, huh?

hat guy quietly apologizes as he moves the cat off his lap, he leans down to you and his hands cup your cheeks. “last time i checked, you're one of the top rtawahist students, but i must refute your claim on that one.”

“then i'll defend my argument, the absence of a physical heart does not restrict your emotional intelligence and morale. your ribs may not house an organ, but your embrace has proven otherwise.”

you may not know the burden that he hides underneath his facade or the weights that made him believe that love is an outerworldly entity, but one thing you will attest to is the hat guy who knows how to love.

even if it takes years for hat guy to realize and admit that he loves, you will continue to be the one to assure him that it's alright.

for the love he yearns and continues to long for is the birthday gift you promise to give him every year. for as long as you live, and in every reincarnation, you will love hat guy.

hat guy covers durin's eyes as he leans down to collide his lips on yours. the crystalflies in his stomach explode, but it's soon replaced with fulfillment. maybe, he doesn't need a heartbeat to tell him that he can love when he's capable of choosing to love.

there's light in his life when you arrived that one afternoon asking what thesis he was working on, there was you who appeared to hold him when the akademiya felt suffocating, and there will always be you beside him who loves and teaches him love.

if the dendro archon is reading his mind right, he would like to say that he doesn't feel lonely now. he has you now. and even without a birthday cake, he'd like to make a wish: please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh i can recognize anywhere.

“it seems like you're the one who's looking forward to my birthday.”

[visenyaism]

hi visenyaism, sorry i know this is mainly an asoiaf blog but I loved your literacy & kids in school analysis and i had a question. idk if you're familiar with the "male flight" from college substack article making the rounds on tumblr (tldr: the author takes the thesis of this sociological paper that men stopped enrolling in vet school once women enrollment hit 60% and suggests that it could explain why men's enrollment in college generally has fallen bc women's enrollment has now hit that 60% threshold & men, or well, straight men, want to avoid anything deemed too feminine) and I was wondering if you've also noticed that men / boys tend to devalue going to college and generally had any thoughts on this phenomenon?

Hm. Here’s the article if you haven’t read it:

I agree with her about a lot. I think a lot of it really is that we beat into young girls’ heads from the start that you need to work hard and become financially and professionally independent because of you don’t you will be dependent on and taking care of a man forever. But boys are way more likely to get the “don’t worry you will find someone to take care of you no matter what it is what you deserve” message. I have noticed a rise of this anti-college intellectualism particularly in young men that it is a scam and that even if you get a job, it’s gonna be like the beginning of fight club where it’s like super emasculating to do that because you’re following the system. 

I can tell you it’s a common phenomenon in high schools that honors classes are disproportionately female and standard level classes are disproportionately male. Some of it is just outperformance (which I think is the aforementioned messaging difference and also just because I think we hold young women to a higher standard academically and behaviorally and they react accordingly.) I have talked to male students who have insinuated that performing well in school is kind of girly because it’s like being submissive.

The messaging facing young men that going to college is overrated because that kind of 9-to-5 white collar job you’re supposed to get as a result is inherently kind of feminine or cuck or beta or whatever is common. Of the group of students not going to college after they graduate I think girls are in my experience more likely to have a plan like they’re joining the military or they’re going to trade school or they’re going to community college or taking a year off. Whereas boys Are more likely to have that mentality that they’re gonna become an influencer or a day trader or crypto whatever or a twitch streamer because that’s more alpha than following the system. I think a lot of our anti-intellectualism in society is a result of this messaging that going to college is now girly.

What I really hate is when people point at high levels of women enrolling in college as evidence that the system is rigged in favor of women which has never been true and is not true currently. I feel like “male flight” is not a complete answer, but it is definitely more comprehensive of an explanation than a lot of the other ones I’ve heard.

[skaldish]

Alright folks. Here it is, my theory of what Ragnarok actually represents. It is very messy and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to actually convey my understanding clearly like I try with most things, because genuinely this is shit I would write a doctorate-level thesis on.

But we're going to try anyway.

So. After doing a lot to try to replicate animistic thinking, as well as taking a VERY deep read of the Norse myths, my theory is that Ragnarok is specifically allegory for societal collapse—the "end of the world" imagery and such is meant to convey what this feels like.

Recall what Odin says in Grimnismal. It goes something like this, since I can't be arsed to find the exact quote:

Huginn and Muninn fly over the world every day; while I fear Huginn ("thought") may not return, I fear Muninn's ("memory's") absence most.

When a society collapses, so does it's memory. It loses its technology, its methodologies, its paradigms, and everything it has learned about the world up to that point. Gone. Entire chapters of history erased.

What causes societal collapse is not always a conquering force, but is oftentimes the result of circumstances that a society orchestrates for itself. Think Rome.

People who have gone through societal collapse will probably develop an invested interest in figuring out how to prevent it entirely, so they don't have to start society all over again.

It's one thing to preserve the memory of "things collapsed and here's why" using a story. But it's another thing to do what apparently the Norse people did, which is cultivate a methodology for cognitively hardening their own society against collapse, using stories as a way to do it.

Like...I'm not kidding when I say they legitimately knew how the human mind works, and then built an entire system of stories and narratives that intentionally support the mind's freedom, cultivation, and agency. I can only convey a fraction of how this works in this post because the rest requires a deep-dive into behavioral psychology and neurological development.

All the tales leading to Ragnarok demonstrate various instances where the gods choose to follow their own agendas at the expense of the real people and forces in the world. All of these little things contribute to the magnitude of the event that is Ragnarok.

The tales represent these transgressions using allegories rather than literal events. This is because these stories were designed for children, who don't process information through a prefrontal cortex like we do as adults. They don't have them yet. But this gives kids an intuitive understanding for how circumstances of collapse feel, so they can recognize them in all their forms.

Loki is an allegory for the mischief we feel as children, and for the behaviors we demonstrate before we get to the age where we start valuing cooperation. In the myths, every time Loki causes mischief in ways that creates problems, the gods get mad at him and threaten Loki's life until he fixes his mess. Loki eventually becomes vindictive, kills Baldr in a jealous fit, and then is punished by being bound and buried beneath the ground, only to fight against the gods in Ragnarok.

The surface-level takeaway is a lesson in parenting: If we punish kids for their mischief, they're going to become vindictive adults, and these adults are going to have it out for the rest of society because they've been disenfranchised.

But it doesn't just end here. Consider how we punish ourselves for our own sense of mischief, beating ourselves up for having "problematic" thoughts and trying to bind and bury those thoughts in the depths of our mind.

These thoughts come from a place our mind known as the limbic system, which is focused on avoiding pain and seeking pleasure, and—most importantly—does not understand the world or make decisions using logic and reason, but in terms of what feels enjoyable and what doesn't.

We tend to call this system our inner child.

When we punish our inner child, that child starts doing exactly what Loki does and resorts to malicious and petty tricks. We can hold this behavior at bay until something causes us to "snap" (like Jörmungandr's tail does) and out comes the malice of the disenfranchised inner child, which creates a terrible cascade of social consequences for us.

Now, if we were to listen to these stories as kids, we would naturally be very upset whenever Loki was threatened of punished, because we think out of the limbic system at that age and Loki is meant to represent us—specifically, the state of being a kid. We would see what comes to pass, with Loki being imprisoned and fighting the gods against Ragnarok, and it would become clear to us that there's consequences for punishing mischief AND also causing too much of it.

Now I don't know about you, but I was very motivated by a sense of justice as a kid. Hearing Loki's arc would have inspired me to learn how to be friends with my sense of mischief while also learning to use it in ways that were cooperative and social, because this would have been how I could right the wrong I felt was done to Loki. It would also mean my own limbic system will not fight against me in the future, but be a modality of thought I can always access. (This is the beauty of the way the Norse myths are crafted; they are designed to instill knowledge of the world using mechanisms that reinforce one's own sense of agency and competency, so rather than being told the moral of this tale, it sets me up to run right into the conclusion it wants me to draw, but in a way that makes me feel smart and therefore inspires me to value it.)

The binding of Fenrir serves a similar allegory. When we become explosively angry in the way that Fenrir represents, it consumes our wisemind the same way Fenrir consumes Odin during Ragnarok. But this only happens if we bind Fenrir/our anger. By demonizing this nature of ours simply for existing, it will not only refuse to listen to us, but also turn against us. Remember that Fenrir was willing to socialize and cooperate with the gods before his betrayal.

(Honestly, I believe this is why ulfheiðnar existed the way they did. Even though the animalistic rage of ulfheiðnar was too terrible for domestic society, it was not demonized, but instead given a social function. People would learn to understand and partner with their own sense of rage, and I'm guessing this is also how they were able to keep their sense of reason and priorities straight even while going berserk from psychoactives.)

These two examples serve to illustrate how societal collapse stems from binding or punishing our own natures. But also fearing our own nature as mortals factors into it.

For example, Naglfar. This is a ship constructed of dead people's fingernails, and its completion is part of what signals the beginning of Ragnarok. But as the story goes, we can delay Naglfar's construction by trimming the nails of the dead before we bury them.

Naglfar represents "neglect for the dead," and this is significant because the act of no longer viewing the dead as people is sort of like the canary in the coal mine for no longer view each other as people...and no longer seeing people as people is what defines Ragnarok.

A society is at peace when its people have no fear of death, and having no fear of death comes only by incorporating death as a normal and familiar part of life, just like we do with birth. Our relationship with death is a litmus test for our relationship with our own humanity—if we fear the dead and cannot see them as human beings, then we are always going to fear a part of our own humanity, and be at war with it. The simple act of keeping the nails of the dead well-groomed because it stalls Naglfar's construction was a way to remind people why such a simple act was profoundly important.

And these are just the things that I can think of off the top of my head that are the most obvious examples. There are—and I shit you not—multitudes of these things laced within the Norse myths.

(I haven't even gotten to the part about how the Norse creation myth uses what the womb feels like to characterize it. Telling this story to very little children helps them establish a sense of familiarity, belonging, and secure attachment with the entire world from the get-go. If they learn the world is everything they've already experienced, then their bodies will never be afraid of it, because nothing about it will feel unknown or unknowable. Like, how fucking dope can you get.)

So here's where we get to the really dense irony of all this: Why we don't pick up on all these nuances as Westerners and have so far missed this entirely.

It is for two reasons.

The first is because our society values the things that the Norse people identified as contributing to societal collapse—namely, the act of conquering/competing against other forces and conquering/competing against our own natures. The transgressions of the Aesir are not things we register as problematic because to us they're normal.

The second is that we don't think animistically. The way we are taught to convey, interpret, and transmit information is designed PURELY by and for the prefrontal cortex, with neglect to everything else (if you ever wonder why Americans look weird in how we behave, this is why). But because we only prioritize communicating this way, we're missing out on all the context added within the Norse myths. These myths function the same way Old Norse kennings did, in that they are designed to speak to ALL areas of the brain at once and in tandem, but if we only engage with it using one part of the brain, we're only going to get a small piece of the picture and the rest is going to look weird.

(Little experiment for you: Try to logic something out in your mind or think through a complex problem without using words or sentences to do it. Use any other kind of thought-process besides language. I promise you that not only is this possible, but it yields a completely different kind of experience and conclusion than you might otherwise reach.)

Honestly, I don't even think Snorri himself fully understood what he was looking at when he was recording the Norse myths. I think he was just writing them down according to how they were told, word-for-word. But his cluelessness is our good fortune now, because he not only preserved the cultural stories, but also what I consider an entire cognitive technology.

And every time I look at it, I can't help but think about the generations of people who sat around the fire in the dead of winter, weaving, crafting, and figuring out better ways to fortify their society, raise kids so they became fine and truly fearless people, and conserve information. This is, as far as I'm concerned, real magic.

They knew some shit.

[paper-mario-wiki]

your thesis about your work is very interesting!! if i may ask, how do you feel when well meaning people miss the point and genuinely praise your raps? do u see that as just a lack of investigation or a subconscious celebration of the very thing youre satirizing (eg white rap coopting Black culture to self aggrandize etc etc)? either way i love the concept and execution!!

well, i take care to not write in a voice that isn't my own, which is the main problem with many white rappers.

often, when white rappers take imagery and verbiage from black culture for use in their rap, it's drawn from no actual lived experience. rap music, and the culture of hip-hop from which it spawned, is very explicitly a black form of art, and will always be inherently political for that reason. white, cishet, male artists are the only class of artist to have the luxury of never needing to think about what political implications their art actually has when they participate in it, and so when they choose to play in the hip-hop space, there will be friction by default. (note: im not exempt from these conceptions of whiteness just because im queer, nor is any other pasty homo.)

that said, very few people make the argument "white people shouldn't rap at all" in earnest. the issue is often twofold.

one is that most white rappers see participating in a black art form as needing to perform "blackness", as it has been defined to them as an outsider to the group that has been labeled "black," and the lived experiences that comes with that label. how that typically manifests is in a tone-deaf-at-best caricature that rings disingenuously, which is especially apparent in an art form which rewards honesty in expression.

the second issue, and the much more material one, is that white people will straight up have an easier time getting acclaim as rappers because they are white, and that will lead to money and attention and spotlight being taken away from actual black artists in the field-- which is often compounded by the fact that they will then neglect to actually funnel money back into the community of black artists that they are actively benefiting off of.

that's why, in my rap, my only two goals are

1) avoid making money, and

2) talk shit about white rappers as often as i possibly can, including myself.

if someone were to praise party trick for being a good rap song in the first half, i guess i'd feel awkward about being taken at face value. tho with the other ones, i guess i'd just try to be grateful, because i do typically try to write as honestly as i can.

if you'd like to hear more on this subject from someone who's actually melanated and therefore more qualified to speak on it, click here!

[anonfandombandit]

hi. I wanted to reach out privately to ask whether you are using AI to write any of your fics. me and a few others are concerned you may be using AI to aid you in writing. some of the proof we have gathered:

excessive use of dashes and semi colons in a way that a human would not use them

repetitive use of certain words and phrases like 'smirks' 'thunderous' 'says softly' 'her eyes were piercing'

chapters being 20-30000+ words written in a short time frame

not using a beta reader who would pick up use of AI in your writing

using AI evasion tools to avoid AI checkers

please clarify if you are using generative AI when writing because its damaging to the writing community and you should be declaring if you are using it

I’ve been debating how to respond to this for a while now. I’ll be honest, when I first read it, I laughed. My first immediate thought was “wow, guess this makes me a real agathario writer now” because is it not a right of passage to get accused of using AI in this community?

Really, though, I’m kind of insulted. Bitterly so. So much so that I’m too offended to even feel really angry or upset. The fact you have sent this anonymously and “privately” is proof enough to me that you are not actually concerned, and have malicious intent. Who exactly are these “few other people” you are talking about? Why not post this publicly with your name behind it, if you’re so confident in your accusations? Doing so anonymously is, frankly, cowardly.

To make it incredibly clear - No. I don’t use AI in any of my fics. I literally work in academia where we are allergic to AI use. It’s false authorship. Using it in my career would end it. I’ve been writing fics for half of my life, I’d like to think I don’t need to rely on shitty AI prose and dialogue to tell a story. And I’m fully aware of how damaging AI use is to fic writers which is why I am vehemently against it. I’ve spoken to several other writers in the coven about how much I hate it.

Your proof is hilarious. Yes, I like semi colons and dashes. That’s my writing style. Is my use of the Oxford comma also suspicious to you? I also have favourite phrases and words I like to use, like every other writer. The 20k/30k chapters you are talking about were written in, on average, a month, so that’s ~1k words written a day which any other writer could tell you is possible. Also need I remind you that the 30k chapter was written while I was off work and bed-bound with pneumonia? So yeah, I might have had a little more free time to write in February and March.

I do my own editing rather than having a beta reader because throwing a novella at them to give feedback on would be insane. And I can only assume you are saying I’m using “AI evasion tools” (which…. What. What are you talking about) because you tried to use an AI detector on my fics and they came back with nothing. Because guess what. I don’t use AI. Because I love my fics.

Anyway. Guess I’m just going to feel bitter for a while over this. I was planning on scaling back my writing anyway in the summer since my PhD thesis writing period is approaching, but I might just start now. I’ll be focusing on safeword, hopeless and fragile things for the moment. I might write some short fics for AAA week but probably won’t find the time.

Thanks to everybody who has been so supportive and patient with me and my fic posting. I know it sucks that you have to wait so long between chapters, especially for safeword. But part of why they take so long is because I don’t want to rush writing them. I really appreciate everyone who has reached out to tell me how much my fics mean to them and how you have enjoyed them.

[its-luna-noel]

fluctuations of the mind | jason todd x reader

01. steinbeck

summary: working at the local library while you work on your phd thesis seems like the perfect fit. you don't expect it to bring your childhood friend back to you after over a decade. now that you have him back, you refuse to let him go, no matter the challenges you face together.

contents: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, english phd student reader, fluff, angst, smut, drinking & drugs, past abuse, trauma, mental health issues, mental instability, ptsd, depression, suicidal ideation, classic literature, dark academia

word count: 2.4k

chapter 1/? (probably 20ish) next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi! welcome to the first chapter of my first jason todd fic. i hope you enjoy!

“All great and precious things are lonely.”

― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

~

Jason knew it was you as soon as he stepped up to the library front desk.

He’s not sure what exactly gave it away – the slope of your nose, your eyes, your brows scrunched in that expression of concentration that hasn’t changed in the decade that he’s been away. You’re processing returns, but you look up when you see him standing there dumbfounded, staring at you like a freak. He’s bundled up for the winter, a beanie drawn down over his hair and a coat zipped up to his throat, so it shouldn’t hurt when you look up at him and smile like you don’t recognize him, but it does.

Your gaze shouldn’t send a thrill through his body, but it does.

“Hi there!” you chirp, your voice warm and unfamiliar. It’s lower than he remembers, more womanly, like you’ve grown up, and he supposes you have. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh,” he clears his throat. “I’m here to sign up for a library card.”

Jason isn’t sure this is exactly where his priorities should lie, but he hasn’t had a library card since he was a kid, and he’s tired of spending his meager money on books or resigning to reread tattered copies he’s read three or four times. You perk up, seeming overjoyed to spread the gospel of the public library to a young man like him.

“Okay! Do you have an I.D. and proof of address?” you ask, setting aside your previous task to dedicate your attention to him. Your eyes are tender, so achingly familiar. 

He slowly slides the necessary documents across the table towards you, his gloved fingers lingering, almost like he wants to keep them from you. It’s not that he doesn’t want you to know – though he’s not sure he does – that it’s him. But he’s successfully cut out most of his life from before, avoiding memories when he can, and though the memories of you are the sweetest, he’s not sure he’s ready to face them yet.

But you don’t give him much of a choice; you take the documents, and you read off his name, the syllables rolling off your tongue, “Jason To–” And then you freeze, your mouth still agape with the last vowel of his name, and your eyes flicker up to meet his, wide. Like you’ve seen a ghost.

He supposes you have.

You whisper, “Jay?” and your voice holds so much shock, so much relief, so much raw emotion that he folds.

“Yeah,” he says, voice thick, “it’s me.”

You look over at your coworker, who’s watching the exchange with rapt interest. “I have to step away for a second,” you breathe, and then you’re pushing through the swinging gate to come see him. You’re practically running, and you drag him away from the front desk, favoring the corridor between the front doors to talk. He prepares to explain himself, to tell you that you didn’t have to worry, that he was fine.

When you round on him, he has all these things on the tip of his tongue. But instead of asking him where he’s been, or why he left, you just throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and burying your face in his neck.

He blinks, shocked. And then he wraps his strong arms around you and hugs you back, pressing his face into your hair.

Your voice trembles when you whisper, “I thought you were dead. I thought you were worse than dead, I– I thought someone took you. I thought–“

He cuts you off. “I know, bug.” He’s surprised the nickname slips out; it’s like muscle memory has taken over after all these years, like he’s reverting to an old version of himself.

Like no time has passed at all.

But that would mean you’re two scared little kids back in Park’s Row, with nothing but darkness ahead. And though that may be true for him, it doesn’t have to be for you.

You finally pull away, letting your arms fall from around him. Instead, your hands rest on his arms, and you look at him – really look at him – for the first time.

You looking gives him time to look at you, and he realizes you’re crying. Watery eyes trail over his bundled form, cheeks flushed with emotion. Startled, he says, “Bug–“

You wave him away, letting out a breathy laugh. “You look great!” you blurt, wiping your hand across your face to brush away tears. “You’re– you’re huge!”

He can’t help but chuckle at that. “It’s the coat,” he says, though he knows it’s not.

Your hand squeezes his arm through his jacket, finding his massive bicep beneath. “What happened to the scrawny kid I used to know?” you ask in wonder.

He gives a bitter smile. “I guess he grew up, same as you.”

And at that, your eyes finally find the scars on his face, and you whisper, “Oh, Jay… Time’s not been kind to you, has it?”

He has to clench his jaw to avoid letting emotion through at your words, your kind, broken-hearted words. You have no idea what’s happened to him, and yet you can see him right where he’s vulnerable.

You turn over your shoulder, back towards the library’s front desk. “Let me go clock out,” you say. “It’ll just take a minute, and then we can go get coffee or something. I want to catch up.”

He tilts his head to the side, smirking a little. “You sure that’s okay?”

You scoff, smiling back. “I’ll tell them I had a family emergency or something. It doesn’t matter; you’re more important.”

His heart seems to glow in his chest at your words. “I’ll wait here,” he says gruffly, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his aching chest.

You flit back inside, and Jason keeps his eyes on you while he can. Meanwhile, you step back behind the front desk, whispering to your coworker, “Hey, River?”

They glance at you, looking curious. “Who was that?” they whisper back.

You don’t know how to explain what Jason is to you. You haven’t seen him in over a decade, didn’t even recognize him because he’s nothing like the snappy, glowering child you used to know. But he’s occupied your mind almost every day for those years, never straying far from your mind as you worried what happened to him.

And now he’s back.

“A family friend,” you finally decide. “I need to go; we’ve got an emergency.”

They raise an eyebrow at you, seeming unconvinced. They hum, examining you for a moment, before finally saying, “Fine. I’ll cover for you, but you have to take my Saturday morning shift.”

You roll your eyes but concede. You don’t have time to barter with them. “Fine. I’ll see you later.”

They wave, watching you go. Eyes locked on the gigantic man waiting for you in the corridor.

You return to him, offering a nervous smile. He returns the expression; it isn’t a big smile, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You can’t help but wonder what’s happened to him in these twelve years since you last knew him. What took his fiery disposition and turned him into something quiet.

“Ready to go?” you ask, gazing up at him. Wondering what it’ll take for him to let you in.

He nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. He watches you silently as you pull your coat on and zip it all the way up, throwing a scarf around your neck. Then he walks outside, holding the door open for you. “Know a good coffee place around here?” he asks.

You nod, sticking your nose under the collar of your coat. You point down the street. “Couple blocks that way, if you want to walk.”

He glances at his car, parked in front of the library. He would offer it – it’s far too cold to be walking around like this – but he’s sure the weapons in the backseat and the Red Hood helmet on the floor of the passenger side would bring up several questions he isn’t ready to answer. So he just nods and follows you, making sure to stand on the street side of the sidewalk like a gentleman.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a while, and he’s not sure if it’s the cold keeping you from talking or if you just have nothing to say to him.

Finally, you glance over at him. “Hey, Jay?”

He grunts. “Yeah, bug?”

“Um…” You trail off, like you’re unsure you even want to ask. Here it comes, he thinks. The tough questions, the things he doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t have answers to. But your tone quickly shifts, and you ask brightly, “Uh, what brought you to the library?”

He glances at you. “Like I said, I wanted a library card.”

You quirk an eyebrow playfully. “So it really was just…serendipitous that you stopped by?”

He chuckles quietly, watching his feet as they make their way down the street. “I guess so.”

“You’d think you were checking up on me or something,” you tease.

And he feels a pang in his heart, because he could’ve been checking up on you. He could’ve found you after all these years, could’ve sought you out and followed you and finally showed himself to you.

But the truth was, he didn’t. He didn’t come find you, didn’t seek you out. He just stumbled upon you in this dark, dingy city after all these years.

Serendipitous, indeed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You shake your head, eyes forward. Unseeing into the distance. “Don’t be sorry.”

Both of you fall quiet again.

You reach the small coffee shop down the street from the library and swing the door open. He catches the door over your head and holds it for you, and you toss a small, grateful smile over your shoulder at him before walking inside. The warmth of the shop helps defrost that bone-deep chill, and you both unzip your coats, slowly shedding your layers as you approach the register.

You order your favorite coffee, and you pay for it before Jason can realize what you’re doing. He frowns as you slip away to go find a table, and then he turns back to the barista, who’s looking up at him with starry eyes. “And for you?” she asks.

“I’ll take an earl grey,” he says, ignoring the look she gives him. He’s not in the mood to be flirting, not when he’s seen you for the first time in ages and just wants to catch up.

He finishes paying and walks over to the table you took up, a cup of hot tea cupped in his large hands.

You smile up at him as he sits opposite of you, watching him take off his winter coat, revealing his broad chest beneath a dark long-sleeved t-shirt. You have to avert your eyes to refrain from staring. Your eyes instead flicker back to his face, examining the scars on his face, the crisscrossing white lines marring his skin. You slowly, hesitantly, reach across the table and gently touch the scar on Jason’s cheek, shaped like a ragged “J.”

He flinches, catching your wrist and pulling your hand away. “Don’t,” he whispers.

You do as he requests and drop your hand, reaching for your coffee mug instead. “I’m sorry,” you say, still watching him.

It’s quiet between you for a second. Then you mumble, “‘To be alive at all is to have scars.’”

A small huff escapes from between his lips, and he brightens a little, recognizing the quote from Steinbeck’s The Winter of Our Discontent. “When’d you get so smart, bug?” he asks, shaking his head.

You smile a little. “I’m in the English PhD program now. I guess you can say I’ve put the work in.”

He’s blown away by the fact. “Wait, really?”

You nod, sipping at your coffee. “I want to be a professor. To teach people like us, who just want to do better.”

His heart aches at the idea that you want to put back into the community that took so much from you. But at the memories, the memories of those dark times, your eyes flicker to his face once more, and you finally ask the question that’s been burning in you since the first moment you saw him.

“Where did you go?” you ask, sounding mystified. “I know– I know your mom’s death hit you hard but… I thought something happened to you. Did something happen to you? I just–” You shake your head. “I missed you.”

He sighs. “I know, bug. I missed you too.”

“Where did you go?”

He hesitates, trying to figure out how to respond. What could he even tell you? “I…went to stay with a family member, outside of Park’s Row. He took me in, brought me up until I could go off on my own.”

“But you never left the city?” you ask, confused.

He shakes his head. “Not for any meaningful amount of time.”

You avert your eyes, looking down at your coffee in your hands. Then, “Why didn’t you ever come back?” you whisper, slowly lifting your eyes to meet his again.

He clenches his jaw, letting out a quiet breath. His eyes, like sea glass, color shifting in the yellow glow of the coffee shop lights, stay trained on yours. “I’m sorry,” he says, not for the first time.

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “No, Jason,” you say, “not sorry. Explain to me. Why didn’t you come back? Or even tell me you were leaving? I– I was so worried–”

“I couldn’t,” he whispers, slowly shaking his head. “I just… I didn’t have time. It was all so sudden.”

You sigh, lowering your eyes again. Drawing patterns in the wood grain of the table for a moment. “I guess…you’re back now.”

He nods. “I’m back now. I’m…I’m sorry I never reached out.”

You nod, too. Not raising your eyes for a long time. Taking a moment to calm yourself. Then you say with a soft smile, “And I’m not letting you leave again.”

He huffs softly, smiling back. “Alright, bug. Don’t let me.”

And so you take his request to heart. You won’t let him leave; not again. This time, you’re keeping him for good.

thanks for reading! -luna xx link to ao3 | next

(taglist: @corpsedogs)

[yandere-daydreams]

Best creepy roommate is absolutely dottore because like. You cut him so much slack because he pays far more of his share of the rent than he should, and he helps you avoid the hundred dollar doctor visits by taking a quick look at you whenever you're seeing double and sweating up a storm. He even lets you eat whatever he scrounges for meals, as long as you take care of the shopping. He's got a lot of benefits.

So just... Keep ignoring all the shit he brings home from work. Ignore the samples he keeps in the countertop freezer (that you INSISTED he buy after you nearly drank a bio sample instead of your milkshake). Ignore that he really shouldn't be dealing with paperwork where you can see it (isn't that a breach of privacy, or something?). ESPECIALLY ignore the concerning terms you sometimes see scrawled out. Death_of_child is totally innocuous in programming, right...? It's probably... Probably similar in the medical field, too. It's fine. It's totally fine. It has to be fine, because you don't have any other options.

modern au dottore my beloved,,, he'd just be the most unhinged, sleep deprived medical student with the sketchiest internship and the weirdest ""homework"" you've ever seen. honestly, you're not even sure why he needs a roommate at all when he pays 95% of the rent and the bulk of your food/utility bills, but it probably has something to do with the liter or so of blood he asks you to ""donate"" every couple of weeks, or the hidden cameras you'll find littered around your living spaces every so often. you're pretty sure you're part of some fucked up case study thesis paper, but housing is expensive and you really can't afford to have a full-time job while you're still in school, so you just kinda have to put up with occasionally letting him mix his ""supplements"" into your coffee and try not to let his evil cackling keep you up too late at night. it's not even necessarily a yandere situation, he's just like that in every universe.