#i coined the term loser

[reality-tied]

Sup loser

Nice try

[obnebulant-mogai]

Five striped loser flag! I'm not sure why I didn't make this earlier tbh. Oh well! Here it is!

[ID: A flag with nine equal horizontal stripes. In descending order, the stripes are grape purple, lavender purple, light steel blue, storm grey, and dark blue grey. End ID.]

Tagging @losingender

[anxiously-sidequesting]

So I've been Sinning because I've been making posts on Malorn and Duncan individually but I don't think I ever really touched up on how their relationship with EACH OTHER would be and that's literally the most traumatizing thing I can think of for either of them

This is like, moreso purely speculation and 🌈 imagination🌈 anyways because I don't think there's like any canon material on the two of them interacting and their arcs and backstories are as small as bacteria in the first place but literally those two on their own could have their own fucking show with how much UNTAPPED STORYLINE that can come out of "Borderline child prodigy forced into and struggling with important position" Malorn and "Troubled child with undiscussed emotional issues and a jealousy complex borne from said position" Duncan

Idk about any type of interaction or relationship these two might have had before Malistaire became the Joker, but I can imagine there's ALREADY some type of rivalry (at LEAST one sided) between two guys in the same school in the same class, one of them is blatantly better than the other at everything they do and it's not the guy who says he is. (Like, idek how Malorn himself feels about him being the best in his class, but from what we've seen he doesn't brag about, mislead, or exaggerate about it like Duncan does. And the insane thing is Malorn AT LEAST would have a BASIS on his claims and attitude even if he was being a jerk about it)

But the thing is, Malorn back then as a regular student would not have been in any position to be up close and personal with Duncan in any meaningful way during school hours. Like they're classmates, at best they get grouped on a project together, but Malorn and Duncan being together would not be required and important until AFTER Malistaire dips and Malorn is now Duncan's PROFESSOR. Now in a totally more complicated and intimate way than before, Malorn and Duncan HAVE to interact with each other, speak and work with each other because now Malorn is the new Death teacher and he has to handle the brunt of Duncan's education and progress. GIRLS YOU NEED TO READ THAT LAST PART AGAIN BECAUSE THAT IS SO IMPORTANT!!!!!!!

Malorn and Duncan literally CANNOT escape each other if they wanted to do their jobs (good, unbiased educator and student still receiving education respectively). Yeah they may not be like, personal tutor and student but Duncan is in MALORN'S class now, and just that position alone puts a type of pressure on both of them to still maintain their respective roles and civility while dealing with the person who Does Not Make You Happy on a more personal level than before. That sucks actually

Like, Duncan couldn't even lie to Malorn about how "well" he's doing in Death class when he can SEE his papers. Duncan can't hide his grades papers from his professor, Duncan is no longer able to pull the wool over Malorn's eyes like he does with EVERYONE ELSE. Duncan already had some type of issues with being second best, but imagine one of the people that was threatening Duncan's spot as first place becomes his superior. His superior that can SEE that Duncan is in fact, not the best. Duncan can't even PRETEND that Malorn isn't better than him anymore because it's been proven, when Malorn was made Professor instead of him, and Malorn himself now has an inside view of Duncan's insincerity. What little ""power"" Duncan thought he had was now ALL taken away from him

AND THEN MALORN DOESN'T HAVE IT MUCH BETTER, because here's this little shit that just seems to hate him for no reason???? Idk if Malorn ever knew about Duncan bragging about himself or his jealousy of him in general before Malistaire left, but whether or not he did before he most likely knows NOW. With his new position and him having to care for Duncan as a student rather than a peer, now suddenly Malorn is in Duncan's DIRECT line of fire and he has no wiggle room to step aside or remove himself because in order for Malorn to be a good teacher *he has to be there for Duncan*. He no longer has the luxury to just "ignore" Duncan or even put him in his place if that's what he really wanted, because now Malorn has to be a certain type of responsible and not abandon or get into fights with students that give him any issues (looking at you Malistaire and Mabrose 😒)

Yeah ofc Malorn could always discipline Duncan or smth but what's the use if this one student is just adamant on causing issues? It seems like Duncan has more of a 'hands off' type of technique when trying to get what he wants (using other people to finish his homework for him), but it's super easy to imagine Duncan just doing little or petty things to undermine Malorn's authority in any way he can. Nothing evil but just like challenging or questioning Malorn's lessons during class, mouthing off whenever he can, things that are used to blow off steam and stick it to Malorn in what little way he can definitely sounds like some shit Duncan would do. And what are you supposed to do when this kid, someone who is YOUR AGE but is still essentially supposed to be listening to YOU, is lashing out at you and disrupting class every chance he gets? Discipline him for the hundredth time?

Imagine how this grates on Malorn's nerves how on top of everything else, on top of everyone else already being jumpy and snippy around him, in addition to his entire lifestyle being turned around, even with his tutor and someone he looked up to betraying him in the worst way, even with ALL OF THAT, this *ooooooone* person decides to go out of their way to continuously punish you for it. Malorn is doing his job, what he's expected of no matter how unfair or tiring or unrewarding it may be, and he is being persecuted by someone for a job *he never even asked for*.

Malorn did not plan or hope for ANY of this to happen. Yeah being a Professor sounds cool and shit at first glance but like I've said once before Malorn at that time is still like 12 years old and the change is so absolutely sudden and jarring that Malorn couldn't have even possibly PREPARED for this situation. Whether or not Malorn is actually good at his job now does not push aside the fact that Malorn may not have even WANTED to be in that job in the first place!! We have no way of knowing if Malorn was seriously like "man I wish I was a teacher right now" at ANY point of his life, but it's safe to say he most likely DID NOT because Malorn was never flaunting or showcasing his talent to everyone like Duncan was!! Perhaps the one person who wants this THE LEAST is being unfairly judged by the person who wanted it THE MOST

AND THAT ^^^^^^^ is getting to the core of this Malorn VS. Duncan thing going on here. Two opposites, two extremes that are forced together unwillingly and they're both unnecessarily suffering for it.

And at the end, when The Wizard is trying to do shit and Duncan pops up like "aaayyyy 🤪🖕" and is defeated in 2 seconds, how does that affect them both? Does Malorn ever like, know this about Duncan? Did Duncan even graduate before he was manipulated into a literal cult?

Imagine how messed up Malorn would feel if he ever found out. Would he take it personally, even though none of it was his fault? Would he still FEEL that it was his fault, that the one person who hated him sooo much it became the catalyst to his downfall? Would Malorn feel responsible for Duncan and all the hurt he's caused and all the hurt he's felt even though he shouldn't?

And the saddest part is even if Malorn did suffer any type of way from knowing how Duncan turned out to be, his responsibilities wouldn't leave him that much time to mourn before he had to go back to work. The saddest part is that even though Duncan was told over and over that he was alone and that nobody cared for him, he had Malorn by his side the entire time more than willing to support him. Their relationship is so interesting to me because it's so tragic and multifaceted when ultimately things could have been at least moderately better if the world hadn't let them both down

[rabidbatboy]

TRANNYBOY: a flag for the term trannyboy, those who reclaim the word tranny and are boys

TRANNYLOSER: a flag for the term trannyloser, those who reclaim the word tranny and are losers (loser = monachoric individual, equivalent of man/woman)

TAGGING: @radiomogai @losergendered (I feel like you’d mess w trannyloser)

(sidenote: I made a matching girl version when I was making these but was uncertain about posting but if enough tfems ask for it I will post it for you ❤️)

🧼 ——— FLAG COINED BY ME

[enhypencores]

Bleed Me Dry Pt II

READ PART 1 HERE

Lee Heeseung X Y/N

Genre: Yandere Romance/ Thriller/ Stalker

Prompt: "If I carve you into my blood, will you believe my love?"

Word Count: 11K+

WARNING⚠️: Explicit content, profanity, sexual harassment, heated make outs, female stereotyping, use of a derogatory word, violence, lots of blood, aggression, toxic masculinity, yandere, manipulation, mentions of self exit, drugs, unhealthy relationships and mental health issues. Y/N described with long hair and brown eyes.

Cameos: Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Yeji, Karina, Jaemin and Jisung

A/N: Please read the warnings carefully before proceeding. There's heavy discussions and complex character dynamics. None of it is healthy. This is a work of fiction, please read it as such. If I missed out any, lemme know.

PS: I’d love to hear your feedback <3

Heeseung had gathered some crucial knowledge from a heavily drunk Jake.

“Intelligent and tall. She’s got a thing for them… She had this crush on a dude in the first semester. Told her he was a jerk, didn’t listen, and you know… he broke her heart. His name? Think it was park jeong guk? jeong woo? I don’t know… It was just some guy. She’s stupid…”

He had wanted to punch that knowing look off Jake’s face as he insulted you, but Heeseung tried swallowing down the surging fury.

Because, indeed, you were so stupid. Why had you allowed some loser into your life? When Heeseung gets you, he will make sure to treasure every part of you. He wouldn’t need anyone else. He would use his every breath to cherish you, only you.

Despite the hostility he felt upon hearing of your previous crush, the good news was that Heeseung unintentionally matched the description. He had never been so grateful for his genes until this moment; traits he once considered useless suddenly becoming his most prized.

Heeseung bore a good height, and his mind was like a computer program. At just ten years old, his father had assumed he’d discover the cure for cancer—yet to come true, but everyone in college believed if anyone could do it, it was Lee Heeseung.

A special one, born to lead, a saviour, they claimed. But Heeseung never wanted to be his father’s golden child. He didn’t want to contribute to society or garner the world’s praise. He barely had friends—except for Kim Sunoo, Heeseung’s childhood partner in crime.

To the world, Heeseung was an overachiever, but he knew his excellence was merely a distraction from his twisted mind. His father was the first to notice the disconnect.

Heeseung chose medicine on a whim, a flick of a coin—heads or tails. The boredom in his life drove him to try everything: paragliding, boxing, swimming, drugs and unrestrained, animalistic sex. He had lived countless lives in two decades.

Early teenage years, his father took it upon himself to train his son, instilling social norms and enforcing strict rules as he tried moulding Heeseung into someone 'normal.' Like a dog on a leash, he made Heeseung more human while maintaining a safe distance to avoid getting scratched. Heeseung understood this from the moment he gained consciousness: his father was scared of him. Terrified.

He never discovered what exactly made his father lock his door every night, but whatever it was, it confirmed a small suspicion: Heeseung was unlovable.

It wasn’t anything detrimental really, because Heeseung never felt the need to seek love. Even in psychological terms, a human's absolute necessities were food, shelter, sex, and safety. When he could survive on the bare minimum, why should he look for something as wasteful as love? He'd rather spend time gaming and pretending to outshine the world’s brilliant minds.

Now, Heeseung was tired of the boredom. So tired that he thought to end it. How long could one treck through an aimless journey?

The realisation that he could cease to exist and no one would know his whereabouts made him feel somewhat better. The taste of death brought him immense curiosity. Would he turn to dust and ashes? Would he be forgotten in memories?

He didn’t think anyone would remember him. To his father, he was a trophy; to his friends, a competition; and to outsiders, a freak. His loss would merely be a statistic: a decline in Korea’s population digits, a decrease in the number of distinction holders in the country, and one less student in Seoul University’s register.

That’s what he thought.

Until he came across you.

You, with your brown eyes, small frame, your liveliness and your beauty.

It was a rainy day in Seoul when he was walking past the bus stand after wrecking his father’s beloved car in a deliberate crash. Unfortunately, he made it out unscathed, only injuring the vehicle. Maybe Heeseung had been born with a shit ton of luck, destined to waste it away.

Regardless, thanks to that golden tub of luck, he was able to land his gaze on you. Heeseung unintentionally remembered countless formulae and research, but the one thing he intended to remember—fucking forced himself to perfectly encode in his memory—was the way you looked that day.

Brown hair slightly wet, sticking to your jawline, knitted brows, and wide eyes staring up at the sky in vengeful retaliation. Heeseung stopped in his tracks.

He had never seen an angel angry.

You dialled a number on your mobile and spoke calmly into your phone.

“The bus is running late. Pick me up.” He remembered a sulking pout on your lips.

“It’s raining! I don’t even have an umbrella. You want me to walk?” He remembered incredulous horror written across your features, lips frowning at the caller’s words.

“Fine... Please! There, I said it, now come quick.” He remembered you rolling your eyes, biting your lip and clenching your bag’s strap tighter.

The phone call ended, and you folded your arms over your chest, letting the damp material cling to your bust, detailing the line of your bra as you tapped your foot on the drenched footpath, staring ahead in longing.

That day, an inactive section of his brain burst out with life, that’s all he could theorise. He wanted to devour you, grope your drenched body, kiss your red mouth, force his fingers into your most sensitive tissues and consume your cries.

He wanted to destroy the person on that call with you, bury them within the earth’s deepest pits so they’d never return to you. He wanted the earth to swallow you and him together, so he could hide you away and savour this moment. He wanted to be the only existence to remember you, here, standing at the bus stop, waiting for a ride home.

Why were you here alone anyway? Who was coming?

Heeseung wanted to shadow you from the rain. If he was a part of your life, he’d chase away all the buses—let alone make you wait for one to pick you up. He would stand drenched in the rain if it meant your ass would only meet the covers of his seat.

A booming motion of the car made your eyes light up. Heeseung’s chest knotted up, a foreign emotion bubbling in his throat as a blonde braked his car before you. You hurried to climb into the passenger’s seat, and then he drove away. Just like that.

He hadn’t hurt someone so far in this life, but the urge to drive a car into the blonde grew tenaciously strong. He had never felt such hatred and venom consume his being. The thought of you getting into that car, going away to share a life Heeseung wasn’t a part of left a gnawing anger in his chest.

His heart which hadn’t felt something in so long suddenly felt alive, riveting with twisted emotions. Heeseung didn’t want to live, but suddenly he didn’t want to die either. He didn’t wish to be remembered, but suddenly he wanted at least one person to remember.

That day he came to a staggering conclusion: Heeseung was unfit to be loved, but he wasn’t unfit to love.

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

Peak hours on a Monday afternoon started early. Waitresses ambled from one table to another, carrying orders as the room bustled with young college students, conversing and gossiping while awaiting their snacks. The rich essence of chocolate and coffee beans filled the air, stirring hunger among individuals working alone with their noses in laptops and textbooks.

Heeseung’s lips curved in a knowing smile: if you were here, you’d be one of those unaccompanied goody two shoes, sipping on a chocolate milkshake, jotting things down in your notebook. He pictured your brows scrunched as you wrapped your beautiful lips around the straw, gulping long sips and pulling away with a content smile.

“Baby, can’t we go somewhere more private?”

His jaw tightened, aggravated at the shrill interruption. He feigned a smile, his gaze falling back on the red-haired bimbo who stared at him like he was the answer to her every prayer.

Heeseung grabbed a fork, scooping up a bite of strawberry cheesecake before filling his mouth. His stomach fluttered as he revelled in the sweet texture. Ever since stealing those kisses, he couldn’t stop craving sweet treats. He even bought some candies on his way home that morning, already feeling the withdrawals kicking in.

“But how’ll we do this—in private?”

The girl stared in confusion before she was yanked into his embrace, his warm lips slamming into hers, kissing her aggressively, the sweet creaminess from the cake transferring into her mouth. She moaned, licking his lips incessantly, begging for entrance, but Heeseung dismissed her attempts, his brows furrowed in annoyance.

Nervously, the red-haired girl slid her chair closer, biting her lip as she observed the underwhelmed expression on his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?” She sulked, sucking at her teeth, staring up with concern.

Heeseung shook his head and pulled her into his lap. “Did you do something to make me mad?” He mumbled, rubbing his nose down her neck, peppering small kisses to distract her from his response.

“Ah—n-no! I didn’t,” she gasped, her concern melting away already, her head tilting back as Heeseung planted kisses down her collarbone.

“Shouldn’t you be at uni right now?” He abruptly changed the topic, portraying the perfectly caring boyfriend who gave a shit about her life.

“Yeah, but I’ll ask a friend for the class notes,” she mustered up, her breath laborious as Heeseung ran his hand down her thigh, his kisses growing feistier against her exposed neck.

“Hm, are you that smart?” He pressed on, his patience running out. “Thought I’d fucked you dumb already,” he whispered repulsive words, his hand covering her thighs as the girl tightened in his hold, her lips pressed together to silence any sound, cautious of their surroundings.

Heeseung’s gaze changed, a menacing darkness flashing through. “Smart bitches,” he began, his words blunt and aggressive. “Fucking hate them. Running their big mouths all the damn time,” he declared, his bitter tone making her knees quiver in arousal.

“Tell me, baby, you’re not one of those, are you?” He urged.

One way to access a woman’s weaknesses was to put her up against another.

The girl whose name he had forgotten the second she uttered it, shook her head with desperation. Had he asked her to admit to murder, she would have agreed.

“No!” She yelped, alarmed at his lack of interest. “I’m so dumb. Barely passing this degree,” she confessed, her voice cracking as she spread her knees for his attention.

“Hm—really?” He mocked, and she nodded, her body pleading for his approval. “But your course is so tough. You must be so smart.” Heeseung’s tone dripped with sarcasm, his frown hinting at his displeasure.

The girl choked; her breaths alarmingly rapid as Heeseung’s fingers trailed closer to her clothed centre. “But not me—there’s some smart girls in my class. I—I’m not like them, Hee,” she rambled, her eyes screwing shut.

“Smart girls like—yourself?” He threw the bait, challenging her, and she immediately shook her head, her body jolting as Heeseung flicked his fingers against her centre.

“Not me—not me. This other girl—Ah!” She bit her tongue, her body trembling as Heeseung drew faint circles against her clit. “There’s—Y/N!”

Bingo.

“She’s like the smartest—oh!”

Heeseung halted his movement, his teeth gritting in frustration, anger bubbling up his throat as the girl kept moaning into her words, prolonging this ordeal. He hadn’t spent the last three days coercing a second-year pharmacology student from your college to serenade and romance. He wanted information.

The girl’s arched frame twisted at the sudden lack of touch, her wet gaze darting to Heeseung’s in urgency.

“Speak,” he commanded bluntly, his usual sugar-coated tone gone along with his smile.

The girl’s expression faltered, her blood turning cold. “Uh—there’s this girl—she’s really smart, always acing her exams,” she responded reluctantly, her insecure gaze attempting to read his intentions.

Heeseung’s hand slid back down to her leaking centre, his movement more vigorous as he wrapped his lips on her earlobe. “You’re so hot like this—like a dumb bitch for me,” he drawled, sucking her sensitive flesh.

His sudden shift in demeanour seemed like a hallucination, his voice now intentionally low and sultry. “You wouldn’t want to be like Y/N, hm? You’re my good girl.”

The girl was a goner. Her head dropped back onto his shoulder, her eyes shut, and her body trembling from his touch, his previous indifference a distant memory.

“Yeah—I am—so—so dumb for you,” she babbled nonsensically. Heeseung’s flicks quickened.

“That bitch—she’s so smart and talks too much, probably why no one likes her. Such a loser— I don’t know why Park Jongseong’s crazy for her.”

Heeseung’s arm faltered, his body freezing.

The girl, lost in the throes of her arousal, ignored it, urgently pressing her hand down to maintain the pressure. “She’s so full of herself. Bet she’s as virgin as a nun—but maybe—she finally let poor Jongseong have a go, who kno—Ah!”

Heeseung yanked her hair back, his clenched fist tightening and ripping a few strands. His gaze was predatory, chest heaving as he stared down at the horrified girl.

“I’ll rip that tongue out, sweetheart,” he hissed, his venomous tone cutting through and gripping her heart with horror.

The sickening words replayed like a broken record. A searing sting flared inside his chest, his jaw tightening as he thought of that name: Park Jongseong.

Of course, it was the guy from the photos—it fit him perfectly. His arrogant, self-righteous demeanour, that overly exaggerated smile on his face as he held you. It had to be him.

The imagery the stupid girl on his lap painted, her words dripping with malice for his Y/N; everything began to suffocate his lungs.

Heeseung stared down, his hand still gripping her locks as she looked at him with disbelief.

As he released his grip, she winced, her eyes wet with tears.

Heeseung wrapped an arm around her waist like a shackle, holding her captive as he leaned forward and picked up the steaming hot coffee she had ordered. She flinched as he pushed the cup to her lips.

“Drink.”

The girl stared at him like he had grown two heads.

“It’s too hot—”

“Leave one sip behind, and you’ll wish you had listened.”

Her heart raced, body turning cold. Heeseung’s chilling gaze and crooked smile were laced with demonic intent, making her stomach churn. She had never felt her organs shrivel with just the sight of a man’s empty gaze.

She realised at that very moment. She had to obey or else… she didn’t even want to consider what could happen.

She took the heated cup, gulping down her spit to ease the pressure in her throat.

Then she clung to the cup and downed the entire thing. The first rush of liquid scalded the roof of her mouth. Burns trailed down her tongue, to her throat, buzzing all the way into her stomach. Bloody broils flared up, her muscles jolting in agony as pain overwhelmed her cognition. With an excruciating sob, she dropped the empty cup, shattering it on the ground as she tried screaming for help. 

The busy café didn’t seem to notice anything but the shatter, rolling their eyes at the couple’s antics before continuing with their own endeavours.

Heeseung patted her head, smiling in satisfaction. “That’s my good girl.” 

The sobbing girl tore herself from his lap. Standing on quivering limbs, she scrambled to grab her purse and dashed towards the exit.

To Heeseung’s delight, the red-haired bimbo wasn’t so useless after all. He now had a name: Park Jongseong.

Grabbing his phone, Heeseung dialled a number.

“Sim, for your birthday, let’s plan something crazy.”

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

The homeroom buzzed with chatter as students scattered to join their friends at the end of the lecture. While most were preparing to head home, you had to stay back for the weekly council meeting. With your head slack on the table, you shut your eyes and let out an irked groan, wishing you could abandon all your duties and just scramble home.

“Y/N, just resign already. You’re too exhausted,” Yeji, your best friend, called out, rolling her eyes as she zipped up her tote bag.

You groaned again, slamming your head against the table. “You have no idea how badly I want to take your stupid advice,” you whined, rubbing your temples in pain.

Yeji, her pink hair perfectly styled, retouched her lip gloss and eyed your sulking frame. “You take on too much for no reason,” she sighed, finishing her touch-up and patting your head.

“Can’t you loosen up? Look at me, we have finals coming up, and I’m off clubbing with Jaemin,” she gloated, her smile widening at the thought of her boyfriend.

Getting into the world’s best university on an eighty per cent scholarship was tough, but no one prepared you for the strenuous part: upholding those perks. Paired with a demanding course load, extracurriculars and volunteer work felt like a constant nuisance.

“I wish…” you muttered.

Knowing her best friend’s upright nature, Yeji shook her head in defeat.

“Besides that, I’ll be having fun soon,” you iterated, and Yeji instantly grew alert, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“You’re getting a boyfriend?” She gasped, grabbing your shoulders to turn you towards her in excitement. 

“No!” You dismissed, and Yeji’s excitement died as soon as it began, releasing your shoulders in frustration.

“At this point, I strongly believe you wish to die a virgin,” she remarked, running her fingers through her dark strands, her gaze cold. “You even rejected Jongseong,” Yeji huffed.

You winced.

It had been three months since you had been hit by a truck of feelings from the raven-haired boy. Three months of discomfort and pain.

You were introduced to your senior, Park Jongseong, as a good friend of Na Jaemin. The two friend groups had merged, and soon the initial trio—Yeji, Ji-min, and you—grew an acquaintanceship with their group: Jay, Jaemin, and Jisung.

Since you had been to an all-girls school, the first few months of interactions were painstakingly awkward. You felt like an outsider even in a room full of familiar people.

You envied your best friends Yeji and Ji-min for their effortless socialisation skills. Whilst they enjoyed trips and study sessions with the guys, you drew a line, only speaking when spoken to.

In the first year, you were constantly running away from this new world of discomfort. Jay, however, refused to draw a barrier. Like the definition of a headstrong man, he never gave up. Gestures like stopping you in the hallways to talk about his hobbies and inviting you to all his parties showed you that Jay was making a real effort at friendship.

All of it came tumbling down when he confessed to you. The friendship you treasured faded, and you both became strangers again.

“Don’t bring him up,” you gritted, your heart plummeting as you remembered all the distant memories.

You recalled that nightmarish day. You might take this to your grave but Park Jongseong was your first crush. You secretly liked him throughout the farce of friendship.

He held your bag after class, joined extracurriculars like the music society and learned amazing guitar skills. He took you shopping to destress after you failed your lab assessment and played silly nursery rhymes on his guitar to make you laugh. Everything was special until the last day of the second semester.

Jay had asked you to a movie, and as always, you assumed he meant everyone in the friend group, so you called Yeji and Ji-min along.

The moment he saw you walk in with the girls, his expression fell with dismay. Instead of speaking to you about it, he handed the popcorn to your friends and left.

You followed him instantly, but maybe you shouldn’t have.

“Jay!” You chased after him, your heels thudding against the pavement, confusion painted on your features.

He paused in his tracks and turned, his eyes darkening.

“What’s wrong?”

Instead of responding, Jay’s gaze narrowed, a strained chuckle leaving his mouth. “Don’t act dumb now,” he rasped, his voice bitter.

You opened your mouth to question him, but he suddenly stepped close, his towering frame making your insides queasy.

“It’s always the same with you. How long will you pretend?” Jay’s voice trembled with accusation.

“Do you not see me? Chasing after you like a fucking loser. I’ve spent months trying to figure you out. Stop this game of hide and seek!” He roared, tightening his hold on your shoulders as he stared down at you like a wounded wolf.

You felt so wronged and hurt, your throat clogging up with emotions.

Because Jay was right. You were playing dumb, looking past his feelings, ignoring your own to hide away. Your insecurities and fear of disappointment were louder than his words, ringing in your head like tinnitus.

Because you had always assumed someone as rich and well-put-together as Park Jongseong didn’t need to like a mediocre girl on a scholarship.

You felt that breaking his heart might save his friendship, might save you from the pain of losing his love. So you wanted to sever all chances before you even tasted his love.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever once liked me?” He questioned, his gaze softening as he held your face in his hands, his pupils trembling with need.

Yes.

Yes!

“No.”

His arms dropped, his gaze dull and empty as he stared into your tearful eyes.

“We’re good friends, Jay. Look, we don’t have to rush into anything—”

You felt chills run down your spine as he cut off your words, his tone sharp and damaging.

“Delete my number. Don’t ever come see me.”

“And if I ever accidentally find my way back to you, slap me awake like this again.”

He tore his arm from your grip and you two never spoke again.

And then a week later, he started dating your friend Ji-min.

“Y/N!” You snapped out of your thoughts, head swirling with flashbacks as Yeji shouted for your attention. “What fun were you referring to?” She shifted closer, curiosity written across her features.

You smiled, flicking her forehead away.

“Jake suddenly wants a big birthday bash for his twenty-second,” you told her, thinking back to this morning when he was talking over the phone with his friends, inviting them to his party.

Seeing you pass by, he called you back, his face glowing with excitement as he ended the call.

“Invite all your friends and their mamas— it’s my 22nd!” He roared, and you imagined he’d burst into a Taylor Swift, ‘22’, any minute now.

“Jake? He usually calls them juvenile,” Yeji giggled, thinking back to the time she had a fat crush on your brother and how she stuck to him like a leech until he shooed her off.

You nodded, rolling your eyes at your brother’s weird mood swings. “He wants to hold a grand party. You’re invited, I guess,” you waved her off, and Yeji laughed, her eyes twinkling in joy.

“Of course, I’ll be coming with my boo,” she winked. “Is it at the house?” Yeji asked, twirling her strands excitedly.

You shook your head, tidying your desk and packing up. “He’s planning it with his friend, Heeseung.”

Yeji gasped at the name as if it had evoked a cocktail party effect, her eyes wide as she held onto your shoulders. “That friend you had a wet dream of?”

Your jaw dropped, eyes wide in fear, darting across the hall to make sure no one heard her. “Shut up!” You yelled, your cheeks flushed red, the memory of your filthy mind fuelling your embarrassment.

Yeji laughed, a playful glint flashing in her hazel eyes. “What, did I lie?” She crudely announced, and you felt helpless, unable to feign innocence. 

The night had left you shaken up. The truth was, you had never felt this affected by a hallucination— imagination, whatever it was, it blurred the lines between reality and fiction. You imagined Heeseung fondling your breasts, kissing your lips. All of it was a newfound hunger.

You scrambled to call Yeji soon after to regain some composure. After a long discussion, her diagnosis was a ‘severe case of ovulation’, and she prescribed, ‘getting dicked down asap’.

After that night, you kept wishing for more hallucinations, but your brain refused to cooperate. You had to rely on a picture you had stolen from Jake’s phone of Heeseung in a black button-down with his legs spread apart on the couch, his lap seeming so inviting that your abdomen clenched with need.

Maybe, you were ovulating. But why was it so intense?

“You know, maybe you should shoot your shot with him,” Yeji suggested, patting your shoulder as she stood alert, waving at the man standing in the doorway.

“My ride’s here, bye girly!” Yeji waved, setting her already perfect hair for the nth time before skipping to the smiling blonde, his gaze practically shooting hearts at your friend. Jaemin grabbed her hand, and they scattered off.

You sighed.

Lee Heeseung, what are you doing to me?

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

Booming music drowned out any chance of conversation. Guests sprawled in like ants to a sugar cube. Faces glowed with joy, arms carried gifts, and gazes sparkled with anticipation as they searched for the man of honour.

But it wasn't the birthday boy they sought. It was Lee Heeseung, the man who had invited the entire university to his farmhouse. It was a privilege, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

During his four years at the university, he hadn’t spared anyone a glance—let alone befriended anyone. When news circulated of Sim Jaeyun’s birthday invite at Heeseung’s, everyone jumped at the chance.

Girls skipped lessons to find the perfect dress, while guys ransacked their wardrobes for branded watches. Curiosity grew almost sleep-depriving. Who was this friend that Heeseung, the man who never let anyone into his circle, deemed worthy of a lavish party? For weeks, the university buzzed with gossip and excitement leading up to this day.

Heeseung’s gaze was fixed on the main entrance, his lips pressed into a thin line. He remained unmoving as over-enthusiastic people rushed to greet him.

He knew the world like the back of his hand. They hated him and despised his arrogance, yet they flocked to him like moths to a flame. All he had to do was give them a chance, let down his guard and the world would surrender in his palms. But it didn’t matter.

As long as he had your attention, the world could be his.

Jake appeared out of nowhere, his arm settling on Heeseung’s shoulder, smiling as his soccer mates walked in.

“You’re ignoring the entire hall,” Jake muttered, his grip tightening on Heeseung’s shoulder to warn him.

Heeseung glanced at the clock for the nth time, his fingers tapping impatiently against his glass. He barely acknowledged the birthday boy's attempt at conversation, his irritation mounting as the clock ticked on without your presence.

“Where is she?” He questioned.

“She had a presentation to finish up,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “She’ll be here with Yeji and Jaemin soon.”

Jake wasn’t stupid. He had once believed he was special to Heeseung. The notorious case of Heeseung’s egocentrism was a popular topic in the university’s hallways. Even his soccer buddies claimed Heeseung was a nutcase with extreme intelligence.

When Heeseung approached the basketball team and defeated Jake, the established ace of Seoul University, Jake developed a sense of respect and admiration for him. Despite everyone’s claims, Jake realized Heeseung’s issue wasn’t indifference or social deficiencies.

Everyone was infatuated, enthralled, and unequivocally aware of Heeseung’s gift; he commanded attention because he was extraordinary. The problem was that Heeseung didn’t care about them, and when people realized this, their fantasy shattered, leaving them scraping for bits of attention and bitter envy.

Jake knew Heeseung kept him around for a reason, but despite his awareness, Jake was willing to be a pawn if it meant catching Heeseung’s attention.

“Jakey Jakey— it’s your birthday!” Jake looked away, finding his best friend, Park Sunghoon, on the other end of the hall with a gift bag. Jake’s smile grew, and he signalled to Heeseung that he was heading over. Heeseung nodded, and Jake scurried off.

Heeseung averted his gaze, staring back at the main entrance. The delay grew unbearable, and he considered heading out to the parking lot when suddenly he spotted Jaemin and Yeji walking inside.

He stood alert, his gaze tensely fixed on the door.

He held his breath as you walked into his line of sight. His body felt the shift, breath quickening. His fists tightened, and his gaze traced your body with unfiltered haste. 

Fuck, that black body-con dress, outlining your curves, hugging your body like a second skin. His grip on the glass tightened. The dress revealed your defined collarbones, and the slit from the knee paired with black-heeled boots showcased your smooth, honeyed legs. Your hair was curled slightly, silky strands falling in waves against your cheeks, reaching your elbows.

Heeseung’s head throbbed as he tried to decipher his feelings. Seeing you walk inside with that dress made something rise in his throat, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. It was worse, mentally and physically damaging.

How fucking demeaning. He was a man who never felt the burn of envy, but a fucking dress had him feeling so weak—so horribly jealous.

He wished he could tear it off and burn it to ashes like the scorching flames in his own blood. He had planned this moment all morning, intending to walk up to you with a smile, but now he found it difficult to breathe, let alone move.

However, the world doesn’t stop. Even if he couldn’t move, you very much could.

Your stray gaze finally landed on the familiar figure, and you walked up to him. You still weren’t mentally prepared to face the man you had been dreaming of for the past few weeks, but you found it unkind to ignore him when he had planned this lavish party.

You smiled, holding out a small gift bag.

“As far as I recall, it’s not my birthday,” Heeseung finally found his voice, his cheeky comment making you narrow your eyes.

“It’s basic etiquette to bring something when you visit someone,” you replied a hint of playfulness in your tone. You caught sight of the gift display in the backdrop where innumerable presents were mounted on the table. “I’ll take it there,” you politely acknowledged.

You were ready to walk off, but Heeseung pulled you back, instantly grabbing the present. Taken aback, you opened your mouth to question him, but he ignored your curious gaze.

Everyone stealing reserved glances at the duo paused, their eyes wide, jaws dropped in amusement. Like a boy opening his Christmas gifts, Heeseung rushed to untie the ribbon and tear through the wrapping paper.

“Heeseung, it’s not that great…” your panicked voice cut through, cautious of everyone’s expectant gaze on your gift. The plea went right through him, and he finally discovered a small clear bottle.

You brought him cologne.

You had racked your brain for days on what to bring him, and you had decided upon a blackberry cologne. The succulent scent carried a sinful aura, an intimidating and enigmatic aroma that perfectly captured Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung ran his thumb over the label. Then he unscrewed the top and sprayed it on his wrist. As he brought it to his nose, his heart felt fuller than before.

He imagined you walking into a Jo Malone store, attentively trying numerous scents until the abundant smells overstimulated your senses as you thought of him. How long did you spend deciding on the perfect one? How long did he manage to fill up your head?

“It’s just a small gift,” you mumbled, analysing his features.

“It’s perfect.” He said it with so much sincerity, you had no choice but to believe him.

“Where’s my gift?” Jake appeared with some of his rowdy friends from the sports club, his arm linked with the ice skater, Park Sunghoon. He pouted dramatically, his bottom lip sticking out. You rolled your eyes at his antics.

“Last I checked, you asked me to buy you a Nintendo Switch as an early birthday present,” you replied. Jake gave you a mock glare. “That was ages ago,” he huffed.

Before you could retort, you caught Yeji's eyes from across the room. She stood by the bar, urgently motioning for you to come over. The alarmed look on her face made you excuse yourself from the guys as you hurried to her.

Yeji grabbed your arm with an intense grip, struggling to catch her breath as a crazed laugh bubbled up her throat.

“You’re kidding,” she gasped. “You were talking about Lee Heeseung!” She roared with laughter, her expression priceless as she turned to you.

You stared at her, confused. “What?”

“Y/N!” She shook you slightly, her wide eyes trembling with excitement. “You don’t know him? He’s popular across the entire district!”

Seeing your blank expression, Yeji took it upon herself to fill you in. She pulled out her phone and showed you Seoul University's popular forum dedicated to Heeseung. As she clicked through the links, you realised the man was practically the definition of perfection.

His father owned a large-scale pharmaceutical corporation, and Heeseung was the sole heir. Despite this parental security, he was at the top of his classes, captain of the basketball team, head of the arts and music society, and president of student affairs. By his second semester, he had already secured an internship at HYBE, a massive healthcare conglomerate—separate from his father’s influence. He was so incredibly intelligent that the college even commemorated his achievements with dedicated newsletter columns and interview sessions.

As you absorbed this overwhelming information, Yeji’s tone flattened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “But, Y/N, he’s known as a player,” she reluctantly added. “Apparently, there hasn’t been a girl he hasn’t had.”

You stared silently at the soles of your boots.

Of course, he was a player. Anyone would drop to their knees for a chance to be with him. You had read somewhere that gravitational pull was the strongest in a black hole, but science hadn’t investigated the world’s pull towards Heeseung. You had only met him a couple of days ago, yet he had already made you feel so unbearably enraptured.

Ruminating over Yeji’s words, you were speechless at your own disappointment. How could he affect you so terribly?

“But—he’s never had anything serious,” Yeji tried to console you, squeezing your shoulder.

Throat tightening, you attempted a smile.

“Who invited them?” Yeji's gasp broke through your thoughts, her mouth hanging open, eyes bulging in shock as she stared behind you.

You shifted, turning to see what had her so stunned.

Your jaw dropped.

In walked a couple, hand in hand, wearing complimentary outfits. A couple you hadn’t spoken to in ages, a couple that haunted your sleepless nights: Park Jongseong and Yu Ji-min.

Your frantic gaze searched for Jake, conflicting emotions swirling across your face as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Your older brother stood inattentive, engrossed in a conversation with Sunghoon as Jay approached him, wearing a broad smile. You watched them exchange a quick handshake, Jake accepting a large gift box.

“Why would Jake invite him?” Yeji huffed.

You didn’t know—but a gut feeling told you this was meant to happen.

The familiar gaze met yours. He was now heading to the leather couch beside his girlfriend, his eyes trained on you. You offered him a tight smile, your insides trembling in growing anxiety.

Jay was stern, his gaze cold and disdainful. Whilst maintaining eye contact, he pulled his girlfriend to sit on his lap, his grip tight on Ji-min’s waist as she whispered something into his ear. 

Your smile dropped at his immaturity.

You had lost both your friends, Jay and Ji-min, because of your mistakes. You had avoided them like the plague, and something deep within you suggested that the mysterious rumours circulating around the university weren’t just random gossip; they were spread by someone you had once considered as close as Yeji.

Something more sinister gnawed at your insides. 

Heeseung.

Amidst the chaos, you felt someone’s piercing gaze on you. Like a magnet, you found him. Under the blue strobe light, Heeseung stood leaning against the bar’s counter, flanked by a few girls, with his eyes fixed on you, watching like a hawk.

Though he was a stranger—a complete nobody in your world—you still felt he was reading you like an open book. Anxiety washed over you, your throat drying up under his intense scrutiny. If your life was split into meaningful chapters, Heeseung knew it by heart, his gaze uncomfortably invasive, expectant as if judging your next move.

A waiter zooming by caught your attention, and you pounced on the opportunity. Fingers trembling, you grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it in one go, the liquor leaving a bitter burn in your throat.

“Y/N, you don’t hold your liquor well,” Yeji frowned. One drink never hurt anyone, and besides, this was a party—everyone was soon going to lose their marbles.

You turned away, grabbing another drink from a passing waiter.

“Y/N, stop!” Yeji warned. You smiled tightly, ready to throw more alcohol into your system.

In a flash, Heeseung, who had been a good fifty people away, stood towering over you. He snatched the glass from your grasp and chugged it down. You watched in disbelief as he slammed the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, his gaze darkening as he stared at you. Yeji took it as her cue to scram, rushing to accompany her boyfriend on the dance floor.

Your stomach clenched with want. Even simply dressed in a black t-shirt and leather jeans, his expression sour, his appeal was uncanny. He made you forget the elephant in the room.

“So— he bothers you that much?” Heeseung spat, his voice low and venomous.

He had planned to watch from the sidelines. Jongseong’s name was enough for Heeseung to find sources and sniff out your past link. He was told you had rejected the boy, but that didn’t match Jake’s description of your first crush.

It didn’t take long for Heeseung to realise that you really did like Jongseong, your affection reflected in that picture you still chose to keep. The reason you had declined his proposal wasn’t a mystery either. You feared ruining a chance at friendship, and that conclusion made Heeseung sleepless.

Heeseung had orchestrated this party and invited Jongseong, just to watch your heartbreak. He wanted to dwell in the forlorn misery in your gaze, relish in the fury and hatred fuelling your agonised expression. He wanted you to shatter so that you were left with no choice but to find him. So that he could collect those shards and piece you together. For himself.

Yet here you stood, bothered and apologetic. There wasn’t one bad bone inside you, your heart pure like the sunshine that streaks through his curtains every morning.

“How do you know about Jay?” You curiously pointed out, folding your arms and gazing up at the man.

Heeseung flinched at the nickname. Tightening his fists, he responded with gritted teeth. He didn’t need to lie for this.

“Jake.”

One word and your face crumbled, your finger pointing at the blonde who laughed beside his friends. “Why can’t that idiot keep his mouth shut?” You complained, glaring daggers. You couldn’t believe your brother blurted out your business to Heeseung.

“Do you still want him?”

Say it.

Say it, and he’ll burn this place down, along with Park Jongseong, leaving you with nothing—not even a corpse to mourn—just a speck of remains and dirt.

“I don’t.”

His eyes shifted back to their brown.

“I just wish I hadn’t lost my friends.” You glanced down at your shoes, face shrouded in despair as you reminisced the past.

Heeseung watched the sorrow flicker in your deprived eyes.

This was simpler than he had imagined.

“Let’s get the party started!” Jake yelled at the top of his lungs, carrying a huge celebratory bottle of champagne as everyone huddled around him.

Yeji appeared by your side, dragging you towards the crowd where Jake prepared to unseal the wine, like a cake-cutting ceremony. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Heeseung walk up beside you—until everyone, including Jake, roared for him to come forward.

You watched Heeseung shake his head dismissively, but Jake’s adamant smile made him falter. For the first time, you saw a crack in Heeseung’s stern façade, a genuine sense of joy flashing through his expression.

You watched with intrigue as he stepped up, and Jake finally celebrated his twenty second. Everyone cheered as Jake popped the cork and showered Heeseung and Sunghoon with the essence.

Yeji over-excitedly gasped. During her overjoyed dance, she accidentally slipped forward, toppling her glass of wine onto your dress’s front. You quickly wiped at it, but the liquid soaked into the flimsy fabric with ease.

“Shit�� sorry boo,” she cried over the music. You shook your head, dismissing her concern.

“I’m heading to the washroom,” you muttered. She nodded, unsure of your words, as the loud roaring and music drowned everything.

You slipped away from the chaos, excusing your way through until you managed to escape to the other end of the hall. You followed the dim hallway, the raucousness dissolving, as you searched for the nearest bathroom. You found a door at the far end with a staircase to your right and sped towards it.

“Long time.”

You turned, instantly freezing up.

Jay stood at the other end, speaking with his familiar calculated baritone. He stepped forward, watching your shocked expression morph into disappointment.

“Oh, seems like you’re not too happy to see me here,” he claimed, now standing a mere step away, his tone dripping with malice. “Is the princess running away again?” The darkness returned, his jaw clenched.

You gulped, standing upright. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” you told him, turning away.

A bitter chuckle escaped his chest. “Of course, you don’t,” he spat. “Now that you’ve found a man, you don’t have much to say,” he claimed, running his fingers through his dark strands, his gaze menacing.

Your throat burned with hostility. “You’re ridiculous,” you huffed. “Following a girl when you’ve already got a girlfriend—seems like I dodged a bullet.” You uttered the words, disturbed by his arrogant nonchalance, and instantly the atmosphere grew with heightening tension.

Your cruel words seemed to inflict some damage as Jay’s body trembled, his fists tightening in aggravation.

Because you were right. He knew it.

As you stepped away, all common sense evaded him. He grabbed your wrist and slammed you to the wall, a gasp wrenching out of your chest as he hovered above, his hands gripping your waist with an iron grip.

“I never needed you,” he whispered, his eyes wide and pained as you attempted to free yourself, but Jay’s grip on your waist only tightened. “I’ve just liked the chase. You were so full of yourself—so pathetic. Nothing about you ever made me feel something—anything—”

A bloodcurdling scream wrenched out of your throat as a shattering sound reverberated within your frame. Your eyes bulged out, heart trashing and body quivering in horror. One second Jay was standing, staring at you like a madman, and the next, he was knocked to the ground, blood splattering against your cheeks, staining your dress and skin scarlet.

Breathe. Take a deep breath. Breathe.

You plummeted to the floor, your knees giving out as Jay’s forehead and neck covered in red pooled on the ground. You internally prepared yourself as you looked up, staring at the perpetrator.

A dull void of a gaze, Heeseung’s hand was wrapped around a half-shattered bottle with its sharpened edges dripping Jay’s blood. Your insides clenched in horror.

Heeseung stepped closer as Jay’s limp frame scrambled to sit up, his gaze chasing the danger, his grip on his head loosening as he spotted the man.

“You—you fucking lunatic—what the fuck is wrong with—”

Jay’s yelps fell on deaf ears as Heeseung discarded the bottle and plummeted to the floor before you, his pupils drained of colour and hands trembling as he caressed your cheeks. His thumb rubbed at the splashes of blood, eyes wide with terror—a terror you had never seen. More than his own actions, his line of concern was the beads of red staining your complexion.

“Hee…” you tried to speak, your throat dry and lips quivering.

“It’s okay—you’re okay,” his voice trembled as he consoled himself, more than anyone, his gaze frantically running over your body.

What you didn’t realise was Jay reaching out to grab the loitering bottle. Heeseung’s warm gaze and words were so captivating, pulling you away from the unfolding catastrophe. Suddenly, the fantasy shattered. Jay smashed the bottle against the back of Heeseung’s head.

You screamed, your body jerking alert as you pulled Heeseung into your arms, sobbing aloud. Jay stood on trembling legs, glaring at Heeseung with a poisonous look before limping away. You tightened your hold on Heeseung, your body shaking despite his grievous injury. The attack was strong enough to lash out blood but not wilful enough to break the bottle like Heeseung had done.

You tried to pull away to check his wound, but Heeseung pulled you back into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

Fuck. He could die right now and he’d be happy. Over the fucking moon. He almost wanted to thank that low-life for brusing him because it worked in his favour.

You gazed upon him with sympathetic attention, like you were gazing upon a wounded puppy. You were finally in his arms, letting him envelop you. He inhaled the scent of vanilla and fresh peaches, his hold on your frame tightening with desperation.

He wanted to consume you.

“Heeseung, let me see your wound,” you softly cried into his shoulder, unable to breathe at the intensity of his clutch.

“It’s not deep—nothing compared to what that moron will take home,” Heeseung arrogantly claimed. His prideful tone made your insides hurl; it reminded you of the initiation. Heeseung had started it all; he had slammed a glass bottle into Jay’s head.

You pushed him back, your gaze stern as you met his aggravated one. “Why?” You cried hysterically, recalling the insanity of the previous moment. “How could you—”

Heeseung’s expression grew colder than ice. “I’ll break every bone he used to touch you,” he declared, the honesty in his tone sending chills down your spine. 

“You literally almost murdered him!” You screeched.

Heeseung cracked a deluded smile. “He’ll wish I had.”

You felt speechless. Utterly stunned into silence. What did that mean? You wanted to assume that his fury made him speak nonsense, that he didn’t mean a word. However, when you stared into Heeseung’s gaze, your stomach turned at the resolute darkness, his words horrifyingly blunt and absurd.

You were about to call him out when you noticed trail of blood slither down the side of his face. You gasped. "You need to get to a hospital,” you urged.

“And explain what?” He scoffed with a playful smile.

You felt bewildered. Of course, you didn't care at the moment! As long as he got treated, you didn't care what lie he spat out.

You glared at him. “You need to get it checked out, Heeseung,” you muttered with concern, noticing the blood kept gushing in thicker streams.

Wordlessly, Heeseung grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, and nodded as he pulled you to stand. You sighed in relief, grateful that he was finally listening. His grip never faltering on your hand, you both turned towards the venue.

Heeseung suddenly pulled you back, ignoring your confusion, instead climbing up the staircase. “What’re you doing?” You groaned, attempting to retract, but Heeseung just kept walking.

Upstairs, the living room was carpeted with posh couches and chairs. You passed by expensive paintings hung up on the wall as Heeseung took you inside a dark room, stalking through blindly until he pushed at another door.

Lights flickering on, you surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings. Heeseung had brought you to a bathroom. You glanced at him in confusion as he shut the door and turned towards you.

“Heeseung, what’re you doing?”

“You said I need to get my injury checked out,” he responded, leaning down and grabbing a first aid kit from the cubby hole. “I’m doing it,” he flashed you a clever smile, his eyes shining with amusement.

Even if you were about to throw a tantrum, you couldn’t anymore. Heeseung’s words, his eyes, his smile, everything was enough for you to sit still and obey. You watched as he stepped towards the large mirror. He casually tilted his head to inspect the wound.

Expressionless, he opened up the first aid kit, grabbing a transparent bottle and cotton pads like a professional, as if he had already addressed such wounds in the past. With practised nonchalance, he soaked the cotton pad with the liquid and pressed it into the wound.

You winced, instinctively jumping forward to grab the bottle from his hand.

“Who deals with a wound like that!” You screeched hysterically.

Heeseung turned, his brows raised, lips pressed in confusion. You put forward your palm, glaring at him. He surveyed your stern expression and, to your surprise, gave in easily, handing you the stained cotton ball without putting up a fight. You had imagined he would claim he knew more—but Heeseung just stared at you passively. You gulped, edging forward.

You knew the wound was deeply ingrained on the right side of his head, but reaching it was an issue. You were a good half a person shorter than him, his towering frame allowing you to reach only his chest. Standing on your tiptoes, you could only make it to his collarbone. You tried pushing up to reach the mark, but it remained physically impossible.

You noticed the amusement sparking in his expression, his lips curving into a gentle smile. “What’s so funny?” You gruffly questioned, and his smile only grew more.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, setting you on the cold basin. He turned, towering between your parted legs.

“There.”

You quickly recovered, ignoring the butterflies fluttering in your chest or the heat stirring from where he had just touched you. You reached up. The angle allowed you to address the wound better.

Thankfully, there was a single cut, slashing down to the nape. You held the cotton against the cut, letting it absorb the blood, and then gently swirled it across.

Heeseung’s breathing suddenly grew heavy, and you flinched, quickly scanning his face for hints of pain. “Is it too bad?” You muttered, your eyes wide and voice reluctantly soft.

He nodded. It was painful, so unbearably agonising like he was thrown into a fuming furnace, burning and dying, then reincarnating and burning every breath he spent in your vicinity.

His fists tightened, his gaze tracing your attentive expression, your lips puckered in deep concentration, hands so gentle, like a mother’s touch—or what Heeseung assumed must’ve been had he ever felt one. The past month he only dreamed of this moment—to have you before him, launched between his legs, attending only to him.

You cleaned up his wound with precision. He had practice, but your touch was magical—a healing balm of its own.

“Have you done this for anyone else?” His question came out gruffer than expected, his stomach twisting as he imagined you perched on a sink like this for someone else.

You finished cleaning up, moving to grab the bandage. “Of course not,” you huffed, peeling the bandaid from the wrapper.

“I just know I’m not supposed to stab wounds like that,” you sarcastically claimed, reminded of him jabbing his head. “You’re the future doctor… you should know this,” you leaned to the side, pressing the band-aid into his scalp.

“They teach us how to treat,” he stated. “Whatever gets the job done,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help but grimace at his words.

“If you don’t treat with the element of pain in mind, you’ll hurt yourself more.”

Heeseung's throat was suddenly tighter than normal.

You wiped your hands with a tissue. Shifting closer, you inspected Heeseung’s injury one more time. You were about to get off the sink when you noticed glimmering bits of glass nestled in his hair. Impulsively, you reached out, flicking the strands.

“Oh—!” You jerked away, your finger cut by an unseen sharp edge that pierced the flesh.

Before the blood even oozed out, Heeseung sprang forward, grabbing your wrist, his gaze wide with horror as he impulsively pulled your finger into his mouth.

An astonished gasp escaped your chest.

Wide-eyed, you watched Heeseung suck around your finger.

At the first drop of your blood against his tongue, Heeseung’s eyes screwed shut, his body heating up, the metallic taste mixed with your skin’s sweetness creating a delicious buzz within his taste buds. Maybe if he drank enough, you'd really become a part of his being; if he fused your blood with his, you'd somehow become his.

He lapped at the drop incessantly, his hand reaching to lock your wrist in place as he covered your finger with saliva.

There was a shift in the air. You felt it in your bones.

As he looked up, meeting your eyes while simultaneously drenching your finger inside his mouth, your body began to heat up. A burn ignited at the centre of your legs, your imagination running wild, your limbs quivering.

Time became meaningless as he revelled in the euphoric bliss. When he noticed you weren’t pulling away or flinching, his muscles clenched with want. Instead, your cheeks were redd, eyes fluttering in bashfulness. Warmth in his blood shot lower, pooling within his sensitive region.

A thrum vibrated his own being as Heeseung popped another finger into his mouth, his sucking growing intense, lascivious, and hungrier. Your body jolted as his slick enveloped your digits, his tongue tirelessly flicking and tasting.

You wanted to intervene and stop this madness, but suddenly you couldn’t find your voice. Your throat refused to cooperate, and your lips denied any help.

His gaze was trained on your expressions, every blink, every gasp. He wanted to memorise the way your cheeks blushed scarlet and mouth opened in silent gasps. You were so beautiful, so perfect, so his.

“Hee—” you managed to choke out.

Heeseung’s hardness jerked in his pants, his body shaking with want. You had just attempted to say his name.

Suddenly, he pulled his mouth away and yanked you to the floor. You fell against his chest, your feet staggering on the marble floor, a stunned gasp escaping your mouth. He didn’t let you process it, his moves sharp and abrupt.

Your jaw dropped as you felt the tent of arousal straining against your abdomen. Your underwear was drenched, muscles taut as the reality dawned upon you. Lee Heeseung wanted you.

“Feel that—fuck—do you feel it?” He rasped against your ear, his hardened tone and body making you forget any coherent response, your body tensing up in his embrace. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful—stunning—so breathtaking. You make me—” His voice cracked as he felt nestled his nose against your neck, sniffing like a dog.

“Make you…” you pleaded for him to continue, craving his validation.

“Make me pathetic—so damn pathetic,” he blurted, his mind elsewhere as he sucked onto your earlobe.

His kisses ran down your neck, and he urgently flicked the hair away to feast. He pressed his lips gently, wanting to savour every moment and worship every inch, but within the first contact, his patience was out the window. He pushed his throbbing body into yours, knocking you against the sink as his mouth opened wide, biting into your flesh.

His mind fell numb as your taste and scent drove him to the brink of euphoria. He found it strange how you turned him into a quivering virgin mess with just this.

Your gasps reverberated in the bathroom walls, your frame quivering.

His touch was desperate, persistent like he was holding onto you for dear life. Fingers interlocked in your strands, body shaking with restrain as his mouth devoured your neck, you felt lost in a sea of pure bliss. You hadn’t had many sexual experiences in your life, but whatever make out sessions you had shared with boys in first year didn’t live up to this feeling, this hunger— from him.

“Ah!”

Every hair on his body stood alert. Your sounds were so pretty just like your body. He knew he couldn’t live without absolutely breaking your resilience. He had to tear through your exterior and drag out the vulnerable girl who moves to his rhythm, sings to his beat and responds to his call.

“Heeseung—Ah!” Your body tensed, his name falling from your mouth as his kisses grew frantic, prolonged. You were so flustered that you felt the world knock off its axis. You urgently held onto his tense shoulders, hoping you wouldn't fall over with the intensity of his want.

Had it been any other girl in his arms, anyone, he’d have thrown her on the floor and fulfilled his depraved desires. He’d have coerced her lust, used and abused her body like a mere object for his release. He wanted to do the same to you like he’d envisioned every night.

But you weren’t any girl. You weren't a momentary escape. For the first time in his life, he wanted it both: lust and love. He wanted to ruin you for everyone— not just physically but emotionally. He wanted your body and your soul.

And you were the sole reason he unwillingly held back, restrained his desire to rip you apart.

Breathless and flustered, you struggled to gather your thoughts. Your body was begging for him, but you couldn’t look past the reality.

This was Lee Heeseung, the hottest playboy, the genius, the most eligible bachelor in Korea—and most importantly, your brother’s best friend. You were calling his name so embarrassingly, and you were certain going all the way, he’d have nothing to do with you after tonight. He was like a forbidden fruit, so effortlessly desirable but never yours.

He will never be yours.

Your eyes burned with tears. You had managed to like him so much, and tonight it would crumble apart. Just the way you had ended up running from Jay, you should run from Heeseung before he takes your heart with him.

Determined, you pushed against him. The sudden move knocked him away, his reddened face twisting in confusion and frustration at the distance.

You quickly stumbled to the sink, splashing cold water on your face. Your complexion as red as a cherry, eyes shining, indicating hints of your previous bliss; Heeseung had littered red and purple marks all over your neck, his saliva still warming your flesh.

Behind you, Heeseung appeared, wrapping his arms around your waist. His eyes locked onto your reflection, his gaze darkening as it traced the curve of your neck. The heat between you intensified, his desire becoming evident as he pressed his aching body into yours. His eyes fluttered shut, savouring the sensation of your soft curves against him.

Embarrassingly, your abdomen clenched again.

“T—this is wrong. Stop,” you babbled, pushing him away, your dejected tone falling on deaf ears as he pressed into you again. “Heeseung—” You turned, using all your force to push him away. He looked up, his eyes clearly unfocused.

The bathroom was getting stuffy now. His unnerving gaze made it hard to breathe. You stepped away, yanking the bathroom door open and rushing out into the bleak room, your breathing unnecessarily heavy. Your body was aching with arousal, wanting to go back into his arms and give yourself up.

Heeseung shot out, grabbing your waist and jerking you into his hold, his heavy breaths lingering against your earlobe. You tried pulling away when suddenly he whipped you around.

With darkness blinding your vision, you couldn’t evade him as he yanked you into his chest and slammed his lips into yours.

The taste of cherries overwhelmed your senses, your body liquifying as he immediately plunged his tongue into your mouth, tasting you.

Every instant in his life had brought him to this moment. He knew it when he kissed your mouth, licked your tongue, traced your gums—he knew you were meant for him. Your beauty was his to ruin. Your taste was his to devour. Your love was his to take.

A strange sensation flared up in his chest, spreading to his heart. For the first time, all his medical knowledge felt useless—he didn’t even feel human because even they could identify sensations.

Heeseung cupped your jaw, his lips trembling as he took in all your taste had to offer. His teeth clashed with yours, and his saliva dripped down your chin, his tongue rolling against yours as he poured an overwhelming flood of unnamed emotions into you.

His erection pressed against your lower stomach as he kissed you breathlessly. Suddenly, he was tearing at his buttons, desperate to feel your skin against his.

His kiss felt urgent, charged with arousal. You felt like you would blow into tattered pieces with the intensity of his touch, his deprivation and lust. Your fingers ran through his tousled strands, clenching for semblance of control as he sucked the soul out of you.

Your lungs flared up in discomfort due to the limited oxygen supply. You gasped, pushing at his shoulders with all your strength. Heeseung’s grip didn’t falter. Your gasps grew more strained and alarming. Only when you felt tears blurring your vision did Heeseung relent.

Both of you panted like dogs, heaving breaths echoing through the room.

“Stop it!” You screamed, pushing him away as you blindly searched for the exit. 

Yellow lights flickered on, the sudden burst blinding you momentarily. Heeseung stood like a barrier blocking the door, his advantage clear as he seemed to have the room mapped out in his head.

Pupils blown out, he panted, his gaze clouded with the need to ravage and devour you whole. His undone button-down hung the shoulders, revealing honey toned chest and tense abs, descending lower into his pants. Your mouth dried up, but you forced yourself to remain unfeeling.

You voiced out, “Let me go—”

“Why?” He asked gruffly. His eyes locked onto your trembling orbs, his brows arching in frustration.

“I can’t have you?” He whispered.

His words were laced with provocation. He hadn’t felt such an urgency to ruin someone, ever. He ached to feel your skin against his. He was hurting to fill you. If you wanted, he would plummet to his knees, stick out his tongue and shamelessly beg, plead. 

You looked at him with indifference. “You’re my brother’s—”

“So what?” He barked, his abrupt interruption making your breath stutter.

He stepped closer until he had you pressed against the wall, his arms on either side, locking you in place. You hadn’t expected him to be this eager. Why did he care? A man like Heeseung could get any woman on earth. One look and they’d drop their panties to the floor. Your glare grew more acrimonious at the realisation.

You pushed at his chest, your fingers grazing his warm skin, lighting up fireworks in your system. “I refuse to be your one-night fantasy, Heeseung,” you stuttered, unshed tears slipping out.

The fury in his gaze collapsed, his lips parting in stunned horror.

This was your chance…to run free, to protect whatever’s left of your heart. Hastily, you dashed to the door, your grip pulling at the handle when suddenly Heeseung was behind you, enveloping your waist.

You screamed and struggled, your feet kicking the air as he carried you away and tossed you onto the bed. You fought against his manhandling, punching and pushing against him, but he just stared at you like you were a weak feline lashing out.

He let you burst out until your energy had depleted and you fell limp.

“You’re fucking joking,” he laughed, disbelief coursing through his frame. “One night fantasy?” He spat, his fists tightening at the audacity of your words.

You stared back, matching his intensity. “Isn’t it famously known?" You huffed. “You don’t touch a woman you’ve had once,” you snarled, your tone dripping with hostility.

That sent him spiralling. “I don’t,” he declared. He watched the spark in your eyes die down, tears running down your cheeks. You attempted to get up, but Heeseung dropped to his knees, his hands scrambling to cup your face.

His heart pounded so hard, that he felt its drumming within his entire being. “You’re not any woman,” his voice cracked, his throat tightening as he kissed your tears one by one. “You’re mine."

He hadn’t said anything more honest in his entire life.

Yet, you looked at him the same—awfully sceptical, disbelieving. He had attempted to pour out his heart, claim you as his, but you gazed at him like he was a liar, a deceiver. Heeseung dropped his arms, anger surging within his blood.

“You don’t believe me,” he declared, his tone laced with bitter sarcasm.

You wanted to so badly—but you had no reason to. Why would he fall for you?

You watched as Heeseung’s gaze frantically scoured the room.

Something ominous was happening. You felt your stomach twist. You called his name, but he turned away, dashing towards the study table. You stared in confusion as he grabbed his car key. 

Without any warning, Heeseung struck the sharp edge into his chest, stabbing himself in his sternum. A scream lurched out your throat, your breath stuttering as you attempted to get to him. He forced the key inside, tearing through the flesh in a line. Blood gushed through the wound, but Heeseung’s concentration remained firm.

“What the fuck— stop-stop!” You screeched, finally getting a hold of his arm.

He didn’t stop, still working on creating the art piece he wanted you to see. You felt lightheaded as you fought against his determined actions. Unable to knock him back into reality, you decided to fling at the key, letting it slip from his grasp.

Horror ceased your chest. The scarred flesh formed a letter— your initial. You gazed up at him, your throat constricting as a soul-stirring chill escalated down your spine.

“If I carve you in my blood, will you believe me?” A pained gaze, a torn heart, a horrifying smile.

Your limbs trembled.

You glanced at the wound, lips parting in silent horror.

This was absurd— absolute madness. You couldn’t wrap your head around it, but you knew it was awfully dangerous like playing with fire or chasing a lion into its den. You should be scared— fearing for your life. You should escape right now when you have the chance. You should run and never look back.

There are many shoulds' you encounter in life, but none of them hold any value when something as desirable holds you by the throat. Someone as irresistibly horrifying as Lee Heeseung. Whatever you did next, you knew your fate was sealed. Even if you ran, you couldn't outrun him-- and somewhere in the pool of longing in your depraved heart, you didn't want to. You didn't want to find a way out.

You leaned down and wrapped your lips around his honey peck, swirling your tongue and licking the scarlet oozing from his self-inflicted wound, surprising yourself as you swallowed it down. 

Life and death stood at a standstill. Had you pushed him away, he’d still have ruined you, broken your soul to pieces and killed himself over hurting you. But you chose to acknowledge, indulge in his pained longing, accepting it like a lover's call, making him want to live more— chase more— love more. 

Vision glazed, heart thundering against his chest, he wrapped you in a breathless embrace.

Amid the chaos, a strained voice invaded the room. “Hee— fuck, we’ve got a problem.” 

Your head shot towards the door, eyes wide with fear. 

Fuck.

Your brother was at the door.

A rampant knock. “Hee— you in there?” Jake's voice spilt into the heated room, your body freezing. Heeseung didn't even spare the door a glance as he pressed himself within your body.

“They’ve come looking for drugs— I don’t know who’s called but the police are searching the place.”

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets, jaw-dropping in horror.

Drugs? Police? 

Instead of concern or a slight hint of fear, Heeseung’s grip tightened on your wrists, and he attacked your lips, invading your mouth. You gasped, caught off guard, your jaw opening in a silent gasp. He swallowed your protests, his hands releasing your wrists to grope your butt-cheeks as he hoisted you up in his arms while sucking on your bottom lip. 

“Bro— are you seriously fucking someone right now?” Jake’s incredulous tone made you want to dig a hole and bury yourself inside.

Heeseung’s grip on your buttocks tightened, his groans purposefully filling the room like a silent message for Jake. His knees gave out, knocking you down, your body crashing into the bed as he vigorously unbuckled his jeans. His warm tongue feasted through your mouth, swallowing your complaints, his head lolling into your shoulders as he pressed wet, hasty bites down your neck. 

Another knock. 

“Fuck— Heeseung get out here! They’ve arrested Jongseong.”

You gasped.

What the fuck?

Heeseung paused.

Through glazed vision, he stared down at you. His lips slowly formed a smile that made every hair on your body rise.

Kim Sunoo had really come through, orchestrating a flawless drug raid, planting the evidence in Jongseong's bags and vanishing without a trace. Jay would waste away five years in prison for drug possession— barely enough to atone for the pain he gave you, hopefully enough to erase the longing that fucker held for you. Heeseung knew he owed his partner in crime a bottle of Soju next time Sunoo visited their shared farmhouse.

“Heeseung, we should—”

Heeseung licked your mouth, holding your trembling body in place, his fingers desperately tugging at your straps. Despite your persistence, he didn’t care for anything at the moment. Someone could tell him that the entire house was on fire or that the universe had collided into a meteor, crumbling to bits and pieces, and he’d still ignore it all.

For now, he will spend every second making you his—until his love is conveyed through his hunger, until his touch leaves scars and burns on your soul, until you love him enough to bleed him dry.

[sugar-crash]

🏎️Turbo (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader🏁

(Beginning Relationship Pt. I Edition!)

(It took me fucking forever to find a picture from the movie of Turbo [far too cowardly to use fanart]. Which, as we all know, is fitting.)

- To go into deeper detail on this, your time dating Turbo when he was all high and mighty was… Eventful to say the very least.

- We don’t know much about how Turbo pre-RoadBlasters disaster besides the most obvious points: passionate, sore winner, an even sorer loser, hot-headed, and finally the cherry on this red-white cake; Spite.

- His passion for various things bleeds into the other things in his life, giving a drive that goes beyond the racing track, with the relationship he gains with you being one of those things with a lot of time and patience.

- Victory kisses at the end of the day are a must, even when listening to his frustrated woes from certain players playing game wrong, saying things like “I’M FATTEST RAT IN THE RACE! WHY SHOULD I SUFFER WHEN THESE MOTION DEAF TERMITES DECIDE TO PUT A COUPLE OF COINS IN MY GAME???” ….Yeah <3

- I think in many ways that if you get his trust so much to the point where you guys start dating, he just kinda expects you to listen to his aggravated rants and not do the same for you— Which takes a lot of time to rectify, in his mind he doesn’t think you “have it as bad” as him, as ignorant as that is.

- Yeah he doesn’t exactly get a trophy for “best lover”, that’s for sure.

- And his stubborn behavior doesn’t make that any better, takes him a while to get certain things drilled into his brain when he finally realizes what you’re saying isn’t “nagging”.

- Don’t get him wrong, I genuinely think he has the capability to care for someone else over himself, it just takes a whole lot of work for him to consciously realize that.

- PDA isn’t really much of a thing for Turbo (except for his “well earned” victory kisses) , he has a reputation to uphold as one of the most popular game characters in the arcade, though behind closed doors he basically demands the attention you give him at first.

- If you don’t like being ordered around and tell him as such, it takes a series of fights to realize being bossy in a romantic relationship (or any in general) isn’t exactly the best thing. The obvious in these situations isn’t to him, he has a very one track mind (pun intended) and doesn’t like change when it effects him.

- Which is very understandable, human even, I think that many of us, if we had a choice, would keep things just the way we like it. But— Life itself is all about change, conflict, differing opinions, etc. And while it is aggravating to no end, it’s something a person has to come to terms with.

- Someone like Turbo struggles with that concept, why can’t he act the way he finds more natural?? This stone set mindset drives many way, even the people from his game— Even you at times.

- He loves you to death, with the way he sticks close to you after hours, the way he gets a momentary soft look at you when he thinks you aren’t looking is perceptible to people who pay attention.

- Much like his latter self, King Candy, he has the tendency to hide things from you— Not in a way that maintains a noble or joyous persona, but in a way that tries to hide his softness for you, the desire to clutch you close and never let go.

- The feelings your mere existence gives him scares him, not that he would ever admit that, not even to himself.

- He hates that at times his feelings depend on how you feel, and trying to understand it only stirs the pot, touches of comfort are met with a scoff and some variation of “I’m not some fragile lamb you can comfort.” Though at that point his reactions aren’t nearly as explosive as they used to be.

- Over time I believe that with your help he is able to maintain more composure— Thinking before acting, which is something he is desperate need for.

- Your relationship is very hit and miss at times, but what is love without conflict? BORING, that’s what I say at least.

- Who he is as a whole is both a blessing and a curse, really makes a person think in a “What goes on in that asshole’s head? And how the fuck did he get with someone?”

- The time you have with him before RoadBlasters was installed was special, not perfect in the slightest, but you guy had your moments that one can look at later on with a sense of melancholy.

(Abyiv-ahzapj! *SVBK MHYA UVPZL*)

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Male-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Misery Loves Company

A/N – Okay, so for anyone who loves Stand-up comedy as much as I do, I highly recommend you watch Daniel Sloss’ tour, Dark. That’s his first tour, and it was where he coined the term Wanker-Anchor, which is used in this story.

Warnings – None.

Rating – M

TAG-LIST: @lxkeee @moonieper @sle3pyh3ad2 @gomib0 @mixplara @ica1 @loser-monologue @blackbeautyiloveyouso @equkki @literalzxmbie

FEMALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

“Whoa,” Charlie said upon seeing you.

She had seen your Demonic form before, but it was a rarity and it usually meant that you weren’t doing well mentally.

“Are you okay?” She asked, sucking in air through her teeth, her voice pitching high, indicating that she already knew the answer but didn’t want to point out the obvious in case it upset you further.

“I’m fine,” You answered shortly.

“Really? Because you uh, well,” Charlie twisted her hands back and forth, “You uh, you look a little- I mean, hey, I think you’re beautiful inside and out but when you’re like this it usually means- It’s normally-”

“You’re fucked up,” Vaggie finished for her, getting straight to the point.

“I’m fine,” You insisted, using the words everyone used when they were decidedly not fine. “Where’s Angel Dust?”

“In his room,” Vaggie explained.

“What happened? He was doing so well.”

Charlie’s eyes welled up with tears and she threw her arms around you, sobbing out an explanation, “It was my fault. I asked him about his contract, and he told me not to worry, but I did worry, and then I wanted to make sure he’d be okay when me and Vaggie go to visit Heaven, but he said he didn’t need a babysitter, and then I got Husk involved and Husk told me not to fuck with things I don’t understand, and then Valentino came-”

“Wait, Valentino came here?!” You pulled Charlie off you so you could look her in the eyes.

“Well, not exactly, but he sent his crew here and told Angel they had to film and I said no, and-”

You left Charlie and ran to Angel’s room. Both Charlie and Vaggie followed you as you pelted through the corridors. No wonder Angel had relapsed. That piece of shit Valentino had used Angel’s contract against him. As part of the deal they had made, Angel had to do any work Valentino demanded of him, and that fucking scumbag had dared to invade the one place where Angel felt safe.

Knowing Charlie, she would have pointed out that Valentino couldn’t use her property and would have to wait for Angel at the studio, but that wouldn’t matter. Valentino would play by the rules; it wasn’t really about filming at the Hotel, it was all a matter of proving that Angel belonged to him and that there was no safe place he could hide away.

Besides, even if Valentino hadn’t gotten his way at the Hotel, he would take it out on Angel the next time he was in the studio. It was a lose-lose situation, something that Hell was always too eager to provide.

When you got to Angel’s room, you paused to compose yourself. It wouldn’t help if you sounded too desperate or concerned; Angel didn’t respond well to that. It would make him blame himself for making you worry, and then he would spiral further.

You knocked on the door, “Hey Angel, it’s us. Can we come in please?”

“Go away,” Angel’s heavy accent came through the door, marking him more as Anthony than Angel Dust, though you didn’t say anything about that; there were very few people who knew his real name, and he didn’t like to be reminded of it.

For better or worse, he was Angel Dust; that was who he needed to be to survive.

You glanced at Charlie and Vaggie, then tilted your head, indicating that they should leave. Charlie hesitated until Vaggie placed a hand on her shoulder, then after an affirming nod from you, she let Vaggie lead her away.

“Come on Angel,” You said when they were gone. “It’s just me. Let me in.”

“Piss off.”

You sighed, then sat outside the door, and began talking. You didn’t have a grand speech planned, only what was on your mind, and if Angel wasn’t going to let you in, then it became a matter of letting him know that he wasn’t alone and that you wouldn’t abandon him, though you would respect his space.

“I get it. Valentino fucked with you. He love-bombed you, and that didn’t fucking work because you’re stronger than he is and you’re not going to fall for his shitty manipulation tactics. Now, he’s sending his goons here. It’s all just another one of his games, Angel. Don’t let him win.”

There was no response. You stayed quiet for a minute then were struck with a thought; misery loves company.

“Hey, I also kind of feel like shit today, you know? I kept thinking about Hell and… a lot of things. I told Charlie’s dad how I died. That was fucked up.”

Again, there was no response, but you thought you heard Angel shuffle closer to the door. Until that evening, nobody had heard anything about your mortal life, and now you were talking about it for the second time.

“I was murdered for a snuff film. I still have nightmares about it.”

There was a bluntness to your tone. Although it hurt to state the memory aloud again, albeit in less detail, you decided not to put too much thought into it. If your death could help someone, well, there had to be some good in bringing it up.

You stared at the peeling red wallpaper across from you, just so you had something to focus on. “I’m terrified that one day, I’m gonna walk down the street and see the guys that killed me. Like, what do you even do in that situation? Call them out? They’re in Hell, that’s punishment enough, right? Will they find it funny to see me again? Find new ways to hurt me?”

I honestly don’t know what I want in this scenario. I don’t want them to die, ‘cos then they’ll be here, but if they live, they’ll do this to other people. Kidnap them, sell them to the highest bidder, film it for the black market. I dunno… I’ve been here for a year, and I keep thinking about that.”

The door opened and you fell back, looking up at Angel’s concerned face.

“That’s the most fucked up shit I’ve ever heard.”

He lifted you up, setting you right with two arms, while the other two brushed you off.

“So… this is you?” He asked, taking in your rag-doll appearance.

You laughed and imitated his voice, your Demonic abilities kicking in to mimic him perfectly, “I can be anything you want, bay-by.”

“That’s the hottest you’ve ever sounded.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You waved him off blasély. “Just let me in, okay? I can help.”

“So, uh, with the voice, and the-” Angel gestured at your new look, moving his hands in a circular motion, “Can you uh- Be other people?”

“I don’t know,” You said slowly, looking at your hands, “Never tried.”

You concentrated for a moment, trying to transform back to your original self. Usually, it was effortless. Yet, as you stared at the stitches that bound you together, you found it difficult to do more than revert to your original skin colour. Seeing that beneath the stitches was somehow worse, so you stopped trying to change, accepting that for now, you were a ragdoll.

You shrugged your shoulders, “Fuck it. I am what I am, and that’s all that I am.”

You caught sight of Angel’s precious pet pig. Scooping him up into your arms and cuddling him, you cooed in a baby voice, “Besides, you still love me, don’t you Fat Nuggets, yeeeees, precious baby.”

Sitting down on Angel’s bed, you looked up at your friend, deciding that it was better not to let the difficult conversation wait and fester.

“Soooo…” You scratched Fat Nuggets behind the ear, “Charlie told me that you relapsed. Wanna talk about it?”

Angel sighed and flopped back onto the bed so he was lying next to you, his legs planted on the floor.

He dragged two hands over his face, the other two lay despondently over his stomach.

“I- It was just such a shitty day, and Val sent those pricks here, not that they could fill any holes. Wrong kind of pricks, you know?” He half laughed, but it died when he realised the joke wasn’t funny in such a shitty situation.

Still, you smiled at him. When Angel was sad, he didn’t always need someone to sympathise with him. He needed to see that you weren’t going to change and start treating him differently. Sometimes that meant just listening, but other times it meant making the meanest jokes you could think of and laughing at how horrible everything was.

You were his Wanker-anchor, chaining him to reality by being a dick; Husk was the best at it, but seeing as he was nowhere to be found, Angel had you instead.

“Here,” Angel held up a small sealed bag, with his stash in it. So, he hadn’t relapsed after all. He’d just come very close.

“No thanks,” You joked, “I’m full from all the crack I had at breakfast.”

Angel got up and punched your arm, “You’re such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” You took his stash, tucking it away in your pocket, then you stood up, leaving Fat Nuggets on the bed, and you offered Angel your hand. “Come on.”

“What-”

“You need a distraction. So, I challenge you, Angel Dust, teach me how to dance.”

“You’re fucking kiddin’, right?”

You shook your head. “You can dance, I can’t and I’m bored. So, come on, give me some lessons. It’ll be good to get moving.”

“When you fail, can I call you a retard?”

“Fuck no. You can’t say retard anymore, what the fuck is wrong with you. You can insult the shit outta me, but keep your terms acceptable, okay?”

Honestly, Angel had thought he was up to date on what insults and trash talk were deemed acceptable, but evidently, he was wrong.

“Alright, I’ll teach you to dance, but you gotta keep me updated on all the latest slang, and what’s changed up there,” He glanced up as if he could see Earth.

“I’ve been dead a year, bud. A lot can change in that time,” You said, thinking about all the ways you were probably outdated.

Angel grabbed his phone and turned up the tunes, “Sounds like a coward’s excuse to get outta teaching.”

And so it was that you and Angel started to dance. It was nothing like his work, or when he was forced to pimp himself out in clubs as a form of ‘networking.’ Instead, it was stupid, fun, and uncoordinated with you as his partner. Christ, he had never danced with someone so terrible. You let him lead, and together, the two of you laughed at each other’s expense and forgot all about the shitty things that had happened that day.

Up in his Radio Station, Alastor grinned sinisterly. He had heard you quite clearly as he went about his business in the Hotel. You were murdered? How delightful. Victims were so easy to manipulate. Furthermore, you were a ragdoll. Oh, how wonderfully he could exploit that power.

All it would take was an invitation of friendship, a desperate situation, and an offer of assistance. When Alastor had sent Husk away on an errand earlier, he hadn’t imagined it would turn out so wonderfully.

Now, there was a new piece on the chessboard, and Alastor was determined to capture you as his pawn.

Your soul would be his.

[catmansquad]

“Unstable”

A short piece for one of the Looking Glass chapters I rewrote to be Reader-centric.

Yandere!Miguel 

You just can’t seem to shake the feeling that someone’s watching you…

Earth-928 [Iteration: 157] October, Nueva York, 2099

The halls were dark and silent, a dozen unused chambers and corridors, left and forgotten to gather dust. As far as the public were concerned, the building was undergoing renovations, of the long-term type. Its twisted spire would tower beautifully against the neon skylines of Nueva York, now only one floor, one room was illuminated. The nameplate on the door was crooked, the room was covered in half-dismantled machinery; loose cabling, screens that were broken or had been punched straight through, and piles of empty takeaway boxes. Clad in red and deep blue, the large figure sat before a bank of shimmering hardlight screens, staring straight ahead and thoroughly lost in nostalgia. He had tried. Miguel O’Hara had tried so very hard; to assemble the Spider Society, the heroes and defenders of the sprawling infinity of the multiverse. But it never came to be, none had agreed, perhaps they were missing, or had already been snatched by another version of himself. In another world, so close to his own, too fine a distinction even for the dimensional travel watches to recognize it. Somewhere along the line where their paths had branched, he had lost a coin toss against fate, his other self had won it.

The Spider Society was never to be, and the scarce few he had tried to recruit did not remain for long, they had claimed he was… Unstable. Miguel snarled at the recollection, teeth gritted, fangs bared. He took a heavy breath, exhaling slowly. He had broken enough screens over those memories. The halls of his great ambition were dusty and empty, and now he was left here; standing in what once been Alchemax’s finest building, now a ruin of a dead dream. He still remained as his world’s one and only Spider-man, DNA irreparably mangled with that of a spider’s, blessed and cursed with frightening powers and a lifetime of guilt and trauma.

While he could not step into the reflections of his own world, he could still peer into them. How many hours had he wasted, watching his other self- the successful Miguel- lurking before those same screens, recounting his own pains, his own issues. Miguel had laughed at him, the man who was and was not him. Hard light webbing? Powers given by serums?! The man was not his reflection, he was but a weak, pale shadow! He hoped that his other self could see him in turn, peering back through the glass at him; see the powerful man he wished he could be and go green in envy.

Then he had widened his scope of interest, looking at all his other selves, in other worlds. The further out he went, the weirder and stranger those worlds became, the more unique his incarnations became; a knight in shining armour, a bloodthirsty vampire, a merman, and stranger still. But there had been another twist of fate, another interesting fact that not even his successful self could claim; these variants of himself had someone by his side, beautiful eyes that met his own crimson hues. Miguel was transfixed, watching each world in turn, the same yet different. He’d had Lyla scour every single record, every database, searching for you in whatever form you could take. She had returned with nothing; you did not exist in this world. He had upturned the entire cafeteria after that revelation. There was no point in fixing the mess, it would never see use. Miguel had eventually calmed himself, back to the scope once again, scouring realities. Eventually, he had picked a nearby reality; Earth-927, one world from his own. It was running behind his reality, and once again he had found himself… And there you were, right by his side. They were in love, they were married. Miguel felt a longing in his heart, a cure for that loneliness. What had he done to end up as the loser of every cosmic coin toss?! This version of him was nothing special; overworked, overtired, and so very, purely human. The world was simply too primitive, the technology did not exist, the experiments for his transformation had not- could not happen, this world had no Spider-man. He hated that version of him. You deserved a Superhero to love and protect you.

‘Lyla… Show me.’ He watched the hologram of his assistant glitch into existence beside him, as much as a pain in the ass as she was, she was useful. A gift from his late ex-wife, along with her plans for the whole dimensional travel prototypes. No children, no wife, and no Spider Society. ‘Show you what?’ Red eyes closed; he exhaled in annoyance. Every single time… ‘What do you mean “what”? Show me 927! Show me-!... Show. Me. Them.’ ‘I mean, I can, but you’re not gonna see much with your eyes closed.’ His eyes snapped open, a snarl in his throat as he made to grab her image, claws raking through empty air as she blipped and returned on one shoulder. ‘Already live, big guy. Back on scope and in range.’

He watched the screens shift, the displays melting into one great view, a mess of code and rendering glitches. “LENS ADJUSTING -  927” “PARALLAX SCOPE LOCKED” “ADJUSTING GAMMA” “ADJUSTING AUDIO” The image smoothed out into a dark, rainy night, watching a car park itself outside a detached house on a lone lane. The engine switched off and the lights dimmed, leaving only the nearby streetlight for illumination. When they did not emerge, Miguel stepped up closer, a hardlight control panel materializing under his fingers as he manipulated the viewfinder, zooming and rotating to the interior of the vehicle. His eyes widened as he saw you, that warm smile on your face, loving and kind as you reached over to the seat beside you, there he was- the other him, the regular him- sound asleep, arms folded and mouth hanging open, snoring softly. ‘Miguel… Miguel, we’re home… C’mon, sleepyhead…’ He watched his other self groan, brown eyes blinking open. ‘Ah, fuck, my neck…’ The other Miguel rubbed his neck, other hand grabbing the car keys. ‘Did you want anything to eat or drink, Mig?’ ‘I... Think I’m just gonna fall into bed, mi amor…’ Miguel’s red eyes scoured the scene before him. To him, the happy couple did not look so happy. Once again, he felt that dark knot tighten in his gut; they both looked exhausted, surely you deserved a man who could look after you? He watched you  follow your husband inside and quietly reminded himself that his own penthouse was far nicer than their home. When was the last time he went there? Lyla had reminded him that he should go and rest. Repeatedly. In truth, he should switch off the scope and go back to his own bed, and try to sleep. He watched you lock up as the other Miguel staggered upstairs to the bedroom. You hesitated, keys in hand, and Miguel followed you through the house, watching you turn each light on, searching each room like you wanted to be sure of something, then switched them off. Finally, you entered into your bedroom, changing out of your damp uniform and into nightwear, softly sliding under the covers and snuggled up close to the larger man who was already sound asleep. ‘Mig, I… No, never mind…’

It wasn’t spying. It wasn’t being a voyeur. You had become his world, and when you were not present, his heart ached and he found it hard to breathe. There was a beauty in watching you, he could waste entire days simply staring at your form, so close he could almost reach out and take you. ‘Miguel, it’s nearly 3AM, you have gone for nearly 32 hours without sleep.’ ‘Lyla, enough.’ He did not look to her, his eyes firmly on the screen, watching you folding laundry, placing it aside. Eventually, you picked up a white hoodie, far too large for you. A fond smile crept across your face as you held it close, tight in your arms and buried your face into the soft fabric with a delighted smile and a gentle sigh. Miguel watched with wide eyes; he would have to find one just like it.

For the whole day, he followed your routine around the house, watching you clean up, watching you dust and polish. It was only as evening set, browsing on your laughably primitive phone, did you look up, putting the device back in your pocket and pulling back one of the curtains softly, peering outside into the empty street, worry written across your features. Concerned, Miguel panned back the view, scouring the entire street from all angles, not even a single peep of activity. Then swiftly returned to you, who had calmed down once again, lounging back on the sofa, phone in hand, typing away. Curious, he adjusted the viewfinder once again; you appeared to be messaging a friend.

“>: Have this awful feeling, it comes and goes all week; the dread that I’m being… Watched. I can feel it right now; eyes on the back of my neck. It feels like… Like someone is out there. I don’t feel safe without Miggy here.” 

“Have you tried an exorcist? lol” 

“>: I’m serious. It’s creeping me out. Like, something bad’s gonna happen.” 

Miguel hesitated, oily noodles slipping from the chopsticks, back into the greasy takeaway box, mouth open. It couldn’t be possible. There was no way that you could be capable of perceiving him. No-one in any reality was capable of detecting that. Either you were being stalked by someone else altogether, or… He felt that dark knot in his gut bloom and tighten again. … Or you were fated to be together. A smile curled onto his lips. Yes. That was it. If you so dearly wanted your loving husband by your side… … Well, he’d be more than happy to volunteer…

(Your husband is soon kidnapped by Spider-man and given one warning to go very far away and stay there. Or else.)

------------------ (Seriously, screw whoever went “eh, ignore literal-spider-man origin for Miguel, just make him some grouchy person who needs injections and can’t produce his own webbing”)

[thelightfluxtastic]

I think I'd feel less Weird about the archetrope being 50% flag and term coinings if I actually saw people with those identities posting.

Like, where are the Seers and Losers and Slashers and Jesters and Villains? If you're out there, please, please write about your experiences! Talk about yourself! Share your unique perspective and thoughts and feelings! I (and others) want to see it!

I want this to be a community, not a list!

Without that, it just feels like people churning out flags and words that no one asked for and no one is using.

[cherlawa-panna]

The interesting case of Barney Barton's name

Let's focus on a bizarre mystery in the Clint Barton universe (even though it's not really a mystery). And no, I'm not talking about why Clint is portrayed as a loser in the latest comics.

I'm talking about the the biggest idiot in Clint's life. His brother, Barney Barton. And based on the title, you can probably guess the topic of focus: about his name, duh.

To be fair, if you're not deeply into his lore or Clint Barton's family lore, you might not think his name is a mystery. You might assume his parents just didn't love him enough and named him Barney. Easy thing, right? Nope. Wrong.

Many people don't know this, and I don't blame them, but this bastard actually has a different name.

Please give a round of applause for: Charles Bernard Barton!

Yes, it's on his tombstone. And I bet he would rather be in his grave right now instead of being alive, but unfortunately, he didn't have much choice <3.

Don't feel bad if you didn't know this; his full name appears once and once only. It was shown in Hawkeye Vol. 3 and never mentioned again.

If you're like me, you probably have many questions. Why was his name mentioned only once? Why is his name Charles Bernard? Why is he ALWAYS called Barney? Why is his nickname based on his middle name instead of his first name? Why isn't he called Charlie or whatever????

Well, I'm going to answer every question you have—or at least I'll try!

We'll break this post into two parts: first, the real reason behind his name (from the author's perspective, but remember this is just my theory) and second, the fun reason I use in my fanon.

I'm dedicating it for @carcrash429 because I promised them Barney posts a long time ago but my depression didn't let me </3 I have more posts in my drafts so I'll public more soon. And for @hawkzeyes because they're my bestie.

Why Did the Authors Hurt Him with This Name?

The answer is quite simple. Barney was never supposed to have a significant role in Clint's story. Let me explain this. He first appeared in Avengers #64 (March, 1969) as a racketeer from the mob.

Look at him, the fancy criminal, with his own crew working for him. Even Egghead, a well-known villain bastard, wanted to work with him. He's a serious deal, guys; Barney must have held a high rank in the mob or whatever. Everything about him screams: a bad guy.

And despite all that, his sole purpose was to reveal Clint's name to us readers. And that's it, it was the only reason for his existence.

So, let's consider this from the author's perspective. We have a character who is a criminal, destined to die for the plot, just because we want to make Clint's name reveal more dramatic. He's suppose to be a bad guy who decided to change his ways before his tragic death, and in some way he serve as the other side of coin trope for Clint. What name should we give him? In this goofy comic with characters who look ridiculous—where even one of the villains is called Egghead—it's no surprise the authors would give him a stereotypical name.

If you don't know it: The name Barney is slang for "an angry argument." According to the Oxford dictionary, it's also defined as "a derogatory term for a man," originally meaning a worthless or contemptible man, but later used to describe an inept, unfashionable, or unattractive man, sometimes implying a loser.

In short: This name carries very bastard vibes.

I'm pretty sure they didn't pay much thought with naming him. They probably chose it quickly because it fits and that's it. And it sounds a bit like a nickname for a mobster (there is a real gangster from one of New York's crime families named Barney so yeah).

Barney remained Barney for a long time because he wasn't meant to be someone important like I said before —just a family member from Clint's backstory who was supposed to reveal Clint's name to us and make Clint angry for the plot.

But then came Hawkeye Vol. 3 where they decided, "Fuck it, let's un-barney your barney". And it turns out Barney isn't a very good name for someone like the Barney we see in Vol. 3. That's why they decided to give him a better name, making him seem more serious and fancy.

And now we have his name on the tombstone, and only on the tombstone. After that, Hawkeye Vol. 3 never refer to him as Charles and Bernard again. Even Barney's friend from the FBI calls him Barney in the letter to Clint for some goddamn reason.

The authors probably simply wanted to show, "Hey! He's a deep character with a serious name. He's more than just a goon from now because we need to give Clint more trauma."

You get that vibe, right? From now, Barney is just a nickname for Charles used by his friends, coworkers and family and that's it. Sounds reasonable, doesn't it? And it should be, however something got very wrong. No one seems to use his real name. Everyone calls him Barney regardless of who they are, even those who should use his real name.

Like, in his freaking MEDICAL CHART in New Avengers (2010), they called him Barney Barton.

It's ridiculous. But why this happened? It's simple The authors simply doesn't know his name.

Those who wrote him later after Hawkeye: Blindspot didn't bother to check his previous appearances (which you can see by how they wrote him). This kind of thing is common in the comics industry. For instance, remember when in Hawkeye Vol. 4 they forgot that Clint was dating Jessica and accidentally made him cheat on her? Funny times.

The only reason Barney appeared in later comics as Trickshot after Hawkwey: Blindspot is because the authors wanted a villainous counterpart to Hawkeye and they didn't pay much attention to his character. They just wanted an evil Clint lmao

Barney's time as Trickshot was a weird chapter in his lore, where he became a very different character than he was before. He just became a loser copy of Hawkeye before the authors eventually forgot about his existence. Then, in Hawkeye Vol. 4, it was suddenly decided to bring Barney back without bothering to explain why he quit his villain work. Why? Because nobody really cares about him; he's just a side character and he was needed for the plot. That's why Barney is the most frustrating character I've ever liked—his personality and motives changes in every new comic. It's INSANE.

But not every author forgets the fact that his real name isn't Barney… though they still don't use his actual name correctly. In some comics with different Earths or in other media, they refer to him as Bernard.

(Secrets of the House of M #1 [Earth-58163])

Why? Perhaps because they want him to sound fancier or more serious. They likely didn't use his first name because those who are not into Hawkeye lore wouldn't know that Barney and Charles are the same person. It's that simple.

Which brings us to another question: WHY IS HIS FIRST NAME CHARLES????

To be fair? I don't know. I wish to know. I've tried to research it, but I've come up empty-handed. Maybe I'm not good in research.

I mean, people tends to have nicknames from their second name but it's still weird. We may never find out why they made him Charles Bernard and not Bernard Charles.

Why Did His Parents Hurt Him with This Name?

Alright, it's time for the fun part of this post: how I imagine the reasons behind his nickname in story-wise. Let's dig in, shall we?

First and foremost, it's important to note that his parents never called him Barney. Perhaps this is because flashbacks always focus on Clint alone. It's Clint Barton's world after all.

Their father referred to Barney as a brat in one issue, but that's the extent of their parents acknowledging Barney lmao.

And the only person in flashbacks from their early childhood who calls Charles by his nickname is Clint. So it's likely that his parents called him by his real name and the nickname came from Clint.

So we can assume it's a childhood nickname that carried into adulthood. But why Barney? You could assume that Clint just called him Barney because it sounds better than Charlie, but I like to complicate things. I have 2 (maybe 3) options I usually explore in my stories (which I've never published because I'm a coward, so you'll never read them).

1. There was a lot of Charles in their neighborhood.

Probably there were many other kids named Charles, and to avoid confusion, they started giving each Charles a nickname (because Charles is popular name, duh — it's #11 in Top Names Over the Last 100 Years). Which is a normal thing tbh. I had another kid with my name in school, and my friends gave me a nickname to avoid mixing us up too.

Maybe Barney's friends started calling him Barney, and Clint picked it up and started using it too.

2. There was another Charles in their family.

I like to write in my stories that he was named after his grandfather from his father's side, and to distinguish between them, they called Charles "Bernard." Clint became so accustomed to "Bernard" that he started calling him Barney. This nickname persisted even after their family stopped exist lmao.

Maybe he also had a cousin with the same name after their grandfather, and that could be another reason why he was called Bernard. I don't know why people name their children after their siblings' kids, but it happens sometimes.

3. BOTH

Do I need to even explain this? I always incorporate both of these headcanons in my stories. It began with family, as he was named after his grandparent so they called him Bernard, then his friends started calling him Barney. Easy story.

I imagine that he was also called Barney in the army/FBI, because there were too many Charles. And that's why his best buddy from Hawkeye Vol.3 calls him this way.

These reasons are also the same reasons why I believe he continues to be Barney and never Charles later in his life.

I'll borrow a bit from the canon, because there's one interesting thing here.

(I think it was from Thunderbolts issues but I don't remember now.)

He probably doesn't like his name. Yeah, I know this panel is probably about his name being Barney and him being bitter about it because it's a stupid name (because authors didn't bother to check older Hawkeye comics again). But I don't care. I'll do whatever I want with this panel and treat it as if he's bitter about his real name lmao.

Why is he bitter? Why doesn't he like his name? You can create any headcanon you want, but mine is simple: he was named after someone in his family, and he hates his family. Maybe this caused him to have a bad relationship with his name. Or his parents were the only one who called him Charles and he hated it because of that. And he would want to disconnect from his past and therefore uses Bernard.

He was called Barney for most of his life, so I think he usually tells people he is Bernard and not Charles. Or "Yeah, I'm Charles, but you can call me Barney". I also think that after the Trickshot fiasco, he changed his name to Bernard Barton (probably not legally because he's still a wanted criminal). And he did it in other universes (like in Earth-58163).

That's it. I hope it wasn't too messy. Remember, it's just my theories and headcanons so you can not agree with me if you want.

[thecorporatetower]

Coining a new -based system term: Corporate based !

Corporate based is a label to describe the experience of the system you’re apart of function like a corporation, or a corporate tower. Corporations/corporate towers significantly affecting the system's structure, in which is basically what it is. The system members / fellow sysmates are like co-workers, you have a host/hosts that function like a boss, there are even meetings in the headspace, the headspace’s fronting room is an office, and you and other system members work together like a team. Other examples can also be added.

We finally got around to coining a term for how our system is structured. I mean hell, the place where most of us live and where the fronting room is The Tower / Corporate Tower, which is basically a massive corporate skyscraper building

If we're being completely honest we wanted to gatekeep this but gatekeeping is for losers and we're not losers so we will share it to the world

[obnebulant-mogai]

Reclaimed loser flags, for anyone who reclaims the term loser for themselves!

[ID: Two images. The first image is a flag with four equal horizontal stripes. In descending order, the stripes are grape purple, lavender purple, storm grey, and dark grey. The second image is a flag with seven equal horizontal stripes. In descending order, the stripes are grape purple, dark lavender purple, lavender purple, light steel blue, storm grey, blue grey, and dark grey. End ID.]

Reclaimed outcast flags, for anyone who reclaims the term outcast for themselves!

[ID: Two images. The first image is a flag with four equal horizontal stripes. In descending order, the stripes are eggplant purple, pastel purple, falcon brown, and dark brown. The second image is a flag with seven equal horizontal stripes. In descending order, the stripes are eggplant purple, muted purple, pastel purple, pinkish brown, falcon brown, dark falcon brown, and dark brown. End ID.]

Both of these flags were created with neurodivergent and persodivergent folks in mind, but they are not exclusive!

I used https://colors.artyclick.com/color-name-finder/ (link) to find the names for the colors. If any visually impaired folks follow me, what do you think? Was this effective, and should I use it for future coining posts?

[crazy-doo-doo-acey]

Kinplatonic

This is a new term I am coining. It's when you kin your friend and have a special bond because of it. Some losers might think it's weird, but it represents a much deeper, more spiritually powerful, authentically qveer connection than any s*xual relationship. Like me and Murr from Impractical Jokers :D

BEING KINPLATONIC IS VALID AND ACE CULTURE, DON'T LET PEOPLE TELL YOU IT ISN'T!!

[thescaryhyperfem]

Coining Analog Horror related terms !! (Because I'm autistic and jormal (

TW: F slur, South Park

List: Analoghearthic, Horrorloghearted, Analogbowic, Sillylogic, Jokelogic, Funguslogic, Filbuswatchic, Minelogic, Analogbitch, Analogweirdo, Analogbodiment, Analogmaxxed, Analogloser, Analogfreak, Analogf@g, AHf4AHf, Analogsongic, Viorlog, Alderlog, Southlogic, Analogcoric, Sillyfacelogic, Badlog Support

I do not have a DNI nor do I care about who uses or reuploads my flags (credits appreciated tho) .

NOTE: some flags will include "under the -x system", when I mean "system" it's not DID exclusive, anyone can use it, it's just another way to say "this gender uses the same prefix as other genders"

Click divider for flags

Analoghearthic

A hearthic (LINK) term for when someone's hearthome is related or in the universe of Analog Horrors .

Horrorloghearted

An otherhearted label for those who have a deep connection with Analog Horror

Analogbowic

A xenogender related to analog horror and rainbows/colorful stuff

Sillylogic

A xenogender related to silliness in analog horror, being silly and liking analog horror

Jokelogic

A xenogender related to jokes in analog horror, making jokes about analog horror, not taking analog horror seriously, making jokes and liking analog horror

Funguslogic / Infectilogic

A xenogender related to funguses in analog horror, infection breaks in analog horror, getting infected and liking analog horror . Could be related to zombies / infected anomalies but that's up to the user to decide .

But before we get into more flags, we have a brief word from today's sponsor: Filbus!

Filbuswatchic

For people who like Filbus and watching videos about him, getting ads from Filbus about Filbism, liking Filbus and watching videos, etc

Watchic flag template by nomorebrad on Tumblr

Back to more flag making . . .

Minelogic

A xenogender related to Minecraft analog horrors, liking Minecraft and analog horror

Analogbitch

(NOT NECESSARILY SEXUAL) A gender related to analog horror and being a bitch

Under the -bitch gender system

Analogweirdo

A gender related to analog horror and being a weirdo

Under the -weirdo gender system

Analogbodiment

A -embodiment term related to being the embodiment of Analog Horror

Analogmaxxed

"yeah I watch analog horror" bro is analogmaxxed horrorpilled

Gendermaxxed flag made by rabidbatboy (or something I forgot)

Under the -maxxed gender system

Analogloser

For Analog Horror enjoyers who are big LOSERS, when they mention analog horror everyone says "ugh" and NOBODY likes them . Joke this is not what it means

Under the -loser gender system

Analogfreak

Me when I'm analog horror and a freak

Under the -freak gender system

Analogf@g

For analog horror fans who are f@gs.

Under the -f@g gender system

Analog Horror fan 4 Analog Horror fan

For analog horror fans who prioritize relationships with other analog horror fans

Analogsongic

A gender related to songs in analog horror media

Under the -songic gender system

Viorlog

When someone's behavior is affected or influenced by Analog Horror media

Alderlog

For people who desire to have a body (or already have) that's related to analog horror media, for example, someone who wants to have a body looks similar to an alternate

Southlogic

A xenogender related to South Park and Analog Horror, South Park references in analog horror and Analog horrors revolving around South Park .

Analogcoric

An aesthetigender related to the aesthetic of analog horror, like found footage and broadcasts

Sillyfacelogic

A xenogender related to silly faces in analog horror, faces that are rather silly then scary

Analog horrors in order: Liminal Land, Basswood County, The Smiles Tapes

Badlog Support (rather a stance flag then a LGBT flag)

Badlog Support is a flag for people who support bad Analog Horror, people who think that all analog horror is good . This does not support blantant plagiarism, analog horrors with terrible representation or problematic creators .

These are all the flags for now!! Follow me for more I fw basswood county hard

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 12, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

MAY 13, 2024

I write a lot about how the Biden-Harris administration is working to restore the principles of the period between 1933 and 1981, when members of both political parties widely shared the belief that the government should regulate business, provide a basic social safety net, promote infrastructure, and protect civil rights. And I write about how that so-called liberal consensus broke down as extremists used the Reconstruction-era image of the American cowboy—who, according to myth, wanted nothing from the government but to be left alone—to stand against what they insisted was creeping socialism that stole tax dollars from hardworking white men in order to give handouts to lazy minorities and women. 

But five major stories over the past several days made me realize that I’ve never written about how Trump and his loyalists have distorted the cowboy image until it has become a poisonous caricature of the values its recent defenders have claimed to champion.

The cowboy myth originated during the Reconstruction era as a response to the idea that a government that defended Black rights was “socialist” and that the tax dollars required to pay bureaucrats and army officers would break hardworking white men. 

This weekend, on Saturday, May 11, Paul Kiel of ProPublica and Russ Buettner of the New York Times teamed up to deliver a deep investigation into what Trump was talking about when he insisted that he must break tradition and refuse to release his tax returns when he ran for office in 2016 and 2020, citing an audit.

The New York Times had already reported that one of the reasons the Internal Revenue Service was auditing Trump’s taxes was that, beginning in 2010, he began to claim a $72.9 million tax refund because of huge losses from his failing casinos.  

Kiel and Buettner followed the convoluted web of Trump’s finances to find another issue with his tax history. They concluded that Trump’s Chicago skyscraper, his last major construction project, was “a vast money loser.” He claimed losses as high as $651 million on it in 2008. But then he appears to have moved ownership of the building in 2010 from one entity to a new one—the authors describe it as “like moving coins from one pocket to another”—and used that move to claim another $168 million in losses, thereby double-dipping. 

The experts the authors consulted said that if he loses the audit battle, Trump could owe the IRS more than $100 million. University of Baltimore law professor Walter Schwidetzky, who is an expert on partnership taxation, told the authors: “I think he ripped off the tax system.” 

The cowboy myth emphasized dominance over the Indigenous Americans and Mexicans allegedly attacking white settlers from the East. On Friday an impressive piece of reporting from Jude Joffe-Block at NPR untangled the origins of a story pushed by Republicans that Democrats were encouraging asylum seekers to vote illegally for President Joe Biden in 2024, revealing that the story was entirely made up.  

The story broke on X, formerly Twitter, on April 15, when the investigative arm of the right-wing Heritage Foundation, which promises to provide “aggressive oversight” of the Biden administration, posted photos of what it claimed were flyers from inside portable toilets at a migrant camp in Matamoros, Mexico, that said in broken Spanish: “Reminder to vote for President Biden when you are in the United States. We need another four years of his term to stay open.” The tweet thread got more than 9 million views and was boosted by Elon Musk, X’s owner.

But the story was fabricated. The flyer used the name of a small organization that helps asylum seekers, along with the name of the woman who runs the organization. She is a U.S. citizen and told Joffe-Block that her organization has “never encouraged people to vote for anyone.” Indeed, it has never come up because everyone knows noncitizens are not eligible to vote. The flyer had outdated phone numbers and addresses, and its Spanish was full of errors. Migrants who are staying at the encampment as they wait for their appointments to enter the U.S. say they have never seen such flyers, and no one has urged them to vote for Biden.

Digging showed that the flyer was “discovered” by the right-wing video site Muckraker, which specializes in “undercover” escapades. The founder of Muckraker, Anthony Rubin, and his brother, Joshua Rubin, had shown up at the organization’s headquarters in Matamoros asking to become volunteers for the organization; they and their conversation were captured on video, and signs point to the conclusion that they planted the flyers. 

Nonetheless, Republicans ran with the story. Within 12 hours after the fake flyer appeared on X, Republican representatives Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA) and Dan Bishop (R-NC) brought posters of it to Congress, and Republicans made it a centerpiece of their insistence that Congress must pass a new law against noncitizen voting. Rather than being protected by modern-day cowboys, the woman who ran the organization that helps asylum seekers got death threats.

The cowboy image emphasized the masculinity of the independent men it championed, but the testimony of Stephanie Clifford, the adult film actress also known as Stormy Daniels, in Trump’s criminal trial for falsifying business records to cover up his payments to Clifford to keep her story of their sexual encounter secret before the 2016 election, turns Trump’s aggressive dominance into sad weakness. Covering Clifford’s testimony, Maureen Dowd of the New York Times yesterday wrote that “Trump came across as a loser in her account—a narcissist, cheater, sad Hugh Hefner wannabe, trading his satin pajamas for a dress shirt and trousers (and, later, boxers) as soon as Stormy mocked him.”

In the literature of the cowboy myth, the young champion of the underdog is eventually supposed to settle down and take care of his family, who adore him. But the news of the past week has caricatured that shift, too. On Wednesday, May 8, the Republican Party of Florida announced that it had picked Trump’s youngest son, 18-year-old Barron, as one of the state’s at-large delegates to the Republican National Convention, along with Trump’s other sons, Eric and Donald Jr.; Don Jr.’s fiancée, Kimberly Guilfoyle; and Trump’s second daughter, Tiffany, and her husband. 

On Friday, May 10, Trump’s current wife and Barron’s mother, former first lady Melania Trump, issued a statement saying: “While Barron is honored to have been chosen as a delegate by the Florida Republican Party, he regretfully declines to participate due to prior commitments.” It is hard not to interpret this extraordinary snub from his own wife and son as a chilly response to the past month of testimony about his extramarital escapades while Barron was an infant.

Finally, there was the eye-popping story broken by Josh Dawsey and Maxine Joselow in the Washington Post on Thursday, revealing that last month, at a private meeting with about two dozen top oil executives at Mar-a-Lago, Trump offered to reverse President Joe Biden’s environmental rules designed to combat climate change and to stop any new ones from being enacted in exchange for a $1 billion donation. 

Trump has promised his supporters that he would be an outsider, using his knowledge of business to defend ordinary Americans against those elites who don’t care about them. Now he has been revealed as being willing to sell us out—to sell humanity out—for the bargain basement price of $1 billion (with about 8 billion people in the world, this would make us each worth about 12 and a half cents). 

Chief White House ethics lawyer in the George W. Bush administration Richard Painter wrote: “This is called bribery. It’s a felony.” He followed up with “Even a candidate who loses can be prosecuted for bribery. That includes the former guy asking for a billion dollars in campaign cash from oil companies in exchange for rolling back environmental laws.”

The cowboy myth was always a political image, designed to undermine the idea of a government that worked for ordinary Americans. It was powerful after the Civil War but faded into the past in the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s as Americans realized that their lives depended on government regulation and a basic social safety net. The American cowboy burst back into prominence with the advent of the Marlboro Man in 1954, the year of the Supreme Court’s Brown v. Board of Education decision, and the idea of an individual white man who worked hard, wanted nothing from the government but to be left alone, was a sex symbol, and protected his women became a central myth in the rise of politicians determined to overturn the liberal consensus. 

Now it seems the myth has come full circle, with the party led by a man whose wife rejects him and whose lovers ridicule him, who makes up stories about dangerous “others,” cheats on his taxes, solicits bribes, and tries to sell out his followers for cash—the very caricature the mythological cowboy was invented to fight.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[antiradqueer]

at some points i genuinely think the radqueer community has turned into a sort of maladaptive, harmful way of escaping from reality, if that makes sense. not in a "haha look at these delusional losers" way this is a serious problem that they really need to get therapy or /healthy/ coping mechanisms or some kind of help for.

like they've gotten sucked into a vacuum of "anything and everything needs a label if you don't have all these 3813481348034803480 labels in your label hoard with an in-depth understanding of every single one of them you're not /really/ radqueer you're probably a troll", for one. it's fun to collect tons and tons of labels (i do that! im literally agender and bi and celarsian and xenogender and librafluid and a billion other things) but there's a point where a fun hobby that you engage with casually and healthily turns into an obsession that you can't see yourself living with out and you use to fill a void in your life instead of actually getting help.

this is made worse by the fact that whenever people point this out to them to try and help, they instantly get defensive and act like you're trying to attack them - they've demonized any form of help or therapy or even coping mechanisms (besides "im gonna write porn of an irl minor to cope :3333" which... sure is a thing /neg) to the point where just mentioning "hey maybe you could try some coping mechanisms" will get you banned from a server and get you put on a callout post calling you ableist and anti-radqueer and a TERF and whatever the hell else they decide to pretend you are (i know because this happened to me).

the way this differs from the mogai/liom communities, since ik they're gonna compare it to that, is that the mogai/liom communities are created out of an actual desire to label part of your identity. most transids are not (with the exception of things like "transrace" or "transage" because those often are actually trying to label a part of their identity, although they're usually going about it in the wrong way, but that's not the point right now). im talking transjob and transopinion and transship and transwhatiateforbreakfastthismorning and whatever else - these are so hyperspecific and meaningless to the point where, or lack of a better phrase, it's honestly insulting to the entire concept of transids in a way. i don't support transids, but i can very easily tell what the major transids were originally intended to label (actual dysphoria/a feeling of "this isn't who i am"/etc, ignoring the way they go about helping their dysphoria because oftentimes it's not good at all) and it is very different from the transids being coined now (a coping mechanism turned maladaptive, unhealthy obsession disguised as "it's just for fun, let people live!!").

transid coiners coin these things and add meaningless things to their hoards constantly. it's like they've run out of actual bandages to cover up an injury and started grabbing at everything they could find. and when you try to offer to help them get therapy or learn coping mechanisms or anything besides mentally draining and destroying themselves, they scream at you that you're ableist and homophobic and anti-radqueer and just as bad as a real-life nazi because you want to help them feel better.

the transid community, as it started out, was more like oculoids. i know this because i was in the transid community when it just started out. people were entirely against people lying about their physical age, people were entirely against chrono-adults dating chrono-minors, they were entirely against people lying about their physical race, hell they were even super skeptical of transautistic and transadhd or whatever when those terms first circulated and everyone was at least fully against pretending to actually be autistic and against transautistics identifying as autigender.

and, somewhere along the line, that changed - and young, traumatized kids (because yes, all the people coining transjob and transopinion and whatever are entirely children, i've seen people as young as fucking /eleven/ in this community and i've rarely seen anyone above 14) found a coping mechanism in the community. it was like, okay, fun! coining terms can be fun! it can be a fun coping mechanism, just like any other form of art is (because i consider flag making and coming up with names for terms and other aspects of coining art), but it should be just that. a fun hobby. something you do occasionally, you shouldn't do it constantly and you shouldn't use it as your only coping mechanism and you shouldn't shut out every other form of help or therapy or coping just to coin things to fill the void in your life.

these transid coiners are traumatized, lonely children. im not trying to be demeaning or make fun of them, but they are all young children/teens. they need /actual/ help, because exclusively coining tons and tons of meaningless terms (and yes, terms like "transship" and "transfashion" are 100% meaningless) while in a community full of plenty of people hiding in there, disguising themselves as their friends, looking for vulnerable people to take advantage of, is unhealthy as hell. obsessing over your hundreds of extremely obscure transids that don't mean anything to you or anyone else and that you probably couldn't even name half of is unhealthy. coining can be a good coping mechanism, yes! but not when it's used as your /only/ coping mechanism and your /only/ source of happiness and comfort.

if you're translovecore or transpilot or transmonikaxsayori or whatever and that means a lot to you for whatever reason but you aren't using transids as your only outlet, then cool, you aren't really part of the root problem. a little weird, and i don't understand it at all, but honestly not inherently harmful like some other transids.

to transid people - please read this and you find yourself relating to any of this, get help. not in a "you're delusional" or "you're weird" way, you genuinely need healthy coping mechanisms and some form of help and comfort because it's unhealthy to obsess over and center your life around /anything/ this much.

this turned into an entire essay gah damn i should've started this with "transid community bad, yes? in this essay i will,"

Now this is what im talking about, hope you dont mind me crosstagging lol