#don't come at me for reading 'problematic' books please

[annemariewrites]

List of all the books I’ve read

just wanted to keep a list of what I’ve read throughout my life (that I can remember)

Fiction:

“Where the Red Fern Grows,” Wilson Rawls

“The Outsiders,” S. E. Hinton

“The Weirdo,” Theodore Taylor

“The Devil’s Arithmetic,” Jane Yolen

“Julie of the Wolves series,” Jean Craighead George

“Soft Rain,” Cornelia Cornelissen

“Island of the Blue Dolphins,” Scott O’Dell

“The Twilight series,” Stephanie Mayer

“To Kill a Mockingbird,” Harper Lee

“Gamer Girl,” Mari Mancusi

“Redwall / Mossflower / Mattimeo / Mariel of Redwall,” Brian Jacques

“1984,” and  “Animal Farm,” George Orwell

“Killing Mr. Griffin,” Lois Duncan

“Huckleberry Finn,” Mark Twain

“Rainbow’s End,” Irene Hannon

“Cold Mountain,” Charles Frazier

“Between Shades of Gray,” Ruta Sepetys

“Great Short Works of Edgar Allan Poe,” Edgar Allan Poe

“Lord of the Flies,” William Golding

“The Great Gatsby,” F Scott Fitzgerald

“The Harry Potter series,” JK Rowling

“The Fault in Our Stars,” “Looking for Alaska,” and “Paper Towns,” John Green

“Thirteen Reasons Why,” Jay Asher

“The Hunger Games series,” Suzanne Collins

“The Perks of Being a Wallflower,” Stephen Chbosky

“Fifty Shades of Grey,” EL James

“Speak,” and “Wintergirls,” Laurie Halse Anderson

“The Handmaid’s Tale,” Margaret Atwood

“Mama Day,” Gloria Naylor

“Jane Eyre,” Charlotte Bronte

“Wide Sargasso Sea,” Jean Rhys

“The Haunting of Hill House,” Shirley Jackson

“The Chosen,” Chaim Potok

“Leaves of Grass,” Walt Whitman

“Till We Have Faces,” CS Lewis

“One Foot in Eden,” Ron Rash

“Jim the Boy,” Tony Earley

“The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox,” Maggie O’Farrell

“A Land More Kind Than Home,” Wiley Cash

“A Parchment of Leaves,” Silas House

“Beowulf,” Seamus Heaney

“The Silence of the Lambs / Red Dragon / Hannibal / Hannibal Rinsing,” Thomas Harris

“Cry the Beloved Country,” Alan Paton

“Moby Dick,” Herman Melville

“The Hobbit / The Lord of the Rings trilogy / The Silmarillion,” JRR Tolkien

“Beren and Luthien,” JRR Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien

“Children of Blood and Bone / Children of Virtue and Vengeance,” Tomi Adeyemi

“Soundless,” Richelle Mead

“The Girl with the Louding Voice,” Abi Dare

“A Song of Ice and Fire series / Fire and Blood,” GRR Martin

“A Separate Peace,” John Knowles

“The Bluest Eye,” and “Beloved,” Toni Morrison

“Brave New World,” Aldous Huxley

“The Giver / Gathering Blue / Messenger / Son,” Lois Lowry

“The Ivory Carver trilogy,” Sue Harrison

“The Grapes of Wrath,” and “Of Mice and Men,” John Steinbeck

“The God of Small Things,” Arundhati Roy

“Fahrenheit 451,” Ray Bradbury

“The Night Circus,” Erin Morgenstern

“Sunflower Dog,” Kevin Winchester

“A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” Betty Smith

“The Catcher in the Rye,” JD Salinger

“The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian,” Sherman Alexie

“Bridge to Terabithia,” Katherine Paterson

“The Good Girl,” Mary Kubica 

“The Last Unicorn,” Peter S Beagle

“Slaughterhouse Five,” Kurt Vonnegut Jr

“The Joy Luck Club,” Amy Tan

“The Sworn Virgin,” Kristopher Dukes

“The Color Purple,” Alice Walker

“Their Eyes Were Watching God,” Zora Neale Hurston

“The Light Between Oceans,” ML Stedman

“Yellowface,” RF Kuang

“A Flicker in the Dark,” Stacy Willingham

“One Piece Novel: Ace’s Story,” Sho Hinata

“Black Beauty,” Anna Seawell

“The Weight of Blood,” Tiffany D. Jackson

“Mulberry and Peach: Two Women of China,” Hualing Nieh, Sau-ling Wong

“The Weight of Blood,” Laura McHugh

“Everybody’s Got to Eat,” Kevin Winchester

“That Was Then, This is Now,” S. E. Hinton

“Rumble Fish,” S. E. Hinton

“Tex,” S. E. Hinton

“Beneath the Moon: Fairy Tales, Myths, and Divine Stories from Around the World,” Yoshi Yoshitani

“Memoirs of a Geisha,” Arthur Golden

Non-fiction:

“Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl,” Anne Frank

“Night,” Elie Wiesel

“Invisible Sisters,” Jessica Handler

“I Am Malala: The Story of the Girl Who Stood Up for Education and was Shot by the Taliban,” Malala Yousafzai

“The Interesting Narrative,” Olaudah Equiano

“The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks,” Rebecca Skloot

“Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl,” Harriet Jacobs

“The Princess Diarist,” Carrie Fisher

“Adulting: How to Become a Grown Up in 468 Easy(ish) Steps,” Kelly Williams Brown

“How to Win Friends and Influence People,” Dale Carnegie

“Carrie Fisher: a Life on the Edge,” Sheila Weller

“Make ‘Em Laugh,” Debbie Reynolds and Dorian Hannaway

“How to be an Anti-Racist,” Ibram X Kendi

“Maus,” Art Spiegelman

“I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” Maya Angelou

“Wise Gals: the Spies Who Built the CIA and Changed the Future of Espionage,” Nathalia Holt

“Persepolis,” and “Persepolis II,” Marjane Satrapi

“How to Write a Novel,” Manuel Komroff

“The Nazi Genocide of the Roma,” Anton Weiss-Wendt

“Children of the Flames: Dr. Josef Mengele and the Untold Story of the Twins of Auschwitz,” Lucette Matalon Lagnado and Sheila Cohn Dekel

“Two Watches,” Anita Tarlton

“The Ages of the Justice League: Essays on America’s Greatest Superheroes in Changing Times,” edited by Joseph J. Darowski

“Shockaholic,” Carrie Fisher

“Breaking Loose Together: the Regulator Rebellion in Pr-Revolutionary North Carolina,” Marjoleine Kars

[jedisupernova]

life with choi subong (thanos)

notes minors dni contains life before games, fem and aged up reader (same age as subong), always written with plus size reader in mind but truly anyone can read, a lot of made up lore to fill in gaps & build dynamic between subong and reader, smut (no distinct section. it is imbedded throughout; sexting, dirty talk, oral f and m receiving, vignettes of sub!subong, handjob, p in v, non-protective sex (don't be stupid,) public sex, foreplay, squirting), angst (lying, deception, miscommunication, arguing and gaslighting: cursing, pushing each other, one body shaming remark, a lot of name calling, insults, mentions of death, just being mean; this does not having a happy ending), toxic dynamic, mentions of drinking, drug use, problematic reader if you squint, i don't know how crypto works so don't yell at me, blatantly problematic subong, reader deserves better, a lot of dumbassery and some typos.

requested? no, this is an original idea! this is also my very first post, and i want to show what i can do! this is really long. like, really long. this is my interpretation of the character, i hope you like it and please be nice!

he was the nail that chipped the day after you painted them; the incessant promotional email that never filtered to the spam folder; the fly you repeatedly missed when swatting; the shoelaces that always came undone; the built up phlegm after a particularly nasty cough; the shirt that shrunk when you left it in the dryer too long. but what could you say? the dick was too fucking bomb ...

you met on the night of your friend's birthday. some time past eleven thirty pm on a saturday night at some dimly-lit nightclub in itaewon, you nursed a margarita, chatting with your friends and paying no mind to the re-arranging happening on the small stage some feet away from your table—a couple of speakers and a mic stand—nor did you look when the club manager made a half-assed announcement, followed by his exit and an old school hip hop instrumental filling the acoustics of the club.

subong was performing that night after begging the manager for weeks on end. it was a particularly difficult feat, considering the rap battle night he and seven other underground artists were part of two months prior ended in a fist fight after a set of insensitive bars about subong's opponent's family lineage spewed from his mouth without remorse. oh, can't forget the time he stole three bottles of cuervo tequila, or when he got so high he squirted someone in the eye with lime because they looked at him funny, or when he left such a monstrous shit in the toilet that he ended up flooding the bathroom when trying to flush.

alas, alas ... the melon streaming numbers spoke for itself (over 95k streams in total for his most recent mixtape), he just reached 10k followers on instagram, and all attention is good attention if you know how to work it ... and subong did, considering bookings went up when he announced he'd be performing this weekend prior to getting approval, cornering the club manager into a checkmate.

you noticed the slight commotion reverberating through the crowd when the music blared, but not enough to divert your attention wholly. when his set finished, he snuck into the crowd, snagging a rogue bloody mary from the bar and downing it without hesitation, turning his head sharply when someone from your party shouted his name.

your friend's boyfriend went to high school with him and hadn't seen him in years. with the way subong reacted, you would've thought they saw each other last week and were the best of friends, slinging his arm around his shoulders and capturing the attention of your table in a flurry. he was overtly charismatic, slowly coming around to your side of the table, eyeing you up and down without an iota of shame. he liked what he saw—his tongue running over his bottom lip.

he looked a bit try hard-y, in his loose fitting clothing, singular golden chain, and his black hair in an awkward stage of a grown out buzz cut—but admittedly he was fine. then you saw the layer of sweat shining on his tan skin ... oh ... he's fine.

"you like what you saw?" he shouted over the music, placing his hand on the table, inching towards you. he gestured to the now empty stage with a subtle flick of his head, leaning in to hear you. "that was you?" you said back. "i'm sorry, i wasn't watching!"

subong smirked, thinking you were joking, but his ego inflated nonetheless. "i—i rap!" he shouted, laying his palm against his chest. "i don't!" you quipped back with a grand smile, shaking your head. he had no idea his dick could get hard that quickly. "i work at a firm!" you say.

it could have been the sight of your glossed lips .. or his big brown eyes .. or your curvy hips .. full thighs .. his tattooed hands .. or the way his lips brushed against your earlobe for you to hear him .. or how your fingers brushed his hair back so he could hear you .. but next thing you know, his lips caught yours, and the next thing after that, his knees were on the porcelain tiles of the bathroom stall, head caught between your plush thighs, eating your pussy like a man starved.

subong's arms held your waist in place, not stopping your back from arching or your hands grasping onto either the wall or his hair, your breathy moans making his jeans feel as if he was wearing tight spandex. when you came—and you came hard—he pulled his phone out of his pocket and shoved it into your hand, "number. now."

"fucking christ, i just came." you said, breathing labored. "hold on." when he stood up, you reached down, pulling your underwear up. you eyed the time on his phone whilst adding your number to his contacts, sending yourself a text. you caught sight of his bulge when you gave his phone back. "you'll have to take care of that yourself. i have to go." you say, running your hands through your hair in an effort to not look too disheveled, even if your friends were smart enough to put two and two together.

you noticed subong take a prolonged look at you. he read your mind: "taking a mental photo for later." he explained, inhaling sharply through his nose. a smirk tugged at your lips. "oh yeah? i'll make it 4d." you palmed his bulge. he nearly lost balance, his gasp sounding more vulnerable than he would've liked—"f-fuck—ngh!" he bit his bottom lip, planting his forehead against yours. your touch was slow and calculated but firm, applying enough pressure to make his vision go fuzzy. "you're f-fucking crazy," his voice shook pathetically, eyebrows contorted in deep pleasure. "y-you f-fucking—ngh!—crazy bitch!"

you stopped abruptly, grabbing subong through his pants harshly. he mewled pathetically in pain. "call me that shit one more time and see what happens." "i'm s-sorry! f-fuck, i'm sorry! i'm sorry! please!" his breath hitched. "oh my fuck—please, baby, i'm so sorry!"

you gradually began palming him again, feeling his deep breath brush against your skin as his forehead returned to yours. his lips eventually latched onto yours, and you couldn't help your thighs rubbing together from how long and slender he felt in your hand.

your phone started to ring in your purse, which hung off the hook at the top of the bathroom stall door, undoubtedly a friend looking for you. you broke the kiss and ceased your touch, stepping around him and fishing your phone out before slinging your purse over your shoulder. "you better fucking call me." you say, kissing his lips again. "i will, will."

you eye his tent. it looks like it hurts and the zipper could break off. you didn't even realise you were biting your bottom lip until your phone rang again. "best dick i'll ever have." subong heard you mutter as you walked away, his cocky smirk stretching across his face in no time. he bit his lip when he saw the wet spot on his jeans. unbeknownst to either of you, this night would become the defining vignette of your relationship.

he called you the very next day. when you didn't answer—because your phone was charging on your nightstand whilst you showered—he sent a dick pic with the bottom half of his face visible in the upper left corner with the accompanying text: Like what u see? he chuckled reading your response: should have kept it a surprise

from that point on he spent his spare money (he didn't have much to begin with) on e-cigarette refills, pills, eyebrow threading appointments (he swore you to secrecy), and, perhaps his most beloved purchase, condoms. he always kissed the wrapper before putting one on.

subong tries to give the impression of someone who fucks but the reality is .... well .... he wonders how he got so lucky whenever he's stood at your apartment door, waiting for you to open it after he's knocked. it's been a lot longer than he'd ever admit under sworn oath, but his erratic thrusts gave it away so quickly it was concerning.

don't get it twisted, it felt ... fine. maybe okay on a good day. he filled you up at the very least! but if only it could last longer ... and didn't feel so ... jabby ... and if only you didn't have to keep in your laughter when his forehead fell to your shoulder ... after he came so hard his vein bulged out of his temple and his breathing was deep enough to power a fucking windmill .. only for you to glance at the time on your phone when a notif popped up and think to yourself ... has it really only been four minutes?

so when he's thrusting into you from behind one night, panting like someone's choking him and drilling into you feverishly, you take his temporary halt to catch his breath as your moment. "subong..." your voice ruminates with lust, aided by the intoxicating feeling of his cock resting inside you. you look over your shoulder at his glistening body, illuminated even in your dimly lit bedroom. "you feel so good, baby." you half-lie, internally cringing. either way, he can't tell, he's too fucked out.

"but how about we ... go a little slower? so we can last longer? hm?" you say. his breath hitches when you roll your hips slowly, his palms laying against either globes of your ass lifelessly. you were struggling to keep it together, eyebrows contorted and mouth agape, stretching yourself out on him.

"like this, yeah?—mmf!" you bite your lip. this is the feeling you've been wanting ... you've been aching for. "it'll feel so much better, subong ..." "yeah, yeah ..." he was breathy. his palms slid to either side of your hips, pulling himself in slow and deep. you gasp, "yes! like that! start slow, then go faster ..."

the moans and whimpers that escaped your lips ran every single porno he's ever seen into the ground. he pounded into you when you told him to, feeling the gumminess of your tight walls hug his cock so divinely that he felt for a split second that maybe, just maybe, the cross he always wore served a different purpose than carrying his stash of pills. subong, unsurprisingly, did not last long, but for the first time, you didn't either. "b-baby! f-fuck—i'm gonna, i'm gonna!—" you clenched around him, and he saw white. subong thought he had transcended ... what better way to go out ... death by the best pussy ... he came so hard and so much that he felt himself drip down his thigh.

you first started calling him over on sundays. then he started to come on fridays ... then staying the weekend ... then he came by on wednesdays for a mid-week fuck .. and slowly, but surely, he essentially lived rent free in your apartment. it was a major plus for him. he'd just been floating from one friend's couch to another. your studio apartment was small as is, barely enough for someone a few years into the workforce and even less on affordability—you barely scraped by on groceries. you'd have to make a wish on a shooting star if you ever needed repairs or healthcare. subong, on the other hand? he finally got to sleep in a bed again, and he gets to not only bum it out on another couch, but also eat pussy, get his dick sucked, and fuck on it. 10/10 no notes from him

and christ did you fuck ... one ankle on the coffee table whilst the other rests atop the couch, him pounding into you deep and deliberately, his eyes boring into your face as yours rolled back, mouth agape. once he found his rhythm and knew your body more, it was over. by the grace of the universe, his stamina heightened, too. he thought about reading war and peace and the meticulous process of the seasonal fermentation of various vegetables to thwart his orgasm from coming too quickly, but fell into a mumble of incoherent whimpers and profanities when he heard your beautiful voice tell him to "h-harder, s-subong, harder," or the cacophony of stuttered grunts leaving both of your chests; sexual pleasure in its rawest form.

one friday evening he was sat at the top of your now shared bed with his back against the wall, legs spread and looking up at you with his mouth hung open and eyebrows furrowed in inexplicable pleasure, watching you bounce up and down in fucked out bliss. you had a bullshit ass day at work—something about being denied a raise or being unfairly told off at a meeting—he didn't remember or really care, all he knew was he suggested you use him to relieve frustration, and you obliged. "that's it b-baby. give it all to me, u-use this dick." he bit his bottom lip, squeezing the side of your thigh as you slammed down onto him. "give all your stress to—ngh!—me. your subongie will help you relax." his hands trailed up your waist and kneaded your breasts, making you gasp. you rolled your hips to catch your breath, biting your lip.

you put your hands on his chest for support. "such good dick." you said breathily. "all mine." "that's right." he affirmed. one hand stationed beside your knee, the other reached to the nightside table for his e-cig, bringing it to his lips. you opened your eyes when the cloud of smoke brushed against your cheeks, filling your nostrils with the faint scent of strawberry.

"fuck you and your fuckass puff bar." you said, trying to take it, but he raised it in the air with a shit-eating grin. "what? are you jealous? hm? is my baby jealous?" he jutted out his bottom lip mockingly, chuckling when you swat the e-cig out of his hand. "the fuck would i be jealous about you destroying your lungs for?" you retort. he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "you think you're too good to be fucked by me that you needed to take the edge off." you say, throwing the e-cig onto the floor and ignoring his protests, only for them turn into sharp sucked-in breaths when you rolled your hips again. "th-that was my—shit!—my b-best fucking one," subong shuddered. "you want your best puff or pussy? hm?" you said sharply. with a whimper, he said "my best p-pussy." "i thought so. now say you're sorry until i believe you." you said, hearing him let out a wall-shattering moan when you began riding his long cock again. he would never admit to this in a million years, but this was his favorite way to fuck.

you were in denial for a long time that things had become more romantic and vulnerable. since it was unspoken between you two when he inconspicuously moved in (as irresponsible it is) ... to when he started calling you "my baby" two months in and him "your subongie" a couple weeks later ... to when steamy makeouts before bed remained just that, even through the hushed whimpers and dry humping ... to when he'd smoke a cigarette on the balcony after you routinely complained about the smell, him having you sit on his lap because "the cigarette doesn't hit the same," only to end up sucking the life out of his cock or him rutting into you from behind ... to when you'd wake up with his arm slung lazily across your waist and his head tucked into your neck ... he'd run verses by you and you'd unironically compliment them ... he unironically started going on grocery runs with you, and picking out your jewelry ... and to when sunday mornings became a lot more quieter than they used to be, you two sat on the small couch together, clad in nothing but your underwear, drinking stale black coffee as one of four channels you have play on your dinky tv. it might be due to the limited space, or something more, but his hand lay on your knee whilst yours mindlessly traced the tattoos on the back of his neck, or toyed with his cartilage piercing.

you couldn't kick the question out your mind anymore. "subong?" "hm?" he responded, eyes glued to the tv. "what are we?" he didn't budge. you nudged his shoulder, earning his attention but with a flutter of irritation. "huh? what'd you ask?" "i said what are we?" his eyebrows furrowed. "what do you mean?" you raised your eyebrows, losing patience. "you know exactly what i mean."

he takes a moment to rack his brain, and then gets it. "you're my girl. my señorita." his face fell when you scoffed and pushed him away. "talk to me when you want to be serious." "i am being serious!" he says defensively. "look, you're my girlfriend. we're together." he sets his coffee down, pulling you in for a kiss. he kept kissing you until you cracked a grin, which took all of two tries. he wields his big brown eyes like katanas looking into yours, raising a finger heart and pressing it against his lips. "i like you." he says, unable to hold back his smile when you moved his hand away.

subong leaned in closer, the tip of his nose feeling the warmth of your cheek. "do you like me, too? hm? you can tell me. i promise i'll keep it a secret. i won't tell anyone." he knew your answer, but teased nonetheless, shaking his head in affirmation. you shushed him gently, actively trying to thwart how flustered you've become. he only pushed more, pressing a purposely deep and obnoxious kiss onto your skin. "i'll be the best and sexiest boyfriend ever."

it felt so wrong that your heart beat a little faster. "i'm only saying okay so that you shut up." you muttered. a knowing grin stretched across subong's face. he placed a kiss on your neck and above the valley between your breasts, laying his temple on your chest, slinging his arms around you. he smirked when you wrapped your arm around his shoulder some minutes later, his eyes fluttering closed when your lips found the top of his head.

you made him start coughing up his earnings from gigs to go towards rent. considering he wasn't being paid much, bookings weren't predictable, and he'd sometimes try to hide his earnings from you (which resulted in him sleeping on the couch, and if he did it again, you threatened he'd be out on the balcony without a blanket) his contribution wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. you shut down any chance of retaliation from him with a look he's since named "period projection" or, depending on his mood, "viagra."

when a lot of time passed between gigs, subong was woken up by a notebook and pen thrown onto his chest. "if you don't have five songs written by the time i get back from work, you're pussyless for a week." you said, slinging your purse over your shoulder. he grunted, barely opening his eyes but sitting up, the notebook and pen falling onto the bed. you grabbed his face, pecking his cheek before heading out the door.

subong talked himself up if you were being particularly hard on him, or really, just not as delusional about his success. "baby, one day you won't have to worry about shit. i'll have us partying in mykonos by next valentine's and in switzerland to see the first snow." he said one morning, standing stupidly in the middle of the apartment with nothing but his briefs and a graphic tee that had stains you didn't want to know about. "book the flights when you stop eating week old beef and using my moisturizer." you mutter, shoving the vacuum cleaner in his hands, gesturing for him to hand over the shirt before heading to the basement of the building to do laundry.

if work permitted, you went to see him perform at whatever nightclub in the city. subong found you in the crowd after his set, giving you a sloppy kiss and wrapping his sweaty arms around you no matter if you came straight from work, still clad in business wear, or in something that made you look like the rapper girlfriend of his dreams. an air of added cockiness ruminated off him when you two tag-teamed hounding the club manager whenever they tried to lowball his pay. more often than not, they caved in and gave what was agreed to and then some after you shouted said your piece. either way, you end up on the dance floor wrestling with your tongues or him pounding into you from behind in a bathroom stall. everybody wins!

when you're at work and subong's at home, he films tiktoks and posts on his instagram to get his name out there. he also tries to start beef on various naver cafés, especially when he's bored. or texting you: Did u eat the last tico?; Hi baby I have a threading appt at 5 i will meet u at your work before we go to dinner; Highh as sht88df thikning about ❤️You girl❤️❤️❤️❤️; [insert photo of him flexing in the bathroom mirror] Come home for lunch

speaking of photos on his phone, he has quite the array—advertisements at the train and bus stations he finds funny; various hair colors from the department store he wants to try; mirror selfies of him either flexing or trying on shoes; a photo of his hand squishing your cheeks when you two were waiting in line for cheap street food for lunch; another photo of you looking rather disheveled in the kitchen when you two were unfairly woken up at 6 am one saturday morning by nearby construction, an adorably annoyed look on your face because he was standing in the way of the fridge; one selfie of him in bed hitting his e-cig; the next taken six minutes later with your tit in his mouth, his eyes looking at himself. if you didn't keep tabs on him, he would've made the latter the cover of his next mixtape.

some of your friends thought you were crazy for still being with him, someone who was barely scraping by and, from an outsider's pov, was a moocher. you'd shake your head, "you guys don't get it. i know what i'm doing. you don't need to worry." and you certainly did, considering whenever you came home to subong's big brown eyes, towering height, and his smooth, low voice asking "how was your day, baby?," or when his fingers traced a fresh hickey on your neck, or when he announced his presence by placing his hand teasingly low on your waist ... oh, you were just about ready to make him a father .... even if it would lower the nation's life expectancy rate.

you've caught yourself staring at him at night when you couldn't sleep, watching the way his lips parted every time he exhaled, or how his arms were sprawled out before him after he fell asleep with them crossed. you fought the fluttering of your heavy eyelids to just .... look at him. sometimes you succumb to slumber, pressing a gentle kiss onto his cheek before drifting off. but one night you were simply plagued by him, looking at subong as if he was a riddle to solve, until you realized with wide eyes that you were projecting: oh fuck no. i love him.

it terrified you, that strong feeling. but not enough to sit idly by if someone became a little too flirty with him at the club, or to slow your speed walk to the bathroom after a work conference to send him a picture after he sent one that morning—lowering your volume and pressing your phone to your ear, listening to the audio message he sent in response, subconsciously rubbing your thighs together: "god, you're so fucking hot baby. how did i get so lucky .... what am i supposed to do, hm? you made my dick so fucking hard .... and it's not even eleven am yet ... is this what you wanted, hm? to get me riled up first thing in the morning?" his voice was low, sleep still fresh in his tone, followed by wet strokes. "it's sad that you're at work for so long. leaving me here—f-fuck, yeah, just like th-that—all alone ... and so needy ..."

you fucked good and hard when subong got a spot in the rap battleground competition, landing him in a position to not only put his name out there, but possibly win some money that would make a difference. you were elated enough to go condom-less. "wanna make you feel good, baby," you murmured breathily, ass pushing against the kitchen countertop, subong standing between your warm thighs. "i'm just so—mmf!" you sucked in a breath when his lips and tongue found your neck. "s-so proud of you, subongie." oh. subong just knew something was up. but he wasn't stupid enough to question it, not when he knows he's about to enter the gates of heaven. "gonna let me fuck this tight pussy raw?" he muttered in that low voice of his, continuing his slow, wet kisses on your neck to avoid melting into a puddle of his libido. his voice quivered when you didn't answer, hidden well by your moan: "hm? gonna let me ruin this pussy—" "yes!" you whimpered.

in a moment of weakness, he bit his bottom lip. he grabbed your face with one hand, making you look him in the eye. even in his attempt at dominance, you saw the flickers of awe in his eyes. nothing filled the kitchen besides the sounds of your shaky breaths, his face studying yours. could this ... could he have just realized that ... he loves you, too? subong leans in closer, the tip of his nose brushing with yours. you try to lean in, but his hold on your face stops you. you don't know what to make of his feelings with his next words, but with how his other hand comes up and combs your hair out of your face, and his forehead touches yours, its perhaps the most intimate moment of your relationship thus far: "you're finally gonna let me fuck what's mine?" he whispers. you nod silently.

subong bottomed out that night, cumming all over your stomach and back. your back arched like never before when he was pounding into you from behind, taking him deep into your gummy, warm walls. your fingernails clawed at your pillowcases and bed sheets, jaw hung open and eyes rolled back whilst his heavy balls hit the bottom of your stomach. your cunt suffocated his dick every time his palm smacked either globe of your ass—"take that fucking dick. take that fucking dick, just like that, yeah," he panted, palm rubbing over your hot skin before smacking it again. his voice cracked, "f-fuck! o-oh my god! fuck!" he squeezed your hips so hard you sucked a breath in through your teeth. his thrusts momentarily slowed, blinking hard when his vision began to blur at the sight of the creamy ring at the end of his cock. the noise was obnoxious, wet, and loud. you're everything he could ever hope for. in missionary, he tried so hard not to be a babbling mess, through his purposeful strokes. his hands held your head in place, his thumbs pressing into your temples, but his gaze failed to leave his cock fucking you. "give me that fucking puffy pussy." he murmured. he held his bottom lip between his teeth, groaning. "give me that puffy fucking—o-oh! ngh! f-fuck, you always know how to make me feel so f-fucking good, baby!"

you showered afterward together, momentarily forgetting about the water bill when your arms wrapped around subong's neck, your lips molding together. the kiss was soft and sensual. his hands massaged the same globes his palms set fire to whilst the remnants of his lust washed off your body and down the drain. he slept the best he had in weeks that night. a couple weeks later, you helped him dye his hair a deep purple a few days before the competition, just in time for him to adopt his new stage persona after becoming insufferable since watching "endgame," thanos.

the competition came and went, and he placed as a runner-up. he actually listened when you said you didn't want to head to the club since you had work early the next day, settling for a nice dinner and a bottle or two of soju instead. a group of fans of the show came up to him in the checkout line, and not only did you watch with an admiring grin, but your eyes widened surprise when he introduced you as his girlfriend after you were handed their phones to take a photo, harmlessly mistaken as a bystander. not only were you then asked to join the photo, but subong laughed heartily on the walk home upon hearing one of the girls' face dropped hearing the news that he's taken.

the bottles emptied on your coffee table, you ended the night rolling your hips atop his, holding onto his shoulders as his hands held onto either globes of your ass, looking up at you whilst you rode his cock. your dress pants for work were discarded on the floor, panties pushed to the side for his condom-less dick, biting your bottom lip when his palm massaged your breast through your blouse. nothing was in the room besides your breathy gasps, his low groans, the squeak of sweaty skin against the cheap faux leather of the couch, and his whispers . . . "you look so beautiful, baby. so fucking sexy." subong's eyebrows furrowed deeply, glancing at your swiveling hips before looking back up at you, despite your head being thrown back. "taking this cock so good...f-fuck ... know how to make me feel good, yeah? always know just how to squeeze me, how to make this big, fat cock cum, yeah? tell me, baby."

all you could muster was a whimper and your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt on his shoulders, but that was more than okay with him. his hand trailed up the side of your neck, bringing your head forward. "come here, come here my beautiful baby. my beautiful fucking woman." his lips kissed yours, molding them together repeatedly. his tongue toyed with yours, picking up the speed of your hips, making him grunt into your mouth every time your inner thighs clapped against his lower stomach. you held onto each other tighter, the kiss becoming feverish, only to be broken when his thumb found your clit. you came in what felt like seconds, and before you knew it, the words slipped out: "i love you!" you whimpered, riding out the high of your intense orgasm, subong having pulled out and spilling onto his thigh. "i love you, i love you!" you repeated breathily. through the pounding of his temples, he heard. through your laborious breathing, you didn't register that he said nothing back.

subong loved you too. he's known for a while now. but that was precisely the problem—he knew, and he wasn't going to say shit. what was the reason? perhaps it was a fucked up way of protecting you by stonewalling that part of him, perhaps it was selfishness, perhaps it was the inferiority complex making him feel like he didn't deserve someone as patient, as transformative, and as loving as you, and he questioned every day why he hadn't been kicked to the fucking curb yet, even after a year and a half together. or maybe ... it was that fucking mg coin ...

he started watching that fuckass man a couple months before the rap battleground competition after a friend tipped him off about crypto. you peered over his shoulder after settling into bed, hearing parts of a youtube video through his phone speaker. "i stopped trying to understand that shit when they told me a picture of an ape is somehow currency." you muttered, making him laugh. "yeah. you're right, hm?" he let out a yawn, clicking his phone off before taking you in his arms, falling asleep with your head on his chest.

but then, it was like a flip switched. subong saw something you didn't (delusion), and seemed to be watching myung gi's videos at what felt like any chance he had. he watched him in the morning, sat at the small dining table in the kitchen as he ate leftover kimbap from dinner the night previous, already annoying you at barely 10 AM whilst pouring yourself cereal, sitting across from him on this rare saturday off. you eyed his phone, "i thought you dropped that shit." you said between chewing. his eyes stayed glued to his screen, putting another slice into his mouth. "i don't know, baby. i think he has a point. people are getting rich quick off this crypto shit. i might have to play my hand, y'know?" before you could respond, he reached over, wiping a rogue drop of milk that slipped from the corner of your mouth, sucking it off his thumb before pressing 'skip ad'. you reached over, clicking his phone off and turning it face down. "hey!—" "you talk like you routinely pay for this wifi." you said, looking into his eyes. "you talk about 'playing your hand' when you don't have the decency to spend 5,000 won on wired headphones so i don't have to hear this shit all day?"

his lip twitched in annoyance, eyes widening. "don't get smart with me!" he exclaimed. you scoffed and waved your hand dismissively, eating another scoop of your cereal. "i'll go get some headphones after i eat if that's what you really want, damn!" "if you invest in something invisible, you do it with your own money so you reap the punishment." you say. "i will." subong rolled his eyes, eating his last slice of kimbap, but irritably. "he knows his shit. says the coin'll blow up." he mumbled, glancing at you when you got up. you held his face, leaning down and pressing a kiss onto his cheek. "that's what they all say, subong." you collected his and your dishes, bringing them to the sink and beginning to wash.

he funneled money into that coin behind your back no problem. every time a check came in, the slice that went to investing got larger and larger. he kept it hidden by putting aside just enough to not cause suspicion. and turning off notifs at specific times. he said he'd transfer a few months worth of the rent when the money hit his account after rap battleground and a couple of scheduled gigs he won as well, but it was a half-baked lie. he told you the money hit way after it actually did, giving you what he promised but keeping a large sum for himself, because he surprisingly got a return on his investment.

he kept going and going, the high of it all rivaling his pills. he bought limited edition shoes, a pair of earrings you'd been eyeing for a while for your anniversary, and got a couple new tattoos. all of it was hidden well behind his coincidentally coinciding success of his music in the wake of the competition ... damn ... he could get used to the universe dickriding him this hard ...

until it all came crashing down that night on the couch. the same night you confessed, he got a notif from one of his crypto apps that he had lost 30 million won. he bolted out of bed, leaving your sleeping, clueless form behind to smoke a cigarette outside, pacing back and forth in the street, trying to calm himself down at 2:30 in the morning. he stared at those numbers like they were going to change, ultimately convincing himself that it was a mere fluke and that money would come again in no time, stomping his cigarette into the asphalt and heading back upstairs.

it was like a routine: watch myung gi, take notes, invest. watch myung gi, take notes, invest. subong took it to heart when he said viewers would be foolish not to bet. he resented being made to feel stupid. even when the returns were slimmer with each swipe up to refresh, he kept going. he looked you straight in the eyes with an admiring grin on his face, lying through his teeth saying everything was okay. what you didn't know couldn't hurt you, right? right. but it ate away at him. subconsciously, then viscerally.

your confession hung at the back of subong's head for weeks. he tried to avoid it, even attempted to put that frustration into his music, but nothing was satisfactory. his inner turmoil flooded to the surface—avoiding your kiss in the morning before you headed to work, landing your lips on the corner of his mouth before he pecked yours without much thought. you didn't say those three words again, but he saw them on display in the softness of your eyes gazing up at him. he couldn't bare it. it was so easy for him to lie to your face about his whereabouts, how much of a fucking coward was he to not say three words back? especially when he felt them, too?

you noticed the change as well. he'd be gone for longer hours, only texting you back in the later evening. his hand stayed to hisself on sunday mornings. kisses were quick and choppy, not sensual and slow. sex was more rough and rushed. it made you feel so deeply embarrassed, like a teenaged girl made to feel silly and begging for her boyfriend's attention. you hated the feeling, but hated the fact that you let that confession slip more. you always felt he wasn't one to open up like that, but a girl can dream, can't she?

then it descended into utter madness. you came home from work later than usual, having to finish last minute assignments for someone who didn't show up. you nearly exploded at the haze of smoke filling your apartment, dropping your purse on the floor. there were bottles of soju and half-eaten food littering the kitchen counters and floor, the fridge left wide open, sure to have spoiled the rest of your leftovers. your eyes then found subong and his friend, a stranger to you, so fucking high that drool leaked out of the corner of their mouths.

"out!" you yelled, enraged. "get the fuck out!" neither of them moved until the piercing sound of the soju bottle you threw at the wall, shattering into pieces, jolted their senses awake. you grabbed the friend by his tank top, yanking him out of his seat like a fucking rag doll, and shoved him out the door. "the fuck! get ... get your—tell your bitch to fucking chill, bro!" the man's words slurred, only for him to nearly stumble down the stairs when you hurled another bottle at him. "don't ever fucking come back here!" you yelled.

"jesus fucking christ, you're so fucking loud." subong muttered, now standing and rubbing his fingers against his temples. "what the fuck is wrong with you! you've never done shit like this before!" you yelled, paying no mind to his wincing. "the fuck are you talking about? i get high, you know this—" "yeah, i do! but never like this. in our fucking house, subong!"

it was then that you saw the syringe and tinfoil on the coffee table. even in your blistering anger, you took his wrists in your hands, looking over his arms. "since when did you do hard shit? huh?" you muttered. his eyebrows furrowed, looking over to the table with hooded eyes. "what? i...i don't." his words slurred, a low burp gurgling out from his lips, shaking his head. "my friend fucks around with that. not me. i stick to pills and vape, baby. i swear."

you let go of his wrists, running a hand through your hair and pacing. the smoke had cleared. you turned around, seeing him laying his temple against the fridge, mouth hung open and eyes closed. you slowly walked up to him, not sure where to begin, your hands reaching up and holding his face. "baby." you said, him grunting in response. "i don't ... i don't know what's going been going on with you lately. you've been so distant and ... and cold. and then coming home to this ... subong, you're—you're scaring me a little."

he groaned weakly, chin sinking downward before you caught him, holding his face up whilst looking into his hooded eyes. your heart felt punctured. "is it ... is it because i said i love you? is it because of that?" his eyes opened, making way for his frustrated grimace. he shook his head, lip curling in what you mistook as disgust, when in reality he was outwardly sickened by himself. "you don't know fucking shit about anything, bitch."

your face fell, eyes watering. you let go of him, his cheek flattened against the fridge, barely stabilizing himself against it. you took a step back. a million thoughts ran through your mind, but one prevailed amongst all of them: what i've been avoiding has shown itself to be true. a tear escaped your waterline, but your voice was stable. "get out." you sniffled, wiping your cheek. "get out, subong."

"huh?" he mumbled, gradually opening his eyes. "i said get the fuck out of my house, subong." "what? i'm not going—" he burped again. "i'm not going fucking anywhere." he wagged a finger in your face. you swatted his arm away, grabbing him by the hem of his shirt and yanked him with all of your might, pushing his back, shoving him out the door even after he tripped over your purse. you slammed the door and locked it before he got to his feet again. "hey!" he yelled. he inhaled sharply through his nose. "open the damn door, you fucking bitch!" he pounded on the door with his palm. "come back when you stop acting like a fucking child!" you yelled, hitting the door back repeatedly. "and not turn my place into a fucking trap house, you piece of shit!"

"what about all that money i gave you, huh!? for rent? and your fucking groceries? give me those fucking earrings you have on, you never fucking deserved them anyway—" "fuck no!" you shouted over him. "this is the least i fucking deserve after your fucking pennies, you cheap piece of shit! if you're so loaded, then fuck off!" subong pressed his mouth to edge of the door, seething. "throwing your boyfriend out like this? when i'm making it big, huh? you'll come to regret this—" you bursted out laughing almost maniacally, a very strange mixture of anger, frustration, and hilarity brewing in your chest. he could be so fucking ridiculous. "m-making it big?" you repeated, laughing so hard you clutched your stomach and wiped tears from your face. it was cathartic. "i-if you're 'making it big,' subong, then—then i'm a lost member of the royal fucking family!" you exclaimed. "how's the fund for greece, huh? still plan on taking me for valentine's? or are you going to continue to clog my toilet because you're still too cheap to buy fresh meat?" "shut the fuck up!" he roared, slamming his palm against the door and wiggling the doorknob.

a neighbor opened their door, avoiding eye contact and stepping around the broken glass to take out their trash, visibly not wanting to be caught in the firestorm taking place in the hall. subong grew embarrassed, turning back to the closed door with a new plea to avoid the atomically sinking feeling. "open the door. please, baby. let's talk this out." he spoke, trying to keep his voice level, wiping his nose with the side of his thumb. when you didn't answer, he kept going. "i'm sorry for all the trouble, baby. let me make it up to you, yeah? just open the door, and we can talk this out. c'mon, baby, the neighbors'll hear—" "let them fucking hear!" you yelled, making him flinh. you leaned closer to the edge of the door, directly parallel to him. "what's that bullshit you always say, huh? any attention is good attention, if you know what to do with it? well, eat your fucking words then, subong! be a man for once in your stupid life!" his eyes widened, vein popping out of his temple. "fuck you, you fucking whore!" he slammed the door repeatedly, the two of you creating a cacophony when you started hitting it, too. "fuck you too, dumbass!"

it was eerily silent that evening in your apartment. you, alone, cleaning up the mess he left behind. carefully sweeping up shattered glass, plastic bags, food wrappers, washing the dishes, cleaning out the fridge, etc. subong was universe knows where. you didn't have the energy to think about him, not even bothering to look around on your walk to the convenience mart to buy ramen for dinner. the emotional turmoil sank into your chest when you sat at the same kitchen table where chaos unfolded at mere hours ago to eat. you barely swallowed the first mouthful before you sank into tears, shoulders shaking, pressing the back of your hand to your lips to console yourself. how could everything have fallen apart so quickly?

you and subong didn't speak for three months. he called and texted those first couple weeks, but that fizzled out, and you didn't answer at all. you didn't owe him anything, especially after the shit he put you through. the wound was still felt too fresh, sensitive enough to do anything but wallow in the silence, heading back out to bars with your friends on the weekends.

none of your friends dared to say much. you were offered apologetic words, but a fool wouldn't notice the air of i told you so in their tone. even with you ceasing caring to cover the healing hickies, being much more subdued on nights out, or your eye bags deepening in the wake of the break up, you were mainly left to wallow in your own grief. you felt it was half deserved and half fucking rude.

but as more time went on, you felt hurt by the fact that subong didn't show back up. not once. not even a mean note on your door, or sign of attempted entry. did he really not fucking care that much? he was just a man, after all ... but then again, not every man is reduced to grateful tears after eating pussy. or looks at you like a renaissance painting come to life when you're retouching his fucking hair dye. when you got home one night, a little tipsy from the cocktails you had, you clicked on those unread text messages— ranging from Baby i'm sorry please talk to me; Stop being so fucking stubborn; ileft my keytthere I dont wantt it back u fknng cnutt; to I don't deserve you i fucked up please baby—and listening to those voicemails.

one resonated with you, even in your inebriated state: "hi ... um, it's been, like, four days since we ... and i, uh—i feel weird. and i don't like it at all. i know you're at work right now but i can't bring myself to show my face and i fucking hate it. i don't like being a coward. but you ... you're ... you're just ... you need to stop. you can't keep doing this to me. you make me feel things i've never felt and it fucking scares me. and you cut me off before i could even say my bit. how is that fair? you can't just come into my life like that and walk away before i get a say. you can't change my life and me and then just throw me away. i know ... i know i'm not the best guy. but even i don't deserve to be thrown out like—" he was cut off and did not call back. "oh my god. what a fucking idiot." you murmured, rubbing your temple with your fingers.

but the universe loves to throw curveballs, because you saw him two weeks later at a bar a few blocks down from the club you first met at. subong saw you long before you saw him that night. he'd spent so much of the last four months feeling a spectrum of emotions, coping with his frustration by daydreaming about what he'd say the next time he saw you—all of the insults to suffice for his anger, all of the things he'd say to make you feel bad for how you treated him—all cogs in his self-deflection apparatus. but when he actually saw you, sat alone at the bar with no friend group in sight, drinking what looked to be martini, he was at a loss for words. even his emotionally daft ass was aware enough to sense something was different about you. more muted, more subdued. that's what she fucking gets. his inner monologue was unforgiving, only for him to peer over a tall strangers shoulder to keep his softened eyes on you. but she ... she can't be alone. not here.

subong was really good at blending into the crowd, until he got too close, and by chance you glanced up and saw him. he was close enough to hear you suck in a breath through your teeth, and see your eyes widen in panic the same time his did. without thinking, you got up from your seat, grabbing your purse hanging on the back of your chair, forgetting you hadn't even taken a second sip of your overpriced drink. subong stepped out of the crowd, "don't go." he said gentler than anticipated, before remembering he was supposed to be livid. his expression hardened, lips tightened, hand grabbing for your arm. "we need to talk."

"i don't have anything to fucking say to you." you say sharply, not looking at him, keeping your voice low to not cause commotion. "yes the fuck you do." he bit back. you tried to pull your arm out of his grip, failing. "let me go or i'll throw my drink in your face." "really?" he smirked. "i didn't take you to be so careless with your money." you look up, eyebrows raised, meeting his eyes for the first time in months. "oh, that's funny. do you still think you're up and coming? or have you come to terms with the fact that you're an illiterate fuck who steals IP just to still write shit fucking bars?"

subong closed much of the remaining gap between you. "shut your fucking mouth, you bitch." he seethed through gritted teeth. you look him dead in the eyes, "see what i mean? you still can't come up with anything new, and you've had all this time." you pulled at his grip again, but he was strong. "let me go." "you didn't listen to me before, so you're going to listen now." "like the fuck i am!" you looked at him like he was crazy. you pulled again, finally freeing your arm. you grabbed your drink, purse in your other hand. "now leave me alone." you say. "or i'll throw this drink right in your fucking eyes."

you turned and walked deeper into the dimly lit bar; just anywhere that was not where he was. you found an empty booth, sitting down with a huff, taking a hefty swig of your martini. you shot up when you saw him walk over, putting your arm in position, only for subong to put his hands up, one hovering over your drink. "don't throw it! don't!" "do you not know how to fucking listen!?" "you don't know how, either!" he shot back. "why did you never respond to my texts or calls?" "don't ask me that with that stupid look on your face like it's as bad as you bringing a fucking stranger and hard drugs into my home!" you exclaimed. "which, by the way, in all of your rambling voicemails and texts, you've never once apologized for." "so you did read them?" "that's not the fucking point, subong!" "yes, it is! to me!" "and what? you don't think it matters to me that you never said 'i love you' back? that i felt like a fucking teenage girl, waiting at her boyfriend's beck and call to care about her?"

people were starting to stare, but your sense of decorum was long gone. he got up in your face, and you took him up at that challenge. "i care! i fucking cared!" he stared into your eyes in frustration, pushing his fingers into his chest in a desperate gesture. "well, you didn't do a good job of showing it. because at some point, i felt my loneliest even when you were beside me, snoring like fucking pug and dutch ovening the blanket."

subong, at a loss for words, too choked up on his anger and long-suppressed complicated feelings boiling to the surface, turned to what he knew best: low hanging fruit. after a moment, he collects himself. a smug smirk stretches across his face, taking a step back and glancing at the dated wall art behind you. he shook his head, looking down at the floor with a chuckle. "and here i was, thinking you were secretly pregnant with my kid or something." he said. your eyebrows furrowed, deeply confused. this was stupid, even for him. "what?" you shook your head. "what the fuck are you talking about—" "—it makes sense that you wouldn't want to tell me. too much for you too handle. but then i saw you tonight, and you looked more bloated than usual, so i thought i was right. but then you were drinking—" he yelped when the cold gin splashed in his face, flinching at the glass bouncing off his chest, shattering next to his foot. gasps erupted throughout the room. subong hastily wiped his eyes, feeling them burn. "fucking bitch!" "your children would be lucky to never know their deadbeat of a fucking father."

you stormed off, heading into the nearby women's bathroom. heartbeat in your throat, you turned on a sink, rinsing the alcohol off your hands. you didn't look up when the door hit the wall, or when subong yelled "fuck off!" to the other three women in the room, causing a brief scurry of heels out the door. he pushed you out of the way, rinsing his eyes. "i should go and file a fucking police report on you." he mumbled. he looked up at you, expression angry, even with his squinting eyes. "i should've written 'sex slave' on my tax forms, too, with how you treated me!"

you pushed him right back, collecting a handful of water from the running sink with your palm, and throwing it at his face. "when was the last time you paid your taxes? hm!?" you exclaimed. "do you even know where your bank is? did you ever buy a new toothbrush after the one you had became a clump of bristles and i had to get one for you like a fucking mother!?" you yelled, using both palms and throwing more water; some hitting the floor, some splashing on yourself, but most wetting his face and clothing. "hey!" his voice boomed. he took a step forward, slipping, but caught himself on the edge of the sink. he turned the water off, landing your hand atop his in a failed effort to stop him. "you don't get to speak to me like that!" he yelled. "i can speak however i want to!" you yelled louder, making him wince, cursing under his breath. "you lost your chance when you made me feel crazy for loving you. i don't know how i could've even liked you!"

"hey!" subong's voice echoed off the walls. "your voice is so fucking shrill! you're giving me a fucking headache!" he pushed his fingers into his temple. he pointed at you, unwavering when you smacked it away. "don't act like you're fucking innocent, either—let me fucking finish!" you closed your mouth, crossing your arms over your chest. "see, this is what your problem is. you don't let anyone speak, or want to do anything i like. all those times you laughed in my face, didn't take me seriously, or tossed my career away like it was garbage, like some fucking fly you couldn't swat away." he waved his hand in front of his face, mimicking the gesture. "well, i'm sorry i put a roof over your head when you were piss poor broke." your voice was eerily leveled, staring so hard into his eyes you could've burned holes into his retinas. "and didn't act like you were nominated for grammys in fucking return."

"'laughed?' 'didn't take seriously?'" you repeated his words, eyebrows furrowing. "who dyed your stupid fucking purple hair? who reminded you to write songs? who pushed you to call clubs? who yelled at pervert managers to get you fair pay!?" your voice escalated. subong's eyes drifted to the tiled floor, head hanging lower than before. you took a breath. "subong, i—" he met your eyes at the mention of his name. "i invented you."

his expression soured, hating that you were right and faced with his own cowardice once again. but he would rather give himself up to his loan shark than show it. "invented is the right word." subong spoke lowly, nodding. his hand came up to his head, making a screwing gesture. "false ideas—you have false ideas of who i am. you played with me like a toy." you were in disbelief. "p-played you? like ... like a toy?" you began to stutter through this newfound upheaval of anger, something that made your face feel hot and stomach churn, increasingly irritated with each second you couldn't get the words out. "you!—you!" you hit your palm on the edge of the sink, sending your purse to the floor. "you came so hard that i thought i had to go to urgent care to get you an oxygen mask!" every word sounded more strained than before. you inhaled deeply, running against a ticking timer in your head to when he'd open his mouth next. you gestured at a bathroom stall door, but in your head, it was a memory. "you held onto me so tightly after your performances or at home or—or eating dinner to the point where i had to eat with one hand!" you closed the gap, your pointer finger brushing against the tip of his nose. "at some point, you couldn't fall asleep unless you felt my fucking heartbeat, motherfucker!"

"and you did all of that," you gestured around you. "just to fuck me over, and make me realize i've wasted my time loving someone who doesn't give half a fucking shit whether i live or die!" "i care!" his voice boomed. "how many times do i have to say that!?" "until your last goddamn breath." you retort without hesitation. "and with how you live, that should be right around the corner." "are you saying i should die?" "what? no, subong. of course not." you shook your head. "that's not what i—that's not what i meant." "so what did you mean?" "what i mean was—no, stop distracting. you know exactly what i meant." with your next look at him, you saw them: his manicured hands, equipped with different colors on all fingernails. oh, you hated how quickly your mind shifted gears, how quickly the worries of the imaginary teenage girl clouded your logic and best judgment, but none more than this being what your eyes began watering over. "who ... who did that?" you asked, your suddenly quieted voice catching subong off guard.

"what?" he asked, confused. his eyes followed your gaze, landing at his hands, eyebrows raising at the realization that this was his chance at getting the upper hand: "someone i saw." he lied. it wasn't wholly untrue, but dubiously framed; the nail tech was a woman, so he did see her, just not in the way he just purposefully vaguely implied. he needed something to jab at you, to knock you down a peg like it was a schoolyard fight, but even he couldn't smirk at the hurt on your face. in fact, he regretted those words the moment he said them. "who is she?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. subong had never seen you look so devastated like this before. it made him feel an instinct that straightened his posture, unaware of what to do next, standing awkwardly. he attempted to say these next words with venom, but he couldn't even believe them himself, almost sounding as subdued as you: "it's none of your fucking business."

your heart drops. you feel nauseous. if subong had blinked, he would've missed your curt nod. you didn't bother wiping the tear trailing your cheek, his eyes watching as you pick up your purse from the floor, ears perking at your sniffle. "okay." you whispered, but you were so quiet that your voice nearly blended with the air vent. you started walking, fully intending to never turn back around, until his hand on your wrist stopped you. "wait—" "stop!" you said sharply, yanking out of his grip before he could close his fingers entirely. you held your hands in the air before circling around, your eyes landing on his. his face fell. you looked perishable, drained of an essence he couldn't fathom you without. oh, he'd really done it this time.

you lunged forward, nail of your pointer finger scratching against his nose. "you don't get to do this to me, s-subong!" you exclaimed, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tears stifle the effort. you couldn't contain the sob. he was mortified at the sight. "it's ... it's not fair." you whispered meekly. your hands trailed to his chest, balling into fists as you cried. he stood there, frozen, mouth agape like a fool. subong raised his hand, petting your hair with a light, unsure touch. "it's fi—" he sucked in a surprised breath through his teeth when you started swatting his chest, pushing and shoving at him in a pitiful tantrum. subong took it silently, putting his hands up, face contorting uncomfortably at the sound of your cries. his bottom lip started to quiver as time went on. he couldn't tell what he hated more: the fact he lost the fight, or the fact he cared about that to begin with.

"that's enough. hey—" subong inhaled sharply through his nose. he grabbed both of your wrists, holding them in place. "that's enough." he hoped to whatever higher power you didn't hear the quiver. he swallowed, resting his forehead against yours. your hands went limp. he let go, feelings your palms trail up to his face. "you're mine." you spoke weakly. his mouth fell open, staring at your lips whilst you begged for his eyes; earning you such when your hand on his cheek guided him to your gaze. "do you hear me?" you whispered. "you're mine, subong. no one elses." you shook your forehead against his, your tragic desperation ailing him. "mhm." his hands trailed your waist. "i'm yours, baby. all yours."

with a shaky hand, your fingers ran through his hair, thumb so close to his lips he pressed a skeleton of a kiss onto it. "i'm sorry i threw my drink at you." you cry, voice stuck at a whisper. "i'm so sorry, subong—" "stop." his low voice shushes you, nose nestling beside yours, slowly trailing to your neck. he inhaled your scent, eyes rolling back when your fingers brushed past his cartilage piercing. "i had it coming." his nose found its way back to your cheek, pressing kisses onto the warm, wet skin. "why didn't you come home, subong? i .. i've been waiting for so long." his bottom lip quivered again, but his voice was utmost steady: "you never asked."

"i—i shouldn't have to!" you swatted at his chest. "you idiot!" "i know, i know. i've been really fucking stupid." his voice cracks. subong leans in, but you turn away. "i can't. it's not good for me." "can't you see we're dying without each other?" he pleads, his hands turning your head to look at him. "look at me, look at you! just one, baby. please." his breath brushed against your cheeks, his hands holding either side of your face. "i can't ... i can't go on without you."

with a shaky breath and fresh tears falling down your cheeks, you closed the gap. a guttural moan rumbled through your chest, subong whimpering desperately. his arms wrap tightly around your waist, your hands holding his face for dear life—the kiss slow and purposeful, making up for lost time, a conversation no words could say. subong's palms made way to your ass, acting on pure muscle memory. he angled his head, introducing his tongue into the equation, having to quickly bend his knees to catch your fidgety form. "i'm not going anywhere." he unintentionally stifled the most heavenly moan he's ever heard from you. you broke the kiss for air. subong wasted no time, returning to his favorite spot on your neck, holding you in place firmly. your head fell back, letting him do whatever he so pleased—your hand on the back of his head wielding the power of casting a centuries-long trance.

he sucked and licked with precision, like a day hadn't gone by. he even hummed in concentration, mouth popping off of your soft skin until the bruise was to his liking. "s-subong." you whined, needing his lips back, your fingers messily carding through his hair. "i'm almost done." he was gentle, even if he was ignoring the concrete fucking lump in his pants and starting to sweat over your warmth against his. he latched off, fingers tracing the bluish-red spot with satisfaction. "come here, pretty girl." his slightly swollen lips made your eyebrows furrow pathetically, the kiss felt sticky, your lips sown with his. "i need you." you murmured. "i need you." "stall. the bathroom stall."

you grabbed his hand, rushing to the closest one, pulling him inside. neither of you think to close the door, letting it bang against the wall after swinging it open. subong's lips returned to yours, but his hands pat his pockets, feeling his phone and wallet, unsure: "i don't—i don't have a condom." "it's okay, it's okay." you assure truthfully, hurriedly kissing him as if he'd disappear if you let go. "it'll be just like how we used to, hm?" "turn around for me."

you do, placing your hands on the bathroom stall wall to hold yourself up. subong pulls your pants down to your ankles, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down just enough to grind his hardened cock against your ass, leaving nothing to the imagination, even with the barrier of his briefs and your underwear. "s-subong!" you gasped, back arching, pushing your ass farther onto him, feeling his cock closer to your aching pussy but not quite there yet. "how could you take this away from me?" he whispered into your ear, breath hitching vulnerably as he tried to keep himself composed, the plush of your round ass making his mind mush. "from us?" subong's hands snuck past the hem, grabbing at the powdery softness of either globes of your ass. his bottom lip suffered between his teeth, watching his hands work underneath the fabric, squeezing firmly. your nails clawed at the wall, eyes fluttering closed whenever his cool rings cinched around your hot skin. "stop teasing." your cheek collided with his nose, not realizing how close his face was to yours.

subong kissed your supple skin like instinct. "you'll take this dick like a good fucking girl, right?" he was so close to your ear the tip of his nose smushed against the stall wall. "y-yes!" you helplessly paw at the wall. his hand pulled down your underwear, rutting himself against your bare ass. his fingers maneuvered between your legs, middle finger sinking between your folds and encircling, keeping you steady between him and the wall. when he finds that sensitive bundle of nerves, he feels faint, cursing under his breath as your guttural grunt that bounced off the walls. "s-subong—" your voice sounded dry from the earlier arguing and succumbing to your illustrious libido. "i know, baby, i know." his fingers were unrelenting. christ, you were so fucking wet. "just wait for a little longer, and i'll fuck this pussy like the good boy you know i fucking am."

his fingers came to a gradual halt. whilst your chest heaved, he sucked on the tip of his middle finger, licking it clean. "i'm getting on my knees. don't move." he pulled your underwear down, peering up at the puffy lips he has to thank for opening his third eye. you cover your mouth, his warm tongue delving between your folds, scared of what you might sound like if you let go. for the next minute, all that fills the bathroom are the lewd sounds of his tongue nursing your sweet pussy and your muffled whimpers. a crude smack on your left globe followed by a harsh squeeze was the unspoken: let me fucking hear you. "o-oh!" you cried out. "o-oh my fucking god!"

you pushed your ass onto his face, your eyes crossing over the vibrations of his satisfied moan against your clit, squeezing them shut. he lapped your hole repeatedly, swallowing, taking a breath before adjusting his knees on the floor. subong's thumbs spread your lips apart, latching his mouth onto your clit and sucking. the curvature of your back deepened, head thrown back, a cry of pure lust brewing out of your diaphragm, heartbeat stuttering when his tongue lapped the bundle without mercy. "r-right there! just, just—ngh! hngh!—just l-like that!" "where? here?" he asked knowingly, tongue replaced by his finger, rubbing your clit mercilessly. his other hand fished his cock out from his briefs, beginning to stroke himself.

it was a cacophony of wet slick, choked moans, and squelching heat. nothing could deter it, not even the pair of friends that walked in the bathroom, chatting away and completely unaware, only to quickly back out of the room widened eyes and whispers of "oh my god, did you see them?" and "on a tuesday?" it was a sight to behold: your ass in his face; a mixture of his saliva and your slick trailing down his chin, quickly wiped by the back of his hand when he took a breath, but smearing nonetheless; his precum leaking onto the floor; your moans so delicate and raw any erotic film director would beg on their knees to cast you; and subong's affirming mhms and thats rights as he sucks and laps your clit.

subong knew you were close when your thighs began to shake. "give it to me." his hand ceased pumping his dick, both thumbs separating your puffy lips farther than before, running his tongue over your clit. "give it to me, mama," your moan made his dick twitch, eyebrows deeply furrowed, fucked-out gloss coating his eyes. "give it to me, baby, come on—" "ngh!" your body squirmed, nails scraping against the wall, one hand reaching for the top, thighs clenching around his head as your orgasm took over your body. subong was stubborn—his palms pressing your back down further, tongue unrelenting through your high, swallowing whatever you gave him. he slowed when your breathing leveled, suckling one last time before rising to his feet.

he pushed your shirt up, kissing the top of your spine, then the back of your shoulder. "hey," he said gently, hearing your shaky breaths. "still with me?" "mhm." you nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth, trying your best to remain standing. his lips kissed your temple, "everything okay?" "mhm," was all you were able to muster. "f-felt really good. needed it." "me too. i dreamt about you, baby." he whined, lips pressed to your skin. "i dreamt about you so much." his breathing became ragged, tip of his cock red and angry. "tugged at my dick so much and i never came as good as when i was with you. now you made me cum just from eating your pussy. do you see what you've done to me? do you see what you've done to your precious subongie?"

you feel dizzy, lifting your head for air. "put it in." you whisper. you push your ass into him, moaning at the feeling of his cock rutting against you. "put it in, subongie." he slowly pushed his tip in, eventually enveloped by your gummy walls. his face contorted—"how're you so much tighter than before!?" his voice was notably higher, barely moving his hips, slowly inching out of you. "h-haven't had anyone else," you sucked in a tight breath. "b-been waiting for you—hngh!" oh, you were so back ... you couldn't help the satisfied smile that stretched across your face, ears filled with his needy whines and blubbering incoherently about how much he missed you, and his girthy cock stretching you out in the way you deserve. "fuck me, subongie," you said breathlessly. "fuck me the way you dream about." "i won't last, you're so fucking tight!—" "—be the good boy you said you'd be!"

with that, he got to work. his pelvis hit your ass, not rapidly, but with reverberating force, moaning and whining like it was the last thing he'd ever do. your mouth fell open, body shaking with every thrust, eyes squeezed shut. you gasped when his hand reached into your bra, holding your left breast, biting your lip as your nipple hardened against his palm. you looked over your shoulder, catching sight of your jiggling globes every time he thrusted. "faster," you said. "faster and harder, s-subong. i—fuck!—i n-need you so b-badly!" he grabbed either side of your hips, pounding into you through his intensifying blurry haze, balls slapping against you so unapologetically that, if someone got close enough, it could've been heard from outside the door. subong wasn't showing off; he wasn't outdoing himself, to him, this was making love. here he was, fucking the woman of his dreams (he got her back!!,) hearing those moans he was so afraid would escape his memories, and fortunate to be feeling and fucking her divine pussy. talk about a jackpot.

"a-agh! f-fuck!" he cried out, hips stuttering as you began fucking him back. he looked down at the sight, watching his creamy cock disappear and reappear at your volition, his indescribable pleasure displayed on his face, envied by empty canvases wishing to capture such raw human emotion. "n-no, no!" he gasped, feeling your pussy clench around him, that knot forming in his abdomen. "y-you're killing me, baby," he panted. "b-baby—ngh!—s-stop, need to f-fuck you. m'gonna cum s'quick if you—if you, f-fuck!" you stopped abruptly, slamming against his pelvis with a shaky breath. "i'm almost there, too." you said. you sunk a little lower, pushing your ass against him. "k-keep going, my love. you're doing so good. always know how to fuck this pussy so good, hm? yeah? best dick i've ever fucking had." you whine, feeling his cock pulsate in your cunt. you look over your shoulder, feeling his hand squeeze your left asscheek, "wanna cum in me?" wanna cum in me so much that i make you a daddy? yeah?" a wall-rattling gasp shattered out of your lungs when he thrust into you hard, once. then twice. "you're going to be the fucking death of me."

subong pounded into your tight pussy mercilessly, brushing against that spongy spot deep in your cunt with little effort at the angle you were in now. "right there, right t-there! o-oh my god, f-fuck—fuck! s-subong—subong! keep going! you feel so f-f-fucking good!" your whorish mewls were no match for his. he was a goner; bottomed out; becoming lightheaded. he kept going, kept hitting that spongy haven, but it wasn't a knot in your abdomen that fleshed goosebumps across your skin, embarking on its unravel—it was deeper, more carnal than that—but before you could register it, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and your leg felt wet. "o-oh—oh my g-god—" you were a mumbling mess through this indescribable orgasm, wholly aware of your body but lost in your lustful haze. subong knew exactly what was going on. it brought him over the edge. "f-fuck! fuck! fuck!" warmth coated your walls, chock-full of his cum, trailing down your thigh with your squirt. he slowed his thrusts, moving so delicately it was as if his cock was made of glass.

he stopped moving, cock resting inside your warm cunt. you were in your own world, weakly holding onto the wall, ears ringing, temples pounding. your senses cleared albeit minutely with his hands holding your shoulders, helping you stand up better. you raised your arm, planting it before you and resting your forehead against it, taking deep breaths. subong pulled out, tutting softly hearing your quiet gasp, palm tracing your lower back as a silent i know, i know. his chest heaving, subong's hand reached over, trying to tuck your hair behind your ear to talk to you, but stops when he sees your earrings—the ones he gave you all those months ago; the ones he said you didn't deserve during that explosive argument. unexpectedly to him, his eyes started to water, quickly pressing a kiss onto the back of your shoulder, mouth muffled against the fabric of your top. in the midst of your labored breathing, you don't overhear: "i love you," he whispered. he pressed another kiss. "i love you."

after a few moments, you stood up steadily, making subong lift his head. your hand aimlessly reached behind you for him."you made me ... you made me—" "—i know, i know." he spoke gently. your senses found him when his arm wrapped around your waist, lips pressing a kiss to your temple and staying there. your hand reached up, coaxing your fingers through his hair. "have we ... have we ever done that before?" "i don't think we did." "yeah ... i figured." your eyes were still closed, slowly opening when his lips peppered kisses on your jaw. "i don't—" you swallowed, mouth dry. "i don't know if i can walk straight." both of you couldn't help but laugh, his forehead resting against your temple. "you know," he cleared his throat. "i think someone came in when i was eating you out." "oh god." you murmured. "did they say anything?" "i was kinda busy to notice if they did." he chuckled lowly. "right, right."

the heat of your apartment woke you up in the middle of the night, lazily tugging the duvet of your sweaty body. subong's light snores became background noise after a press of a button, the air conditioning kicking in. in your sleepy state, you squinted at the time on the oven: 4:27 AM. shuffling to the bathroom, you emerged a few minutes later, filling a glass of water from the kitchen tap. after taking a sip, you walked to the ac unit, eyes closed whilst you cooled down, wind flowing modestly through your hair.

feeling refreshed enough, you headed back to bed. you carefully slid your glass onto the nightside table, hoping there was a enough space on the already small and cluttered surface—equipped with yours and subong's charging phones, hair ties, ibuprofen, whatever else you were too lazy to properly put away, and not lit since there was no room for a lamp—but guessed wrong, accidentally sliding both phones off. a loud clatter rang throughout the apartment, "shit!" you cursed under your breath, quickly eyeing subong. he didn't flinch, snoring peacefully. you picked the phones up, plugged his back in, and set them onto the table securely. a notif came up on his screen. by chance, your eyes glanced over. what was a mere peek became a full on stare.

it was from a crypto app. you didn't have to be a genius to know; the word was in the name of the fucking app. you read the notif before his screen went dark: You have an update on your investment. Tap to view. you have got to be fucking kidding me. you thought to yourself. without thinking, you unplugged his phone, tapping his screen to see it again. but the notif was now hidden, requiring his face id or passcode to view. is his passcode still the same as before? you wondered, thinking of those times he'd let you use his phone to connect him to the wifi, or send yourself photos from dates he'd always forget to. you look over your shoulder at his sleeping form, clueless. forget ethics, forget respecting privacy, forget trusting your partner; your brain was in overdrive. this better fucking work. you swipe up, typing 6969—it works. you tap the notif, the app loads quickly. your eyes run over an interface filled with lingo you don't know or care for and usernames that should be put on a watchlist, but then you find it: his profile. you click the icon on the bottom right corner, seeing the Investments tab with an encircled 1 next to it, clicking it, waiting for the screen to load. it only took a couple of seconds, but it was long enough to make you nervously gnaw at your bottom lip and tap your foot. then it loaded.

-850 MILLION KRW — in unmissable red at the top of the screen, above a graph you could only guess illustrated the fluctuation of his money, and other bullshit you couldn't comprehend in the moment. you stared. in silence, numb. before you knew it, the number changed: -1.19 BILLION KRW. your thumb acted before your brain could, scrolling, finding the extensive histories of his investments. he was betting hourly during the day with money he certainly did not have, losing thousands. you scrolled even deeper, finding investments from before you broke up. 50,000 krw here, 5 million there, 30 million another day .... he'd been lying that entire time. selfishly keeping more for himself, all the while consoling your crying state from not being able to make rent in time, even with what you suspected to be all he had ("i'm so sorry, baby. you don't deserve this. we don't deserve this. i'll fight your landlord for you, don't worry.") what utter bullshit.

it was all lies. it was all deception. and now he was back in your bed, peacefully asleep like everything was okay. you let him back into your life, thinking everything was going to be fucking okay. you squeeze his phone in your hand, arm shaking. your other hand sinks your fingers into your knee, as if to prevent from screaming; trying to find another outlet for the anger—fuck it! irate, you grab your glass of water and rush to his side of the bed, throwing it onto his face. he shot up immediately. you paced back and forth, eyes rolling at his coughing fit. "wha—what?" his voice was gravely, wiping his eyes. "was that—was that water?" he asked stupidly. "yes it was fucking water!" you spoke loudly, irritated at the sight of his barely opened eyes."what're you yelling for?" his voice was lower than usual, clouded by looming sleep. "it's, like, four in the morning, baby."

"don't you fucking 'baby' me." you muttered, marching up to him. you showed him his screen. "the fuck is this? hm?" "what?" he asked, wiping water off his forehead. you threw his phone onto his lap. "check your fucking investments." he picked up his phone and scrolled. he didn't say a word. you continued to pace like a madwoman, back and forth, nothing filling the air but the skid of the heels of your feet against the floor. you mentally cursed and screamed, thoughts so scrambled that if you opened your mouth all that would come out would be jibberish, so you paced. and paced. and paced. it could've been anywhere between five or ten minutes when you stopped. "well?" you asked sharply, arms crossed over your chest. "how much money did you fucking make?"

"why'd you look at my phone?" asked subong. he was trying so hard to avoid openly showing his shame; his pride prevailing. "that's—" you stuttered. "that's seriously what you're asking right now?" "yes, that's what i'm fucking asking right the fuck now." he looked up at you, meeting your eyes with an unreadable expression. "you just threw water in my face. i get to ask questions." "you're a billion in debt!" you whisper-yelled, afraid your eyes would water if you were any louder. you trudged to his side of the bed, eyes wide and finger to his chest. he stared at you blankly, a twitch of his eyebrow outed his mounting frustration at his stifled shame. "you're a billion in debt, subong. where did you ... where did you even get all that money?" you swallowed, taking a step back, eyes looking everywhere but him to thwart the mounting glossiness. "why did you lie to me? all those times, all those times where i felt like it was the end. where i felt like i was at a dead end." you gestured to the couch with your hand, staring at him. "and you ... you lied. you were selfish, and didn't want to help. i ... i saw everything, subong. i know you kept on lying about your earnings when we were together."

another beat of silence. "subong, why did you put so much money into—" "—why'd you look at my phone? hm?" he interrupted, eyes wide. "why couldn't you just mind your fucking business?" "you're a billion in debt—" "i didn't owe you anything!" subong suddenly yelled, catching you off guard. he ripped the duvet off, marching up to you, finger in your face. "i didn't owe you fucking anything." he repeated, breathing hard through his nostrils. "what was it you said to me? hm? that it's my money, my punishment to have? so let me fucking have it." "you owed me everything!" you yelled, smacking his hand away. "you owed me the fucking truth!" he turned around, walking to the window leading to the balcony, hands roughly rubbing his face and hair. "why didn't you just tell me? why did you hide—" "—i did it all for you."

your eyes widened and jaw fell, appalled. "oh my god." you muttered to yourself, but he overheard. "i'm going fucking crazy. i'm going fucking crazy." you ran your hands through your hair, pacing. "i know you did not just ... i know you did not just say that." you shook your head. "how could you be so fucking stupid. how could i be so fucking stupid?" subong whipped his head around. "hey! don't call me stupid!" he walked up to you, growing angrier with your ignoring him. "hey!" he exclaimed. "don't call me stupid! i'm not stupid for taking initiative, or, or doing shit because i care about you!" his arms flailed.

"oh..." you shook your head, facing him. he felt like a first grader being told off by his teacher, frustratingly shifting his weight between his feet, unsure of where to put this uncomfortable energy. "oh no, subong. this isn't caring. this is being a complete and utter dumbass." you said, eyes porous in realization. tears were no longer in the realm of possibility. now, it was just pity. "there's no coming back from this." you made sure he knew. "you're fucked." "i know that!" he yelled, vein tight in his temple. "you don't think i fucking know that!?" subong's eyebrows furrowed. it was his turn to avoid crying. he looked away hastily, cursing repeatedly under his breath as if it'd ward off his blurring vision. he blinked hard—"i ... i tried everything." he muttered, bottom lip quivering. "i ... made deals with dangerous p-people." he cleared his throat. "i slept on benches. my own mother wouldn't pick up my calls. i've disappointed her too many times. and you ... you," he cleared his throat again. "you weren't an option." he shook his head, a tear landing on his arm. he inhaled sharply through his nose. "but ... but i have this one last chance—"

"—you're hopeless." you cut him off. "you're the worst person i've ever fucking met." subong looked at you, silently pleading to take those words back. "no." he sounded wounded. "you don't ... you don't mean that." "i do. i mean every word." you nodded. "i must have done something really horrible in a past life to be cursed with loving someone as hurtful as you." "no ..." he shook his head, his palms flattening his hair. "you don't mean what you're saying." "i do!" you yelled, voice cracking, heartbeat in your throat. a shaky breath left his lips, eyes staring at the ceiling and blinking fast, waterline feeling heavy. "no ... no, no." he muttered to himself. he took your face in his hands, eyes darting around your features, making them out even in the meek lighting of the slowly emerging sunrise. you stared blankly at the floor, emotionless between his palms.

"you don't mean those words. i know you don't." he spoke aloud, trying to convince himself. "you don't mean them." his fingers combed your hair out of your face. "i've been trying so hard. i'm so fucking scared, baby." subong shook his head quickly, but it didn't halt his falling tears. "i f-fucked up so bad." he whispered, lips quivering. he pressed kisses to your supple skin, attempting to fill the eerie silence. "but i promise—" his lips peppering your face. "i promise i'm going to fix all of this. i have a plan." subong tasted something salty, seeing a tear having fallen down your cheek. "no, no." he tutted gently, kissing it away. "don't cry. you're too beautiful to cry over a loser like me, baby." he kissed that same spot. "no, no. don't cry. here, let me hold you. come here." his lips trailed to the back of your jaw, arms wrapping loosely around your waist. even in his desperation, he was unsure. his eyes glanced at the glimmer of your dainty diamond drop earrings. "the earrings look good on you. you've always had good taste." he muttered against your shoulder. you didn't move. nor say a word. the silence was killing him. "i've been scared for so long." he whispered. your shoulder felt wet. "please ... please hold me."

he said no apology. no "i'm sorry," no "i regret this." it was a tale as old as time: redirected sympathy; a murky, multi-layered distraction, him avoiding taking full responsibility. you sympathized with his pain, you felt his hurt and the monstrous circumstance, but at some fucking point, there is only so much you could do. there is so much strength one could muster; so much mercy a heart could offer. this wasn't your problem, and you weren't going to go out of your way to make it yours. it was time to draw the line. right here, right now. you didn't recognize the man before you. he was a stranger: "subong?" "yes?" he responded quickly, a hint of hope in his tone. "when were you going to tell me about your debt?"

subong was silent, but you spoke for him. "when i get a promotion? when i get laid off? when there's an eviction notice on my door? after we elope at the courthouse, or when i tell you you're the father of my baby? hm? when were you going to tell me?" your voice was unexpectedly gentle. his shoulders started to shake, quietly sobbing. "when, subong? when?" "forgive me." he pleaded. "forgive me. please, baby—" "—get off of me." you pushed him away, slipping out of his embrace. he wiped his face with the back of his hand. "you're—you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." "you're the worst!" you exclaimed. "it's exhausting loving you! it's torture! i'm decaying from the inside!"

you took a breath, looking at this pathetic form. "i've forgiven you too much." you shook your head. "you've made me a stranger to myself. you take, and you take, and you take. i share my home, i let you fuck me, i let myself think you respect me—" "—i d-do, baby, i do! i lo—" "—i let you into the deepest, darkest pits of who i am, and you let me cry over your fucking nail polish while you were throwing away millions into something that isn't even fucking real. and you have the audacity to say it was for me?" you gesture to yourself. "as much as i tried to fix you, stupidity is in incurable disease. you're the dumbest person i've ever fucking met. you're not even smart enough to say 'i'm sorry.'"

"i never want to see you again." you turn around, your back facing him. "you don't know me. i don't know you. get out." this was it. you didn't move your eyes from the kitchen floor tiles as you heard him collect his things—the clinking of his belt; his shallow breaths; his heavy, stuttered footsteps; the clean swoosh of his pants as he put them on; over-pronounced inhales; his shoving of his feet into his sneakers—punctuated by the slam of the door. you slowly turned around. the oven read 4:53 AM. you sat on the couch, the silence heavy, only moderately cut through by the sporadic chirping of the birds outside. you sunk into the cheap cushions, hands coming up to your face, chest convulsing.

subong didn't know how long he'd been walking for. he was numb; eyes wet, cheeks swollen, snot dried, sneakers carelessly dragging against the sidewalk. the sun had risen. he could hear the taxis driving by, or catch in his peripheral vision the sight of people hurriedly leaving their apartment buildings as the morning commute commenced, but his gaze never shifted from aimless. he was wandering; nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. his chest heaved and his heart pounded in his temples, feelings buried in an overly complicated web that made his ears ring. subong's tongue was dry from breathing through his mouth, but he was so out of it he didn't bother to close his jaw.

it was the ring of a pedestrian's bike bell that temporarily took him out of this trance, stumbling a few steps to the right, letting them pass. "i'm sorry." he muttered weakly. it was only then that he looked at his surroundings, realizing he was walking along a bridge. seeing the water flow below him without issue made him feel so inconsequentially small, almost as if the car driving by or the subtle whispers of the leaves rattling in the wind told him that no matter what he did, or what he went through, or what he said, nature will be there before and after. "excuse me, sir." a voice said. subong's head felt heavy, but he turned it nonetheless. it was the man in the suit from a week ago. "i forgot to give you this after our game last week." he handed subong what looked to be a business card. "my sincerest apologies. i kindly ask that you forgive me, sir." with that, he walked away.

you woke up on the couch in the late morning, having slept through your phone alarm. you had the day off, so that wasn't exactly a concern, only to jolt awake from seering pain on side of your neck and lower back from falling asleep in such a cramped, awkward position. it was hot in the apartment again. you gradually stood on your feet, carefully stretching. "fuck." you mutter under your breath. you moved to the bathroom. you peeled your clothes off, throwing them mindlessly into the hamper. before you stepped into the shower, the glimmer of your earrings caught your sight. you tucked your hair back, staring hard into the mirror. memories of the night previous came rushing back. your quivering lip made you mad all over again, quickly taking the earrings off, throwing them into the trash bin without second thought.

you did errands. you went to work the next day. you quit your job three months later, having landed a better paying one on the opposite side of the city. a year later, you were longed moved out of your small studio and into your one bedroom abode, equipped with an in house dryer and washer. you had new friends. you had a new life. in the end, you really did get your wish of never seeing subong again.

[somewhereincairparavel]

Dam being a Jason Grace stan in the fandom is a fucking tragedy lol. Not only do we have to deal with him being screwed over by uncle Rick, but we have to deal with the fandom hating him aswell lol, i feel like Jason Grace slander wouldnt affect me half as much if his character had gotten a happy ending. I just saw an Instagram reel about a "character's povs you skipped through'' and the comments were flooded with Jason Grace just like I'd expected lol 😭 like blud has no mercy there.

It took all my will power to not defend him under a comment that called him "homophobic", I cannot believe that comment had 4 people agreeing aswell like- did we read the same books? Did they completey skip over the coming out chapter in HOH where jason was literally the first person to tell Nico not to be ashamed of liking guys and that no one would judge him? the guy is legit one of the least problematic characters and does nothing mean, how is he even CONSIDERED in the homophobic area anyway? (he also gets slandered for being "too nice" aswell lol) so seeing him wind up in such a contradictory accusation just screams tone deaf and anti-jason bias tbh, Nico legit said he considered jason as one of his first friend/supporter (apart from his sisters) in TSATS :') its like ppl keep throwing in these false stuff bc they WANT to find a reason to hate him. (dont take this as me saying you are not allowed to hate him or something cuz that would be quite hypocritical of me, wouldnt it? i just hate that ppl make up problematic hcs of him and push them as canon, it would taint non-reader's perception of him because of false info, what if a non reader stumbled across that comment and immediately figured that jason was indeed homophobic even when he wasn't?)

Also, can we please normalize NOT judging a person for their character preferences? I like jason and i am aware that its an unpopular take, but that doesnt make me any less of a pjo fan. The fandom seems pretty aggressive when we dont follow the popular opinion. i have seen multiple ppl pretend to hate jason simply bc they WANT to fit in and "look cool", since the fandom has a tendency to use Jason as a punching bag to insult like "he's a knockoff percy" or "he thinks he's so cool but he's not". or smth, so when people do claim jason as a favourite, a huge chunk of the fandom start belittling them and go like "really? Out of all characters, why jason?" Or "Percy/Leo is better, I don't understand why you like Jason"

okay thanks for coming to my ted talk. i am aware that i was yapping here. unfair Jason Grace slander does that to me.

[craftygobelin]

I decided not to create fan art or post about Good Omens (Tv Show) anymore.

This fandom was a great support for a long time for me and the book is still one of my favourites from the time I started reading compulsively everything from Sir Terry Pratchett, but I'm so pissed with the fandom right now.

The fact that the recent allegations against Neil Gaiman (I was a big fan of his work until I discovered that like every white cismen of his era with a bit of fame he is a piece of shit and think he can do what he wants to women) was barely covered is a thing and yes, it's pissing me off too.

But the fact that so many people in the fandom try to find excuses or justification for his action and don't participate to spread the information or just say nothing about it thinking you can be "neutral" is pissing me way more.

I don't judge people who want to separate his work from him or those who consider that a fandom, at the end, is more the propriety of the fans than the artist, I'm totally agreeing with the last one and I think they are ways to consume the work of problematic authors without giving them platform and money if you really cannot do without it.

BUT, and my big point is here, the issue I have with GO fandom right now it's that a big fandom like this has the possibility to spread the information and awareness pretty easily and right now people continue to post their fan art or fanfic without any infos about the allegations like nothing happened, that's bad! And don't start me with those who are more focused on if the last season will be released or not. It shouldn't be, not with him as screenwriter and executive producer at least and with a lot of money sent to SA associations and transparency about the situation.

It's giving him the possibility to keep the whole thing discret and make people forget about it. It's giving him the opportunity to have kind of a come back at some point, even a small discret one, and give him access to more women in the future who might not know what he did and what kind of man he is.

I don't say that people need to speak about it on every post, but at least, please :

- stop tagging Neil Gaiman in your fandom works (Good Omens, Sandman, ...fan art, fanfiction).

- stop posting, blazing, or reposting quotes from him, or giving him a platform by showing off his work.

- don't buy first hand or loan at the library his books or comics. Why the local library too ? When more people ask for a book at the library, they buy more copies, and in most of the countries, writers receive something when people loan ebooks at the library, even physical books sometimes.

If you really cannot live without merch products from your favourite fandom, then by all means buy those who are not licenced on etsy or other platforms by small artists. I usually don't recommend that, though I prefer not to buy merch at all if the original creator of the license can not be rewarded, and here it's a bad thing if he is.

- and speak about it. If you post fanfiction, post a disclaimer about the allegation at some point on every fanctiction you post, adding at least the two links of the two principles podcasts. Same when you post fanart on whatever platform it is.

That's all I have to say for now, I think.

[oliversrarebooks]

Are people under 18 allowed to interact with your blog/writing? D:

I'm assuming since you're asking this, you're under 18.

Please understand: I am old. I come from the days when, if you were under 18 on the internet, you sure as shit did not tell anyone. The sight of blogs with a minor's real age, face, location, and goddamn triggers makes me wince. Don't... don't do that.

I can't stop teenagers from reading my work, and for the most part, I think it's fine for teenagers to read, but then I'm the sort of person who thinks sixteen year olds should probably be reading mostly adult books.

That being said, while there is nothing sexually explicit on this blog, there is kink in both some of the stories and the reblogs. I would prefer not to interact with minors about kink for reasons that I hope are obvious.

Another reason why I mark my writing as 18+ is to avoid the "think of the children" brigade who loves to censor anything "problematic." My stories quite clearly contain slavery, dehumanization, brainwashing, abuse, and deeply unhealthy relationships. I intend these works for an audience that doesn't need it spelled out that These Things Are Bad. I write for an audience that can separate fantasy from reality and understand that being held captive by vampires is a fun and interesting scenario to think about, but not anything that would be remotely okay in real life. I want people to sympathize with Alexander while still recognizing he is keeping a man captive against his will, and not have to spell that out constantly.

Many teenagers are completely capable of understanding this nuance. Some aren't. (Some adults aren't, either.) But the 18+ signifier is to make it clear that these are not works for children intended to teach a moral lesson or provide healthy examples for life. These are works for adults who want to read about dark and taboo scenarios.

That's all a long-winded way of saying that what I want is for any teenage readers to be careful about what they're reading and who they're interacting with. Please be safe and don't message adult creators about sex or kink, both for their sake and yours.

[bloody-wonder]

2024 reading wrap up

january is almost over and yet the ghost of reading year past shall not rest untill i rank all the books👻📚

*the tiers are once again named after different things from the books featured on this list - see explanation below🙃 **the following series i read in full are represented only by one book respectively: doctrine of labyrinths, her instruments, the riverside trilogy, the memoirs of lady trent, the cemeteries of amalo, the stolen heir, the summer hikaru died, evander mills, page & sommers ***usually i don't rank rereads but since this year i had only two - the three musketeers and swordspoint - and they both ended up on the top tier i decided to add them for completeness' sake

so in 2024 i broke all my previous records in regards to the amount of books/pages read. my secret? being unemployed lol. but now that i have started my phd and got a full time job my reading is bound to decrease dramatically which is probably a good thing bc i feel like, while reading so much definitely helps you find more good books and authors faster, the downside is that stories stand out less, regardless of their quality. altho i do love every book i put on the top tier dearly, compared to the previous year's (smaller) selection this one seems quite homogeneous and sff focused. and 3 out of top 5 books/series are straight! who is responsible for this?!��

i did well on almost all my nerd ass challenges: finishing and continuing series, starting new ones, not neglecting standalone sff, reading widely in terms of genre and language, not putting off big intimidating books etc etc. i even completed my oldest challenge for the first time by finally managing to read five chunky classics in the span of one year - this won't be happening again any time soon😅 in the future i want to shift my focus to difficult historical novels instead bc i sure don't have enough brain space for both. where i "failed" on the other hand was reading nonfiction: i realized that no matter how much interest i have in the topic the only way i'm able to process factual information is if a trans youtuber dressed as a dominatrix or a cat or some sort of jester is telling it to me in an asmr voice. i'm not very good at encouraging myself to reread the things i want to reread either - hopefully that will change in 2025 so that i can finally reread aftg🪄

last year i tried blogging more about my current reads and it was fun while it lasted - now i sadly don't have time to do that anymore :( so my 2024 reading updates must remain unfinished. in any case, just by looking at this tier list i can come to the same conclusions i would've come to if i had reviewed each and every one of these books: niche sff is where it's at for me, older books are better written, and simply queer is not enough for me anymore - i need intricate mind games and rituals that transcend sexuality lol.

so if you know such books please rec them to me! and tell me about your reading year - by making a tier list, or writing a post or just sharing your fave 2024 reads like @oliviermiraarmstrongs tagged me to do. thank you btw😌💜

@figuringthengsout @fugitoidkry @pinkasrenzo @fandomreferencepending @counterwiddershins @magpiefngrl @sugarbabywenkexing @weirdsociology @theodoradove @doh-rae-me @venndaai @sixappleseeds

p.s. it just came to my knowledge that my year in books is still active. tagging everyone who wants to do this! :D

goodreads │ old yearly wrap ups 2020 2021 2022 2023 │ my book tag

✨explanation of the tier titles under the cut✨

obligation d'âme is a spell a wizard can cast on a person in sarah monette's doctrine of labyrinths that binds them "closer than lovers". it's very bdsm-coded and a tiny bit problematic bc the enchanted then has to do everything the wizard commands and they may or may not be referred to as slave🫢🙈 on the bright side tho it's very hot and gay🤷‍♀️ just like obligation d'âme these books have put me under their problematic spell🪄

peltedverse is the unofficial name of mca hogarth's sci fi universe populated by humans, human-animal hybrids, space elves and aliens, which has been steadily growing on me ever since i discovered the dreamhealers. in 2024 her instruments completely charmed me by its cast of loveable characters, wacky adventures and fairy-tale romance. it's not the best thought-out world but it has this home-cooked quality to it which i prefer to carefully calculated lore that makes 100% of sense all the time. and these books, while not as good as the ones in the upper tier, have still captured my heart😌

racallio ryndoon is an episodic character in george r.r. martin's fire & blood. he's a chaotic crossdressing bisexual pirate captain with purple hair who likes to be spanked by his wives, gives severed heads as a courting gift and will sell the right of safe passage through his waters for a kiss. all in all, a perfect character who is sadly present only for one short episode. i remember him fondly but i wish he had more to give - just like these books☠️🦜⛵

calliagnosia is a procedure ted chiang invented in his short story liking what you see: a documentary which enables people to turn off their perception of physical beauty - leading to less lookism-based discrimination at the cost of finding nobody hot lol (at least in their looks). the story follows the controversy around making calliagnosia obligatory in certain environments and just like the characters who can't seem to decide whether finding people hot or stopping discrimination is more important, i am of two minds on whether these books are actually good or not😅

gong bath is the preferred method of patient treatment of the sex therapist the main character of jen beagin's big swiss is working for. meaning: the patient rests on the couch while the therapist chants and strikes the gong he has in his office. just like gong bath, these books didn't harm me - but they didn't cure me either😐

the philosophers' colloquium is the crusty dusty male centered science academy that kept refusing to admit lady trent despite her outstanding contributions to the natural history of dragons😠 disappointing, overrated, ill-shampooed - just like these books🧐

life-sickness is something the inhabitants of hope mirrlees' lud-in-the-mist didn't realize they suffered from until they tried forbidden fairy fruit. these books were so disappointing, boring, annoying or offensive that they made me brain-sick, depressed and upset about the state of Literature😩

[yasmeensh]

Book rant? Anthropology, apes, and racism discussion.

I started reading a book titled "Bonobo Handshake" by Vanessa Woods. I picked it up because a) I want to learn more about bonobos since my knowledge of them is minimal. b) the author had interacted with bonobos in person so it's an interesting perspective to read. c) the book had positive reviews.

I was not expecting the author to start off telling us about the 'discovery' of bonobos in this way.

W-what do you mean, in Belgium? The author makes it clear that bonobos live in Congo and she gives us a few examples of local bonobo lore. Meaning, people in Congo know the bonobos very well. Way to go to give a colonizer the credit??? wtf. In this perspective, she is letting us know THAT was the moment when Bonobos entered western science, which is true. But I was really hoping the author would give it a more holistic view than this, but it seems she really believes in this??? And let me tell you, from what I am picking up between the lines, she ONLY accepts western science. Here is an example:

This is the page that confuses me immensely. I don't know if she is trying to come off as sarcastic or not. She sets out for us that Takayoshi Kano is the star of Bonobo research, but in the next paragraph says there is no one studying Bonobos. "there was never a Jane Goodall or Dian Fossey for bonobos." UHM NO? YOU JUST SAID THERE WAS???

[highlighting and writing over a picture of the page (32) since it's a library book and I can't write on it.]

She says Japanese researchers are responsible for all we know on Bonobos, but then starts talking about de Waal's zoo discoveries in detail, and they seem pretty minor compared to Kano's work with wild bonobos. She did point out that scientists don't take de waal's observations seriously because it's from a zoo, but she doesn't remedy that by telling us if it can be supported by Kano's work or not when compared. Kano is ignored. He does have one book available in English, so it's not like we can't ever learn about what he observed. you said western mainstream media don't want to listen to a man who only spoke Japanese??? UHM. You are too??? Why did you jump to de waal? If it's a book about bonobos, then please give Kano a little spotlight and tell about his research. (I actually want to read Kano's book now but I can't find a borrowable copy of it. It's a complicated long loop to get one. But it's possible T-T!!!!)

I very much dislike her tone in 'oh it's the Japanese that tell us about bonobo'. It is as if no one is actually researching them at all. They are 'foreign' so it doesn't count. Meanwhile, if it's a white person's discovery, it is humanity's. But if it's someone else theeennnn well we are not sure if it's actually real :/ Not until a white person observes this can we really put this into humanity's archive of knowledge. Otherwise, whatever they learnt is not very important or worth talking about.

I'm not gonna drop the book, because it does get me thinking about stuff and that's what I read books for. I guess it reminds me of University days, of how irritated I get when we are assigned a problematic reading to pick apart and present to class. I hope I'm not picking this apart too much 😭 I'm not sure if I'm enraged and reading too much into it. I might be totally wrong. idk... I think I need to join an anthropology book club to have people to talk with about this. Only way for now is to share on the internet and maybe a discussion starts. Want to see what others think of this (especially if they read the book).

[beebssources]

BO  BURNHAM:  INSIDE  SENTENCE  STARTERS! (Change  as needed.  NSFW  and  triggering  content  ahead.)

CONTENT "Interesting,  now  leave  me  alone." "Sorry  that  I  look  like  a  mess." "I  booked  a  haircut,  but  it  got  rescheduled." "Might  not  help,  but  still,  it  couldn't  hurt." "I'm  sorry  I  was  gone." "It's  a  beautiful  day  to  stay  inside."

COMEDY "What  the  fuck  is  going  on?" "It's  like  everything  happened  all  at  once." "Um,  what  the  fuck  is  going  on?" "The  more  I  look,  the  more  I  see  nothing  to  joke  about." "Should  I  leave  you  alone?" "Should  I  be  joking  at  a  time  like  this?" "The  world  is  so...  fucked  up." "Don't  panic." "Call  me  and  I'll  tell  you  a  joke." "I  swore  I'd  never  be  back,  but  now  I'm  back  on  my  feet."

FACETIME  WITH  MY  MOM  (TONIGHT) "Pour  me  a  drink  and  clear  my  schedule." "Oh,  look  who's  here." "How  you  doing,  bud?" "I'm  not  so  bad." "That's  the  deepest  talk  we've  ever  had."

HOW  THE  WORLD  WORKS "The  world  that's  around  us  is  pretty  amazing." "But  how  does  it  work?" "It  must  be  complicated." "Everything  works  together." "That  is  how  the  world  works." "That's  how  it  works." "Hey,  everyone." "Look  who  stopped  by  to  say  hello.  It's  [muse  name]!" "Where've  you  been,  [muse  name]?" "Not  quite  dead,  not  quite  alive." "It's  similar  to  a  constant  state  of  sleep  paralysis." "Boy,  that  sounds  complicated." "How  about  you  give  it  a  try?" "Don't  you  know  the  world  is  built  with  blood?" "That's  pretty  intense." "No  shit." "Read  a  book  or  something,  I  don't  know." "Just  don't  burden  me  with  the  responsibility  of  educating  you." "It's  incredibly  exhausting." "I  was  just  trying  to  become  a  better  person." "Wait,  wait,  wait,  no,  please!" "I  don't  want  to  go  back.  Please." "I  can't  go,  I  can't  go  back." "Are  you  gonna  behave  yourself?" "Yes,  what?" "Yes,  sir." "I  hope  you  learned  your  lesson."

WHITE  WOMAN'S  INSTAGRAM "Is  this  heaven?" "I  can't  believe  it." "It's  been  a  decade  since  you've  been  gone." "I  miss  you." "It's  got  a  little  better,  but  it's  still  hard." "Still  figuring  out  how  to  keep  living  with  you." "I  got  a  job  I  love  and  my  own  apartment." "I  got  a  boyfriend  and  I'm  crazy  about  him." "I'm  crazy  about  him."

UNPAID  INTERN "Who  needs  a  coffee?" "I'm  writing  down  the  orders  now  for  everyone." "The  coffee  is  free,  just  like  me." "I'm  an  unpaid  intern." "You  work  all  day,  go  back  to  your  dorm."

BEZOS  I/II "Come  on,  [muse  name],  you  can  do  it." "Pave  the  way,  put  your  back  into  it." "Tell  us  why." "Show  us  how." "Look  at  where  you  came  from." "Look  at  you  now." "Amateurs  can  fucking  suck  it." "You  did  it!" "Congratulations!"

SEXTING "It  isn't  sex,  it's  the  next  best  thing." "I'm  in  bed." "I'm  ready  to  go  with  you." "Tonight,  I'm  thinking  of  taking  it  slow." "That's  pretty  abstract." "Crisis  averted.  Thank  God." "Are  you  naked?" "I'm  getting  hot  at  just  the  thought  of  what  I'd  do  to  you." "I  love  you,  baby." "Send  a  picture  of  your  tits,  please." "Jesus  fucking  Christ,  I  guess  I  never  learn." "I  sent  my  titties,  that's  not  fair." "Another  night  on  my  own."

LOOK  WHO'S  INSIDE  AGAIN "There  isn't  much  more  to  say  about  it." "You'll  do  any  old  shit  to  get  out  of  it." "Try  telling  jokes." "Look  who's  inside  again." "Went  out  to  look  for  a  reason  to  hide  again." "Come  out  with  your  hands  up." "We've  got  you  surrounded."

PROBLEMATIC "Please  forgive  me." "I  did  not  realize  what  I  did." "Are  you  gonna  hold  me  accountable?" "Isn't  anybody  gonna  hold  me  accountable?" "I  wanna  show  you  how  I'm  growing  as  a  person." "I  tried  to  hide  behind  my  childhood,  and  that's  not  okay." "My  actions  are  my  own,  I  won't  explain  them  away." "I've  done  a  lot  of  self-reflecting." "I  was  totally  wrong  when  I  said  it." "My  bed  is  empty  and  I'm  getting  cold." "What  should  I  do  with  it?" "I've  been  totally  awful." "I'm  really  fucking  sorry."

30 "I  used  to  run  for  miles." "I  used  to  ride  my  bike." "I  used  to  wake  up  with  a  smile." "I'm  turning  thirty." "God  damn  it!" "Now,  my  stupid  friends  are  having  stupid  children." "I'll  be  forty  and  I'll  kill  myself  then."

DON'T  WANNA  KNOW "How  are  you  feeling?" "Do  you  like  the  show?" "Are  you  tired  of  it?" "Never  mind,  I  don't  wanna  know." "Are  you  finding  it  boring?" "Do  I  have  your  attention?" "Yes,  or  no?" "Are  you  on  your  phone?" "Is  there  anyone  out  there?" "Am  I  all  alone?" "It  wouldn't  make  a  difference." "I  thought  it'd  be  over  by  now."

SHIT "How  we  feeling  out  there  tonight?" "I  am  not  feeling  good." "Feeling  like  a  bag  of  shit." "All  my  clothes  are  dirty,  so  I'm  smelling  like  a  bag  of  shit." "OMG,  that  is  just  my  luck." "What's  up,  you  useless  fuck?" "Are  you  feeling  what  I'm  feeling?" "I  haven't  had  a  shower  in  the  last  nine  days." "Staring  at  the  ceiling  and  waiting  for  this  feeling  go  away." "It  won't  go  away." "I'm  not  really  feeling  like  I  wanna  get  lit." "Tell  us  how  you're  feeling." "Well,  I  feel  like  shit." "Feeling  like  a  saggy,  massive  sack  of  shit." "Big  ol'  motherfucking  duffle  bag  of  shit." "Are  you  feeling  like  shit?" "Tell  me,  are  you  feeling  like  shit?"

ALL  TIME  LOW "My  current  mental  health  is  rapidly  approaching  an  ATL.  Which  is,  um,  that's  an  all-time  low." "You  know,  I  feel  OK  when  I'm  asleep." "Like,  when  I'm  asleep,  I  feel  all  right." "It's  basically  from  the  moment  I  wake  up,  I  just  get  this  feeling  in  my  body,  way  down  deep  inside  me." "I  try  not  to  fight  it." "My  heart,  it  gets  to  tappin',  and  I  think  I'm  gonna  die." "Um,  yeah,  not  doing  great."

WELCOME  TO  THE  INTERNET "Have  a  look  around." "If  none  of  it's  of  interest  to  you,  you'd  be  the  first." "Come  and  take  a  seat." "There's  no  need  to  panic,  this  isn't  a  test." "Just  nod  or  shake  your  head  and  we'll  do  the  rest." "Be  happy,  be  horny,  be  bursting  with  rage." "Don't  act  surprised." "Could  I  interest  you  in  everything  all  of  the  time?" "Apathy's  a  tragedy  and  boredom  is  a  crime." "You  know?  It  wasn't  always  like  this." "We  set  our  sights  and  spent  our  nights  waiting  for  you." "Now,  look  at  you.  Look  at  you." "If  we  stick  together,  who  knows  what  we'll  do?"

THAT  FUNNY  FEELING "I  can't  really  play  the  guitar  very  well,  or  sing." "Apologies." "The  backlash  to  the  backlash  to  the  thing  that's  just  begun." "There  it  is  again,  that  funny  feeling." "The  whole  world  at  your  fingertips,  the  ocean  at  your  door." "Full  agoraphobic,  losing  focus,  cover  blown." "The  quiet  comprehending  of  the  ending  of  it  all." "Hey,  what  can  you  say?  We  were  overdue." "It'll  be  over  soon,  you  wait."

ALL  EYES  ON  ME "Get  your  fuckin'  hands  up." "Get  on  out  of  your  seats." "All  eyes  on  me,  all  eyes  on  me." "Are  you  feeling  nervous?" "Are  you  having  fun?" "It's  almost  over." "It's  just  begun." "Don't  overthink  this,  look  in  my  eye." "Don't  be  scared,  don't  be  shy." "Come  on  in,  the  water's  fine." "Heads  down,  pray  for  me." "You  wanna  hear  a  funny  story?" "I've  been  hiding  from  the  world,  and  I  need  to  re-enter." "You  say  the  ocean's  rising  like  I  give  a  shit." "You  say  the  whole  world's  ending.  Honey,  it  already  did." "Get  inside."

GOODBYE "So  long." "Goodbye." "I'll  see  you  when  I  see  you." "You  can  pick  the  street." "I'll  meet  you  on  the  other  side." "Do  I  really  have  to  finish?" "Did  I  say  that  right?" "So,  this  is  how  it  ends." "I  promise  to  never  go  outside  again." "I'm  slowly  losing  power." "Has  it  only  been  an  hour?" "No,  that  can't  be  right." "Hey,  here's  a  fun  idea!" "Am  I  going  crazy?" "Am  I  right  back  where  I  started?" "I'll  panic." "Call  me  up  and  tell  me  a  joke." "You're  really  joking  at  a  time  like  this?"

ANY  DAY  NOW "It  will  stop  any  day  now." "Any  day  now."

[cielcreations]

"Slay The Prince" - Prologue: The Hero and The Prince

AN: So I'll probably only be posting this one chapter to Tumblr, just because I want to color coordinate all the text (as if I don't have enough work for myself, lmao), and Tumblr is very limited with what you can and can't do.

However, I will not be leaving y'all empty handed. If you want to read the full book/future chapters, here's the link to the AO3 page, where there will be a rainbow of colors, different fonts, and more exciting stuff. This is literally my passion project, so please enjoy!

"You're on a path in the woods." A voice told him, causing the man to look over. A man with dirty blonde hair, pale skin, and glowing green eyes rested on a nearby boulder. He was dressed in a simple black suit with a red tie, scarlet macaw wings on his back. He smiled at the man, "And at the end of that path, is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a prince."

He looked up at the path of trees, the wind blowing leaves around, the twigs lifting themselves a bit and flowing with the wind. The path up the hill was steep, with dirt and gravel leading him up towards the cabin. The trees were bent in such a way, beckoning him to come closer.

A prince really lived up there?

"You're here to slay him. If you don't, it will be the end of the world."

The man looked back at the other, confused, "The end of the world? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the end of everything as we know it. No more birds, no more trees, and, perhaps, the most problematic, no more people. You have to put an end to him."

"But how can a prince, locked away in a basement, end the world?"

"Don't... linger on the specifics." The avian brushed him off, "You have a job to do here. Just get in there and do what needs to be done. We're all counting on you."

"Do you have any evidence to back this up?"

The avian sighed, "Look, you're already on the path that leads to the cabin. Why would you be here if you weren't to complete a very important task?"

The man blinked, thinking.

"You've made it this far, you might as well reach the end of your journey."

"...How did I even get here?"

"Does that matter? You got here and that's a fact. You got here because of your task that needed to be done. Who cares about the how. Let's focus on the now."

The man stared for a second, before asking his next question, "Have you considered that maybe the only reason he's going to end the world is because he's locked up?"

"While I appreciate the mental exercise, we are running up against a bit of a ticking clock." The avian groaned. He then sighed, "Nevertheless, let me assure you; the prince is locked up because he's dangerous. He's not dangerous because he is locked up." The man went to say something, but the avian stood, holding his hand up as he began walking around him, "And before you decide to waste even more of our time by asking how I know that, let me suggest a more pragmatic lens through which to view this situation." Once he stood in front of the man again, he looked up, glowing green eyes digging into his skull, "Causality doesn't matter here because the end result is the same, no matter what led us up to this point. If the prince leaves the cabin, the world will end, and there is no changing that. It's no use arguing semantics over a metaphorical chicken-or-egg, because the egg is hatched and it's about to ruin everything."

The avian then smiled and poked the man's chest, "Unless, of course, you do your job and slay him!"

"Killing a prince seems kind of bad, though, doesn't it?" The man crossed his arms over his chest, a bit uncomfortable.

"Does it? Are you a monarchist?" The avian hummed, beginning to circle him again, "Is slaying a prince that much worse than slaying a fisherman or a miller or a seamstress? If anything, slaying a prince is much better than slaying a fisherman! A fisherman contributes something valuable to society."

"Can't someone else do this?"

"Oh, if only that were the case, but, atlas, I do not make the rules!" He hummed again, his hand going to his chin, "I have to say, I'm surprised at your reluctance thus far. But, unfortunately for the both of us, you're the only one who can pull this off! Like I said, I don't make the rules." He sighed, stopping in his tracks, looking at the dirt, "No matter how much I wish I did..."

"Do I get some sort of reward for doing this?" The man huffed.

"Yes, but you'll have to slay him before you get it."

"Can't you tell me what my prize will be for doing a good job?"

"It's a secret, but I think you'll like it~! It's a special reward, just for you!" The avian winked, "And whatever you think it might be, I can promise you, it's going to be even better!"

The man continued to hesitate, "Have you considered that maybe I'm okay with the world ending?" He shrugged.

"Of course I haven't. Why would I even consider that? Nobody wants the world to end!" The avian huffed, his wings growing stiff as he narrowed his eyes. He then thought for a second, "...Well, I mean, maybe some people do, like nihilists or very, very, very evil people. But surely, you're not one of those, right?"

The man shrugged, "Forget it, I'm not doing it."

"Are you serious? No, you have to do it." The avian hissed.

The man narrowed his eyes, "Okay, look, I'll go to the cabin and I'll talk to him and if he's as bad as you say he is, then maybe I'll slay him. But I'm not committing to anything until I've had the chance to meet him face to face."

The avian spun around, turning into a scarlet macaw and landing on the man's shoulder, "Then I guess we'll have to see what happens. But, a word of warning? If you go in prepared to hear him out, he could easily trap you in his web of lies. And the more you listen to his honeyed words, the harder it'll be the pull yourself out." He then whispered in the man's ears, "Then each and every one of us is doomed."

The man stiffened.

"So, sure, go and talk to him! See how that turns out for all of us!"

The man shook his head, ignoring him as he made his way up the path. Upon doing so, he reached the bottom of the hill. Looking up, he saw a nice, normal, wooden cabin.

"You make your way up the short path to the cabin."

"Are you just going to narrate everything I do?" The man asked with a hiss.

"Hey, that's my job! My job is to say the facts!" The avian hissed back, huffing, "You'll find the prince within!"

"We're not going to go through with this, right?" Another voice asked, the two turning. Beside him was a brunette man with tan skin and yellow eyes, wearing a black prince coat with golden buttons and a yellow trim, black jeans, black boots, and a black cape with a yellow trim and yellow i on it. He had a sword strapped to his side, but he didn't touch it. He looked at the man, a look of concern on his face, "I mean, he's a prince, right? Aren't heroes suppose to save princes and princesses? Not slay them!"

The Narrator, the avian, flew and landed on the Hero's shoulder, turning into his human self again. He pinched the brunette's cheek, smirking, "Ignore him! He doesn't know what he's talking about!"

The brunette glared at the avian, "You always did annoy me, Narrator."

The dirty blonde just smiled, sitting on the Hero's shoulder, his new perch.

The man hesitated, staring at the two before looking at the cabin, hesitantly proceeding.

"The interior of the cabin is almost entirely bare. The air is stale and musty and the floor and walls are painted in a layer of dust. The only furniture of note is a plain wooden table. Perched on the table is a pristine blade." The Narrator explained, "The blade is your implement. You'll need it if you want to do this right."

The man hesitated before taking the knife.

"You take the blade from the table. It'd be rather difficult to slay the prince and save the world without it."

The man slowly opened the door.

"The door to the basement creaks open, revealing a staircase faintly illuminated by an unseen light in the room below. This is an oppressive place. The air feels heavy and damp, a hint of rot filtering from the ancient wood." The Narrator chuckled, "If the prince really lives down here, slaying him is probably doing him a favor."

The man and Hero glared at him.

"Who's there?" A voice called.

"He sounds... dangerous." The Hero commented, "It's almost as if he's the one in charge down here."

"He will do anything if it means setting himself free. He will lie, cheat, and steal, anything he thinks he needs to do to run." The Narrator grew serious, "Do not let it fool you. It's all part of the manipulation."

The man ignored them, answering the voice, "Uh, just checking in on you?"

"Oh? It's been so long since anyone's come down here. I was starting to think they forgot about me." His voice carried in a calculated way.

The man walked down the stairs, the Narrator continuing his... narration.

"You walk down the stairs and lock eyes with the prince. There's a heavy chain around his wrist, binding him to the wall of the basement." 

The man stared, holding the knife, looking over the prince. He had dirty blonde hair, though his was brighter than the Narrator's, as if the sun was somehow shining down on his hair, despite being down here. His eyes were a beautiful ocean blue, calculated, reserved, secretive as he stared at the man. His skin had a nice tan to it, freckles dancing across his body, wearing a simple white button up blouse, black jeans, and white socks, a small golden crown resting on his head.

On his back were two beautiful, golden yellow wings.

"He's so... coldly beautiful..." The Hero spoke, "Is he really a threat to the world?"

"Focus on the task at hand." The Narrator hissed.

The prince lifted his head, a sneer appearing on his face, "And there you are. Are you here to kill me or something?"

"I'm... just here to talk." The man tried to reassure.

"Oh? Then why did you bring a knife?" The prince accused before smirking, "How about you drop it and then we can chat."

"He makes a compelling point. What if we just drop the blade and talked?" The Hero motioned to the prince, "Look at him! He's not a threat!"

"Don't you dare!" The Narrator warned.

"It's fine. We can decide what we want to do after we talk to him. Maybe he really is a monster, but killing someone in cold blood isn't very becoming of us."

The man dropped the knife, "There."

The Narrator sighed, "The blade tumbles out of your trembling hands and drops to the floor with an unceremonious clang."

"Thank you." The prince mocked, "Maybe now we can just... talk."

The man ignored his quip, "May I step forward?"

"My, my, so polite." The prince motioned to the place in front of him, "Go right ahead. But try anything and it will not end good for you."

"Against your better judgement, you step forward to speak with the prince. Face to face. Unarmed." The Narrator groaned, making his disdain known.

"We'll be fine." The Hero reassured.

"I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish here, but I can assure you there's no reasoning with him!" He sighed, "Just make sure you don't forget about the blade on the floor. You're going to need it."

"So, here we are." The prince looked away, but still kept his guard up, "What an awkward way to start a relationship."

"What's your name?" The man asked.

The prince looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He then puffed out his chest and wings, "You may call me your royal highness, his majesty, or any other honorific, really."

"Uh, yeah..." The man looked away.

"I mean, what did you expect? He's a prince." The Hero reminded.

".....Solidarity..."

The man looked back up, the prince looking at the floor, "...Or you may call me Solidarity..." He looked up again, "...And you?"

"Oh, I'm Impulse- oh, wait, sorry..." The Hero chuckled.

"...I go by Tango." The man smiled.

"...Tango, huh... Interesting name. I don't think I've heard of you before." He then snickered to himself, "Then again, I've been down here for so long, I might've forgotten."

"Just long has he been down here?" Impulse, the Hero, questioned.

"Too long. Which is why you must slay him!" The Narrator hissed, looking at his nails.

Tango asked, "So, um, how would I go about getting you out of here?"

"You can't, don't bother."

"I'm guessing you don't have the key, then? I'm sure there's a key somewhere around here. And, if there isn't, well... we could put that knife to good use."

"He isn't suggesting what I think he's suggesting, right...?" Impulse asked.

"He is, I'm sure of it."

Tango ignored the two, "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Ohoho, hero, are you?" Solidarity snickered, "Don't bother. You were sent here to kill me, right? Do you even know why?"

"...You're meant to end the world."

"DON'T JUST TELL HIM THAT!" The Narrator yelled.

The blonde prince laughed hysterically, "Ahahahahaha! Is that why they threw me down here?!" He giggled maniacally, "If I'm supposed to be capable of ending the world, then how did I wind up here, chained to a wall? Have they told you why I'm allegedly so 'dangerous~?'"

"No. They haven't. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."

"Ending the world seems like an awful lot for just one person to do. I wouldn't even know where to start!" He hummed, "However, at the end of the day, whatever the two of us have going on down here is about trust. Whoever sent you to 'slay me,' claimed I was a threat to the world, but didn't tell you why. That doesn't sound right to me, and I'm sure it doesn't sound right to you, which is why you dropped the knife and why we're talking." The prince then smiled brightly, "I could easily say I'd love to just live a nice, peaceful, quiet life in a cottage in a flower field, or how I'd like to open up a ranch with a ton of chickens, cows, sheep, horses, maybe even a couple of cats!" Solidarity's smile fell, face going cold, "But what good is my word? I can say any number of 'good things' or things I think you want to hear, but at the end of the day, you don't know me. So what good is my word in a situation like this?" He then looked down at his nails, "It's all about blind trust. And tell me, who do you trust? The prisoner, the victim, the prince clearly incapable of ending the world? Or do you trust whoever put me down here?"

"Okay, I think we've talked enough." Tango stood.

"Oh? Have you figured out what you want to do with me?" Solidarity raised an eyebrow, body stiff, still on guard.

"You know what you have to do!" The Narrator exclaimed.

Tango grabbed the chains, looking over them, "I'm getting you out of here."

"What- You've got to be kidding me!"

The prince looked up at him with wide eyes before smiling slightly.

The Narrator groaned, "You walk up to the chains binding the prince to the wall and give them a tug. They're large and heavy, far too solid for you to even imagine trying to break them apart."

"Damn." Tango hissed.

"If you don't have the key, maybe you should go looking for it. I'm sure it's somewhere upstairs."

"Doubtful. Only thing up there was a table and the knife."

"Yes because whoever threw him down here intended to keep him here, never wanting him to see the light of day again." The Narrator hissed.

"Oh? Then I don't mind loosing an arm." Solidarity spoke with complete nonchalance.

"If we were stuck down here for long enough, I'm sure we'd be nonchalant about cutting our way out. Anything to finally be free." Impulse shrugged.

"I'll be right back." Tango reassured, going to the stairs.

"You attempt to make your way out of the basement-" The Narrator leaned against the wall, a smirk on his face as the door slammed closed, "-buuuuuuuut the door at the top of the stairs slams shut. You hear the click of a lock sliding into place."

"Is someone else here?" Impulse asked.

Tango ran up the stairs, trying the door, banging on it, "Hey! Who's there?! Let me out!"

"You're not leaving until your job is done."

"You set us up!" Impulse hissed.

Tango made his way back down the stairs, Solidarity looking at him.

"Seems you're locked down here as well." The prince commented.

"It would have been soooooo much easier if you'd simply slain her like you were suppose to!"

"Easier for who?"

"Easier for��everyone."

"I'm really sorry..." Tango apologized.

"No matter. The knife." Solidarity pointed to it, "Pick it up and cut me out of here."

Tango hesitated, but did as he was told. He grabbed the knife and took the blade. He put the edge of the knife against the prince's skin.

"What're-?! Uggggh, against your better judgement, you place the blade against the prince's arm, just above the massive, unyielding chain. The blade is sharp and you make quick work of it. Before long, you're able to crack through bone. Soon enough, he pulls the bleeding stub of his arm through the iron gauntlet."

"He didn't so much as utter a sound..." Impulse said with concern.

Solidarity stood up.

"Free from his bindings, the prince turns to face you, his fierce gaze meeting your eyes."

"A-Are you okay?" Tango asked.

"Fine." The prince responded.

"How is he so composed after loosing an arm? It's like he's not even bothered by it!"

"Thank you. Now, let's go." Solidarity began to walk to the stairs.

Tango followed after him.

"No. We won't have any of that." Tango felt his body freeze up, unable to react. The Narrator held his wrists and Tango suddenly felt like he was merely wearing a suit of his body, unable to control it, "The stakes are too high, you can't just let him escape into the world! I can't just let him escape into the world!" The man watched as the prince approached the bottom stair, "As the prince approaches the bottom stair, your body steps forward and raises the blade."

As the man narrated, Tango felt himself sluggishly preforming the action.

"Wait, this isn't fair!" The man watched as Impulse's hand grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him, "You can't just do that!"

"Watch me."

Tango struggled but choked out, "M-MOVE!"

"Stop that."

"I thought this was a little too easy..." Solidarity murmured.

The Narrator growls, "Your body lunges forward to sink the blade into her back, but the prince swiftly moves out of the way before you can connect." He hissed, "Stop resisting me!"

"R-R-Run-!" Tango choked out, attempting to stab Solidarity again, the prince dodging one more.

"I am trying to get you out of here alive!"

The man held his own wrist down, struggling against it, Impulse trying to help him fight the Narrator, "P-Please-! Get a-away!"

"The blade! Move. The. Blade!"

"You're doing your best to help me, aren't you?" The prince asked softly. He gently tilted Tango's head up, the two meeting one another's eyes, "I can see the conflict in your eyes." He cupped Tango's cheek, "I'll make this quick."

"He steps forward and pries the blade from your rigid hands." The Narrator sighed, giving up control.

"Maybe I'll see you in another life?"

"And then he slits your throat with an almost clinical ease."

Tango sputtered, coughing as he grabbed his throat. He fell forward, Solidarity catching him. He gently fell to his knees, holding Tango in his lap as the other bled.

"His face remains unchanging as you both fall to the ground, blood flowing from your butchered neck."

Tango looked up, seeing an unreadable, blank expression placed on the prince's face. Behind him, stood the Narrator and Impulse, the brunette covering his mouth in shock.

"T-This... This is the end, isn't it?" Impulse asked.

"I'm afraid it is." The Narrator closed his eyes, with a sigh.

Tango looked at the prince, who smiled softly at him. Gently, Solidarity closed his eyelids.

"Everything goes dark, and you die. I hope it was worth it."

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"You're on a path in the woods-

[jaeyunverse]

into the fandomverse | an enhypen collab call

welcome to into the fandomverse, a collaboration project for all engenes who enjoy writing on tumblr. i recently hit 3k followers and am hosting this event in celebration of said milestone. all details about the collab are under the cut. i hope you consider joining and spread the word so that your friends can join too :’)

collab masterlist

𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗠𝗘:

the general theme of the collab is that your fic should be set up in an alternate universe that already exists in a movie, show, book, game, comic, kdrama or anime. for example: harry potter x enhypen, haikyuu x enhypen, shadowhunters x enhypen etc. it really doesn’t matter what crossover or universe you choose as long as it is not problematic :)

𝗥𝗨𝗟𝗘𝗦:

there are 21 slots in total i.e three for each member.

slots will be given on a first come, first serve basis so that the allotment is fair.

explicit smut is NOT allowed. implied smut is permitted ONLY for the HYUNG LINE—it goes without saying that you must be an adult if you wish to include anything nsfw in your submission.

member x reader and member x oc are the only pairings allowed. no member x member fics! remember to be inclusive of all races and body types if you are writing a x reader fic.

appearances of members other than the one you have chosen are allowed, but please make sure that the main focus of the fic is your chosen member!

your fic can include sensitive subjects as long as they are not romanticized, portrayed in bad light or represented incorrectly. also, please make sure to put proper trigger warnings above the read more cut once you post your fic.

no racism, ableism, homophobia or similar prejudices. you will be removed from the collab if you are found guilty of harboring them.

the code word is fandom. please mention it while applying for a spot so that i know you have gone through the rules.

the minimum word count is 1k. there is no maximum word count so feel free to let your imagination run free. please note that drabbles, blurbs, reactions, headcanons, series, smaus and timestamps will not be accepted. oneshots only!

plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

be respectful and kind to the other members who are a part of the collab. no hate will be tolerated.

this is not a rule but it would be nice if you had a discord account. i have made a server for easy communication and interaction between the collab members. it’s okay if you do not have an account!! i will update you through tumblr dms :’)

if you have any further queries, don't hesitate to dm me <3

𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗢 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬:

applications will be accepted through tumblr asks.

make sure to include your chosen member + fandom + the code word hidden in this post while sending in your application.

after your application has been accepted, please reblog this post to spread the message :D

𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦/𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗟𝗦:

the tentative deadline for posting your entry for the collab is 30th september, 2024.

the deadline is mostly for namesake and you are free to post your submission whenever you want, but please do not take undue advantage of the time flexibility.

i understand if you want to withdraw your application from the collab but please think carefully before applying.

𝗦𝗟𝗢𝗧𝗦

HEESEUNG: @hanverse (twd) | @flwrshee (25/21) | @boyfhee (extraordinary you) | @tarcherz (ever after high)

JAY: @soobisms (saiki k.) | @junityy (before sunrise) | @lheewonz (demon slayer) | @4xiaojun (maid sama!)

JAKE: @geombyu (fire force) | @hsgwrld (business proposal) | @notthatsamkim (cinderella) | @haesbit (kim possible)

SUNGHOON: @seongclb (hp) | @soobnny (aouad) | @ijhyo (enola holmes) | @hoondrive (spiderman)

SUNOO: @invvuu (tbhk) | @redm4ri (stargirl) | @sunny-reis (the girl who fell beneath the sea) | @enheaven (vampire academy)

JUNGWON: @yjwfav (jjk) | @haknom (see you in my 19th life) | @misojunnie (10 things i hate about you) | @jaeminri (summer strike)

RIKI: @jaeyunverse (spiderman) | @cinnajun (pjo) | @jennaissantes (our beloved summer) | @tyunni (13 going on 30)

[twstcallouts]

Look I’m french. When I was a kid my school made me read Greek mythology books with graphic rape and incest galore and I turned out fine ?? It’s fake, no one is being harmed and if people can simp for fictional murderers they can as well do so for weird sex kink (expecially since anime boys don’t look like children at all, you could tell me they are actually 30 and I’ll believe it easily). Also if you’re in a fandom built around a work made by someone whose into problematic stuff I feel it’s very hypocritical to criticize those people.

Finally I think callouts post are always evil, probably because I hang out with enough queer people who go false accusations of serious crimes because of petty shit and were harassed into nervous breakdowns and depression 🤷‍♂️

degenerate, filthy and disgusting used in the context you do is always a giant red flag btw

(Also my cat is the cutest ever and I will gladly die for her)

Look, my main take away from this is that you think everyone has the same experiences as you and that you feel everyone should cater to your thoughts and feelings. I'm not here to do that, not to you or anyone. Plain and simple.

I want you to THINK about this. Don't skim it, don't read it and think immediately of what to say back, just take your time to digest this.

Do the creators you follow and defend TRULY care about whether you defend them or not? Are they sending you out to fight for them? What do you GAIN, from defending them? Does the content you consume help you in becoming the best version you can be, or does it provide you with a fraction of a moments' satisfaction? Do you surround yourself with people that care about your actual happiness and uplift you when you need it, but give you advice and sometimes even call YOU out on behavior that is harmful to you or others? The call may be coming from inside the house.

My call outs don't discriminate, they target anyone who fits into the criteria.

"Also if you’re in a fandom built around a work made by someone whose into problematic stuff I feel it’s very hypocritical to criticize those people."

I'll be frank with you, since you blog says 21+. Do you know the innermost thoughts and feelings of Yana Toboso? Are you sure she doesn't include some content because a higher up told her to, or because some people are willing to pay more for said content? I don't know the answers to these questions, and I sincerely do not care to know. You may not know the meaning of hypocrisy. Google defines it as :"the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behavior does not conform; pretense". My behavior is not hypocritical, since I don't cheer on Toboso's past actions, or even present ones. I play Twisted Wonderland because it's cute and entertaining, not because I want to make "ships" or "headcanons" on characters. Whatever the reason people play for, is not my business, only when they cross a line is when I get involved.

You keep making assumptions about me, and I don't think it is fair. I don't make any about you, I only go by what you tell me. Please try to do the same. Thank you.

[billowingangel]

Why are you "new to the harry potter fandom?" Why would you intentionally get into something made by a violent white supremacist terf

Hello Anon,

I would say I did not intentionally get into harry potter. I had read the books as a kid like most other people and to be frank I wasn't a fan of them or her writing. But I began to really attach myself to some of the characters from that god forsaken bookseries. I would daydream of self inserting myself in that world so I could interact with him, I used it as a coping skill.

At times my attachment to said characters returns in a wave. And I've been wanting to write some fanfiction about said characters. I never have before because I was ashamed I liked any characters from harry potter.

But on this Tumblr I've been trying to let go of shame and guilt I feel for liking certain problematic media.

I would like to write some fanfiction, look at some fanart, of characters and ships from harry potter and meet others who also like it.

I know I shouldn't like Harry Potter because JK Rowling is a disgusting and repulsing person but I don't want to surpress this because, personally, that leads to me liking the media even more and obsessing even further. This will pass and the enjoyment I feel for these characters will dwindle until the wave comes again.

I would like to make it crystal clear I do not like JK Rowling. I despise her.

She's an awful horrible person whose comeuppance is coming.

I do not condone or endorse JK Rowling.

I have not read any of her newer books, the cursed child, any of the side books, or anything like that. I know though by talking about Harry Potter that is spreading her proweress even further and I am sorry.

I’m sorry I am doing something fucked up on my fucked up blog. I don't want to like Harry Potter, fuck I don't even like his character, but I do and I don't want to hate myself for that.

I don't want to feel ashamed for like Harry Potter or Hetalia.

If the fact I want to engage in the fandom of Harry Potter makes you uncomfortable-

Please block me

I apologize if any of this sounds like an attack, or that I was being too defensive, for years now I’ve hated and hidden what I like even from myself and its tiring. I am also exhausted so I am longer winded. I have reread this to try and see if it makes any sense but it may not and it is what it is. You may think of me as a horrible person for liking something made by a horrible person and that's ok! You may despise me and that's ok! But please let me just enjoy something.

I am sorry that I made this post about me instead of being about how awful and disgusting Joanna K Rowling and I am sorry. She disgusts me, I looked her up just now so I can spell out her name because she shouldn't be able to hide behind the initials of JK.

Anyway anon I hope this post is a sufficient explanation as to why I was looking for friends who also like this shit from an awful and disgustingly ignorant violent white supremacist transphobic person.

I fear I could keep just going and rambling because I am tired and my words just keep flowing. Please know this too anon, I am sickened by myself for liking this as well.

Edit 1: 10/21 09:40 - I'm sorry for how long this is and how passionate I sound in it, and if I sound all "oh pity me" it's just for years now I've had to hide and suppress the things I like (hetalia and harry potter). I was told liking either (especially hetalia) was problematic and made me an awful person. So I'm a bit sensitive about all this.

[aceadmiral]

i actually would be incredibly interested in reading even just a list of everything that was wrong with 'a quick and easy guide'

Oh, boy, I'm not even sure I could make a list of everything that was wrong with it... but you know I will try! :3

Factual Errors

The Demi flags on the cover have the wrong size stripes. Yes, you read right: this book is so bad, even the cover is wrong

They define the "asexual spectrum" to mean sex-averse/indifferent/favorable???

And then they call sex-favorable "sex-charmed"?????? And also "sex-enthused"

And they equate being gray-a to being sex favorable in some way, which is. Certainly a take.

They make a chart of "the Split Attraction Model" (already problematic) that's the first cartesian quadrant with an x-axis labeled "Romance" and a y-axis labeled "Sexual" and then put the tiniest, tiniest little circle around (0,0) to say that's where aroaces are.

There's a weird Pride and Prejudice metaphor that I think is incorrect to the source material, but I'm not an Austen expert and I see inexplicable P&P references more often than one would imagine, so we can let this one slide....

Bad Writing/Praxis

They say: "If you're not asexual, you're allosexual, be you gay, straight, or anywhere on the spectrum." Uhhhhh last I checked, people on the asexual spectrum are asexual. Or, this could just be really poorly written. They come back later to say that there are "just ace people and allo people" though.

They say that asexuality means not experiencing sexual attraction and nothing else—which is at odds with the way most community members actually define it

They also clumsily hit the talking point about "being ace doesn't stop me from from wanting to have a loving relationship or a family"

In fact, they hit a lot of cliché talking points, including some that have been criticized, but I guess... that's not... a crime....

There's an exploration of asexual "stereotypes" that I found to be confusing and incomplete

They call sex a "basic human need" which... is not helping

There's a conversation about whether or not aces are welcome in "LGBTQIA+" spaces, which didn't sit right with me, but also.... consult the acronym you have used.........

They call the OED "English's Boss," which I take exception to because no dictionary is the boss of English!!

Overall lack of nuance and accepts normative framing instead of challenging it.

Also, this book is only 72 pages long, and also a comic. So if you do the math, I was hitting on something that made me upset on nearly every page. Like, I don't deny I can be nit-picky and also a crab, but please believe me this book was egregiously misinformed. I hope this is helpful to you, or at least amusing 😔🙏 Thank you for the ask!

[dootznbootz]

I know we love our morally gray characters. But the internet kinda ruined Circe for me.

Let me explain.

I remember I actually used to really like Circe's character when I first read the Odyssey last year. I loved her as a "helpful antagonist type" character.

But what ruined her character for me was everybody calling her a "girlboss" or just simping for her in a way? But they completely disregard the fact she technically raped a man. (But no one cares about that because male SA victims never get taken seriously, especially in media smh)

Now, I can never experience Circe as the same character because all I see is a terrible person being glorified because of her gender. And then people say double standards don't exist!

Which I hate cause she's a genuinely cool character. (From a writing standpoint)

Circe isn't a bad character let me be clear (in the Odyssey anyway. Cough cough Madeline Mil-) But I just hate how people romanticize her completely ignoring her terrible actions. And to think it's all just because she's a "hot badass female".

And this isn't just about Odysseus either, there's literally a myth where she tries to seduce a man, but when he remains faithful she turns him into a woodpecker-

People can like her CHARACTER, however, they should still acknowledge her bad actions too and hold her accountable. If we can all agree it's shitty what Zeus did to a bunch of women, we can also agree what Circe did to Odysseus was shitty.

Women sexually assaulting men is just as inhumane as vice versa and we have to stop turning a blind eye about it, even if it's fictional.

And I feel like people WOULD actually hold her accountable if she was a male character. Which makes me even more angry.

Maybe this is just a me thing, but I just can't fawn over a character and call them hot when they've done something as bad as some of the things Circe has done.

So, I guess what you could get out of this-

Please stop romanticizing circe.

Hold her accountable as you would any other character.

Don't be so forgiving just because you find her attractive.

Anyways, thank you for coming to my Ted talk and sorry for ranting

honestly yeah, all of this.

I sadly had to block Circe's tag on tumblr because it pisses me off how much people glorify her and/shittalk Odysseus with it. (I trust my friends when they have Circe content lol)

I love Circe as well. She's such an interesting and fun character but how people twist her just fucks with me so much. Also to make HER a victim just for girlbossness? What's so girlboss about having such a horrific thing happen to you?

I said it in a different post but you can thirst for Circe without making fun of her victim. People will call a victim of rape a manwhore or a slut as if what happened to him was a grand ol time. It's genuinely disturbing. He is shown to have PTSD from it (in my opinion) in the Odyssey. This book is ancient and yet it captures that better than anything I've read.

Odysseus isn't necessarily a wholesome, "goody-to-shoes" man. He does a lot of awful things. That doesn't mean that the suffering he went through is suddenly negated.

Even bringing up stuff with female characters, the fact that people will water them down so then they're not "problematic" pisses me off. Women can be horrible, even good women. Penelope is my fave but she's pretty awful in many ways.

Evidence will be right in front of people and they won't care. Crying, begging to go, fear, avoidance, numbness, etc. There'll be excuses anyway. "He's a guy, he's fine with it." "Men are sex crazed, especially back then." "He didn't try hard enough." "He should be grateful."

Honestly? What saddens me the most is that I don't think people will ever really understand what happened or even WANT to because they have their own idea in their head and refuse to see it for what it is. I mean Hades game did it too. It's really sad.

Circe and him weren't fwb. They weren't lovers. What about "heart full of grim forebodings" screams love? He wanted to save his friends and go home.

[buggywiththefolkmagic]

Personal Do Not Read Witchy Author List

There will be a google doc with updates as I find more authors to avoid. These are all my own personal opinion and I do take the author's actions into account when judging their ability to write legitimate information.

TW: Slavery, serial killers, racism, TERFs, creeps, neonazis, asylums, and a slew of other super unsavory things. I tried to make this list as PG as possible while highlighting the issues with these individual people. 

*Alestier Crowley. *

   He's a literal piece of garbage. Misogynistic, thief of a toooon of closed practices, has entire cults still dedicated to him, called himself a voice of God (both Abrahamic and apparently like 5 Egyptian deities??? I mean excuse me sir how about no??) He also declared himself ‘above’ Gods back in 1922 calling himself Ipssissimus. I hate Crowley so much I have literally stuck a picture of him to a dartboard before. He can suck an egg in the afterlife. He also put his own wife in an asylum for 'alcoholism’ because she wanted a divorce. The only thing he ever did right was get kicked down a flight of stairs at a temple once by a poet.

*Anastasia Greywolf*

   Appropriates at least Jewish practices if not every Indigenous practice there is. Wholeheartedly encourages people to use magic instead of going to a doctor for things like oh I dunno EPILEPSY And claims she has spells for like Marvel-level super powers which uh no Ana. You don't. Lots of Christianity for a supposedly FULL pagan and wiccan author. Her spells are all controlled like...so wrong. So, so wrong. Don't ask please. I can't begin to describe it. Advocates for smudging and uses phrases like "Cherokee Rituals", and the Romani G-slur. 

*Gerald Gardner*

   Made his own branch of wicca, the first technically, and his own coven had to make rules just so he wouldn't spill everything to any reporter that asked. Used Crowley as a main resource.

*Jason Miller*

   Claims to do Hoodoo. A horrible formatter, and generally super dismissive of being a rootworker and other potentially closed practices, has not been initiated. Has claimed that anyone can petition/pray to Papa Legba without initiation because "Vodou is a congregational religion/practice". From the Vodou and Haitian Vodou practitioners I have talked to that is VERY incorrect, it may be congregational but you still have to be involved in the community to be trusted with those practices because so much of it has been bastardized for media and racism purposes. He is also a student of Catherine Yronwode, who is another SUPER problematic figure in the Hoodoo/Rootwork community.  

 A link of his own words on culture appropriation which includes mild inaccuracy towards Indiginous Peoples and that they don’t ‘own’ certain practices when it’s very clear the wording of those practices DOES in fact come from those peoples. He’s fine with people being Yogis, or Shamans, or calling satchel spells mojo bags, and other such phrases and won’t correct people if they use such words out of context because “language changes”. Also says if someone within a practice says it’s closed to go to ANOTHER AND ANOTHER until you find someone willing to teach you??? That’s not how it works sir.

Source: https://www.strategicsorcery.net/on-cultural-misappropriation/

*Lisa Chamberlain*

   Not an actual person. This is a ghost writer name for a bunch of garbage literally copy and pasted from wikipedia into books. I wish I was kidding. 

*Lisa Leister/Lester/whatever other spelling she's used.*

   Such a major TERF. Like JK Rowling level TERF. Claims magic comes from a womb so anybody that doesn't have one isn't a real witch. Like WTF lady.

*Raymond Buckland*

  Where to start...uses the G-slur often. (His grandfather was romani so it blurs the line of blood quantum.)  Very sexist and obsessed with the idea of a woman getting uh...undressed for rituals while men stay dressed and more things I cannot say ina PG space??? As magic?? VERY anti-minor and LGBTQA+. Toxic, just plain toxic. Can't do it. I have read his Blue Book and it's the least problematic thing he wrote. I'm alright with it.

*Silver Ravenwolf*   WhOOO boy. So super anti-christian, which is fine and dandy...if you didn't claim to be in a lineage of braucherei/hexerei. Wiccan, like the type of wiccan that says no other witchcraft exists and yet has written folk magic books??? She really needs to make up her mind. Claims Satanists don't actually exist. Claims most Jewish powers worshiped "the Goddess" (whoever that is)??? Very cult-like language about "not telling friends and family about your new life/reality/experience/whatever". Also SO MUCH APPROPRIATION. SO SO MUCH. She also gets her history wrong, on a lot of basic information that most non-witches know about like say the Salem Witch Trials.

*Catherine Yronwode* Ooh man. So Catherine Yronwode’s career started as a comic book artist. She’s worked on such things like the Elvira comic, DNAgents, and a gaggle of super controversial trading cards which included the Kennedy Assasination, a serial killer collection, and the AIDS epidemic. Of which she was sued for using one half of the Hillside Stranglers duo in said killer trading cards without his permission, the judge sadly threw the case out because and this is a quote, “ If Bianchi had been using his face as a trademark when he was killing women, he would not have tried to hide it from the police.” There were two more from her comic days, but those aren’t super relevant besides the one that pushed the envelope of what sort of trading cards should be sold to children. On the magical side of things, I will be blunt here: As one of the ‘big bads’ of the Rootwork/Folk/Hoodoo community? I really REALLY dislike her. She has made numerous false claims about New Orleans/Haitian Vodou and that it’s only a very recent practice, non-religious, and slaves never used it because it didn’t exist yet??? History books and entire generations will disagree. An example would be this link of an open letter to her written by a New Orleans Voodoo practitioner and someone she wrote a whole article about: https://conjureart.blogspot.com/2013/10/open-letter-to-cat-yronwode-and-lucky.html

She owns a few different websites namely https://www.luckymojo.com/, has written numerous Hoodoo based books, and actively has accused numerous people who have asked her for sources and or disagreed with her of plagiarism and has slung more mud that you can shake a stick at. 

She also praises a book on Marie Laveau and yet discredits herself by calling New Orleans Voodoo a new religion/neopractice??? She’s just confusing as all heck to me.

*Christian Day*   This guy’s just a creep. One stuck in the early 2000s mall goth phase even though he’s over 50. He also appropriates Hoodoo and owns two Hoodoo shops as well as multiple other witch shops in Salem and recently New Orleans on the French Quarter (Which is pure tourist fodder and not a reflection of true New Orleans Voodoo/Vodun/Rootwork). He has also harassed ex-employees so badly it’s landed him in court. His book The Witch’s Book of the Dead also reads very much like a list of accomplishments rather than anything useful. All about his television spots and experiences doing that. (Did I mention he was in an episode of Ghost Adventures? Yes, that one with Zac Bagans??? And it did not make us witches look too great, honestly speaking.)

Sources for Harassment Claims: https://www.cbsnews.com/news/salem-witch-gets-protective-order-against-warlock/

https://www.wcvb.com/article/warlock-christian-day-ordered-to-stay-away-from-salem-witch/8228072

*Yvonne and Gavin Frost*   I dunno how else to say this, I really don’t. These two? Pedophiles. Multiple writings of theirs included not-safe-for-work-or-children rituals that must include minors. Avoid. AVOID AVOID. AVOID ANYONE WHO USES THEM AS A RESOURCE! This should NOT be okay in any circle. They are VERY used within the Wicca religion so please be careful!!

*Orion Foxwood* Some of his information is very sound! I can’t fault him there. He does have a tendency to blend different traditions without actively TELLING you he’s blending them though. He’s and this is a direct quote, “He is a witch and Elder in Romano Celtic-Traditional Craft, High Priest in Alexandrian Wicca and teacher of the Faery Seership tradition. He is also the founding Elder of Foxwood Temple and a primary founder of the Alliance of the Old Religion, a national network of covens in his line that have united to preserve the ways of his Elders. He was the co-director of Moonridge, a center for metaphysical, Craft and Faery studies in Maryland” That’s an awful lot of traditions to juggle and not only write on but actively teach. He also performs conjure, which in of itself might not be an issue but Conjure usually blends into Hoodoo really quickly if one isn’t careful! A lot of the traditions he talks about from his family sound quite familiar, he’s clearly from Appalachia but his books on the subject blend in his other practices instead of keeping them separate. 

*Starr Casas*   She’s in the same category as Orion, only she doesn’t necessarily give her credentials to be teaching Hoodoo, and even wrote a whole book filled with Hoodoo love spells. She also co-owns a French Quarter Conjure Shop, which if you ask any practitioners from New Orleans...is catered to pure tourists and not a true example of the crafts from the area. 

*Shawn Engel*   I’m gonna be blunt here. More appropriation of the Jewish practices, Hoodoo, and other information that is just plain UPG without saying it’s UPG and encourages throwing hexes at political party members solo. I read The Power of Hex and had to put it down numerous times just to gather myself and not throw it away, I don’t know if it was tone or sheer level of appropriation...likely both.

*Kate Freuler*   Of Blood and Bones is chock full of Hoodoo, full stop. Only acknowledges that something comes from Hoodoo once and also gets basic mythology information on the Deities she mentions wrong in some cases. Also a lot of the book seems to be UPG because the bibliography is super small for a 300 page book.

*Dorothy Morrison*   I picked up Utterly Wicked once. A very odd book full of Hoodoo and Vodun spellwork and misinformation, the author is also Garderian Wiccan so even the writing of a book full of hexes is slightly...concerning compared to the Wiccan traditions and redes. Odd is the best I have to describe how I personally feel. I will say this again: Voodoo Dolls are not used to cause pain, stop bastardizing that single aspect of the practice. Thank you.

*Helena Blavatsky*

 I dunno how else to say this either, her philosophy and occult knowledge, called Theosophy is a portion of what inspired Hitler. Pure unadulterated racism veiled in a ��Atlantian Race Theory”. Horrible stuff, read for a class project once and felt disgusting.

*Christopher Penczak*Whoo boy. On the surface he seems alright, one of the first ‘male’ witches I had ever heard of except for Scott Cunningham. But the more you dig into his work the more inaccuracies and Christian bashing you see. For example: Christianty was the first patriarchal society. Uhm...I believe you’re kinda forgetting the men who ran Rome and Greece there sir. He also fully proposes the ‘burning times’ were like a ‘witch holocaust’. NO! NO IT WAS NOT. You can’t compare the hundreds of years and MAYBE a thousand-ish people dying to the millions that died in the short timespan the Holocaust was a thing. Fuck Christopher for that comparison and also for claiming it was a ‘burning time’ to begin with. (History says that most were hung...or tortured. Burning is a very small number of that list in general. 

He makes a lot of sweeping statements and sees witchcraft as a religion and NOT a practice. He whitewashes, fully harps on the Wicca = witchcraft = religion thing and THEN hones in on the difference between “white and black” magic and how cursing is evil and yet highlights certain practices that actively practice...cursing...as they have for generations??? He (atleast) doesn’t demonize Satanism but does still backhand the idea anyway, that they CAN’T be witches because witches only ‘heal’. Cultural appropriation and fetishization of ‘Native’ practices while calling them primitive all in the same breath, I just can’t with this guy. I really can’t. 

*Amy Blackthorn* 

Owns a tea brand called ‘Blackthorn Hoodoo Blends’ she is white. When questioned by BIPOC individuals she complains and blocks them instead of explaining why she chose the name Hoodoo for just teas. TEA. She is also the author of Blackthorn’s Botanical Magic, Sacred Smoke (A book on smudging yikes on trikes), and Blackthorn’s Protection Magic. 

Proof of blocking: https://thisblackwitch.com/2016/04/01/blackthorn-teas-whose-culture-is-it-anyways/

*Tarl Warwick *

Is more commonly known as Styxhexenhammer666 on youtube and other social media sites. Has written a pile and I mean a PILE of occult based books including ones on Hermetic magic, ritualistic magic, demons, solomon, folk plants and healing, Kabbalah, and many MANY more. 

He makes no claim to being Jewish, and given his political wishy washiness, and multitude of controversies which includes claiming the Holocaust wasn’t ‘that many dead’, Charles Manson deserved release because he was ‘extremely innocent and didn’t kill anyone’, and fairly recently also wrote and published a book on Critical Race Theory and why it’s ‘garbage’. I can’t support him no matter how accurate some of his information may be (if any at all). 

*Temperance Alden* This really pains me to say, Temperance in her Wheel of the Year book made a claim that birth control “stunted her magical abilities” because it affected her hormones…in OTHER words unless you are a perfectly hormone producing WOMAN you don’t have great magical power. AVOID. AVOID. AVOID. That is a slippery slope to claiming medication will harm you, not to mention how TERF-y it is AND completely disregards that magic is for well…everyone. Such a stupid gatekeep-y concept. 

*Sarah Kate Istra/Dver*

Advocates for using ‘spirit animals’ regardless of Indigenous beliefs and concerns. Is also a known ally with the Piety Posse, a neo-nazi group of pagans who claim the term polytheist can only apply to them and if you aren’t a Hellenistic pagan…you aren’t pagan at all. They also advocate for animal sacrifices, blood tests to prove purity, and other horrible HORRIBLE stuff. 

*Sannion/H. Jeremiah Lewis*

Obvious Neo-nazi, keeps images of swastikas on his personal blog, and not the ones that the nazis stole from, the nazi one. And super SUPER transphobic.

*Edward P. Butler*

Major persecution complex, spends half his twitter complaining about how monotheists are destroying…I dunno…everything? Also defends Krasskova quite heavily. Antisemetic as well.

*Galina Krasskova*

Hellenic pagans watch out. Defends the AFA. A ringleader of the Piety Posse. There’s a lot more horrific stuff about her and I won’t go into extreme details. But TW: Romanticizes SA with deities, human sacrifice, animal sacrifice. Compares debating to the holocaust, lots of victim blaming, gatekeeping, and screams folkish. 

*Diana Cooper*

Racist. Hard stop. Also appropriates chakras. Has a weird belief that food controls skin color and that Africa will never be a good country because it’s the solar plexus of the universe…or something like that. I got 20 pages into the book and literally couldn’t go any farther. Did I mention this book was supposedly on dragons???

*Judika Iiles* So much appropriation, advocates for making altars and working with closed deities. Lots of incorrect information including dangerous spellwork like obsession spells. And one in particular that has roots in a racist stereotypes. Avoid please! 

[kaija-rayne-author]

Why was Isseya 'done dirty' in DAV?

Obligatory 'I'm not an asshole' disclaimer. Feel free to jump to the cut if you've read it.

Something came to my attention. I need to make it crystal clear that I utterly love the diversity in DAV. It's fantastic. I'm also a heavily left leaning, non-binary, queer as fuck reviewer, editor, and author.

I was on media blackout while I played DAV. Please be safe and take care of yourselves. Arguing with incels and white supremacists is completely pointless. They sea lion worse than an actual sea lion. Your mental health is important.

Though, every single time the anti-queer brigade comes out for a new DA game, I sit there thinking 'have you bozos ever played any DA game, like, ever?' My guess is nope.

Note. None of my writing on DA, but especially DAV, is edited. This is just my off the cuff writing. I don't have the time, energy, or heart to edit them properly.

Spoilers for Last Flight and the Gloom Stalker storyline.

CW on ableist language. I had to use it to be clear.

CW on strong language.

CW on tired writing tropes that hurt people.

This one is a little more personal. I've already been told to go touch grass because I have a problem with that game sequence. And dared to try to politely explain why a lot of people feel Isseya was done dirty in it. (By other mentally ill people because, y'know, back biting and infighting is exactly what we need to do to each other.) And someone defending that sequence hit me harder than I really thought it did. That's often the way with trauma.

I'm mentally ill. Not a surprise to many, I'm sure. I'm extremely mentally ill. (By which I mean I have several, and will be on life-long medication for them.) I'm an advocate for several things I live with, and mental illness is one of them.

But I'm doing my best to not slide into a pit of absolute depression, right now.

Just saw someone passionately defending the Gloom Stalker storyline.

It made me as physically nauseated as the actual storyline itself.

Look. You can like/love problematic material. Just understand it's problematic and maybe not defend it?

It's fine to just like trashy material, or poorly written, or whatever. But that doesn't mean you defend it!

You can even recommend it. (I usually choose not to, but it's a personal choice thing.) If you recommend it, just add the addendum that it's problematic and how! It’s truly simple.

Enjoyment is subjective. And what that means is that it's fine to like stuff. Even if it's not good, or it's problematic.

But I personally think it's kinda our responsibility as decent human beings to do our best not to harm people as well.

And defending the Isseya/Gloom stalker storyline in DAV is absolutely problematic and harmful. Even if you don't know why.

Other people might have different reasons for saying Isseya was done dirty in that sequence. But mine are for both story and ableism reasons.

I'll explain, in case you're not in the mood to read my play-by-play (long) review series about DAV.

Isseya is a Grey Warden character from the book Last Flight by Liane Merciel, released by TOR/Dark Horse books and set in the Dragon Age Franchise.

She's the sister of the Grey Warden, Garahel, who partnered with Crookytail. There's a statue of Crookytail in DAV. It was one of the very few emotional moments for me in that game (other than utter horror and rage at the shittiness). I teared up at seeing that statue. At least they honoured Crookytail.

Isseya is an elven mage who, over the course of the book, delves further into blood magic than she should. The wardens are losing the fight. Once she learned she could do it, and once the First Warden learned she could, she was ordered to blight all the living griffins. Griffins were/are semi-resistant to blight. This went so against the griffins instinct against darkspawn/blight that it utterly destroyed them. Isseya was heart broken, horrified, and very against it. But she, like other Grey Wardens, could see they were losing. She followed orders. Neglecting to blight a few of them. Hers, Crookytail. Maybe a few others, it's been a few since I read Last Flight. I've read it twice.

Garahel and Crookytail take down the arch demon of the fourth blight, Andoral. Sacrificing their lives to do it.

Isseya, grief stricken at several events in the book (death of close brother, death of Crookytail, being forced to blight the griffins, the blood magic hastening her own fall into blight and hurrying her calling along) goes to extreme lengths to save the last griffins. Hoping that, at some future point in time, Wardens will be worthy of griffins again. Because they'd proven themselves completely unworthy of them in the book by utterly destroying their species.

Isseya saves Crookytail's last fathered clutch of eggs. (By Garahel's lover's griffin, Revas, if I recall correctly?) Those are the griffins in DAV. Assan is Crookytail's and Revas' son. (Really hope I'm not mixing up Garahel's lover's name with the griffin's name. I'm terrible with names to start with and it must have been 2 years since I read Last Flight. Hells, Revas mighta been Isseya's griffin. I didn't enjoy Last Flight that much. And I'm too fucking tired to look it up.)

Because of their shame in destroying the entire griffin species (because they intentionally don't know that Isseya saved that last clutch of eggs) the Wardens created the pile of unhonoured, unremembered bones that we see in DAV in the Cauldron.

It's not my favourite of the books, but it is beautifully written, tragic, but with a gleaming golden line of hope running through it. (It’s also why I would never choose to allow Wardens to have griffins again. Ever. They don't deserve them and they've already proven it to the almost extinction of their species.)

They didn't even have the decency to honour the griffins they destroyed who fell defeating the fourth blight. Which was actually all of them except those thirteen? eggs that Isseya saved. It's utterly disgusting. I believe the Cauldron is meant to be. If I recall correctly, that arch-demon skeleton is the same one Garahel and Crookytail died to defeat.

That's where whoever wrote that ableist travesty of a storyline went wrong. Up until then, the story made some sort of sense.

I can actually see Isseya stealing the griffins. If, out of fear, she'd watched the Wardens who found them, and finds that, no, maybe they don't deserve them, yeah, I could see her stealing them. She'd already done so much to save them, you see.

Story wise, it's just shitty writing to have her stab a blade into the bones of a 400 year old arch-demon skeleton and get liquid blood.

It's shitty writing to use such a harmful fucking trope, too.

She then, because 'she went mad from grief and guilt' because she's 'crazy' intends to blight the griffins she fought so hard to save?

Excuse me, now? Does that make any kind of sense to anyone?

Oh, but it's because she's mad! Crazy!

Y'all do know that both mad and crazy mean mentally ill, right? That they're innately ableist words that have been weaponized against mentally ill people for centuries, right?

If you didn't, you do now, please do better.

So let's break that down.

1. There is no Lore that indicates that the blight makes someone crazy/mad. Nor automatically into rage monsters. A being can become blighted in two ways. One is the regrettably written Broodmothers that BioWare has been trying to get away from forever. A being can also become a darkspawn by being blighted. Usually it kills, but in a small percentage of intellectual beings, it turns them into darkspawn, instead. But BioWare replaced the whole Broodmother concept with the 'anyone can be blighted into turning into a darkspawn.' Meaning it is Canon. That's what Wardens willingly do to themselves. They turn themselves into darkspawn. It just takes a while to set in.

Blight, in the Lore, basically makes the blighted hear 'the song' and only the song. That's what The Calling is. A Warden hearing the song and becoming a darkspawn. That's how it's always been depicted. Anyone 'losing their mind' (and please, just stop and think about how ableist that concept is, too? For a second? Please?) to the blight is just overwhelmed by the song requiring them to dig for arch-demons. (Unless there's an ascended arch-demon, but I'll get to that.) This is clearly laid out in the Lore and even, IIRC the book Last Flight itself. There are a few darkspawn who can resist what must be the worst case of tinnitus ever. There's The Architect, blighted, completely sane, not a rage ridden beast, and also diametrically opposed to anything the unblighted want. There've been stories of Hurlocks (blighted humans) working on behalf of the unblighted. The blight doesn't drive people mad/crazy in the Lore. At all. That excuse doesn't hold water.

Darkspawn don't turn into raging, bloodthirsty monsters until an arch-demon rises. Again, this is well established in the Lore. It's something about the arch-demon that makes them like chad-bros with bad attitudes, testosterone poisoning, and probably steroid abuse on top of it. Without an arch-demon (who we now know is bound to an incredibly pissed off Evanuris) they basically dig. Dig, and dig some more. Sometimes they raid for supplies. That's how it is in the Lore. And yes, I can actually prove it. Am I going to? With specific links and references (which i really could do) no. Not unless someone wants to pay me. I just don't care enough. I have, unfortunately, marinated myself in the Lore for years. It's been a long standing autistic special interest. I honestly wish, after playing DAV, that I could forget it all. Alas, it's not likely.

2. The basic premise of Isseya being 'mad/crazy from 400 years of 'guilt and grief' is ableist from the start. Saying that grief and guilt can drive people to mental illness isn't problematic, because it can. But saying that she's driven to violence and horrific actions because of it is just harmful. Saying that the blight automatically drives someone mad with rage/anger is also ableist. There isn't anything wrong with rage or anger. It can drive us to do awful things, but also good things like political advocacy. And in one of the supplementary pieces, it's established that darkspawn don't usually feel anything. They just... dig. They dig even while they're starving to death. Rage and anger? Yeah, those are emotions. And they also don't make you insane. Oh, but there are ascended arch-demons in DAV, therefore it must be fine to say Isseya is mad because the arch-demons being free alter the darkspawn into raging, bloodthirsty beasts. Right?

Except that's not what was clearly said to be the reason Isseya is supposedly mad/crazy. That was grief and guilt. Ableism is fun, no? /s

I'm not even sure if Elgar'nan's and Ghilan'nain's dragons really count as arch-demons despite the game calling them that. The rage of an arch-demon was likely that of the Evanuris it was bound to. Ghilly and Eggy are free, and upset, yes, but not rage stricken anymore. I'd think the 'arch-demons' in DAV to be just blighted dragons. But we all know how poorly they actually adherred to the Lore, anyway.

3. There isn't any mental illness I'm aware of that could make someone who sacrificed so much trying to save the last griffins because of her part in destroying them, want to then destroy them. It's like saying that mental illness can make people completely ignore sacred, bone deep beliefs enough to do the exact opposite of what they've committed to doing with everything in them. It's problematic, harmful, and ableist as fuck.

It's always the crazy/mad (mentally ill) villain. Always. I'm so nauseatingly sick of it. It's a tired, harmful trope that gets mentally ill people killed every single day.

Violence isn't a part of most mental illnesses, you know. It just isn't. The most mentally ill people usually want is basic respect and dignity, no problems refilling our meds, maybe tea, fluffy socks, and a good bit of entertainment to distract us.

The 'mad/crazy villain' trope robs us of basic dignity and respect. I'm so very, very tired of it. Whoever wrote and Whoever approved that sequence in DAV should absolutely be ashamed of themselves for it. It hurt and nauseated me to play it. It probably hurt and nauseated a lot of mentally ill gamers. And we're not a small percentage of gamers, in general.

And yes, it absolutely did Isseya dirty. In the shitty writing, (blood from bones, really? Really really? Marrow would be dried to dust or a rocky texture, and it's not impossible to stab through bone, but it's certainly unrealistic). The usage of a tired, harmful, ableist trope, too. In the claim that she'd been driven so mad she'd turned eeeeevvvvviiiillll by...checks notes... grief and guilt. Okay then. Yeah. That's perfectly fine. (That was the ripest of sarcasm. It is not fine. It gets people killed.) And it completely obliterated a beautiful, tragic story with a gleaming thread of hope into... that. Having to kill the person responsible for saving the griffins and sacrificing so much to do it... it's grotesque as well as harmful and ableist.

Can someone please explain to me, using small words, how that's not doing Isseya dirty?

Do you know that mentally ill people are responsible for 3% of violent crime? The rest is on all you neurotypicals. The whole 97%.

Yet it's always, because of ham handed, harmful narratives like the Gloom Stalker sequence in DAV, the mentally ill who are first blamed for anything violent. If they don't say it's autistic people. Because that's the other group that is always blamed, again, because of harmful narratives in fiction and misunderstanding by people who don't bother to learn better. Autistic people are almost hard wired to avoid hurting others. We're generally your classic white knight, tilting at windmills type. Everyone can be driven to violence. Humans are an innately violent species. So, while yes, we can be driven to it, it takes so much more to do it than it would for a neurotypical that it's ridiculous to automatically accuse either mentally ill or autistic people of violence.

Lucky me, I'm both.

Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be part of such an abused minority? Two of them? Do you have any clue how much narratives like that one are overused? What ham-handed, harmful, ableist claptrap they are?

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find media to enjoy that doesn't hurt when you happen to be mentally ill?

If you do know, I'm so, so sorry. I get it. And I deeply wish none of us had to.

So that's why Isseya was 'done dirty'. Other people's why might be different, but I bet a lot of people's are similar to mine.

My work of words is my only income. I'm recovering from a pulmonary embolism and my husband is recovering from a broken back. Money is so tight it squeaks. If my writing does anything for you, please consider a tip or buying my books. You might actually like them.

And I will never, ever, use 'mentaI illness turned me eeeevvvviiiilll' in my work.

I'm better than that. Oh, what... I'm supposed to not make a moral judgement about work that hurts people and gets them killed? Fuck that.

Did that offend your precious feelings? Go touch some grass.