#for fear of having written these stories wrong

[silenzahra]

Changes

Hello everyone. This is mostly gonna be an informative post about the immediate future of this account. It's gonna be long, so it's totally fine if you'd rather skip it.

You may have noticed that I've been away from Tumblr for the last few weeks. I'd rather not get into detail about the reasons that led me to make that decision, but despite me doing much better than the last time I dropped by, the thing is that something has changed.

This account is gonna remain mostly inactive. I have notifs, DMs and comments to respond to and I shall get to them at my own time, but I'll hardly reblog any more stuff from now on. Maybe just once a week or something like that, and without getting into much detail, definitely not like I used to reblog stuff in the past. This is absolutely nothing personal, but something that I've noticed recently.

I need a break from the Mario franchise.

You may recall me mentioning that I've been going through a terrible writer's block that made me fear that I'd never be able to write again. It took me about a month, but I ended up realizing that my problem was that I couldn't connect with the Mario characters again. As a writer, I can usually hear them talking in my head, or simply their thoughts, emotions and fears, and that's usually how I'm able to find the words to write them in my fics. But, ever since I wrote Follow me, that's disappeared, and not even the bros or Luaisy, my favorite things to write/consume content about, could make me feel the same enthusiasm again.

So I've come to the realization that this was simply my body asking for a break. I needed to try and find that emotion and excitement in something different. A book, a movie, a song, a show, another videogame franchise... I was craving some variety. And I'm in the process of getting it right now. I'm reading books again. I'm replaying old games like Spyro or Miitopia which I love and adore. I found another movie, one that I fell in love with about ten years ago, that reignited my passion and love for it, and it's brought back the need and desire to write again that I so much missed and yearned to revive. It has nothing to do with Mario, but in case you're interested, you can go here. It's where I'm gonna be most active from now on.

Don't get me wrong: I still love Super Mario. Very much. It's a franchise that's been with me my whole life and will continue to be there no matter what. It was the first series I ever wrote fanfiction for, and I've LOVED and enjoyed every single word that I've written for it. I have WIPs that I intend to finish and share someday. It just won't be anytime soon, so it's totally fine if you'd rather unfollow me. You can still find my stories on my AO3 account and some others that are only available on Tumblr through the tags zahra's writing and zahra's fics. You can also check out zahra's headcanons if you wanna read my Mario headcanons, and even though I'm far from being a talented artist, I've also posted some Mario art that you can find through the tag zahra's art.

That being said, I'll still be supporting Mario content from time to time, only that, as I said, I won't reblog much stuff, and if I do I won't go into too much detail. I obviously want to support my friends, but I also don't wanna, how to say it... sound "fake." I don't want to fake an excitement that I'm feeling 70% instead of 100%, especially when it comes to my friends' content. Who knows, maybe whenever we get a trailer for the Mario Movie sequel, my passion will come back in full force, or at least that what's I'm hoping for.

But in the meantime, this is how I'm gonna proceed.

Just in case you're interested, you can still find me on instagram (SilenZahra as my main account, san.marioluigifan as my gamer account), and I'm also on discord (SilenZahra as well). I'll probably be more active there than on Tumblr, at least for the next months.

In any case, I hope that you're all doing fine, and if you decide to stick around: thank you 💖 Please take care, and we'll meet again someday soon. I'm sure of it 💖

[neodymiumcuilz]

A letter written from a woman in Gaza, a place the world has forgotten about.

Al Jazeera's Maram Humaid writes the following from Gaza;

Gaza City – Israel and Iran fought for 12 days, firing bombs, drones and missiles at each other, with the United States even joining in the bombing. Then, earlier this week, it stopped.

Last month, India and Pakistan attacked each other, and the world feared the outbreak of an all-out war between the two nuclear powers. But then, after four days, it stopped.

In Gaza, we haven’t been so lucky. The word “ceasefire” doesn’t apply to us – even after 20 months of slaughter, death, and starvation.

Instead, as wars erupt and end elsewhere, Gaza is neglected, slipping down the news agenda, and disconnected from the internet for days.

World leaders that can end wars decisively can’t deliver medicine to Gaza, can’t bring in food aid without daily bloodshed.

That inadequacy has left us Palestinians in Gaza isolated, abandoned, and feeling worthless. We feel humiliated and degraded, as if our dignity has been erased.

We prayed that the end of the war between Israel and Iran would perhaps help end the one that is being waged on us.

But we were wrong. Even as Iran’s missiles rained down on Tel Aviv, Israel never stopped bombing us. Its tanks rolled on, its evacuation orders never ceased. And the daily charade of “humanitarian aid” has continued to kill starving Palestinians as they wait in line at distribution sites.

As Israel’s bombs continued to fall on us, as they have done since October 2023, we watched as Israelis wept over their own bombed hospitals, damaged cities, and disrupted lives.

“What did we do? Why are we being bombed?” they asked, at the same time as Israel continued to attack Gaza’s hospitals, kill Gaza’s children, and murder those trying to get food.

In Gaza, we don’t have wishes any more. I don’t dare to dream about surviving – my heart can no longer bear the sorrow of being in this world, the absence of any future.

We’re exhausted from being stories people read, videos they watch. Every minute: bombing, death, and hunger.

Especially hunger. During three months of siege and starvation, Israel initially steadfastly refused to allow food in and then allowed distribution only through a shady and militarised organisation, with Israeli forces shooting in.

The situation has made me come to hate food. My relationship with it has forever changed, twisted into resentment and bitterness.

I crave everything. I ask myself, “What will we eat? What do we have available?”

I imagine myself at a table full of delicacies, throwing everything onto the ground in protest, screaming through tears not out of hunger, but for my wounded dignity.

It is this hunger and the basic human instinct to survive that drives tens of thousands of starving men, women and children to the daily slaughter that is the food distribution sites.

The hunger dulls every other sense. An empty stomach means an empty mind, a failing body. It makes you do things your brain tells you not to do, to risk everything for a bag of flour, or a bag of lentils.

And all of this – the starvation of 2 million people – takes place in the age of global food abundance. The age of pistachio desserts, Dubai chocolates, cheesecakes with layers of cream, gourmet burgers, pizzas, sauces, and creams.

For the rest of the world, food is a phone tap away. For us, it taunts us, reminding us of our calamity.

Every time I open my phone to see photos, recipes, and trending desserts, I feel a pang in my heart reminding me that we are not living in the same world.

My nine-year-old daugher Banias watches Instagram reels with me and says, “Mom, every chef says the ingredients are easy and found in every home … but not ours.”

Her words pierce me. She says them with sorrow, not complaint.

Banias never complains. She accepts the pasta or lentils I offer. But the pain is there.

My children watch kids’ shows on a device I bought at great cost, with a backup battery to offset the two-year power blackout. I did it so they could have some joy, some escape. But I didn’t consider what that screen would show them.

They play songs and videos all day long about apples, bananas, strawberries, watermelon, grapes, milk, eggs, pizza, chicken, ice cream.

All the things I can’t give them.

The device started playing a song: “Are you hungry?”

My heart can’t take it. What is this cursed screen doing?

I rushed out of the kitchen, where I had just finished cooking the same pasta with canned sauce – maybe for the 50th time.

I looked into my children’s eyes. Iyas, turning two this month, has never tasted any of these fruits or foods.

Banias watches and casually says while eating her pasta, “See, Mama? Even the dolls get to eat fruit and grapes and yummy stuff.”

Every moment here reminds me that the world lives in one reality, and we live in another. Even children’s songs aren’t made for us any more.

We’ve become an exception to life. An exception to joy.

And yet, we are still among the “lucky” ones, because others have run out of food entirely.

I felt that growing dread last week when I opened my last kilo of rice. Fear and despair overwhelmed me. Then, it was the last spoon of milk, then lentils, chickpeas, cornstarch, halva, tomato sauce, the last cans of beans, peas, bulghur.

Our stocks are vanishing. There are no replacements. Every empty shelf feels like a blow to the soul. If this famine continues, what comes next?

It’s like walking step by step towards death. Every day without a solution brings us closer to a deeper mass starvation. Every trip to the market that ends empty-handed feels like a dagger to the heart.

And that is just the food struggle. What if I told you about cooking on firewood? Fetching water from distant desalination stations, most of which have shut down? Walking for hours without transport? The cash shortage? Skyrocketing fees and prices?

All this, under the shadow of constant Israeli air strikes.

We’ve disappeared from the headlines, but our suffering remains — layered, worsening by the day.

What did Gaza do to deserve this erasure, this merciless genocide? Wars end everywhere, ceasefires are possible anywhere.

But for Gaza, we need a miracle for the war to stop.

Gaza will not forgive the world. The blood of our children and their starving bellies will not forget.

We write to record what is happening, not to plead with anyone.

Gaza, the land of dignity and generosity, lives a daily horror to survive. And all while the world watches on.

Gaza will never forgive us. The world didn't do everything they possibly could. Please, uplift Palestinian voices. Humanity is lost.

[yourlocalsluttymanenjoyer]

only 2 parts in Folie et Déraison and… i fear they did not cook w this one guys… 😬

[seraphirism]

Hello! I hope you’re having a good day and just wanted to let you know that your explanation of chapter 4 was amazing!! If you don’t mind me asking though, who exactly is Falin? Or rather what’s her big schtick? Cause I liked her in the chapter but couldn’t really understand why she is who she is.

hii and thank you so much for liking it (*≧∀≦*)💞!! I go on a tangent when I’m speaking/writing so everything ends up all over the place?

also, I don’t mind at all, in fact, thank you for asking about Falin \(//∇//)\!! I wanted to talk about her so bad (and I decided I was going to make long post about her pretty soon! seeing your ask made me so happy, cause now I have a reason to talk about her!)

[also, anon, I kinda had one thing in my head and it turned into another so I feel like I deviated from what you wanted and turned it into something else? I apologise in advance if this was not what you meant. please let me know if this is what you meant or something else :D!]

spoilers for main story chapter 4, part 4 and 5 are below and trigger warning for breeding, captivity and human trafficking (technically not human but it still applies i guess?)

now, for people who have not read the story or don’t remember it clearly, I’ll briefly go over what happened in the main story revolving asking her, before jumping to what we know about her character and some of my own theories + things I’ve noted about her. unfortunately, we do not have information for why she turned into such a twisted character but I think that might be revealed in the coming chapter since the case of Seiran family has not been wrapped up yet; the investigation is still going on since the Master of the Seiran family is still alive.

her actions, leading up to her death:

this is meant for those who have not read or do not remember the events revolving her; I’ll wrap it up quickly! in case you have not read my previous explanation about chapter 4 (part 3-5) and are confused, please give it a read!

it begins when the butlers (+muu!) were taking shifts at night in various places inside the Seiran’s palace (doing their guarding duties) when they hear the maids calling out to each other that “she went into labour” or “the child is about to be born, grab [insert necessity]!”

[note: for child, the word used in Japanese by the maids is 子/ko which does not only mean the child of a person but could be the child of an animal too. that was one of the assumptions of the butlers; that the child was a cat/dog’s baby OR that the child could be of another possible (hidden) mistress of the head of the Seiran family.]

but it becomes strange when this happens again, and then again. now, the butlers were suspicious, especially when Falin reacted in an unusual manner, saying she had not heard the maids act like that before heading back quickly, avoiding the subject.

now everything comes to light when:

[this is after the Master of the Seiran family had been kidnapped by mr elf, and Fennesz and Haures were away searching for the Master of the Seiran family.].

Ammon, Boschi, Aruji with Falin at their side are confronted by the sight of elf guy interrogating the Master of the Seiran family.

[note: elf guy’s people (their kind as a whole) are from the West (specifically from the valley regions.). they are governed by Elboa, the green headed elf looking guy with a hood.].

there it’s revealed that the Seiran family had kidnapped the people of elf guy (people of the valley.). Boschi assumed it was for experimentation, like the Sardis family did. In response, when Boschi, in a repulsed manner, makes this remark out loud, Falin says this, gazing at elf guy with fascination:

“Oh my, how rude! I have no interest in such trivialities. Look…(gesturing to elf guy)….at that crystalline skin…those blue eyes…those elegantly shaped ears.”

“I want to keep beautiful things close to me…increase them in number…and share them with others…isn’t that human nature?”

she was the main culprit behind the kidnapping and unlike what the butlers were assuming, it was not for experimentation purposes (like the Sardis) but her desire to possess beautiful “things” and share them with others. not only does she keep the people of mr elf (locked up for her viewing) BUT she wanted to increase their number. now, what was the best way to do that?

breeding. she forced the really beautiful male and female captives to have children together, to produce even more beautiful children for they would be “more desired by clients”. now it’s kinda ambiguous whether she sold only the children or the adults too; but she did have the elf’s people sold to nobles for high prices. that’s the reason for the children being born mysteriously each night but never being seen or heard of.

(we don’t have information about who the nobles were but it could very well be to nobles anywhere. I don’t think their clients were majorly from the East since that would be risky for them. anyhow, i feel like information about who the nobles were will be revealed soon since investigation is still going on into the business.).

that’s how the Seiran family became so rich and influential in the first place (by human trafficking) so much so that even during the (current) wars that plagued the Eastern lands, the people governed by the Seiran family were always doing well, financially, were not impacted by the unsettlement in the East and were extremely fond of the Seiran family and grateful for their rule.

[the scene where Falin is waving and greeting the grateful civilians in carriage with Aruji and Muu becomes kind of unsettling when you think about it; the reason why the civilians could relish in security (financial + food + otherwise) was due to the money the Seiran family earned from trafficking. ]

[note: Seiran family’s “human trafficking” likely started when Falin married into the family (though we don’t know for sure from the main story.). I’m not negating Seiran family’s wealth in any way since they were nobility even 300 years ago, but their sudden wealth in the current years has been likely due to this business.]

after being exposed, the elf guy demands them to hand over his people but Falin says she had all of the “products” burnt on the orders of her husband.

[earlier, Falin’s husband told her in private that he wanted to discontinue this “business” of theirs now because now they had established their power and their kingdom was rich. so he wanted all evidence of their business destroyed. he was especially afraid now, after the Sardis family was exposed, stripped of their titles and now regarded as criminals.]

Aruji confirms that there had been no fire (they would have smelled the scent of such a huge fire or seen evidence of it), proving to elf guy that Falin was lying. She admits after giggling that she would never have her “products” harmed; she merely sent the products with her maids to her parent’s home.

[long story short; elf guy then threatens Falin in an attempt to make her show him where his people were, the huge bell rings (the one signaling angels arrival) and Falin leaves in the heat of the moment. elf guy runs after her, hot on her tail.]

she runs back to her castle, where she sees Seraphim and Cherubim. she is instantly entranced by their appearance, especially after they kill some of her men with their “light powers”.

she asks them to kill her; her ephemeral life was going to come to end someday, hence she’d rather it come to end with her last sight and the manner of her death both being beautiful. [her words, roughly.]

[note: she wanted to die by their light powers.]

Seraphim (after being weirded out 😭) agrees with a smirk. then he proceeds to stab her fatally (because he deemed her impertinent and arrogant for talking this way to an angel 😭). she slowly bleeds out as Seraphim and Cherubim leave with the cage full of elf guy’s people with them.

[elf’s people were seen being taken by the maids of Falin (by Cherubim and Seraphim above). after they saw the cage being transported, they killed her maids and men, and took the captives (the elf’s people) who offered no resistance since all the time in captivity had made them apathetic and out-of-it. Cherubim will likely use the captives for experimentation :(]

there, elf guy arrives; he had been waiting behind in the shadows, unable to step out because he knew the intelligent angels were stronger than the average angels and he wasn’t sure he could win in a fight against them. there, he sees Falin, lying in a pool of her blood, her face pointing to a mirror in the room, gazing at herself (covered in blood.).

elf guy (almost pitying her because he planned on killing her in a quick manner, not in the torturous way she was currently dying) asks her to look into his eyes. she looks at him before he kills her with one quick attack of his sword.

[he also almost pitied her for the fact her last sight was herself covered in blood and not something beautiful; beautiful things were something she had dedicated herself to, all her life. that’s why he asked her to look at him so her last sight could be him (someone she called extremely beautiful and showed a desire to possess), fulfilling her last wish.].

that’s how she dies, her last sight being “something” beautiful, right as she desired all this time.

now, with this out of the way, I’ll only be focusing on her.

Falin; her character and all the known information about her.

so Falin or ファリン was the Mistess of the Seiran family: the wife of the Master of the Seiran family. she was originally a noble woman from a small aristocratic family located in a mountainous region in the East; her family did not have much influence and it’s not known how she ended up marrying the Head of the Seiran family.

the first thing we learn about Falin, comes when Boschi notices her and remarks, in complete horror that she looks exactly like his mother. he goes further to add that even her voice was exactly like his mother’s; only her personality differed as his mother was timid by personality.

[you can just imagine the extent of how similar they looked for Boschi to feel so uncomfortable in her presence; unfortunately we have no description of how Boschi’s mother looked like to pin down Falin’s appearance. all we know is that Boschi’s mother’s hair had a beautiful lustre to it and was likely long. Boschi’s hair colour is something he inherited from his father so Falin’s hair colour isn’t blue. we can also guess since Boschi’s mother had a frail physique, Falin also had a similar one; she was also likely not too tall either and had a slim/skinny build.]

she married into the Seiran family. she is a descendant of a relative of Boschi’s mother; (Boschi said so himself). while his mother did die in the fire, she had relatives remaining in her village. Falin is a descendant of one such relative — this would explain her eerie similarity to his mother.

she was initially fascinated by Boschi’s appearance because “he is beautiful like Fubuki” — both are cold, strong and have one eye. [this made me crack up 😭 I’m sorry.]. we later learn from Finley that there were rumours that she had actually proposed to Fubuki a long time ago (to marry him) but was rejected by him.

there comes my next point! i think most fans got the impression that she was really young (like I did), being around the age of 25–30 but I believe this is wrong. we know from her interaction with Aruji and Muu (where she was amused when Muu called her young) that she is a bit older (not calling her old 😭) but her age may be (from the way she recalls her past experiences as the time she was “young”) around 30-45. I want to push it further from 30 but with the current canon content, I want to be careful just in case i end up wrong.

[also Boschi saw his mother for the first time when she was around her 40’s; I doubt someone in their 20’s could look so startling alike to someone in their 40’s. Boschi would have then added then that Falin looked like a more younger version of his mother: but he didn’t.

he said that their face, builds and voices were exactly the same; he could have added the age part too.]

A bit of background about East:

now i want to focus on East a bit and the standing women have/had:

women of the noble families in the East are regarded with little to no importance. they’re merely seen important for their ability to bear a potential male heir. Boschi further explained that they have no power or influence, live in seclusion, make no public appearance and have no political power (despite being mistresses of powerful noble families.).

an example of this is Bosci’s own mother. she was the third wife of his father, had no political power or influence and till her death lived in complete seclusion. because she hid the fact that she had a son, so a child-less wife was not important.

[the first wife killed the third wife and her son, after news of her son being born came out. the reason why the first wife had so much power to begin either is because she had a son earlier than the other wives and wasn’t willing for the other wives to have a chance for their son/s to be potential heirs.]

so for power, the women in noble families could and would sink pretty low.

now, with this in mind, let’s proceed!

Falin’s role and how she stood out:

Falin breaks many of the stereotypes that we have of the Eastern noble women in akuneko.

first of all, she’s the first and only wife of the master of the Seiran family (from what we know).

that’s extremely strange, especially considering the noble men from the east so far have been depicted to have more than one wife. [polygamy was common; Boschi says so himself. monogamy, on the other hand, was uncommon.]

what’s also strange is that she has no known children. she’s been married to the head of the Seiran family for quite a while yet from their interaction, the topic of children never came up. [keep in mind, this is set in a land and time where women are only regarded important for bearing a potential male heir. wars are still rampant and there are new noble families attempting to rise to power. if she couldn’t have children, her husband would have another wife already. but there’s a split chance her husband cannot have children, but that fact could have been used to oust him from power by a relative of his, from the Seiran family already.].

[so it’s unknown why they don’t have children or aren’t seeking to have them in a war struck region where male heirs are absolutely necessary for power.]

secondly, she had more authority/power (not on first glance) than her husband, the actual head of the family.

we know she (very likely) started the business of human trafficking; from how attached she was to it and how reluctant she was of letting go of it. she likely posed the business to her husband as a means of securing more influence and power in the Eastern lands (which is plagued by wars for power) but in actuality it was for her own twisted desire for “beautiful things”.

her husband acquiesced to her whims very easily. this can be seen by when brought up the subject of ending the business and destroying the “evidence”, she quickly managed to dissuade him with a little assuaging.

she even admitted in front of Aruji, Boschi, Ammon, her husband and elf guy that she manipulated her husband to follow her whims in this business.]

one other incident, which proves this is, when the butlers were told not to guard the master and mistress of the Seiran family (new guards of their own were assigned), she immediately went up to her husband and subtly hinted that she was “afraid” the new guards would not be able to protect her husband as well as the devil butlers (who have quite a reputation for their strength).

in actuality, she was not concerned about his safety (or even her own, to be honest.). she wanted the butlers by her side so she can gaze at their “beautiful faces “ while she went about her day. she did end up accomplishing that as her husband had the devil butlers reassigned only for her protection.

her influence over her husband can also be seen in when she manages to rope him into allowing her to dine with Aruji [instead of dining with him], in hopes of seeing the butlers from close enough (as they would be guarding Aruji right in their room) since she wasn’t getting enough opportunities to see them from close enough.

[it’s also interesting that her husband said that the devil butlers were invited to the Seiran’s residence because he was concerned for her safety, not his. he says this as a reminder to Falin, in one instance, (I guess trying to keep her in check because he was a bit suspicious of her and her intentions.).

so did she possibly manipulate her husband into inviting the butlers? it’s canon (in aknk’s story), that the devil butlers (while they are detested by people all around the world) are well known for both their beauty and strength. since we know she wasn’t concerned for her own life, could it be she invited them after hearing talks of their looks?]

moreover, unlike the noble women of her time, she was extremely confident and sly (in all matters, with all people, even strangers.).

ignoring her husband now and focusing on her interaction with the other characters:

when she saw Boschi for the first time, she approached him confidently, even inquiring about how he received the injury on his arm and eye. his attempts to reject her questions (rudely too) only brought her satisfaction and made her even more curious and him.

in the incident where she dined with Aruji, she had managed to convince Haures too, into allowing her to go inside Aruji’s room without informing them prior. and Haures genuinely seemed unable to deal with Falin and her persistent personality.

she switches her approach too, depending on who she’s dealing with: with her husband, it’s gentle, concerned and complacent; with the butlers, it’s persistent and clever.

even when she was revealed to be carrying out that business, she was calm and amused by Ammon and Boschi regarding her with hatred. even after that, she made one last further request to Aruji to capture elf guy in return for anything Aruji wanted (which they rejected.).

Extra:

I want to talk about one more incident where I loved the writer’s subtlety in showing Falin’s character:

it was when she wanted to have breakfast with Aruji instead of her husband; the reason she states for this was: that being surrounded by fully armed, “faceless men” (the guards) would make her not enjoy her breakfast. and that’s when she remembered the “faces of the butlers” (with whom she would be able to enjoy her food, since she liked their faces).

she could have said she wanted the company of Aruji or the butlers over the guards, or remembered them because she likes spending time with them or that they’re more amusing; any excuse could have passed. but she said she remembered the faces of the butlers and thought she would enjoy her food better with them in her presence.

[by the way, this was after the head of the guards was changed because the original one was injured; the temporary head of the guards made it a rule to wear armour that covered their faces as well i think?].

Lastly, it’s interesting how Falin, a mere mistress of the Seiran family has a name (despite the eastern noble women being put down in terms of power and influence) yet her husband was only “Master of the Seiran Family” throughout the story — all in all, to show how irrelevant he was and how he had no power or a role in the story, besides his title.

my own thoughts:

I mentioned in my previous post that I would like it if the writers could give more focus to the Seiran family, in particular, Falin.

how did a woman from a small aristocratic family end up marrying the master of a (relatively) bigger noble family and rope the master into following her desires? (if she did start the business of human trafficking) how did she convince the master of Seiran family?

also, what started her obsession with beauty? considering how rooted it is in her, did it start from her childhood? did her parents engrain it in her? [I can come up with loose reasons for almost every question in my mind but my mind goes blank for why Falin could have been so obsessed with beautiful people. she didn’t show much regard for riches either so why beauty of all subjects?]

(another thought that’s been on my mind) is that the killing of Boschi’s family was something well known in the aknk world; Berrien affirms this as well. so it’s unlikely that Falin’s ancestor (the one related to Boschi’s mother) did not know of the killing of Boschi’s mother.

how were Falin’s family okay with her marrying into the Seiran family when they were responsible for killing her family just 300 years ago? it’s unlikely they have forgotten it because (call me delusional) but I think they do keep records of everything (since the Eastern lands in aknk are loosely based off feudal japan.)

Or wait ✨! what if they (Falin’s parents) made her marry the Master of Seiran family because they believed it would be a good proposal for her (Seiran family being rich) and they could benefit from Seiran family’s riches too if Falin marries into them (their past bad blood be damned)?

and Falin knew of what the Seiran family did to hers years ago, which is why she doesn’t love or show any regard for the Master of the Seiran family ✨?

[I’ll shut up; these were mostly my own thoughts from what canon content I could scavenge. but I think even if this isn’t the truth (what I’ve proposed), it’s pretty close the truth. so I’ll settle with that.]

anyway, that’s it! i’ll pipe down now but that’s what I could piece together. please let me know if i got a fact wrong (as the length of the story does make it easy to confuse parts of it.)

i hope we learn more about Falin, her childhood and what led to her character becoming the way it is! if they don’t, I’m coming for studio wasabi ✨! have a wonderful day, anon (*^▽^*)!! i hope this was a good read!

and if there’s something you all want to add into what I’ve said, propose an alternative idea to what I’ve said, or correct me in something I said, please comment below or send me an ask. i don’t wish for incorrect information to be passed around, especially from my own mouth.

have a good day everyone! I love discussing the story content of aknk so feel free to send me asks anytime (*^▽^*)! please pray for me, (if you’re someone that prays) because my exam result is coming out tomorrow morning 😭)

[robotsdeservebetter]

All the Rape of Persephone retellings that turn the mother, who defies the patriarchal system to save her daughter, into an abusive monster just to make the rapist into a compelling love interest 👹 Feminist retelling, my ass

"Nobody gave a voice to these Greek Mythology female characters."

Euripides after writing Andromache, Andromeda, Antigone, Danaë, Electra, Hecuba, Helen, Iphigenia in Aulis, Iphigenia in Tauris, Medea, Merope, Wise Melanippe, Captive Melanippe, Peliades, The Phoenician Women, The Trojan Women etc.

[tainkirrahe]

so Ruby Sunday was likely meant to be Desiderium before behind the scenes stuff made the show go to all hell.

This is an expansion of the theory I posted on Bluesky (kicked off by this Reddit thread), and maybe I am just copin' and seethin' but. like. even Charles Dickens would think this is all too much of a coincidence to not be Something.

Here's how I think it probably went down before Millie and Ncuti decided to leave early: The Rani kidnaps the God of Wishes and places her with a normal foster family, moving in next door to keep tabs on her, and when the time comes engineers things for the Doctor to take an interest in her (Church on Ruby Road). Ruby's DNA scans as human because she was born to human parents, but cannot be traced in the UK because she was born 180 years ago in Bavaria. And also her mum is flowers.

In Space Babies Fifteen wishes he and Ruby could be Poppy's parents within earshot of the God of Wishes, who unintentionally makes this true when Wish World opens with Ruby and John Smith having Poppy as their kid. Series 1 then plays out much as it had done before, with Ruby's ability to recognise something is wrong with the Doctorless universe in 73 Yards and Maestro's fear of her hidden song because she's a powerful member of the Pantheon. I think the rewrites only began with the ending of Empire of Death - in the original cut, it turns out even the fash DNA supercomputer doesn't know who she is and we're left on a cliffhanger with regards to this.

Ruby decides to take time out of the TARDIS after seeing the whole universe end and whilst Fifteen is off having adventures in Joy to the World she briefly dates Alan Budd before dumping him due to his controlling behaviour during a date where he gifts her a star certificate. She rejoins Fifteen after she is kidnapped by robots from Missrubysunday (with Ruby replacing Belinda this season the star certificate thing is centred on her) and he rescues her, with the time fracture in that episode reversing the events of the episode but leaving Alan's memory intact. He's dumped back on Earth where he becomes determined to ruin Ruby's life and so Lucky Day is about Alan, not Conrad, attacking UNIT/Ruby. At the end of the episode Alan is picked up by an ecstatic Rani who now has the God of Wishes and her ex boyfriend who has a serious grudge against her and wants to change the world for the worst.

Season two remains pretty much the same as well. We then hit the finale which also plays out the same initially - sorry guys I think Omega was always going to be a skeleton baby :( - but with Ruby ending the fake reality by breaking into where Alan is holding her as a baby and touching her baby self's hand, just like the resolution with the certificate in Robot Revolution. The universe resets but Ruby notices Poppy is missing, able to remember her because a) she was the one who cast the wish; b) her experience with parallel universes (73 Yards); and c) her characterisation as an "abandoned" baby who wants everyone to have a home. She uses her powers one final time to bring Poppy back and decides to leave the TARDIS for good and raise her new daughter.

The episode ends with Ruby donning the Rani's cloak and leaving her baby self outside the church on Ruby Road to ensure the timeloop is maintained, changing Fifteen's memory by pointing at the Doctor just as we saw in Empire in order to keep that mystery intact as well.

Fifteen, touched by Ruby's decision, flies off in the TARDIS determined to find Susan. and also rescue Rogue from Superb Hell I guess #justiceforrogue

The end.

(To be clear I adore Belinda, the above was not written to write her out of the show - I think she deserved better in her own story, when clearly she was simply recycled from story beats taken from Ruby).

Some supporting evidence -

• Desiderium is the seventh child of a seventh child. Ruby Sunday's name alludes to both: rubies are the birthstone of July, the seventh month, and Sunday is the seventh day of the week.

• the Goblins in Church on Ruby Road fed on coincidences. Desiderium was born to the Zufall family. Zufall in German means "coincidence".

• The Rani talks about having to keep track of the Doctor's companions to make her plan to summon Omega work, but only actually references Ruby by making a slight about blonde girls. Belinda also has absolutely no impact on The Rani's plan whatsoever, to the extent she was locked in a box for the whole finale, so The Rani's interest in her feels utterly pointless. (Because it was).

• Strong themes of motherhood, childhood abandonment, and adoption paralleling what happened with the Doctor as per Timeless Child revelations throughout the series that make absolutely no sense for Belinda, who came from a home with both parents present. Ruby was always meant to complement Fifteen's recent discovery of his adopted status and help him work through it as he helped her work through hers.

• Space Babies also literally opens the show on a spaceship misinterpreting stories and making them real.

• The odd duplication of fashy boys Conrad and Alan - it makes more narrative sense if they were both once the same character who got sawed in half during hasty rewrites.

• Ruby's name being tied to sevens is similar to River Song, Melody Pond, and Amy Pond being related to water, hinting at their connection.

maybe I am wrong, maybe the show was always meant to be written this way but like. theorising. is also fun!

[aurorawritestoescape]

HARDER THAN YOU THINK

Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader || 4,7k

Written together with @milla-frenchy

Summary: It’s your first day at work and you feel nervous. But what can go wrong if your boss is your dad’s best friend, a person you’ve known and trusted for years?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, NON CON, Dbf!Joel, boss!Joel, dark!Joel, power imbalance, blackmail, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), oral (f), pussy slapping, use of a sex toy, degradation, unprotected piv, gangbang, creampies. Reader wears a skirt.

A/n: @milla-frenchy and I wrote this story for @romanarose ‘s Dead Dove December. Thank you for this event, celebrating dark fic, Roman❤️ Milla, baby, it’s always a pleasure to write with you! ILYSM🫂💖

Heed the warnings! If any of this makes you uncomfortable, do not pursue reading. We are not responsible for the content you consume. This is not for everyone and that's okay. We don't condone the actions of the characters.

MILLA’S MASTERLIST || KATE’S MASTERLIST

Day one at your first job started horribly. You overslept, got in a traffic jam and arrived at the office panting and apologizing. Fortunately, your boss, Mr Miller, didn’t tell you off for your tardiness. Instead he greeted you with a wide, most charming smile. You’ve known him for a few years, him being your dad’s good friend and his employer as well as yours now.

Mr Miller was a successful businessman and your parents owed everything to his generosity and kindness. He helped your father out when your family was about to lose the house and your dad always talked highly of his ‘best bud’. You’ve been calling him Joel all these years, but wishing to show respect at the workplace, you decided to call him Mr Miller.

Now you’re attending a company meeting in a spacious conference room, taking bullet points of the discussion on your tablet. Mr Miller is sitting at the head of the desk, leaning comfortably in his chair, his thick thighs spread, piercing eyes narrowed. His perfectly tailored blue suit which probably costs more than your future year salary accentuates his broad powerful frame. Throwing glances at him from time to time, you can’t help but admire the way the fabric stretches over his arms and shoulders. You’ve never thought about Joel like that, he was much older than you, but it was hard to deny how handsome he was.

Joel is listening to an employee’s report, pouting his lips from time to time. Knowing him quite well, you read his face easily, so it’s evident to you that he’s not pleased with what she’s telling him. Joel’s always been nice and kind to you and your parents, but right now you feel like a volcano is about to erupt.

“Are you happy with all this, sweet cheeks?” He asks but doesn’t let the woman reply. "I’m definitely not. I hope I won't hear these numbers ever again. Or you're gonna lose your job in a heartbeat. I doubt your family will be happy with you getting fired. You just had a baby, right?”

The woman swallows loudly and nods.

“Get your shit together!” Joel barks and the employee looks terrified. You feel bad for her. You’ve never seen Joel be so mean before but that's probably part of the character trait that goes with his job.

When the meeting is over, some people leave but three men stay behind with Joel, still chatting to each other. You get up, ready to sneak out, but your boss stops you at the door, calling your name.

“Sorry, I thought the meeting’s over”, you explain, coming up to him with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, the main part’s done but we have something extra on our agenda today.”

Joel gets up and walks over to one of the cabinets. He takes something out of a drawer and puts it in the pocket of his suit pants. You raise your brows with a silent question and he turns his face to the managers,

“Gentlemen! Today is this young lady’s first day at our company and I’d like you to give her a warm welcome.”

You feel overwhelmed when all the attention is focused on you but, fearing to seem rude or disrespectful, you turn to the men and smile nervously, fumbling with your fingers. You wonder what Joel put in his pocket. You didn't expect to receive a gift on your first day, and you don’t know how to thank him properly.

The men hum approvingly but soon you feel uneasy noticing their eyes slide down your body and take you in with something more than simple curiosity. One of them smirks and your face falls. Fortunately, Joel steps up to you and his wide smile relaxes you a little. Knowing him for so long, you feel that he has your back. He takes your hand and holds it in his big warm palm.

“Sweetheart, we have a tradition in our company. We call it “Initiation”.

“W—What is it?” you mumble, smiling and blinking at him with confusion, while your stomach churns. You hope he won’t ask you to give a speech of some kind. You’d die of stage fright.

Joel explains, “Some of us gather here to celebrate our new employee and I’m happy that today it is you.“

Joel inches closer and you instinctively take a step back but he pulls you to him gently yet with unyielding determination.

“Usually one of our top managers does it, but of course, with you it had to be me. Also some of these gentlemen sent me messages during the meeting… Seems that they want to take part, now that they saw you.”

His face is inches from yours and he lowers his voice to tell you, “to be specific, we all are going to celebrate you and your body. Teach you some new things while we’re at it, too.”

Your gaze darts between his darkening eyes as you open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You can’t comprehend what he’s saying but your instinct is screaming for you to run.

Joel gently cups your cheek and turns to the other men in the room, “she’s adorable.” With that he places his hands on your hips, and mumbling “c’mon”, moves you to the head of the desk.

“Joel, what are you…?” Your voice is shaky, your palms placed on his broad chest push him off you but he’s too strong and soon your ass is perched up on the surface, your back turned to the other men.

“Joel, please, what are you doing?” you mumble as panic rises in your chest.

“Shh, we’re just gonna have some fun, you and me at first, then I'll let the others join us.”

He looks behind you, and you hear the other men react.

“Fuck yeah.”

“I think I will.”

“Give it to her, boss.”

You hear their words and you start to understand what’s happening. Or rather, you start realizing what your dissociated mind was trying to hide.

“Joel… You’re scaring me…” you stammer, eyes wide.

“Fear is a good thing. It means I'm in control. And I want control over you."

Now you feel Joel’s hands rubbing your thighs, covered by tights, slithering up and under the hem of your skirt, while his gaze is set on your chest.

“No, Joel, please,” you plead, searching for his eyes, hoping to keep his attention on you, break the spell that turned these people into wild animals, turned this office into a cage that you can’t escape from. Trying to make him come back to his senses and remind him that it's you, the person he's known for so long, that he is your father's friend, who you thought would protect you from all dangers, if he had to.

But his eyes remain black, cold. The more you beg, the brighter an unhealthy spark shines in them. As if he likes it, likes you begging.

“You’re my dad’s friend, don’t do this to me,” you whine, overwhelmed by his big body caging yours against the desk, terrified to your core at the realization of what he’s about to do to you.

“Yes, you’re right,” he stops, giving you a glimpse of hope, and looks into your eyes. “Your dad’s a great guy but he has a big flaw. He has this pretty little thing for a daughter.”

Your heart breaks when you hear him, your hope is dead.

Joel leans closer and you pull away but he grabs the back of your neck and holds you still, brushing your lips with his.

“If he only knew how much I want to stretch your little holes. And you know me, baby,” he pecks your lips and whispers, “I always get what I want.”

The men behind you chuckle, loving this display of power. The smell of Joel’s perfume hits your nose and your head spins for a second as part of you still struggles to understand what’s happening. You feel tears well up in your eyes.

Your new boss, a man you’ve known for years, wants to fuck you in front of other people on your first day here. You try to make your mind work, get you out of the situation.

“I’ll tell my dad. I’ll tell everyone,” you cry out, making your voice firmer, but Joel just laughs, enveloping you in his tight embrace. To your horror you hear the sound of the chairs moving behind you and then footsteps. You’re surrounded now.

“If you start yapping, sweetie, you and your dad will lose your jobs in a second and I’ll make sure no one ever hires you both.”

His voice is calm, his breathing steady, as if he were telling you the most mundane things in the world, and you shiver.

“Besides, your dad owes me a lot of money. Your family will lose everything.” He searches for your widened eyes and whispers, “you work for me now so it means I own you.”

Suddenly his lips latch onto your neck. His hold is too tight but the kiss is slow and gentle.

“No, no,” you start sobbing and Joel pulls away and takes your face between his big hands.

“Honey, calm down, imagine there’s only you and me here. No one else, uh?” His eyes are obsidian and full of lust and you understand that you won’t get out of this. He will have you.

“Please, Joel, I don’t want to…“

“But you do, baby, you want me,” he kisses your cheek. “You want my big cock in your little pussy. I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He drags his stubble over your cheek and you whimper when his hand snakes between your thighs.

“You really think I haven't noticed the way you look at me, the clothes you wear, when I have lunch at your parents’?”

“What? No!!”

“Shh…” he cuts you, brushing your lips with his finger. “You wanna get fucked by a man older than you. A man who will give it to you good.”

Through the material of your tights and panties you feel his hand caress your folds and you close your eyes shut, trying to escape the horror of the situation.

"Girls your age want that. A mature man,” he adds.

You mewl a quiet “no” again and he uses the moment to kiss you and push his tongue past your lips. With one hand keeping you close and the other gently massaging your pussy, Joel claims your mouth, licking into it, swallowing your soft cries.

As soon as he parts from you, your hands push him away but his strong physique overpowers you in seconds. He grabs your wrists and makes you lie down on the desk. You’re pressed to the wooden surface by his heavy body as his breath fans your cheek when he growls, “Don’t fight it. It’ll be my way or bad way, baby. Choose wisely.”

In your peripheral vision you notice the men next to the desk, one on the left and two on the right. Like hyenas they are waiting for their turn when the main predator is done with the prey.

You begin thrashing around on the desk and Joel slightly lifts his torso but holds you down with his hand wrapped around your neck. You freeze as panic grips your heart. He’s not squeezing it but the threat is swimming in his blown out eyes.

He smirks when you stop moving. “Good girl. Made the right choice.”

Joel straightens up, his figure looming over you, and then starts pulling up your skirt. You try to stop his hands but in vain.

“Let’s see what we have here. White lace. Fuck, it’s hot, baby. Innocence looks good on you. I know you’re not a virgin though,” he laughs and continues, “I remember a boy used to come to your bedroom all the time. Your old man was scared that you’d get pregnant. Fuck, I wanted to kill that little shit for touching you.“

You take a sharp breath, terrified of how long his obsession with you has lasted.

“I know you’re single now. It’s good. Now you have me. I’ll fulfill all your needs, baby. And will fill all your holes.”

With that he rips your tights between your legs, and you squeal scared to death. You try to slide off the desk but he presses his forearm over your belly, not letting you move away.

You hear the murmur of the others, watching you sob and fight the man twice bigger than you like it’s some twisted show.

When Joel grabs your hips to keep you in place, you turn your head, pleading eyes darting between the men but their expressions scare you. There’s not a trace of sympathy on their faces, not a chance that this vile group will help you.

With tears streaming down your cheeks you look back between your spread legs and find Joel’s hungry gaze there. He’s sneering at you, noticing your fruitless attempt to seek assistance from his employees.

“What’s that, baby? Looking for anyone to call an HR? He’s over there. Say hi, Steve.”

You hear a gruff voice somewhere from behind you.

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Aww, isn’t he nice?” Joel mocks and dread spreads in your chest. There’s no way out. You’re trapped. Your only hope is the man you thought to be a friend.

“Please, Joel. Stop. I won’t tell anyone. Let me go.” Your voice is barely audible, you sound pathetic, and Joel’s face softens. His brows knit together as he looks between your legs and talks while his fingers slowly pull your panties to the side.

“I think I’ve made a mistake.”

You gasp when his fingers graze your exposed folds and try to close your legs but he’s holding you securely.

“I haven’t explained your position in this company yet. It will help you to understand what’s happening and accept it.” His fingers stroke your seam and then push inside between your folds, leaving you shocked and breathless.

“From now on you’re my office whore. I tell you to suck, you suck, I tell you to bend over - you do exactly that.”

His voice is gruff and cold, eyes focused on the place where his fingers swirl around your hardening clit and you squeeze your eyes closed, fighting the fire in your core that’s burning brighter with every second of his caress.

“She loves it, your pretty pussy,” Joel smiles, looking up at you, “do you hear how wet she’s getting for me? You should relax, and let your body take what it wants. Stop fighting it, baby.”

He sinks two thick digits into your soft hole and you tighten your muscles, eyes wide, surprised by a heat spreading through your body.

You hear it too. When Joel begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, lewd squelching noises reach your ears, the sign of your body surrendering to his horrible act. A moan crawls up your throat and you muffle it with the back of your hand.

A sharp flick of Joel’s fingers lands on your clit and you cry out.

“Don’t. Don’t hide it. Wanna hear you enjoying it, little slut. I wouldn’t make my cock wait if I didn’t wanna hear some sweet moans from you.”

His hands leave your pussy and he places his palms on your inner thighs, spreading them wider.

“Now— Let’s have a taste.”

You watch him lower his head to your cunt and he licks a stripe between your wet folds from your clenching hole to your sensitive clit and sucks on it for a few seconds. Your back arches involuntarily.

“Delicious,” he mumbles, wet lips against your folds, and the vibrations send shivers down your spine.

You want to hate the sensation his mouth is giving you, but your whole body treacherously buzzes when his hot tongue laps away your slick. Joel kisses your pussy, his gentleness is a striking contrast to the situation. He’s eating you out to make you come, hungry to claim your pleasure as well, and you grit your teeth, fighting it with all your being.

He feels you holding back and growls before focusing all of his attention on your puffy clit, flicking it and rubbing it with his tongue, sucking it in between his teeth, and you can’t help but explode under his ministrations. You begin shaking against the desk, and through the sound of your heart pounding in your ears you hear cheers and clapping from the heartless audience.

“Good job, boss!”

“What a slut!”

“You’re the man!”

Their reaction makes your heart shutter into pieces.

Joel gives his employees his million dollar smile, pride lighting up his dark eyes, and absentmindedly rubs his hands over your thighs still partially covered by tights, ripped at the crotch.

He gets up from the chair and when you try to close your legs, he yanks you to the edge again, pushing his hips between your thighs.

Joel slowly unbuckles his belt with one hand and unzips his suit pants, talking to you, “I thought about asking you out on a date, honey. Making you my girlfriend.”

He chuckles and pulls his boxers down.

“Could be nice. You, waiting for me at home.”

His cock springs free and you feel even more scared if it’s even possible. His manhood is huge, long and thick, bigger than your ex boyfriend’s for sure. He holds it at the base and continues, “you’d greet me with a home-cooked meal and a wet pussy.”

You know what he’s about to do and all your being rises in protest so you slap his hand off and slide off the desk in a fast motion.

“Hold her!” Joel barks and a few pairs of hands grab you and push you down. Your back hits the desk and someone’s holding your wrists over your head, their hands keeping you still, at the same time gliding over exposed parts of your body - your neck, your chest, a slither of your naked belly.

Joel doesn’t stop them. His eyes are fixed on your bare cunt, glistening with the signs of your body’s betrayal.

A sharp slap lands on your mound and sends a bolt of pain through your body, and you squeal.

“Don’t do it again, naughty girl. Or I’ll let these heathens fuck your ass raw.”

You sob, trying to ease the steel grip on your wrists. Through tears in your eyes, you see Joel bring the head of his stiff cock to your pussy and in a second you feel him push it in, slowly, but not for the sake of your comfort. Only for his enjoyment.

His head falls back and he groans, “fuckk, she’s tight. You can’t find a pussy like that in an escort.”

Joel looks down at you with a hazy smile and you plead for him to stop but he ignores you and thrusts into your core. He takes out what’s in his pocket and brings his hand close to your stuffed cunt. You hear a “buzz”, when he turns on a bullet vibe.

“No, Joel, please…” you cry.

“I want you to come on my cock too. And with this little helper, I’m sure you will, baby.”

He begins rolling his hips, pushing his fat cock in and out of your dripping pussy. You whine, feeling your walls spread around his girthy member and your belly is heaving with a mixture of fear and arousal. Meanwhile Joel starts fucking you faster, talking to you like there’s no one else in the room.

“Your dad would mind if we started going out but who gives a shit? I could just throw some money his way. Money can buy everything.”

He winks at you and you sob, sliding up and down the desk with each mighty thrust.

“But — It’s not the main problem. I spend most of the time here. I work hard—Aahhh— and it’s nice to fuck someone between the meetings, right, guys?”

You hear sounds of agreement around you and squeeze your eyes shut, scared to see the faces of the monsters around you.

Joel’s cock is rhythmically brushing your g spot and you hate that behind the horror there’s pleasure, nauseating and terrifying, but pleasure nonetheless. Joel tilts his hips and you cry out when he grazes something ecstatic inside your core.

“You gonna come again, honey?” he coos at you and the pet name he used so many times before, visiting your father, cuts your heart with a sharp blade.

A river of fresh tears rolls down your face but your misery is not noticed by Joel who explains, after a loud grunt, “office affairs take too much time and effort. But you. You’d be perfect as my pretty cum dumpster.”

With that he grabs your sides, nails digging into your soft skin, and starts snapping his hips into you, violating your pussy with his fat cock.

“Fuck, gonna come soon. Pussy’s too good. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

The men around you cheer again. Joel presses the vibrator to your clit and you whine, your walls clamp around his manhood and it sends him over the edge. With a loud grunt he begins spilling his hot cum into your pulsating pussy, pumping you more and more, pushing his cock deeper, while holding you with the iron grip of his hands.

You start sobbing again feeling the warmth spread deep in your core and it freezes your heart with another terror. You’re not on the pill.

Joel stays buried inside you for some time. You are so shocked that you don't react. You ignore his cock pulsating inside you. Ignore its last twitches. Until reality hits you and you cry harder. Your body betrayed you. Joel betrayed you.

“Joel, please… let me go.”

He finally pulls out and you feel some of his cum slide to your ass. You try to sit up but he grabs your wrists in his hands, keeping you down on the desk, leaning over you. His hazy gaze fixed on yours.

“Not so fast baby… we’re not gonna waste all this cum, are we? I want these men to remember who you belong to and fuck it back into you.”

You realize with shock that he really intends to throw you to them.

“Steve? You worked so hard this month. Enjoy your reward.”

Looking down at you, he adds, “come on, baby, be a good girl. Steve deserves it. And we already know you're a little slut. You clenched so hard on my cock, mmm?” He wipes away a tear running down your cheek with his thumb and steps away.

You try to close your legs but Joel clicks his tongue.

“No, no, no. I made myself clear, didn't I? Jim, didn’t I make myself clear?”

“Yes, boss, very clear.”

“If you're difficult, your father can say goodbye to his income. To his job. Your parents almost got divorced that time, didn't they?” His dark eyes are fixed on you. Even colder than before. There’s no hesitation or remorse in him. “So if you don't want your father to end up under a bridge, and your mother to whore around with her slutty daughter, you're gonna stop whining.”

He points his finger at you. You remember the meeting earlier. How cold he was, how sorry you felt for that woman. But now, it’s you who is facing this terrible side of him.

“And you’re gonna let them take their turn. Final warning.”

You suppress a sob, even when Steve settles between your legs and places one hand on your thigh and the other around his cock.

“Go on Steve, give her a good fuck.”

You hear the men cheer when Joel's employee pushes his tip in your already sore hole.

“Come on man, give it to her good!”

“Fuck that bitch!”

He thrusts in, grunting. Excited by the cheers of the other men. He fucks you hard as soon as he grabs your thighs and buries his length in you. You keep your eyes closed, unable to meet his gaze, and unwilling to give them any more of yourself by letting them see your frightened eyes.

“Well damn, Steve, you got great moves!”

The man puts his hands on your hips for a better leverage, jerking you forward with each thrust.

“Fuck, she's tight…”

“Yeah? Tighter than your wife?”

They all laugh, and you feel nauseous.

“Come on, Steve. Shoot your load. Don't enjoy it too much. I just lent her to you.”

Steve obeys and comes in your cunt, mixing his cum with Joel's.

Then Jim uses you.

And finally, Paul. He turns you around and bends you over to thrust into you from behind. He’s already groaning, when Joel’s phone rings.

“Oh!” he chuckles when he sees the name on the screen. He picks up and, looking at you, brings his index finger to his mouth, ordering you to be quiet.

“Hey, man! Calling to check on your daughter?” He walks around the desk to sit at your side and starts jerking his cock as he watches you getting fucked by the third man.

You can’t hear what your dad is saying, and your mind dissociates again.

“It’s going great. She’s already showing some serious skills!”

Joel smiles in response to what your father’s saying, his hand still fucking his shaft.

“No, sorry, she’s with Paul. He’s showing her some new procedures, they will be very useful to me soon.”

Paul is growling, rutting into you, and you hear Joel say, “Yeah sure, I’ll tell her you called.”

Paul spreads your ass cheeks and spits on your ring.

“No!” Joel gruffs in a low, menacing voice, after hanging up. “No one fucks her ass.”

“Sorry, boss, she takes it so good, I got carried away.”

“Don’t forget your place. Fill her up, and then get out, all of you. She’s mine, got it? We all… welcomed her, but now she belongs only to me.”

After using you like a fuck doll, the three men leave the office chatting happily.

Joel gets up, his hand working his fat cock.

“Gotta fill you again, baby. I can’t stay like this, with a hard-on, it’s painful, you know?”

You can’t believe he’s telling you this.

“Pussy’s already ruined, anyway,” he says as he thrusts in and fucks you hard and fast in all men’s cum, until he sends his load into your owerflowing core for a second time.

You’re lying on the desk, not even realizing they all left, that Joel has pulled out, until you feel a jacket covering you. Joel pulls down your skirt back over your thighs and grabs your arm to help you up. He fixes your shirt and looks at your face, your makeup smudged, mascara running down your cheeks.

“You’re gonna need some rest, baby. Come back next week. I’ll be the only one playing with you, from now on. Don’t forget - a pretty girl like you needs a man like me.”

You shiver. His voice pulls you out from the depths of your mind, that is lying to you that none of this has happened.

“Are you on birth control?”

You shake your head, eyes empty.

“I’m gonna give you an after pill, I don’t want you knocked up by one of the guys. You’re too precious for me. Now get your stuff and go home. And don’t think of telling anyone. No one will believe you anyway.”

As you grab the handle, he adds “Oh, before you leave. Add to my calendar, tomorrow, ‘a barbecue at your parents’, at noon. Your dad’s just invited me. It’s gonna be great, baby. Can’t wait to pay you a visit in your bedroom.”

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

Other fics by @milla-frenchy and me

Keep on your mean side - Joel x f!reader - dark fic

The Burglary -Joel x f!reader x Tommy - dead dove, noncon

Bad Girl - Joel x f reader x Tommy - dubcon

The hounds of hell - Series - Javier Peña x fem reader x Steve Murphy

MILLA’S MASTERLIST || KATE’S MASTERLIST

Tagging some lovely people who showed interest in the wips: @koshkaj-blog @604to647 @megangovier @tateypots @sunshineispunk @thundermartini @pedge-page @mountainsandmayhem @iamasaddie @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @evolnoomym @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

[velvetkisscs]

party 4 u, part of you knew

synopsis: you were an outcast, sunghoon was not. he was your neighbour, your childhood best friend, your first love. sunghoon didn't know that. on the last day of senior high, you decided to face your fears; go to the party and tell him how you feel. part of you knew that things might not end the way you want it to. still, you went.

"i shouldn't have gone to this party 4 u."

wc: 5.2k pairing: popular!sunghoon x fem!reader contains: angst (i tried), childhood best friends, secret crush, first love heartbreak, lack of communication, time apart, mentions of random characters, unexpected reunion, right person- wrong time, use of song lyrics, yn is kinda sad, etc. (let me know if i missed any) a/n: this story was heavily inspired by the "party 4 u" takes on tiktok. they've been flooding my fyp lately. these 2 tiktoks: [1] & [2] specifically. i strictly only listened to party 4 u - charlie xcx while making this.

this story is dedicated to my best babes, @sunoostripletriple <3 go give her a hug rn

i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i had fun writing it! i haven't written anything in a while, so idk if it gives what’s supposed to be gave? or however that saying goes. i do hope that it meets your expectations.

likes, comments & reblogs are appreciated <3

might contain grammatical errors as english is not my first language. not proofread.

you don’t belong here.

not in this dress and definitely not in this moment. but you do it anyway– sliding on the dress you picked– slowly, shakily. you’ve never been to a party before, nor were you ever invited. unsure whether the outfit you picked is too formal, you throw on your brother’s oversized jacket. the mirror reflects someone unfamiliar. perhaps a different version of yourself.

someone prettier. someone braver.

someone even sunghoon might look at. your room is littered with your own clothes, from your bed to the floor. you’ve been mulling over skipping the party for the nth time, uncertain whether this is the right choice. you can just wipe off your makeup, change into your (sunghoon’s) hoodie, crawl into the bed, and bury yourself under your sheets. pretend that the party doesn’t exist, that it’s just a normal night of you staying in.

but your hair is already lightly curled, you’ve done your makeup twice, and you finally convinced your mom to let you borrow one of her necklace after begging for what felt like an hour. you can’t really turn back now.

you hear a knock on the door. it’s your brother, heeseung.

“are you still coming?” he asks.

“i’m almost done.” you lied.

“i’ll wait for you outside.”

it’s too late. you really have to go. for the last time, you stand in front of your vanity mirror, rehearsing what to say to him.

“hey sunghoon. you look good tonight. i mean you always do.” you stutter over your words

“i’ve been wanting to tell you something. i like you. i always have. i think i might be in love with you.”

no. you thought that it’s too cheesy. it’s too much.

over the years, you’ve created different versions of this moment. what words to use, the tone of your voice, when the right time is, and even the outcome. you thought about how his eyes turn into crescent moons, the way his vampire-like fangs show up whenever he genuinely laughs, if he would tell you he feels the same, how you would feel when he pulls you in for a hug while apologizing for not realizing his feelings, and yours sooner. that maybe, you were always the one. 

he’s always been the only one.

but you know reality is never that kind. as soon as you meet his eyes, you fail to think of the proper words, let alone form a sentence that truly conveys your feelings. 

before you could even change your mind, your phone buzzes. heeseung is getting impatient waiting for you. so you leave.

it’s the last day of senior high. you two are going to different colleges. this is your only shot. tonight is your only chance. if things go south, if he ends up looking at you like a stranger– someone he hadn't spend his whole childhood and adolescent years with– you’ll have months, maybe even years of time and distance to forget.

you tell yourself that you’re not doing this for him, convinced that you’re doing this for yourself. that once you get the words out, once you let go of everything that’s been burning inside you, you’ll be free. 

but deep down, a part of you knew.

you’re going to this party for him, not for you.

the party is already in full swing when you arrived. the music is loud, the floor thumping as tangled bodies move in rhythm. not used to this kind of space, you stand still. you pretend to check an important notification from your phone, pretend to be waiting for someone. you’re stalling and you’re not sure what for. maybe for the annoying voice in your head to shut up and let you breathe. or to find the courage to walk up to sunghoon, finally telling him what you’ve been wanting to say.

this party felt foreign. people wear their confidence like perfume. compared to them, you’re a question mark left unanswered. your clothes felt too snug, shoes an inch too high, and your heart definitely too loud. you try to weave through the blur of entwined bodies, scanning the room for that one specific person.

then you see him.

sunghoon.

it didn’t take you long to find him. he’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a red cup in one hand, laughing at whatever jay and jake said. his v-neck shirt clung to his body, adorned with a sleek leather jacket. he drinks from the red cup, his side profile showing off his sharp jawline and his perfectly angled nose. 

his smile is genuine. familiar. unlike the room you’re both in. the smile you used to see everyday, back when he was still yours— well, not yours— but back when he was still closer. back when he’d throw small rocks to your window, asking if you’d want to go out for ice cream. back when you lost your grandpa and he invited you for a movie night in his room. blanket forts and popcorn, all set up by him. back when he used to call you “peach” because you once told him peaches were your favourite fruit, and that you always smell like one. he never forgot.

back when you were each other’s only friend.

back when you still mattered.

sunghoon is always the center of attention. it’s like a scene carved out of a coming of age film. he’s being bathed in the golden glow of overhead lights, the music slowing down. he’s the main character, and you’re just a mere extra passing through. he tilts his head back from laughter, and you see people form a semi-circle around him, orbiting him like planets to a sun. he’s the sun and you’re a rock. you can’t look away even if you tried.

you want to walk up to him. say what you’ve been wanting to say. 

anything. 

something. 

your hands tremble slightly at your sides. your fingers finding comfort at the hem of your dress, trying to anchor yourself.

as you take a step forward, she walks in.

eunji.

beautiful eunji with her perfect everything. her presence alone draws everyone’s attention. she makes a beeline to sunghoon like she’s done it over a thousand times. she knows she belongs by his side. you watch for sunghoon’s reaction, freezing for a second when he sees her. for a brief moment, something unreadable flashes in his eyes. is it nervousness? confusion? that the most popular girl in the school is walking towards him? 

from where you stand, you see eunji wrap her arms around his neck. then she goes for it, leaning in to kiss him.

and to your demise, he lets her.

your breath hitches. your chest tightens. you stand still, feet glued to the ground, unable to move or look away.

the noise of the party fades into the background, as if the person in charge of your life suddenly turned the volume of the whole world down. everything that was once so loud– the music, the chatter– is now barely a whisper. your legs won’t move, you feel stuck, like a statue that can see and feel everything.

in that moment, a hollow feeling blooms in your chest. you feel utterly alone in a room full of people. although surrounded with noise and laughter, you felt so small, so invisible.

your throat burns, a big lump forming. your eyes start to sting. you try so hard to do everything to ground yourself, you find your nails digging into your palm. you can’t cry now. not here and definitely not in front of everyone.

tragically for you– as if the universe is playing a joke– your eyes blur. mascara coated lashes getting damp with the tears you so badly want to hold back. and then–

“yn!” heeseung’s voice cuts through all the noise. and for once, you were thankful for your brother.

you hurriedly wipe your tears away, quickly turning towards heeseung. you put on a false front, smiling at him as if nothing is wrong.

on the opposite side of the room, sunghoon hears your name, his head snaps in your direction. he turns around, moving away from eunji, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s searching for something– someone.

you.

but you’re gone. you walked away.

the ride home is silent. you insisted that heeseung stays, that you feel lightheaded from the unfamiliar setting. that it’s best you go home. he buys it.

you look out to the window, watching the blurry headlights and streetlights pass like ghosts. the driver wondering why the party ended so early, so soon. you offer a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. the driver understood and doesn’t say a word afterwards. you were thankful for that.

your phone buzzes. it was a message from him. 

from sunghoon.

[sunghoon 🤍 10:29] hey, did you attend the party? i thought i saw you but i wasn’t sure.

you stare at the message, then his contact name. but you don’t answer. what will you even tell him? that you were there? that you watched him kiss someone?

that you’ve been in love with him since he hugged you under that blanket fort?

you open the reply box, then close it. but you open it again, typing out a “yeah, i was there.” but you erase it and you try again. “i was gonna say hi..” you delete it. trying to even out your breathing. trying to make the lump in your throat go away, the ache in you heart shrink, disappear. to pretend that it doesn’t matter. that it doesn’t hurt.

but it does.

in the end, you don’t reply. rather, you think to yourself. answering his message in your mind.

“party on, you party on.”

deleting his message, then his contact.

slowly deleting memories of him.

you convince your parents to let you move out to the city. telling them that it’s the best course of action. that it will help you get familiar with your surroundings once college rolls in.

 you leave town a week after graduation.

no texts. no goodbyes.

sunghoon messages you a few more times that summer. random things; things you two used to talk about. harmless things like “did you hear about the new ice cream place that opened up?” or a “come join us at the old arcade!”

you don’t respond.

you read them all. every word, repeatedly. but you let them sit there like messages from an unknown number. a stranger. a part of you hoped he’d try harder. that he’d make the effort to find you. ask you what’s wrong and give you a hug that will heal the very scar he stabbed into your heart.

but he doesn’t. somehow that hurts more than the kiss did.

you stop making blanket forts. stop eating peaches, stop using peach scented body wash. you stop checking his social media. all of the photos you had with him– from elementary to senior high– deleted. except one. a photo taken the summer before senior year. it’s hidden behind a locked album. a picture taken by your own brother, heeseung. you and sunghoon sitting on a swing, backs facing against the screen, ice cream in one hand, the sky a mixed of orange and pink hues, your gaze towards him. 

back then you were already wishing for something.

college is your clean slate. a mix of dorm rooms, group projects, lectures, expensive coffee, and new faces. you keep to yourself, studying every chance you get. you make friends, but not real ones. you don’t curl your hair. you store that necklace away. you don’t go to parties.

you turn yourself into a version that is easier to protect, invisible by choice.

time passes. slowly– painfully at first– you healed.

on your second year of college you meet someone. his name is kaito. he’s good to you. he has the kind of laugh that makes you feel fuzzy inside, hands that always know how to interlace with yours. he doesn’t make your heart race. but maybe, that’s not a bad thing. because hearts that race can easily break. a steady heart endures.

everyday he tells you he loves you. it’s the first thing that leaves his mouth in the morning and the last thing he utters before the day ends. you smile and say it back. and for a good while, you believe it. 

when kaito proposes it’s soft, pure. simple. a walk on the beach after a fancy dinner. he gets on one knee holding out a small velvety box, a ring tucked inside. it’s dainty, it’s precious.

somehow you hesitate. just for a moment. except you don’t know why. 

then you say yes.

not because you were certain. but because you want to be.

your parents are thrilled, his family adored you. everything is perfect. even you start to believe it. that love doesn’t have to be filled with sparks. that it didn’t have to be extraordinary. 

for once, you believe that the hole in your heart is patched up. that sunghoon is just a distant memory you learn to live with.

but memories always have a way of returning.

it starts slow.

a scent, faint and familiar. the kind that smells like cold summer nights and someone’s sweater draped over your shoulders. you catch it on a stranger passing by the grocery aisles. your heart stutters, it knows. for a brief moment, you close your eyes. it’s not kaito. not the steady love you said yes to.

it’s someone else. sunghoon.

it’s been 7 years, you thought. he can’t be using the same cologne. but you know that scent anywhere. he wore it throughout junior and senior year after all. ever since heeseung got it for him for christmas.

you shake it off. it must be a coincidence. 

except it happens again.

you’re at your local café, the one you’ve been frequenting to for group projects and late night cramming. you’re sitting down in a corner table, your laptop open and half a pastry forgotten on your plate. the song plays faintly through the speakers– she needs him by her’s– an indie track that used to be on all of your playlists. the one sunghoon would tease you about before admitting he kind of liked the band too.

your hands hover above the keys. you stare out the window, watching people pass by. maybe the song will finish quicker if you don’t pay attention to it. but it stays. long enough to remind you of the memories. long enough for the lyrics to cling to your skin like his sweater once did.

and then, kaito.

your sweet fiancé. kaito comes home with a new bottle of body wash and other travelling necessities for his upcoming business trip. 

“i thought you’d like this one, babe.” he says, placing it onto the bathroom counter.

“it’s peach scented. you like fruity things, right?”

you do.

it’s the exact brand you used to have in your old childhood bathroom. the one sunghoon would always tease you about whenever he’s over to play with heeseung. saying “why do you smell like a juice box?”

you stopped buying it after the party.

but the world likes to play a joke on you. the same body wash sits innocently on your counter. like time is just a concept, that it’s not real. like years haven’t passed. everything you tried so hard to erase is coming back. uninvited.

then a letter addressed to you comes.

a small pink envelope in your mailbox. you almost miss it, wedged between bills and packages. inside is a wedding invitation. heeseung, your brother. he’s getting married.

the card is beautiful– soft lavender coloured, adorned with bold calligraphy, a picture of heeseung and his fiancé, information and the dress code. 

lee heeseung and im seo-ah invites you to celebrate their wedding saturday, june 19th, 5:00pm at serenity garden

you stare at it, contemplating. there’s no rsvp option. you have to go.

kaito can’t make it. he calls the night before, apologizing every chance he gets. apparently there’s an emergency in japan. something about the budget and the investors. he promises to make it up to you when he returns. you tell him it’s fine. that you can manage.

you arrive at the venue. you wear a simple, ankle length dress with layers, coloured in different shades of blue, and a small scarf that came along with it. the dress is shaped like a flower, quite fitting for the theme of the wedding. you look like a woman who’s moved on.

but inside, you’re still the same quiet girl, heart pacing.

the sky is bright and clear. a gentle breeze flutters through the air, carrying the faint scent of lilac and hydrangeas. the sun casts golden streaks over the flowers and the white line-covered chairs. 

everything feels like a scene from a movie– too perfect to be real. soft jazz plays in the background, fairy lights hang between tree branches. it’s romantic. beautiful in a way that makes your chest ache. 

because it reminds you of your younger self. 

the one who curled her hair in her childhood bedroom. the one that carefully brushed eyeshadow on her lids. the one who felt like she didn’t belong. you’re watching someone else’s life unfold– someone who belongs into this moment, this life, better than you do.

and then you see him.

standing tall by the entrance of the venue in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. his face breaks into the biggest grin when he spots you.

“yn!” he calls, kindly weaving through the guests to get to you.

your heart beats rapidly.

he sweeps you into a tight hug. a hug so warm, so real, so grounding. 

“can’t believe you, out of all people, are married. you look amazing!” you say, pulling back from your brother’s hug.

he shrugs. “you clean up okay yourself.”

then his wife appears– seo-ah. she exudes elegant grace, the kind of woman who makes you understand why your brother fell in love so hard.

seo-ah greets you with a sweet smile. then a hug. you can tell she’s extremely nervous. “i’ve heard so many things about you!”

“and i’ve heard so much about you!” you reply. “all good things, i swear.”

later, during the reception, your name is called for a speech.

your stomach flips. you weren’t prepared. you didn’t plan much. you didn’t think you’d be asked. but it only makes sense since you’re the sister of the groom. 

every eye in the room is on you. something that never happened before. your legs feel like they will give out the second you make your way to the small stage. but you do it anyway. you hold the mic with both hands.

“hi.” you begin, your voice shaking. “i’m heeseung’s younger sister. surprising right?” a few chuckles ripple through the crowd.

“i basically spent most of my life watching him be the loudest person in every room. the first person to finish a whole box of ramen in a week, and definitely the worse person to share a bathroom with.”

more laughter breaks the tension. you exhale and continue.

“but i can assure you that he’s the most loyal person i’ve ever known. and i’m not saying that because he’s my brother. i remember when my first pet hamster died, he stayed up with me all night. he even bought me the candies i liked with the very little allowance he had. when i failed my physics exam, he made sure to tutor me until i understood the gravity of the situation.”

you catch heeseung looking a little flustered and you smiled at him.

“when he met seo-ah, he changed. not in a bad way, but in a real way. he became someone who listened more, someone who laughed a little softer, but loved harder. louder. and it’s all because of you, seo-ah. you truly bring out the best in him. i will never trade you for anyone else, you’re my sister now. thank you for taking him off my back. and good luck dealing with that.” another wave of laughter erruupts.

you pause.

“here’s to new beginnings. to love. the kind that grows with you. and the kind that feels like coming home.”

applause and glasses clinking fills the room. you feel like you might float away from sheer relief. that attention is no longer directed at you, but to the newlyweds. you don’t notice the eyes that were once watching you. 

but what you didn’t see is how a pair of eyes never looked away. a pair of eyes that never left your frame ever since you stepped up to speak.

his fingers curl loosely around a champagne glass. his chest rising, then falling. as if he just learned how to breathe. except you don’t see it. the way his expression softens with every word that leaves your mouth. a sense of pride in his gaze whenever you made the crowd laugh. a smile threatening to tug at his lips. you don’t see any of it.

not yet.

descending down the steps, you finally start to breathe evenly. that’s when it happens–

your eyes meet.

everything stops.

the music, the laughter. the chatter, the clinking of glass. everything goes silent.

it feels like you’re seventeen again. standing in a crowded room, but somehow alone. every memory you once buried, bursts to the surface. seven years of silence. of forgetting, pretending. all coming out.

he’s wearing a charcoal grey suit that fits like it was made for him. he looks older, more refined. he’s no longer the boy you used to love, but a man. however, his eyes stayed the same. soft yet unwavering. 

your eyes start to sting, a lump forming in your throat. you want to run. you want to leave. you have to. you need to.

but he’s faster. “wait–yn–”

his hand gently wraps around your wrist. it’s not forceful, but enough to stop you from leaving. enough to say please.

you stop, not turning around. you can’t.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” he says behind you, voice soft, yet unsure. the way that makes your throat tighten. “i was hoping you did. but i didn’t know.”

then he sees it. the dainty ring around your finger. but he doesn’t say anything. instead, he lets go and asks “how have you been?”

you don’t answer right away. closing your eyes, trying to stabilize your breathing. you turn around, forcing yourself to look at him with a smile. it’s way harder than you thought it would be.

“i’ve been good.” you look down at your hand. “i’m engaged.” showing him the ring kaito gave you.

he swallows, hard. “congratulations! are you happy?” now he’s the one forcing a smile.

“i am. it’s easy, it’s stable.”

“i missed you, you know.” he says quietly, voice cracking. “for years, i didn’t know how to reach you. i texted you, but i assumed you didn’t want to be bothered.”

you don’t answer him. and as if he understood, he nods.

there’s so much silence. it’s heavy, full of everything you never said. eventually, you say goodbye to him. then you go over to heeseung and seo-ah, giving them the gift and telling them that the wedding was beautiful. you hug them and promised to invite them for lunch. you walk out, the same way you did 7 years ago.

but that night, you find yourself in your childhood bedroom, back where everything started. your phone buzzes. it’s an unknown number. but part of you know who it is.

[unknown 11:10 pm] i got your number from heeseung. can we meet up by the lake tomorrow. just to talk and catch up. there’s something need to tell you.

the lake hadn’t changed.

maybe the tress were taller. the path was overgrown, used. the rope of the swing had frayed from the years and weather. but the lake itself– the still, glassy surface reflecting the colors of the sky– look exactly the same. the same as the last time you were here. unmoving, serene, quietly watching as if it had been waiting for you all long. 

your heart is stuttering in your chest, and there he is.

sunghoon sitting on the swing, hands in his hoodie pocket, just the way he used to be. his silhouette is outlined by the pink and orange hue of the sunsent. and for a second, it’s like time never passed. like you’re still seventeen, hiding away from the rest of the world, with him. talking about your dreams, too big and too small to name.

he turns around when he hears you, tension in his jaw, his shoulders– but his eyes remain the same. soft. the kind reserved only in your memories. only for you.

“you came,” he says, voice quiet.

you nod, words unable to come out. the lump in your throat is already forming, threatening to knock the air out of your lungs. you didn’t think coming back here would be this hard. or maybe you did. you just hope you were stronger now.

he gestures towards the swing. “sit with me?”

for a second, you hesitate. but you walk closer, the grass moving beneath your feet. your fingers graze the rope, then the wood plank of the swing. you remember the summers you spent here, pushing each other back and forth as high as you can. laughter echoing between the trees. it was your place with him. a secret you both kept from the rest of the world. a place where everything felt a bit easier.

sunghoon sits on the other end of the swing. for a few minutes, the only thing you hear are the sound of the cicadas, the wind, and the distant ripple of the water. the quiet feels loud. your heart that was once steady is racing. you wonder if the man beside you can hear it. and then he speaks–

“i didn’t know you left a week after graduation,” he says. voice shaky just enough to reveal his nervousness.

your head turns toward him. slow and hesitant. but you don’t say anything. you’ve always been the quiet one between the two of you.

“i mean… i found out eventually, as soon as college started. but not before that. not when it mattered, when i could’ve done something.”

you look down at your hands. the same hands that once held pieces of him. notes he’d pass to you in class, fries you used to fight over. the same ones that used to hold his own whenever you feel scared to walk back home. especially after getting scolded by your parents. the same hands that held your small secret. the hands that held your feelings for him. 

“i asked heeseung where you were,” he continues. “but he wouldn’t tell me. he said you didn’t feel like going out. i should’ve realized sooner that you didn’t want to be found. by me.”

it was true. you begged heeseung not to say anything. told him that it was better that way. that it was easier than explaining that his own best friend– your own best friend– broke your heart. 

sunghoon chuckles, but it’s bitter, empty. “i didn’t understand. i kept texting you. i kept hoping that maybe, you’ll show up with a smile on your face. telling me that you were sick and was bedridden for days. when i found out that you went to the graduation party, i thought i knew how to get you out of your room. so i threw so many parties. i told myself that it was for fun, for the guys, to blow off steam after exams. but it wasn’t.”

your vision starts to blur. that god awful lump in your throat is back. he looks at you, eyes shining in the low light. honest, unflinching.

“i threw those parties for you.”

the words hit you with the force of a tidal wave. you can’t breathe. your chest caves around the weight of your heavy heart. you finally heard the truth you never knew you needed. the idea that he had missed you too. that he looked for you in ways only he knew how. in places filled with noise.

you cover your mouth with your hand, trying to steady your breathing. your sobs, yourself. but it’s too late. the tears come fast. they’re hot, heavy, unstoppable. the dam you spent 7 years building, crumbles without mercy.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble. words cracking like glass. “i’m so sorry, hoon.” and that was enough for him.

he moves. arms wrapping around you, pulling you off the swing and into his arms. he holds you like you’re fragile glass, like he knows how long you’ve been holding everything in. he always does. and that healed you. the scar you once had in your heart, fading away.  he’s been waiting to hold you for years. 7 whole years. 

you cry. until tears won’t come out anymore. 

you cry for the years you lost. for something that could have been. you cry for the girl you used to be– the one who was so in love, yet so afraid. the girl who was so sure that she will never be enough. you cry because the love you had for him never died. just buried beneath time and distance. you cry because you hate that he’s here, when it’s too late.

sunghoon doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t stop you from crying. instead, he wraps his arms around you, lets you bury your face into his shoulders. he lets you soak his hoodie with your tears. it feels like forgiveness.

his voice comes out low, almost trembling. “i looked for you in every girl i met. i tried to move on. i really did. but no one can replace you. no one knew how to make the world quiet down with one single glance.”

you want to say something. tell him that you loved him first. that you never stopped loving him. but the words refuse to come out. the ache in your heart is too big, the wound too raw. so you stay quiet.

and he understands, he always does.

for the first time in 7 years of being apart, silence feels like healing.

you stay like that, head resting on his shoulder, gazing into the horizon. until the stars begin to peek through the sky. neither of you move. neither of you dares to let go.

because maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the end. but a new beginning.

likes, comments & reblogs are appreciated <3

a/n: i wont lie, i cried while writing some of the parts. especially when that part of the song coincidentally aligns with the “sad” bits. that’s why it took me a bit to finish it. an empath lives a hard life… also because i was out for work and a date for with my bf <3

do not fret! there will be a second part to this <3 see u soon!

tags: @sunoostripletriple @yoizhrs @sievenderz @bookmarkstanley

line divider by: @strangergraphics

[stylesispunk]

"Blind Faith" | part i

Priest!Joel Miller x nightclub dancer!reader

masterlist | next chapter

summary: Running away from your home, you found a small town to stay. Once there, you met people and the priest, Joel.

wc: 5,2 k

warnings: age gap (Joel is in his late 40s, reader in her late 20s), religious conflict, a crisis of faith, temptation, forbidden attraction, forbidden romance, eventual smut, social expectations, nightlife themes, the contrast between joel's and your world, protests, mentions of exile, mention of politics. For clarification, reader is Latina on this one.

a/n: Hello. I wanted this story to be something beyond a forbidden romance between two people, after reading books and watching things I wanted to recall that reader's background comes from her being an activist. I want to approach all the topics with all due respect and I hope you do too, nevertheless, those are not going to be the main center of the story.

Happy reading and please tell me what are your thoughts about this one.

You had built a life most people only dreamed of. A life filled with passion, purpose, and the kind of joy that comes from doing what you love. You were surrounded by friends who understood you, a family you cherished with every fiber of your being, and a career that made waking up every morning feel like stepping into a dream.

You had studied dance at university, dedicating years to perfecting your craft until movement became your language, your art, your very identity. But you didn’t see yourself just as an artist, you were educated. You had spent your life asking questions, seeking answers, and standing for what was right. Politics fascinated you, not as a distant game played by men in suits, but as something alive, something that shaped the world around you. You were drawn to justice, to fairness, to the fight for those whose voices were drowned out by oppression.

Protests became as much a part of your life as well as performances. You had stood in the streets, chanting until your voice was hoarse, raising signs, raising awareness, raising hell when it was necessary. You believed in change, in the power of people united. But belief alone was never enough to stop what came next.

The illusion of safety shattered the moment power fell into the wrong hands. The men who took control of your country did not tolerate opposition. They did not welcome free thought or voices that questioned their authority. People like you, the educated, the artists, the teachers, all who had seek justice, were dangerous but because you couldn’t be controlled. Because you saw through their lies.

You remember the night your world collapsed. The hurried whispers in the dark. The fear in your mother’s eyes. The way your brother’s hands shook as he cut your hair, disguising you in a desperate attempt to buy you time.  

He drove you to the airport as your heart pounded, then, you boarded that plane, leaving behind everything you had ever known. Your home. Your family. The life you had built.

And that is why you ended up here, in a bus driving to a foreign city located in California. The bus rattled as it rolled into town, the low hum of the engine filling the silence of the nearly empty cabin. You sat near the window, watching the Californian sun stretch across the dry fields, golden and endless, nothing like the dense, humid air of home.

 Home.

The word sat heavy in your chest, a place you could no longer name without feeling the weight of exile pressing against your ribs.

This town was small, quieter than you expected, but that was good. You needed a quiet, a place to disappear, to become no one, to not be recognized. You stepped off the bus with only a battered leather suitcase and a name written on a slip of paper.

The paradise, a nightclub where a friend of a friend had said you might find work.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, though the air was warm. You must have learned to move carefully, to keep your eyes down, to not be recognized. But you couldn't help glancing up at the church as you stepped off the bus.  

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing on the steps, speaking to a woman holding a little baby in her arms. There was, a priest, dressed in black, with tired eyes and a kindness in the way he bent his head to listen. He looked up, meeting your gaze for the first, just for a fleeting second. Then, his gaze left your eyes, leaving you with a weird feeling, warmth rising up to your cheeks.

You pulled the slip of paper from your pocket, staring at the name scrawled in fading ink staring at the name scrawled in fading ink. The paradise.  

When you lifted your gaze again, the priest wasn't there anymore.

You sighed and adjusted the trap of your suitcase over your shoulder, feeling anxious creeping upon your skin as you try to picture your life in a foreign place.

You looked towards the church in the front of the street, where the priest had stood minutes before, perhaps trying to look and answer to your questions. You weren't a religious person, but you did believe in calls, and you felt the pulling thread forcing you to walk towards the church, as if something were calling you, perhaps someone.

Your feet found their way to the old church at the edge of town, its stone walls worn and cracked from years of standing against the wind. It loomed tall and hollow, the kind of place that had seen more sorrow than joy. You hesitated at the entrance, your heart beating faster than you liked.

Why am I even here? you thought. But the pull wouldn’t let you turn away.

You stepped inside.

The stained glass cast soft, fractured colors onto the worn wooden pews, painting the empty space in hues of crimson, gold, and deep blue. The scent of burning wax and old books filled your senses, grounding you in a place that felt both foreign and strangely familiar.

Your footsteps echoed as you moved deeper inside, the vast silence of the church swallowing every sound. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, an answer, a sign, something to tell you that coming here wasn’t a mistake.

The priest where nowhere to be found, so you took seat in one of the wooden benches, perhaps waiting, perhaps resting.

You got yourself comfortable, the sleep catching upon you. Your body felt heavy, exhaustion creeping into your bones the moment you allowed yourself to rest. The weight of the suitcase by your side, the long journey that had brought you here, it all pressed down on you at once. The church, with its quiet stillness, felt like the safest place you’d been in weeks.

That was where Joel Miller found you.

On a quiet evening when the chapel was empty, save for the flickering candlelight and the faint scent of incense clinging to the air. You were curled up on one of the wooden pews, arms folded beneath your head, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

He cleared his throat, but you didn’t stir. He hesitated before reaching out, tapping your shoulder. “Miss?” His voice came softer than he expected. “You can’t sleep here.”

"Father, do you always wake up strangers like this?"

Your voice was thick with sleep, eyes blinking against the dim glow of the chapel’s candlelight. The air smelled of old wood, wax, and something faintly metallic, like rain on stone. You looked young like this, your face soft, but Joel knew better. You shouldn't be older than thirty.

"You can’t sleep here," he repeated.

You smirked, rubbing your eyes. "Didn’t know God kicked people out."

Joel exhaled sharply. The world outside was changing, rock ‘n’ roll, free love, protests, women in miniskirts. But in this town, in this chapel, things were supposed to stay the same.

This town hadn’t met those changes.

Joel stood over you, stiff-backed, his fingers still hovering near your shoulder from where he’d tapped you awake. He shouldn’t have noticed the way your legs stretched across the pew, the way your blouse, too low-cut for a place like this, shifted as you moved, leaving no place to imagination.

Joel exhaled sharply. Lord, give me patience.

"This isn’t a shelter," he said. "If you need a place—"

"I'm not homeless" Your tone was firm and final, as if you were done, but there was something else in your voice too, something he couldn’t quite place, but it hinted sadness. "I just got into town," you admitted after a beat, glancing toward the stained-glass windows, dark now with the night. "Didn’t know where else to go. At least not tonight."

Joel studied you, his chest tightening."Are you in trouble?"

A small, humorless laugh left you. "Depends on what you call trouble."

Silence filled the chapel, thick and unmoving. The rain had stopped, leaving only the distant hum of the highway beyond the hills.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said finally. But his voice had lost its authority, had softened just enough that he felt the weight of it settle in his own bones.

“Why?” You asked

Joel exhaled slowly, shifting on his feet. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way his jaw tensed, something he was holding back.

"You can’t stay here," he said again, voice firm but not unkind.

You sat up properly this time, stretching your legs out in front of you, your boots scraping against the floor. His eyes flicked to them, brief, barely noticeable, you caught it, but you chose not to say anything.

"Didn’t mean to cause a problem," you said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"You’re not a problem," he said, then hesitated. "But this isn’t a place for…"

You arched a brow. “For what? For a woman like me?”

For someone wearing boots and a blouse that clung a little too tight, a skirt that rode too high when you stretched out.

He didn’t utter that the sentence. Instead, he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

"Where you planning on staying tonight?" he asked.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Haven’t figured that part out yet."

Joel frowned. "You got family here?"

"No father, I don’t."

"Friends?"

"No."

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. So, you’re alone.

You weren’t sure if that unsettled him or if it was something else.

He shifted again, exhaling through his nose like he was about to say something he’d regret.

"There’s a place near the church," he finally said. "A small guesthouse. Church used to use it for traveling pastors, but it’s empty now. You can stay there tonight."

You studied him. "Why?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean, why?"

"I mean, why help me? You don’t know me."

Joel was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "That doesn’t mean I should turn you away."

You held his gaze, searching for something in it—hesitation, reluctance. But there was only conviction.

And yet you could feel something else there, buried beneath all that righteousness behind his clothes.

Something you hadn’t named yet.

"Alright, Father," you said finally, standing up. "Lead the way."

He hesitated, just for a second. Then, he turned, stepping toward the chapel doors, and you followed.

Back at his house behind the church, Joel lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The wooden beams above cast long shadows in the dim glow of the lamp beside his bed. He should’ve been sleeping, his body was tired enough for I, but his mind refused to settle. It was noisier than ever.

His thoughts kept drifting back to something else, to you. To the way you’d looked at him when you stood up from that pew, like you already knew he wasn’t as correct as he pretended to be.

To your voice, husky with sleep, the way you stretched without a care in the world. To your legs.

Joel shut his eyes. Lord, give me strength.

It had been a passing glance, barely a flicker of a thought, but now it gnawed at him.

He had seen a lot of things in his years as a priest. A lot of people in need, a lot of wandering souls. But he wasn’t blind. He could recognize beauty when it was right in front of him. And tonight, for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just his faith speaking.

It was something else. It felt dangerous.

He turned onto his side, sighing through his nose. This was just another test. He’d seen men struggle with temptation, had guided them through it. This was no different.

You were just a woman in need. That’s all. That’s all.

And yet, sleep never came easy that night.

The early sun cast long golden beams through the chapel windows as Joel made his way to the guesthouse. He carried a small plate of toast and eggs, as a gesture of hospitality. He thought about last night, on how he hadn’t offered food or a cup of tea.

He wanted to show kindness, but the second he stepped inside, he knew.

The bed was made, the blanket neatly folded. No sign of anyone.

And on the small wooden table by the window, a note.

Joel set the plate down and picked it up, his fingers tightening around the paper.

"Thank you for your help, Father."

That was it. No name, no explanation. Just a quiet departure, as if you’d never been there at all.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring at the empty room.

Something settled deep in his chest, something that felt too much like disappointment.

He was afraid of the fleeting feelings coming to him. Because last night, he’d told himself you were just passing through. But now, standing here, he wasn’t sure he believed it.

You were strong and brave enough this day. When you found yourself in the front of the paradise, the neon light flickered weakly in the daylight, music pulsed behind the doors, muffled but steady, a heartbeat beneath the night.

You inhale deeply, pushing the door behind.

The club smelled of sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke. It wasn’t alive as you expected to be during the day, but there were men in tight pants, women in flowing skirts, people who existed somewhere in between, all shining under the low, colored lights of the place.

This wasn’t the kind of stage you were used to. But it was something.

Behind the bar, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard was pouring whiskey into a glass, his gold rings catching the light. He spotted you instantly, eyes narrowing slightly before softening.

“You must be the new girl,” he said, voice thick with an accent she couldn’t place.

You hesitated for a moment, but then you nodded.

The man wiped his hands on a towel, then leaned over the counter, studying you.

“You dance?” He asked.

You lifted your chin. “Yes.”

He smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

A warm hand touched your back.

Your turned to find a woman at your side, tall, dark-skinned, with a shimmering dress that clung to her curves. Her lipstick was deep red, her eyes lined in black.

“Come on, cariño,” the woman purred. “Let’s get you ready.”

You swallowed, but you followed her backstage.

Backstage was a blur of colors, perfume, and laughter. The other dancers moved around you effortlessly, adjusting their costumes, fixing their makeup, teasing each other in rapid-fire whispers. You stood still, taking it all in. People here were wild, free and beautiful, and you smiled at that.

The woman who had led you back, Carmen, handed you a black slip dress. It was simple, barely more than a tiny thing of fabric, with thin straps that draped off your shoulders.

“You need shoes?” Carmen asked, watching as you slipped it over your head.

You shook your head “I’ll dance barefoot.”

Carmen raised a perfectly sculpted brow but didn’t argue. “Suit yourself.”

The music outside shifted, growing louder. Your stomach tightened.

You had danced for crowds a thousand times before, but never like this. This wasn’t a stage with velvet curtains, with polished floors and orchestrated movements. This was something raw and new for you, something meant to be felt rather than admired.

You exhaled slowly.

You’ve already lost everything. What’s left to be afraid of?

A hand touched your shoulder. She turned to find Carmen smiling. “You’re up next, estrella.”

The lights were dim when you stepped onto the small, elevated platform.

The club wasn’t packed, but there were enough people to make the air thick with murmurs and expectation. A few heads turned, eyes gliding over you as you took your place.

You closed your eyes.

The music started, a slow, sultry rhythm, deep bass vibrating through your bones.

And then you moved. At first, it was instinct. The slow bend of your knees, the gentle sway of your hips. You let the music guide you, feeling it the way you once had in the studio, back when you were still the dancer, before you became the fugitive.

Your arms lifted, fluid and controlled, your body following in careful, deliberate motions.

And then you forgot to be careful. You turned, arching into a spin, the hem of your dress fluttering around your thighs. You let your feet move the way they had been trained to—pointed toes, precise steps, every motion a whisper of the ballerina you once were.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

Someone murmured, “Mierda… she can dance.”

You barely heard them. For the first time in months, you felt like yourself again. Not a girl running, not a girl hiding, but a girl who had been born to dance.

You let yourself go. By the time the music ended, a hush had fallen over the club.

And then—applause. You stood there, breathing hard, your skin glowing under the soft red lights.

When you stepped down from the platform, Carmen was waiting, grinning.

“Dios mío,” she said, shaking her head. “Where the hell did you come from?”

You just smiled. You didn’t have an answer for that. But for the first time since you had arrived, you felt like you had found a piece of home to stay in.

The night air was warmer as you made your way back to the church, the scent of warm pastries wrapped in cloth filling your hands. The applause from the club still echoed in your ears, the feeling of movement still lingering in your limbs. You felt light. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt less lonely.

You paused at the entrance, looking up at the towering stone structure, its stained glass barely illuminated by the sunlight. The contrast was almost laughable.

The dancer and the priest. A contradiction in itself.

With a breath, you stepped inside.

He was there, seated at one of the pews, his back turned to you. His posture was stiff, as if he’d been deep in thought, or perhaps in prayer.

“Father.”

He turned sharply at your voice, his dark eyes immediately landing on you. For a moment, he said nothing, just studying you as if trying to figure out why you had come back.

You held up the bundle in your hands. “I brought you something.”

His gaze flickered to the wrapped pastries before settling back on your face. Slowly, he stood, walking toward you with careful, deliberate steps. When he got close, the faint scent of smoke and candle wax clung to him.

“You didn’t have to,” he muttered, but he still took them from you. His fingers brushed yours briefly, warm, rough, calloused. The hands of a man who had worked long before he had ever been a priest.

You shrugged. “It’s a thank-you. For helping me yesterday.”

He watched you for a beat before nodding. “Did you find a place to stay?”

“I did.”

He didn’t ask where. He just looked at you, waiting. Maybe he wanted to know. Maybe he already had an idea.

You weren’t going to tell him either.  Instead, you smiled. “Don’t eat them all at once, Father.”

Joel’s eyes flickered down, lingering for a second longer than they should have. You noticed.

It was brief, so brief you might have convinced yourself you imagined it. But you didn’t. His gaze had traced over the curve of your waist, the way the fabric of your blouse rested against your skin, the gentle swell of your collarbones. The flicker of something unreadable in his expression disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Do you—” He hesitated. “Would you like to talk?”

You raised a brow. “Talk?”

He nodded, tilting his head toward one of the wooden pews. “If you want.”

A small part of you wanted to tease him, ask if priests usually invited strange women to talk in dimly lit churches. But you swallowed the thought.

Instead, you sighed, walking past him and settling onto the worn wooden bench. You crossed one leg over the other, tapping your fingers idly on the surface. Joel sat beside you, close, but not too close.

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“Is this the part where I have to confess my sins?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joel exhaled through his nose, almost like a quiet laugh. “Only if you want to.”

You studied him for a moment. The way his hands rested on his lap; fingers curled slightly as if he wasn’t quite at ease. The tension in his shoulders, the quiet restraint in his posture.

You tilted your head. “What about you, Father?”

His gaze lifted to meet yours.

“What do you believe in?” you asked.

Joel didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, something shifting in his expression. He looked away, staring at the rows of empty pews, at the altar beyond. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his fingers drumming idly against his knee. Then, without looking at you, he asked, “Why’d you come here?”

You blinked at him. “Here? To the church?”

He nodded. “Last night”

You considered lying. It would be easier. But something about the way he was looking at the altar, like it held answers he wasn’t sure he wanted, made you tell the truth.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just… felt like I had to. Like, something just called me, you know?”

His gaze flicked to you then, studying, searching. “You’re not religious.” It wasn’t a question.

You smirked. “Is it that obvious?”

Joel didn’t return the smile. He just kept watching you, unreadable. “Then what are you looking for?”

That was a harder question. Peace? A sense of belonging? A place to rest? You weren’t sure.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Something different. A fresh start.”

Joel hummed, thoughtful. He leaned back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him. “And you think you’ll find that here?”

You sighed, tilting your head toward him. “What’s with the interrogation, Father? Trying to save my soul?”

This time, he did smile. Barely. Just a flicker of amusement in his expression. “I think your soul is doing just fine on its own.”

That shouldn’t have made your heart stutter the way it did.

Joel shifted, bracing his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “You got people looking for you?”

Your breath caught. There it was. The question you’d been dreading.

You glanced away, suddenly very interested in the cracks in the wooden pew beneath you. “No,” you said eventually. “No one’s looking.”

Joel didn’t press. He just nodded slowly, like he had believed you.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The church was silent except for the occasional creak of wood settling, the distant sound of footsteps from somewhere outside.

Then Joel inhaled, shifting beside you. “You should be careful.”

You turned to him, frowning. “Why?”

His jaw tightened. He hesitated, then sighed. “This town—it’s small. People notice things.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “And what have they noticed about me?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to your hands resting in your lap, then back up to your face.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “Yet.”

The word lingered between you, heavier than the silence that followed.

“What about?” you asked, “What do you notice about me?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just looked at you, eyes unreadable, something working behind them, something you couldn’t quite place.

You held his gaze, waiting, heartbeat steady but slow.

Then, he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “I noticed you don’t like talking about yourself.”

Your lips quirked. “Maybe I just don’t like talking to priests.”

That got the barest huff of amusement from him. “Could be.” His fingers tapped lightly against his knee before he added, “But I think it’s more than that.”

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

Joel nodded, his voice quieter when he spoke again. “I think you’ve been running from something”

That made your stomach tighten.

Your first instinct was to deny it, to smirk, roll your eyes, brush it off like he was just another man who thought he had you figured out. But Joel wasn’t just another man. And the way he was looking at you, like he could see past whatever mask you were wearing, made it harder to lie.

Your fingers curled slightly against your lap. “And what makes you think that?”

Joel leaned back slightly, stretching one arm along the pew. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “The way you don’t settle,” he said simply. “Not even when you’re sitting still.”

The words sent something sharp through your chest.

You swallowed, looking away, suddenly feeling too seen, too exposed. “Maybe I just don’t like these wooden benches.”

Joel hummed, like he wasn’t convinced. But he didn’t push, instead he smiled at you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows across the empty church.

Then, finally, Joel shifted beside you. “Did you eat?”

The abrupt change caught you off guard. You blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

His expression was unreadable again, but his voice was casual when he repeated, “Did you eat?”

You frowned. “Why?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Because if you haven’t, I got food in the back.”

You tilted your head, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Are you asking me if I want to eat these pastries with you, Father?”

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he glanced down at the bag of pastries still resting between you. “You brought them” he said gruffly. “Seems only fair.”

You pretended to consider it, tapping a finger against your knee. “Well, I supposed I must take you for a man who shares.”

He shot you a look, one that might’ve been stern if not for the flicker of something else in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

“Don’t make me take it back,” he muttered.

You bit back a grin, shrugging as you reached for the bag. “Well, if you insist.”

Joel stood, nodding his head toward the back of the church. “Come on. I’m not going sit out here and eat in the dark like some kind of—” he gestured vaguely before shaking his head. “Just come on.”

You followed, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone floors. The air was warmer in the back rooms, less hollow than the empty church.

Joel pulled out a chair for you at a small wooden table, and you sat, watching as he grabbed a couple of plates and a knife.

“Tea?” he asked.

You arched a brow. “Didn’t take you for a tea drinker.”

Joel shot you another look. “Or coffee. Pick one.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Tea.”

He nodded, setting a teapot on the stove before sitting across from you. The candlelight flickered between you, soft and warm.

You broke off a piece of pastry, popping it into your mouth. “Not bad,” you admitted.

Joel took a bite himself, chewing slowly. Then, he glanced at you,

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the pastry in your hands, the way the flaky crust crumbled against your fingers. But he was looking at you.

He hadn’t meant to, not like this, not for this long. But there was something about the way you sat there, elbows on the table, the candlelight casting soft golden hues over your skin. Something about the curve of your lips as you chewed thoughtfully, the way your lashes lowered when you focused.

You were different. A fresh breath in a town that had long gone stale, where faces blurred together, where days passed without change. But you—

You weren’t part of this place. Not yet. And maybe that was what drew him in.

His gaze flickered lower, just for a second. The delicate slope of your collarbones, the soft neckline of your blouse that dipped just enough to hint at what lay beneath. He swallowed, jaw tensing, and forced himself to look away, to focus on something else, the flickering candle, the steam rising from the kettle.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, your voice pulling him back.

Joel cleared his throat. “Just thinking.”

You tilted your head, studying him now, those sharp eyes of yours peeling away layers he hadn’t realized were there. “About what?”

He could’ve lied. Could’ve told you something simple, something easy.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Nothing important.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t push, just took another bite of pastry.

And Joel? Joel tried not to look at your lips when you did.

The teapot whistled, breaking the silence. Joel pushed back his chair, a little too fast, the legs scraping against the wooden floor. He muttered something under his breath, maybe a curse, maybe just an exhale—as he stood and turned toward the stove.

You watched him, chin resting in your hand, fingers tapping absently against your cheek.

He moved with quiet fast, pouring the hot water into two mismatched mugs, the steam curling up between you like an unspoken thought.

“Sugar?” he asked.

You hummed, pretending to think. “Do you have honey?”

Joel shot you a dry look but opened a small cupboard, rummaging until he found a half-used jar. He set it down in front of you, his fingers brushing the edge of your mug as he did.

You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, taking a slow sip.

Joel sat back down, quieter this time, his elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

You tilted your head. “So, do priests always offer tea and pastries to strangers passing by?”

A corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “No.”

You raised a brow. “Just me, then?”

Joel held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his brown eyes. Then he looked away, took a slow sip of his own tea.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just you.”

You set your cup down gently, the porcelain clinking softly against the table. "Thanks for being so kind to me." you said, your voice low, more than just for the tea and pastries. It was for the quiet, for the refuge, for something you couldn't quite explain.

Joel didn’t respond right away, but you saw the faintest shift in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders easing just a little. His eyes flickered back to yours, and there was something different about the way he looked at you now, less guarded, almost as if he’d let a small part of himself slip into the space between you.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, then reached for the teapot, his fingers brushing the warm ceramic. "You don't have to thank me," he said quietly. "It's... it’s nothing."

But you both knew it wasn’t nothing. It never was.

Behind his intentions there was always kindness, but now something new flickered.

A temptation threatening his faith, like the world had set on fire the moment you glances met for the first time and he wanted the flames to catch him to be saved by you.

tags: if you want to be removed, you're free to tell me.

@jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @myownwholewildworld @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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@iamtoriasworld @priincehoseok @luunarr0

[swiftiesdestiel]

byler fic recommendations because why not:

— i know the end by bookinit • stranger things retelling

my favourite byler fic ever. So beautifully written and idk i feel like it made me understand the show more as well

— some sort of ripple effect by sylvianightshade • “Mike & Will have a long overdue conversation on the way back to Hawkins— by, in, and around a random motel pool.”

takes place in the two-day timeskip between Mike’s monologue and the Cali gang arriving in Hawkins. Sooo amazingly written and one of my faves, idk this fic is so *chef’s kiss*

— touch like velvet by ciders • “It was easy for Will Byers to fall in love with Mike Wheeler.

The trouble came when he had to pretend it wasn't real.”

pretty sure almost the entire byler fandom has already read this one but oh well, normally i’m not the biggest AU fic-fan but this one was AMAZING. Again — so beautifully written, and the story was so good

— he likes it scalding by CastleByersAfterDark • mike and will take a bath together

this one was sooo cute & (i’ll keep on saying it) very well-written😛

— (give me a second to) forget i ever really meant it by delusionaltogether (Whyyyyy) • “Practice makes perfect, especially when the person you're practicing with is your best friend.” (aka byler kissing practice fic)

kissing practice fics can NEVER go wrong honestly, this was such a sweet little fanfic and i had so much fun reading it

— It will always be you. by peachluv • “After a thoughtful talk and subsequent breakup with El, Mike has to renavigate his friendship with Will and the overwhelming feelings that come with it.”

a new favourite of mine!! it’s such a comfort fic even tho it’s a little angsty at one point. kind of felt like a breath of fresh air cause it doesn’t really focus on the upside down stuff that much, it was incredibly well-written aswell !!!

——> (a slight warning for emetophobes tho cause there is some v*miting in there, however as an emetophobe myself i could just skip over the more graphic stuff and it was completely fine 🫶)

— To Hell and Back Again by perexcri • “Mike and Will's Apocalypse Romcom Spectacular” - Mike follows Will into the upside down because he’s set on finding out what that painting meant, and why Will lied about it.

another fanfic that probably the entire fandom has already read, but whatever. I’m always down for a byler upside down fic and that’s exactly what that is + it’s a slow burn, so what else do we want??

— said that i was fine, said it from my coffin by ruetistic • byler wound cleaning fic

cute & kind of sad but also just…… cute☺️ honestly can never go wrong with a wound cleaning fic!!

— Mike Wheeler and the G-Word by lunii_vii • “Everyone realizes at their own times that Mike Wheeler is queer, but leave him to figure it out himself.”

Really fun and lighthearted fic, enjoyed reading this a lot!!

— and the shame was on the other side by andiewriteordie • “a character study on Mike Wheeler, his feelings of fear, shame, and inadequacy, and how he finds freedom from that.” - a flickergate fic

Nice little flickergate fanfic, honestly one of my favourite byler theories so this was fun to read :)

— ౨ৎ —

happy reading 💌

[sodaneko]

3am pillow talk with suna rintarō who refuses to call what you two have anything but casual, except he gets clingy in the dead of the night. idle fingers trace up and down your spine before his hand sprawls out against your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer to him. his lips find your neck again, leaving small love bites despite your huffed protests, a red blooming memento to prove that you belong to him while the rest of the world is asleep. 

you know you should probably peel yourself away from his arms if you don’t wanna get your heart broken ceremoniously–but it’s hard when the sweet nothings murmured against your skin feel so raw and honest, like a secret only you know about. his fears, his sorrows, his growing pains. how much more can you carry? is this love or a burden?

you will never find out, because suna and you only exist in the blind spot of the universe. he’ll write what if’s against your bare back with his fingertips and you’ll lick the lie of ‘right person, wrong time’ off his lips, pretending it’s not eating you alive. suna laughs softly against the hollow of your throat and it drowns out the sound of your heart shattering in your rib cage underneath his warm palm. 

when every kiss could be the last you start savoring them; your hands tangling in his hair and his cupping both sides of your face, thumbs tracing your jaw with the adoration only man drunk from love and loneliness could muster. you push lies between each other’s lips like candy, letting them wash out the bitterness that comes in the morning, when the sun rises and you both get dressed again, going back to being nothing more but friends. 

the distance between you is a valley, a black hole in your heart threatening to devour you if it weren’t for the kisses pressed against your knuckles and the inside of your wrist while he lingers in the doorframe. suna is always leaving. the bed is still warm and unmade but at least his eyes are honest; telling a story about adoration and a tale as old as times, the ending already written in the stars.

[ditzyrafe]

— sending dom!rafe a video of u touching urself

warnings — masturbation, lewd language

a/n — part two!

the house is quiet, almost unnervingly so. rafe is out — a late meeting, he'd said — leaving you alone with the silence and the low, insistent thrumming beneath your skin. it's that familiar ache, the one making your panties moisten with anticipation. the one you're supposed to ignore, supposed to wait patiently for him to address.

but tonight, the rules feel distant, hazy. the need is sharp, demanding, coiling tight in your belly. you shift restlessly on the living room rug, wanting so desperately to feel something satisfy your need. then an idea sparks, dangerous and thrilling, blooming hot in your chest: what if he saw? what if he knew you couldn't wait for him to come home?

it's defiance, plain and simple. a deliberate step over the line he drew so clearly.

your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for your phone, propping it against a cushion on the floor. you angle it carefully, making sure the lens captures your open legs and face all in one. your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic beat against the backdrop of silence. this is wrong. forbidden. exhilarating.

taking a deep breath, you hit record.

then, your hand slides down, hesitant at first, over the smooth fabric of your pink silky shorts rafe got you a while back, pressing lightly against the heat building between your legs. a soft gasp escapes your lips, startlingly loud in the quiet room. you glance at your phone, at the little red recording light, imagining his eyes wathching this. that thought alone fuels the fire inside of you.

you slip your shorts and panties off and toss them somewhere across the room. the first touch is electric, sending shivers radiating through your entire body. you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on the sensation, letting the pressure build, deliberately slow. this isn't just about release; it's about the act of disobedience. and you're kind of excited to see how rafe will punish you for it.

your fingers learn a rhythm, chasing the pleasure points you know so well. each sigh, each soft moan feels amplified like you're putting on a show. your back arches slightly, lost in the building sensation, acutely aware that every second of this stolen pleasure is being recorded for him. for the man whose permission you actively disregarded.

when the peak finally reaches, washing over you in hot, shuddering waves, a final, choked cry escapes you. you collapse back onto the couch behind you, trembling, breath ragged.

after a moment, catching your breath, you reach forward, fingers still slick, and stop the recording. the file sits there on your screen, a tangible piece of evidence of your disobedience. your thumb hovers over rafe's contact. sending this is crossing a line. and there's no going back after you hit send.

a thrill, sharp and laced with fear, shoots through you. you press send.

the delivery notification pings softly almost instantly, followed quickly by the double checkmarks indicating it's been seen. the speed of it steals your breath. he must have been looking at his phone. the silence in the house suddenly feels suffocating, stretching into eternity as you wait, knuckles white where you grip your phone.

just as you start to second-guess your impulsive act, the screen lights up. a new message from rafe. it was laced with something that made you instantly wet all over again.

rafe: get on all fours for when i get back, doll ♡

taglist ; @13hischiers @rafesprecious @mayanqueenxx @dreewsepj @zoenighshade555 @feverg1rl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @onxlyemery @yncoded @millie--billie @laniirackssss @slut4you @g3t2kn0w @kravitzwhore @dollyfiles @kild4re @zzhenyac @sparklyananas @dsfault @athaliahxoxo (join here) | divider creds ; @/anitalenia @/fairytopea

© written by ditzyrafe — do not steal or claim as ur own, stealing will result in me blocking u, any resemblance to any other story is simply coincidental!

[running-with-kn1ves]

Wrong place, Wrong Person

A/N: This is kind of written as needing a part 2, but I haven’t thought much farther ahead lmao. Its origin story is from the grad student shuffle when chris says ‘get hard when your professor bums a cigarette off you.”

TW: Power imbalance, smoking, implied stalking. 

Synopsis: In an attempt to calm your nerves after class, the stoic and hardened face of your professor finds you, his attitude oddly different from that in class. 

“Got one more?"

The familiar, rough voice of authority almost made you jump, twinges of fear crawling up your neck as you shrink around the item between your fingers. guarding it out of view.

Your professor stood with an anxious frown towards the billowing smoke leaving your lips, the bags under his eyes creasing as he looked from you, down to the cigarette longingly.

The habit of hiding whenever you smoked was almost instinctual. What were you-- fourteen again? You were a grown adult slaving beneath capitalism and working toward a profitless degree, living with two asshole roommates who made the whole house rot with the stench of weed. There were no adults here to scold you.

"Oh, yeah, sure." You fumble in your backpack for the new packet of Marlboro Lights, fingers tugging on several cigarettes by accident. Dropping one back in, you held the other out to your professor with an unceremonious grip at the filter.

He sighed --with either relief or dismay, you couldn’t tell-- plucking it from you with a skillful, steady hand. The professor rummaged around in his blazer pocket, coming up empty handed and moved down to pat around on his pants. 

The pack of smokes hung from out of your heavy bag in a crumpled, unorganized fashion as you tried to hide them from any more prying eyes. The sound of crunching tobacco made you wince as you zipped up the bag. Hoping he didn’t see you make a mess of yourself, it seemed you hardly were noticed at all as he continued to search his back pockets, getting more aggravated by the second. 

"Say, you don't happen to have a lighter?" He suspired, almost exhausted by speaking. 

Wordlessly you feel around for the beaten blue lighter with a cigarette in your hand, quickly putting it to rest in your mouth to free up your fingers. Mistakenly, you inhale thickly as its tip glows bright orange with one hand on your bag and the other deep in your pocket.

The smoke immediately pours down your throat, biting your gums and causing a wretched blaze in your chest like that of a burning dumpster fire. It rises from out your nose, along with a long, croaky sound within your throat.

"Look at you, practically a pro." He gruffly chuckles, holding his unlit cigarette with patience unbecoming of his usual swift, booming lectures. 

"...yeah." You squeak, trying not to fall into a coughing fit as your eyes begin to water. 

Seeing the desired lighter in your twitching palm, the professor gets close to hold out his newfound cigarette. He looks up expectantly, waiting for you to light it. 

You attempt to flick it a few times, palms sweaty as you try not to pay attention to how close he is, close enough to cast a shadow that engulfs you entirely, hiding you from the voices on the other side of the stairs. Your thumb slips again and the small spark dies. 

"Dammit," Surrounding the lighter with your palm, you try to get it to flame.

"There's no rush now, you'll get it." He encourages, awfully kind for how much his foot is tapping in anticipation.

The soft masculinity of his voice made you sweat, finding it even harder to light the lighter. 

"I swear, it was just working a few minutes ago," You laugh, keeping your voice down as another wave of students walk down the stairs you're hiding beneath, their voices echoing into the night. "Must be karma for this kind of vice." 

You try to sound nonchalant with the joke, but fail once a flame pops from the hot iron of the lighter, you can’t stop the victorious “aha!” from leaving your mouth.

The professor just looks at you, a small, polite grin spreading on his face. He looks mildly amused, raising an eyebrow at your small win.

He leans down to puff on the cigarette, his head of chestnut wavy curls clouding your view and wafting cedarwood and cypress. In a class of just over one-hundred students, you hadn't gotten a chance to speak with him one-on-one over the past semester, let alone witness that he’s got a better hair care routine than you. 

 The leftover scent of library books rests on his blazer, a tangy aftershave layered on his throat and jaw despite looking as if he hasn't shaved in a few days-- oddly neat for the dark grown-out stubble. It took slightly burning your thumb for you to remember the task at hand. 

Your fingers shake to light the tip of his cigarette as he puffs a few times, stepping away once it began to properly smoke. 

The look of exhaustion on both your faces seems to calm as he takes a long, thin inhale from the cigarette.

A part of you feels envy, both for the smoke between his smooth, downturned lips, and for the relaxation he seemed to get just from smoking. For you, it's become a nervous habit that rarely gives you any ease, just a bad taste in your mouth and the stench of ash on your jacket.

“Tonight was a poor excuse of a lecture. Barely half the class showed up.” His husky voice was somehow smoother with the smoke coming from his frowning mouth. The dead look was slow to shift into a small coy smile, a glint flickering behind his glasses. “Good thing my star student decided to show up though; I think hope truly would’ve been lost if you weren’t there.”

“You… actually recognize me?” You gave him an incredulous look. “I mean, I barely remember the faces of who I sit next to, I can’t imagine you have it much easier.”

“Of course I do, how could I not-- you’re the only one ever taking notes.” He scoffs a little, peering over to look at the notebook sticking out of your bag.“Though, I’d say you’re failing where the rest of your classmates are excelling; hand-written notes are not as time-efficient as typing, especially considering I don’t naturally repeat myself when I teach.”

“I remember better when I write.” You say sheepishly, shifting on your feet as his gaze seems to travel all over you, contemplating.

He never seemed to make eye contact with anyone while lecturing, fully focused on his laptop or glaring at the clock; so to feel his eyes bore into you now, without anyone else around in the basking of a lamppost and a cloud of nauseating fumes, was awfully unnerving. 

Your professor goes quiet, taking another long drag. 

Following suit you puff on your own cigarette, starting to get sick of the taste. It felt good to smoke when you were alone, but now each breath felt like a heavy cloud in your lungs, burning your chest.

“S’bad for you, you know.” He stares straight ahead, seeing through the three-story building across the university courtyard with a neutral kind of exhaustion.

“We’re out of school hours, you don’t have to lecture me.” 

At that, he smiles. 

“Sorry, habit. Seems like I know all about the bad ones,” He adjusts his glasses, brushing back a curl tugging at his cheek. “Though coming from someone who’s been smoking a pack a day for the past decade, I think I have a right to say something.” 

Giving one good puff from the smoke, you look at it for a moment. It seemed so large in your hands, so small in his. 

Dramatically you drop the cigarette. It barely smolders as it hits the ground, the dying embers of ash snuffed into nothing but sand as your foot grinds it into the sidewalk. 

“Voilá, oh wise one,” You look at him expectantly, pointing to your handiwork. “In exchange, can you give me an A for the midterm due Friday?”

You half expect him to greet you with a reprimanding grimace, but something else comes out instead. Hidden behind his bitten bottom lip, the sound makes you do a double take; are the noises coming out of his serious, permanently-scowling mouth, laughs?

The professor covers his face with the cigarette between his fingers, hiding his low chuckle.  

“You should listen to your elders without expecting anything in return; didn’t anyone ever teach you good manners?”

The smile in his voice created a small grin of surprise on your face, wondering how something so foolish could get him to break his ‘life is an inescapable prison’ disposition.

“I don’t think ‘elder’ is the right word to describe you,” You chirped with a confident grin, looking at the man that barely had a decade over you. “And, is that a nooo?” 

His dark, oaky eyes peered into you, almost with a playful scolding. 

“Let’s leave it up to the content in the paper.”

“Damn.”

You looked away and sighed, pulling from the unwavering gaze he held to your eyes. 

Under the stairs, in the cover of the stars, you felt safe; tonight was a slight chill for late March, but greatly welcomed. Save for the occasional nipping breeze rustling the magnolia trees, the campus fell completely silent. It had a tender spot in your heart when no one else was here, and you could sit --usually alone--undisturbed. 

“Ah, look over here for a second.” 

His voice breaking the silence once again, caught you off guard. You never knew if you’d get used to him sounding this way-- calm and deep, a kind of transformation he had undergone the second a lit cigarette touched his lips. 

A cold hand and the scent of burnt tobacco came to graze below your cheek. Your professor was trained in on something beside your lip, his eyes squinting at it. 

Gently, his thumb scraped a small fleck tainting the smooth valleys of your skin. You stood impossibly still, wondering what kind of large bug or blemish had risen. The grey spot was smothered between his fingers as he let it fall to the concrete floor. 

“You had some ash on your cheek.” 

The professor looked down at his hand softly, eyes almost becoming gentle.

“Oh.” A warm buzzing of where his thumb once sat pulsed against your skin. “Thanks.”

Standing beside the wall, you tried to think of something else to say, to get your brain working again. The professor seemed closer than he was before, or maybe you were just now noticing it; his body leaned against the concrete wall behind you in an elegant slump, right shoulder nearly touching your own. An essence of relaxation made him appear more human than you had ever seen, smoking his cigarette, unbothered. 

He puffed a few times, letting smoke leave through his half-parted mouth. His drags were slower. Shorter than before. Savouring. 

The cigarette was nearly down to its filter, at the part where inhaling became a painful chore and most would rather light a new one. 

“I guess I should probably go home.” You say, feeling a little wobbly and nervous now that nothing was further being said; now that he had touched, and gotten closer to you in the past few minutes than he had all semester. “Gotta start working on that paper.”

“Right.” He’s quick to stand up straight, flicking away the butt of his cigarette. 

“See you next class.” You wave shortly, turning before the tense moment could grow any worse.

The idea of sitting up front with a full view of him next Monday made you want to curl into a ball; you could handle group projects and public speaking if desperation called for it, but you could not handle an awkward, uncomfortable tension which seemed to cling to the air. There was still so much left of the semester, too much was riding on him at least writing you a letter of recommendation for this to be the end. 

“Wait,” The sound of your professor’s ‘lecturing voice’ blurted out, as if you were leaving without picking up that week’s notes. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Picking up the black briefcase he left against the wall, he strode forward to meet you. Walking past, he led the way for you to your vehicle.

A part of you feels relieved, seeing the tension diminish as his usual hardened glare returned; maybe he’s just a normal guy after all-- just used to putting students in awkward situations and bumming cigarettes off of them occasionally.

 But another part wonders how he made the accurate guess of where your car is. 

[rainssocks]

in your arms.

pairing: bf!seungcheol x barista!reader

you were stressed after the never ending rush at work, and the movie you watched with seungcheol was initially exciting, thrilling even. until it wasn't. but with him around, everything would be okay.

genre: romance, fluff, established relationship

au: non-idol

includes: mentions of gore, a little bit of trauma (reader's), fluff, comedy?, cheol babying reader, reader between cheol's legs

word count: 0.86k

a/n: wait my first actual post?? this is kinda crazy... this is probably the only story out of the 4 that i've written that i might have developed enough to be satisfactory... anyw pls enjoy the story hehe

on a cozy rainy night, you and seungcheol had your usual sunday movie date where you two would be all snuggled up on the bed together watching all kinds of shows that gained traction online within that week.

work had been extra tough that day. as a barista, you will always hate the morning rush, and even more so on weekends. weekends sucked, because even lunch hour would be hectic, and your precious break time would be cut short. you'd be forced to be on your feet all day, getting lashed out by picky customers that nitpick at every single thing you do, even if by textbook it was all within reasonable standards. whether it be your attitude, or their coffee being the wrong temperature, or how their name would be spelt wrong, or how you would be moving so slowly when there would be tsunamis of customers crashing the store for a good cup of coffee, and really, all these things had you running on thin patience the entire day. truth be told, your muscles ached like there was no tomorrow and you wished that you had a massage chair that could do miracles to relieve your aches and stresses and body pain and-

a scream. one that yelled bloody murder.

an ear-piercing screech came from the tv. the woman in the movie had been stabbed repetitively by the ghoulish monster that sought nothing but death. there was the dread in her bloodshot eyes with those pathetic tears that flowed down her face. such a scene that was filled with so much gore, was met with sudden silence. you snapped out of the trance you were caught up in.

“oh my god. no.” you thought to yourself. all this was starting to feel a little too familiar.

you had been so lost in your own thoughts and yet so engrossed in the show that you yourself felt the terror shivering throughout your entire body. you turned to hide your face in the crook of seungcheol's neck in fear, clinging onto him for dear life as if you were about to treacherously detach off a zipline and fall to your death. you felt him tense up behind you from your sudden movement of hiding into him. the large muscular arms that once rested on your thighs were now wrapped around your waist. he saw the fear that had enveloped you to find a safe space to seek shelter in written all over your face as he lifted your head to see the tears that fell from being so petrified.

"awh, you poor thing…"

his eyes widened at the realisation of what was happening, and it hit him like a trainwreck of just how exactly you were feeling, and what you have gone through. yet, his face softened at the sight of you being so frightened like a little puppy, which only made him want to baby you more. one hand reached up to your head to ruffle your freshly dried hair, and the other still tightly gripped around your torso, his thumb caressing your back to soothe out the nerves.

you sniffled as you childishly scolded him for ever choosing this film.

"cheollie... why'd you pick this show..." you whined in protest of his film choice, blaming him for ever letting you watch it.

your tears turned into sobs which only became more uncontrollable, and it was like seungcheol could feel his heart breaking along with yours.

in his embrace, your tears soaked his shirt and you felt the low rumble of his chest as he gave you the much needed reassurance to calm you down.

"baby, i would have never picked this show if i had known it was this scary for you. its all because of that darned yoon jeonghan..."

he didn't mention it, but he could feel the guilt creeping into him and eating him inside out. however, that didn't matter much now. he continued to complain about how everything was jeonghan's fault for ever recommending this show to him and how he was verbally bashing jeonghan behind his back. after all, his main priority was to cheer you up.

of course, this silly act in front had you start calming down in almost an instant. seungcheol had turned the tv off to shut out whatever had caused your momentary panicked breakdown, and all that was left was only you, him, the warm blanket that had been kicked off in the moment and the sound of the pattering rain on the windowsill.

this intimate moment was so precious to both of you, even if you hadn't realised it yet.

the nice strong arms that wrapped around you gave the right amount of protection that you needed, the nice smelling man that was rambling on about how dumb his best friend was, and just how secure you felt in his arms.

in the moment, the flash of vulnerability that you showed him only proved one thing. seungcheol loves you and will always be the support pillar that you can always lean on. the night was cold, yet you only felt warm and safe right there in his arms.

[esoteric-goblin]

on worldbuilding, and what people think is going on

there is one facet of fantasy worldbuilding that is, to me, the most interesting and essential but i don't see it come up in worldbuilding guides or writing prompts or anything, and that is the question of:

what do the inhabitants of your world believe about how the world works, and how are they wrong? a lot of fantasy media will set up their cosmology, gods, magic systems, planar systems, concepts of the afterlife, &c., and proceed as though the inhabitants of the world know and understand them.

from someone whose entire academic career is focused on studying human culture in various regions and time periods, with a focus on belief systems (religion, occultism, mythology, folklore): that sort of worldbuilding is unrealistic and missing out on so much fun.

people are always seeking new understanding about how the world works, and they are mostly wrong. how many models of the solar system were proposed before we reached our current one? look at the long, turbulent history of medicine and our various bizarre models for understanding the human body and how to fix it. so many religions and occult/magical traditions arise from people disagreeing with or adapting various models of the world based on new ideas, methods, technologies. many of them are wrong, but all of them are interesting and reflect a lot about the culture, beliefs, values, and fears of the people creating/practising them.

there is so much more to the story of what people believe about the world than just what is true.

to be clear: i think it's fine and important for the author to have a coherent explanation for where magic comes from or who the gods are, so they can maintain consistency in their story. but they should also be asking what people in the world (especially different people, in different regions/nations and different times) think is happening when they do magic, or say a prayer, or practise medicine, or grieve their dead. it is a rich vein for conflict between individuals and nations alike when two models of the world disagree. it is fascinating how different magic systems might develop according to different underlying beliefs.

personally, i think it is the most fun to spawn many diverse models of the world, but give none of them the 'right' answer.

(bonus points if you also have a thriving academic system in the world with its own theory, research, and discourse between factions! as an academic, it is very fun to imagine fictional academic debate over the topics i'm worldbuilding. sometimes i will be working out details for some underlying mechanic of the world and start imagining the papers being written by scholars researching it)

[roitaminnah]

nobody is as heartbroken as me about my unfinished butterfly soup fics... you think u have it sad with the two I published but I'm over here with my 24 different unpublished ones being like 'UPDATE WHEN :((('

re-reading that roses are red ppkm fic.. it's pretty good... I hope the author finishes it someday....