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silentsneezes · 10 days ago

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Heyy me again… ahahah

Do you have any silco with allergies hc’s or maybe a k!nk Silco/Vander Zaundads fic?

Totally asking this with normal intentions, completely not obsessed or anything!

(Im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure i love your writing)

thank you anon!! trust me when i say i'm also gnawing at the bars of my enclosure... so here's almost 3k of sick v/ander and kink s/ilco

i'll probably continue this in the future, but between university and life things i haven't had as much time to write... so we'll see

anyways, this is set pre-everything in the show. you could read it as an au if you want!

The Last Drop on a Saturday is no fucking joke. Vander knows that full well, always double checking his list of opening tasks to ensure things run smoothly. Only a few hours after opening, the dimly lit, smoke-filled haven is already filled to its capacity. Earlier that day, there had been a boxing match held in a nearby arena, and it’s safe to say people are still riding that high. Vander picks up on arguments over bets that were won or lost, prideful drunkards boasting about how they’d been rooting for the champion all along.

The bar practically roars with the infectious excitement, only encouraged by the drinks the patrons continue to slam back. Vander doesn’t mind, he’s quite pleased with how popular his bar is, especially on nights where boxing matches occur. Everyone needs a good drink after a match, he supposes. Plus, the influx in business never hurts– people typically become more generous tippers the drunker they get.

Vander works mindlessly as he pours drink after drink, zoning out to the sounds of raucous laughter, the clink of glass against wood, and the quiet kshhhh of the keg. The conversations are nothing more than a full-on-chorus, which has its pros and cons.

On one hand, it allows Vander to zone out to the constant noise, letting himself work without second thought.

On the other hand, Vander feels like fucking shit. He’d been coming down with something the past couple of days, but he’d figured it wasn’t anything a few DayQuil couldn’t fix. Now, he’s beginning to realize that he was sorely mistaken in his initial dismissal of the cold. His usual charming grin doesn’t come as easily tonight, and when he wipes his brow, it’s not just due to the heat of the room. His skin is coated in a feverish sheen, his cheeks uncharacteristically flushed as he forces himself to work through his rising fever.

The frequenters of the bars notice– at least those sober enough to– but they’ve seen this before. Vander’s tough. He’s the kind of guy who keeps his bar open for better or for worse, so when he’s sick, they just give him a look of silent understanding: he’ll be fine, he always is.

As ‘fine’ as Vander might be, his movements are dulled by fever. He keeps moving, keeps working—filling mugs, passing shots, refilling drinks– functioning as if he’s on autopilot. His work is only interrupted as he hears the familiar drawl of his friend’s voice.

“Is anybody home?” Silco asks with a slight smirk, looking Vander up and down as he takes a seat on the barstool closest to the sick man, observing his absent expression. Vander opens his mouth to reply, pausing momentarily to clear his throat before gruffly responding, “very funny, Silco,” sarcastically. He starts making Silco’s drink wordlessly, knowing exactly what the other likes. Vander doesn’t bother filling the silence between the two of them, letting the steady roar of auditory input wash over him.

“Long day?” Silco questions, frowning as a nearby customer lets out a howl of laughter at his own joke, “I’ll bet you 20 gold coins he soils himself by the end of the night.”

Vander finds it somewhat amusing how Silco always seems to take issue with the other patrons of the bar, as if he finds himself somewhat above this crowd. “I’d be an idiot to take you up on that,” Vander says with a tired grin, his lips barely curling upwards as he leans in, resting his weight on the bartop. He places the drink in front of Silco with a heavy thud, the glass almost too solid in his grip, as if it’s an anchor to keep him from slipping under the noise and fatigue. “You know how they get after boxing matches.”

“Oh, do I,” Silco replies, the words clipped, his voice carrying an immense judgement of those customers who lack any semblance of manners or public decency. He doesn’t like them, doesn’t trust them, but he does like Vander.

Vander struggles to think up a response, his usual charm and banter replaced with a steady painful thrum threatening to become a migraine. The noise of the bar presses against his skull like a vice, and just as he finally manages to think up an adequate response, he feels it coming. A tickle in his nose, faint at first, but enough to make his breath catch as it buzzes through his sinuses.

At first he tries to fight it, swiping at his nose roughly with the backside of his hand. His other hand searches his pockets for a rag, a handkerchief, anything. Unfortunately for him, the sneeze builds quickly. His eyes are forced to scrunch shut as his chest swells with an urgent, “hhHHHH-” and for a half-second, everything around him goes blurry, the pressure in his sinuses making his head swim, “hHHRRZZSCHHH’HUw!!”

Vander turns away from the bartop just in time, snapping forwards into his elbow with a resounding sneeze, one that grates his throat enough as to where he has to blink away a few tears. Silco watches with rapt attention, his abdomen pooling with hot attraction as he observes Vander’s broad frame nearly bend itself in two with the force of the sneeze.

“Bless you,” Silco purrs, his voice low and sultry. The blessing practically rolls off of his tongue, and yet Vander knows it’s not just out of politeness. You see, Silco doesn’t just bless anyone. For him, offering a blessing is somewhat of a privilege, something one earns through continuous affection, and he and Vander are nothing if not affectionate.

“I’ve got the whole damn package today—head full of cement and a nose that thinks it’s spring,” Vander mutters, barely able to keep the irritation out of his voice. Had he not known about Silco’s kink, he would’ve been entirely fed up with his body's need to sneeze. Except there’s a sliver of him that can’t help but relish the fact that he can make Silco squirm so easily. If he has to feel so utterly miserable, someone might as well enjoy it, right?

And he is miserable, nothing short of it. Silco, however, seems to be basking in Vander’s sickness, finding it difficult to resist the sight of his friend turned fuck-buddy turned… whatever it is they are now.

“Why is it you insist on working when you’re sick?” Silco questions, knowing full-well the stubborn answer he’s about to receive– it’s the same every time.

Except Vander doesn’t answer, letting Silco’s question hang in the air as he raises a hand to his nose. It’s back again, that bothersome, tantalizing itch that’s been wreaking havoc on his nose all night, “hhHHH’uh-”

At the sound of Vander’s hitch, Silco prepares himself for the imminent sneeze. Vander has never been one to have dramatic build ups when he’s sick– though allergies are an entirely different feat– rather, his sneezes come on quickly with one to two hitches beforehand.

Unable to find a rag in time, Vander settles for cupping a broad hand over his nose and mouth, “hHHMMPH’DSSXCHHhew!” The sneeze is barely muffled against his palm, and Vander can feel moisture threatening to slip through his fingers. He pinches his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, gathering the residual mess and moving to wash his hands.

When Vander returns to the bartop, he sees Silco, his gaze intensely focused, waiting with that unsettling calm, as if he could pounce at any moment. Had the countertop not been separating them, Vander is certain Silco would be draping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. And god does he want that.

Just as Vander moves to prop himself against the bartop again, he hears a drunken, “Oi! Vander!” and groans internally, straightening up and snapping out of his exhausted haze. The woman, a regular frequenter of the bar, leans against the other side of the counter with a casual air, “Get me something strong, but nice. I’ve got a lady to impress,” she says with a smirk. Usually, Vander would have the energy to engage in some sort of playful banter, perhaps asking the customer as to who she’s pursuing tonight. Instead, he rattles off a few drink options, giving her a sideways glance as she chooses the strongest of the drinks he’d proposed, “You sure? It’s got one hell of a kick.”

The customer dismisses his warning with a wave of her hand and a chuckle, “I’m feeling lucky today.”

“Liquid luck,” Silco tuts almost inaudibly from his seat, though it goes unheard by anyone aside from Vander, “what a foolish concept.”

Vander’s lips curl into a slight smirk at the sound of Silco’s words, but he forces himself to maintain focus. He has a job to do. With a sigh, Vander grabs a glass, still feeling the steady ache that only a cold can instill. As he’s about to start mixing, he feels that nagging sensation in his nose return, the familiar tickle building once again. He grimaces, trying to hold it back for the sake of not sneezing into a customer's drink, but his body has a different plan. His breath hitches involuntarily, forcing him to pivot away from the countertop without even setting the glass down first. He draws in a final, urgent breath before snapping forwards and spraying the tiled floor with an uncovered, “hHHRRRSSXCHHHh’eHw!”

As the sneeze fades, Vander stays still for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, his body still catching up with the sudden burst of pressure. He forces himself to stand upright, tending to the moisture clinging to his septum with his sleeve. He’d usually have a bit more decorum when it comes to covering and utilizing his sleeve as a tissue, for the sake of germs moreso than any feeling of embarrassment, but he’s too fucking tired tonight.

“Salud,” the woman blesses absentmindedly, watching as Vander composes himself enough to make her drink, “you look sick as a dog,” she comments. Vander just continues mixing the drink, replying with a halfhearted, “that’s never stopped me before.”

“Touche.” Luckily, the woman leaves the conversation at that, exchanging the drink for a few gold pieces and making her way across the bar back to the person she’s trying to impress.

“She’s right, you look terrible,” Silco says matter-of-factly, drawing Vander’s attention back to him. His fingers trail along the rim of his now empty glass, his expression smug as he receives an eye-roll in response.

Vander doesn’t have time to reply as another customer approaches the bar, and he internally curses as he turns away from the one person in the bar he actually wants to see right now. His head throbs, the dull ache in his throat turning into a tight, bothersome burning sensation. As he prepares a round of shots, every movement feels slower than his last, his limbs growing heavier as the evening progresses.

Finally, after what feels like hours, there’s a lull in drink orders, and Vander has the opportunity to return to his conversation with Silco. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, instead saying, “you’ve got a handkerchief, no?”

“I always do,” Silco replies effortlessly, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he registers where this is going. Vander extends his hand wordlessly, becoming increasingly frustrated with his nose running like a faucet.

“Use your words,” Silco tuts, though his eyes flick between Vander’s outstretched hand and his nose, reddened and irritated after being berated all day.

“Silco,” Vander huffs huskily, evidently too exhausted to tolerate any sort of teasing, “give it here.”

“That’s no way to treat a customer.”

“Bullshit, you’re not a customer.”

“Hm, then what am I?” Silco asks, enjoying this far more than he should. His hand slips into the inner pocket of his vest, extracting his crimson red handkerchief from its resting place. He keeps it hidden in his lap, waiting for the perfect moment to submit to Vander’s request.

“A brat.”

Vander’s hand remains outstretched, waiting for Silco to drop the dominant act and give in. Fuck me Vander mentally curses as the itch swells in his nose again, forcing his wide nostrils to flare in protest. It’s like Silco was waiting for this moment—the vulnerability of Vander, flushed and slightly out of breath, his hitches almost an invitation.

“I know you always hhhHave one on you. Give it to m-hHHH-me dammit,” Vander’s previously annoyed tone is replaced with one of urgency. Both he and Silco know damn well he can’t hold back for shit.

Silco watches, waiting until the very last second before pressing the handkerchief into Vander’s palm. His fingers brush across the calloused skin of Vander’s hand, which is nearly twice the size of his. Vander clutches the handkerchief, turning on his heel and doubling over as a sneeze tears through him, “hHHHGGSXCHHH’Hh’ugh!”

“Bless you,” Silco purrs once again, silently cursing the countertop separating him from the sick man. He can feel his arousal making itself known, pressing against the tight confines of his pants, “You’ll be making that up to me, you know I don’t share–” he begins, but Vander cuts him off.

“I’ve been pudting on a show for you all nighd. Don’d be so greedy,” he mumbles huskily, the congestion in his voice dulling certain consonants. Vander gives his nose a strangled blow. It’s unsuccessful at first, eliciting a huff of frustration from the man. With both hands holding the handkerchief over his nose, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the next attempt. The second noseblow is much more productive, clearing his airways as best they can be with a cold ravaging his nose.

“That’s better,” Vander acknowledges, tucking the– already soiled– handkerchief into his back pocket and moving to wash his hands again. Silco, having been observing Vander’s every move, shifts to relieve some of the pressure in his pants.

“It’s a shame you have to work,” he comments idly, knowing full well that Vander could’ve called someone in to cover his shift, “I’ve heard a good fuck is quite the cure-all for colds.”

Silco’s bluntness never fails to catch Vander’s attention. People typically shy away from expressing their kinks, especially one as bizarre as sneezing, but Silco treats it as he does anything that can bring him sexual gratification: without shame– though don’t be mistaken, he’s eager to indulge in humiliation when given the chance.

Vander knows exactly what Silco is alluding to, weighing the benefits of closing early or calling someone to take his place. His stubbornness and grit can only last so long, it seems, as he leans heavily against the bartop again.

Grinning as he recognizes the slight defeat in Vander’s expression, Silco presses on, “Would it be so terrible to take a night off? I’d stay, of course, to attend to your needs.”

Vander looks up, his eyes traveling from the smirk on Silco’s face to his slightly unbuttoned top– had his chest been so visible before, so appealing? His view of Silco’s slim waist is blocked by the counter, but he’s almost certain Silco’s hard to some extent; it really only takes a few sneezes to get him going. After all, Vander’s are his favorite.

“Fine,” he agrees stubbornly, glancing at the clock. Typically, The Last Drop would stay open well into the night and through the earliest hours of the morning, but it’s only 11:30 and Vander feels like dead weight. He leans down, searching for the bar-phone he keeps next to the especially expensive liquors. Upon finding it, he dials an employee's number despite the guilt ringing through his mind. He’s not one to give up easily, and he’s certainly given one hell of a fight to make it through this shift, but the promise of a quieter room and Silco’s attention is enough to sway him.

“Jay? I’m sorry to ask, but–,” Vander pauses as his breath hitches, the itch suddenly returning with a vengeance. He holds the receiver as far away as possible, ducking to the side and clamping his other hand over his nose, “hhHHHGDTSCHHH’huew!”

Apparently, Jay could still hear the utter desperation of the expulsion from over the phone– and was left to imagine the mess it made, and trust, it was messy– and is quick to say, “I’ll be there in twenty. Try not to drop dead by then.”

TBC…

as always, any reblogs, tags, and comments are very much appreciated!! i experimented with a different writing style with this fic, so any feedback is appreciated as well :3

#sneeze kink #sneezefucker #sneeze blog #snzblr #sneezefic #sneeze thoughts #snzcane #snz kink #snzfics

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the-cards-she-wont-show · 10 months ago

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TTPD Twin Storylines weaved together & double meanings throughout! ✌️👯‍♀️💕

Attention ALL Swifties (particularly Gaylors) and associates of the Tortured Poets department

PLEASE READ!! (and read with an open mind!!)🤍

Listening to the amazing TTPD on repeat this past week, I am certain that I have made an important discovery that I haven't seen talked about anywhere else yet and would like to get the coversation going, in hopes that Taylor will see that we are all finally listening to her! I'm still piecing everything together, as there is so much to unravel and am far from calling myself an expert on her exact timelines and dates, so am looking forward to hearing thoughts from others that are more knowledgable in her history.

I have been of the belief for a while now that Mastermind and Dear Reader were foretelling of her future, and also that the album title had a double meaning (evidenced by the lack of apostrophe in 'poets'). That the tortured poet would be departing. Note that I am also a believer that she has been closeted by those closest to her and is preparing to ruin her name and perceived reputation, give up the false public version of herself and come into her own true self. Everything as we know it will be destroyed and it is all playing out now, coming together as part of her plan.

Falling in line with all of the two's - the double album, the double meaning in the album name, the two sides of taylor etc, I have found that there are two intertwining stories told throughout her tracklist, AND that all songs also have a double meaning!! None of which are about the perceived muses of Travis, Matty or Joe. The 'evidence' for those relationships are all red herrings (for example 'putting narcotics into all of my songs' - but only in the songs with obvious reference to her beards), to make it seem ambiguous and open to interpretation of who the songs may be about, which is seen often throughout her discography. She uses an incredible amount of metaphors and we must look beyond those to decipher her lyrics - do not take anything at face level with Taylor. Most should realise that she is so much smarter than making obvious songs about whichever male muse she is 'dating' at the time. She has always played into that public view to cover her true self. Many songs have themes of secret and hidden love, which juxtaposes with the public 'relationships' she is seen as having.

She tells us in 'The Manuscript' that "lookin' backwards might be the only way to move forward". Therefore we must listen to TTPD in reverse, from track 31 (13 reversed!) to track 1. I believe The Manuscript also acts as a bookend for both of her stories and should be listened to as a closer after the last song of the story 'Fortnight' ends, to get a complete picture. Once we have listened to the album in reverse order, can we see so plainly that each song tells a different story of a period/situation/muse/love/heartbreak in her life - beginning at her parents meeting in The Manuscript, to current day. I think the songs may also actually have a sister song from the corresponding album/period in time, with similar sound, lyrics or theme that connects them. I believe that each song also has a double meaning and can be interpreted as messages to her fans about things that have happened to her over the years or that are about to happen, and she is trying to communicate her feelings of being trapped, which is honestly so heartbreaking. Many relate to her being caged and forced to hide her true self, in particular by one person closest to her - her father. It is devastating to listen to.

The really brilliant part I discovered next, is that The Anthology tracks also have another hidden storyline being told which intertwines and intersects in the exact right place to fit in with her life story. It includes all of the "THE" songs and is in reverse order from the parallel life story and vinyl variants order of issue (but chronological track list order).

The Tortured Poets Department

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

The Alchemy

The Black Dog

The Albatross

The Prophecy

The Bolter

The Manuscript

Rather than presenting my interpretation of the timeline and each story told in every song, I urge everyone to listen to both stories, in these exact orders, with an open mind as to what she could possibly be describing! My mind was completely blown when I figured this out!! Her mind is incredible, there is no other way to describe the album, other than a masterpiece! I feel so much for the pain she has gone through. This album explains her feelings and reasons for hiding her true self over the years for any fans that will inevitably be feeling upset and deceived. We all need to show compassion for everything Taylor has sacrificed and give her what she needs. She truly deserves love, honesty, happiness and peace. ✌️💜

I'm in the process of creating a document trying to piece all of the hidden connections together just to wrap my head around this amazing body of work, so may possibly link this when I have it completed, otherwise I will add it to this post for anyone that might be interested.

I have a couple of extra personal thoughts, theories and hopes for anyone still reading…

The manuscript of her life story may possibly be the manuscript for a future book/film.

I think one meaning of "Fortnight" is a foretelling message to the fans that havent been noticing any of her many hair pin drops - she has been trying to get the message across but they aren't listening. For the fans she loses when she comes out - she touched them with this album for only a fortnight, before she lost them. She loves the fans but staying in the closet is ruining her life. I think something big could be happening a fortnight after release? Friday 3rd May is International Sun Day. ☀️ Karlie Kloss was always 'sunshine' to Taylor. According to Karlie, their first meeting was at the 2011 Met Gala on May 2, however, there is a possibility that they could have met at the afterparty - after midnight, making the anniversary May 3! 2024 Met Gala is a few days later, could they both make an appearance? If nothing big occurs, perhaps some seeds of doubt will be planted on the 3rd? Or.. It could also be a surprise rep TV (with or without Karma and Debut - surprise triple drop?) with wlw vault tracks?! Who really knows.. I honestly have no idea, but whatever happens, I know Taylor has it all meticulously planned out and everything will happen when it is supposed to.

Taylor is chairman of the Tortured Poets department - the leader of the mass coming out we are about to see. As Chely Wright put - 'we need someone at the top' to come out and pave the way for others to do the same, and to stop the forced closeting in the celebrity world. I think Travis and the majority of her former beards are also queer and there will be many more 'tortured poets' that will join 'the department'.

Karma will be album 1 (TS12) in the 3,2,1 countdown, TS13 is 0 - the album in which she gets all of her full colour back, reclaims her glitter gel pens and finally can sing her truth proudly! She has destroyed her own name and reputation, burnt down the lover house and all her former selves.

Last of all, PLEASE BE KIND! If anyone has made it to the end of this and doesnt agree, I'd love for you to have a listen to the songs in the orders above before commenting. If not, lets just agree to disagree! We all have our own personal takes on Taylor's lyricism and I would never dream of being unkind to another just for having a difference of opinion. 🫶

For Taylor - if you somehow happen to see this - please know you are truly a mastermind, you are loved and we've got you!

🌈💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛🌈

❤️ gerimegs

#taylor swift #gaylor #kaylor #ttpd #thetorturedmusesdept #the tortured poets department #the tortured poets dept #taylorswift #swifties #taylornation #tsttpd #taylor swift eras #erastour

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atxxzist · 1 year ago

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sweetest lies | c.s (01)

prologue // next // series m.list

pairing: choi san x f!reader

word count: 3.6k

warning: nothing i can think of

you can't help but to be annoyed as you shove through the crowd, the blasting music and odors of party people something you were once familiar with, but now only serving as a reminder of the person you used to be.

you weren't gonna come, initially--stuck at your job until the evening and your boss incredibly hard to convince, having made sure to tell yunho beforehand there was a chance you weren't gonna make it.

but afterall, it is yunho, and you were most likely gonna do anything, promising your boss you'll work overtime tomorrow if you have to, if he just let you off this once.

it was the fastest you ever got ready, your hair barely done, makeups too light for your liking, and dress thrown on sloppily, but you still look good.

you know you still do by the amount of eyes and heads hurled your direction while you attempt to free from the overwhelming crowd, relieved to finally find a space where you can breathe even for a second.

you turn and sneak glances past many strangers' heads, hoping to catch at least someone you recognize and knows about yunho's whereabouts, considering the text you sent him fifteen minutes ago went completely unanswered.

something you always hated about parties, whether when you were still into them or not, was that you didn't know more than half of the people that showed up, and this one is no exception--despite being held by yunho at one of the smaller estates owned by his family, everyone either looks like rich kids living a double life or three years younger than you.

yunho usually isn't one for parties either, but he needed something different; something new from dinners and sweet smiles with his parents and people twice his age.

"fancy seeing you here," a voice from behind makes you snap around, finding hongjoong with a cup in his hand and something amusing in his eyes.

"thought you got too good for this kind of setting."

the roll of your eyes is apparent, and you don't bother to hide it.

"i'm not here to get high or whatever, i'm here for yunho."

"of course you are," he snides, the tone and attitude all the evidence that you're just wasting time talking to him, and that even after all these years, hongjoong still holds a little grudge for you.

you cross your arms, leaning to one side to show the impatience.

"so it will be nice if you just tell me where he is," you add.

hongjoong shrugs, taking a sip of his drink nonchalantly, speaking in a dull tone, "haven't seen or heard of him since i got here."

"why the hell do i even bother," you mutter under your breath, about to bring the search somewhere else when he speaks up again.

"why don't you ask the one person that would actually know where he is? or are you too good for that, too?"

you squint, confused, until he nods his head another direction and you follow, landing right into the view of the kitchen and to someone you know all too well just from the back.

his hands on some poor girl's waist and lips running along with hers as her grip tightened at his disheveled hair, his body pressing her forward onto the counter, the both of them making out like there won't be a tomorrow.

"no thanks," you dismiss, managing to reframe from an eyeroll, pushing past hongjoong but not before you catch the smirk on him.

you're only here for one thing, and the fact the place's already starting to become suffocating due to hongjoong's jabs alone, a run-in with san will just be one more reason to leave.

you persist through the smell of cigarettes lingering the hallways, couples making out, and people who's entirely not in their right minds, for the next ten minutes--by the time you realize yunho's still yet to reply, you're already upstairs and so sure he won't be in any of these bedrooms as well.

you love yunho, you really do. your heart full of respect and admiration for him, but something that always bothered you is his bouts of silence.

periodic times where he'd just disappear and wouldn't tell you the reasons why, except some quick assurances about the pointless need to worry about it.

you're sure sooner or later, he will make an appearance and you'll both go through the routine all over again, but it's getting a tad ridiculous having to look for him at his own party.

where exactly would a sophisticated and proper man like yunho who doesn't engage in any of the crazy party shenanigans be at?

not downstairs where mostly everyone is, neither is he in the hallways or any of the rooms upstairs, which leads you to the last option of having to look outside in the late november weather that pierces your skin, making you flinch from the cold breeze.

you're more so agitated by the uncomfortableness, the fit you have on not suited for the season at all because you thought you'd be spending most of the time in the house.

so busy being annoyed and bothered, you don't even comprehend it's the backyard you've found way to with a swingset at the corner, your attention finally pulled from the shivering at the sweet sounding feminine laughter.

nothing could've prepared you for what you're about to see.

your face drops immediately at the sight of yunho, who's able to habitually bring a smile out, but your expression stays cold, watching as the man you dedicated almost your entire life to loving, tuck a strand of hair behind someone else's ear, the giggle from her almost too familiar, you don't even want to believe it.

"yunho?" you let out, his name slipping before you can even register, your voice full of hurt and disbelief.

he shoots to the direction of the call, the lovesick expression turning into all kinds of panic and horror, realizing you've been standing there and probably saw everything.

everything he's been hiding, and things that if you had just given him a bit more time, he would've told you... eventually.

"what the fuck?" you continue, unable to read your own tone if it is said out of pain or anger, but you just know that whatever you're feeling right now is a mixture of both.

and just when you think it can't get any worse, your suspicion of the voice and frame turns out to be right as your sister turns head your direction, and if that's guilt in her eyes, you don't believe it.

she knows about your feelings for yunho, and if there's anything she shouldn't touch or mess with (amongst other things she already did), is getting inbetween you and him. yet, she still did.

still chose to get close to him and do whatever the fuck they just did right now.

it feels like every other instances where you lost to her, whether when your parents would flaunt her or when anyone else would ignore you in favor of her.

you wish to say the loss is new, but the only thing different about it is that it's yunho this time.

"y/n, i--"

"--can explain?" you finish for him, one eyebrow raised and anticipating of what kind of lies he'll come up with on the spot. "because it looks like you ignored me all this time because you were too busy with my own sister."

he opens his mouth to say something, but you already very clearly saw the scene for what it is, now backed against a wall with nothing left but the truth to say.

truth he doesn't get to tell because you're already turning your back on them with an unbelievable sigh, yunho knowing how you are and the tendency you have to avoid your problems. run from them and mask them under the pretense of something else.

you want him to come after you, apologize and show even the smallest of guilt that it was a mistake. choosing your sister was a mistake and something he would never do, especially because he knows how you feel about her.

but he doesn't. the only footsteps out in the night are yours heading back inside, and at the small call of his name by your sister, it breaks your heart how comfortable and perfect it sounds coming from her.

once again, you lost.

you can count on two fingers the crushes you've developed over your lifetime, the count stopping shortly when yunho came along--someone who's too perfect in every way, you wonder how someone else is gonna ever beat him, because it truly feels like you'll never get over him.

you were used to disappointment and regrets, but you've never experienced a heartbreak before. that soul crushing feeling almost like grief, going through all the stages of denial and anger, unfortunately still yet to come to acceptance.

that all this time, yunho is seeing your sister behind your back.

you can't even begin to think of how it happened, or the extents they went to in order to keep it from you.

that yunho of all people, the one person you thought could never hurt you, is the one causing you to go through the most painful betrayal right now.

because he knows you and knows that some of your biggest insecurities has to do with your sister.

after running off with yunho nowhere in the line of sight behind you, you wind up at a nearby bar, attempting to drown your sorrow the only way you knew how... by indulging in old addiction and habits.

though you've quit smoking, alcohol is still something you struggle trying to keep away from, a drink way too easier to give into, lying to yourself that it'd be just a few sips until suddenly, you're hazed in the mind and can barely recall where you're at.

but this time, you don't care how much you're drinking as long as it's numbing the ache in your heart.

the bartender's refusing to give any more given your state--head buried inside your arms as you groan into the bar counter with a few passersby lasering you weird looks from behind.

it's probably not very smart, out alone and mind not in the greatest state in such an environment where you could most likely get taken advantage of, so you stay somewhat alerted for that.

just in case anyone tries anything innapropriate, because you know all the tricks by now.

so when you feel a presence slowly taking up the space next to you, the plop as they sit down on the bar stool, your fight or flight is activated, picking your head up expecting to tell another guy to fuck off, only for your jaw to drop slightly at who it is.

"san?" you question, eyes squinting at the same time because you can't think of any reasons why he of all people is here.

if he saw what happened back there, then he's only here to make fun of you for it. insult you and take jabs because it's what he's best at.

san can't possibly give a shit about you.

"yeah?" he answers as he just stares you down, almost like he takes pity on your situation.

"why the fuck are you here? don't tell me you followed me."

"i followed you because i knew you'd do something stupid like this," he says, taking a $100 dollar bill out of his pocket and shoving it toward the bartender because you most likely haven't paid. "now get up."

his command is met by a series of protests, your other hand quickly trying to release the hold he has on your arm attempting to get your butt off the seat, but you're unfortunately not as stubborn and snappy under the influence, unable to hold your ground against a sober san.

your entire body falls forward immediately when on two feet, san catching you with his arms, pressing you against his chest as a smirk creeps onto the corner of his lips.

he knows where the lack of reaction is coming from, but he still can't help but to be smug, seeing you so powerless and weak when you were usually the opposite, opting for yelling about how you want nothing to do with him the normal.

he guides you by the small of your back, fingers on your bare skin that ignites something in him, and trying to exit the bar against your stubborn feet that won't move due to the sleepy state you've somewhat slipped into along the way.

"give me your car key," he says once at the parking lot, watching as you whine groggily while one of your hands dig at your purse in search for the key, passing it to him and almost dropping it in the process.

everything after that is a blur, more so than what already is, only recalling the bits of san settling you onto the passenger seat.

you wake up with a throbbing headache, able to tell right away it's from the drinks you had last night. but other than that, you can't remember anything.

how you got here and where you're at, the place completely unfamiliar, you don't think you've ever been here before.

"oh, good. you're awake."

but the recognizable voice snaps you to his figure sitting at a desk just right beside the bed and on his laptop. it's then that some recollection starts flooding back, all the overwhelming emotions trying to overtake each other.

hurt, betrayal, confusion, and anger.

yunho and your sister for the first half, and san for the other because you can slightly recall speaking to him at the bar before he did whatever he did.

"where the hell am i?" you ask, sitting up to glare at him and checking the room out once more. you suppose it's quite tidy and nice.

your outfit is the same but just slightly washed out and wrinkly, and if you had a mirror, you can already picture the smeared mascara running under your eyelashes.

"my condo," he replies casually, eyes refusing to move from the laptop.

a quick silence passes before a horrible thought comes over, blurting it out the instant it sinks on you.

"did we--"

but the sheer horror in your voice has san turning so fast just to cut you off with a "no", following by a deep, sarcastic chuckle.

"seriously, y/n. what kind of monster do you think i am?"

well, excuse you for assuming because he's given you every reasons to. every single encounter and run-ins, he never missed the chance to throw stupid innuendos about getting in bed with you.

"whatever," you dismiss, yanking the blanket off and scooting to the edge of the bed, making san raise an eyebrow in return.

"where are you going?"

"leaving," you hiss, at the same time pushing your feet into the heels that are found sprawled all over the floor and stealing a quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand that brings out a sigh.

"i'm already late for work and everything seems to be going to shit, so i don't need any of this right now."

san scoffs and you try to not let it bother you, finishing up the last bits of your heels before standing up, so close to leaving the room when he starts talking again.

"a thank you would be nice, you know."

he says it so casually but you know that he's hidden a smirk and satisfaction under all the pretense because he loves it when he has even the smallest of hold over you--whether when he's right or succeeded in convincing you to feel indebted.

"i didn't ask for you to take me home," you reply, arms crossed and turning around, something sharp and meaning to hurt in your delivery.

his attention is no longer on the screen of his laptop and has shifted to you completely, figure walking up to peer down with a look that might intimidate you if this isn't a scene that's already happened one too many times between the both of you.

"if i didn't, something could've happened to you. you were shitface drunk."

you smirk before blowing off the concern with a scoff.

"well maybe i prefer the alternative than to have come home with you."

during university days, all of yours and san's friends were so sure that all the squabbling and jabs at one another was just an outlet to release all the suppressed sexual tension.

though you will admit he's attractive--a fact you've seen him use to his advantage many times, there was simply nothing more to it other than the fact you couldn't stand him and still can't.

"ridiculous," he huffs under his breath, a rare instance of annoyance crossing his expression.

he enjoys bantering with you to some extent, often times intrigued by the outrageous things you'd say because it gets him off in some weird, messed up way.

but it's not fun anymore when you take it too seriously, and especially when he does something genuinely (which he doesn't often) and it still doesn't seem to faze you.

as if you've already built an image of him and refuses to change it no matter the depth he goes to--often times leading to a cycle, because he can get impatient and frustrated.

instead of snarking back, your voice actually drops to a much deliberate tone, the words not wanting to spill because it's still all too painful, but it does.

"if you followed me yesterday, then you most likely already knew what happened at the party and why i ended up at the bar. so if you will just let me leave in peace."

considering you promised your boss to make up for the time yesterday and still haven't even shown almost an hour into the shift, you'll be lucky if he lets you off with a warning.

but it doesn't look like san takes pity on your situation, something shifting in him as he stares at you with a gaze that makes you just slightly nervous.

he clears his throat.

"let me ask you something seriously," he says, taking a step forward that makes you swallow a lump. "did you actually believed that this entire time, yunho wasn't seeing anyone?" he ends it with a head tilt that conjures the lump back.

because you did. the entire time, you really fucking believed he wasn't seeing anyone.

"did you not ever questioned all the times he'd disappear or make excuses? and did you ever stop to think about the improbability that someone of his age never had any interactions with other women?"

the sinking realization is unlike anything you've ever experienced before, and if you thought seeing yunho with your sister back then was awful, this pain can almost kill you.

all this time, you were nothing but foolish and delusional.

san can see both the stages of denial and anger in your face, some tears threatening to get out but you manage to hold them back in. you don't like crying because the last thing you want to be seen as is weak. san knows that.

"if he was fucking other people, then why couldn't he just tell me himself?"

"because he didn't want to hurt you," he unveils, much to your stunned reaction. "he knew you'd lash out and act exactly the way you did when you saw them back at the party."

you can only blink in confusion, like all the information are new and unbelievable. the fact yunho really thought so low of you, one you're not sure how to feel.

but a fact more surprising and intriguing than that, is that the entire time... san knew.

"so you knew about him and my sister and whoever fuck else, but still chose to keep it from me? lie to my face and play along with your brother?"

“you followed me?”

“of course. i heard the conversation at the table. you know, if you’re going to get married off to my brother soon, we might as well get it over with; go into one of these rooms. we might not get the chance ever again. i’ll make it quick, and this will just be between you and me.”

san retracts from the sudden accusation that now all of a sudden, he's become the main culprit. he can't help but to feel some sort of way about it, opting for speaking his mind although it often ends up in destruction.

"it's not like we were ever on good terms and you would've listened to me. but i also don't owe you anything because you never see me in a good light anyways."

he always find himself being hot and cold with you. one second filled with regrets for the terrible things he'd say, then the next, he's spewing some more, and you just so happen to be the only other person just as horrible to say even worse things in return.

"but if i knew your girlfriend was fucking someone else behind your back, i sure would've told you," you spit, eyebrows pinched in the whole time.

"it's not my fault you couldn't get the hint that if yunho actually wanted to ask you out, he would've a long time ago."

san regrets it as soon as he finishes the sentence, but it consumes him completely when the anger on you is no longer but trails of hurt and sadness.

"i--"

"--fuck. you," you cut him off, not sparing another second before you're already out the door.

and if san thinks he saw what looks like a tear, he convinces himself it isn't, because you won't cry in front of him, and you definitely won't cry because of a comment he made.

but he did try to make things right the best he knew how; even then, it's never good enough in your eye.

next // series m.list

taglist: @freeandrealme @shingene @cookiechristie @softie00 @crimson-mia @hexheathen @lixpixstix @atinytease @turtash @moonseonghwa @kkayfan @curryramyeon @justineasian @mikaymee @chickendrum @yujispinkhair @sannie-pudding @itsokaytobedumb00 @nerdy-kimchi @fannyxmh @acciocriativity @mel-the-mad-hatter @eastleighsblog @diorwoo @devilsmatches @kyume02 @distvrbia @wonwowzers @endeav0rsb1tch @sannwa @brown88 @sangiluvem @eburneon @hotteokhatyu @yeosangsbiceps @sankatchu @lynnsqueendom @harusoraa @ad0rechuu @interweab @revehosh @byunniebaekhyunnie @nabi-sannie @gugggu6gvai @rockstarsanie @shakalakaboomboo @yeosangsbbg

#ateez angst #san x reader #choi san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez series #yunho x reader #fic: sweetestlies

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vivvangel · 1 year ago

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new year, new me ! | PART ONE

synopsis: in a span of two years, sunghoon, the "sweet face devil", or that one ridiculously good looking every uni has (or we wish had), changed so much that most believed he was putting up "a good boy act" to stay out of trouble. turns out, it was a part of his new years' resolution to win you back.

warnings: sunghoon x reader, terrible take on humor, angsty, plot moves a bit fast, sunghoon slander, pregnancy jokes, sunghoon and y/n are both pathetics in love.

viv's note: had to split it up cause it's too big (no double meaning intended..) also part two will NOT be released.

the human heart breaks sometimes.

sometimes it heals pretty quickly with the span of time, and other times, it stays in its broken state.

you weren't sure where you were in that zone after your sweet long-term highschool boyfriend kissed someone in front you during the last year of uni.

sunghoon had changed a lot throughout the years, but, for as long as he could remember you were his everything. one drunk fuck up at jake sim, his bestfriend's party and your mutual friend, ripped everything he had and loved in a matter of days.

it all started when sunghoon was invited to a party, not just any party, the "best" and "never seen before" type of party as jake claimed. there would be nothing sunghoon regrets more than going to this stupid party. long story short, sunghoon and you went to the party together, you left him alone, as in you left his side for a bit to catch up with your girlfriend, yunjin. there would be nothing you regret more than doing so. sunghoon got completely drunk and gives into the advances of this random girl— kissing her, in front of everyone, in front of you.

sunghoon's friends separated the girl from sunghoon, who was completely oblivious to what just happened as you left the party, immediately. that's how you two broke up. you two never said you broke up, but let's be honest — everyone, including you and sunghoon, thought this was over.

that was over a year ago, though. you haven't heard about sunghoon in these past 12 months, except for an occasional "he's doing pretty good for himself now" whenever you and jake caught up with life.

your phone buzzes. you assume it's yunjin, or chaewon and check.

"what the fuck..?" you thought to yourself, munching on the bag of cheetos you opened to accompany you while you watched your favorite romcom. "THIS IS NOT FOR REAL WHAT THE FUCK— okay NO, be cool, I'm over his ass, be nonchalant!" you say to yourself as your fingertips dance around the keyboard, trying to merge words to form some coherent sentence that isn't "omg hoon texted me🥺"

you would be lying if you said your heart didn't skip a beat.

so 2 days later, you did wear something cute and go to the cafe where you're supposed to meet him.

it was awkward. quiet, and full of awkward forced laughter. you never would've thought the lively conversations of random nonsense, laughter & banter would turn into — whatever this was. "so y/n..." sunghoon tries starting a conversation, warily. you look at him, not saying anything. "i know i'm a fucking jerk for saying this after all these years, but i'm sorry, you didn't deserve what i put you through"

silence. sunghoon tenses up a bit.

what do you even say to that? "thanks for being sorry"?, "oh no, it's fine"? but it isn't fine, and you're not thankful. "i mean, we don't get to control shit like that, do we? i'm sorry too for being too timid to say anything back then." you finally muster up the courage to say that, your eyes almost melting into his. everything in life changed, except this. his eyes. still warm, still full of love. you see it, feel it, but don't know what to do about it.

"why are you apologizing, y/n? it was all my fault anyways i should've never gotten drun—" he sighs, trailing off. "all i'm trying to say is, i know i'm not worthy of your forgiveness but you're still my world after all of that. i know it's selfish for me to ask because i'm the one who fucked everything up but, y/n, i'll always love you"

"we never fell out of love, did we?" you say, chuckling sadly afterwards as a tear rolls down your face. "y/n, please don't cry, you're the only one i've ever loved in my life, you know that"

"would it be crazy if i kissed him?" you think to yourself —

"sunghoon, will it be crazy for me to kiss you?" you blurt out, as sunghoon's eyes widen, but a small smirk forms on his lips. "you know what else is crazy? how much i love you" and with that,

his lips, on yours.

... TNBC ! | PART 2 (✖️ !)

taglist ! @zerasari @noidnoentry @heeseungskiwi @nonotwice1 @txtlyn @heelvsted @sunfull @nctdom @coriantiax @strawberrysavi @dopeydokyeom @sussyjake @sjkezz @no-jams-no-mans @simp4jongseong @fancycreatorofaspy @jiheon @imisshyunjin @flwrsforni

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 1 year ago

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Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ WHY IS THE HALLOWEEN CHAPTER PUBLISHED ON DECEMBER IDK IM SLOW, also politics yay ig— MENTIONS OF MY COUNTRY! 🇵🇭💥🇵🇭💥💪💪 Also uh VERY long chapter

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @adorefavv @l0starl @depresssedcowboy

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎: 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭

Summary ೃ⁀➷ You and Montrell seem to share a few qualities. In the midst of talks of politics with Miles, you find yourself parted from the reality you were raised in, instead finding a new world in Spirit Halloween.

This chapter is not sponsored.

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".. You should've definitely worn a coat over that."

You fiddled with your sleeve, staring comfortably past the window and out into the shining streets of Brooklyn. The comment was unnecessary , but it didn't entirely fly past your ears— in fact you swallowed it like a bad egg, making your stomach churn. As you turned your head away from the window, you're brought back to acknowledge your brother, Montrell, sitting beside you with his hand over the wheel.

"I like it as it is." You answered. "It's soft, fluffy, and big. Fragrant too." Because it belongs to Miles.

"It's the first time I've seen you wear something so.." His words trace away, but even without finishing the sentence, you knew what he meant. Unsophisticated— a little too boyish in comparison to your usual, refined clothes. The classic sort of unrefined your dearest mother taught you not to embody.

"What? It's comfortable." Was your attempt of a justification. Montrell shrugs, and you catch a twitch in his eye.

Your family had similar, refined tastes. Montrell, like you, was taught to imbue stylishness in every aspect of his life. He was often Armani-clad. Brunello Cucinelli, Hermes— and every other European household name you could recall. But in special events, he usually sported suits specially tailored to his tastes. His palette was consistently ashen, monochrome, with hints of cherry red. Like his car, which had been only recently cleaned after the staff was updated with his upcoming arrival, a slick, grey Aston Martin. It was likely the peak symbolism of his tastes.

You were never really fond of vehicles, particularly their strong, Italian leather scents (Or stench, as you called it). It was because of your sensitive nose that you often requested the seats to be replaced with anything but leather. Scentless polyester was your more preferred option. Leather alone was enough to urge your stomach to clear out your last meal, by ascending to your esophagus.

"I'm not insulting your tastes. I'm glad you're exploring new aesthetics." He manages to lure out his teeth, a compliment— a not-so-good one at that. "What is this?.. Like, street style? Grunge?.. What's that other one— e-girl, I believe? Or was it Emo?"

"You sound not twenty-five years old."

"Don't be mean. The idea of it is new to me, okay?" He clears. "I haven't seen you in three years. The last time I saw you, mom was the one in charge of your wardrobe. I only ever saw your pictures and you seemed more high-end. Saint Laurent, Dior, Dolce Gabbana."

"Those are my brands, I'm just taking a break. I'm not a walking advertisement. I don't want to get robbed in the middle of Brooklyn either."

With a three-second pause, Montrell looks at you and queried.

"Does that jacket belong to a boy?"

You sit right up, ready to defend yourself when Antonne adds. "You would have to introduce him to me immediately— I won't stand aside while some boy prances around your presence. You're sixteen, and that's a prey-able age for stupid and good-for-nothing men… Unless,” He pauses. “You’re gay.”

"What— What are you talking about!?” You feigned ignorance. “I'm not g— this is— it doesn't belong to a.. Well, it does belong to a boy, but it's my friend's jacket okay?"

Oh, the way Miles would glare at you had he been there.

"Don't try to outsmart me." He shot back. "You’ve got little to no friends.”

You parted your lips. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m only stating the truth.” He sighs. “You’re too condescending, and you hate people.”

“And your sources are what? A small interaction I had when I was twelve?”

Montrell grows uneasy a bit, tapping his nails over the thinly veiled compartment. ".. So who is he?" He starts. "From which family? Who are his parents? And how did the both of you meet?"

"That's none of your business, Mon." You sighed, running a hand across your face. "I'm not seeing him, I'm simply hanging out with another friend. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, it surely wouldn't hurt for me to meet this friend of yours, then? If he's not a boyfriend."

Your mouth hung open, a steady sigh escaping your lips while you sink a little deeper into your seat. As a hand runs across your cheek, you looked at Montrell as he eases the car down to a red light.

"He doesn't know that I'm a Chávez."

ＢＥＥＰ

Suddenly, you're jolted to a sudden halt— nearly flying out of your seat upon Montrell's way of hitting the brakes. You grabbed onto the board before you with widened eyes and a curse in your mouth.

He remains calm, but slightly irked.

At that moment, he pulls a finger to his lips as if to hush you. He signals with another finger as it leads up to boost the music from the radio. The song blasts, and swiftly, he takes his jug hidden by the side of his seat, unscrewing the top before pouring some of the water onto his palm, flicking at the air conditioner.

Oh, he was checking if the car was bugged.

You hold out your hand, gesturing him to give you some of the water. Together, the both of you took care of the recording devices, from the front of the wheel to the back of the car. Upon gathering all of them, you stuffed it all inside the water bottle, permanently eradicating its usage.

Finally, Montrell places his hands on the wheel and speaks.

“I want you to be honest with me, [Y/n], and cut out any of the bullshittery.”

You feared that at that moment, you and Montrell weren’t brother and sister, but rivals in a battle for power.

ＳＨＯＵＬＤＷＥＥＡＴＹＯＵＲＢＲＯＴＨＥＲ？

Your finger twitches.

Wait.

“Does he make you happy?”

The question comes off a little too similar to tasteless poison. It’s a gamble in itself— and it leaves you sitting upright and crossing your legs.

“He makes me feel alive,” Was your starter. “That’s a power no other boy could do, and it’s a rarity, since I’ve always lived for other people, but he makes me feel like I’m living for myself.”

A short hum exits his lips. “And your happiness? Does he make you happy?”

You harshly swallowed. “What difference would it make if I tell you that he does make me happy?”

Montrell’s gaze narrows a bit, the heel of his boots pressing against the gas as the green light shone. “… I ought to applaud you for your sneakiness if by now, dad still doesn’t know anything about his existence.. Unless,” Gulp. “He ordered you to spy on him.”

“And for what reason?”

“It could be anything,” His grip on the wheel tightens like the coil of a noose. “Hostage, information, any of the latter. I’m not sure why father would send you off to spy on a fifteen-year-old boy, but I’m sure the truth’s far deeper than petty business rival bullshit.”

Your mind blanks.

“It’s nothing like that. I just.. Like him, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie to you about how much he means to me?”

“Because we’re not just siblings, [Y/n],” He whispered. “If anything, we’re not a normal family, but, I’m here for you because I think you’re a good kid, even if everyone else says you’re not.”

“Cease the speech, Mon. I’m not a good person. Stop romanticizing me.”

“But why?” He adds. “Is it because you managed the media and the hotel?”

And hearing those words, you come to face the fact that there was a reason Montrell was your father’s favorite. The effortless way he’s able to read every situation, the effortless way he managed to read through your emotions. It was a talent you could only wish for.

“It was so obvious, you know.” He chuckled. “I knew— I already knew before I came home.”

“Why?”

“Because Antonne handles things messily. He makes decisions without thinking about the consequences, and he despises planning things on the long run. Dad wouldn’t trust anyone outside the family after what happened with Mom, nor would he allow just anyone to handle such shaky affairs. It’s not like it’s beyond father’s morality to hire his own children and calling it practice.”

“What evidence do you have?”

Montrell took one look at you. “The Warehouse. It’s said that it was recently burnt, and that Antonne had to fight the Prowler, but Antonne wouldn’t have had the time to take care of all that because he was investigating you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You spat.

“Also, no one but family takes care of the Warehouses.”

“No— I know that, fuck that. You were going to find out one way or another, but what the fuck was Antonne investigating me for?”

Your brother simply shrugs, his shoulders dropping comically.

“It was about that boy.”

“What!?” Your voice breaks a little. “Jesus fuck, what is wrong with him!?”

“Evidently, he’s worried about you.”

You snorted. “Worried!? Worried my ass!” The vulgar way you spoke caught Montrell so off-guard that he had to look at you twice to check if you were still the same person. “I’d rather believe the world’s ending. Antonne and I stopped being siblings the moment he dropped responsibility for all those who were killed, forcing me to step up and do damage control because Dad stopped trusting everyone else.”

“Well, that’s understandable.”

“Plus, there’s nothing to be worried about. The boy I’m meeting he’s.. He’s just.. I like him. That’s it. I know it’s hard to believe since most of the time I’m a conniving bitch, but I genuinely, wholeheartedly like him. Like how a normal teenage girl ought to like a boy.”

Montrell hums. “… Alright, I’ll believe you. It’s not too far off from unusual, when I’m also facing a similar issue.”

You blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“… You see, [Y/n], I’ve got also got a girl for myself.” He announced so suddenly. “Met her at Oxford. Like your boy, she bore no idea of who I was.. Who I am, and understandably, and I know you know about this too— but it’s a refreshing feeling to not be recognized as the potential inheritor of a business empire.”

You part your lips, processing the information with confusion all over your expression. “But— there were no reports of you being in a relationship.”

“Of course there weren’t,” He laughs. “I had her carefully hidden from everyone’s sights.”

And that could mean two things. You didn’t want to think of the latter.

“Maybe it’s genetic,” Montrell added, turning the wheel. “Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance. It’s frightening to think how Malachi’s going to inherit our tendencies.”

“I’m not,” Your heart raged within the cage of your ribs. “I’m not like that to him. I can never allow myself to trap him.”

“You can either be one of them.” Montrell sighed. “Mom or dad, I mean.”

The good ol’ bird or the cage.

“But I won’t be able to stand by and watch when that does happen,” He straightens his lips. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

You can hear the voice whisper back in your mind.

“Which is why I’ve got to meet.. [Y/n]?”

Your hands slithered up against your ears in an attempt to block out the voice.

“[Y/n], are you okay?”

You gasped for air, a familiar voice taunting you like the one from your dreams. Except, this one didn’t speak like the voice of the symbiote, rather, it endowed this sweet allure as though it could sing you a lullaby to sleep.

Before the symbiote, there was someone else who plagued your thoughts and mind and actions.

Before the symbiote, there was your mother.

“Stop the car.” You croaked, palms still over your ears. Montrell speaks, but his words were blurred out into the void of nothingness. The more he speaks, the more your mind shreds itself into pieces. After a long second of thinking, Montrell finally pulls up by the sidewalk, taking his hands off the wheel and pulling one in front of you. He waves it hesitantly, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Breathe, [Y/n], breathe.”

“I-I,” You lengthily stammered. “Mon, I’m sorry, but can I go?” As he’s about to answer, you add. “I’ll introduce you another day, I promise, I just, I need to be alone right now.”

“But isn’t it unsafe? We’re in the slums, you’ll never know how—“

“Mon, I can fight.” You ended the conversation with that alone. Hesitantly, he nods and unlocks the door. You reach for the handle, moving along with the click as you turned to leave.

“Can you at least message me when I can pick you up?”

You looked over to Montrell.

“… Okay.”

ＳＬＡＭ.

“Miles!”

And he could already hear you from a block away, jogging with steady and loud steps.

Without even looking up from his phone, he unconsciously opened his arms to welcome you with an embrace— closing in immediately upon your arrival. You felt like you were going to stain his jacket with your glossed lips, but you barely managed to care anymore at this point, as this hug was beyond a need. You clung onto his neck, burying your aching head into the nape of his collar, taking in this familiar scent of spice and wood. A subtle homage, or a reminder of your older brother, Montrell.

What was it about men and their perfume?

It felt like you hadn’t seen Miles in such a long, long time. It was like you were a child who’d parted from their favorite blanket for a little too long that it made you uneasy. You liked the world and space you had between his arms— it was your warmth, your only true home, and it was yours.

All yours.

“What’s wrong?” He cooed, simpering around with you in his arms.

“I just want to stay like this for a moment.” You whispered. “I need to steal the warmth off of you.”

“Well, nena, why are you only wearing my hoodie? It’s so cold out.”

“It’s not that.”

Miles’ ears metaphorically perked up upon hearing you sniffle.

“Who the fuck hurt you? I’ll kill ‘em.”

Your lips curved into a smile.

Oh, Miles, you can’t possibly kill off a multi-million dollar industry.

“Can you kill a car, then? My brother drove me here and his car’s smell made me age twenty years,” You grumbled. “I’m boutta die at thirty-seven, I swear.”

“Your brother?” He lightly jolts away, eyes journeying from road to road in search of him. “God, where is he? Is he here?”

And at that moment, Miles subsequently fixes his posture, his words suddenly endowing some strange sort of politeness. You nudge at his shoulder, “I told him to drop me off somewhere else. I didn’t want him to meet you yet.”

“Awe,” He pouted. “Well, that’s aight. I’m gonna dress up real nice when I meet your family.”

“Uhuh,” You laughed. “And what are you going to be wearing?”

“I’m gonna borrow my unc’s suit, and I’ll talk business with yo father.”

“Only business you’ll be discussing with my father is your damn funeral, Miles. My papa don’t want me out here dating, that’s why he put me in private school.”

“With a face like yours?” He smugly grinned. “Your daddy’s kinda underestimating the power of your pretty face.”

“Oh, so you like me ‘cause I’m pretty?”

“Pretty fucking unbearable, that’s what you is.” The boy joked. “M’just kidding. I like you because you’re pretty much everything to me.”

Despite the fluttering of your stomach, you persevered with your little game. “Doesn’t answer anything— what do you like about me? Did you like my face or my personality?”

“I liked you ‘cause of your pretty face, and stayed for your amazing personality.” He answered as though he’d been preparing for the question his whole life.

“Amazing personality?”

“Extravaganza bonanza personality.”

“I’m not a banana split sundae, Miles.”

“Might as well should be with yo damn split personality.”

Your hands dangle away, Miles unconsciously attempts to reach for it but instead accepts defeat when you held his hand. “So where are we going for halloween spirit, exactly?”

“Halloween spirit?” He queried.

“Yeah, didn’t ya mention something about being in halloween spirit?”

Miles paused, holding back a loud laugh in the middle of the street. “My girl, I said I was in Spirit Halloween.”

“What the fuck is a Spirit Halloween?”

“Holy shit,” He verbalized. “You’re in for a scare, nena.”

And he meant those words a little too literally.

Growing up, it wasn’t within your household to make halloween one of your yearly traditions. Your father deemed it unnecessary, while your mother was anything but fun (Same difference, really). Your brothers have celebrated halloween, one way or another, but since you were the child closest to your mother, you were anything but free of her beliefs.

So being greeted with a large, bloodied skeleton first-thing upon entering the building was a first for you.

“WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN THAT!?”

Miles simply explodes into laughter, holding his phone up just to record your reaction. You fall right back, hand still holding onto his. “Come on, nena, you can do it, let’s get past the entrance.”

“Miles, what in THE FUCK is that!?”

“Don’t be mean to your brother, ma.” He attempts to drag you inside as you sat down by the floor with petrification scribbled all over your face. “[Y/n], come on, introduce me to the rest of your family.”

“FUCK YOU!” You whisper-yelled.

“It’s not even moving yet, come on, [Y/n].”

“THAT’S SUPPOSED TO MOVE!?”

After managing to drag you past the animatronics (Which Miles described was a work out in itself), the both of you marveled at the isle where all the costumes were, skimming through the racks and looking at each and every picture. “Oh, Miles— look at this,” You pluck one out, the hanger dangling from your fingers. “It’s Emily from the corpse bride! Shit, I haven’t seen the movie since I was eight.”

“Look at this one, Ma, this shit’s so you.”

He pulls out an Elsa costume.

“Even got the white ass wig and everythin’.” He giggles as you playfully smacked his arm. “Let it go. Let it go.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t hold this shit anymore!~”

“MILES.”

“LET IT GO!”

You tried to hush out his horrible singing, but the way he giggled was so infectious that you couldn’t help but giggle yourself. When bystanders started walking past the both of you with weird ogles in their gazes, you couldn’t help but put your hand over your mouth to muffle your laughing.

“Puñeta,” Miles added, pulling out a fucking teenage mutant ninja turtles costume. “You’ve got to fucking try this, ma.”

“Miles—�� You couldn’t even continue a sentence without wheezing.

You did eventually find a costume— unlike the original plan, the both of you couldn’t find a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague, but Miles did manage to find a dark priestess costume along with a plague doctor costume.

“We’re like business partners. The patients go to me, and when they die, you send them off.” Was what he said.

“Wouldn’t that make you a really horrible doctor?”

“Doctor’s still a doctor, ma. I mean, it’s the police’s job to protect all of us but if that’s really the case, they’re doing a pretty fucking horrible job at it, but hey, we still call them the police.”

You looked at the mirror, watching the confusion materialize over your face as you heard Miles’ rant behind the curtain. As you clumsily tried on your costume inside the changing room, you couldn’t help but ask. “What makes you say that? That they’re doing a horrible job at protecting y’all?”

As you zipped up the bolero, you hear Miles’ curtain open.

“Well, Ma, brutality’s been upper than hell compared to the last few decades, so’s poverty. For the last four years, the economy’s been going downhill, which made us have a recession. ‘Cause of that, a lot of the cops had to kiss up some of the wealthy folks’ asses to keep their jobs.”

“So that makes them corrupt?”

“That makes them desperate,” He alluded. “No one wants to die of starvation, and they all have families to feed. It’s divide and conquer, really.”

“Divide and conquer?— oops,” You pick up the fallen headdress from the floor. “Expand on that.”

Miles hums a bit. “Imagine the crab mentality. I’ve read about it before for a philosophy research, and it’s a term used in the Philippines. Put a fuck ton of crabs in a bucket. You’re gonna see the crabs drag each other down in order to pull themselves up, but in the end, none of them ain’t gonna reach the top.

Because the true problem was never the crabs, it was the person who put those crabs inside the bucket in the first place. Same goes for us, the poor. We all have to fend for ourselves so we put others down— because if we’re too busy surviving, we don’t have to pay no attention to the rich who put us all inside the damn bucket in the first place.”

The way he described it was so familiar.

It was like he was describing you with your siblings.

ＨＥ’ＳＳＭＡＲＴ. ＩＬＩＫＥＨＩＭ.

Hearing the symbiote’s approval echo in your mind, you couldn’t help but smirk.

He’s not just smart. He’s a genius.

ＤＯＮ’Ｔ　ＯＶＥＲＰＲＡＩＳＥ　ＨＩＭ,

ＳＷＥＥＴＨＥＡＲＴ

Don’t call me that, ever.

His experiences and your experiences were similar despite being so contradictory, and it didn’t make sense. You were rich, so extraordinarily wealthy that the recession was never a part of your problem, hell, the decline of the economy was never your problem— and Miles was struggling along with his family to keep themselves afloat.

And you could never put yourself in his shoes, as you knew nothing of the loss he felt.

But the both of you were kids in line to shape the future, and if the generational trauma ever continued, you’d only end up the oppressor, but you knew, Miles was going to tear himself apart from the title of ‘victim’, and he was going to stand up against you— maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow,

But soon, as villain versus hero.

You pushed the curtain away, unveiling the costume to Miles.

But rather than seeing him, he was nowhere to be found.

You lifted the veil, stepping out of the dressing room to take a peek at him, but you couldn’t find any trace of his broad-shouldered figure anywhere. You softly called out for his name, head spinning from constantly turning. Your feet took you forward. You try ignore the giggly and bloodily-clad animatronics whose haunting stares scared you far worse than any unwanted confrontation with any of your family members.

And there he was, talking to a girl.

That sort of closeness— the way they spoke. Laughing, catching up, or something like that. Acquaintances? Friends, maybe?

Something ugly pricked at your skin from within.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

Montrell’s words began to spiral inside your mind. ‘Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance.’

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

The feeling seared your veins, making you dig your nails into the bed of your palm. Your knuckles quivered from the intensity, like a sort of anger you felt when you saw any of your elder brothers being praised for the bare minimum, except.. This one felt different.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

You watched the way her braids fell, wondering if you could pull it off with such grace. High society’s always been too picky, which forced you to drown out most of your interests, but now you couldn’t help but feel a little envious. You wanted to wear the clothes you wanted to wear, try out the makeup you wanted to try.

It felt like your mother’s shadow was being cast on you, making you embody the very phase you feared, your mother’s daughter—

and like your mother, you were quick to get jealous.

And it devoured you, whole.

You faltered, taking a step back before fully pivoting your heel and running off back to the dressing room. You shut the curtain behind you, only now finding the symbiote staring right at you through the mirror— its grotesque body mirroring your move.

“For a girl who knows how to handle most of her emotions, you can’t seem to handle jealousy well.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just tired.”

“And I’m Sofia Vergara.“

“How the fuck do you know who Sofia Vergara is?”

“Memories, my dear.”

You felt a surge of panic take course of you.

“This is unhealthy. I can’t be like this, I don’t even know who she is.” You exasperatedly murmured. “I need to calm down— Miles and I aren’t even official yet.”

“Exactly, so be the lady that you are and introduce yourself, damn it. You have no friends.”

“I have friends.” You seethed. “I’m popular as hell in Acadia.”

“If I had a dollar for every friend you have, I’d be the one giving you a poverty rant.”

“[Y/n]?” Miles pulled you out of your thoughts yet again.

“Y-Yeah?” You called out, whipping your head back. “You done?” He asks, shuffling a bit. You hesitantly open the curtain to reveal yourself, your sights eventually welcoming the image of Miles dressed in all black— with a long, beak-like mask over his head. As you were too busy trying to find his little acquaintance, Miles gawks at you from behind his heavy façade.

The faux black silk draped over your curves seamlessly, the crimson of the bolero gleaming beneath the light as it contrasted against the dress. You lifted the veil past the dark crown like a bride, lashes fanning up to meet him by his gaze.

“Oh, wow.” He sighed. “Wow, you— the woman that you are.”

There was something about the way he looked at you.

It was like you were all that consumed his mind and being. Nonetheless, it was the truth.

But even now, as Miles held out his hand for you to hold, you couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’ll look at you like this until it manifests from love into something else.

“It’s a halloween costume, Miles, not a wedding dress. I can’t possibly be lookin’ all that great.” You took his hand, drawing closer to the mask. “God, you look like a big bird.”

Lost in the way you looked, Miles’ hands unconsciously trailed around your waist, looking down on you with a dumb stare that you couldn’t fathom. Suddenly, the both of you were disrupted by an abrupt cough. You both turn your heads, finding the same girl you’d seen him talking to just a few minutes ago.

“Hey,” She beamed, waving her hand at you. “Hope I ain’t disturbing anything?”

“You definitely were.” Miles’ gaze narrowed. The girl laughed, her white grin wide like a crescent moon. You couldn’t help but think, she’s got such a pretty smile.

“Mind introducing me, Miles?”

With a hand still on your waist, Miles gestures towards you. “This is my lady,”

“[Y/n],” You held out your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Both Miles and the girl stared at your open palm.

“Wow, ain’t she prim and proper? Like a princess.” She teased, accepting your hand. “I’m Amadi, nice to meet you too.”

Her palm was warm and smooth, decorated by the lacey sleeve of her periwinkle sweater. She stood in heeled boots, a couple inches taller than you— an inch or two off of Miles’ height. As she shook your hand, the girl couldn’t help but helplessly marvel at you as though you were a statue carved from marble.

“God, how in the hell did you land on Miles? You’re just,” Amadi’s hands airily traced your figure. “You’re just wow. I-Is Miles keeping you hostage or sum? You don’t look nuthin like human. You look outta this world.”

“Thank,” You stifled a laugh. “Thank you?”

“I can hear you, Madi.” Miles churned.

“M’just stating truths ‘cause—“ She clicks her long, acrylic nails. “Why she be lookin’ outta this world while you’s lookin like you snuck onto earth?”

You placed a hand over your mouth, trying your hardest, you very hardest, not to laugh. Miles pulled you back away from her with a disintegrating glare.

“Tu puta madre,” He spat. “.. Go back to Monique.”

“Monique?”

“Mi novia— love of my life, we’re off halloween shopping too. Gotta big date tomorrow, we gon be watching horror movies n shi.” Amadi added, decisively looking around. “Speaking of which, Ionno where she went.”

“She might be with Voshon.” Miles piqued.

“Voshon?” Your head started to spin with the amount of new names you were processing. “That’s a.. Interesting name.”

“Mama was gonna name him Joshua, but my dad wanted to combine or grandparents’ names together, so— Vaughn and Shontelle.. Voila, Voshon.”

“Oh, he’s your brother?” You queried. Amadi hums. “Unfortunately. I mean, I’d always preferred being an only child but we all don’t get what we want most of the time.“

“Oh, I definitely get that.”

“No way, you got brothers too?”

“Yeah, I’m the only girl.”

“Can’t imagine the mess in your house, damn.. Hey!”

Amadi soon joins a pair, one with a much brighter and pinker style and the other satisfied with a mere hoodie for marking a fashion statement. You fiddled with the skirt of your dress, evidently nervous as a million thoughts flooded your mind. You weren’t the friendliest person out there, nor were you the most likable out of all your siblings.

It was never easy for you to make friends. Too many found you overbearing, the rest condescending. Your position was overwhelming enough for any other person your age, and those who knew about you were ambitious to make connections and forge deals.

What if they won’t like me?

What if I mess up?

What if I come off as too condescending?

But Miles took your hand, grabbing your attention from the spur of your overthinking. He took off his mask, easing you with the familiarity. One look at him and home found its way back to you.

“You wanna meet ‘em, ma?” He asks.

With an anxious smile, you nodded.

“Of course.”

And like a whirlwind into the night, you were off.

For the first time, you part yourself entirely from the world you knew and entered Miles’ world.

“Oh, hello!” Bubbly and sweet, Monique greeted you with such warmth that it melted away all your previous worries. “Oh my god— don’t tell me,” She glances over to Amadi for confirmation. “Are you the [Y/n] Miles always talks about!?“

“Nica— please—“

“You ARE!”

She spoke of you as though you’d been a legend told to the latter, like a tooth fairy. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! We’ve been dying to meet you and– wow, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Your cheeks were bound to be flushed. “I think you’re very pretty too. I-I really like your hair and your makeup, it’s super well done.”

“Awe, thank you so much!” She placed a hand over your heart, wholeheartedly touched by your compliment. Monique looks at Miles with a pout.

“… Miles, can you fight?”

“Fuck you mean ‘Can you fight?’, I will square you the fuck up r’now.”

His friends were sweet— welcoming without the need of a surname. Monique, with her free and silk-like curls, was a firecracker who liked glitter on her lids and her nails and her clothes. Amadi was ever-so loving of her, despite preferring black and chains for her aesthetic. The two girls were a stark contrast of one another— and unsurprisingly, Monique already had her mermaid costume prepared and was just helping out Amadi pick her Dracula ensemble.

Voshon, although quieter, was one you recognized as similarly withdrawn and reserved like Miles when the both of you first met. Amadi described him to be a total nerd, and quirky— later proven when he and Miles chased each other with fake swords, running across the aisles while exchanging hits.

When Voshon tosses over the sword to you, however, chaos truly ensued.

“GO GET HIM!” The girls cheered as you and Miles managed to create a questionable chase scene of a Priestess holding a Minecraft sword chasing after a Plague Doctor with a scythe. Onlookers couldn’t help but watch on as the both of you squabbled.

Like a livid cat and its cheesy mouse.

“Esto en un mamey. You too fuckin’ slow!” He teased in between a heave. “Can’t catch me for shit!”

Shit went down as you bent over to take off your boots.

“That ain’t changing, nun— aye puta.” Miles narrowly avoids one of the shoes that came flying at his direction. He looks over like a child in awe, head following the direction of wherever it went.

“I never knew you were Latina, mam– MIERDA LOCO, CEBOLLA COÑO!” And a couple other curses exit his tongue as you tackled him to the ground with a loud crash.

You let a hearty, chesty giggle escape your lips. The adrenaline got you cackling like a comical villain, that even Miles couldn’t help but laugh helplessly along with you. Seeing you like that, with your hair all wild and your smile at its wildest, it softened his whole being.

“… You’re so pretty, mami.” He airily sighed with a cough to the side.

“.. Sure.” Was all you could answer.

And of course, after getting an earful from the staff, you and Miles finally ended your tiny sword-fighting sequence. After changing out of the costumes, all five of you prompted to test out the animatronics.

It was about taking turns.

“AYE, MAMAHUEVO.”

And it was also when you realized, Amadi was Dominican.

You learned a lot of Spanish that day, especially from one step of a button to activate an animatronic.

Everyone’s mouths were.. Extraordinarily filthy.

But you liked it— from watching bursting and spinning animatronics screaming bloody murder at you, to going around talking about all kinds of things with his friends.

“God, I’ve always wanted one of those.” Amadi points at the lace parasol one of the mannequins were holding. “It’s so Morticia Addams.”

“Well, maybe you should get it.” You suggest. “It’d look great with your vampire costume.”

Amadi sighed. “I only got money for the costume, can’t buy sum like that. Maybe I’ll just DIY it with my nana’s old umbrella.”

You squinted a tiny bit, eyeing the sign that announced in bold lettering: $16.99.

And for privileged little you, the sixteen was just change for a hundred dollar bill, which made you inadvertently blurt out. “I can pay.”

“Nah, girlie, it’s gon’ take me whole two to three months ‘fore I can afford to pay you back.”

“I mean, it’s fine—“ You realized just how spoiled you were sounding. “I recently got my paycheck so I guess I can buy you something.”

“Where do you work, though?” Monique added, clinging onto your other hand as the left one was occupied by Miles. “Like do you work at a café or a restaurant?”

“Family business,” You vaguely replied. “Boring stuff. But my dad pays me well enough, so I guess I can live with it— so maybe I can pay for that.”

“No, no, no.” Amadi answered, accent thick. “Really, we can pay for it ourselves.”

But you couldn’t ignore it. Not when you could see Miles openly contemplating on buying the costume or not— as he’s been fiddling with the price tag the whole time you two were walking. And you’ve seen the way Voshon’s been eyeing the diamond sword for a while now.

So you made up your mind.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom for a moment— can you hold this for me, Miles?” You gently nudged your costume towards him before walking away without another word. As you did so, the group gawked in confusion.

“… Where’s she going? The bathroom’s that way.”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello, this is Mr. Chávez’s office, how may I help you?”

A simple, roundabout greeting, said over and over for the last few years. Usually followed by a “No, he’s not available at the moment” or a “I’ll take word”, but for the first time, the secretary stammers in embarrassment with her nails clutching onto the phone for dear life. The old man behind the wide, glass doors took note of his poor assistant’s sudden faltering, yet he maintains naturally unfazed.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll put him on the phone with you right this instant.”

Stumbling in her high heels, the secretary staggers inside the man’s office with the whole telephone in her hand.

“Sir, you’ve got an important call.”

“I’m busy, Nicole.”

“It’s your daughter— Miss [Y/n]?” She uttered your name as though you’d materialize out of thin air after chanting it three times. She was horrified of you.

With a click of his tongue, your father picks up the phone.

“What do you want?” He instantly asks of you.

“Dad, remember how you’ve always claimed that the celebration of halloween is unnecessary?”

Without even uttering an answer, you decisively went on.

“Well, in November, there is a tremendously large spike of sales when it comes to anything horror-related. It’s always been capitalist to clad November as a scary month in order to convince people to buy into scary things—“ He hears something tumble in the background. “— and since late October to early November is usually one of the hotel’s lowest months, I figured my proposal would be a perfect proxy for my apology for the way I acted during dinner.”

You didn’t even know what you were talking about at this point, but you were willing to try.

“.. What are you talking about?” He snaps.

“Well, I—“ You hesitated a bit. “I researched a bit, and I’ve come with an unsure solution.”

“What is it?”

“… Can we buy Spirit Halloween?”

167 notes · View notes

lillypad-monopoly · 3 months ago

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Wild Life Episode 3 Thoughts

Sorry I don't have very good commentary this week. I was really busy and then life happened so I watched these POVs over the course of 6 days and didn't always take live notes.

The snail gimmick is iconic! Another amazing wildcard and a good Grian reference as well as being memey!

Someone joked about them being soulbound to the snails and I'm praying for the return of a soulbond Wildcard so hard right now

I'm genuinely concerned Skizz and Jimmy won't make it to episode 5. I hope we get some more passive wildcards coming up or this is going to be a pretty short series (also I would like them to get some stuff done)

Grian freezing the game is the lore event ever. Watcher powers are real but also he's clearly fighting back against their agenda more this season (once again such angst potential here RE: Grian knowing the wildcards ahead of time)

Ren digging all those holes looking for their horse is literally the definition of insanity and it's hilarious

Martyn and Etho interacting is always interesting both because the anime skin boys are hanging out together and because they have literally opposite playstyles. Martyn is crazy reckless and Etho is soo careful.

WHY DO REN AND MARTYN HAVE A DOUBLE BED

I really want to know all the snail names, since not everybody died this ep

I love that we're kind of going back to "suggestions" again, what with Tango killing Skizz and Martyn making snails invisible just for kicks. It feels like 3L and it's so fun.

I was so excited for Bdubs angst hour only for him to change his mind and not feel bad about anything after all

Etho's monologue 😂. The reason the go for you early is because they see you as a threat, not because they think you're not tough OMG.

Etho don't die to a creeper in the life series challenge impossible

Watching PICS build a base was actually so refreshing. I love the snail gimmick very much but it was nice to watch a POV where they were actually doing some classic life series stuff

Scott predicting violence for the next ep is...concerning lol. I don't know what he's seeing that I'm not, but outside of wild card stuff it doesn't really feel like we're at that point just yet

Actually I wouldn't put it past Tango to go wild. I'm just not sure the other Tuff Guys will follow him

I will be quoting "He's coming and he has only violence in his heart" from now on thank you Scott

Joel saying they have no enemies is so funny. The reason you don't have any enemies is cause everyone is too scared to cross you 😂.

Gem being excited about her snail while everyone else panics is iconic I love her

Joel giving Skizz a PVP lesson is so funny because Skizz *can* PVP from what I recall (I haven't seen a lot of Skizz so I could be wrong here)

Jimmy blowing up the car in front of Joel, Gem and Etho is the definition of "history doesn't repeat itself, it rhymes"

Lizzie I love you but you need to turn down something on your texture pack because everything is so bright

Bdubs manufacturing Tuff Guy behavior killed me. All of the Tuff Guys are such wet cats I love them <3

I've never watched Empires, but the bit where Jimmy gets blown up by a creeper has such powerful older sister/younger brother energy that I think I might have to headcanon them as siblings now

Scar and Lizzie being in the caves for the introduction of the snails and trying to figure out what's going on feels like a horror movie premise. People mysteriously dying to snail related stuff, and then a mob that's not in the game shows up and looks similar to the other person you're with and is following you around...

Team Bam/The Bamboozlers are as chaotic and struggling as hard as I expected. I don't actually want Lizzie to loose her teammates because I want everybody in until the last session, but it would be really funny if she did.

#mine #wild life smp #wild life smp spoilers #grian #martyn inthelittlewood #ethoslab #joel smallishbeans #lizzie ldshadowlady #scott smajor #watcher lore #i feel like i both wrote too much and not enough here but have my wl thoughts before the next eps drop tomorrow lol

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fluentmoviequoter · 11 months ago

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Our Songs

Requested Here! Here's the Instagram video that inspired this amazing request!!

Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x fem!wife!reader

Summary: Deacon sings your song every chance he gets, but when he finds out why you love to hear him sing, he introduces more Sinatra into your life.

Warnings: fluff!!! song lyrics are italicized! if you're only interested in Deacon x reader, stop at the double divider because there's a baby past that break.

Word Count: 1.0k+ words

Playlist (in order of inclusion): I've Got You Under My Skin, You Make Me Feel So Young, The Best is Yet To Come, From the Bottom to the Top, All My Tomorrows (all by Frank Sinatra)

Picture from Pinterest (crossing my fingers that I haven't used this one already but not taking the time to check)

Deacon Kay is a man of many talents. Since meeting Deacon and falling in love with him, every day, you learn about a talent you haven’t seen before. There’s nothing he can’t do, as far as you’re concerned, and you become more convinced of this after you get married.

When you get home from a long day, Deacon is in the kitchen, and you’re greeted by a mouth-watering scent. You take a deep breath, releasing the tension and stress left over from the day. Walking toward the kitchen, you stop when you hear Deacon humming. As you lean against the island, you watch his back as he stirs a pot on the stove before bending to check the pan in the oven. His humming continues, and you close your eyes as you place the song. It played during your first date, and Deacon decided it was your song, so you played it at your wedding, on your honeymoon, and many times after.

“You know,” you begin quietly, “if I’d known you sounded better than Sinatra sooner, you would’ve been asked to sing at the wedding.”

Deacon smiles as he turns toward you. “You flatter me.”

“You make it easy.”

Deacon pulls you against him, hugging you tightly. He loosens his grip on you, but you keep your cheek pressed to his chest, his steady heartbeat a reminder of how much love you share with him. Deacon rubs your back before he sways you gently, humming again before he starts singing.

“I'd tried so, not to give in

I said to myself this affair never will go so well

But why should I try to resist when baby I know so well

I've got you under my skin

I'd sacrifice anything come what might

For the sake of having you near

In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night

And repeats, repeats in my ear.”

“I love you,” you say against Deacon’s chest.

He pushes you out and spins you, smiling at your laugh as you lay your arms over his shoulders, hooking your hands behind his neck. Deacon wraps his arms around your waist, looking into your eyes as he begins singing again.

“You make me feel so young

You make me feel there are songs to be sung

Bells to be rung

And a wonderful fling to be flung

And even when I'm old and gray

I'm gonna feel the way I do today

'Cause you make me feel so young

You make me feel so young

You make me feel so spring has sprung

And every time I see you grin

I'm such a happy individual.”

“I’m going to fall in love with you again,” you murmur.

“Then I’m never going to stop singing,” Deacon replies, then kisses your forehead.

“Hondo will love that; you can kick down a door and then sing ‘Fly Me to the Moon.’”

“Why limit it to Sinatra? There has to be better breaching music.”

You hum in agreement, using your hands behind Deacon’s neck to pull him into a kiss. When you pull back, ready for dinner, you remind Deacon that you love him more than any song could capture or explain.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you wake up the following morning, it’s still dark outside, but Deacon’s voice is floating in from the bathroom.

“Wait 'til your charms are right for these arms to surround

You think you've flown before, but baby, you ain't left the ground

Wait 'til you're locked in my embrace

Wait 'til I draw you near

Wait 'til you see that sunshine place

Ain't nothin' like it here

The best is yet to come, and babe, won't it be fine?

The best is yet to come, come the day you're mine

Come the day you're mine

And you're gonna be mine.”

You smile as he enters the bedroom, and he returns to his rightful place beside you.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Deacon apologizes.

“You didn’t. But I wouldn’t want to wake up to anything else.”

“I’m starting to think you love the singing more than me.”

“The opposite,” you explain. “I love the singing because it’s you.”

Deacon kisses you, and you smile into the kiss.

✯✯✯✯✯

“And when we have a little Deacon? What will you sing then?” you ask, making yourself comfortable against Deacon’s side.

With your heart pressed to his, Deacon quickly decides on a song.

“From the Bottom to the Top,” he answers.

“I may need a demonstration.”

Deacon kisses you, distracting you from your question. He hums into the kiss, and you pull yourself closer, enjoying the joy of being wholly in love with Deacon.

✯✯✯✯✯

The nursery is empty when you wake. Walking through the house, you hear Deacon and follow his voice.

“Everything I got

No, it's not a lot

From the bottom to the top

You can have all of me

I will try at one o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock, four

To keep you satisfied

I will try those anything, everything, anything more

To hold you by my side

You can make me laugh

You can make me cry

You can change my heart

If you'll only try

By the stars above

You can have my love.”

When you find Deacon sitting by the patio door, looking down at your baby, you can't help but smile. Moving to sit beside him, you lean your head on Deacon’s shoulder.

“Takes after you,” Deacons says softly. “The moment I start singing, the crying stops.”

“Because you sing from love,” you point out. “And we know you love us.”

“That I do,” Deacon agrees, turning to kiss you.

Your baby coos against Deacon’s chest, and you chuckle as you kiss his jaw.

“I think we need an encore.”

Deacon smiles at you before singing,

“Today I may not have a thing at all

Except for just a dream or two

But I've got lots of plans for tomorrow

And all my tomorrows belong to you.”

“All of my tomorrows are you, Mr. Kay," you whisper.

“And mine are you, Mrs. Kay.”

#david deacon kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #david deacon kay #deacon kay #deacon kay fluff #requests #fem!reader #hanna writes✯

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summercourtship · 1 year ago

Text

sway. (bruce's POV)

First half of the Sponsorship Gala, including Bruce and the Reader's dance. From ch. 3 of Stay to Burn (Only to Drown Instead)- this will not make sense if you haven't read that!! 2430 words |warnings: none

read on ao3 | stay to burn masterpost

Bruce was uncomfortable, to say the least.

Even though he had willingly decided to become a public figure again, that didn’t mean he had to like it. And he certainly felt that his energy would be better used to patrol the city than stand in a building filled with the upper echelon of society and cheap wine, shaking hands and faking smiles.

But he wasn’t at the event for social reasons, even though socializing would be necessary.

His parents had often dragged him along to events like this, galas and fundraisers overflowing with opulence despite often being to raise money for those less fortunate. This, however, was just for the local university and he was only attending because of her.

Bruce had replayed the contact lens footage from the second time he had gone to her apartment multiple times, his suspicions about her situation building with each detail he noticed. He doubted she suspected anything- she was probably barely even aware of the Scarecrow, as the media had dubbed him due to the mask he seemed fond of wearing. No, she was too concerned with her own life to realize that vultures were circling overhead, even as they swooped lower and lower.

He had arrived late, not wanting to sit through the thirty-minute long presentation. He didn’t need convincing to be charitable, he was going to generously donate anyway. He watched as the crowd filed out of the auditorium, staying close to the edge of the room. But once one person noticed him, they all did.

All around him, people were smiling, almost tripping over themselves to speak with him. He was polite with all of them, though he kept the conversations short. He hadn’t seen the girl yet, and he was starting to worry that she hadn’t actually attended when he spotted Dr. Crane, only a few feet away from him.

The man was standing with perfect posture, his demeanor closed off and cold as he spoke with a young woman. Then his icy eyes slid over her shoulder and locked onto Bruce.

Bruce did not unnerve easily. But something in Crane’s expression raised alarm bells in his head. Suddenly uncomfortable, Bruce almost looked right past the couple until he did a double take on the woman. She looked much different here than the last time he had seen her- at first glance, she could almost pass for an actual socialite. But her eyes were much too lively, her energy much too excited. She didn’t have the airs of someone who lacked a soul.

No, don’t approach, keep your distance- but before he could stop himself, he was approaching the couple, not caring that he was leaving a conversation unfinished.

“Mr. Wayne.” Dr. Crane spoke first, holding his hand out. Bruce tentatively took it, overly conscious of how tense his body was, lingering unease keeping him rigid as he shook the man’s hand. “Nice to see you out tonight.”

He disliked how people talked to him like they knew him. Overly familiar just because his face was. But he remembered what his father would do at events like these and smiled, though he could feel how fake it was.

“I needed some fresh air.”

“I’m sure.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce noticed the girl looking from him to Crane, clearly intrigued. But she didn’t speak up.

“My teaching assistant.” Dr. Crane gestured to the young woman beside him, who was becoming increasingly familiar to Bruce. He was already aware of her position as Crane’s TA, having learned it during his impromptu visit to her apartment. (Not that she knew that.)

It was that visit that had brought Dr. Crane to his attention in the first place, the syllabus on her couch and the papers she’d been grading about fear seeming too much of a coincidence to ignore.

But she smiled, bringing him out of his thoughts as she reached out her own hand, saying her name like he didn’t already know that, either. But even if she knew he was the Batman, she would have no reason to suspect he knew her name- that was something he found out on his own time.

“It’s very nice to meet you.” Bruce shakes her hand, clasping it in his own, smiling to match her own. It felt genuine this time, not the tight-lipped smiles he’d been dishing out to everyone else that evening. Did she see through him, was she able to look behind the facade he was wearing right now?

Beside her, Dr. Crane was watching with an unreadable expression, his mouth tight and eyes slightly narrowed. Then he cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable with the prolonged contact of their hands. The girl dropped his hand, quickly looking over at the other man. A beat passed of the two staring at each other, a nervous smile on the girl’s face.

What, exactly, was the nature of their relationship?

“Have a nice evening, Mr. Wayne.” Crane’s voice was short as he put his hand on the girl’s shoulder, leading her away. She followed willingly, as if she was unperturbed by the man’s behavior.

“It was nice meeting you!” She called over her shoulder, her smile bright. He watched as she left, his eyes following the sway of her hips as she was led away. Then he frowned as he saw how tightly Crane’s hand was clenched on her shoulder, not unlike a claw digging into her skin.

Bruce continued tailing after the two, though at such a distance as to not arouse their suspicion. He doubted Crane would try anything tonight- Bruce didn’t even know for certain that Crane was the Scarecrow.

But the most likely explanation tended to be the correct one, and there were too many coincidences concerning Crane for Bruce to not be suspicious. Who else in Gotham was an expert on fear and also skilled in chemistry? Crane was the only one who fit that description, and it was worth examining.

He just hoped the girl wouldn’t make this more complicated than it needed to be.

Bruce followed them into the ballroom, though the distance was much larger than he had planned due to people coming up to him and talking. Once again, he gave short answers, doing his best to not come across as rude but probably failing. By the time he escaped a particularly frustrating exchange about stocks, he had lost sight of them.

However, it didn’t take long to find them again as they had not strayed far.

Crane and the girl were dancing, chatting idly as they swayed back and forth. As he walked closer, he couldn’t help thinking that if he had planned better, he would have figured out a way to get to her phone and find a way to use it as a makeshift listening device. It would have been a better use of his time, standing at a distance and listening instead of waiting for opportunities to speak to them.

He approached the couple, not oblivious to how they seemed to be in their own little bubble as they danced, speaking in low tones that Bruce couldn’t hear.

But he could pop the bubble.

“May I cut in?”

The girl looked over her shoulder, her brief look of irritation at being interrupted replaced with a small smile when she saw who was interrupting her dance.

“Of course.” Almost immediately, she let go of Crane’s hands, turning to him to speak quietly, “We can talk about it later.”

Crane’s hands lingered on her waist, flexing briefly as he clearly gripped her harder for a moment before he released her. He watched as Bruce took one of her hands in his own, his other going to her waist. Over her shoulder, Crane was staring at Bruce, the same unreadable expression from before on his face.

Bruce simply nodded at him and led the girl away as the string quartet started a new song, something gentler and melancholic.

Bruce had taken a few dancing lessons when he was a child, but anything he had learned was swiftly forgotten once he stopped going. He was lucky, then, that it seemed like she also didn’t know what she was doing and was perfectly content to just sway in place.

“Well, Mr. Wayne, it’s nice seeing you again.”

“Please, call me Bruce.”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the sides. He never saw her smile like that before, certainly not when he was out on patrol. What reason would she have to smile when a vigilante showed up on her balcony?

“Alright. Bruce. How are you enjoying your night so far?”

Her voice was unfamiliar, like she was putting on an air to seem more sophisticated than she thought she was. He knew what she actually sounded like, and wanted to draw her out. He wasn’t here to talk to a character.

“Well, one of the last times I was at a public event like this a car almost hit me, so I think comparatively it’s going good.”

Panic flared behind her eyes, and for a moment he was afraid that his attempt at humor had backfired. Sounds about right. He gave her a small smile, hoping to convey that he was being light-hearted. She smiled back, but it quickly fell off her face as she looked down, clearly lost in thought for a moment, chewing at the corner of her mouth.

He was about to say something else, change the subject because she seemed like her mind was stuck somewhere, when she finally spoke again.

“I was there, too. At the funeral.”

He didn’t know that. He should have known that. He knew she was at the election party, her ticket stub on the corkboard giving that away. But how was he supposed to know that she was at city hall that day? He wouldn’t even be able to revisit the footage from that event because he didn’t have it- Selina had still been in possession of the contact lens at the time.

He realized that his face must have shown his surprise before he controlled it. But to his surprise, she seemed relieved that he didn’t say anything, that he didn’t try to look sympathetic, and continued talking.

“Mhm, I was writing a stupid paper and when all that started happening it was… Well, it felt important to document it.” She chuckled. “As if a paper like that would be important to the historical record.”

“You never know.” He disliked hearing her talk down about herself like that. She ignored him.

“Anyway, I was waiting on the upper balcony with the crowd of normal people-” She smiled, quick, letting him know she was joking, “and had just moved to give someone else some space when the car came crashing through, so…” She sucked her teeth, making a tsk-ing sound as she trailed off. “Not as bad as, you know… almost being hit.”

She was on the balcony? He wondered if she even knew she might have been rubbing elbows with Edward Nashton. It wasn’t public knowledge that he had attended the funeral, but maybe she had seen him and recognized him later when he was arrested. The idea of her being so close to him without knowing it made something twist in his stomach, something unpleasant.

Her expression shifted at his silence and she cleared her throat before hastily changing the subject. He moved his hand from her hip to her lower back, unknowingly pulling her closer to him. The front of her body was almost pressing against his, the small space between them seemingly impenetrable by either of them.

“So why are you here tonight?” She asked, her voice soft as she looked up at him. He didn’t break eye contact with her as he responded. “Enjoying the scenery.” It slipped out before he could stop himself, but by the look of gentle surprise on her face, she didn’t mind the unsubtle compliment.

“And here I thought you were a shut-in with no social skills.”

He knew it was a joke, but the reminder of how he had failed the city before was sour. He didn’t blame her for bringing it up- he knew what people said about him, even if he didn’t care about any of it. But his refusal to acknowledge the city his parents tried to help led to multiple deaths, his negligence of their legacy almost ruined the city.

Alfred told him he shouldn’t blame himself. But he did.

“A lot has changed over the past year.” His voice was soft, and she seemed to take a moment to process what he said.

The song ended and the couples that were dancing parted to clap for the quartet. The violinist stood, announcing that the musicians were going on a break. She didn’t let go of him, and he didn’t let her go either. They stood, still joined, her eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

“What do you m-” Her question was interrupted by an older man who, upon seeing Bruce, had decided that it was his god-given duty to speak with him at that very moment.

“May I have a moment of your time, Mr. Wayne?” The man murmured into his ear, as if to keep the girl from overhearing. It took every ounce of self control for Bruce to not flinch away from the man’s hot breath, his words barely audible over the noise of the gala. “I would like to discuss your contribution to the university’s scholarship fund-”

The girl dropped his hand, pulling herself away from him. He allowed her to go, even if he desperately wanted to find a way to use her as an excuse to get out of another conversation about money.

“Thank you for the dance, Mr. Wayne. I’ll leave you to it.” She spoke quietly, as if she expected him to not listen to her. He watched as she left, not paying attention to the man next to him. Though he wouldn’t be as obvious about it as he may have been a few years ago, he knew he needed to keep her in his sights.

She was probably going to find Crane again, and he was stuck in another pointless conversation. But he’d find her again, think of another excuse to talk to her alone.

After all, he hadn’t even asked her what he needed to, something that would affect everything if his hunch about Crane being the Scarecrow proved true:

What, exactly, is her relationship with Dr. Crane?

bruce + reader's playlist | poll for next POV

#stay to burn verse #stbotdi #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #my writing #my fic #sometimes i write things and im just like “okay!” about it. like not excited but not worried #just okay.

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panda-writes-kpop · 11 months ago

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thnks fr th mmrs, vn thgh thy wrn’t s grt

a/n: 0_0 ..me when I remember that I haven't updated the hypnosis series in months... whoops! anyways, here's another chapter to feed the people who enjoy this series! special thanks to @kingmaker-a for reading over this one - I'm glad you enjoy the series, my guy <3

tw: lots of blood 'n gore, weird spirit physics, double the people turning into vampires for none of the extra cost, sad memories and morally ambiguous characters

word count: 4.6k

( <- Previous Part | Next Part -> | Series Masterlist)

summary: everything's wrong. two of your friends are missing, two of your friends are in serious shit with the university, and the other three are barely hanging on to what they hold dear. and then there's you - the one who's seeing the ghost of your dead friend. the cherry on top? you may be turning into the monster that destroyed everything you loved.

but it can't get worse than this, right?

♡ Masterlist ♡

light - the absence of darkness.

From the bright sunshine that would blind you when you walked to your 10:30 a.m. lecture to the electrical lighting that allowed you to see what SuA had done to Siyeon, it was there to help illuminate your way and give you the answers that you seeked.

Without the light, you felt like you were stumbling into darkness, just as you were doing now. Your intuition had guided you forwards, past the unrecognizable mush of blood, guts, and bones that was a body in front of you. Your phone flashlight was the only sort of light you had, but it felt like a cheap replica compared to the warm sunlight that you and your friends used to bask in together.

Will things ever be the same?

That wasn’t the question to ask, especially now that you were in an abandoned part of a hospital ward.

Looking back, the hospital room with your friends seems so far away, and you could go back and give up.

But you don’t quit, not when two of your friends are locked up in some cold, abysmal basement on campus while Ryujin and Handong are nowhere to be seen. You could do something for once, have some agency in the middle of the world’s shittiest situation.

So you continue on until you encounter a disastrous scene. What intrigues you lies past the bloodshed, but you’re forced to look at what’s in front of you first.

There are eight closed doors past the messy nurse’s station - an evacuation or a massacre took place here, due to the scatter of paperwork, files, and file cabinets all over the floor. A few papers were stuck to the ceiling with pins and needles, and blood covers every possible surface. You’d normally gag at the sight of so much blood, but you weirdly find… comfort in all of it.

And when did your mouth start filling with saliva?

You force yourself to swallow the uncomfortable feeling rising in your chest. Handong and Ryujin are fine, if anything were to happen to them, they’d be the most likely to take care of themselves and each other.

Yet again, betrayal seemed to be a common theme in your life, so you’d best keep moving.

Alright, there’s eight doors. Find something familiar, someone familiar that will make you want to go through.

Your hand grabs the first door knob as you realize how ill-prepared you are for this venture. With just your phone flashlight and the will of pure fucking spite for SuA and her shitty life decisions, you pull through the tangled threads of your fractured mind to find someone to help you through this.

Unfortunately for you and your increasingly temporary good mood, your mind finds its way to settle on Chou Tzuyu, the girl who died before she ever had a chance to live.

What if I hadn’t blocked SuA immediately? What if I had talked things through with Siyeon sooner? What if JiU and I had seen eye-to-eye?

Would anything have changed?

You take a soft breath before turning the door handle.

Chou Tzuyu - the girl who never hesitated to help you out, the girl who gave you homework answers every time you came to class with glassy eyes, and the girl who helped you realize that you should give dating another chance.

You let go of the door handle to place both hands on the door. Rage builds inside of you as vengeance seeps into your bones. Chou Tzuyu was dead, and you were pissed about it.

You pull your hands back, only to slam them against the steel door. To your surprise, the door flies off of its hinges and slams into the parallel wall inside of the hospital room. With your hands extended, you stare at them in morbid curiosity (I did that?) before you realize that you can step through the room (I did that!).

With your phone flashlight, you scan the wall to your left to find a light switch, and once you find it, you flick it on. The light blinks for a minute before turning on. Although you weren’t a fan of the sterile lighting, it was better than the darkness that you were surrounded in before.

“What would you ever do without me?” A voice rings out, one that causes your hair to rise on your neck and arms.

You shriek and throw your phone - one of the least intelligent decisions you’ve made thus far - and you cringe when you hear it shatter against the wall.

Fuck.

“Tzuyu?” You spin around, only to lock eyes with someone you never thought you would see again. “Fuck, I’m sorry-“

“-Don’t worry about it, you can’t do me any harm.” Tzuyu offers you a warm smile before sticking her arm through a wall and then letting it sit at her side afterwards. “SuA already killed me once, you can’t kill me again.”

Bewildered, you stare at her.

“How? Why? What the fuck?”

“Well, I heard Siyeon and SuA fighting-“

“-yeah, I heard that story, I know.” You wildly gesture to the girl in front of you. “How are you here?”

“Being a ghost works differently than being a human or any other type of mortal creature.” She explains as you notice a soft lilac hue that surrounds her figure. “I’m free to roam between the planes of the living and the dead, and I can visit who I want whenever I want.”

“Okay…” You shake your head before nervously playing with your hair. “Why did you choose me to talk to?”

“You have a lot of questions, like usual, and I have plenty of answers. It’ll be just like old times.” Tzuyu sits on the edge of the hospital bed before patting the spot next to her.

You reluctantly sit next to Tzuyu as you study her for a moment. She doesn’t look as ghastly as your last meeting with her; instead, she looks just as well as she did at the party.

“The party, Tzuyu, you were there… or, at least, it looked like you were there.” You try to explain the events of the party, but it all blurs together in your mind.

Drinks. Dahyun dancing? Tzuyu left to see her. Video games. JiU crashes the party. 2 a.m. wake-up. SuA bites me. Fox bites her. I died?

“It was a mirage, someone was working with SuA to create an exact duplicate of me. It has to be someone with powerful sorcery skills who would study under Professor Wang, since he specialized in mirages and illusions.” Tzuyu’s words cause you to sigh in relief.

“So it couldn’t have been Dami?” You softly ask as your heart tenses in your chest.

She’s the brightest witch you know, one with a soft heart and a kind soul. Did that make her more innocent or more guilty, you wonder.

“No, Dami wouldn’t be taking a class related to that subject until next semester.” Tzuyu places one of her hands over yours, but you can’t feel her warmth, even though you know it’s there. “She’s the last person I’d expect to betray you.”

“Really?” The disbelief in your voice causes you to physically recoil.

“Don’t you remember? When you left that party and went home, who was the first person that found you?”

You had to have been crying for hours when you got home from the party. What else were you supposed to do besides face the reality that your relationship with the girl you loved was over?

You expected one of your friends to come knocking on the door, Minji perhaps? She was too in-tune with your feelings for your liking, and it was something that bothered you about her. She knew that your relationship was over before you did, and she told you to break things off with Bora before you got hurt.

What a fool you are - maybe she’s here to rub it in your face after everything.

The knocking continues, but it’s less forceful than you thought it was. Gahyeon would try to tear the door off its hinges - she actually did so to your dorm room door when you locked yourself in there in order to prepare for exams. Safe to say, your RA, Irene, wasn’t a big fan of Gahyeon afterwards.

Handong would’ve only knocked once and called out to you. You got into a small fight with SuA, your first fight as a couple, and it absolutely broke you. You stormed into your room and didn’t come out for breakfast, which was unusual for you since you and Handong would get breakfast together before heading to your early morning classes. She was gentle with her approach, and her words eventually drew you out of your hiding spot to go grab a bite to eat before class started.

Yoohyeon would’ve just yelled instead of knocking - knocking was never really her style, anyways. She was your best friend, after all, so the door was always unlocked for her. She’d just yell before storming in, something along the lines of “you better have clothes on, otherwise you’re paying for our joint therapy session!”

Siyeon wouldn’t have knocked - you always went over to her place. Most of the time it was to pick up SuA, or to just hang out with all of the girls since their dorm was much larger than everyone else’s.

When you realized who it was, you pulled yourself off of the floor before wobbling to the door. Of course, the girl knocking on your door would be gentle yet persistent, quiet yet certain. Your first true college friend, your closest confidant - Lee Yubin.

It’s not like you didn’t trust Yoohyeon with all of your secrets - you both know too much about each other to not be friends anymore. Sometimes, you just want to talk to that friend who just listens to what you have to say. They don’t always offer advice or help, but a comforting shoulder and reassuring words are always found with them.

When you open the door, Dami’s not prepared with a humorous quip or a warm hug.

“Can I come in?” Is the only request she makes, with a gentle kindness twinkling in her eyes.

You mumble your answer before opening up the door wide enough for her to enter, and you shut it behind her before turning on a light in your dorm room.

“What did you hear?” You ask, knowing how… creative SuA’s storytelling can be when it comes to people she doesn’t like.

“It doesn’t matter. I want to hear what happened from you.” She reaches over to you and holds out her hand. “Your word matters more to me than SuA’s, or anyone else’s, for that matter. I believe you, I trust you, and I know you.”

So you tell her all of it. Some of the relationship issues you’ve been having to Minji’s break-up comments to the events at the party to how you got back home.

When you’re done, all you can do is scan her face to see how she reacts. Dami, ever the calming wave crashing against the shoreline, reflects empathy and kindness towards you as you finally take her hand.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I could’ve walked you home. You shouldn’t have been alone after all of that.” She says as you bite your lip.

Through tears, you can’t help but choke out a laugh.

“Are you alright?” She instinctively cups your face and brings it closer to hers, but you shake your head and smile.

“Only a true martyr blames herself for other people’s actions. Dami,” You lightly squeeze her hand, “I’m just glad you’re here. I’d much rather talk with you than anyone else.”

“Not Yoohyeon?” In disbelief, she lets go of your face.

You find yourself missing her warmth before you answer.

“Not even Yoohyeon. You’re irreplaceable to me, Dami. I hope we’re close for the rest of our lives because I can’t imagine what I would do without you.”

“…Right.” Heat flocks to your face as you nervously bite your lip. “How could I ever doubt her? Dami put her freedom, her ability to practice magic, and her scholarships on the line to save me. Who does that for a friend?”

“A good person,” Tzuyu quickly answers, “and you know it’s not Gahyeon either. She killed someone for you - a former friend of hers, no less.”

“I need to get them out of there, save them-“

“I assure you, those two are not damsels in distress.” Tzuyu laughs to herself for a moment. “The catacombs under the school aren’t that difficult to navigate.”

“Why lock them up there instead of a prison?” You ask.

“The university didn’t want news getting out about two dead students - bad for enrollment rates. They wanted to sort this mess out in private, but it’s all going to come out in one way or another.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Tzuyu confidently says.

“What do I do now? What about Ryujin and Handong?” Confused, you look to Tzuyu for answers.

“Try more doors. If you found me, then you can find the other answers you seek.” She wistfully responds.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be here when you need me. What else am I going to do for the rest of eternity?”

With a broken phone and a ghastly thumbs up from Tzuyu, you leave Tzuyu behind as you approach the room across from hers.

Wandering around in the darkness, you find yourself carefully maneuvering to the other side of the hallway as your stomach growls.

How long has it been since I’ve eaten something?

Your hunger doesn’t seem to be settled by the thoughts of food - rather, all thoughts of human food seem to be repulsive to you. You find yourself gagging as you crash through the second door without a second thought.

I’ve really got to get this superhuman strength under control.

After checking yourself for injuries, you stand up and flick on the light switch. The light comes on with ease, and a soft sigh leaves your lips.

A child’s room outside of the pediatric ward? How odd.

You see a small teddy bear resting next to your feet, and you don’t hesitate to pick it up.

You throw the dart against the board, and Ryujin chuckles as it falls to the ground after touching the board.

“Alright, fur-for-brains, you try it.” You gruffly say before stepping aside.

“I’d prefer you call me Jinnie over that.” She calmly says before picking up the dart and casually throwing it.

And, of course, it’s a bullseye.

She gives you a sweet smile as you give her a sweet two-finger salute, one on each hand. Mature as ever, she sticks her tongue out at you as the carnival worker grabs her an oversized pink unicorn.

“Good luck fitting that abomination in your dorm.” You laugh as Ryujin proudly holds the plushie in her arms.

“Lucky for you, it’s going on the top of my car as a hood decoration!”

You loudly groan as Ryujin laughs. Neither of you notice the pair of friends approaching you until a yellow snow cone lands on the giant unicorn’s belly.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” The taller girl, with long, black hair, quickly apologizes before grabbing some napkins and helping Ryujin clean it up.

“It looks like my unicorn pissed itself!” She whines as you softly laugh.

Your eyes peel away from the sight as you realize who the other girl is.

“Dami, right? We met at orientation.” You give Dami a warm smile that she reciprocates.

“Yeah. Sorry I haven’t been responding to your texts, I was busy moving in-“

“-Nah, it’s alright,” You reassure her, “I’ve been busy trying to adapt to college life as well. How about we meet for lunch tomorrow and we can catch up?”

“That sounds great.” She gracefully accepts your offer before turning towards JiU and Ryujin. “That’s JiU - most of us call her Minji, though. She’s one of my close friends and we went to high school together.”

“Minji, huh?” Your eyes focus on Ryujin. “Ryujin’s been my best friend since I started walking. People thought we were weird, since she was a werewolf and I was a human, but we made it work.”

“Our friend group has a vampire and a vampire hunter, so it can’t get any weirder than that.”

“Your friends sound like fun. I’d love to meet them sometime.” You say as Ryujin dejectedly walks back to you. “Did you clean up your unicorn’s little accident?”

“It mostly came out, I’ll just put some bleach on it when I get home.” She shrugs as JiU nervously plays with a strand of hair.

“Please, let me make it up to you. I still have two food vouchers from the university that I haven’t used yet,” Minji hands them to you before turning back to Ryujin, "and I got this teddy bear at another game earlier, but I’ve got plenty of stuffed animals at home, so you should take it.”

“I’ll take the food vouchers,” Ryujin snatches them from your hand before handing you the teddy bear, “you can have the bear.”

Ryujin walks away, leaving you to say your goodbyes.

“It’s been great to catch up, Dami, and I look forward to lunch tomorrow!” You wave at her with a smile before backpedaling towards Ryujin. “Thank you, Minji, for the bear. I promise to treasure it.”

You set the teddy bear down on the bed before grabbing the bedsheet and pulling it up to the pillow.

“I can’t believe we got a whole house to ourselves for a sleepover!” Gahyeon cheers before crashing against the bed.

“Don’t get too excited, Gahyeon,” Handong warns, “we’ll have to have the place spotless; otherwise, SuA will have our asses.”

You set your stuff down on a bed in the next room over as Handong and Gahyeon converse in the distance. Yoohyeon leans against the doorway as you start to unpack your overnight bag.

“Getting comfortable?” She teases before sliding into the room.

“I’m trying to.” You sigh before tossing the bag aside and flopping on the bed. “Yooh, can I tell you something?”

“If you’re going to tell me something weird, I have to start charging you for therapy sessions-“

“How do you deal with liking one of your friends?” You honestly ask Yoohyeon as she loudly gasps.

“YOU LIKE SOMEONE-“ She shouts, loud enough for the whole house to hear, before you have a chance to close the door. “And you didn’t tell me first?”

“To be fair, I haven’t told anyone else yet, so you will be the first.” You offer her some semblance of comfort as your heart races in your chest - you were really going to say what you were feeling out loud, huh?

“So… who is it?” She asks before you sigh deeply.

“It’s someone I’d never thought I’d fall for, in all honesty. Someone who understands me in a way that no one else has.” You confess as Yoohyeon squeals.

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about! It has to be-“

“-SuA.” You quickly breathe out as Yoohyeon blinks at you once, twice, and then thrice.

“Oh shit, well, good for you!” Yoohyeon scrambles for the right words as you fold your arms.

“No words of comfort or reassurance?” You ask as she shrugs.

“SuA’s not out of your league, but she wasn’t who I was expecting, in all honesty. I didn’t know you two were close.” Yoohyeon says.

“So you’re okay with SuA and I being together if she says yes to a first date?”

Yoohyeon takes your hand and gently squeezes it.

“I’m your best friend. I’d tell you if you were doing something stupid, trust me.”

You choke out a laugh before grabbing the pillow and putting it back into place.

“Minji, I’m so sorry to bother you.” You softly say before she hands you a glass of tea.

“No, it’s alright, it’s what friends are for. What did you need to talk to me about?”

“SuA and I- we’re not doing alright.” Your words lift a weight off your chest, as if saying what you’ve been feeling will fix all of your problems. “We’ve gotten into more fights, and every time I want to talk about it, she blows me off to go partying. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Can I-“ Minji pauses for a moment before grabbing your arm. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.” You nod as she continues on.

“SuA, she’s a great person and all, but she has her flaws. You know this, just as the rest of us do. I love her, dearly and truly, but she’s an unnameable spirit. You won’t get her to settle down with sugar coated words or sweet promises.”

“What should I do, then?”

“You should break up with her.” Minji bluntly says it, and her words carve a mark in your heart that a thousand swords could not replicate.

“What?” You softly respond, hoping your brain had cherry-picked her words and made some sort of sick mash-up of them.

“You can’t- you can’t be with someone who makes you miserable. I see the two of you at parties. She has a great time with her friends, and you look like you want to be anywhere in the world besides at her side-“

“-yeah, but she compromises for me and I do it for her as well-“ You try to defend SuA, but JiU’s having none of it.

“-you’re new to dating, especially when it comes to someone like SuA, and I don’t want to see someone I care about get hurt.”

Your eyes involuntarily roll as you know the lecture is coming. Despite Minji being the most agreeable person on the planet, the two of you don’t always see eye-to-eye. She’s too involved in your life, at times, and you just need some space away from other people to clear your thoughts. To her, you don’t care enough about yourself and she will point that out, every single time, without fail. You’ve always treated her like an overcautious, caring mother, but something about her words irks you. Maybe it’s the fact that there is truth mingled in with her opinion, or you’ve finally grown tired of her meddling in your life, but you’ve had enough.

“I’m not a child, Minji.” You set the tea cup aside before standing up. “I can decide who I want to date, and when or if I should break up with them. I just wanted to see if you knew anything about why SuA has been so distant lately.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She repeats, firmly standing her ground.

“Do you know something I don’t, Minji?” You exasperatedly say before running your fingers through your hair. “I don’t see why you could care so much about me - SuA was your friend first, after all.”

“Her actions are not my responsibility.”

You can’t take this delicate dance of instigating and investigating any more, so you quickly move towards the exit of Siyeon, SuA, and Minji’s dorm.

“Wait, please-“ She calls out to you as you reach for the door. “I’m doing this because I-“

You slam the door in her face, an act you would grow to regret. When you come back a few hours later to return her pillow from your dorm, it’s like you’ve encountered a new person. She offers you a simple greeting before taking the pillow from her arms.

Minji’s smile doesn’t spread as wide as usual, and it’s all your fault.

Asshole.

A gentle tear runs down your cheek - you were awful to her, weren’t you? - as you gently fix the chapstick on the bedside table.

“You cheated on her!” Siyeon screams at you from the door as tears fall down your face.

“No, she cheated on me.” You offer a simple explanation, but she isn’t buying it.

“I found your chapstick in that girl’s bedroom, so try another excuse.” She haphazardly tosses the chapstick, and you’re able to catch it, even with tears partially blocking your sight.

“I let SuA use it-“

“I can’t even look at you. Come find me when you’re ready to make things right, and I may be kind enough to let you do so.” Siyeon slams the door as you fall to the ground in a puddle of misery and wallowing.

Two friends, one girlfriend. All gone within a few days of each other. Who else would leave you next? Handong? Yoohyeon? Gahyeon? Dami?

For some reason, the thought of Dami leaving you behind pushes you over the edge as the floodgates break open. You sob on the floor for what seems to be hours until your roommate finds you and brings you to bed, where you cry yourself to sleep for another night.

It’s saddening how quickly things can be over. Siyeon seemed open for a reunion - did SuA finally confess, or did Siyeon figure out the truth? You knew your friendship with Minji would never be the same, and that was okay with you.

Although you were miserable with the loss of a few friends a few months ago, you’d be beyond consolable if one of your close friends of today were to betray you or-

Don’t think about that. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about that.

You lightly brush the tears away before looking in the vanity. The sight in front of you causes you to scream as the puzzle pieces connect in your head.

Hunger for blood, insane strength, and invisible in mirrors.

Despite the fact that your reflection is missing, two pointy objects reflect back to you as you open your mouth.

Sharp fangs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You rub your temples, hoping that’ll miraculously fix you. “This day cannot get any worse.”

As if the hell opened up and Satan heard your words, Ryujin crashes against the doorless door frame with a heavy sigh.

“You’re bleeding!” You yell as Ryujin winces and holds her side.

“I’ll be fine.” She reassures you as you rush over to her. “Nice fangs, you freak.”

“You’re not helping.” You gently help Ryujin to the bed. “Who did this to you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She breathes a little lighter when she’s resting on your bed. “So is the vampire thing permanent, or-“

“Let me deal with that shit, you’re going to bleed out at this rate.” You grab a bundle of cloth that Ryujin can hold at her side. “I can’t do stitches, but I think Minji might be able to-“

Ryujin grabs your arm as you turn away from her.

“You shouldn’t go out there.”

“Why not?”

“She’s out there.” Ryujin coughs up a bit of blood as you grab a few tissues for her.

“Who is she?”

“Handong, but it’s not the girl that you know. They, the vampires,” She corrects herself before coughing into a tissue, “got to her before I could fight them all off. She’s a vampire spawn, hungry and lost to her instincts. We can’t help her until we get her some human blood.”

“We’re in hospital, there has to be blood somewhere-“ You reason as Ryujin shakes her head.

“Fresh blood, from a living human.”

“Yoohyeon.” You breathe out as Ryujin coughs again. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’m a werewolf, this will blow over in a day or two. Supernatural healing is the shit, huh.” She laughs before going into another coughing fit.

“I can stay with you-“ “-You have to find Yoohyeon before Handong does; otherwise, we’ll have another murder on our hands.”

#seomjjit ~ hypnosis #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au

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elderflowerchampagne · 1 month ago

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180 (12/1)

Not much to report from this visit except I got briefly locked in one of the fifth floor bathrooms, and for one terrifying moment had a flash-forward of my desiccated corpse being discovered years later like a mummy. Thankfully that did not happen, but if it had I would have went the way I wanted to go.

Goodbye, wonderful nurse. I never noticed before that the bookends in her 1:1 room are Scottish terriers.

I've developed a late-in-the-game tradition with myself of turning the dictionary on Grace's desk to "gratitude" whenever I'm there. It's page 208.

181 (12/22 early)

Jeeeeeeeeeesus Christ. Gonna be honest, folks: I thought we were a goner. Like all of us, I spent the 10 days of the shutdown obsessively refreshing Discord and getting no work done. I guess I should have had more faith.

Still, the shutdown made it real to me in ways it hasn't been all this time. I've never cried in this building, because I've never been anything but happy to be there, and I haven't cried this whole year because as long as they kept extending and jerking us around it wasn't real. But on the last night of the shutdown I sat alone in my apartment in Connecticut and cried. This was always going to be a terribly painful loss, and now that it's real I still can't quite find the words to mourn it.

By the time they let us in I was so overwrought and sad and relieved and sad and incredulous and overjoyed and sad that I just kind of stumbled in hands first making an unholy "huhhhhhhh" sound until I crashed against the bar and ordered an absinthe. And where will I crash after January 11?

I've begun to say my goodbyes to individual spaces, starting with Duncan's bedroom. I don't usually spend an awful lot of time there, so I never noticed before that the fire screen is in the shape of a peacock's tail. Hecate's influence pervades all. I also saw the shaving scene for the first time in years - I wish I'd seen more of it.

A rare Andrea Murillo bar appearance! So many of my all-time best McKittrick moments involve her, and what an absolute joy to have her back in these last few months.

182 (12/22 late)

Because I haven't learned anything in 13 years and it's too late to change now, I came charging out of the building and immediately booked a ticket for the late show. Doubles are not usually my thing, I've only ever done two before. But as we near the end, and especially after the last permit debacle, I feel compelled to wrap myself up in this place.

Aces were let in later than I've ever seen before - I was making my way down to the ballroom only to run into Lady Macduff already on her way back up.

Taylor is a wonderful Lady Macduff. She spends her last few minutes at home on top of the china cabinet rocking back and forth muttering the Hail Mary, which incidentally is how I spent the past two weeks. She also mumbles, "Daddy?" when she's drunk in the lobby.

The Christmas decorations made me pay attention to lighting in ways I never really have. The silhouette of Lady Macduff looking in the mirror against the warm light of her vanity lamp is A++.

I never noticed before that as Hecate prepares to rave you hear a swarm of birds approaching.

Goddamn, McNally Porter! I remember following him in the summer of 2012, and back then he called Agnes a bitch when she took the note back up to Hecate. This time he waved good-bye happily as she stormed off. Guess the years have mellowed him. He was also great fun to watch during the reset, which is not something I'm usually around for. He does a routine with his jacket and the mic stand similar to Mrs Vaudeville's coat act in Life and Trust.

I never noticed before that the horrifying seed pod flowers in the taxidermy case are grown in Hecate's apothecary.

I think the sixth floor is different now - I suspect because of fire marshall stuff. The route is more circuitous and the music plays for longer. The only reason I realized this was I was ready to get into the chair only to have my head thud against the wall. There are also pinpoints of light now, so it looks like the intro to The Twilight Zone.

You know, it's never really occurred to me what a miracle it is this place ever even came to be. I was looking at pictures from the nightclub days and thought, "Oh. The reason they set up a bar under the ballroom balcony during parties is there used to be one there." I think I just kind of figured this place was mythical, has stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. But obviously, logically, I have always known that not to be the case. And time marches on and thus must we all. We don't have to like it, just have to do it.

183 (1/26) early

This visit gave me Covid. It was worth it anyway. Mask up!

It's amazing and terrifying how precious ordinary things become right before we lose them. So many times this past week I've found myself staring into space thinking, "I want to remember how the strip of marble on the cash register in Paisley Sweets has the lower right corner cracked off. I want to remember how the portrait of the guy in Agnes' room looks like a president but I never figure out who he was. And the framed photo of two Black women on the desk. And the cookies in the Macduff apartment, and the baby Jesus with the bloody face. What if I forget the specific sound my feet made kicking a loose cobble on Gallow Green? All the ipecac. And the wafers in the fifth floor chapel. The thing in the apothecary that looks like a samovar, but why would it be? I have to remember remember remember oh god not ready not ready oh god."

Concurrent with that is the choking terror that I've done it all wrong. Why did I never warm up to Fulton? Why didn't I drink whiskey instead of martinis? (I know why: see Halloween 2016). Why didn't I do full loops instead of pinballing around all the time? Anyway, the conclusion I've come to is I have to put all that to bed. Let it go. I can't spend our last precious few hours clutching at things and talking to the walls and kissing every doorknob goodbye. Here's what it comes down to: This place and these people have been a massive, massive part of my life for a long, long time. I am deeply sad and deeply grateful. It has been a privilege. May we say goodbye with grace and joy.

All that said, this was a beautiful, full visit. Andrea was matron, so I figured it was as good a time as any to say goodbye to the hut. That was where this place first got its hooks into me, in May 2012, second visit, Mia Mountain/Matron saying, "No more tears. This will make you feel better." And goddamn if it didn't.

I'm not sure if this was intentional, but Andrea/Matron and Jenn P/Nurse both hold their fingers in the same position as the Infant of Prague statuette on the Macduff children's dresser.

This visit also marked goodbye to Hecate. I've never followed Gabrielle before but she's great. I used to have a way of remembering which way to run down the stairs after getting the note, because one side would put you with the porter, and the other would get you stuck on the wrong side of Lady Macduff's murder. It's been long enough since I got any Hecate 1:1s that I forgot which way it was, and I did indeed get stuck.

Banquo! One of my major regrets is never becoming a serious devotee of his. Pretty sure the woman literally breathing down my neck during the luggage solo was the one who gave me covid, so thanks, lady. I hadn't gotten the 1:1 in years - definitely not since reopening and probably not for a few years before that. It was nice to be able to say hello and goodbye to that room. I was happy to see they still had Rebecca's negligee. Those were happy days and I will go to my grave insisting that Danvers 100% DID SO slip a piece of ice into my boot that one time in like 2015.

Of COURSE the shot pheasants hanging in the porter's area are a The Birds reference. I also never noticed before that the porter (or someone associated with the hotel) is apparently named Norman, as evidenced on the letterhead by the lockers.

I checked to see if the scary baby doll is still there in its locker - thrilled to death to say it is.

So now here I am. In my childhood bedroom surrounded by lockets and masks and all the trappings of the thing that has been most precious to me for the last 13 years. In 24 hours it will be gone. I'm not feeling particularly articulate tonight, so I'll just reiterate what I said earlier. Thank you for the years, beloved old place. May we say goodbye with grace and gratitude.

-K

#sleep no more

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akechi-stole-my-heart · 2 years ago

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no more what ifs - a goro akechi meta

Inspired by a meta I reblogged a bit ago. It was really good and you should read it, as it serves as a good companion piece to this analysis, but it didn't analyze the song through the specific lens I personally believe it's meant to be seen through--that is, the Third Semester/Maruki's reality. Don't get me wrong, I think the song can be applied to Akechi in general, just that we can't truly understand the depths of its meaning unless we view it through the lens of what Akechi is feeling in the Third Semester. Needless to say, that's what I'll be doing here.

People come and they go Some people may stay with you though I am all alone tonight and I kept on Asking myself questions

Akechi has lived most of his life alone. People have come and gone temporarily, but no one has really stuck until Joker entered his life. (I don't think I need to make the case that it's Joker he's talking about when he says some people stay with you, I think it's pretty obvious it has to be him.) Joker, someone he can't comprehend, the only person he's let in. Akechi can't understand Joker, so naturally, he's constantly thinking of him, and why he's stuck with him when so many others haven't.

Conceited I was at time I never really doubted myself But tonight got me thinking about it all If I am the fool or what not

All Akechi can do in the Third Semester is think about his choices and his mistakes and wonder if he did the right thing and what led him here. He's been forced to live (for now) after everything he'd worked and lived for fell apart under him. He's reflecting on his past arrogance and how that blinded him.

"If I am the fool or what not" holds a double meaning. Akechi is doubting if he was a fool in the general sense, if he was made a fool for his plan of revenge. But he's also wondering if he was the Fool in the Persona sense of the word (something that will have a payoff at the end of the song).

I do not Regret with my choices I'm rather proud Ooh I know I won't change Anything Because I can only be me so

Akechi can't afford regret. To regret would be to admit that Maruki's ideal reality, where his choices were erased, has any hold on him. To regret would be to let go of the person he is and the person he has become.

Who Akechi really is is another topic that can be elaborated on ad nauseum, so I won't do that here. Maybe I'll do that another time when I finally write the meta about Akechi and agency that's been living in my head for a long while.

Suffice to say, Akechi believes his choices, his actions, his revenge, all define him. He refuses to let Maruki erase them just because they don't fit with his ideal reality. Akechi is fundamentally incompatible with everything Maruki stands for, and he knows it.

How can I be so sure? At a crossroads I'm afraid too But I can't let fear get the best of me Someone once said burn my dread babe

"Burn my dread" is a reference to a song from Persona 3. I haven't played the entire game as of yet, but Persona 3 is a game all about facing and accepting death. "Burn my dread" is a lyric that points to this theme, and the theme of facing one's fears head-on.

Akechi is dead. He knows this perhaps from the very moment he comes back to life. He certainly knows it for most of the Third Semester. He is dead, and to reject Maruki's reality, to embrace himself, is to face that death for the second time, and accept it. But Akechi can't let his fear of death stop him from making his choice. He will die on his own terms and "burn his dread."

Who knows what tomorrow holds? Just wanna live my life the way I want What fills up my soul is passionate Music that makes me want to sing

This is, yet again, Akechi asserting that he will be himself, that he will find meaning in life on his own terms, and that he will not let anyone other than himself define who he is or what he wants. Music is dynamic and complex, something that can express deep truths of one's soul. The Jazz Jin, a place of music, is Akechi's in a way very little else is. It's not Shido's puppet's, not the Detective Prince's, but Akechi's place of solitude and self reflection. It is the place he decides to share with Joker--in a way, he is baring his very soul to Joker. Letting him into his heart.

My story will be starring me just like yours ooh ooh Who knows when will it end What matters most is how you bring joy to life so

This is paying off the beginning of the song. Akechi is asserting that the world doesn't revolve around Joker. Goro is the Fool, he is the main character, he is not defined by anyone but himself and himself alone.

And the last two lines simply restate themes running throughout the song. Akechi is himself. He will accept his death when it comes, and he will not live by anyone's rules but his own.

No More What Ifs shows us the doubt that Akechi rarely expresses that runs deep to his core. Wondering if he made a mistake in isolating himself, wondering if Joker was right all along, wondering if and how things might have gone wrong.

But Akechi can't let himself doubt for long. He always comes back to that certainty that he can't be anyone but himself. He can't let anyone change him. He can't let go of who he is, not for anything. The song is full of him reassuring himself of his path--that no matter what, he will not regret. He can't afford it. He will not waver from his path.

Now, more than ever, after being faced with the consequences of his mistakes and being offered an out, Akechi has to assert his free will and defy Maruki. And that's what this song expresses.

#sera posts #goro akechi #akechi goro #p5r #p5r spoilers #akeshu #shuake #sera talks goro

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o-uncle-newt · 2 months ago

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THREE: it's just really good for mental health

I've been saying I'd post this and now that I have a nice long day with not much to do, I will- not that I haven't posted about this before. Honestly, one of the most important things to me about Cabin Pressure is that it has a power, shared with very few other things (among them incidentally are one or two key Double Acts), to make me smile/feel better about pretty much anything, no matter how dire, at least for half an hour- and with at least a bit of "afterglow" so to speak lol.

But I've written about it here, and here, and here and here... probably other places too. And I think the thing that impresses me the most is that, so often when I share this, I get loads of people telling me exactly the same thing. I don't know what it is exactly- is it just the comedy? The characters, who are over the top enough not to be IMMEDIATELY identifiable but still relatably human? The clever plots that you can get lost in? The heart and warmth and care? Probably a combination of all of these things.

You'll see some of the more specific examples of the above for me in the links in the prior paragraph, so I'll move on, possibly to a TMI extent, to a more specific thing, that might not surprise people- the impact of Arthur Shappey's Guide to Happiness on me. JF has said, I think, that it's a principle he genuinely holds by, and I know that lots of people agree that it's something that really hits you. And it really hit me too.

So I'll talk a bit about my own journey with it- shifting from being an Arthur to being a Martin (or trying to be). As in, this has concretely helped me become a happier/better person.

I am not exaggerating when I say that every therapist I've ever seen has heard of Cabin Pressure and John Finnemore, and I'm pretty sure all of them have seen the above video from Fitton. Now, like a lot of other people, I really glommed on to the whole idea about how if you expect happiness to come from the big things then you'll end up disappointed when they don't measure up, so find smaller things that will give you smaller pockets of joy in your every day.

Without going into excessive detail, the last few years have been tough for me in some ways. At the time, I was in a terrible work environment that had serious ramifications for my personal life. And I kept on listening to that clip and being like "well yes I can make this better with self care" or whatever. And it did- I'd say it was more make this bearable but at the time that was still a lot.

At one point I was talking to my therapist and she was asking if I felt happy. And I said that on a day to day level I was enjoying myself (there were fun parts of my job, it was a larger situation that was the problem), but that I still often felt really miserable. She asked why and I thought about it and was like- I keep doing random little things but nothing is getting better. I'm still in the same situation I was last week, last month, and last year, and this is lulling me into complacency when the underlying root of the problem hasn't been fixed at all.

So my therapist asked me- what do you mean by complacency? Does that mean you're feeling better/happier than you have been? And I had to think about it but I could definitely say- yes, I was. I'd tried new foods, taken great trips, read interesting books, and had a lot of little pops of enjoyment. The difference was that now that wasn't enough anymore. Then my therapist asked me- "but don't you realize how huge that is? That you're past the hump where something small is the best you can hope for?" And she was right.

The way I think about it, that placement of the clip in Fitton, no matter what JF meant by putting it there and no matter whether he had anything that came later in mind when he did it, ended up just working beautifully. Like, it makes sense that this is coming from Arthur- he's the character who changes the least. He doesn't have to, much, and while I won't go so far as to say he doesn't have the capacity to, even if he did he has a lot of people who are protective of him because they don't think he has the capacity to. He enjoys his life. He doesn't really have any problems and the dreams that he sees as within his reach (aka, not being a "muppet baby pilot") are, for him, on par with the pleasure he gets from throwing an apple back and forth.

It's why Arthur is a great character- he's a reminder of something simpler in all of us. I don't think he's relatable at all, and that's a good thing- what we really love is the way Arthur makes us feel. He's so non-self-absorbed that in the few moments where his equanimity is shaken up, he's so thrown off kilter that we, who are more used to dealing with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, want to jump in front to protect him from them. We value the simplistic way in which he sees our goodness, because to us, things are more complicated.

But that complication is a good thing! That's what allows us to be more than and better than what we currently are, eventually. That can be really hard- especially when we're brought low, to take the work to improve things for ourselves can feel impossible. It can take love and support, it can take grit, and it can take an existing base of self-regard, but it can be done. Arthur may not need to, but we do.

At the same time, we learn something important from Arthur, and in particular Martin does in Fitton. (Douglas too, but with a different kind of application.) Martin thinks he's where he wants to be, but he KNOWS he isn't- he's not being paid, he's constantly bullying, and the facade he puts on is doing nothing to earn him the kind of respect that his essentially-purchased title should, in theory, entitle him to. To him, the way to get through it is to grit his teeth and keep on pretending, assume that if he carries on as he is (knowing that he's not good enough yet but still trying anyway) then he'll end up making it. But that just makes him more uptight and difficult, in the end.

What Arthur recognizes is that you DO need those little bits of happiness to make the big ones doable! If Martin is going to keep on trying for the big breaks, he'll inevitably fail at least some of the time (in his case, far more lol) and that will just dump him even farther down than he started. You start to curse the wind, because at a certain point you're trying to control forces that are uncontrollable and that will never guarantee happiness, just give you a potential chance at it. Once you've appreciated the smaller things that you CAN control, and you boost your mood and mentality that way, you start to recognize that maybe you can move past where you are. That you can get both the little things, the apple-tossing and singing, as well as the new big things you are striving for.

Arthur will never need to go past that first thing- the character as constructed has no interest in it. But as much as he doesn't understand the END of Martin's journey except when paraphrased for him in the terms of various movies (not all of which he actually understands), he understands the beginning more than Martin does- that he needs to have the small happinesses to build him up and make him be ready for whatever else comes his way.

Because here's the thing- if we all lived like Arthur, we'd never be with the loves of our lives in the moonlight, would we? We'd be worried it could go wrong or we wouldn't fully appreciate it, and anyway everyone would love us as much as we want to be loved already, and we'd be too busy soaking in the bath to care about the other thing. But the non-Arthurs of us are resilient enough to WANT the loves of our lives (well, on average- plenty of people don't but they wiil have their own equivalent bigger-picture and higher-stakes wants) and, as a result, to be willing to take the risk of it not being everything we immediately want it to be. But, if it's NOT what we want it to be, Arthur wisely knows that we need to make sure we have a cushion of smaller happinesses to fall back on in the meantime, to build us up until we can try again.

With credit to my therapist, I have to say that this reimagining of the Arthur/Martin paradigm and Martin's journey vs Arthur's stasis in Cabin Pressure has stayed with me- reminding me to give myself the smaller boosts I need as I take bigger leaps and really choose the goals that I care about. I'm in a different job that is a better situation, and while I still have plenty of problems, I've learned to find ways to balance them out with the smaller things that make life worth living as I try to overcome them more essentially and hopefully permanently. In the meanwhile, I have Arthur to help.

#cabin pressure #john finnemore #cabin pressure advent #cabin pressure advent 2024 #cabin pressure advent 2024 tenth anniversary edition #fitton

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