#i still have a month to remind myself of how much i love my intended tav (their backstory interests me more than their game plot)

[devotedlystrangewizard]

im not doing dark urge as my first playthrough im not doing dark urge as my first playthrough im n-

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[i-like-writing-stuff]

never changing; part two [ five hargreeves x reader ]

a/n: y’all this ain’t much i’m still trying to reacommodate myself back into writing but i will share a final part 3 to this imagine eventually!!!

again this is just fluff and banter i love keeping things light hearted

and i’m trying to heal myself with what could’ve been 😔

summary: you and the hargreeves siblings start your rescue mission

“Well, you all certainly look shittier than the other,” You crossed your arms awkwardly, watching the seven Hargreeves siblings as they were all clutching onto their bodies, sprawled across what used to be the fancy mansion that they grew up in.

Now it was just looking as beat down as your family.

“You’re fucked up in the head,” Ben groaned, making you roll your eyes.

“Coming from the dipshit who roofied his siblings with space juice… that’s a big statement,” Diego mumbled, as the others nodded in agreement.

After Gracie’s birthday party, you intended to go back to the office and catch up on some paperwork. The current case you were working on was truly a pain in the ass. Ever since you started working on it a couple of months ago, you didn’t think that anything else was more important than trying to win it. Boy, were you wrong.

You intended to leave the party a bit earlier, so that’s exactly what you did. Even if you felt like you couldn’t get enough of bantering with the family, playing with Gracie and most specially, talking to Five, you eventually dragged yourself back to the car and drove back to work. You needed that gathering, you truly did- in spite of the inevitably awkward moments.

That’s why when Five called you to inform to that Viktor got kidnapped, you didn’t hesitate to drive back to the mansion and regroup with the siblings to rescue their brother. One thing led to another, you managed to save him and even celebrate after that, but it wouldn’t be a Hargreeves mission without something going sideways.

“We have to get going, asshats,” Five reminded you all, stroking his hair.

You wanted to comfort him, as your heart sunk watching the dark circles around his eyes. His skin was as pale as a ghost, and he was groaning lightly through heavy breaths. His long fingers were running through his messy hair, as his other hand was holding the marigold jar loosely.

You always thought how stupid it was that you could just look at him for hours, just because he was so pretty. He could be doing nothing, you still couldn’t get enough of him.

This is so embarrassing, it’s been six years, you thought to yourself, looking away exactly as he caught a glimpse of your stare, Besides, he looks like he is dying. Handsomely, but dying, nonetheless.

The same man who kidnapped Viktor last night entrusted you with a rescue mission to bring his daughter back home. You decided not to pursue it, eventually, and before you went your separate ways, you all had a shot of Sake, ushered by Ben.

The rest is history.

Point is, everyone seemed to have their powers back.

“Shotgun,” You raised a hand, as the seven siblings started cussing at you on your way to Diego and Lila’s van.

You felt very nostalgic, since so many years passed without being with everyone. It was bittersweet, but you tried to promise to yourself to not get too attached. You liked your current life, and as lovely as it was spending time with Five, that led to nowhere. It was just a stupid little crush, anyway.

The family van was parked in front of the building, right in front of your car, so Diego started moving some thing into your car trunk to make room for everyone. Allison and Klaus were talking to Claire on the phone, as Ben, Luther and Lila were bickering about the sconces and Viktor was still trying to calm his nerves.

“You okay?” You placed your hand on Five’s shoulder, feigning a confident smile.

You were honestly so concerned for them, all of them.

“Just the most annoying hangover in my life,” Five placed his hand on yours absentmindedly.

Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal, he appreciated your concern, he always did. When he got hurt in missions you were always scolding him and he acted annoyed with your protectiveness, but this was the first time he actually showed gratitude for it.

“But you don’t gotta get all up in my ass,” He added with a smirk, taking your hand off his shoulder.

There it was.

He still held onto it, proudly, as you rolled your eyes, not even noticing how naturally your hands locked together.

“Oh please, you’d love me to get all up on you,” You scoffed, making him chuckle.

“Since when are you so arrogant?” He wondered.

“I may have picked up a thing or two from you over the years,” You shrugged your shoulders lightly.

“Should’ve picked up the phone more often,” Five said, causing you to wave a hand in front of your face bored of how many times you’ve been told that;

“The phone that…”

“Works both ways,” He interrupted you, “Yeah, yeah.”

“Then you don’t really have a leg to stand on,” You declared with a smile.

“Is that right?” He took a step closer, eyeing you curiously.

If you were to ask him where did that come from, he really had no idea what to say. Five always was unpredictable, but this was something new. But then again, it’s not like your relationship was that cold- it wasn’t. However, he was playing with fire a tad too much.

It all felt so ridiculous. How could he still make your heart thump heavily just with a simple look? You felt so little compared to him, as hard as you tried to seem confident. With the help of your platform boots you were still almost reaching his chin, and that was to show you just how young you both still were, even if your mental ages begged to differ.

“You still look like shit,” You broke the ice, still trying to keep up a tough exterior.

“Bullshit,” Five grinned, obviously feeling a lot better.

Little did you know how much your simple presence helped his mental well-being.

Surprisingly, he thought to himself.

“Are you two gonna suck faces or can we move along?” Ben suddenly walked up to you and his brother, as the rest of the family was watching everything unfold as if it was a soap opera.

“Why’d you wanna watch your brother kiss someone?” You wondered, letting go of Five’s hand to climb into the car along the others.

“That’s not okay,” Klaus agreed.

“You’re getting weirder by the second,” Allison told Ben, as he tried to argue.

“What the fuck?” Diego turned to watch his brother disgusted, as Viktor was just silently side-eyeing the tentacle man.

“I fucking hate you all,” Ben said defeated, looking around the car.

“At least they don’t wanna watch their fresh 19 year old brother eat tongue,” You couldn’t help the banter.

“Don’t say fresh 19,” Luther chimed in as well, as the siblings turned to you now.

“He is 64, nothing about him is fresh,” Klaus pointed out.

“Shut the fuck up, fuckface,” Five only rolled his eyes.

And thus the road-trip begun.

[bloop-bl00p]

Re-imagining the Extermination

TW: There’s like one image I could consider disturbing and such

Remember when back in the day before the series aired how the Exorcists were so hyped? They were this unavoidable threat looming over the heads of the characters, a reminder that if Charlie doesn't succeed in redemption, all of these characters will have to go years and years preparing themselves for a massacre and inevitably die a second time.

Then when we get to see them in the show a bit earlier than expected here how they act…

Maybe I hyped them too much.. I expected them to be fierce soldiers led by Michael or something.

The thing is, we don’t know what are the Exorcists yet, Adam said he named Vaggie (and probably the rest of the girls) but she’s still Salvadoran, which is really confusing. Hopefully, we’ll get more answers, my personal guess is that Viv is going to go with fan theories that they are humans. That can be interesting but if they are that doesn't explain why they thought themselves invincible.

I created something completely different, basing myself on multiple religious texts as always, I intend to make more posts about my rewrite of characters I drastically changed, and possibly one about Heaven. It’s gonna be long because I crammed a lot of information.

I. Why kill sinners?

Souls are powers, the more it sins, the stronger the 7 Deadly Sins get.

Hell started traditionally as a pit of fire and desolation, when The Seven Sins discovered they could get stronger through the humans, they completely reshaped Hell’s society and influenced Earth with the help of Hellborns.

Mammon is pretty much the reason why we live in a capitalistic society, as Greed is at the center of almost everything (The love for money is described as be Root of All Evil in the Bible.) So his influence on Earth was mirrored to create the Hellaverse we all know.

In Hell, Hellborns, rather than physically torture the Sinners, tempt and trap them in toxic lifestyles. Back in the day, Sinners could have access to the other Rings and indulge in a wide range of vices. Heaven noticed it and reacted immediately to prevent Lucifer’s rise in power and avoid a potential war. They came up with the Extermination and wisely decided to set this up at a very specific time.

You see, around the 16th century Lilith was expecting and she reached her 5 months of pregnancy for the first time in 6000 years. She was cursed by God after fleeing Eden, and all of her pregnancies usually end in miscarriage. Furthermore, she suffered ten times harder than any other woman.

So that's when they forced Lucifer to comply with their deals. He didn't want his wife to be in the middle of a war so he accepted. The deal essentially was that Angels could come to his kingdom once a year to kill as many people as possible, but if they dared to attack a Blue Blood he would bite back.

To diminish the amount of destruction that would be caused by the Exorcists all Sinners are confined to the Pride Ring as they are the main targets. But between us, if you’re a Hellborn and find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time you’re dead.

Royalties are the only ones spared from the massacre, they picked a relatively weak type of angel to do the dirty work so the Exorcists aren’t even remotely strong enough to kill one of the 72 Lesser Keys, only lower ranks demons and sinners.

II. The Exorcists

The Watchers:

Over the few angels sent to observe humans' expansion, a considerably large amount of them have been exposed to Lucifer’s deviant ideologies and were inspired to follow The Traitor’s ideal and defy God’s plan. 200 of them put these doctrines into motion and their Heavenly Light got tainted by one sin, Lust.

They fell in love with the women on Earth and shapeshifted to marry those they lusted after, causing the birth of wicked creatures between Celestial beings and humankind, the Nephilim. Their second sin was to reveal forbidden knowledge to be viewed as deities unleashing Chaos and wars between humans (you know when we fight to know which God is stronger/real).

God put an end to this and sent Archangels who banished these 200 Watchers to Hell. To ensure that the rest of humanity wouldn’t be corrupted by their children, God flooded the Earth-saving few humans deemed as virtuous (Noah and his family weren't the only ones.)

The Watchers that remained were ripped off a considerable amount of their powers. They got disfigured to ensure the failure of any tentative seduction, and each of them is kept on a tight leash in Heaven unable to access most parts of Heaven without authorization and supervision.

The Birth of Exorcists:

Misael grew disdain for those of their kind who rebelled against the Lord as their trust and love for the Almighty was endless.

This loyalty permitted them to become the next leader of the Watcher after the betrayal of the former chief. The Watchers, alongside them, grew all bitter toward demons and their sinful siblings, a bitterness that turned into hatred for their peers.

When Misael heard the words of a possible uprising, they proposed an annual extermination as a last resort and a way for the Watchers to pay for the sins of their siblings. Which got accepted.

Few details about Misael:

→ Miseal means normally ‘As God is’ but my thought process was that Misia in Greek means ‘hate’ and they hate demons. I just added the ‘El’ syllabus of God.

→ Their voices are surprisingly soft, a bit like Blue Diamond, it almost make you forget that they are about to slice your throat open. They have this habit of reassuring sinners saying that their suffering is coming to an end.

III. Appearance:

Exorcists are lepers and constantly in pain, they were removed from their ability to shapeshift.

Today Leprosy is curable but before modern medicine, it was considered a divine punishment since they had no treatment. There are instances in the Bible where God punishes people by turning them into a leper.

They usually wear bandages to cover their face and this isn't even near how horrible their condition can get. The entirety of their body is sick and they wear large loose clothes to cover them, below the fabric they are still covered with bandages. The halo is in reference to the Crown of Thorns of Jesus, the Romans put it on his head as a form of humiliation. The Watchers used to have normal haloes but they aren't worthy of it anymore.

They are very much recognizable in Heaven as they are the only ones wearing black, to signify their loss of purity and kinda to represent their mourning for their Fallen siblings and the souls they are taking in Hell.

During the Exterminations, they wear silver masks, and Misael wears a golden one since they are the leader. They withhold close-range weapons as a reminder that they are taking lives.

The sun in the center of their armor is a reference to God (a symbol I created for my story) it’s in reference to the Morningstar trying to overcome the Sun.

I got lazy, I haven’t drawn anything in months, so I’m probably gonna re-draw this. I forgot a few details.

IV. Details

→ Each beginning of Extermination is announced by the sounds of Seven Trumpets playing at the same time.

→ They have to make the death as quick and painless as possible.

→ A list of names and ways of identification such as pictures is given to each of the Exorcists so they know who they should approach with caution. They can die, it may not be common but it’s still a possibility. Usually, they target Overlords as their activities in Hell make people sin more and more.

→ They have no right to kill anyone belonging to the Royalty, they don't have enough powers to. Any demons they encounter on the street however must be killed regardless of their status as hellborn or sinners.

→ They can affect technology, Hell has no natural light source as it’s the only place Gods do not pay attention. During the Exterminations, the electricity is completely shut down, the only source of light is the Heaven portals which disorient the sinners because it’s blinding.

→ Exorcists are killable, but usually when faced with 12-foot soldiers you back away. While they do wear armor that completely covers them if they get hurt somehow, they’ll regenerate unless it’s an angelic steel.

The only part that isn't protected is the base of their wings so with the right weapons you could cut it. Guns are also a possibility but their wings are big enough to be used as a shield (76 feet, I did the math.)

→ It’s rare but some Exorcists lose their weapons when facing sinners who fight back.

[silentglassbreak]

Please please , write something. Noah and Lily, she is designer and painter, they are working together on design for new album or merch, or something like that. She is redhead, have freckles, have a lot of tattoos, like to wearing skirts and sundresses. thank you! I love your work so so much 💔💔🥲

Bb you are my first ask! So, naturally, you have my undying love and affection for eternity!

Also, this physical description is giving me such inspiration. My best friend has a very similar physical appearance, so this will be fun!! (I just finished this and OMG this got away from me. I did not intend for this to be this long...I really got into this one. I hope you enjoy!)

So let’s get into this, shall we?

Rating: Mature (for language)

Warnings: None.

Into The Ocean

What did I think would happen when I moved to New York City? That I would get here, put a few paintings in some galleries, and suddenly I’d be making millions? How fucking insane am I?

My inner monologue continued as I catatonically stirred my bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes, moping heavily.

It had been six months since I moved here on a whim and a breath of a dream, thinking that with my ‘sparkling personality’, ‘adorably good looks’, and ‘raw talent’ I’d be a success so quick. These days, however, I spent a lot of time wishing I had stayed back home in Hartford, in my Mom’s two bedroom home, with my dog and my normalcy.

No, couldn’t be me. I had to go off with delusions of grandeur, and get myself a full time job as a desk girl at a law firm (which sucked), and had virtually no time to paint like I wanted. My studio apartment in Queens was big enough for me; a bed, a small table, and my paint supplies. I had a clothes rack for my small wardrobe, and a television on the wall adjacent to my bed. My minimal belongings were strewn haphazardly around with no real method. It felt much like my life - off kilter.

Frustrated, I decided to get off the bed, still holding my bowl, and stared at the cereal floating sadly in the milk. It looked so pathetic, the same as I felt.

My eyes wandered to the floor, then the edge of the bed, and eventually to the right of it, where the seven-foot by four-foot canvas sat.

I had that particular canvas since my first day here in New York. I swore that canvas would hold my best work. The piece that would change everything for me. I promised myself I wouldn’t touch it until I was certain I knew what it would be, and was ready.

But now? Staring at it? It mocked me. Day in, day out, it reminded me that I was just another struggling artist in this God forsaken jungle of a city made of concrete and exploitation. It laughed at me. It told me I had failed.

Without realizing it, my arm shot the bowl in my hand clear across the room, the milk and flakes splattering all over my bed, and eventually spraying the canvas. It left a sickly gray hue against the stark white vastness behind it, giving me a sense of anger. A sense of rage.

Climbing up onto my bed, my feet digging into the mattress while I reached for the shelf above it, grabbing random paints from the bowl they lived in. I hastily twisted the caps off of each, my breathing becoming frantic as I felt the sudden anxiety surge through me.

Once the tubes were open, I didn’t bother with my palette, or my brushes, I just squeezed the tubes, three in each hand, until they all sprayed like firehoses over the canvas, all in varying shades of blue and black. I hadn’t even realized I only grabbed blue and black paint.

Finally, after several minutes of raging, smearing paint across the canvas with no structure, using my palms and fingers, I stepped back. The anger and fire in my chest had dulled. I took a step back, and caught a glimpse of myself in my wall-length mirror across the room, and cringed.

Navy blue paint streaked my pale yellow shorts and faded UC t-shirt. I had a large glob of black paint on my face near my hairline, turning that spot of my red waves a midnight color. I needed a shower.

Now that I had thoroughly ruined my clothes, bed, walls, and canvas, I elected to head for the bathroom to clean myself up before the process of cleaning my apartment.

However, as I turned away from the canvas, I caught a sight of it in my peripheral, and something in my brain sparked. The blues and blacks, which turned dark grey when mixed. The lines and swirls they fell in. The non-uniformity of it all.

Waves.

Ocean.

Chaos.

And like that, I was climbing back up on my bed, ready to finish my painting.

It was after 5AM, and I only had three hours before I had to be back at work before I finished. When I did, I gasped at what I saw in front of me.

It was superb.

The waves crashed everywhere as the moon hung low in the sky, storm clouds covering. Amidst the maelstrom that was the ocean, there was one large, beautiful, impossibly sad octopus, thrashing in the waves, bleeding from the eyes.

The octopus was a deep gray, blending but also naturally contrasting the color of the waves, deep crimson blood running from its desperate eyes.

It was painful. It was despondent. It was powerful.

This was it.

-

Forty-two days had passed, and I was struggling to breathe as my hands trembled where they sat in my pockets, watching the droves of people walk by me. I did my best to smooth down the skirt of my lime-green sundress and tugged at the lapels of my denim jacket. My hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, leaving my waves to cascade down my back loosely, out of my face.

The sun above provided a warmth that was needed, but I had forgotten SPF today, which meant I would likely have a fresh batch of freckles on my cheeks to add to all the others. Today had to be the day. Something in my skin told me it did.

I had been to three art fairs, two open galleries, and a fine arts convention, trying to get something, anything sold.

Three days after I finished my piece, I was told that Burgen & Black no longer needed my position, so this was all I had right now. This, and the three hundred dollars my mom loaned me when I told her I was a little short on rent.

Rent wouldn’t be an issue soon if I didn’t sell anything, as cardboard boxes are real cheap.

This open fair was in Central Park, mid-September, so it was comfortable outside. The sun was getting low, causing a golden sky to reach overhead. I had been here all day, and was beginning to feel defeated.

I hadn’t sold as much as one print. One painting.

After staring at the crowds for another twenty-minutes, I finally decided to start packing up. It was a long bus ride back to Queens, and I would be too cold after dark.

Stuffing a handful of my prints into my portfolio bag, I huffed at myself, shaking my head.

Maybe it was time to go home. Maybe being an artist just wasn’t where I fit. Maybe I did need to reconsider college. It wasn’t too late. Twenty-six was an easy age, right?

“Is this all you?”

A sharp, deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts, making me spin on my heel, to see who was standing at my booth, scanning the pieces set up on the table.

The first thing I noticed was how tall he was. He had at least a foot of height on me. I noticed next that he was covered everywhere in tattoos. The long expanse of his arms that led to the bit of his chest I could see behind his tank top was littered. It made my mouth dry.

His hair was short, hidden under a ball cap, sunglasses perched on his nose.

It took me a moment of staring before I realized he had asked me a question.

“Oh, uh,” I walked back to the table, standing directly in front of him. “yeah these are my works.”

He nodded, looking down at the table and flipping fingers through the prints.

“I like them. They’re different.”

I gave my best ��please buy this’ smile, and nodded.

“Thank you. I just paint what I feel. It helps me deal.”

He smirked. “I get that.” His eyes came back up to my face. “Not the painting. I can’t do that. But having something to help you deal? I get that.”

That’s interesting. “Yeah? What do you use to deal?”

He flashed his teeth at me. “Music.”

Oh, brother. A musician. Any awe I was feeling was dissolving. I had yet to meet one that was worth his salt in anything, let alone carrying a tune.

“Ah, well, different animal, same results?” I tried not to sound disinterested.

“How much for the prints?”

I felt my lungs tighten. Money?!

“Ten, but it’s two for eighteen.”

He smirked. “What would a hundred get me?”

If I had not caught it quick enough, my eyes would have bugged out of my head. I stifled a cough to cover up my surprise.

“Uh,” I looked around. No one had purchased one hundred dollars of my work before. Not all at once. “Seven prints? Or four prints and a canvas or two? Depends on size.”

I pointed to the side of my table, there I had a cardboard box full of canvases. He glanced over, and turned so he could see better.

With a ‘hmph’, he squatted down and looked through them, nodding at some, disregarding others.

Eventually, he came back up and had two smaller canvases perched in his hands.

A painting I had done of ravens when I was sat in a cemetery one day for inspiration, and one of a dark room that held a single bright red wood chair. That had come to me in a dream.

“Okay, and I’ll take these four prints.” He handed me the laminated copies and gave me a sweet, polite smile.

“Sounds good, it’ll be a hundred even.”

“Can you take card?” My face fell. I couldn’t handle my rent and groceries, let alone a card reader.

He must have noticed, because he raised his eyebrows.

“Got Zelle?”

I nodded, pulling my phone out, a rush of relief washing over me. I gave him my phone number, and he pulled me up, transferring a cool one hundred dollars into my account. My stomach flipped. I was halfway to rent with my borrowed cash, and I still had two weeks before it was due.

It was the first shred of hope I had felt in a while.

“Noah!” A male voice called before a shorter man bounded up, and my eyes popped open.

Nick Folio, the drummer from Bad Omens, stood in front of my table, and I just about fell over with a stroke.

My mouth was hung open, in pure disbelief. It hadn’t even occurred to me who he had called for.

Folio held a plastic bag, having clearly grabbed something else from another table.

“There’s a guy selling homemade lures, dude. I bought six!” His teeth flashed in excitement, and my customer shook his head, smiling.

“You’re going to go broke buying those things.”

It was in that moment it dawned on me. That voice. Those tattoos. Those sinfully long fingers…

“Are you Noah Sebastian?” My words came out rushed, before I could stop them.

A sly grin fell over his lips. “Never heard of him.” He smoothly turned around, preparing to leave. “Thanks for the artwork.”

Folio gave me a small wave before following Noah. I was frozen.

I just met one half of Bad Omens. I had sold artwork to Noah Sebastian. He liked my art. I couldn’t breathe.

It took me a solid ten minutes before I could move, then packing my things and heading for the bus with my bag and box in arms, glancing around the park a few times for a familiar ball cap and forbidden fruit tattoo.

-

Nine days have passed since I unexpectedly met Noah Sebastian and Nick Folio, and it had been heavy on my mind until the stress of my rent became the reason I was laying awake at night.

With no other real resolve, my hunt for another nine-to-five not getting very far, I found myself trekking back to Central Park, ready to set up another table. I had fresh prints, and a dozen new canvasses to hopefully sell.

Now that we had crossed the threshold into October, the air was becoming more brisk. Today, I had elected to wear a floor-length forest green skirt with a white crop top, my black zip hoodie keeping my arms warm.

Today was more lively, giving me the opportunity to sell six prints and four canvasses by noon. I had made my rent, and was working on the power bill next. I had slightly raised my prices, given my circumstances, but I justified it with the need to survive.

Did I expect to run into him again? Not at all. In fact, I had convinced myself that my once in a lifetime chance to meet him had passed, and I should be excited about it. I was a Bad Omens fan, and had been since their second album. Their style of music was absolutely cathartic for me, giving me inspiration on more than one occasion while painting.

So, imagine my surprise, when I heard the same deep, smooth voice while I was reorganizing my canvasses.

“Back again?” This time, he wore a hoodie, beanie over his hair, and no sunglasses. His eyes were so big, so brown. I wanted to stare at them for hours.

I snorted. “Me? I could say the same to you?”

He leaned his hand on the table, smiling down at where I was crouched in front of my box.

“Selling a lot?”

Triumphantly grinning, I stood up, leaning my palms on the table. “Actually, yeah. It’s been weird. Central Park isn’t normally a hot spot for me, but today has been great!”

There was a flash of thirty-two stunning teeth, and I held myself upright.

“Maybe the word is spreading?”

“Maybe. Going to buy anything today?”

Raising a row, he scanned the table, tapping on one print. “This one is nice. How much?”

“Fifteen.”

His head snapped up, bewildered look on his face.

“It was ten last week?”

A sheepish blush crept over my face, and I tried to be sweet, brushing some of my loose hair behind my ear.

“Yeah, uh,” I couldn’t look right at him. “I had to raise the price a little. Living cost’s a bitch.” I shrugged.

He looked absolutely amused. “I see.” He pulled his phone out, and began tapping at something I couldn’t see. Afterwards, he picked up the print he chose, and gave me a two finger salute.

“Thanks a lot, Red.”

I smirked, feeling the phone vibrate in my pocket. I ignored it for now and approached a young couple who had walked over to my table. I did, however, watch as Noah left, making his way straight out of the park, not stopping at any other tables.

Finally home, I flopped down on my bed, and let my eyes fall closed for just a moment. I had called it early, feeling exuberant and deciding I deserved an afternoon to just relax, not painting, not trying to find a job, just snacking and watching Netflix.

Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, I sat up, seeing some missed messages and scrolling through my notifications.

When I came to the last one, I nearly dropped my phone.

Zelle Notification: Noah Davis sent you $100.

My jaw dropped. He only bought one print. Why would he give me so much? He must have done it by mistake.

I bit my lip, bothered. I felt guilty, as if I had stolen the money from him. People were generous, but no one was that generous...right?

Staring at my Zelle account, I took a deep breath, and tapped on the transaction, pulling up the details. My finger hovered over Noah's name, wondering if I'd just get his email. After counting three calculated breaths, I finally tapped it, and a phone number flashed under the name.

Oh God, I had Noah Sebastian's phone number.

It was me being a good samaritan that caused me to pull up a text thread, and begin typing a message. The voice in the back of my head screamed at me that I could just sent eighty-five dollars back, and not invade his privacy by texting him.

But...

Me: Noah?

After hitting send, I physically tossed my phone on the mattress, and pulled my knees up to my chest, breathing erratic. I sat in absolute silence, waiting. Each passing second made my soul fall. What if it wasn't his personal cell he used for Zelle? He was a somewhat celebrity, after all. Would he really just casually give his number out to a random girl in the park?

My phone chimed, and I thought my carotid was going to blow out of my neck. Shaking fingers lifted the phone.

Noah: Who is this?

No confirmation of identity, but the number worked.

I went to type a response, telling him who I was, until I realized I never gave him my name. Sure, I had signed my art, but my signature was decently illegible.

Chewing my lip, I wracked my brain for the right response.

Me: Red.

The text bubbles had turned blue, and I saw he had received and read the message, but his type signal hadn't come up yet.

I was insane, I had to be.

Noah: LOL you mean Lily?

My blood ran cold.

Me: How do you know my name?

Noah: Well, much like my own, your Zelle tells me your first and last name.

I felt like such a moron. Of course it did.

Me: Oh, LOL yeah I didn't think of that.

I typed out another message, before I forgot.

Me: You sent me too much for that print!

Noah: No I didn't.

Me: You did. You sent me $100.

Me: I can send back $85.

Noah: Don't you dare.

This made me pause, already on the Zelle screen, his message flashing as a banner on top, making my fingers halt.

Me: Noah, I can't take that from you for one print.

Noah: ...because...?

Me: Because it's way too much! I appreciate it, but I'm not comfortable with that.

He waited a few minutes, his type bubble appearing and disappearing a few times.

Noah: So I'll buy something else from you, then.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: What would you like?

Noah: You have a portfolio online?

I sighed, embarrassed. My online presence was close to nonexistent. I had an Instagram, with all of five photos on it, and they were all four months old. I didn't have a website, not having the money to create one yet.

Me: I don't, I'm sorry.

Noah: Studio I can check out?

I stared at the screen, and laughed loudly. Oh, I've got a studio alright. Just not what he's thinking of.

Me: Not exactly. I'm a very small artist. I do all of my work out of my apartment.

Noah: Which is where?

My heart sunk. No way. Not letting him in my four hundred square foot, paint covered, disarrayed apartment.

Me: Queens.

I stayed vague.

Noah: Oh yeah, I'm over in Central Park West right now.

I sighed, relieved, and slightly disappointed.

Me: I can send you some pictures of my work? I'll just need a few to take them.

Noah: Can you just FaceTime? Seems faster.

How on Earth did we get here? I was going to FaceTime with a rockstar, and show him my paintings? This couldn't be real life.

Me: Sure. Call when you're ready.

I walked over to the corner of my studio that I kept my completed works in, a sheet thrown over the large canvas in an attempt protect the paint from the sun rays. I had yet to take that one anywhere yet. I hadn't found the right venue to sell.

After about five minutes, my phone began vibrating in my hand, and I looked down to see his name flashing.

My heart was beating so frantically, I was sure it would disconnect and come out of my throat.

I swiped the call open, and held the camera at the most flattering angle I could. Once the call connected, he sat on what appeared to be a staircase, somewhere outside, same beanie on his head from earlier, and was smiling into the camera.

"Hey!"

His enthusiasm surprised me, and I waved nervously, smiling back at him.

"Hi."

"Why do you look so uneasy? Are you being held hostage or something?"

My face fell, wildly confused by his comment. "What?"

His laugh echoed through the receiver, which made this weird jittery thing happen in my stomach.

"I'm just joking. You just look uncomfortable." He pulled his beanie down more, and I swallowed dryly, trying to giggle.

"Oh, yeah. No I'm good."

He sat back, elbow resting on the step behind him. "You sure?"

I felt like we weren't getting past this point. "Can I be honest?"

He didn't respond, just gestured for me to continue.

"I'm a fan. A big fan. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous."

His smile could've illuminated a small town.

"Oh yeah?" He ran a hand over his face. "Don't be. I'm just a guy."

Feeling rebellious, I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. A guy who hundreds of thousands of girls would kill to FaceTime with."

This made him blush, so he looked down. "Ah, I don't know about that."

I decided to press my luck. "I do."

He furrowed his brow, smirking. "Oh yeah? So you're just that lucky, huh?"

This made me grin, in near disbelief. "Ah, the great Noah Sebastian. Cocky, huh?"

This made him laugh again, to which I joined.

"Nah. Like, I said, I'm just a guy. Really cool to know you're a fan, though." I nodded in response. "Ever seen us live?"

I shook my head. "Cost of living's a bitch. You think I can afford concert tickets?"

He shrugged. "Fair enough, dude."

"Anyways, you want me to show you the artwork?"

He agreed, and I flipped the camera around, scanning through the various pieces I had out in the corner. At his request, I would get closer to a piece, or pull it up to the camera. I watched as his eyes would get close to the phone, analyzing each canvas.

"I really like the desert painting." He was referring to a painting I had done that was slightly more abstract of a desert with random melted items such as longhorn skulls, cacti, and pieces of driftwood. They melted into the sand below.

"Okay. That would bring your total with the print earlier to fifty, since this one is bigger."

He nodded. "Do you have anything for fifty even?"

Biting my lip, I scanned my eyes, landing on a painting I had of a black cat, perched on the edge of a pond, cleaning it's paw, a skeletal hand reaching out of the water for it. The painting was done in nearly all neon colors, which was different for me.

"This one." I held it up in the camera.

"Oh dude, that's fucking sick." He pulled back from the camera. "I'll take it."

I chuckled. "Okay, do you want me to ship them?"

I flipped the camera back around, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "To Central Park West?"

I shrugged. "I could."

"Nah. I can get them from you. I don't live in New York and I leave back home for LA this weekend."

This made my chest sink only a little. "Right, I can ship them there if you want?"

He shook his head. "Let's meet up and I can get them?" I hesitated to respond, and I swear I saw a flash of concern on his face. "Unless you've got plans or something."

This made me smirk. "We didn't even say when? How would I know if I had plans?"

He huffed out a laugh, grabbing his beanie off of his head and smiling. "Sorry, you're right."

"When do you want to meet?"

"Tonight? I'm busy most of the week, but I'd really like to get my stuff soon."

Pondering this, I sat down on my bed, back to my art corner. "Where?"

"There's an Italian restaurant near my hotel. We can get dinner?"

I'm going to dinner with Noah fucking Sebastian?!

"Sure. Just text me the address?" He nodded in response. "What time?"

"Whatever time works best for you, Red."

I rolled my eyes. "You know my name, Noah."

A small wink, and he smiled. "I know, Lily. I just like your hair."

My face turned a deep shade of crimson, and I felt the urge to pull at my long red waves.

"Well, if that's the plan, I'm going to get ready. I have to leave a while before you to catch the subway."

I stood off the bed and went to turn, but he spoke and stopped me.

"Hey, what's that behind you?"

I turned, scanning. "What?"

"Under the sheet."

It occurred to me what he was referring to, and I waved it off.

"Just another piece."

"Can I see it?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I haven't shown anyone yet."

"So? I can be the first!" He seemed so excited, which made me giggle.

"It's an emotion piece. Not like the others."

He raised a brow. "Still not hearing why I can't see it."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shrugged. "Alright, but don't get too excited. It's not as clean and precise as my other work."

He just shrugged, and I reached over, pulling the sheet off the canvas, and flipped the camera.

I watched his eyes, scanning the screen over and over. He looked so enamored, I was confused. Was the connection bad?

"Noah? You okay?"

He leaned back, blinking. "Lily, that's fucking amazing!"

I laughed, stepping closer to the painting. "It's okay. It's a rage painting. Something I started in a fit, and kind of worked into what it is now."

"I can tell. You can feel the pain in the image. The colors are unbelievable."

"Oh, I don't know. It's okay."

"Okay? Red, that painting is unreal. How much do you want for it?"

His question caught me by surprise, nearly knocking me down. "What?"

"How much? I want it." He was so matter of fact, that the air rushed out of me.

"I haven't priced it. It's a big piece, bigger than anything else I've ever done."

"Okay, well tell me what you think, because I'll pay a lot for it."

My heart began stammering, words not forming on my lips. "Y-You really want it?"

"I don't just want it; I want to use it."

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you at dinner. Just do me a favor? Think about a price? I really want that painting."

-

We agreed to meet at 7PM, but I was late. The subway had been packed, and I missed the first one. I didn't come jogging up to the front of the restaurant until fifteen after, seeing Noah stood outside, same outfit on as earlier today. I had to calm my insides at the sight.

I waved when he caught a glimpse of me, earning a smile in my direction.

"Hey, Red!"

I rolled my eyes. He wasn't letting that go.

"Hi, Noah."

When I approached, he put an arm out, and wrapped it around my shoulders casually. I had to take several deep breaths to remind myself that, like he said, he's just a guy.

An attractive guy. With tattoos. And the voice of an angel.

And this wasn't a date...right? This was a transaction...right?!

Trying to shake off the thoughts, I handed him the bag on my arm.

"Your goodies."

He smiled and took the bag, looking inside. "Nice. Thank you."

I followed him into the restaurant, which didn't look too terribly fancy. We were dressed casually, as were most people here. We were sat at a small table, a little dish with butter and rolls already in the middle.

We sat down, and began scanning the menus. The prices jumped out at me as relatively expensive, and I knew I would be taking my work out again tomorrow to make back the money I would be spending tonight.

Noah ordered a beer. I ordered water.

Noah ordered a steak with linguine on the side. I ordered a salad.

This caught his attention. "You don't want more than a salad and water?"

I hid behind my glass, shrugging. "Not the most hungry."

"Hm," He sat back and eyed me. "okay. For now."

The fuck does that mean?

"So have you given any more thought to how much you want for that painting?" He spoke before I could respond.

"I haven't. I really don't know, Noah." I shook my head, thinking. "Three hundred?"

His eyes widened. "No way, man. It's worth way more."

I was dumbstruck. "Are you asking me to charge you more?"

"Fuck yeah I am. That painting is worth ten grand, at the very least."

As badly as I wanted not to, and prayed I hadn't, I spit my water out onto the table, spraying my salad. My face immediately turned bright red, matching my hair.

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed very unfazed. "What?"

"Did you say ten grand? As in ten thousand?" He nodded. "Dollars?!"

He rolled his eyes. "No. Marshmallows."

Without thought, I picked up a cherry tomato and tossed it at him, bouncing it off of his hand on his plate. He glanced up at me, mouth open, amused.

"Did you just throw a tomato at me?"

I pressed my lips together in a very small, devious grin. "Maybe."

He picked up the tomato between two long fingers, considered it for a moment, and popped it in his mouth.

"I've never had that happen. And I'm a singer."

This made me laugh. "Oh God."

He wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Seriously, though, Red. You need to price your stuff fairly. Don't accept less than what you're worth."

I leaned back in my chair, considering this. "So, you want to pay me ten thousand for my painting?"

He shook his head. "I don't." My heart sunk for a second. "My label will, though."

My eyebrows shot up. "Pardon? The label?"

He was chewing some steak, and waited to swallow before he responded. I found myself staring at the apple on his throat bobbing.

"I want that painting to be our next album cover."

I felt my jaw physically hit the floor, break through the table and all. I was hallucinating.

"You...what?"

"I've been looking for months. I had been looking at photography until very recently, because I just wasn't finding anything that worked. I started scouting art fairs and galleries almost a year ago."

My eyes were blinking at an alarming rate.

"So, that's why you came to Central Park twice, then."

He smirked, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. "That's why I came to your table twice, yes."

I was pushing my salad around on the plate, not looking at him. "Ah, and here I was thinking you came back to see me." I looked up and gave him the cheekiest smile I could, joking.

Snorting, he flashed his teeth again. "Well, that too."

My stomach stuttered, and I set my fork down. I folded my arms on the table, looking straight at him.

"You're serious? You really want my painting for the album?"

He put his hands in his sweater pockets and leaned forward, so his face was hovering over the table.

"I'm dead serious." His tongue slipped over his bottom lip, catching my attention. "There's more to it than just buying it. We'd have to purchase rights from you, so you can't sell copies."

I raised a brow, now intrigued. "Oh?"

He leaned back again. "I don't want anyone else having our original piece that you did. We would, of course, credit you on the album, and maybe even ask you to do some additional work for the rest of the art?"

There was a lump in my throat I couldn't swallow. "Rest of the art?"

"Yeah. The back of the album. The vinyl casing and variants. Merch, maybe?"

I couldn't breathe. It was so hot all of a sudden.

Noah could sense my panic. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to overwhelm you."

I gulped down half of my water at once. "No, I just..." I trailed off, staring at the tablecloth. "I've never had anyone want my artwork that bad."

He smiled. "Isn't the point to sell it? Success?"

"Well sure, but to go from selling prints and small canvasses in the parks to doing artwork for a huge band like Bad Omens? That's a bit of a step." I stared at him, trying to mask my anxiety, and failing horribly.

"I don't know if I'd call us huge." His smirk was coy, and I rolled my eyes.

"Wow. Cocky." I echoed my earlier statement, and this made him giggle like a child.

"Listen, think about it? In the meantime, can I ask a favor?" I didn't respond. "Don't sell any copies of that? Once you do, I can't use it."

I shrugged, and nodded, agreeing.

-

Two weeks had gone by, and I had not seen Noah since the night at the restaurant. I had re-covered the canvas, but the question replayed in my mind over and over.

Noah had decided to buy more pieces off of me, bringing my profits up to six hundred, which had my utilities paid this month and a small batch of groceries in the refrigerator. I agreed to ship them as soon as I could, but he kept telling me to take my time.

I knew what he really wanted to ask, but he held back.

I had thought about it over and over, trying hard to not let my bias toward Noah, or the bad, sway me.

This was a big step. Not owning my own art? Being pressured to make more that met a standard? Being under a contract? That wasn't what I got into this for. This wasn't why I became an artist and moved here. One of the best parts about creating something that you love, is that you get to do it freely. Once you have to do it, or do it a certain way, it becomes all too tedious. It's work now. I wasn't sure I'd be happy with it.

But on the flipside, there was a strange thrill at the idea. Someone wants my painting bad enough that they are willing to give me so much leeway financially, I can paint whenever I want. I'll get exposure. This could be what does it.

This painting could change everything.

And that was the point, right? I bought the canvas telling myself that this was the piece that changed it all. This was my ticket to success. And here it was, in front of me...

Ripping the sheet off of the canvas, I stared at it. The waves crashed over one another. The moon, bright, but somehow so ominous, shone through, bouncing off of the water in a way that made them look almost silver. The octopus, tentacles scattered amongst the waves, stared at me, bleeding eyes seeing through my soul.

"Is this what I'm supposed to do?" I asked the creature. I was met with silence. Loud, deafening, overwhelming silence.

"Fuck it."

I picked up my phone from the bed, bringing up my recent text thread with Noah, smiling at the meme he had sent earlier in the day.

I typed out a quick message, and sighed when I saw he read it quickly, and responded even quicker.

Me: I'm in.

Noah: Oh FUCK yeah!

-

Six months ago, I met Noah Sebastian for the first time, and he bought some of my art for a hundred dollars. Five and a half weeks ago, he bought more of my art for a hundred more dollars.

Five months ago exactly, his record label offered me twelve thousand dollars for my painting, and the rights to it, and offered me a contract to complete and provide artwork for all pieces surrounding their upcoming album, with an overall gross value of eighty-two thousand dollars to be paid up front, with the understanding that I would provide the artwork within one year of the contract signing.

Naturally, I was a mess.

Still living in my studio apartment, I had rented a painting studio six blocks from my apartment, and spent near all of my time there. I had completed the entire album artwork, maintaining the theme of the original piece, but adding in major twists in each installment.

So far, the label, the band, and mostly Noah, were pleased.

But today, I was stressed. There was one insert in the vinyl copy of the album that needed artwork. It needed a standalone piece, and I was drawing a vivid blank. I had been staring at the 3 foot by 2 foot canvas for two hours, paintbrush twirling between my paint-stained fingers. My old, ratted jeans were blotched with deep blue paint from my last attempt, which had been scrapped.

I was getting nowhere way too fast, and needed a break. I stood from my stool, and pulled my t-shirt off, standing in only my dark red sports bra to fight against the heat. I kept it warm in the studio to keep the paint from hardening in the palette.

Pacing back and forth, music pumping through my Bluetooth speaker, I sighed. I needed emotion. I needed something to throw at this damn thing, like before.

My phone quieted the music for a moment, and I snatched it to check.

Noah: In town this weekend. Want to get lunch?

As badly as I wanted to, I just couldn't.

Me: I can't. Trying to get this piece done.

Noah: Want me to bring you food? Can't paint on an empty stomach.

Considering this, I pursed my lips. He wasn't wrong.

I responded with the address to the studio.

Forty-five minutes later, and Noah was pushing his way into the small studio, bags of Chinese in his hands. I was sat on the stool, still staring at the blank canvas, twirling my brush, and didn't even look at him.

"Hey!" He set the bags down on the table on the far side of the room. "You haven't started yet?"

A hard, deep growl came out of me, and I chucked my brush at the ground, hearing it clatter. I stood, fingers gripping my hair at the root.

He threw his hands up. "Woah, it's okay! I wasn't trying to say anything to upset you."

I took a deep breath, letting go of my mop of hair. "You didn't. I'm just drawing such a fucking blank! I can't figure out what to paint for this insert!"

He tightened his lips, putting his hands in his jean pockets.

"What usually helps?"

"Anger! And I've got plenty! But I've still got fucking nothing!" My foot kicked the stool, sliding it several feel away.

He took a step forward, toward me, hands coming out in front of him.

"Okay, so anger isn't working. Any other emotions we can use?"

I raised an eyebrow, halting my pacing. "What do you mean?" My words were sharp, and he cracked an amused smile.

"You're a real fireball, clearly, Red. But, do you have other emotions we can channel?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Of course I have other emotions."

"Like?"

Suddenly feeling cornered, I squeezed my eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"I don't know." I looked up at him. "Sadness? Depression?"

He snickered. "Why all negative emotions?"

"What?"

"Why not joy? Enthusiasm? Excitement?" He looked so genuine, it almost hurt my heart, because I was so angry and it wasn't his fault.

I paced over to the stool, coming down with a screech against the floor. "Sorry." I confessed. "This is just hard to do under pressure, you know?"

He nodded, standing next to me, a soft hand coming down on my mid-back, rubbing slow circles on my bare skin.

"I get it. More than most, I think." I looked up at him. "But if what you're used to isn't working, then we have to do something different."

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and smiled weakly. "How?"

He pursed his lips, and his hand came under my arm, pulling me up from the stool. "Grab your brush."

Opting for a fresh one, I held it in front of me, and waited for further instruction.

He smiled, and put both hands on my shoulders, pulling me toward the easel and canvas. I followed absently, trying not to focus on my skin tingling where he was touching me.

"Okay," He moved behind me, pushing me closer to the canvas. "pick a color."

I chuckled, and leaned over to the palette to my right, picking up a deep navy on my brush.

Satisfied, he squeezed my biceps for a second before letting his hands fall away.

"Now, close your eyes."

I turned my head to look at him skeptically, but his eyes pleaded with me, so I obeyed, holding my loaded brush and letting my lids fall closed.

The room fell impossibly quiet, and I could feel his presence heavy behind me. The sensation brought goosebumps to my warm skin.

I was nearly startled when I felt his fingers brush my thick hair over my shoulder, and his breath came across my ear.

"Now," His voice was baritone, so raspy and so close to me. "I want you to picture what you're feeling at this very moment."

Feeling? What is feeling? Who am I ?

"Picture your emotions. Picture them as colors. Objects. Lights." He let out a deep exhale that washed over my neck, making me shiver.

"What if I can't?" My voice was small.

A large, strong hand grasped my right hip, pulling me to lean slightly backward, pressing against the front of his body.

"You can. I know you can."

The fingers of his other and were trailing up my hip, tracing patters over the tattoos on my ribcage.

"You know how to do this, Lily. Just see what you feel."

I wanted to push this. I wanted to see how far I could take it.

Eyes still closed, I let my lips turn up ever so slightly. "What if I can't feel enough, yet?"

His chest, pressed against my back, trembled with quiet laughter, "No? You need more stimulation?"

Jesus this guy's is going to murder me.

"Maybe." I smiled slyly.

His lips ghosted over the side of my neck just under my ear, his hand on my hip slipping around the front of my waist and pulling me even closer.

"What if I," His lips trailed up my skin, grazing the flesh so gently. "give you," Up to my chin. My breath was shaking. "something to feel?"

His lips were testing mine, tip of his nose bumping my own.

The lowest, most whispered moan escaped my lips before he dipped even lower, gently pressing his lips against mine. I molded to him, body encased by his arms, lips slotting into place against his, eyes rolling back behind my lids.

The feeling exploded out of me, pouring into his mouth, hands reaching up to grip his hair.

We stood there, mouths fighting for dominance, before I pulled away, pushing his hands off of me frantically, and nearly jumped toward the canvas.

I heard him breathing heavily behind me, a low chuckle erupting from him.

"I guess it worked?"

I stopped my brush strokes, turning my head and letting my hair flip over my shoulder.

"For now. Might need more stimulation later."

[sublimecatgalaxy]

could you do a Daryl dixon with "you're hurting me." It was just one of those losing temper kinda things then after the reader says that he starts to remember some things from his childhood. love your work btw<3

Hi anon friend!

Long time no see, this is my first request after about a month hiatus! I will be getting to my masterlist eventually, updating it, but so far I went through and redid my theme of both this blog and my side blog to give me a fresh start!

I hope you like this :)

Staring at him through my damp lashes, Daryl sends me a small look over his shoulders, reminding himself that I'm here, standing here like a pathetic mess, still digesting the words that came out of his mouth just seconds ago.

Stop acting like I need you.

Maybe I'm too clingy, maybe I relied on him too much throughout the world falling and going to hell. I should've learned from him, gained experience and talent, learned how to fend for myself so I didn't end up suffocating him in the process of needing him.

"I didn't..." He trails off, going to take a step towards me but he stops himself short a few inches, lips parted in quiet shock at his own horribly rude words.

"It's okay. I understand." Replying simply, I back away from him, falling into myself while wrapping my arms around my body, trying to conceal my hurt from him but he just shakes his head.

"Didn't mean it."

"It's okay if you did." I mutter, voice barely teetering on the edge of a whisper as he stares at me, wildly, as if my words couldn't be further from the truth. He takes a second, the pregnant pause only making my stomach sink with more weighted anxiety but his eyes are no longer angry, just frustrated and helpless.

"Not used to having people. Needing people." He huffs, reaching up to run a hand through his greasy hair with a loud, puffed sigh. "Makes me angry sometimes that I'm not as good on my own as I thought."

"You're hurting me." The words slip out faster than I intended them to, barely giving him a moment to finish his sentences as he gazes at me, eyes suddenly seeming beyond broken. "By saying those things." I add, biting anxiously at my lip with a deep, stuttered breath.

"Don't wanna hurt you." He reaches out to me, this time not stopping until his hand is wrapping around mine and there are unspoken words, an apology, an explanation, behind his sorry, sad eyes. I give him a firm nod, clearing my throat in an attempt to maintain my composure but it breaks a bit, a tear slipping down my cheek as he pulls me to his chest.

[bettyshoweduptotheparty]

My Exit Note (for now) - and A Letter to Taylor

I’m so very sorry to the lovely people on here who will be saddened to read this, but this will be my last post for a while. I re-joined tumblr in June last year to re-reconnect to this lovely community, and it genuinely seemed so much safer to do than back in 2017. I thought the fandom had gained some perspective as a whole. But after only 7 months, the fandom (and by that I mean swifties) has once again become a battle ground for us, fuelled by none other than Taylor herself, and I’m no longer willing to gloss over that. I’m choosing my own peace.

It may seem like a very fickle move after only 7 months in this space, when the good people on here are genuinely some of the kindest and most intelligent people I’ve ever met online, but let me explain why I need to take a break. I don’t intend to leave Taylor Swift and her art behind and never look back. In fact, I have Eras tour tickets for the summer and I want to give myself a chance to actually be excited about that by the time June comes around. But it’s all too familiar, pretty much exactly the same reason I left tumblr the first time in 2017. I’m here to discuss and analyse Taylor’s art with likeminded (queer) people and I can’t respect the artist of that very art when she continually gives her toxic ‘fans’ ammunition to come into our safe space and harass us and then watches as we scramble to keep ourselves safe amidst abuse and threats. They are doing this in HER name. Members of a marginalised community she claims to be an ‘ally’ to are being doxxed and harassed in HER name and she’s doing nothing. If anything she’s fanning the flames while it burns. Whatever it is that she’s doing with her brand right now, her silence when her own crazy fans are sending DEATH THREATS to people for simply interpreting her art, means that I cannot be part of that right now. I thought the fandom had changed, that Taylor had grown more confident defending what she stands for, but clearly, I was wrong.

The tipping point back in 2017 for me, was when she told those kids from the rep secret sessions that the album was all about her darling bf and gave them permission to go after anyone who said otherwise. And boy, did they take that seriously. They came after us in our little corner for gushing over how beautifully gay those songs were, fuelled by words straight from the horse’s mouth. SHE sent those people after us. Because she wrote the gayest album in history and she couldn’t deal with the noise getting too loud. And I lost all respect for her. It was only in 2019 when she was suddenly draped in rainbows that I carefully looked at gaylor spaces online again, because it seemed like she was finally actually committing to it. But we all know how that ended… So, to see one of those very rep secret session kids on my YouTube feed yesterday picking apart this beautiful NY Times article with lies and inaccuracies in the name of Taylor’s straightness, just reminded me whose side she decides to put herself on. She invited those people to her house. She caters to them, not us. She made them think they were her friends and then sent them after us. With HER OWN WORDS. And I can’t be in the trenches for someone who hands my bullies a gun and points at the target.

I will leave my blog active this time, so my content will be here for people to engage with if they want. But I won’t be on here to receive your messages or dm’s. I’m sorry that I’m leaving you guys at a time where we need to stick together, but I’m getting more anger and hurt out of this than joy atm and that’s always the time for me to put myself first and step away. I hope that we will come together again when the tide changes, I’m still somewhat convinced that the clock is ticking towards a better time for us, but I need Taylor to come through for us (and herself) before I can look at her again. And I promise if that happens, I won’t hold a grudge.

And lastly, here’s something I’ve never done because I’m not crazy enough to think that Taylor sees us on here, but I don’t have any other social media and I had to get this off my chest. (If you have twitter/instagram, maybe do something similar, you never know, she might actually see it and I think she needs to know how much hurt she’s causing with this)

Dear Taylor, @taylorswift

What are you doing, love? I wish I could actually ask you that. In fact, I’ve wished it many times throughout the decade that I’ve been a fan of your music. I’ve wished that I could tell you what your music meant to me when I was heartbroken, and how much joy it brought me when I was young and felt invincible. You changed my life when you proudly held a girl’s hand in public with a smile that showed me that love is there for people like me to find, after all. And when the world was hard on you, I wished I could ask you if you were ok. But today, I just want to ask you this: what have I done to deserve you sending the worst kind of people after me? Time and time again. And you can’t tell me you didn’t know that would happen, I know you’re smart. I know you know the kind of people I’m talking about, the ones that worship you like a God, that will stop at nothing to defend the version of you they have in their heads. The ones you built your empire on. Good on you, but when did you stop caring for the people that actually see you and read the words you put out into the world for us? Was that not what you wanted? I can’t claim to understand how you live the life you’ve chosen, but at least your art was always there to bring joy to my life and community when I needed it. I didn’t need you to be a hero, but now you’ve become part of the problem.

So, here’s the thing: choose a side. Commit to us, or let us go. This line that you’re walking has reached the end. You want to be an ally? Fine. Let me help you with that: Don’t claim to be a safe space for queer people and then throw a grenade into our community and watch it burn. That’s not what an ally does. Don’t appropriate our culture by using our pride flag colours or the colour lavender and then deny the cultural and historic significance of those colours, effectively erasing their meaning. That’s not what an ally does. And most importantly, don’t let people be slaughtered, gaslit and harassed on the internet, or mainstream news, for interpreting your music as queer. A young queer woman, who is an incredible journalist, got called ‘inappropriate’ and a liar on national news yesterday, because she picked up what you’re putting down in your music and wrote an article about it. An incredible article by the way, one that made us all feel seen and validated. And then you’re letting old white men on national television call that inappropriate and invasive. You may not have said those words, but you let them stand there uncommented, let your cultish fans think that their hero is offended by being presumed to be gay. You guessed it, that’s also not what an ally does. A marginalised group of your fans got DEATH THREATS in your name in the last 24 hours because we pick up on queer flagging in your art. And you did nothing. You handed our bullies weapons and left us to fend for ourselves. That is not a safe space for LGBTQ people. And for that reason, you’re losing me.

Because I have nothing to believe. Unless you actually choose me (and yourself for that matter). Just once.

Until then,

J

[soleilnomoon]

Prompt: “I don’t like them; I can barely tolerate them.” for Abarai Renji. Once again, I leave it up to you what you wanna do (but maybe enemies to lovers) Yes, I might be on a little Bleach binge right now but it's okay you like it. kiss kiss

*hides face* ok, ok, ok, hear me out, let's pretend i didn't take *insert accurate length of time here* and say i wrote this in a few days. i am so sorry i took forever and ever with this but as u know i can only give u top quality work or else i'll never forgive myself. renji is.......well *motions to him* yk how that man is, he made me suffer!!!! in a good way!!! but still i suffered!!! yk how much i love enemies 2 lovers u big brained beauty 🤭 so ty baby❤️️ also this is my first renji fic and i can't belev it.

5.2k words (don't look at me, just don't), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, enemies 2 lovers, angst city, angst angst city biiiitch (yk the vibez babey), smut obviously, no fluff bc who do u think i am? feat. renji being a mean petty bitch (i guess that makes him a mean dom maybe yes), sub reader bc that's what i want; there's a party with alcohol, ichigo and co. make brief appearances, bathroom sex, choking (he's sf romantic), a lot of cursing bc they're grown that's why, renji is a beast when he's jealous, reader is a lil bit of a brat but lbr who wouldn't be in that situation; mutual ""unrequited"" pining, lots of tension, fingering, rough (consensual) sex, lil bit of degradation, lil bit of a size kink, lil bit of praise kink, idk there's probably more stuff but i'm so tired rn i can't think; um renji obviously comes w his own gd warning; reader is determined to not let this man win but, hello, it's renji he always comes out on top wink wink. (if u see spelling errors/mistakes no u didn't hottie)

“when i write about all of this it becomes its own kind of violence. / i retell the story as myth, as if it were my own body devoured.” — caitlin scarano & “so much of love is violence. the desire / to be split open, invaded, mangled / and made new.” — erin slaughter

HATRED X TASTES X SWEET

you’ve never been cut out for this line of work, but your insistence on eliminating all your shortcomings is commendable. brave, even. it’s something you don’t really think about unless you want to spend the night half-drunk, rambling about the things you should’ve done but never had the courage to do.

like telling a certain red-haired, bullheaded lieutenant that he’s the most ridiculous and excessively arrogant man you’ve ever come across. all in all, you’re pretty sure telling him off won’t phase him; nothing ever does, not really anyway.

at first you try politeness; your grandmother would be proud of how well you’ve learned to bite your tongue. it’s ungraceful, but you fake it well enough that others think your emotional maturity is far above theirs. little do they know, you actually have to literally bite your tongue; simply remaining silent isn’t easy for you anymore. so, when you bite, it’s with rage, months of unshed tears and accumulated spite; you bite your tongue so hard you bleed more every time.

your unsaid words bunch together — tiny soldiers determined to strike in unison without fail — and sit heavily in the back of your throat, ready to launch forward at your command.

but you never say them, and you choke more than once; an unbearable shame to carry with you as he continues to slash at your patience, thin ribbons cascading off you like confetti. you wonder if your anger will lead to your death— or if it’ll lead to his. you intend to keep all of that hidden, though, and keep reminding yourself that eventually he will tire from berating you, from talking to you as if you’re the most incompetent being in all of soul society, from looking at you like your very being disgusts him.

that’s what you tell yourself these days. you like to conveniently ignore the way his dark eyes linger on yours during meetings — you’ve noticed that people have taken to describing them as soulless, cold and critical, unimpressed at everything and anyone.

but you see him — all of him; the raw, feral, powerful and severe side that not many have the misfortune of knowing. they think they get the real version of renji whenever they deal with him, but they never do; you know that now. you doubt it’s even intentional on his part, or maybe — just maybe — he really does hate you.

to put it plainly, as you’ve told rukia and rangiku, the sixth division lieutenant has the biggest fucking chip on his shoulder. despite the walls he continues to put up to keep others from carving out a place for themselves in his life, despite the way his words roll around his mouth, clumsily coasting down the length of his tongue before they pierce the air around you with their toxicity — you’re tired of the way he purposely singles you out time and time again to point out your inadequacies without remorse.

abarai renji is also sick of dealing with you. whenever he thinks he’s found a means of scaring you off, you scurry right back more determined and more obnoxious than ever. which is rich, coming from him.

he claims you’re inconsequential, a nuisance — a pest, even — one that he intends to get rid of permanently. it’s harsh and he’s more than aware of that, but he finds that this is the most appropriate solution to his problem. he could easily ignore you; he could try to keep his comments to himself and try to be somewhat cordial whenever you cross paths. but he won’t. and he has no damn idea why.

“no, no come in, i have plenty of snacks for everyone.”

rukia’s voice is a constant in his life that he’ll always be thankful for. he watches her glide into the room, grinning at the friends she’s invited over, her laughter like soft bells that is easily recognizable even with all the conversation happening. when he feels his chest constrict, an uncomfortable, yet familiar warmth stretching over his skin, he decides to drink so that he can ignore the sensation and forget.

a feeble attempt, because he knows how this will all end — with him drunk off his ass in an even worse mood than he started.

mouth opening, renji prepares to tell rukia to get better sake, when rangiku leads you into the living room where he’s lounging comfortably. the bottle in his hand grows heavier by the second and suddenly he’s not very interested in drinking anymore. already, his foul mood from earlier returns, and every step you take only fuels his irritation; it bubbles underneath his skin, making him frown and grip the bottle tighter.

you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s glaring at you — he always is. rangiku feigns obliviousness as she encourages you to go make yourself comfortable while she fetches snacks with rukia. you stare at both of them, wide-eyed, confused — a pleading look sliding onto your face after a few moments, but they assure you both that they’ll be back shortly.

with a sigh you sit on the armchair adjacent to him, determined to just remain quiet in the hopes that he’ll just ignore you for once. sitting up straight, discomfort finds its way to the pit of your stomach, swirling around as you fidget with the bracelet around your wrist. his eyes watch your movements with an obsessiveness that startles him; there’s no reason why he should be interested in the shape of your fingers, there’s no reason why he should be interested in the way you keep brushing stray curls away from your face, and there’s no reason why he should be interested in possibly fucking you when he knows for a fact that he is absolutely uninterested in you.

his disinterest runs so deep it spoils the taste of the sake, but he takes another swig anyway. the alcohol burns as it travels swiftly down his throat, and it just so happens that you glance over at him — innocuous, an attempt to gauge his annoyance level — as his throat bobs and your mouth dries at the sight.

you turn your face away quickly, a traitorous flush crawling slowly along your skin, unjustly warming your cheeks. inhaling deeply, you do your best to will the blush away to no avail. where the hell are rukia and rangiku? surely it can’t take that long to grab snacks. you’re tempted to go find them, but you have a sinking feeling that it would turn you into a coward.

and you refuse to give that man any more ammo against you.

IT’S X (NOT) X YOU

what initially starts as a small get-together, quickly turns into a party; leave it to rangiku to liven things up, her laughter infectious and whimsical, flitting about like a persistent hummingbird as she encourages everyone to play drinking games with her. experience taught him better than to engage because despite his high tolerance, there’s really no beating rangiku when she’s on a roll.

but when you emphatically agree to play with the rest, fury rises in his chest; your audacity, it seems, knows no bounds — and, yes, he understands the hypocrisy in his critique. he just doesn’t care.

the games are every bit as simple and ridiculous as you thought they’d be, but as everyone seems to be in relatively good spirits, you play along. not normally competitive with things like this, you get into the swing of things when you win round after round.

cheers resound nearby at your success, but throughout the evening, you feel renji’s stare and do everything in your power to not give in and look back at him. a tough feat to say the least, as you are always acutely aware of his presence; and when you do happen to sneak another glance, his legs are spread and you curse under your breath for finding that attractive.

foolish, you chide, so fucking foolish.

renji sucks his teeth as he feels a heaviness in his head; groaning loudly he swirls around what little sake he has left in his glass before finishing it.

“you lose again,” rukia’s voice is soft and teasing, but he’s annoyed and can’t be bothered with talking to her right now. she pats his shoulder gingerly before standing up to head to the kitchen. his mind is a mess and he blames you for it completely.

“i don’t fucking care,” he says gruffly to her retreating figure, not bothering to elevate his voice as he’s sure she heard him. and he really doesn’t care; he’s trying to tell himself to calm down, but he can’t.

the fault completely lies with you — of course it does, everything you do agitates every cell in his body. the reason is simple, and he hates that he doesn’t want to admit it — he’s so undeniably attracted to you that it pisses him off. he takes in your appearance for the twelfth time that night, admiring the softness of your cheeks, the fullness of your lips, the way you seem entirely too animated as you laugh at someone’s lame joke — and yes, he can tell it’s not funny from how your laughter dies down after a few seconds.

if he had better sense, he’d stop looking at you, but he can’t now; he might blame the sake for this later.

the intensity behind his gaze is enough to bring an inextinguishable heat along your skin. it’s only unpleasant because it travels down to your lower abdomen and brings about an agonizing ache between your thighs. at first, you do the sensible thing and ignore it; but the longer he stares, the more you want to look over, until finally you can’t take it anymore.

“i’ll be back,” you mumble to the other guests, although you doubt they hear you with how rowdy everyone is being; the noise isn’t unwelcomed, the distraction serves to mask your footsteps when you scurry from the living room to the back corridor, turning corner after corner until you find the bathroom.

a coward — that’s what you are.

you barricade yourself in there without thinking, heart pounding loud enough to disorient you. after several long minutes, you splash water on your face and take a few deep breaths.

“i can’t believe i ran away,” your voice is so soft you barely hear the words — almost as if you’re still in disbelief over the entire situation. there’s something off about renji tonight; the tension between you was more palatable and tangible than normal.

even though you feigned nonchalance as best as you could, there were so many moments where you couldn’t help but watch him too. pitiful. absolutely pitiful. there’s no excuse for it, and yet you struggle to find one anyway.

as you look at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you try to convince yourself to head back out there. sooner or later, people will realize that you’ve gone missing — and rangiku is nosy enough and like a bloodhound when she’s drunk. your time is incredibly limited now.

there’s no reason for you to continue to avoid the inevitable, so you sigh and give yourself a small pep talk before heading back outside.

TRUTH X OR X …

renji’s mood doesn’t improve at all; in fact, it worsens the moment ichigo sits right next to him. he’s not even sure why this sets him off, but even closing his eyes and counting backwards does nothing to keep him calm.

with slight difficulty, renji grits out, “what do you want?”

undeterred, ichigo stares at renji pointedly, voice steady as he says, “you could go after her, you know.”

again, renji sucks his teeth loudly, arms folded against his chest, right leg bouncing slightly as he taps his foot on the floor. punching ichigo would be pointless, and then rukia would get involved and he doesn’t have time to deal with the fallout from that so he keeps his hands to himself.

besides, his anger is obviously misdirected right now. he knows — he knows —but he doesn’t care, so he doesn’t mince his words when he responds with, “go after who?” through his peripheral, he can see ichigo’s patience has also reached its limit.

“you’re not that stupid, so stop acting like it.”

normally, renji would take the opportunity to mes s around and argue back and forth, but he might actually fight his friend if he doesn’t walk away. so, he does; abrupt and without looking back, footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.

maybe he just needs to change his approach with you, maybe talking things out would work in his favor; or maybe he needs to fuck you hard enough to purge you from his mind.

he lies to himself when he considers the first option, because it’s the second option that drives him to walk a little faster, head full of impossible thoughts as he wonders just how far you’d let him go.

when renji finally finds you, you’re in the middle of rebuffing the advances of an unfamiliar guest — they’re drunk, handsy, and keep oscillating between giving you cheesy pick-up lines and berating you for rejecting them. but you stand firm, and your voice is relatively loud when you tell them, “for the last fucking time, go away.”

under normal circumstances, renji would let you handle this yourself; he has no desire to play prince charming or be a knight in shining armor. you’re more than capable, and he’s seen the way you fight and argue to defend yourself — but, it’s when they place a wandering hand on your hip that he loses sight of all of that.

a brief moment passes, where your blood boils as you contemplate how best to kick their ass, but you never get the chance. a rather large shadow hovers over you both, but you already know who it is without having to look properly.

renji is a force to be reckoned with on a good day, but he’s at his fucking limit right now.

he doesn’t ask, doesn’t give any options for retreat, doesn’t say a word when he yanks them off with a brute strength that surprises even you.

now, can he really be blamed for throwing them into the neighboring wall hard enough to make a noticeable hole? and is it really his fault that the drunk can hardly walk as they clutch their broken arm while murmuring something unintelligible, something that renji takes as a sign of them wanting a repeat demonstration?

consequences be damned, he gives the drunk a lethal look before they scramble away in fear.

“loser,” he says loud enough for them to hear, but they don’t double back or even try to go toe-to-toe with the hot-headed lieutenant. you watch, half-amused and half-impressed with the unnecessary machismo, but still, you know better than to chastise him right now, especially when your heart sputters out of control from his proximity.

“…thanks,” you say, a faint flush on your cheeks, voice soft, head fuzzy when you realize that renji — aka mr. “i’ll fight you on everything any day of the week unprovoked for no reason other than to drive you crazy” — saved you. unprompted at that.

you make the mistake of looking up at him, your nerves prompting you to take a small step back when you realize that the usual hostility that renji reserves for you specifically is nowhere to be found. in its place is something more unreadable — or, rather, you don’t want to read into it for fear of being wrong.

renji steps closer, which makes you back up again until your back hits the wall and you’re no longer able to escape.

“we need to talk,” he says suddenly, but you shake your head, non-verbally objecting to the idea, curls bouncing wildly with your exaggerated movements. since he knows he’s pressed for time, he grabs your face with his large hand and stops you from moving. “that wasn’t a request.”

swallowing rusty nails would be better than dealing with your conflicting feelings over renji right now, because he’s much too close to you and now you’re forgetting why it is you hate him in the first place. ironically, he’s in the exact same position. so far, he’s acted on impulse over you more times than he can count tonight, but he supposes that’s to be expected — you are a wildcard, after all.

“what if i don’t want to.” your response is clumsy, the words tumbling one after the other. “what if i want you to leave?” you don’t actually mean that, but you throw it at him anyway, to see if maybe this was all a fluke, and maybe, just maybe he’ll remember himself and you both can go back to fighting like usual.

he considers your question, goes so far as to release your face to wrap his hand around your throat instead. your sharp inhale and parted lips tell him all he needs to know.

with a slightly raised brow, he asks, “well, do you?”

because if you do, he’ll walk away right now. but he knows what your answer will be, he just has to drag it out of you. he squeezes your neck to remind you to hurry it up, and before you can answer him properly, he places his leg in between yours, pressing close enough that you roll your hips forward while whimpering softly.

he really didn’t think any of this through, but luckily the adrenaline from it all won’t wear off anytime soon, so he’ll improvise along the way. he spent most of the night dealing with a semi-hard cock that wouldn’t listen to reason no matter how many times he tried to stop thinking about you. but now? all of that restraint goes out of the window, and before he can question it, he kisses you.

you’ve kissed plenty of people in your life — some good, most were mediocre and uninspiring — but renji actually takes your breath away. everything about him commands all your attention; from the way his lips move against yours greedily, leaving behind burning kisses that make your nipples harden underneath your clothes — to the way he thrusts his tongue in between your plush lips, licking inside of your mouth hotly, igniting an inextinguishable flame deep inside of you.

he grabs your hip with his free hand, squeezing hard, fingers digging firmly. all the irritation from earlier dissipates completely, leaving you feeling lightheaded and needy; you grind against him recklessly, arousal dampening the front of your panties, clit sensitive as it rubs against the delicate fabric. his cock presses against you — thick, long, and hard — and you wonder if this is why he’s so angry with you all the time.

was it always that simple?

if you asked the question aloud, he wouldn’t know what to tell you — it’s a combination of things, but mostly he’s an idiot; he knows that now, but likewise you’re an idiot too. you just don’t realize it yet.

it’s renji who pulls away first, lightly panting, breath warm against your lips as he releases his hold on your neck. he doesn’t know where he finds the strength to string together a coherent statement, but his voice is low and husky when he speaks. “answer my question.”

you blink at him, completely in a daze, lips slightly swollen from all the kissing. “wh-what?” you don’t remember what he asked you, and you don’t care.

“do you want me to leave?”

for some reason, you completely forgot that you told him that. you rub your lips together and run your hands along his chest. “no.” the answer comes out automatically, without hesitation, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

“good.”

SAY X IT X LOUDER

he picks you up with ease, almost as if you weigh nothing; a small squeal spills out of you as you wrap your legs around his waist, and renji gives you a sly smile — one laced with mischief and an unspoken promise of what’s to come.

you’re back in the bathroom again, this time sitting on the counter with renji standing in between your legs. his hands coast along your curvy hips and down your thighs. he’s touching you but he’s not touching you and it’s driving you crazy.

with hurried, eager hands you both undress, and for the umpteenth time you internally curse this style of uniform; still, it doesn’t take too long before his hands are on you again, calloused palms rough and warm against your skin. he places a kiss on your jaw, then another on your neck right underneath your earlobe; each kiss he leaves behind distorts your common sense, makes you feel irrational and impatient. your hands are soft and well-practiced, stroking his stiff cock as his hips jerk forward from your touch.

he can’t remember the last time someone had him this worked up, which pisses him off a little; because that means him fucking you once won’t settle things. at that thought, renji bites your neck and your startled yelp quickly morphs into a moan when he runs his tongue along the mark. he dips his hand in between your thighs, rubbing his thick fingers against your slit. a loud banging on the door has you looking over, and you can’t remember if he bothered to lock it once you both were inside.

your attention nearly falters, but when he pinches your clit you buck your hips, a shiver shooting down your spine at the slight pain.

“eyes on me,” is all he says, seemingly annoyed that you would dare to focus your attention elsewhere, “always keep them on me.” what he means by that, he doesn’t know, but you take the command at face value and nod while swallowing. he slides a finger inside of your wet pussy, and while you initially wanted to keep quiet to avoid suspicion and to prevent anyone from intruding, but you can’t now.

“renji,” you breathe, fingers trembling as you hold onto the counter for support, he thrusts his finger in and out, quick and hard, before inserting another. you clench around him, hips rocking forward as he fingerfucks you and grinds his palm against your clit. you close your eyes and moan louder than you mean to, chest heaving, thoughts jumbled and incoherent. he scissors his fingers inside of you, but quickly removes them without prompting.

“fuck!” you open your eyes again and stare at him in disbelief. “why did you stop?”

he laughs darkly and grabs your face roughly, fingers pressing into your soft skin without remorse. “what did i tell you earlier?” everything about this situation is laughable. he gave you very specific instructions, ones he thought were easy enough for you to follow. for some reason your movements are sluggish, mind in a haze as you scramble to remember but nothing comes to mind.

as you open and close your mouth, looking every bit as adorable as you are alluring, he decides to show you a bit of kindness.

“get down.” his command comes swift, his patience practically nonexistent; precum glides down the head of his thick cock, but he ignores it for the sake of teaching you a lesson. you don’t bother waiting for him to repeat himself and slide off the counter. “turn around.”

like a doll, your movements are dictated by renji with simple, short statements. nothing about that phases you, though; it’s all very exciting, so when you do turn to face the counter, you bend forward and lean over the counter. renji admires the roundness of your ass and slaps it hard.

again, you find yourself moaning loudly, without shame and not caring about the volume of your voice. surely the others won’t pay attention, as they’re still very drunk and are entertaining themselves with more games. another slap on your ass has you grabbing onto the counter again, legs shaking, arousal dripping between your thighs in anticipation. if renji doesn’t fuck you soon, you might actually die.

he knows he’s taking too damn long, but it’s much more interesting making you work for him. he rubs the tip of his cock against your puffy pussy, gliding it in between your slick folds, your moans sweetly wrapping around him once he pushes inside of you slowly. someone bangs on the door again, making you look over, anxiety quickly filling your head with unnecessary what ifs that almost command your full attention.

with narrowed eyes, renji grabs onto your hair, curls soft in his hand, and yanks hard.

“the fuck did i say earlier?”

goosebumps travel down your arms as a different kind of awareness and clarity surges through you quickly. you blink at your reflection, watching the way he towers over you, his muscles hard and defined — sculpted from years of training and dedication to honing his skills. it hits you then, what he’s really asking you.

“to,” you swallow thickly, throat dry, “to keep my eyes on you always.” you say it all in one breath, gasping when he runs his tongue along the curve of your ear. you don’t know how much more you can take, but you know if you complain, if you say anything he might stop altogether.

renji’s smile is wicked and dark, his lips graze your earlobe, voice deep and gravelly, a huskiness that wasn’t there before as he thrusts into you, burying his cock deeply.

“good girl.”

he refrains from kissing you properly, instead pushing you down so you can lean over the counter again. your mind melts from it all, and you’re panting, heart beating faster and faster as he firmly places a hand on your back.

“you’re squeezing me so tight,” he remarks thoughtfully, although you note the slight strain in his voice; as much as he tries to act like he’s not that affected by you, you know that isn’t the case at all. your pussy is every bit as enticing and heavenly as he knew it would be; he pulls back and slams his cock into you all over again, filling you completely. you try to keep watching him in the mirror, but he’s fucking you like he’s angry with himself for being so attracted to you.

and he absolutely is. it’s a truth he fought against for so long that he’s given up on denying it now. your moans drip onto his skin like caramel, sticky and sweet, and when you say his name like that — your voice going higher and higher from the ferocity of his thrusts — he nearly loses his mind.

“fuck,” he says out loud, grabbing your hip roughly, your wetness coating the length of his cock, “you’re taking me so well.” he knows you can’t really answer him, and he likes that; you’re beyond caring at this point, instead focusing on the way his cock reaches a spot that has you bouncing your ass and fucking yourself against him. normally, renji would play around and edge you in retaliation, but he’s too far gone, completely under the spell of your pretty pussy, with how soft and tight it is.

you’re not sure how you got here, but you’re drowning in ecstasy right now. he instructs you to lift your leg to rest it onto the counter, pulling out momentarily to help you position and spread your legs further apart. he plunges his cock into you again, keeping his hips closer as he gives you shorter, frenzied thrusts. your head spins and you can’t think straight, but that doesn’t matter. all you care about is the way renji is angling his hips, rolling them forward to pound into your cunt roughly, balls heavy as they smack against your ass.

“oh, oh, oh.” you swear your life flashes before your eyes, because something possesses him, his strokes shorter, brutal, and frenetic. drool slides down your chin, your voice hoarse from how loud you’ve been. you’re sure someone’s heard you by now, but you don’t care.

how can you?

with renji fucking you like this — merciless and possessive, fingers brusing your skin, almost as if he wants to make sure you’ll be as obsessed with him as he is with you — your common decency, your morals, everything that makes you you, they don’t exist.

all that’s left is this burning desire to let him have his way with you for as long as he wants. thankfully, you have enough sense to not admit that out loud; who knows what kind smugness you’ll be subjected to if renji knew.

but you’re pretty damn transparent about it, he can tell from the way you can’t stop clenching your pussy around his cock, from how your pussy makes loud, lewd squelching noises — ones that he’ll commit to memory so he can revisit them from time to time.

tears roll down your cheeks and you sob as you hold onto the counter as best as you can, back arching, hips rocking against him with a neediness you never knew you had. there’s a tightening in your stomach and your pulse skyrocketing as a flash of white practically blinds you. he watches the way your pussy keeps swallowing the length of his cock, and you finally fall over the edge, orgasm suffocating you with its intensity.

your cunt flutters around him, gummy walls soft and hypnotic, an addiction he never thought he’d have; breathing heavily, his muscles tense and renji groans something that suspiciously sounds like your name. the thought alone makes your face burn and warms your chest in a way that doesn’t make sense. and when he finally cums, he humps into you, cum thick and hot as it spills inside your pussy, mixing with your slick wetness. a completely messy affair, but he doesn’t care — it’s not his bathroom, after all.

legs trembling, you’re limp and incapable of movement, whimpering and whining until he finally pulls out of you.

renji runs a hand down his face, feeling spent but more than satisfied. suddenly his shoulders aren’t so tight and tense, and his mood is much more tolerable. you do your best to stand but almost fall — your legs are useless, turned to jelly because of the man behind you. he chuckles at that, then clears his throat once he realizes. he fully expected there to be a moment of awkwardness after, but it never comes. when he sees your face — lips bruised and swollen, face flushed, eyes glazed with a faraway look — he feels compelled to kiss you again. so, he does. it’s not sweet, nor is it tender, but it still makes your heart swell all the same. he holds you close as you wrap your arms around his neck, doing your best to keep standing, even though your legs are ready to give out.

you don’t know exactly what any of this means, but you do understand him a bit better now. he’s terrible with expressing himself, but you kind of like that about him; and maybe this isn’t the healthiest relationship, but life was uncertain and you’d take renji fucking you like it’s his last day alive over him openly hating you any day.

[grumpybunny-edith]

Gwen's Bunny HRT - Month 1 (Part 2)

I learned this trick a little while ago for smiling at the camera: just think about something that makes you laugh. I didn’t have to work very hard to find something - everything Rae had just said had left me smiling maybe too much. I turn on my camera, turn my head to show off my ever-so-slightly longer ear, and make it a point to let my teeth sit on my lip, even as my first impulse was to hide them. 

Opening the chat, I saw the last thing sent — it was a selfie from Delilah, her cheeks and chin covered in long, grayish-black fur. 

thebuildingisonfire: Decided not to shave for the last couple days. Feels good. 🔥

It looks good too. Combined with the changes to her face shape giving her more of a snout, she’s starting to look more like Rae and Ashley than Edith and I. If that’s even a rational comparison to begin with. I do my best to stop comparing myself to my friends (again) and start typing.

wen-kutesuli: Hey everyone! Rae reminded me today was my one month, so... Here’s a quick update! It looks like it got to my teeth first, which... Is what it is, but my ears started getting longer recently too! No fur or anything yet, but. Big things 🥳

Rae is quick to jump on things, responding again almost instantly. 

raeraebun: YAAAAA THAT’S MY GIRLLLLLLLL you look so good!! The first half an inch of so many more :DDD 

grumpybunny-edith: !!! That’s huge! Starting with teeth must be tough :( how’s the pain been 

wen-kutesuli: It’s been... manageable? grumpybunny-edith: oof. Good luck lol  pink-lightning: Edith, don’t. That’s wonderful news, Gwen 🩷

I can’t help but wonder what Edith meant by that. It hadn’t been easy for the last couple weeks — as it turns out, growing your teeth is at best super uncomfortable — but it had been bearable as long as I didn’t forget my painkillers. Is she just trying to scare me? Is it gonna get way worse? Or does she just have an embarrassingly low tolerance for pain? 

pink-lightning: You look happy.  pink-lightning: Have you ever sent a picture smiling before? 

I scroll up to look at the picture again at Ashley’s statement. I’m a little surprised at how much I’m smiling; I hadn’t even noticed when I took it. I’m also surprised that she’d notice something as small as how often someone smiles in pictures. I make a mental note of that, feeling embarrassment creep up about it — is it not normal to feel a little bit weird about a smile? I do my best to hide my feelings.

wen-kutesuli: I guess not lol I didn’t notice! raeraebun: You NEED to do it more. you look SO CUTEE grumpybunny-edith: fr. depriving us of that shit should count as a crime tbh  thebuildingisonfire: okay but like. Be gay do crime  raeraebun: not this crimee raeraebun: we love following the law in this specific moment grumpybunny-edith: Yeah this crime is like. Stealing from a small business  thebuildingisonfire: just on principle, omfg =_=

The chat stops for a few minutes. I’m too giddy to care much about it, pacing my room on my toes and going fast enough to feel the wind in my ears. Of course they’re happy for me, why wouldn’t they be? Their pride... kinda becomes my own. I keep jumping around, catching glimpses of myself in my mirror, and it makes me so happy. The light from outside shines through my ears like a tulle curtain, making them shine. I don’t even have to imagine I have a tail to feel this giddy about it all. I put on my favorite KKB album and hop around my carpeted floors, enjoying the simple joy of having a body becoming more like what it’s supposed to be. 

I don’t notice the next message until several minutes later, the buzzing of my phone muted by the carpet. I prance back to it only intending to play a song over again. 

thebuildingisonfire: dealing w any like, behavioral stuff? Or are we still waiting on that lol  raeraebun: I didnt realize you were taking over scheduling the sleepover, del xD thebuildingisonfire: oh no definitely not that’s still your job lmaooo thebuildingisonfire: just curious I swear

I keep hopping around my room as I try to come up with an answer. I don’t feel anything like what the information outlined, and definitely nothing that would warrant one of those sleepovers they’re always talking about. My feet are a little bit sore from all the moving, but I still have more energy to get out, so I type and jog at the same time. 

wen-kutesuli: I don’t think I’ve gotten any yet?  grumpybunny-edith: Oh my god Delilah you can’t just ask someone how horny they are pink-lightning: Yeah. Obviously that’s Edith’s job.

I drop my phone. I don’t pick it up. I’ve stopped in my tracks. Of course I know what’s coming, but it’s hard to believe it’ll happen to me. Sure it’s exciting, but I haven’t exactly had all that many... you know. It’s just hard to think about as something real, let alone something happening so soon. And, just, logistically it all seems pretty inconvenient; “Missing work for sex so often you get fired for it” seems more Delilah’s speed than it does mine, and I’m not sure I want to find out whether or not that’s correct. I shift my feet in the carpet nervously, feeling the tiny fibers through my soles. I press up onto the balls of my feet, trying to adjust to the way my feet are going to move within the next year. When I move to join my phone on the floor I push my heels down first, sitting down like a rabbit is supposed to. 

raeraebun: its not that unreasonable yall, “behavioral stuff” doesnt have to mean horny  raeraebun: its just cool to know the drugs work and that youre happy w them gwen :))  pink-lightning: And if you’re not, you can always let us know. We don’t want anyone having to go through that kind of thing alone.  grumpybunny-edith: That’s kinda the whole reason this chat exists, lol  grumpybunny-edith: Also, that’s what she said. 

I giggle for the amount of time it takes to understand what Edith meant, at which point I’m overrun with blush. I can barely fathom the idea of one of them actually wanting to... Well. “Help me” with that kind of thing. I’m well aware they do it with each other, I’ve just never been that type before? It’s like being in line for a rollercoaster you have no knowledge of beyond being able to hear the things people say once they’ve gotten off. 

pink-lightning: Seriously. I know we all only just met you in the grand scheme of things, but we are here to help in whatever capacity you want. I’m trying to build the space I would’ve needed when I was in your shoes. If there’s anything you need to talk about, please let us know. Even if it feels kinda weird.

raeraebun: absolutely!! We’re here for ya bestie <333

Ashley is so sincere it almost makes me anxious. I walk across the room, heels sinking into the carpet, and pull the packet the doctor gave me out of my desk drawer. I sit on the floor with it. 

“Descent into sexual depravity” “Unavoidable, frequent joint pain that will last for years”

“ near-constant sex drive which interferes with life at nearly every turn” 

“Irreversible”

“Loss of self”

I throw the packet to the side, my lower back numb like something was trying to burrow out of it, thrashing viciously from side to side. 

I open the chat again, staring at Ashley’s message with my phone in my hairless hands. My nails are short and fragile, not clicking against the screen as I type. 

wen-kutesuli: I’m gonna be okay, right?  grumpybunny-edith: You’re gonna be just fine 💙 pink-lightning: Absolutely. And whenever it’s not, let us know.  thebuildingisonfire: we got you  raeraebun: totally!!!

I look between my screen and the discarded packet. I feel wide awake in the sunset but crawl into bed anyway, finding comfort in the blankets over my head. I really, really consider asking for some company, but I’m not sure how much I want to be seen right now.

---

Prev - Next

[meimi-haneoka]

Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card Chapter 70: Comments + JP-ENG translation differences

CCS FANS!

It's here, finally!! My post for this chapter took so long and I'm sorry for it but man....the mess they made with the releases AND the content of the chapter certain didn't help with the writing and posting of this commentary!! 😅 I haven't been able to focus for most of today and yesterday, took some time to elaborate....man, I KNEW chapter 70 was going to be special because it's a round number and because it's going to be (at this point almost certainly) the last chapter of volume 14, but was I prepared for this storm of feels? No, I really wasn’t. I think no matter how much I would’ve tried to prepare myself, I would still be in the mess I am right now. 😂 After all, I love Kaito very much. And I think I can say with confidence I wasn’t the only one, I pretty much saw everyone around me being completely shocked by what happened, as it was mostly unexpected (some people knew and actually believed in this outcome till the very end, and my love and greatest appreciation goes to them – you know who you are) Therefore, you’ll forgive me if this post will be particularly long, but I feel like I need to analyze a lot of things and I would like to include them in my analysis of the script and translation. This chapter has been focused on Kaito for a good half of it, but due to the magnitude of the revelations, it felt like it's mostly about him. It's ok, these things needed to be addressed at some point. This month we had few translation mistakes, but quite annoying, especially about a translation that ended up suggesting an incorrect interpretation of what happened in the chapter, so I definitely suggest to check it out! Let’s start with the usual tradition that I hope to include till the very end, the gif of the month!

And now, follow me under the cut to find out why chapter 70 shocked everyone!

The Color page

What a pretty Sakura in kimono!! Yes, she’s sad, probably the saddest and melancholic she’s ever been in the color pages of Cardcaptor Sakura, but she looks...so mature, so grown up, I can’t help but think about how beautiful she looks. I know this color page made many people worry when it appeared online before the actual chapter was released, but in the end we found out that the sadness of this chapter isn’t directed at her at all. The JP text here says “Exchange, the Card that was born out of Sakura's wish. With the [magic] that is here, one story ends and begins”

The Two Alice

Sakura opens her eyes. We’re back to the play, the real play. It’s the moment of the meeting between the Red Queen and Alice, and……..Akiho and Sakura switched roles. Sakura is now playing the role of the Red Queen, wearing a cute dress that honestly it’s really reminding of a more classic Red Queen, while Akiho is Alice, wearing a very Alice-like outfit too. Can you recognize these two outfits? Yes, they are the costumes Tomoyo originally worked on, before changing her mind and re-doing them completely:

When Tomoyo made Sakura and Akiho try them on, they were still pretty much in tacking stage, while we can see that now they have “colored” parts and details/accessories added, but they’re the very same outfits. The lines they say are those we know well by now, Sakura says she’s the Queen of this land and Akiho asks her name, to which Sakura replies “They call me the Red Queen”.

The font, something we became used to check in the last 5/6 chapters, is indeed that used when Akiho and Sakura speak in their roles of the play. Akiho makes a curtsy and introduces herself as “Alice in Clockland”. And here we get the second surprise of the chapter: Syaoran, behind the curtains, is voicing the Cat, exactly like he intended to do initially. The Cat welcomes Alice to this land, and she realizes the one who’s talking is her beloved cat from her home – and here we get our first little translation difference:

ENG: Didn’t you promise me you’d come with me to the world I wanted to show you? JP: I did promise to escort you to the world I wanted to show you.

In all the instances where we’ve seen the kids reharsing or talking about the play, we always got only to the point when Alice meets the Red Queen. Even in the play itself (the first time around), the story was pretty much interrupted by Kaito sending them all into the *real* Clockland. Now we finally find out how the story continues. The Cat asks Alice if she met the Red Queen and what she thought about her. Akiho replies “She looks like me”. Choir comes back on stage, singing again the iconic song that was composed by Yamazaki:

JP: This is the story that Alice chooses (for herself). A story for Alice. The [Cat] guides her, and her wish is waiting for her at the end of the road. The wish Alice had forgotten is waiting for her. Remember, Alice.

I wanted to put the JP as the ENG changed/omitted some words, but nothing serious.

Alice asks the Red Queen if she’s always been in this land. The Queen replies that maybe yes, maybe not, she can’t really remember anything aside from her name being the Red Queen and the name of this land. She can’t even remember why she became Queen in the first place. Alice reiterates that they’re very similar. So she tells the Queen something. An anecdote from her own family. They’re 3 people in her family, but at their table there’s always a fourth chair. She always wondered who that chair was for, and why they never put it away. So she wondered if that chair was meant for someone very dear to them. The Cat, projected on the curtain and with Syaoran’s voice, tells Akiho to touch the person she’s thinking she wants to touch right now...because when she does, she’ll remember something she forgot. And so Alice touches the Queen’s hands.

The scene here is really beautiful, loaded with emotion, and a huge callback to this other scene here that happened precisely during the reharsals of the play:

Alice finally remembers. She wasn’t born as an only child, but had a twin. That twin sister disappeared to another world, and with her all the memories she and her parents had of her. Here there’s a small difference between the ENG and the JP: the ENG says not all of their memories disappeared, while the JP uses a different word that got a slightly different meaning - 想い, which means “thought” and even more often “feelings”. So the memories of the lost sister disappeared, but the FEELINGS survived the loss. Remember this. Remember it well, I’m telling you now, as I suspect this play will also work as a parallel with another situation.

That’s the reason why they never removed the 4th chair. For the other “Alice” that had disappeared. The Red Queen finally understands, shocked. Alice says:

JP: Guided by the Cat, I’ve come to take you back home. You, the other “Alice”.

On the top of the school building, Kaito observes from afar the play coming to its final moments. Momo is with him, in her full form. She asks him how he’s feeling right now. Kaito answers “I suppose I’m relieved...because the Exchange Card was created”. But pay attention to his face and the background of that panel. There’s the usual “smoke effect” they use when the character is distressed or *not* having happy thoughts. Kaito seems indeed relieved here at first glance, but if you look at him better, there’s a streak of sadness to his expression. And what’s that “I suppose I’m relieved”? He’s not even sure himself of what he’s feeling right now.

Momo frowns at him after hearing his reply. She *knows* there’s something he’s not saying. She continues saying that the Card has indeed changed things. First of all, by Sakura’s wish, the Card changed her role with that of Akiho, making her the Red Queen.

I gave you all of me

And then, finally, Kaito’s wish. In a shocking revelation, we find out that Kaito’s wish and intended use of the Exchange Card was NOT what everyone thought. Kaito says it himself: he wished to exchange his own magic artifact -the pocket watch that we learned to identify him with- for the artifact inside Akiho’s body -the infamous book that is currently hosting magic from a multitude of books that her Clan forced her to record on herself. And thanks to Exchange, that swap succeeded. Kaito is once again using “ore” as a pronoun here, while still talking in keigo. He will keep using it freely till the end of the chapter. A sign that at this point he doesn’t have to pretend to be the perfect and polite butler anymore, but he still holds lots of respect for Momo, hence the use of keigo. The panel where he explains his intended exchange takes an entire page, and the fact they used a portrayal of Akiho when she started travelling with Kaito (the outfit is the same of the flashback featured in chapter 39) makes things even more bittersweet. This has always been his goal all along. Taking onto himself what he mistakenly caused to be engraved into her when they both were just small children. But more on this later, at the end of the post.

Momo points out that Kaito’s watch is all broken, and Akiho doesn’t have magic (remember this well, she STILL doesn’t have magic! Cause giving her magic was never Kaito’s goal to begin with) so she won’t be able to use it. Kaito comments “There’s no reason for her to use it, right? Because with the Transparent Cards that Sakura-san had created, along with all I could give of me, I was able to activate the forbidden magic of the Book of Time, which you watch over”. Momo keeps frowning at him, while he says so.

The infamous play is finally over, everyone in the audience is clapping their hands enthusiastically. Sakura and Akiho go backstage where Naoko, Chiharu and Tomoyo await to congratulate them! Chiharu even says she teared up a little when the two Alice made it back home! We see that Yamazaki is still his usual self, praising/teasing Syaoran over his meowing skills (to which he yells that it's not true), and Naoko joins the kids in congratulating the girls, saying how happy she is that she casted Sakura and Akiho as Alice and the Red Queen. Then, nonchalantly, she delivers the second surprise of this chapter:

JP: You’re twins, and it shows!

BOOM. Kaito explains that inside Momo’s book it is possible to record the events of someone’s life, and with the use of the Forbidden Magic, it is also possible to rewrite them. Therefore, he wished to record the memories of Akiho and Sakura into that book, and then change them to make them twins born on the same day, who spent their life together. In the beginning, I thought Kaito changed to a very deep level the events that happened in Akiho’s and Sakura’s life, but thanks to a follower on Twitter I’ve actually re-read better the JP text and it seems Kaito changed only the memories of the people. Sure, that also brought substantial, concrete changes to their reality (I suppose Akiho lives with Sakura and so there surely will be a bed for her, all her stuff etc) to accomodate Akiho into the “new” version of their lives. The ENG translation in this sense is quite deceiving because Kaito talks about rewriting the lives, but in the JP it’s clearly written 記憶, “memories”. I’m not sure to what level we should consider this change to take place (like, did Nadeshiko actually gave birth to both of them or it’s just a collective hallucination the forbidden spell put all of them under?), but I’m sure we’ll understand better with next chapters. We can clearly see how everything else in Sakura’s life seems to be exactly as it was before, Kero and Suppy are still there, Nakuru too, even her relationship with Syaoran seems to be still the same (for a small detail at the very end of the chapter, that I will point out later, but you can stop freaking out about that). The only difference is that Akiho has been included in Sakura’s family. Kaito observes that’s something else that successfully changed.

Momo points out that every successful “rewriting” leads to some kind of discrepancy. However, Kaito answers that thanks to this change, Akiho won’t be harassed by the Clan and the Association anymore, and she would be protected by the Kinomoto family and all their kin.

(I know, I’ll leave my comments for last, as I said).

Momo asks the question. She always asks the questions.

JP: What about you?

For how formidable he can be, Momo hints that it’s impossible for him to deal with the huge amount of magics that were written onto Akiho (just imagine how magically battered her body was), especially in the state he’s in now.

And that’s when it happens. We all more or less imagined that we might end up seeing a tragedy happening in front of our eyes, but being this CCS, we probably didn’t believe it 100%.

The Seal of D.

Kaito doesn’t reply to Momo’s question, but keeps his usual enigmatic smile, that at this point is more a weak smile of acceptance of his destiny. A book appears under him, the huge book that used to spread at Akiho’s feet whenever the artifact was going to overcome her.

The effect Mokona sensei used on these pages, like blots of ink, looks actually like it’s blood. It’s terrifying to see that in CCS.

A flashback. The Association headquarters. There are both representatives of the Association and of the Squids Clan.

Kaito looks like a child, a teenager at best. He really looks like he’s the same age as Syaoran, or one year older. And yet, the ENG translation stubbornly keeps making the same mistake over and over again.

Because Kaito IS A MAN in their heads, even when he’s clearly a kid. Below the JP version which stays more true to the original meaning: JP: Letting this magician travel along with the artifact… is too dangerous. If he uses time magic, he might exploit the magic artifact. Let’s cast the “Seal of D” on him. There’s a sealing spell that can be casted only on magicians of rank D. If you engrave this spell onto your body, we’ll let you travel (with her).

Alright, on top of being already emotionally compromised by the sheer cruelty of this scene, there are also two mistakes in the ENG translation that make me see red. The first, as I said, is the use of the word “man” instead of “magician”, which is the word used in the JP version. It doesn’t make sense to use “man”, since Kaito here is a kid, because this is a flashback of when he offered himself to go travelling with Akiho. The ENG translation criminally contributes to the misconception that Kaito was already an adult when he decided to accompany Akiho, when in fact it’s not true. Do you find it hard to believe that a teenager could escort a little child around the world? Then how do you believe that a ten years old could live all alone in a foreign country? Come on folks, these people have magic. Moreover, I’ve seen some fans genuinely confused due to this mistake, and they had to re-read twice to understand exactly who the members of the Association were talking about in that moment.

Not only that, but they also translated the fact that Kaito could’ve exploited the artifact with “suppose he uses the artifact for evil?”, paradoxically making them look like they’re wary of Kaito using the artifact for evil!! THEM! THE SOURCE OF ALL EVIL OF THIS STORY! Like, this is completely ridiculous. Of course they wouldn’t give a damn about that, they don’t have morals, they were only worried about Kaito misusing the artifact however he wanted, and not in their interest.

My grievances with the translation aside, I would like to bring attention to the use of the word 封鎖 fuusa, which can be meaning “block, seal-off, lockdown, sequestration”. I wanted to point it out because it might be useful to guess what will happen to Kaito after a couple of pages.

Kaito agrees without hesitation to that demand.

To my bafflement, the members of the Association and the Clan ask Kaito if he knows what he’s agreeing to. Because not even someone with the level of magic he’s got can remove that spell. And if he dares doing anything to the artifact, that spell will be put into execution at once. And when it activates, he won’t be able to come back.

Here it is!

“Omae wa mou modorenai”. The phrase Sakura kept hearing from an ominous voice in her dreams. I’m positive this is the final source of that phrase, because in fandom we’ve been wondering for years who could’ve used “omae” while talking to Sakura, since there aren’t many characters that use that kind of pronoun for “you”. And it totally makes sense that the Association uses that with a younger member. Turns out, the “warning” wasn’t directed at Sakura at all, but actually at young Kaito. Sakura, thanks to her magic power, has been hearing the warning that hinted at Kaito’s destiny this whole time.

And now, the scene that tore apart the heart of so many fans.

JP: “I...am glad I was able to successfully complete a magic I’ve sincerely wanted to use for the first time”

Kaito uses a particular verb here, 編み終えられて, which caught my attention and literally translates to “finishing knitting, weaving”. The verb 編む amu, “knitting”, gets associated a lot with creating magic spells. I’m not really sure if it’s a use of that verb that only CLAMP makes in this sense, or if it’s common to refer to the creation of magic spells as if you were knitting a sweater, but I think it’s kinda...warm? Cute? In this specific case I get really emotional about it, because I can’t help but feel that the magic Kaito created was like a warm blanket he knitted for Akiho with all of his love, to protect her, cherish her and give her the happy life she deserved when he'd be gone. I know, I’m probably projecting on a simple verb but I don’t think I’m far from the truth.

Anyway, with these last words, the Seal of D. activates on Yuna D. Kaito, engulfing him.

Momo, the only one who is able to witness his departure, can’t contain her emotions anymore. A tear mixed with anger, frustration and sorrow appears at the corner of her eyes, and she yells with all that she’s got “This...blockhead!!!”.

It’s like Momo’s shriek reaches Sakura’s ears. She turns around towards the top of the school building, with a strange feeling. Syaoran immediately noticed her unrest, and rushes to her side to ask what’s happening (I told you, this is the most evident proof they still have the same relationship. He does that all the time with his girl). Sakura answers…

JP: I...thought I felt something...but now it’s gone.

In front of Sakura, the top of the school building is empty.

And just like that, the chapter (and probably volume 14) ends.

Alright, now that the technical part with the analysis of the text/translation is over, let me express my feelings on this chapter.

Oh, I have so much to say. So much. Starting from the fact that yes, I’m not ashamed to admit it, this chapter made me cry. Like, real tears, not figuratively. Yes, I love Kaito just that much. My general feeling he was a good person all along has been confirmed at last, but also the heartbreaking smile he embraced his “end” with, that really did it for me. I always knew Kaito was a kind soul. I was sure of that. I was just scared that his self-loathing, his desperate situation while being driven to a corner would have lead him to a dark place, where he might have crossed what’s morally considered acceptable. When Exchange appeared, I fell into CLAMP’s trap. And I really have to commend them, because they were able to lead the fans to think something for 70 chapters (alright, a bit less) while in the end it turned out to be something completely different, and everything STILL makes perfect sense.

But let’s start from the beginning. The play finally got to its conclusion, one way or another. We finally witnessed the whole story for how it was intended by Naoko, and it was a simple, but cute story with a happy ending. And we found out that this is basically a reality where everything seems to be exactly like before, but the memories of the characters have been rewritten to accomodate for Akiho becoming Sakura’s twin sister. Certainly the memories weren’t the only thing that was changed, as I was saying above, but it probably doesn’t entail a complete rewriting of history like the ENG translation suggested? Therefore, it’s a less drastic change that will be easier to rewind? We’ll see with next chapters, especially I’m curious to know if Sakura still got her problem with the rampant powers.

Akiho becomes Sakura’s twin sister, then. I’m pretty sure nothing changed about her, we’ll still see her with her passion for books, her singing skills, her friends are all still there, her best friend actually became her sister, now she’s got a lovely family who can protect her (how is Touya going to interact with her? I...suspect he won’t tease her), but most importantly, she doesn’t have that ticking bomb of an artifact that was about to annihilate her soul. And, she stays magicless. Kaito never wanted to give magic to Akiho. He never showed any sign of it, not with words, nor with his actions.

On one side, I’m glad to see this development just as a “what if”, provided that...it goes back to normal, in the end. Because I always envisioned Akiho’s family to be Kaito and Momo, and I always wanted to see them living together as a funny household, with Momo finally dropping her secrecy and walking around in all her glory while spoiling Akiho with love and scolding Kaito till kingdom come 😂I think Akiho would be very happy. They are her most beloved people, after all. Sure, the idea of the Kinomoto family adopting her is sweet and all, but who has always been by her side? It was Momo and Kaito. Momo, in particular, I feel like she deserves her quality time with Akiho, after watching over her ever since she was born, in complete secrecy. Unable to reply to all the lovely chats Akiho had with her, thinking she was just a plushie.

Oh, don’t get me started on Momo in this chapter. How I sympathized with her. I always have, but in this chapter we finally see her losing all composure and crying her tears for how UNFAIR everything is. Once again she's the spokeperson of a good chunk of the fandom. Kaito’s goal was noble and all, but it was at the cost of his life (?) and he ended up sacrificing himself without even acknowledging why he did all of this. Her angry “insult”, わからずや literally means “someone who doesn’t understand and listens to reason, no matter how much you try to persuade them”. And for Momo that is a huge failure, in itself. She witnessed another tragedy happening. Still, I remind you she left some help behind, precisely at Kinomoto’s home (probably something that would stay even after the activation of the forbidden magic) so she’ll probably be waiting for the girls to realize it.

And then, Kaito. My beloved Kaito.

I know many people might be shocked at this turn of events, as they didn’t see it coming. CLAMP have carefully laid down a pretty game with us, where they tricked us on purpose into believing that Kaito had ill intentions till the very end. But at the same time, carefully leaving all the hints that he actually was a kind soul and he wouldn’t have hurted Sakura to give Akiho the happiness she deserved. It all clicks perfectly. One of the simplest hints is that he always spoke very politely of Sakura, using keigo and praising her skills multiple times (not only hers, but Syaoran’s too), while for the Association he always had a spiteful speech pattern. He hated them, for what they’ve done to Akiho. Kaito ensured that the forbidden spell would’ve influenced Sakura’s life at the minimum, so she would still have all of her friends, her most beloved person, her family, her happy memories. The only different thing is that now she’s got a sister (I still have to wrap my head around this, even though I’m pretty sure it’ll be momentary. It’s too big a change to keep it permanent).

As I said previously, I’ve wavered multiple times on the way he would’ve brought to completion his plan, while I never had a doubt about what his goal was. Never. I never even thought he wanted to give magic to Akiho, as he unfortunately knows very well how magic can lead to unhappiness. It certainly did, in their case. I knew Kaito had a kind soul, because kind people seem to be the ones who suffer the most. And Kaito suffered too. A lot. Not only physically, due to the time rewinds. He’s grown up completely alone, never experiencing love from anyone. Feeding on energy bars, till Lilie tried to make him change habits. Lilie planted a seed in him that bloomed only now. It’s just that, it didn’t bloom in the correct way. We will certainly learn what’s behind his persistence in not understanding that he did all of this for Akiho because he cared for her, cherished her. And so he should’ve asked her what kind of happiness she wanted. Is it fear? Did he purposely keep himself distanced from her, forcefully stopped his hand that everytime was going towards her, because he knew that he soon would be gone? I’ve theorized about that many times, here. What’s the point of creating a connection with someone if you know you’re gonna leave them? Moreover, would he deserve creating that connection with the very person he contributed to condemn to a tragic destiny? Kaito’s self-loathing goes to those lengths and way beyond. But in that last page, before he disappears engulfed by the book, he looks so….satisfied with the result he achieved. He *really* gave all of himself to ensure that Akiho would have a happy ending. He villainized himself in the eyes of her friends, dispelled all the attacks from the Association along the years, suffered the consequences of the time rewindings on himself, all while knowing that he was carrying upon himself a horrible curse. Touch the “artifact” and we seal you off forever. When I found out, I was livid. I kept saying “I should’ve known, they are stupid but *not* that stupid”. They imposed a curse like that on such a young boy. For Kaito to accept it without a second thought, it either means he was so disillusioned with life that he didn’t care about dying, or that he wanted to make things right at all costs. Judging by the word used in the JP version, Kaito might not be exactly dead in this moment, but just sealed off somewhere. Since the book appeared at his feet, he might have been sealed inside the artifact itself. I’m just picturing what would’ve happened if Kaito tried to remove the artifact while it was still inside Akiho….and I shiver, because she would’ve absorbed him, sealing him and all his power inside herself. Such huge power would’ve annihilated her soul at once, destroying all that Akiho was. Exactly what I’ve imagined as a “bad ending” in one of my angsty moments.

But the problem is, how do you reach him there? And how do you bring him back, while he’s harboring in himself all those damn magic spells? Because he deserves another chance. Another chance at life where he can experience happiness too.

The fact he thought of taking into himself the artifact that was engraved in Akiho because of what he said is honestly so heart-wrenching. He took full responsability for a thing that wasn’t even really his fault. And also goes to show the lenghts he would go for her.

Ironically, the fact he was sealed off might be precisely the thing that’s saving him, for the moment, because those spells will certainly kill him for the state he’s in right now. But while being sealed, maybe they won’t have effect on him. This is going to be a tough task, for Akiho. Yes, because I know she will remember at some point and will go out there to save him. And that’s why we have our wonderful heroine Sakura with her, whom for the first time might get to use her immense power not to play with a deck of cards but actually to save someone’s life. The bar has been raised quite a bit, right?

Kaito’s idea to exchange the book with his pocket watch was very clever. But also...it left with Akiho an object that will certainly lead her back to him. The watch will be “the chair” of the “Two Alice” play. An object left behind by someone dear. Whose watch it is? Why does she have it with her? Why is it all broken? Akiho used to associate that watch so much to Kaito, she recognized that it must have been something very important to him, so I’m CERTAIN that it will trigger a memory in her. Ohkawa in one of her Spaces at the end of December said clearly that Akiho will work very hard in the finale of Clear Card, and honestly I can’t wait to see it. She’s been accused by the fandom of literally doing “nothing” for the whole series, so the time has come for her to show what she’s capable of. Without magic. Heh, when Kaito said “she won’t need to use it (that watch), right?” my heart squeezed because he was so resigned to the fact that she would forget about him and go on with her life….little does he know, that watch is going to lead her back to him.

The final scene with Sakura feeling a glimpse of something before it disappeared was another smack to my face. It’s really worthy of the most tragic scenes, when someone can feel that someone else is gone.

I think next chapter we might get a glimpse of the life of Sakura and Akiho as sisters, and I’m very curious about that...curious to see if Akiho knows that her sister got magical powers, how Akiho interacts in the new family….for me it’s like witnessing a temporary AU. But as I said, I want things to go back to normal because somehow I feel that’s the right thing for both girls. Hopefully the discrepancies Momo mentioned will start showing up right away, so we can move to the final big task quicker. And then it’s hopefully icha-icha time for everyone, as Mokona sensei wished.

Well well, this post has been infinite and I DEFINITELY didn't say everything I wanted to say over the big revelation of this chapter, but I can create another post for that. So, a quick reminder of the dates for the next chapter, chapter 71: March 1st, on CLAMP's Youtube channel (digital, JP and other languages) March 3rd, on Nakayoshi (paper and digital, JP)

As you can see, I can only give you these two dates as the situation with the digital releases of the ENG and JP version is still very chaotic. We'll see if anything changes till March.

As usual I await your asks in my inbox!!

[jossun-kyyneleet]

My mixed feelings about Mic Mac

So, Mic Mac is one of my favourite songs by Käärijä (referred as Jere from now on), at least when considering the lyrical aspects of his discography. I really appreciate how much Jere shows self-reflection and even a more vulnerable side of his in this song. I also love the shout out for his grandma and her fresh baked “pulla”: it reminds me of my own grandparents and how I visited them as a teenager after school before I went to my art school and writing classes.

However, while Mic Mac takes me back in time (pun intended), it also brings some hurtful memories to my mind. I had moved to a new city a year before I went to the Finnish upper comprehensive school (”yläaste”). I had left two very dear friends to my old hometown and though we managed to be in touch for a couple of years, the distance between us grew too long and our paths gradually separated. I did make new acquaintances with whom I would spend time during classes and breaks, but these relationships never blossomed to real friendships. I would even say that I self-sabotaged myself: I feared that I would lose these people too and thought I would protect myself by not letting myself get to know them better and vice versa.

And then there were the hockey guys (“lätkäjätkät”) of my class. Most of the time, things were quite neutral between us, but me being that nerdy, emo-ish, teacher’s pet kind of girl, made me an easy target for them to bully. I may be exaggerating when I use the word “bully” (I know many people have had and are having things way, way worse than I did): the lätkäjätkät would usually just tease me for my excellent grades and such. But one day, one of them (who I’d thought to be the nicest guy of the group) said a very hurtful comment about my appearance to me face to face. After 15+ years, I still remember this comment, and while I’m now able to laugh at it for its absurdity, I can’t deny that it still hurts me a little.

For many years, I felt somewhat bitter and dismissive about boys around my age. Fortunately, I never turned to a total asshole towards them, thanks to my brother (who’s roughly a month older than Jere): he showed me that not all boys were childish, inconsiderate idiots. And now, Jere has shown this for his part. Listening to his music and interviews has made me realize that the lätkäjätkät have had their own hardships and have grown as people (at least I hope so). I don’t know if the lätkäjätkät of my class remember me at all or have ever regretted how they acted towards me. But when I hear the lines “Poden vielki morkkist - - / niist muutamast katkonaisest muistosta ne vielki hävettää / Ei muisteta pahalla / ku tuut vastaa unohdetaa menneet ja halataa” of Mic Mac, I think them as their apology to me, verbalized by Jere for them. And I feel ready to forgive them.

TL;DR: Mic Mac is a song I listen to with bittersweet feelings.

[ineffablefate]

Getting it all out...

I've been feeling strange and I just want to write it down so that it might stop bouncing around in my skull so much. I've been checked out and numb while also feeling anxious, helpless, and grieving deeply for the world.

I am overwhelmed with too much information, distrustful of almost all of it, intensely annoyed at the constant barrage of opinions, disagreements, demands, and incessant reactivity of my fellow humans. I feel disenchanted and disillusioned with myself, wondering if my former mystical experiences that fueled so much of my spiritual convictions were not simply weed-induced delusions of grandeur.

Intrusive thoughts goading me to commit senseless and spontaneous acts of violence have been at an all-time high, and my meditations and prayers seem to bear no fruit. My inspiration remains blocked, my desire to connect with others feels stunted, my hope for the future is bleak, and a sense of our collective impending doom lurks firmly on the horizon. It seems everyone else also senses this, but so few have the courage to stop what they're doing and truly band together to face it, to make any organized effort to stop it without devolving into useless and unhelpful arguments with each other.

My voice feels small and inconsequential in a sea of chaos, my wisdom is tired and worn out, and the old trick of letting go seems like a Sisyphus circuit that inevitably leads to hopelessly pushing the boulder back up the hill from the bottom again, for lack of anything else to do.

This is the darkest of it. There are glimmers of light and laughter and joy and romance and discovery with my partner. Moments of peace and short-lived reminders of growth, remembering this is as much a ridiculous comedy as it is a grave tragedy.

And on the surface, in the present, in my personal life, almost everything is great. I have an amazing woman who loves me dearly, wonderful friends and family who adore and support me, decent health, many gifts, the privilege to take a two month vacation through Europe.

And yet my own country seems to be barreling toward a second Civil War shamelessly instigated by its own political system while funding inhumane conflicts as well as providing aid to alleviate the damage done by them. The planet at large seems to be on the brink of a nuclear World War. Profits of large corporations are at an all time high and yet small businesses and lower class families are struggling to survive. A sane, humble, or wise leader is nowhere to be found, and instead we are force fed ego-driven, politic-pandering, mentally unwell old men who spew intentionally divisive rhetoric at every opportunity.

The National Guard is being called out to quell the overwhelming crime of some cities, dispatched in national paranoia to guard our southern border, and almost everywhere I look I see nothing but arrogant, fearful, self-righteous hypocrites demanding peace and respect in disrespectful tones of conflict, anger, and pride.

I know. I know. "It's darkest before the dawn." "This too shall pass." "It gets worse before it gets better." Too often I fear we are already in hell, and the devastation of it is such a slow burn that the build up itself, the long drawn-out stupidity, the stubborn refusal to shift course, the constant dangling carrot of hope and redemption is a clever part of its torture.

I only pray this fear is false. It may very well be that all these terrible things must come to pass, as a way of evolving the minds and hearts of humanity through intense suffering. I do intend to keep singing and dancing and laughing and loving and forgiving and letting go as I push my boulder up this hill. But God how I ache for us to drop all this nonsense and enjoy heaven on earth together. How deeply I wish we could just skip all the oncoming tragedy and senseless slaughter and havoc and pain. Haven't we all already suffered enough?

Whatever may come, I love you all. Despite all of this, I am somehow, someway, still doing well. And I'll push through. We all will.

May Love bless you.

Peace.

[carecrowgames]

Yazeba Read Through #4

We are on Page 18 now, and I am extremely excited, as it seems we have actually entered the rules this time folks! And I thought that might make me go less granular .. BUT as I said I have been wondering how the book would begin to explain to its reader what it actually is, so I just have to immediately hone in on the second sentence of the page.

It's a bed & breakfast of course but it's also this book right here.

There is something about stating these two as a dual existence that just works so well with the magical realism of the bed and breakfast itself. I guess I also just love when a fictional world gets legitimacy as existing similar to how the book (or in this case pdf) does

The playful voice from the welcome section continues here, but as it invites you to explore the bed and breakfast it also gains a gentle tone. The specific metaphor used, the sprawling bed and breakfast standing in for the complexity of a rulebook, both promising to become easily navigateble after some guidance, somehow manages to make both of them a more imaginable space. My mind begins to draw in what's missing within my image of one one with what I know of the other and conjures my own experiences of sprawling social spaces to lend familiarity and extrapolate development over time. I find myself remembering how I got used to life in the computer science faculty until it’s sprawling series of laboratories and hallways were simply another home.

I get away being able to imagine both Gertrudes life in the b&b after months and years pass and my own potential relationship to the version of it that could manifest in my games in it.

This is where the melancholic Amelie OST (the fact that this movie has the same name as one of the residents will break me oh my god. I am only noticing now) reminds me that at some point in this book there are late chapters, the last of which is Goodbye Yazeba and I have to wonder how much this is going to be a story that will have to end. What I can also imagine is the late chapters giving a number of open ending points, that would still allow you to replay some chapters, but this also feels like the kind of story that at some point just. Ends. I think I would find myself feel very content and sad in the healthy measures about that.

As a note, I am delighted to see the playlist I'm making for this already influencing how I interact with the book. The fact that the moon princes melancholic longing was able to carry forward to make me think about how this story might end is just really cool. Can recommend the method!

And now we get the confirmation that there are parts of the book that are off limits to start with - a super cool decision for a ttrpg book honestly. Explaining the choice by likening it to the way some parts of a bed and breakfast might be off limits to a new visitor is so clever too. It continues to build the book-building double reality, and in that playful way puts rules for reading the book down without having to spend much time explaining them immediately. It just makes sense this way!

This is also why this reading experience is extremely different for me than the usual ttrpg book I read. Normally I would have jumped immediately to the playbooks, read up on central mechanics and started browsing different parts of the book as I put some first session prep together. And I know that's not how other ttrpg books are intended to be read either, but the way Yazeba specifically presents itself as overlayered fiction book / bed & breakfast / ttrpg makes me want to engage with it as an authored experience more then I tend to with a ttrpg book, that invites me more to approach it as a box of toys.

 If i were to read it like I usually do though, this is where I would actually feel invited to start jumping, as the page continues to lay out how exactly Yazebas Bed and Breakfast is played it gives us all the needed key elements to get started, and importantly all of their page numbers.

I find this whole buildup so far works really well for me. We've been invited layer for layer to the fantasy and fiction of Yazeba, got first impressions of its central cast, narrative hooks to go along with then and some character voices to lead us along when trying to play them.

Now the book is pointing all the unruly readers with no attention span, who might have been hooked by the fiction, but won’t stay long for rules explanations (that’s normally me!) to exactly where the toys are - with just enough context to use them well. The rest, I would feel if I took on that mindset, can be figured out in play.

I really appreciate when a game recognizes, that not all its players are going to approach it the same way. Laying out different courses through it, that reward different interests and needs is a great way to do so.

The entire part laying out the rhythm of play is wonderfully efficient btw. Every section is at most 3 sentences long, contains bold keywords to keep attention going and manages to leave me with a good grasp of what's going on. For how gigantic this book is, making such short work of the overview feels very restraint, I'm super impressed.

I also love how encouraging the language is. You WILL be able to confidently guide your friends. Remember to take breaks, the bed and breakfast will wait. Rules often are hard for me to keep focus on mentally, and I know for many they can be overwhelming. The use of a strong, friendly and guiding voice here I think really helps keep the mind motivated.

In honor of that, the new song added to the playlist is Ben E. Kings “Stand by me” which, is a song that has symbolized a vibe of positivity and support for me since years now.

Speaking of language, the Nouns for the mechanics integrate so very well into the fantasy. Concierge for the facilitator for example is very flavorful. I feel like this book makes a consistent effort to make the feeling of playing the game make you feel like you’re a part of the b&b and that rules. In addition, Whoopsies and Bingos as names for what I’m pretty sure are going to be weak and strong moves feels like they very much help reinforcing the genre space, making the characters feel less mechanic and more like people with fuckups and cool moments to come, you know?

But now I’m really getting ahead of myself. Afterall the section is about the flow of play and I have not talked at all about it yet!

Let's get this out first: chapters are so cool! They are so cool it makes me want to work out my thoughts on them so bad, that I forget we don't even know much about them yet as far as the book goes. I already know a bit on how they look like from the ashcan (which released along the indiegogo campaign), but that only leaves me burning to revisit them as part of this more!

In addition, i think this is where we actually see how powerful the fiction book/ttrpg double-life the book is living is in communicating information. It is obvious from the text that chapters are at the core of playing out life at the bed and breakfast, being the thing characters are used to play, and putting out what is needed to unlock more chapters and characters (more on that in a sec). They are how you interface with life in the bed and breakfast, but that alone would not give much of an impression of what they are. But the name *chapters* and the consistent fiction book/ttrpg duality that has been build up, immediately conjures the kind of stories they will tell in your mind. We already know what it is like to read a chapter in a story, now our mind is left to ponder what it will be like to play them.

Excitingly, we have learned how unlocking works now!! As I said I already knew how to play a chapter from the Ashcan, but with added context much more about it is coming together. The way the loop works feels super elegant to me. You get familiar with characters and their connected narrative threads, you look at what chapters you are able to play and which might allow you to explore what you are interested in, you slot in your preferred characters and play to find out what happens, you go and check what characters and chapters you’ve unlocked and that gives you new chapters to pull on more threads, and new characters to explore and play with. The entire thing feels a lot like a narrative exploration loop I would design for a video game, which is actually the second time in today’s session that I was reminded of video game design specifically (the first being the way the page numbers create a dynamic playspace that can be explored based on player preference). I am fascinated to see these strategies implemented with how you interact with the BOOK instead of in play loops only.

Talking about game mechanics, the whole Shelf, Journey and Track system reminds me a bit of achievement systems. Which in turn makes me wonder if the game will invite us to look at the potential unlocks and what we’ll need to do for it beforehand. If it did it would give extra incentives to explore the chapters as well as extra prompts of what to do with them. If it doesn’t it makes for nice surprises. I am super curious about this!

As a last note on the page for now, Mementos you can put on your Shelf is another one of these amazing images, that already makes me nostalgic for experiences I didn’t even have yet. It actually reminds me of my favorite game Signs of the Sojourner ~ maybe I’ll add an ost from that game to the playlist at some point.

Aand I think that’s about it for the day. I might actually have even more notes on this tomorrow, but I need to sleep at some point don’t I.

See you tomorrow as we enter Page 19: Characters.

---------------

you can find my other Yazeba readthrough posts under #zeebthrough!

Preorder the game on https://possumcreekgames.com/pages/yazebas-bed-breakfast

[scribefindegil]

2, 3, 15, and 18, please!

[from this meme]

2. How many works did you publish this year?

11! And there will be at least two more by the end of the month because I have exchange fics to finish (is definitely procrastinating on ser exchange fics right now via this meme whoops)

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I'm proud of a lot of what I've written! Despite being saddled with The Curse I feel like I still wrote some really good stories. Having to essentially re-learn how to write as a disabled person sucked but it's given me some tools and perspectives that are actually making my writing better! The fic I'm proudest of this year is The Real World; I had a really clear vision for it that I was actually able to adhere to, and I'm really pleased with my use of language and how I was able to let the imagery speak for itself without overexplaining. (It's also something of an antidote to several fandom trends I dislike, so I go and reread it every time I need to remind myself of the actual textual themes of the show).

Bonus shoutout to Artemis Phaulos, or, Kolpher's Artemisead, because I love committing to the bit in strange and bewildering ways and writing 220 lines of dactylic hexameter for a joke sure is some high-tier bit-committing.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

*shoves pile of WIPs behind my back* haha well. um. you see.

In terms of already-ongoing things, obviously The Brassica Heresy. There are some things coming that I cannot WAIT to get to. It's all gonna be so fine and normal :) I also need to get back to In Case Of Emergency, which I think needs its outline pruned but which I very much intend to finish. For unpublished WIPs, I'm going to finish that one ekurei acefic if it kills me, and there's also the one Dimple-centric multichapter fic I've been contemplating forever that I really really want to get written.

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

*shakes fist* Reigen!!! I love him and I love writing him but it's so dang hard! It's always a very delicate balancing act between the different facets of his personality, and (especially with stuff in his POV) trying to figure out how self-aware he is at any given moment. I have to constantly go back and re-watch episodes so I can study him.

[yourlakebed]

a couple days ago I sent a letter here on tumblr to @neil-gaiman , to which he did not respond (fair enough, he was probably on strike that day from what I've seen on social media, and he also has so many asks per day that I'm honestly amazed how he manages to live his life answering so many of them). but i decided that i want to leave it here anyway. because it came out much more personal than I originally intended and I'd like to have it as a reminder to myself about these part of my life and this version of me.

so the letter goes like this:

hi, mr Gaiman!

I sincerely hope you're having a good day. I'll try to be brief, which is barely possible as I have so much to say.

first of all, I cannot put into words how thankful I am for all your work and especially for what you've done to good omens. throughout the history of tv we were queerbaited and gaslighted to the point where it was even hard to believe that what I'm seeing on the screen had actually happened, and had actually appeared on other people's screens (and I know for sure that lots of people in this fandom share this feelings of mine about season 2). and it's not only about the queerness, but the depth of the story itself. i would very much like to go into all the details about the way your art influenced me on a deep, profound level and helped me realise and accept some very vital aspects of my personality (I was in agony for two months, thank you 🖤).

secondly, I want to thank you on behalf of all your Ukrainian fans. I remember the first months of russian invasion, when was forced to move to Germany, and suddenly found myself completely isolated from everything i knew. it felt like Death, like I was practically separated from Life. so I clung to any type of mental support from the creators I new and loved before. lots of them broke my heart.. and then there were you with all your posts about our situation and encouragement of people to do everything in their power, and your participation in Lviv Book Forum with Noah Harari, and your post here about that one old Ukrainian church (yep, I remember everything!). that meant the world to me and still does.

it was summer and "Sandman". and then it was autumn, and I found myself still in Germany, still completely alone and isolated on a bench in a park reading "The Graveyard Book". and then "Good Omens". I practically used the second season to survive the august, and in the end it helped me to make one of the hardest decisions in my life. now I'm home, in Ukraine again. right now when I was writing this the air alarm went on, but I am happier than i ever had been in this past two years.

i know the chances that you'll see this are very low. but i needed to get this out of my chest and let you know how grateful I am.

and the last one - i finally got my physical copy of Good Omens, and decided to customise it myself. mostly to make the soft cover harder, but also to make it pretty✨️

thank you, mr Gaiman, for everything.

[edgy-sftpnk-btchboi]

POV inspired by a dream I had. Reader is intended to be transfem but gender is ambiguous, object of affection uses she/they pronouns interchangeably. Enjoy ^^

👻🎃🦇

Early morning light attempts to force its way through closed blinds, barely illuminating a wrinkled bedspread. A small figure rests half under the blankets, cozy and warm and not ready to get up and start her day, not just yet. Their cheeks are flushed and her eyes are teary from desperation, one hand loosely gripping her own hair and the other in her underwear. Her fingers are pressed against her clit, coated in her own juices as they try to achieve any amount of sensation, with no success. They are trapped, for what feels like eternity as a matter of minutes pass, pent-up without satisfaction, much less release. At this point, she’s so frustrated, she’s barely still awake.

As they doze, slipping in and out of reality-based dreams, they don’t processes that the sound of the front door opening is real. “I could have sworn I’d locked it, so how would anyone get in?” She thinks, face still buried comfortably in her pillow. Of course, you have the spare key for emergencies, they gave it to you just a month before, but because you haven’t had to use it they’ve all but forgotten about it. One can only imagine how you must have made fun of them in your head, seeing her like that- almost entirely asleep, curled up on my side, with a hand still in her damp panties. They only just start to shake from their slumber when they feel your movement behind them on the mattress, panicking for just a moment upon the realization that they’re no longer alone, struggling to get into a position where they can see who or what has snuck up on them, but quickly calmed by your voice reminding them it’s just you and that everything is okay.

“You don’t have to wake up all the way, love,” you say in a soothing tone, “just enough to do what I ask you to.” Her eyelids droop and she nods, lowering her head back down towards her pillow. She feels your hands on her hips, rotating her body until she is fully on her flat chest, and your nails graze against her skin as you grip her panties, slowly sliding them down her thighs, her knees, her ankles, until they are no longer restraining her. You grip the undersides of their thighs just above the backs of their knees, and they quickly obey the wordless instructions, getting up onto their knees and lifting the lower half of their body, while their chest rests on the bed.

You slowly kiss and run your teeth across their thighs, teasing them despite knowing how desperate they are, making them shiver all the more when they feel your lips against their dripping cunt. You’re gentle, and slow, and it feels nice but it’s so obvious you’re just trying to prolong the teasing, even when you roll onto your back and pull her hips towards your face, every methodical movement is intended to make her more crazy rather than to offer release. She squirms and whimpers, but she doesn’t lift herself off the pillow, still dazed and seeking comfort. She presses myself into you hungrily, but you pull your tongue away each time she does, only coming back when she is still.

Finally satisfied with their torture, you sit up behind them, lifting the hem of your dress so that you can slide your dick between their thighs, ever so lightly grazing against their clit, and it quickly becomes slick from the mixture of their juices and your own saliva. Her eyes flutter open as she whines and presses her hips against you, her motions begging you to be inside her, but you just giggle and lean forward to pet her hair. You wrap your arms around their torso and lift both of you up, their back pressed against your chest as they nuzzle into your neck, leaving hungry little kisses in an attempt to sway you towards mercy. You run your nails up and down their chest, your dick nestled against their ass and rutting against them slowly, always stopping before the head can press against their pussy, leaving them squirming to be touched. She reaches backwards and holds onto your hips for support. Finally, you grip her hip tightly with one hand and the other traces gently over her clit, causing her to immediately start moaning against your neck at the slightest sensations. You plunge two fingers inside her, moving them quickly, while she bucks her hips against your hand and sinks her teeth into your skin, your free arm now across her chest holding her tightly against you, her hands trying to grab whatever they can, running through your hair or clinging to your arms. It’s a matter of minutes before they cum around your fingers, gasping for air, exhausted from the opportunity to finally have the release of tension they were waiting for, but you don’t slow down, continuing to curl your fingers into them and effortlessly drawing out one orgasm after another, until they have no energy to moan or press up into you, only to whimper, slumped against your chest, a drooling, shaking mess with lidded eyes and no room in their mind for coherent thoughts. You grab her face with your hands and force her to look up at you, her own cum now smeared across her jaw and cheek from your palm, and you kiss her hungrily. They can feel you throbbing against them, and they moan against your lips as it occurs to them that this was just the warm-up.

You pull away from the kiss and lean forward against their back, pressing their chest back into the mattress. She arches her back in anticipation, barely formulating proper words as she begs you to use her to make yourself cum. You giggle and grip their hips tightly, nails pressing into their skin, pulling their waist back against you so that just the tip of your dick is against their cunt. You reach forward with one hand to gently grip their hair just above their neck, and as you push yourself deep inside them, your voice is only slightly more audible than their shaky moans,

“Happy Halloween, my love.”