#i made this graphic for Webtoon!

[retellingthehobbit]

The next chapter of my comic adaptation of The Hobbit will be posted on August 13th! It will be the last "normal" chapter of the comic before we reach the five extra-long "finale" chapters.

[theartofknightjj]

Happy Halloween and HAPPY 10 YEARS since I drew these two for the very first time!! 🎃💚💜

I drew the first characters of Les Normaux exactly 10 years ago today during a livestream. They were just 3 sets of monster couples drawn spontaniously for fun! I could’ve never ever imagined where that night would lead me 10 years later.

It feels crazy yet poetic that so soon these two will have their own /published/ book in bookstores. What a way to celebrate 🥹✨

But ofcourse I had to also come on here and embarras myself by posting my oooold art so I could redraw them! So here are 2024, 2014 and a bonus 2017 redraw of the boys. (Will be redrawing Ronnie and Drew later dw!!)

Thank you all for loving them for this long. So excited for this next chapter in their story!! 🐰✨

[sugarcandydoll]

finished reading lore olympus vol.4 n i thought i already had vol.5 in my book stack but i don't!!! ♡😭💕

[kiku91]

(Oh frick there actually is a tag limit so my last ten to twenty tags got cut off!) but basically the last part was talking about how all the characters I write, even the fanfiction (non original) characters, get a little piece of my heart. This post was me drabbling about a shelved original project that I stopped working on years ago, and I was having big feelings at 3 am because of this post

leitmotifs never get old to me like holy shit dude there’s this melody that corresponds to this one guy and if you hear the melody it means the guy is there. holy shit. and sometimes it refers to ideas too not just guys. has anyone heard about this

[loujestrous325]

sometimes your past demons/lh truly come to haunt you via e-mail reminders

[staytinyville]

Kiss a Girl

↣ Summary: When Bang Chan is finally over a break up, he comes across someone that seemed to make things feel like he was a high schooler again.

↣ Characters/Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

↣ Genre: fluff

↣ AU/Trope info: idol!au, webtoon artist!reader, foreign!reader, post break-up, song inspired fic

↣ Word Count: 2.9k

↣ Warnings: none

↣ A/N: I am from Texas where country songs are just a must. I grew up on like 2000s country songs and will always go back to them lol. But I heard Keith Urban while I was in the store the other day and was like. This is giving Bang Chan. Could it be because they are both Australian? Quite possibly. But TBH I do wanna hear Bang Chan sing one of Keith Urban’s songs. 

Staytinyville’s Permanent Taglist

↣ Affiliates: @cultofdionysusnet , @k-labels , @k-vanity

↣ Special Thanks: Thank you @saradika-graphics for the amazing banners! Please go check her out if you have specific banners in mind. She is great!

You have been in Korea for the past month doing some things for a work project you would never have thought to be possible. You were just a simple college kid a couple years ago who enjoyed making comics about a couple OC you created years ago. When the story became a hit around the world it garnered a lot of attention. 

Especially TV companies that were asking you if they could create your story into a series. 

You, being someone who was studying in the entertainment industry, agreed they could use it so long as you were allowed to work on the project with them. Your credits in college really help to put them along for the ride. Now you were going to be living in Korea for a bit until production finished and the whole series came out on the TV. 

In the past month, you had made some good friends with the people you worked with. There were A-list actors who enjoyed your company and sometimes would invite you out to go drinking with them. While you did enjoy going with them, you found yourself attached to your translator a lot more compared to them. 

It was easy to find people who spoke English, especially in the area you were working in. But the way your translator had to stick closer to you than others, you both found yourselves becoming close friends. And for them, as someone who worked closely in an industry that called for a lot of high ends, they were the ones who often took you out to fancy places where normal people would only wait years to get reservations. 

“This is a very classy spot.” You told your friend as you looked around the club. 

“It's a very high end club.” Your friend/translator told you. “Like only a select few people can get in.”

You laughed out loud. “How did you pull it off then?” You asked. 

“Did you forget where it is that we work at?” They laughed. “Of course we are going to get the best stuff. Just gotta be careful because they will make us sign NDA.” They deadpanned at the end. 

You laughed even louder. You glanced around for a moment to find where the bar was, easily spotting it along with a crowd. Just as you were about to head in that direction, you froze for a moment just as someone passed in front of you.

You let out a polite excuse me, bowing your head just a bit. The person looked at you oddly for a moment before giving you a small smile and telling you it was alright. When the man began to walk away, you tried to keep a neutral face, but were secretly panicking inside over you had just ran into. 

“Bro!” You gasped quietly, smacking your friend’s arm. “Did I just see Yugyeom? Like the idol?” You gushed. 

“Probably.” They looked over your shoulders, frowning as they nodded. “This is a popular club for idols because it's so exclusive.”

“Why would you bring me here?” You looked at them wide eyed, feeling like you were going to make a fool of yourself and risk a lot of things. 

“This is where a lot of people in the entertainment industry come when they want to experience normal things. Like a club.” They explained to you. “This place is also really popular with the younger generations. You’ll probably come across a couple of people winding down from promotions and stuff.”

You did in fact see a couple of more idols. Your friend was the one who explained to you who was in attendance at the club for the ones you weren’t able to pick out right away. There was a good amount of older people as well, at least at the bar. 

Once you got a drink in, you dragged your friend out to dance, laughing as songs you weren’t able to make out the words to blasted on the speakers. WIth how much your smile seemed to stretch across your face, other people began to notice you. Many of them were much to shy or reserved to go out and dance along with you but there were a few who wanted to feel your excitable energy. 

“Hello.” A girl smiled while talking in English, coming into your closer circle. 

“Hi.” You beamed, holding your hands out to grab onto hers. “Come dance!” You swung her arms around as you tried your best to not look like a fool. 

But it seemed the more others drank and the night went on, you didn’t have to worry much about that. Things would never change once people had alcohol in their systems to make them let loose just a bit. 

With you dancing along with the girl, a lot more came to join your side as your contagious positive attitude had an effect on others around you. 

“Like this.” The girl laughed, trying to copy your silly jumps.

“Yes!” You laughed, trying to get others to dance as well. 

Just as a large crowd was beginning to form on the dance floor, there were others going around and enjoying their time with friends. There was an idol who had just arrived after finally getting out of his post-break-up slump. He was ready to get back out there and mingle with new people after being in a mental blockage when it came to friends. 

His bandmates had gotten him to agree to going out with his closer friends that weren’t any of them. They had other things to do, which did make him a bit upset but as they had told him, he had a life outside of them as well. 

“Chan!” Yugyeom hugged the man’s side. “Look at you! Finally out.” He said, showing him towards where the others of the group were. 

“I don't know.” Chan nodded to himself. “I'm ready to be out.” He said. 

“For once and it's not in the studio.” Another one of their friends teased, lightly punching Chan in the arm. 

The Australian laughed, looking around the club he had not been to in a while. He took in the large crowd that was going on around the dance floor. 

“There's a foreigner?” He furrowed his eyebrows, turning to the others. 

“She's cute!” A friend called out. “Been dancing and getting others to join. Seems social.” He added. 

“I'm going to go ask her to dance.” Yugyeom called out, going to join the crowd. 

Once others saw the boy coming down to stand next to the floor, everyone else seemed to join as well, having you get sucked into the crowd that was chanting as songs continued. Yugyeom came up to you giving you a smile as he caught your attention. 

“Dance?” He asked you.

“Oh, sure!?” You nodded your head, moving to turn and face him as his song started to play. You laughed watching as he tried to explain to you the dance moves that came along with it. 

You kept laughing, cheeks hurting from the fun you were having. You hadn’t really gotten the chance to experience something like this back home. You have been to bars but the energy isn’t the same as a club that was meant to pump people full of adrenaline. You enjoyed the atmosphere, it helped your need to be social. 

“Yes.” Yugyeom gushed in English that had an accent. “Like that. Good!” He gave you thumbs up to show that you were correct. 

You laughed at his way of trying to speak to you. You waved him off, telling him thank you in Korean which made him laugh even more. He tried to have a conversation with you, but you laughed most of it and tried to explain to him he needed to speak slowly in order for you to understand just a bit more. 

When a new song came on, you hadn’t noticed someone else coming up to your side. All you did was turn to face the DJ stand as you began to sing to Stray Kids TOPLINE. You laughed as those around you began to do the same, in your own world. You turned to the person next to you, shouting out lyrics as you both gave off the same energy. 

You started singing louder when you noticed it had been Bang Chan singing along with you. The chorus came around and you fully turned to give him your attention, trying to keep up. Bang Chan felt something in his chest as he danced with you to his own song. It wasn’t that he was proud, it was just that he seemed to be content with how you didn’t seem phased with who he was. 

When the song came to an end, you clapped for Bang Chan, giving him a dazzling smile that made him turn his lips up. 

“You know Stray Kids!?” He asked you, shouting over the speakers. 

“No, who are they!?” You shouted back, face looking serious. 

You almost laughed at how Bang Chan’s eyes went wide and he looked at a loss for words. “I'm just kidding. It's really nice to meet you.” You gushed, bowing your head.

“Oh, you don't need to bow.” Chan awkwardly giggled. “It's okay.”

“I got used to it here!” You told him, coming to stand up straight. 

“Would you like to sit with me?” He asked you after a moment.

Your eyebrows raised, eyes wide as you took in his question. Looking just around him, you noticed your friend quickly nodding their heads, telling you to accept the offer. 

“Am I allowed to?” You laughed.

He thought about it for a moment, looking over at his group of friends. “Ah, if you don't tell anyone.” Chan chuckled. 

“Sounds like a risk.” You hummed. “I'll take it.” The smile you had made Chan a bit dizzy.

It had been so long since he had seen someone look at him that way. He had a ton of people look at him that way actually, but never to someone who made it seem like they just wanted to be friends. Chan had no problems with hookups, but it was refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t over him because they knew him. 

You did know him–sure–but you were taking into account who he was which made you a bit cautious. While it was normal for others to be that way, you weren’t scared of talking to him like you had been friends for years. 

When he showed you where his friend group were, you laughed a little at how they seemed to begin hollering when Chan brought you over. 

“Don't listen to them.” He shook his head. 

“Even if I did, I don't think I'd understand much.” You told him honestly. 

“Are you visiting then?” Chan asked, allowing you to sit down first before he sat in front of you. 

The music was much quieter in the area, but you figured it had to do with the fact that the table was sectioned off in the VIP. They had their own bar as well, classy stuff. 

“It's for work. I'm going to be here for a few months.” You answered him. “I did study what I could but I still need people to talk slowly.” You explained. 

“Ah, I see. I see. Lucky you, I speak English.” He laughed. 

“Even if you didn't, I'd try my best.” You nodded your head. “Miss the chance to speak with Bang Chan? Mega producer who’s part of 3RACHA?” You gushed, making his face turn red. 

“I wouldn't say mega.” Chan shrugged, getting bashful. 

“I mean I don't know.” You pursed your lips in thought. “The Scoville scale is out here close to blowing up.” You laughed. 

Chan bursted out laughing, cheeks hurting from how much he was stretching them. “You're cool.” He told you. 

“Why thank you!” You waved him off. “I pride myself on being cool.” You said.

“Han would like you.”

“Just going to drop bandmates on me as if I'm not freaking out on the inside.” You suddenly said, making him laugh. 

“You and I both.” Chan answered truthfully. 

“No! Please don't! It's all cool!” Your eyes went wide hearing his confession.

You both spent a good hour sitting at the table laughing about stories that would come up or just things about the other’s life. Chan hadn’t noticed when his friends would get up to get more drinks or when they would go out to dance. And they didn’t want to disrupt you two either, eyeing each other with smirking as they teased the poor boy behind his back. 

Before you knew it, you were telling your friend that you would be heading back to your temporary home with Chan as company. They gave Chan a thankful smile, bowing down in respect for someone of higher standard. But they told you to be careful, having gotten used to you always telling others that whenever they would leave. 

You found yourself outside some plaza eating Tteokbokki from a small restaurant outside on the sidewalk. The night was nice and cool, leaving you in a refreshed feeling after having danced in the hot club. Chan was laughing at you struggling to get the rice cake on your chopsticks. 

“Why would you eat it like that!?” He laughed, covering his mouth.

“I can't pick it up with the chopsticks!” You exclaimed, stabbing the rice cake treat with both chopsticks so it looked like you were at least eating them correctly. You managed to put it in your mouth before looking up at Chan who was pursing his lips. 

“Don't look at me like that!” You gushed, smile on your face. 

“It's like this.” He moved closer to you, trying to get you to hold the chopsticks correctly. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t know how to use them, it was just that trying to pick up slippery food proved to be harder than you cared to admit. 

“I'm trying!” You exclaimed, moving closer to him as he kept trying to put some food on your chopsticks. 

As you were moving to place it in your mouth, the slippery cake fell from your utensils and onto the floor. “My Tteokbokki!” You cried out.

“Ok fine. Keep stabbing it.” Chan laughed, giving up.

Next thing you knew the night had come to an end and Chan had walked you to the building you were staying at. He had his hands in his pockets, looking up at the tall apartment building before giving you a kind smile. 

“This is me.” You told him. “I had a great time.” You confessed. 

“Me too.” Chan smiled softly. “Thank you for coming out with me.” He added. 

You laughed as your face flushed red. “Of course. Thank you for inviting.” You told him. 

“Ah. I guess I'll see you.” Chan nodded his head, shoulders dropping for just a moment. 

“Yeah.” You nodded your head, soft smile on your face. “I had a really great time. I mean it—thank you for taking me out. Only could ever dream of something like that.” You told him honestly. 

“Yeah.” Chan thought about something for a moment, which made you stop from going in completely. “Ah, is it okay if I ask for your number?” He asked you.

“I mean for me it is but is it for you?” You joked once more. 

“Sounds like a risk. I'll take it.” He mocked you from earlier.  

“You know though, I really don't want to make you sign an NDA.” He quickly added after you both traded numbers. 

“To kiss and tell is just not my style.” You sang off, grinning from ear to ear. 

Chan laughed for a moment, understanding your joke. “But the night is young and it's been a while.” He played along. 

“Ah, you know it! Wasn't expecting you to honestly.” You told him.

“I'm a music producer—I listen to a lot of things. Besides, it's kinda relatable.” He smiled a little, looking down as he took in a calming breath. 

You weren’t going to ask about it, it wasn’t your place. You knew what the song was about–it was one you had heard since you were a little kid. Besides, Chan was an idol who had secrets to keep from the public. That was one of the first things you had to get used to when moving to Korea and working in the entertainment industry. 

“Then I'm happy to be that girl you wanna kiss.” You joked, thinking about the rest of the song.

“I wouldn't go that far.” He laughed, shaking his head. 

You gasped, eyes going wide at the scene you had just made. “Making me sound like a fool then. Ah, forget about it.” You said in a rush, face red from actual embarrassment this time. 

“No, I don't think I will.” Chan hummed, stepping closer to you. 

You watched him step closer, feeling your heart stop for just a moment as he placed his lips against your cheek. “Goodnight, (Y/N).” He told you softly.

“Goodnight Chan.” You smiled. 

You waved him off, turning around when a cold breeze blew past you. He continued on his journey towards his car parked in the front of the building. 

“I wanna kiss a girl. I wanna hold her right. Maybe make a little magic under the moonlight.” You sang to yourself, nodding your head along to the nonexistent beat you were playing in your head. 

“Don't wanna go too far just to take it slow. But I shouldn't be lonely in this big ol world. I wanna kiss a girl.” Chan quietly sang to himself as he walked home. 

Permanent Taglist: @hecateslittlewitchling , @ldysmfrst , @rln-byg , @vampcharxter , @angieskzzzz , @puppyminnnie , @marvel-potter-1d-korea , @smilingtokki

[rattlebear25]

Part 1. Finally my Lucifer x Lilith Comic is almost ready! I made a good number of pages but I need to insert some scenes to make the plot smooth and adjust some graphic details. I will add some changes to the final parts. This comic is a fan prequel of Hazbin Hotel (and also Helluva Boss) and contains suggestive content, headcanons and canon stuff related to Heaven's society and characters, also OCs.

Poipiku Vers. because Webtoon deleted my comic despite there was nothing of explicit and i said that the story contains some suggestive content idk

••• Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Finale •••

[gardenofnoah]

turn me like a beast / hold you to the floor

tags: nanami kento x reader, princess!reader, violence, injuries (minor), non-graphic descriptions of hunting, medium burn, sort of enemies to lovers but mostly scared strangers to unfortunate lovers, the fall of a dynasty, character death (sorry), reincarnation, bittersweet ending. mdni.

wc: 6.5k ish

notes: for @medusashima’s collab—indulging myself (and y’all) in my take on one of my favorite stories. i hope you like it 💘 this is based on the tale of the two fossils found wrapped up in each other in an unlikely pairing (which is made even better by the fact that it is not fiction and it happened!! love is real nerd!!). there’s a really phenomenal webtoon called burrow (by saige9) that makes me cry and that y’all should read immediately. anyway, enjoy. love u

summary: the world is at its end, and an unlikely pair finds solace in each other. to love is an animal thing.

it shocks you, how gentle a tug it takes to unravel everything that you were. only a thing between two others—before: a princess on a hill, the unraveling, and who you’ll be after.

your feet stomp clumsily over dirt and jagged rock—softened soles split open easily with each stride. but, ever your grandmother's frightened little rabbit, not even that searing pain is enough to thwart you in your descent down the hill—away from what is surely certain death. nothing but the animal need to survive pushing you forward—to get to whatever comes next.

it happened too fast—the only way a dynasty can fall to those privileged enough not to notice the slow decline of the society around them until it's too late. your family spoke of pockets of uprisings as if they were fictitious and theoretical—some grandiose, far away prediction of the old crone that haunted the village below your compound, and certainly not the men concealed by shade of trees that had been pruned by your family for centuries, salivating but patient for the perfect moment to strike.

and then they were dead. all of them but you.

a childhood of exploring the grounds of your family home proves useful in knowing without much thought which paths lead farthest from the carnage at your back, but your fright makes you uncoordinated—mechanical in your stride. the price to stop for even a second is far too high, and the hounds that howl after you in the dark serve as a constant reminder of the consequence of hesitation. so, bruised and bleeding, you keep on.

you run until your lungs threaten to collapse and then on farther. your feet carry you through unfamiliar wood, but in your rush, your brain rationalizes that the repercussions of trespassing cannot be much worse than what's behind you. and that seems to be the truth—right up until the real consequence drops out of the tree above you and pins you to the earth below, a blade to your throat.

gritted teeth snap too close to your face. you hear a deep voice—maybe a deeper threat, something to raise the hair on the back of your neck if you could only focus on the words. the world spins and your mind struggles to make sense of the sudden stop in motion, but something far more animal inside you decides that it's had enough. against any remaining survival instinct, you feel all tension bleed from your body—the stranger's face comes into clearer view right as you go limp underneath him. resignation wins out—your limbs wouldn't move if you pleaded with them to.

blond eyebrows meet hairline as your attacker is caught off guard by your forfeiture. "what are you—"

once distant howls growing nearer cut him off. he looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowed at something he cannot yet see. you watch from outside yourself as he turns back toward you. dark eyes meet your own and you see the decision make itself—in one instant you are free of his bodyweight, and in the next you are weightless as he hauls you over his shoulder.

he makes it no more than 10 feet down the path before the last bit of adrenaline leaves you and is replaced by a sudden, blinding pain with no identifiable source. you feel it everywhere—all of the seemingly inconsequential injuries catching up with you now that you've stopped moving. the receding tree line is the last thing you see before the world goes dark.

.

..

the warmth that surrounds you is decadent. you curl into it, reluctant to break the spell of sleep. but then you remember.

you shoot upright, sending at least three layers of blankets rolling off of you. you pinch the fabric of the top one between your fingers—alpaca. not native, but farmed here over the last century or so. you know (and had been told) that it was unbecoming of a princess to hold so much commonplace knowledge. but then again, status matters little now, and this blanket is soft. you're grateful to know the beast it was made from.

it hurts, but you coax your head into swiveling around to survey your surroundings, surprised when you find that it's very clearly someone's home. it's old—some of the wooden boards that line the walls have started to bow against the nails that drove them into the framework of the house, and daylight peaks through the cracks. the bed you rest in can barely be called that—an old futon cushion atop bundles of straw. but it's warm, and you slept. someone has been taking care of you. the thought is sobering; the anxiety that comes with it is enough to hold you to the bed for the foreseeable future.

but your stomach growls, and the bodily betrayal forces you to move. you do it slowly, kicking both feet out from under the blankets. to see them bandaged is startlingly unexpected.

your memories until now are fuzzy at best, but the last thing you distinctly recall is the feeling of sharpened metal biting into your skin. there are few ways you can fathom connecting the dots from that moment to this—swaddled in blankets with your wounds tended to. it leaves you on edge.

on two feet, you sway a bit—the hunger feeds the vertigo that spins the surroundings in your peripheral. one hand braced on the bed now behind you, you blink until things settle. you take a step forward, and the pain is shocking—your feet are clearly more injured than they'd felt at the time, but there is only one way out of this room. you press on.

the heavy wooden door opens into a one room cottage. it's old, and not in the well-loved and well-lived way—the dilapidated structure and lack of any real homely qualities tells you immediately that it's current inhabitant is more of a recent opportunist than a longtime homemaker. that distinction mattered little now, though, and you suppose you should be grateful for your stranger's resourcefulness.

you creep further into the room without a sound until you find yourself in the middle of it. crouched and defensive, until the realization hits you—you see all four walls and are perplexed to find that you are completely alone.

the room is little more than a crooked wooden table and a futon pad on the floor. there are remnants of a fireplace in the center of the room—mortar and brick crumbling up wooden slats toward the roof, but still useful with still-burning embers inside. truly, it's more primitive than livable—there are weapons and tools strung up along the wooden panels of the walls, and animal hides hang in any space between metal and wood. but it's warm, and it's a reminder of what is at stake. what should spur anxiety brings only confusion—when cost of survival is so high, why add another body to the burden?

you forget yourself until the heavy fall of footsteps outside the door reignites your adrenaline. you watch, wide eyed and frozen, as the door picks a fight with whoever is on the other side of it. a weight smacks solidly into it once, twice, and a third time before it opens with a heavy groan. in the daylight, your captor is revealed to you.

hard eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, and then narrow in suspicion. you're still as he takes in all of you, and suddenly very aware of the nightgown you escaped your home in, still hanging off your body. you fight the urge to withdraw into yourself—you know it’s not the time to cower.

he eyes you for a moment more, and then drops a heavy pack on the floor next to him, and busies himself with unloading. you watch as he pulls out tools that look unfamiliar to you—though you suppose any tool would. it's not as if you or your family ever had a need for them.

you watch him work and are surprised to find that he's...handsome. jaw set at a hard angle with scars that wrap around the slope of one side, he's rugged in a way you'd never been taught to find appealing. he is unlike the men that sought after your hand with promises of riches and comfortable living. he is unlike anyone you've seen before, truthfully.

"um—"

"is there something you need?"

his coldness stuns you for a moment. you're not sure what you were expecting—you'd no real reason to anticipate any kindness from the man, but the care by which your feet were wrapped had led your mind in that foolish direction anyway.

you fight the urge to draw your limbs into yourself like a startled turtle. "oh—i just. wanted to thank you, i suppose. for helping me."

he looks up from his sorting to meet your eyes, and the disdain in them feels like a physical wound. he drops the tool in his hand with a sharp thud against the floor, and it makes you jump.

"once you've healed, you will leave."

you exhale sharply. it makes sense, of course—it is no small ask of him to allow you to stay even until you're healed. even so, the reality of the world that awaits you carries a weight to it—it lurks around the periphery of the tiny cabin, waiting for you to poke your head out.

then comes the loss—the blood that still stains your fingertips and the hem of your nightgown. you bow your head—out of shame or grief, you're not sure—and turn on your heel, right back into the room you came from. you shut the door behind you quietly, and you don't make it to the bed. you sink to your haunches and gravity pins you there, head in hands as your mind reintroduces you to each of the ghosts that now have a tight grip on both your ankles.

.

..

it's dark when you emerge, once again driven by hunger or thirst, or some other base need to stay alive despite every glaring sign not to.

you commit yourself to stealth—to staying out of your stranger's way, as much as you can before you take your leave. the dark of the cabin hides you in your trek out of your hiding place—unfortunately, it also hides the solid object on the floor, laid directly in front of your door. your foot catches it and it clangs, the metallic echo ringing in your ears.

you curse under your breath, bending down to feel around in the blackness for whatever you hit. you startle when your fingers hit something unexpectedly soft. you squint, and suck in a breath when you realize what you're holding—a piece of bread. rather, half of a loaf, with a cut of meat nearby, on the metal plate that you’d kicked. you blink, like if you do it enough, the mirage will dissipate and leave only dark wood behind. but it doesn't—the bread gives some as your fingers squeeze around it as if to test it's trustworthiness. you decide to stop looking the gift horse in its mouth, and recede back the dark of your room, food in hand.

.

..

oddly enough, it becomes a regular occurrence. you grow accustomed to expecting a plate of food by your door every night—a seemingly ironic luxury, given your reality now. you hardly see your stranger—you've no idea when he has the opportunity to leave food by your door unnoticed, give his penchant for absence. puzzling still is that the food you're given varies, as if he intends for you to have a fully balanced diet in the middle of a societal collapse.

he doesn’t stop at the food, either—after a few nights spent in your room, he makes his first real appearance in the daylight. a knock at your door rouses you from what’s become a habit of mid-afternoon naps, in lieu of staring at the splintered walls of what was quickly beginning to feel like a cage instead of a place of healing. you pull the door open to find your stranger towering over you—leering down at you with the same discontent he had before. only now, he holds something in his hands, and extends them to you.

“there’s a stream at the edge of the boundary.”

he thrusts what’s in his hands to yours, and you realize that it’s clothing���not in the best shape, but certainly better than the blood-crusted nightgown you still wear. he says no more, and for once you’re grateful for his curt demeanor. he turns on his heel and stalks out of the cabin, back to whatever the outside world has to offer him. after a moment, you follow his path, for the first time since you’d arrived.

it stuns you for a moment, how sinister the land looked in the dark, and how different it looks now. the sun shines hot down on the wheatgrass that sways gently in the breeze. it picks up a lock of your hair and you feel lighter with it.

you walk where you assume you should—down a thinly-worn path between the grass. you find it eventually: a small stream, just wide and deep enough for you to bathe in if you crouch. you turn your head to each side, squinting in your search for prying eyes—you find no one, but it’s still wholly uncomfortable to undress in the open like this.

your reservations leave you the minute you step into the water. warmed by the sun with a sweeping current, you let out a guttural moan that would’ve certainly earned you a chastising from your grandmother for its crudeness. you can’t help it—the caked on dirt and grime dissolves under your fingers and leaves you feeling better than you ever have. there is a slight sting in the soles of your feet—that it is slight is surprising to you, and a harrowing reminder of the clock that continues to tick out of your favor.

.

..

days bleed into weeks. your feet heal earlier than you expect them too, and the guilt you carry is worse than the wound. you know you’ve reached the end of your stay, but you can’t get yourself to leave. not when your stranger still insists on taking care of you. the anticipation is sickening—instead of sitting and waiting to be shooed away, you decide to earn your stay. hard work for someone who’d never worked a day, but the determination proves stronger than the fatigue.

you clean. it’s the only thing you can think to do, and truthfully, it’s necessary. you haul water in old containers on your shoulder from the stream, and you wash the dust away until the floors shine and the windows are clear again. you do this everyday—finding something to clean and fixating on it until the sun reaches the other side of the horizon. today is no different—you set your sights on the ash in the fireplace, using a metal pan to scoop it into a stray tarp to carry outside when you’re done.

you’re almost finished when you hear the now familiar sound of boots scraping the stone outside. you tense, but you don’t stop, pulling another pile of stale smelling soot onto the tarp as your stranger opens the door. you hear him stop behind you, but you don’t turn.

“what are you doing?” the tone is not as harsh as you’re used to—a little fatigued, mostly inquisitive.

“cleaning,” you say softly, pulling up at each corner of the canvas and watching the ash collide into neat little heaps in the center, “i’m almost done—i’ll be out of your way.”

you get to your feet, discard in hand, and turn to look at him. his strong brow furrows as he looks at you, like there’s something about what he sees that he can’t understand. against your best interest, your curiosity gets the better of you.

“i’m sorry, it’s just—i never learned your name.”

the look he levels you with makes you wish you’d never asked. his expression gives away nothing, but it tells you enough.

“how are your feet?”

your stomach drops—all of your attempts at earning your place for naught after all. but you stand in front of him now—to lie to him would be foolish at best.

you can barely raise your voice above a whisper. “healed.”

he studies you for a moment more, and it’s too much for you. your eyes fall to a crack in the floor, and distantly you wish you’d shrink down to slip inside of it, never to be seen again.

“tomorrow i will show you how to trap.” he gruffs, finality lacing his tone. your eyes snap to his but he’s already turning, half way out the door before he stops. he turns his head, eyeing you over his shoulder.

“kento,” he mutters, barely audible and strange meeting your ears, “my name is kento.”

and then he’s gone again—leaving you standing there with a hand full of dirt and no way to discern your left from right as your world tilts on its axis, if only slightly—but noticeable and disruptive all the same.

.

..

you don’t sleep well that night—startled out of a twilight sleep in what appears to be the dark hours of the morning by the rapping of knuckles on your door. kento nods to you in a greeting of his own, turning swiftly on his heel and heading toward the front door. you follow him dutifully, pulling over your shoulders the blanket you’d snagged before you left the warmth of your bed for the chill of the morning. the grass is cool and dewey under your bare feet, and it’s a quiet luxury you find yourself reveling in as you pad along behind him. you can hardly see him in the dark and yet you keep up, somehow—you know there’s too much at stake to lag behind.

true to his word, he teaches you how to trap. solely by doing—few words are exchanged between you as he trudges into the stream and hauls out a weaved basket attached to a rope, fastened to the shoreline by a stray branch. the light that creeps over the horizon begins to illuminate his work—silvery tails gleam as they flick back and forth from inside the cage. you know better than to be sad, but you feel it anyway. it’s silly to feel a kinship with the creatures, not even sentient enough to know that there is no escape for them—but you know, and the weight of that is a tangible thing.

he teaches you how to prepare the fish, then—and you get through it, if not only through sheer determination to not throw up in front of kento. the sun rises and illuminates other opportunities to learn—he teaches you about the native plants, only in simple directions of pointing to a patch of green with an accompanied “don’t touch”, or “fine to eat”. it’d feel patronizing if it wasn’t all so overwhelming—he had a knowledge of things you’d never dreamed of before. all you can feel is excitement that he’s willing to share it with you.

as the sun begins to set, he brings you to the garden—a small patch of land, seemingly unassuming until you step inside. there are fruiting plants everywhere you look—fat, red tomatoes and vining, prickly cucumbers, complete with rows of leafy greens and cabbages. you can’t begin to imagine how he’d managed to grow all of this by himself. his nightly food gifts start to make more sense.

you work side by side, pulling ripe crop from each plant and placing them into a metal canister—usually used for mechanical purposes, but at the end of the world, you find many uses for what you have. you feel emboldened somehow with your hands in the dirt next to his, and the words leave you before you have a moment to reconsider; you tell him of where you’d come from, and of your descent down the hill. you think of the kin you’d left behind, and you feel detached as you tell him of the loss—an observation if nothing else, as if you’d sat on a shoreline and watched the tide flood in.

he doesn’t react—not to your noble status, and not to the death—he’s quiet as he moves on to each plant, only the pattering sound of what he harvests hitting the tin bottom of his canister. you don’t mind—there’s no reaction you’d expect or find helpful, and for some reason, his presence is enough. you find it odd that weeks ago his footsteps incited real fear in your veins, and now he’d spent the day teaching you new ways to be useful. it was a strange and intimate gratitude, but one you felt nonetheless.

you find you see him more now, with your newfound ability to contribute and the determination to do just that. days are spent hauling fresh catches out of the stream, and hunting down small mammals to supplement your diet. you watch him closely—the flex and twist of his torso with the pull of the bow, the way he narrows his focus to the fluffy little thing that scurries among the leaves. with the twitch of a finger, the arrow flies toward its target—there is a screech, and then a sobering quiet. for the first time in your life, you pray—quietly, for the creature with the same instinct to survive that drives you to take its life.

“here,” kento says, handing the bow to you, “try it.”

you wrap your fingers around the wood and do as he asks. it’s deceptively heavy—the tension of the bow makes it nearly impossible to draw back with your own strength. focused and determined not to fail in front of him, you nearly jump out of your skin when his hands cover your own.

“there’s no trick to it,” his voice is gruff but gentle and far closer to you than he’s ever been, “just pull back, like this.”

he guides your hand backward with his own and the tail of the arrow follows—at your back, you feel the muscles in his chest ripple with the effort.

“focus,” he breathes, and you fight a shudder at his proximity, “listen.”

and it’s hard to hear anything over the roar of blood in your ears, but you try, blinking in an effort to snap out of whatever trance kento has put you in. it takes a moment, but then you hear it—the crinkle of leaves beneath tiny paws.

“take a deep breath.” kento allows you to move the bow where you want to, and you try to focus your aim. a bushy tail flicks up behind the underbrush—you train the point of the arrow right below it. your heart thuds wildly in your chest, and suddenly you’re worried that the bow might slide out of your sweating palms, impaling you instead.

“let it go.”

you do as he says, and the ringing in your ears drowns out the sounds of short-lived suffering. he lets go of you then—you don’t notice he’s come to stand in front of you until you feel the rough pad of his thumb swipe gently across your cheek. you blink, your own fingers reaching up to find tears you don’t recall ever shedding. your eyes meet his, and they burn with an intensity you’ve never seen in him before. but he’s not angry—you feel no compulsion to apologize for whatever is happening to you. he takes the bow from your hands, and slings it over his back.

“we’ll go back now,” he says quietly. you follow him up the path, and the tears don’t stop until you reach the cabin. you wonder who exactly it is that you’re crying for.

.

..

you don’t know what it is about the nights that follow that lead kento to decide to stick around, but there’s a part of you that’s glad he does. above all else, you knew better than to question it. he doesn’t say much—he never does—but you’re more than happy to fill the silence. you suppose you owe him the opportunity to know you, after all he’s done for you—you’ve no idea how to quantify the gratitude you’ve felt over the last few months. you do what you can.

“there’s a story my grandmother used to tell,” you murmur, eyes to the fire that crackles in front of you, “i used to sit at her feet while she brushed my hair. she only ever told it to me—it was like a secret between us.”

the wood pops and spits an ember at your feet. you watch it blaze bright, the tiny thing—one last attempt to catch before it snuffs itself out. “there was a princess that lived high in a tower built to protect her from the bandits of the neighboring empire. she was only ever allowed to walk the grounds of the palace under the safety of a full moon. one night, as she crept out of the tower under the cover of the dark, she’s lured into the dark forest by a witch. she promises to grant the princess any wish, for a price.”

your eyes catch kento’s, and for once, his expression is not indifferent. he is here with you in this moment, and it warms you more than the flame. “of course she wishes to be free,” you continue, waving a hand at its inevitability, “and the witch turns her into a hare. and in the original story, that’s the end of it. there’s a lesson there, right?”

“but in my grandmother’s story, it’s the best thing that could’ve happened to the princess. she’s free to hop around to her heart’s content. all she does is eat greenery and lay fat in her den until she dies a natural death after a long and happy life.”

you hear what you think is a scoff from the man next to you. your eyes roam kento’s face, and you think there might even be a hint of a smirk there. it thrills you.

“the tale of an optimist,” he offers quietly, and it’s not bitter.

“she was,” you murmur, “until the end, she was an optimist.”

it’s quiet between you for a moment, save for the crackle of the fire.

“i’m sorry you lost her.”

you smile, and it hurts. the tears well up before you can stop them.

“it’s unfair,” you croak, despite yourself. you’d done well to put up a good front in front of kento—humbling, to see how quickly it could be undone.

you startle when you feel a warm palm close around your clenched fist. “it is unfair,” he says, eyes meeting yours.

the warmth is profound, again despite the fire that heats your cheeks. you find yourself leaning into it until you’ve tucked yourself under his arm. he’s tense, but allows it.

“tell me something about you,” you whisper thickly, needing to think of anything else. he hums, tipping his head back. you sneak a glimpse of the curve of his jaw, glowing between shadows cast by a flickering flame. scar tissue curves and shimmers as it tenses.

“we were a group,” he murmurs, still looking up at the old, wooden boards, “myself and some of the neighbor children. there were no family units, there— we created our own.”

you’re so quiet you think you can nearly hear him piece together the memory in his mind. you know he’s gifting you something precious, so you don’t dare speak.

“we were too young to be running around alone, but there was nowhere to go. we knew enough to dodge the militias that would burn through each village. we thought we did, anyway.”

“the elders were kind. they brought in as many of us as they could on nights when the trucks would come down the road. but we didn’t have parents or homes, and they couldn’t take in all of us.” he pauses, sucking in a long breath. it shifts you when his chest expands. “i was small enough that i was able to fit through a hole in the crawl space under a home. Yu tried, but he wasn’t fast enough.”

“he was my best friend.” kento’s voice is quiet, and more fatigued than you’ve ever heard it. it’s unnerving, seeing his humanity laid out so plainly. “he tried to run, but they caught up just as quickly. they would’ve just taken him to a work camp, but he put up a fight.” he says it with a small smile, like he’s proud. “they shot him and left him there to die.”

if there was a way you could be closer to kento, you’d have found it by now, but you find yourself trying to sneak up under his ribs anyway. trying to find a way to siphon his pain into yourself, if only for a moment.

“you were brave,” you whisper, having nothing else to say except for that—for what feels obvious and true. he scoffs, but you can hear the grief behind it.

“maybe,” he says, arm tightening around your shoulders, “i don’t think i’ve ever felt that way.”

you hum, a low and sympathetic thing, fighting the urge to nuzzle into his chest. it’s strange, how easy it is to default to such animal inclinations when there’s no need to abide by arbitrary customs. there is only the two of you here, and the urge to comfort kento is strong.

“will you let me do something?”

he glances down at you out of the corner of his eyes—narrowed in distrust, despite baring his most tender bits to you only a moment ago. you push past it.

“here,” you say, sitting up and out from under his hold, “sit here.”

“on the ground?” he’s not so much incredulous as he is confused—and you’ll take what you can get. you nod, an appeasing sort of grin teasing the corners of your mouth.

his eyes are still narrowed when he goes—crouched in defense like you wait with bared teeth instead of open arms. still, he moves to sit before you—facing you. you laugh a little, endeared.

“i meant for you to turn—“

“no.”

you’re snapped back to reality then—to the present moment, with this man that kindly took you in but does not trust you. you take in a slow breath, careful not to flinch under the weight of his stare.

“okay,” you murmur, reaching up to pull free from your hair the comb that tethers it in its knot, “that’s okay.”

your hair slips down over your nape as you pull the teeth of it free—hard and familiar in your fingers, you offer it to him like one would a scrap of food to a feral dog. an heirloom made of deer bone—your family’s own commitment to using all that you were given, even if it was in excess. a reminder of a luxury that never felt like one until now.

“is it okay?” you ask, pulling up on your own bravery to keep his stare. after a long moment of careful deliberation, he nods tersely.

you lean forward slightly, careful of his space, and let him see the comb as you reach up. he jumps when the dulled prongs meet his scalp, but you stay the course. you pull it through the blond strands—longer than they were when you first met, the dulled ends slipping through with each pass.

you sit back to look at him after a moment. there’s no resistance, nor is there any enthusiasm—but you trust that he’d stop you if he was uncomfortable, so you keep going.

you lose yourself in the task, pulling (or pushing, from where you sit in front of him) the carved bone through his hair. you allow him the privacy of a reaction—eyes focused only on the strands that flit away from the teeth of the comb.

so focused, it seems, that you have to suppress the jerk of your leg when he leans up against it. the quick glimpse you allow yourself gores you—his eyes now closed, head cushioned by the soft of your thigh. looking more childlike than you’ve ever seen him in the months you’ve spent every minute with him. you see flashes of him as a boy—small and without scarring or a reason for haunches to raise in fear or rage. you think of him laughing—rolling in mud and being scolded by an otherwise kind woman instead of squeezing his way through jagged, wooden boards to save his life. never knowing the sound of a shot ringing out in the street.

you tuck your face into your shoulder—determined to hide the tears and your grief on his behalf. determined to let him feel this, whatever it is, and be a safe place for him to do it. to be the strong arm and the kind hand for him now—the one he can give his precious trust to.

the fire crackles and the mourning is heavy in the air—but kento is alive beneath your fingers, and your own heart beat is a heavy and reassuring thud inside your chest.

.

..

he is a rose in bloom, in the nights that follow. tightly coiled and still with all of his thorns, but in bloom nonetheless.

he becomes something of your shadow. where he lingered out of distrust he now hovers with intent—comically so, his large body folding itself in the small confines of the makeshift kitchen while you wring out linens in the sink. it’s clear that something has shifted between you—though what, you’re unsure. your mind tells you he is finally coming around to you. your heart yearns for something more than just his trust, though you are not unaffected by the weight of that trust alone.

he is never more than an arm’s length away. he leaves in the darkened hours of the morning to hunt, and is somehow back before the sun rises to wake you. that was another shift—he hadn’t asked you to join him on a hunt since that night. he hadn’t asked you for anything after that, really. he sleeps nearer, too—you’d been under the impression that he’d been sleeping outside until he wound up at the foot of your bed, sleeping still like a guard dog. you didn’t have the heart to ask him about it—you just left the candle burning and turned away from the door. he was owed privacy in his vulnerability, and you give him that.

and however hard to read the man may be, you feel some discontent at not pulling your weight, so you try your best to anyway. patching up holes in the wooden exterior of your home. sealing the windows with fur and fat to beat the chill of the creeping fall. you know that the garden tending is cyclical with the seasons—the cold calls for heartier vegetables. you pull and preen until your fingers swell, aching.

and there he would be—watching you, as always.

“hard work for a princess,” he mutters through something suspiciously similar to a smirk. you level him with a glare—the heat of which is immediately snuffed out in comparison to the heat of the cloth that he wraps around your wind-bitten hands. the heat of his body before yours is a close second to the warmest you've ever been despite all of the holes you'd still yet to patch.

“i hardly remember ever being one now,” you murmur, leaning into his side as his thumbs swipe over your palms—needle pinpricks left in their wake, even through the fabric.

he scoffs, his hands engulfing yours in his warmth. "are you not still?"

"i suppose, technically." you shrug, letting him crowd you over to the old, torn up futon that you'd been using as living room furniture. he'd been doing a lot of that lately—pushing you to relax. itching to take a weight from you. he arranges you to his liking, wrapping one of the woven blankets around your shoulders. "i was meant to be made into more than that, you know. before the uprising."

kento only raises an eyebrow at you. you shrug, past the point of shrinking from his silence. "my family had paid a sizeable dowry to have me married off. an heir in a neighboring village, supposedly. only my grandmother was against it, in her own, quiet way. she took to calling me her rabbit, after her story. she wanted differently for me."

there's no mistaking the way kento stiffens. there's no reason for it, nor is there a justification for the way you want to placate him. you do it anyway.

"maybe it's for the best," you say, waving your hand as if to dismiss the whole thing entirely, "i'm not exactly the noble type, now."

you watch him deflate. he nods sagely, the smirk pulling at his lips again. "surely you're the most frightening princess i've ever met."

you turn your head to watch him settle in next to you—another new behavior, seemingly unbothered by the proximity that he no doubt was unfamiliar with. "what's that supposed to mean?"

his teasing grin fades into something a little more forlorn. "when i found you, i expected you to be afraid. i wouldn't have harmed you—i only wanted to scare you off."

you huff. "that wasn't very nice."

"you weren't afraid though. it was unnerving."

"oh?" you grin, reaching to poke him in the ribs. "you were afraid of me?"

he reaches for your hand and pulls it to his lap. "i was sad for you. it wasn't a resilience—it felt as though you were broken."

it hurts, you decide, to be known like this. how simple things had been when he'd only left you provisions at your bedroom door and left you be. now you'd gone and allowed your heart to run freely ahead without a tether. you'd no way of preparing for the injury that freedom would cause.

"you pitied me," you mutter, unable to keep the bitterness from your tone. the mood shifts between you, and something inside you wants to resent him for it. how warm it had been inside the delusion—the world in which you both exist in this space as equals, brought together by fate and want and nothing else.

"no, not pity." you startle at the feeling of his fingertips as they brush a tendril of hair from your face. "you reminded me of myself. i didn't want you to be alone."

"why take on that burden?"

kento hums, pushing his fingers through the hair at your temple. despite yourself, you lean into the touch. "maybe i didn't want to be alone, either."

you blink, the sentiment working its way into your head. it lands significantly south—deep in your chest with an ache you can't describe. you reach for the wrist in your peripheral, stopping his movement and keeping him close. "is that all?"

"no." his admittance is a whispered, strained thing. you're close enough that to tilt your head back brings his jaw to your lips. the ghost of your breath along his skin makes him shudder, and you feel the fingers in your hair flex into a grip.

"what else, then?"

he ducks his chin to nose at your cheek. your eyes flutter closed, mind empty of all that swam around in it only a moment ago.

"my rabbit," his bottom lip brushes against your own, "what else is there but you?"

.

..

the weather changes and the gods grow restless.

you both feel it at the first chill of the year. there’s no graceful turn of the seasons—the air is bitter and cold, and you know something is coming. there’s little time for play, so on the last few warm evenings of fall, you take advantage of it. or you try to—you drag kento into the stream to soak in the dwindling rays of sun, but the knowledge of what is to come weighs heavily on you both. he holds you up in the current—body to body, only breathing. you can't get close enough—to reach inside him and carve out a space for yourself would still not sate the longing you feel.

that wretched something shows it’s face soon enough. the first snow is harsh, collecting in heavy banks against the roof of the house. the wood sags under the weight and the cold creeps in through the wood until the fire is no longer enough to warm the house in it's entirety—only the small space in front of the mantel that you crowd around. you and kento don’t talk much these days—to speak takes energy you don’t have to spare. he is doting as he always is—making sure you are covered in every layer of fabric and fur he can find, but something is wrong. you know the worst is yet to come. you feel it in the way kento holds you too close during the night; it’s never warm enough.

at first there is hope. kento has his food reserves and you'd preserved some of what you’d gathered. but a week of snow turns to two, and two weeks turn to two months. the rations get smaller and the two of you get hungrier. by the third month, you understand that you will not be spared the gods’ wrath. you see the punishment for what it is—a utilitarian consequence to all of the bloodshed by man. you do not have the energy to mull over the unfairness of that. even if you did, the gods do not concern themselves with what is fair—you know that now. the light inside you fades with every new inch of snowfall.

but kento is kind, despite your insistence that he be otherwise. he pulls from his own warmth to add to yours. your dinner portions are always bigger, even if it means he goes without eating entirely. it’s in vain, of course. neither of you will live through this. you scold him for pushing the last of his food on your plate and he doesn’t bother to respond. he only watches while you eat, like he can’t rest until he knows for sure that you have eaten all he has to offer you. you chew through tears and the only comfort is the hand that reaches to wipe them from your cheek. it’s a painful end, wasting away like this. watching kento fade away.

it's when you can smell death's approach that you know with certainty that your humanity has fled for a better place. the thing that remains in you—that keeps your heart beating, that coaxes your lungs to inflate—is purely animal. and it's out of that same primal need that you close the distance between kento's frail body and your own. in the silent chill of the night, the warmth between you may be merely a hallucination now, but you feel it all the same. there is no pain anymore. only a pull into a sleep you want so badly to slip into.

you don't cry—you use the last of the strength in your body to tuck yourself under kento's chin and curl around him in some intimate display of what exists between you. of what has existed this whole time.

"if this is the end," you murmur, knowing that it is, "i'm happy that i'll leave this world with you."

the knuckles that brush against your cheek are sharp and gnarled now. you've never known a touch so tender. it’s odd to speak—to shatter the intimacy of the silence that’s floated around the both of you for much of the last few weeks.

"do you know now?"

if you close your eyes, you can pretend that the man in your arms will live to see the morning. that this is merely pillow talk, and the sun will wake you with warmed skin in a few hours.

but you don't let yourself turn away. it's striking, how even with his last few breaths, kento manages to use them worrying about you. you wonder if he's done it the whole time. you do know; you realize with unmistakable clarity that you'd know his love anywhere, now. you nod, feeling his thready pulse against your forehead.

"i do. you'll have to forgive me for not seeing it sooner."

you feel him scoff—an inappropriate use of dwindling breath that makes you laugh, too. "there will be plenty of time to show you in the next life, my rabbit."

a brief bitterness curls up your spine—the unfairness of all of this creeping back up like a rising tide. how cruel it was to have settled on the loneliness of a life without love, just to be shown the magnitude of a life with it in the final months of your own.

but it recedes in the next moment, because there is no more time to grieve. you can only feel grateful, now—to leave this world saturated in all that kento has given you.

cracked lips brush the skin of your temple—he has no real energy for a proper kiss, but the desire to comfort is strong between you. you spend the next few, precious moments counting the breaths that rattle inside his chest, grateful for every one cycled through.

in the silent hours of a darker morning, there is a light only the two of you can see. shrouded in the glow, he is so beautiful.

with all of your strength, you call him by his name, one last time. "until next time, my love."

epilogue

if the notion of certainty is alive in anything, it is in the way that fable and folklore are sure to be born and born again out of gatherings of beings with mouths to speak it. one such example is the jagged, snow capped hills of Akaito—a new village comprised of all walks of life, the one commonality between them being their displacement during the fall of the Zaiaku dynasty almost one hundred years prior. built overtop the remnants of survivor settlements crushed under the Great Snow, all who inhabit the land know well of the blood that has stained the soil and pay mind to honor the loss of life in their own ways—namely in storytelling. this great coming together eventually gave way to a new mother tongue for the telling of a new bed time story to bleary eyed babes in the middle of the night: the tale of the Akaito lovers—the wolf and the hare.

as the story goes, villagers who have been bestowed some unearthly dose of luck by the gods may catch a glimpse of an unlikely pair—a formidable looking white wolf with scarring across its broad body, and its counterpart: a fluffy and downright regal grey hare. one might catch them romping around in the dusting after a fresh snow, or preening one another under a shaded tree in the heat of the summer. depending on who tells the tale, it might be the case that if a person is truly fortunate and determined to wait out the dark of night, they might even be gifted the sight of the duo curled around one another, sleeping peacefully in a protective and loving embrace under the light of a waning moon.

as with all fables, the story is altered with every new tongue that speaks it, and one day the tale will vanish from the minds of the younger generations completely. but for now, it is ripe in the minds of the young and old, the latter of which are very certain that it is no mere fable at all.

[styrofauxm]

2025 Book Bingo Plans

I've started planning out some of what I'm going to read for @batmanisagatewaydrug's 2025 book bingo (read more here), and to get myself hyped, I'm sharing the books I've set in stone, as well as recording some ideas I have for the other spaces!

I've been looking forward to Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins for a while now, I'm interested to see if it will live up to the philosophical examination it sets itself up as.

I got the illustrated copy of Eragon by Christopher Paolini/Sidharth Chaturvedi for Christmas, so that's kind of a no-brainer for the re-read.

Heavenly Tyrant by Xiran Jay Zhao I'm also getting for Christmas, but it's the pretty Illumicrate version, so it's not getting here until January or February. I took a gamble with Iron Widow and got the hardcover, and I was not disappointed (I've read it 3 times and am going to reread it once I get HT, and will certainly reread both in the future), so I expect the fancy one will be money well spent (by my aunt but still).

I am just assuming that My Friends by Fredrik Backman is going to be set in Sweden, because all of Backman's other novels are set there. Hopefully I don't need to find a new book for the category lol. If I do this one will probably fit Literary Fiction anyway.

I've been working my way through my reread of the Hitchiker's Guide trilogy by Douglas Adams, and think I can finish the 3rd in the next few days, so I'm all set up for the 4th going into 2025 :)

I stopped reading Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey when school got really rough last year and have wanted to go back to it for a while. It was recommended to me by my dad, and one of his favorite books. In the 100-ish pages I've read, I've found it to be amazing as well.

Things My Son Needs to Know About the World by Fredrik Backman was going to be my memoir choice until I realized it was actually essays.

I saw Death In Rocky Mountain National Park: Accidents and Foolhardiness on the Continental Divide by Randi Minetor while just wandering Barnes and Noble and was sure I had to read it when the title made it clear it wasn't going to blame animals for the actions of humans.

I've wanted to read Last Chance to See by Douglas Adams and Mark Carwardine for a long time, but the concept alone has always made it a little too sad to convince myself to pick up. This year will be its year though.

I promised my roommate that I would read The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson last year so that we could watch the show for Halloween. I'm following through this year instead.....

My reasoning for Thud! by Terry Pratchett is simple. I like Discworld, I like Ankh Morpork, I like the Watch novels, I like Sam Vimes.

Below the cut are some of my ideas for the sections I haven't filled yet (anyone should feel free to send me as many recommendations for these as you want):

Literary Fiction:

All The Names by José Saramago (recommended by my dad)

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson (recommended by my roommate)

Short Story Collection:

And Every Morning The Way Home Gets Longer and Longer, The Answer is No, and The Deal of a Lifetime by Fredrik Backman (this is not technically a collection, but it is a group of short stories that I really want to read)

20th Century Speculative Fiction:

The Martian by Andy Weir (I just want to read it)

Published Before 1950:

TBD Agatha Christie novel (I stole my dad's books acquired a lot of these and want to read some)

Indie Publisher:

Something from this list

Graphic Novel, Comic Book, or Manga:

Nothing Special by Katie Cook (I read this on Webtoon as it's been coming out, it has some of the best panel transitions on the platform, and I really want to see how she translated that to book form. Also I want to own the books bc I love the story and refuse to pay Webtoon money for it)

Animal On the Cover:

A Lady's Life in the Rocky Mountains by Isabella Bird (I was looking at the "local" shelf (not at this book in particular though) in Barnes and Noble, and a woman (not an employee) came up to me to tell me this is one of her favorite books ever and now I must read it)

The Girl in Red by Christina Henry (I help run a blog here cataloguing books with little to no romance and/or sex in them for people who are sex/romance repulsed, and someone submitted this. I also read a book years ago that I loved, but I didn't have Goodreads even at that point, and all I really remembered was the cover and opening. I've been looking for a while, and I think this very well could be it)

City of Nightmares by Rebecca Schaeffer (I loved her Market of Monster's trilogy and the Webtoon adaptation, and have been meaning to read this for ages)

Descendent of the Crane by Joan He (recommended by my other roommate, plus I liked her book The Ones We're Meant to Find)

Going Postal by Terry Pratchett (re: the reasons for Thud!)

2025 Debut Author:

Honestly, no clue here. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it

Read a Zine and Make a Zine:

Scarland fanzine by a whole bunch of people (I've read it before but it's really quite amazing and I would read it again happily)

2024 Award Winner:

Something on this list

Romance Novel:

Just Last Night by Mhairi McFarlane (recommended by a friend whose judgement in books I really trust)

Read and Make a Recipe:

We will see what strikes my fancy this year

Historical Fiction:

Fever 1973 by Laurie Halse Anderson (this one has been on my TBR since 2015)

The Island of the Sea Women by Lisa See (this was a birthday present in 2019)

Babel by R.F. Kuang (the premise is cool, and it says it's a response to The Secret History and I loved that book)

Bookseller or Librarian Rec:

Because of Mr. Terupt by Rob Buyea (in 5th grade, we did a unit where the class was split into 3rds and we each analyzed 1 book. The kids who read this book loved it. I really wanted to read it then, but never did. Then in 8th grade a librarian recommended it to me, bringing it back to my memory, but I still didn't read it. It lives on my TBR because I feel like I need to read it for 10/13 year old me)

[dyemelikeasunset]

We made it to 1mil views, 100K likes, and 20K subscribers on Webtoons! Finished these fashion illustrations to celebrate 🥹

Please read my sapphic slice-of-life Dom & Mor on Webtoons

Fashion fun facts under the cut:

Spring outfits are all from my head

Summer has Mor in a Keith Haring graphic tee and Buffalo sneakers. Dom is in a YSL belt, Jean Paul Gaultier pants, Celine Paris shoes, and her bag is Jimmy Choo

Fall has Mor in a cloud cardigan i conjured from my brain and classic Air 1s. Domi is in a sweater i also conjured up but her pants are Thom Browne and shoes are based on Valentino

Winter has Mor in an Alexander Wang inspired beanie and classic Timbs. Jacket is a generic puffer. Dom is in an Alexander McQueen jacket with shoes I just made up

[pluckyredhead]

hi! i'm new to comics and i got in through reading your fics and wayne family adventures. i've since started reading more of the mainstream verse and i realized that most comic fans consider wfa to be totally fanon. you're one of the few i saw that disagrees. would you mind elaborating a lil on why? i'm too new to really form an opinion either way but i'd like to know your's!

(also yes i really did stalk your blog back years worth of posts i'm sorry! 😭😭)

Aw I love this! Welcome!

So I think it's really important to be clear on definitions here:

Canon means it's part of an official text. It's literally in a comic (or book or movie or other property) published or licensed by DC.

Fanon means it's made up by fans. That doesn't mean bad or good, it just means that it comes from fandom and is not part of the official text.

Wayne Family Adventures is an official licensed comic by DC, so by definition, it cannot be fanon. That doesn't mean everyone has to like it, but it's not a fan comic. It's an official DC product. It's not fanon.

Now, WFA isn't part of the main DCU canon. It takes place in a separate universe. The Jason in Batman #138 and the Jason in WFA are not the same and they are having very different experiences. (And I'm sure the Jason in WFA would be grateful if he knew.)

But that's no different than a comic that takes place in an alternate universe, like Dark Knights of Steel or DCeased, or a movie like Blue Beetle or a show like My Adventures with Superman. They all take place in their own universes, but all of those universes are canon. None of them are fanon.

What I think most people mean when they say WFA is fanon is that WFA draws on tropes and characterizations that are popular in fandom. Which...yes, absolutely. This is on purpose, and honestly, it pisses me off when people complain about it. (Not you, anon! Your question was lovely, you just triggered my unskippable cut scene of dialogue. Sorry lol.)

Wayne Family Adventures is probably the single best idea DC has had in the 20 years I've been reading comics. (The second best was the kids and YA graphic novel lines.)

I just checked, and WFA has 1.3 MILLION subscribers. That's more than every floppy comic starring Batman sells in a month, combined. It's more than literally any superhero comic has sold in decades - in this century! The combined strips have over A HUNDRED MILLION VIEWS. That is bonkerstown. That is a readership like DC hasn't seen since the 1970s. That is unparalleled success, and it's introducing characters like Kate Kane and Duke Thomas to a whole new audience.

Now, WFA was clearly designed to appeal to Batfans who were active on social media and fanfic sites like AO3 and Wattpad, and Webtoon readers. The readership of Webtoon is mostly young and female. Fandom as a whole is mostly female. The writer of WFA is female.

And maybe I'm not being fair here, but when I see people dismiss WFA as "just fanon," I always catch a whiff of "It's not a real Batman comic. It's a girl comic for girls."

I have spent the past 20 years begging DC (and Marvel, DC is not alone in this) to see women as a viable audience - as their largest potential growth audience! I have watched in dumbfounded frustration as they ignored the juggernaut success of Raina Telgemeier and Ngozi Ukazu and Alice Oseman running rings around the NY Times bestseller list and counted a 50k shipment here and there as a resounding triumph. I have literally seen them throw out survey responses from women because "those women had an agenda." (This is a true story. 2011 was rough, y'all.)

And all of a sudden, they gave us a comic actually catering to women and young people and fandom, and they put it on the most popular, current, modern platform for comics availably - and it's brilliant. It's smart and funny and stunningly drawn and every episode makes clever, inventive use of the scrolling format. They FINALLY gave us a girl comic for girls, and it's a masterpiece.

And yes, it riffs on fanon concepts. It also has its roots firmly in mainstream DCU canon. It references deep cuts. CRC Payne and StarBite know their shit. Jason Todd being a bookworm may be a fanon staple, but he does plenty of reading - including Jane Austen - in the 100% canon mainstream DCU comics.

It's not going to be for everything, because nothing is. It's completely fine if you don't like WFA. No one has to read it or enjoy it. If you're into Batman for the darkness and the crime and the ongoing plotlines and the angst, WFA won't be for you, and that's totally fine!

But to finally, finally be valued as a reader by DC, to have them do something smart and innovative and so, so well executed, and have the exact people they made it for dismiss it out of hand because Bruce has a "World's Okayest Dad" mug or whatever? Yeah, that chafes.

[quirklessidiot]

title: hell's favorite secretary [sneak peak] pairing : Devil!Ryomen Sukuna x F!Lost soul!reader [based on the webtoon 'the devil is a handsome man', DC Comics "Lucifer", and the book and video game 'Dante's inferno'] Genre: Alternate Universe-Hell, angst, mystery/thriller, mild horror, romance, slow burn, hell au, dark comedy, lost soul x devil au

Summary: The faceless man shrouded in mystery tends to be a subject of rumors and false pretenses, but you'd think otherwise when you accidentally caught sight of those grueling red eyes.

General warning for the story: graphic depictions of heavy gore (manslaughter, mayhem, and torture), and explicit sexual scenes, more will be added per chapter. this will be exclusively released in ao3 in december <3 Notes: after reading a couple of pages of dante's inferno, reading lucifer (the comic book), and the devil is a handsome man, it sort of struck my interest to write this story! this is a pretty long series and im actually so excitied to write this lol.

if you're a person heavily practicing the catholic faith, i won't recommend reading this series as this talks and leans on the devil (i'm not a satanist pls), he's not glorified here in anyways but I do recall people who lean heavily on the faith are not fond of reading any media depictions of the devil.

i hope you enjoy! rb's are always appreciated.

There are possibly hundreds of artworks about the devil. 

The most famous one is that snake hanging off the forbidden tree or, better yet, a half-animal and half-human. Others would be an ugly babe falling down from the heavens. The most popular modern one would be the one in red with horns on his head, yet your boss did not resemble any of those impressions. Instead, he wore a three-piece suit and had a hole right in the middle of his face.

Yes, you heard that right.

A hole. 

All you could see was an empty void of black nothingness. Nobara had said that Sukuna – yes, the devil went by that name — would never show his face to lost souls like you because, as an angel before, seeing him in his proper form would result in instantaneous combustion. 

Despite that good reason, talking to him was still disconcerting. The whole situation remained to be anomalous.

The ringing thoughts about your previous conversation with your workmate replay in your head like a broken record, your eyes trickling on the piles of paperwork across the window that revealed your boss leaning against the table with his usual outfit and pink tufts of hair neatly styled away.

You recalled meeting him for the first time and wondering why he seemed somewhat familiar. You had overtly eyed him up and down. Despite the hole in his face, he had caught on quickly and asked what exactly you were doing. Until now, you couldn’t understand the physics behind how he could even see you and talk.

You purse your lips in deep thought as lines form in the middle of your head. You don’t even feel your boss walking up to you on your desk, “Seems like someone’s head is up in the clouds this morning.” he points out.

You immediately sat up straight, your shoulders squared, “Sukuna, Sir…” you jumped, eyeing him somewhat warily. 

Despite how he made you feel, the devil was not exactly a strict boss. 

He’s rather lax and did not mind procrastination and passing your work at the last minute as long as you did it well. He works on proper hours, gives vacation and leaves, and an appropriate timetable for lunch breaks. 

He’s hard to hate for a being who's been blamed for man’s misfortune since time immemorial.

“Was the long weekend still not enough?”

“I’m not exactly a sloth, Sir,” you mumble to yourself, but he catches onto your words and remains unphased. It's uncharacteristic for you to say anything more to him, but you needed a good starter for this conversation to get on,  “...Although, I-uh…I do have a question…You remembered our contract, sir?”

One thing that humans were able to grasp correctly about hell and its king is the contract signing and how the devil gives out favors in exchange for something you truly hold dear. For you, since you’re a lost soul, in exchange for changing your status, you’d give proper work hours and help him capture at least eight hundred itinerants.

You’re running on two hundred and fifty so far.

“Oh?” he leans in closer, “That’s not something we talk about every day.” his body language remains fluid and guileless as if he wanted you to speak your mind more, and it only made your palms sweaty despite the coldness of the room, “Would you like to change some conditions? I am, after all, a fair man.” His voice is crisp and light, a charm that made up for his empty face.

“I- well, I’m going to be frank with you, Sir…” you blink, “I- um,” you start to stammer, and it only makes your stomach do different kinds of flips as your mind conjures up different types of worst-case scenarios. It’s not like you couldn’t become a soul after this, right? You’d only have to wait for a century and try to retain your sanity along with it.

He cocks his head to the side, and if you could paint a face on that void of nothingness, you’d wish it would be kind eyes looking down on you, but this was the devil, the man who was struck down from the heavens for being too ‘arrogant and malicious’. You need to be careful with your words, “I…I need information…” you swallowed, your words tumbling out clumsily.

“Information?” your boss remained relaxed, and you knew it was rather diabolic to even pray for God when you were literally in hell, but you had little to no way of reading him. There’s another round of stifling silence; you only want to melt into a puddle of goo this time.

[obscureaestheticist]

DC & MARVEL are awful at publishing their own amazing stories...

Read some western comics for the first time in a while this year. I wanted to start reading more in general anyway so I added comics and manga to the list. HOOOOOOOOO GGGAAAD DAYUM some of this stuff is good! I wanted to start with DC's Absolute & Marvel's New Ultimate. I've read mostly DC but have never fully gotten into a series or mini series before. These new books were meant to be jumping on points for newcomers so I wanted to give it a try.

And I gotta say... these need more attention... By their own publishers, I mean.

Even though I only really started in the last 3 months of the year, I get peoples frustrations with these being monthly releases and the fact that a lot these you HAVE to buy individually and not part of a magazine or some other form of collective release. At least until a volume release. On top of that these are NOT easy to find, not where I live, and not online either. You need a subscription service for the digital releases and you need to find a comic book shop to even buy it physical. These aren't cheap either! If I wanted to buy, say, a manga volume's worth of issues to try and catch up, its almost 5x that of a cheap physical manga volume. And the only place you're going to be getting a volume of some of these is at a book store, not a comic shop, just because there's way more bookstores generally. By the time those volumes have released there's no gaurantee the series that you like is even still running, because they havn't made it easy to even find these to read and it might've been cancelled due to low sales. So that leaves me with a problem... I either cave in and get a subscribtion or I pirate it. I'm poor af, of course I'm going to pirate it. MOST people will. Except they won't because barely anybody knows these comics even exist. There's little to NO marketing around any of these comics. Seriously, why aren't these in a magazine?! Why aren't these easily veiwable digitally? I don't want a subscription service just to look at a few books. I'm DONE with subscription services. Even if it's just a website where you pay to read online per series, or even throwing these into webtoon behind a paywall, it'll be infinitly better. At least that way people actually get to see the amazing work they're putting out there. And... yeah, the monthly wait on these is agonising. If the wait cannot be shortened then a weekly magazine is needed DESPERATELY, because there is NOTHING in the way of audience interaction for newcomers except a very limited fandom which might be gone in a few months just cause the series could be up and cancelled at the snap of their fingers. Their websites suck... Like, straight up, they suck. Nothing unique or stylised about them, not even a bit of background music or some flare, it's trailers for games, movies, and TV. Theres not even viewer guides for comics, bits of info on the world, or even those silly "who is the strongest/fastest/richest,etc" graphics like in old magazines. there's no fun. It's painful because the stuff thats out there is genuinly good. A lotta bad, certainly, but the recent stuff is thoroughly engaging. Another thing, the issue 1 crisis. If you don't know what this is, it's publishers resetting issues back to number 1 to bump up the price. It's disgusting. Especially when it makes it a NIGHTMARE to try and find the series you're looking for... and its same name as 8 other series only seperated by a date. THESE NEED TITLES! I was reading Ultimate Black Panther and Black Panther recently... Or rather, NEW Ultimate Black Panther: T'Challa vs. The Moon Knight, and Black Panther[2023]: A King Without A Crown. The naming alone causes frustrations when trying to navigate and find a story you might actually like. King Without A Crown is a title I just made up for the 2023 release. Its a great story, the art is some of the best I've seen in any comic. And the premise is very enganging, about T'Challa having been exiled from Wakanada, returned to watch over it as a secret protector and trying to reconnect with the people in places he believed he'd overlooked. To try and deepen his understanding as a king, and as protector of his country. It's Cyberpunk Crime Thriller Sci-Fi with a mix of central African mysticism. It even comes with an official map.

It got cancelled. Only lasted 10 issues... New Ultimate X-Men / Secret Society X Men is a shojo horror mystery set in japan inspired by major works of J-Horror... and it's FREAKIN' X-MEN Nobody talkin' about it. New Ultimate Spider-Man is about Peter, married to MJ, Father of 2, becoming Spider-Man after receiving word from the future that he was supposed be a hero and that it was taken from him, and Uncle Ben is alive in this... Nobody talkin' about it. New Ultimate Black Panther is kinda slow but it's about 2 warlords trying to infiltrate and take over wakanda who are posing as this world's versions of Konshu & Ra and leads to a greater conspiricy about Vibranium itself. Nobody talkin' about it. I LOVE the absolute series. I'm a DC fan, but these Marvel works also need more love, like... guys. Not to mention Spider-Man and Ult X-Men is fanfic and fanart GOLD! LIKE GET ON THIS SH!T NOW! There are other big issues i've got with western comics but I wanted to talk about it's accessibility. I love comics and manga a lot, it was what got me to start reading in the first place, and I want these cool stories to continue in a way that is like, actually enjoyable. I wanna talk about these with people, but there's no point if nobody is out there to enjoy it with. In the meantime, if you like these stories but can't afford them, make fanwork of it. Fiction, prose, poetry, art, music, silly comments, anything. Same goes for Manga and Indie works that you like. Don't let a company's incompetence stifle your ability to enjoy art that has ACTUAL passion behind it.

[murasaki-cha]

Serena memes I made after finishing the webtoon because I take my graphic design career very seriously

[ileniagennari]

Hi I'm Ilenia! I wrote a Graphic Novel and a Webtoon, Check it out if you are interested!

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[indieyuugure]

Hi Indie !

First of all, I truly love your version of TMNT. Your dialogues are so good and the designs are great. In terms of writing it kind of reminds me of the Webtoon comic: Batman, Wayne Family Adventures in the way that it’s a brilliant take on a famous franchise.

Also, I kind of had a question and a request.

I noticed a change of style with the color scheme you have now compare to your previous sketches. Like before, Mickey’s stickers were colored and blood was red when those elements are now in black and white. My question is why the change ? Not that it’s a bad choice or it doesn’t fit in you aesthetic, I was just genuinely wondering😁.

As for my request, well I’m French and I really enjoy doing translation either from French to English or from English to French. Therefore I was wondering if you were okay with me doing a French version of your comics ? If you’re not, I totally understand so no worry😁

I can’t wait for the next chapter !!! I wish all the best !

Aw thank you so much! I’m so glad you love the art and the writing! I’ve never read that webcomic, but I’ve heard about it before! I’ll take it as a compliment! ^v^

That is an excellent question! Basically I wanted to reduce the colors on the pages to just the colors of one of the characters items.

I’ve actually been cutting down on color usage since TMS (April’s hair and Casey’s under shirt were colored red and mauve respectively in ROTP but not in TMS) since I felt that it made for some very odd color things, like it felt like too much color be stylistic, but too little to be fully colored? Idk I just didn’t like it, so in TMS every character was allotted two colors: one eye color and one outfit color. That made it a lot simpler and drastically decreased the feeling I had about the colors.

That reason is also why I cut Mikey’s sticker colors. I did think about it, but I decided against it because it felt odd to give Mikey three colors and everyone else one. He’s not the MC, so like, it just seemed like an odd design choice to continue with.

The removal of using red for blood is a bit more complicated. I actually considered making it red in Indie TMNT, but I ended up not because of a few reasons.

1: Red is Raph’s color, it should be used as such (every character only got one color anyway, reusing the color makes it feel less special that it’s there)

2: flushing, whether because of love or illness or embarrassment or whatever, was also being shaded with red because it’s caused by blood, and I just didn’t really like the way it looked? I dunno probably a personal thing? I won’t say why cause I don’t wanna put the thought in your heads, but specifically with Donnie’s face being red from his fever in TMS, I just didn’t like it.

3: I found that the color red makes wounds more graphic. Not sure why? I found with TMS I was having to censor Leo’s wounds more than I anticipated. They were originally so much more disgusting when the red was added that I had to add a lot more black to be comfortable with the drawing. I’m satisfied with my results, I think I struck a good balance, but it did kind get me thinking since I plan to make Indie TMNT just as gory.

Its original purpose for being added was because wounds were key plot points in both ROTP and TMS and I wanted you to pay attention to them and remember them. Now, that’s not to say they’re not important in Indie Tmnt, but I found with the increased violence I was adding (because murder is okay in this comic) it felt unnecessary. Almost every fight scene has splatters of blood that aren’t really that plot related, so it’s not the same as TMS which follows 2012’s no blood or injuries in fights rule until it’s shattered. So in addition to all the other reasons listed, I felt it was fine to get rid of the usage of red for blood and other injuries in this comic.

TLDR: I want each character’s color to be special and they only get one cause I’m lazy and I think it looks cooler. Red blood makes people squeamish but black blood doesn’t 🤷‍♀️ also less important in this comic

As for your request: YES!! I’m totally okay with it, you absolutely may! I would love that! However you decide to do it, just be sure you credit me as the original author of the comic and send me a link when your done so I can post it on the comic masterpost for anyone who wants the translation to read!

Good questions! :]