#i think if you assume someone saying something would be ideal means they also want to Force people to do that thing that says

[snekdood]

ppl who think you doing something means you think everyone else should automatically do it by default and be forced to are 1. unhinged for assuming that but 2. bc it reveals a lot about how they think things should work. like forcing people to believe something isnt bad if its something you want but if its something I believe in it is... got it.

[rafey-baby]

dealer!rafe can't keep his promises and she can't keep doing this...

18+ mdni!

c/w: mostly angst, yelling & arguing, dealer!rafe being kinda toxic

wc: 1.5k

inspired by this ask (sorry it took me forever but it's here now!)

part one

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Exhaustion weighs down Rafe’s shoulders when he finally clicks the front door shut; hoping his arrival won’t disturb his sweet angel he assumes is already buried safely under the covers and lost in some saccharine dream of hers.

However, when he kicks off his shoes and turns around, he notices her sleepy form standing in the hallway— clad in pajama bottoms and his favorite hoodie along with something akin to dissatisfaction flashing in her drowsy eyes.  

“Hey, baby. Did I wake you?” he asks as he pads over to her; greeting her with a gentle kiss on her cheekbone.  

“No, couldn’t really sleep. Was worried something happened cause you told me yesterday you were gonna be home in time for dinner,” the last part is drenched in accusation as she takes a step back.

“Shit, forgot to text you I wasn’t gonna make it, m’sorry,” his apologetic eyes flit over to her as he scratches at the back of his head.  

“Yeah. But then again, think I would’ve been more surprised if you actually had shown up when you promised,” her displeased tone is crystal clear and it forces a heavy sigh to leave his throat. 

“Okay, I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend recently, but there’s just been a lot of shit going on with the business and—”  

“It’s always gonna be about that with you, isn’t it? Like why would you even care about my feelings when you’ve got the fucking money and the drugs, right?” she nearly snaps; drained from the constant lies and excuses that make her feel like he’s never going to put her first.  

“What do you— what do you mean? Of course, I care about your feelings, why would you even say that? And you’re more important to me than all that other shit, okay?” there’s a furrow between his brows when he tries to comprehend what sort of a train this conversation is traveling on.  

“I mean, do you even know how anxious I get whenever you come home late? When you don’t answer my calls? I— sometimes I think you’re…dead, okay? Do you know how exhausting that is?” she says with her face contorted in frustration due to the endless nights she’s spent thinking the worst and wondering why he could never keep his word.  

“I’ve told you so many times that you don’t need to worry so much, nothing bad s’gonna happen,” he tries to reassure her but she merely shakes her head and rubs a hand over her face. 

“But I do, cause it’s not something I can just turn off. And all you do is make these promises that you never keep and I just…I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” her watery eyes stare up at him in despair, making him frown. 

“What are you talking about? You know I can take care of myself, I promise—” 

“But that’s the thing, I don’t trust your promises anymore! You say you’re gonna do one thing, but then you get a call from Barry or whoever and you’re gone. Sometimes, you come back days later and that entire time you barely even text me!” her distressed voice is loud when she begins to pace around the hall. 

“Hey, hey, c’mere, yeah?” he tries to placate her by pulling her flush against his chest for a hug that, despite her protests, she melts into. “Listen, I know my job isn’t always…ideal, but you— you knew that when we met, right?” he tries to reason along with a comforting squeeze to her waist.  

“I just— I guess I didn’t realize it was gonna be this hard. I’ve never dated someone whose job is illegal,” she mumbles into his shirt before reluctantly withdrawing from the solace of his arms to get her point across.  

“But when we started this, you also promised this wasn’t gonna affect my life. But wanna know what happened the other day when I was out with my friends? This creepy guy approached me and said he wanted his money, and if he wasn’t getting it soon, he was gonna find another payment method.”  

“What the fuck? Did he— he didn’t hurt you, right?” he halts his movements while awaiting her answer with bated breath.  

“No, but it was really fucking scary,” she mutters out as she recalls how shaken up by the whole scene she’d been. However, when she’d dialed Rafe’s number with trembling fingers, the call had merely went into voicemail since he was apparently too busy to answer, as always.  

“I swear he’s never gonna so much as look at you again, alright? You remember what he looked like?” he asks while tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, followed by his thumb petting at the apple of her cheek with his concerned eyes flickering over her face. 

“Um…dirty hair, crazy eyes and this scar on his lip?” it’s easy to describe the guy’s appearance when the picture is permanently burned to her memory.  

“That piece of shit— we already had an agreement on the fucking money. Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” a crease forms between his brows.

“Cause you’re never home!” she yells at him when her protracted emotional turmoil finally boils over the edge; saturating their entire relationship in the process.  

“I was home yesterday and I’m home right now!” he matches her volume while his fingers tug at the roots of his bleached hair.  

“Well, it’s not enough for me! And I just think that all of this is…too much, okay? I can’t— I can’t live like this anymore,” she admits with a forlorn tone.  

He pauses.

“What are you saying? You’re…you’re leaving me?” he narrows his eyes in disbelief.  

“I don’t know, I just— think I need some time,” she murmurs out.  

“Time for what?” he seems perplexed by the entire concept of what she’s suggesting. 

“To think! All I’ve been able to think about these days is whether you’re alive or not, whether you’re even gonna make it home! And I’m fucking tired of this, okay?”

It’s clear that she’s upset and that these thoughts have been bouncing around her skull for quite some time now. If this is her attempt at breaking up with him though, he’s not going to allow for that to happen.  

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “Listen, I understand where you’re coming from, but you can’t just leave…no, okay? We’ll figure this shit out, yeah?” he tries to decipher what’s going on inside that head of hers with his gaze glued to her face— as if it’ll magically reveal all the answers he’s in a hopeless search for.

“I just— I don’t know if that’s possible.”  

“No, don’t say that. We’ll get through this like we always have,” he’s determined to change her mind, but she merely lets out a weary exhale. 

“Rafe, you’re not listening to me.” 

“I am! You’re just not thinking clearly. Why don’t we, uh, go to bed and tomorrow when we’re both well-rested we can talk about this better and—” 

“I don’t wanna talk about this tomorrow!” she huffs out, frustrated, making his distraught face crumple up as he tries to decide which way to approach this in order to not upset her more than he already has.

“Listen, listen. I’ll, uh, I’ll be better, okay? I’ll work less and—” 

“You always say that but— but you’re never gonna change! And I thought I could handle this, but I can’t,” she sounds defeated; rueful eyes flitting away from his pleading ones when teardrops begin to trickle down; dampening the skin of her cheeks.  

“No, you can’t— you can’t leave me. I need you. I love you,” his frantic rambles pour down his tongue when he takes her face into his callused palms— her eyes momentarily closing in response to his tender touch.  

“Rafe…please don’t make this any harder than it already is.” 

“And you love me too, yeah?” he doesn’t pay her resistance any mind. She notices how his own eyes grow glossy as well, even if he tries to blink away the liquid yearning to leak.  

“Of course I do,” she hums out; nodding her head that’s squished between his paws— heavy droplets soaking his palms.

“Then that’s all that matters. We can make this work,” his tone is definitive. 

“I just— I don’t know if we can,” she sniffles. 

“Don’t say shit like that. We can, okay? I’ll call Barry right now and tell him I need some time off with my girl, yeah? And we’ll figure this shit out.”  

At that, she lets out a melancholic sigh— resting her forehead on his chest when he pulls her flush against him with a consoling grip on her waist. The warmth of his body feels familiar; feels like home, but she’s already made her decision.  

He holds her close until they both travel to dreamland with their limbs tangled together, the steady rhythm of their breathing creating a muffled melody in their bedroom.  

However, when the amber rays of sunlight tickle his cheeks in the following morning, and he turns around to face her; he finds nothing more than her side of the bed bleak and desolate.

The entire house void of the only good thing in his life.

[skzdarlings]

mine ; lee minho x reader

original ask: requested by @tattywood. “Can you please do ❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜ with Lee Know? I just know you’ll come up with something amazing! 🩶"

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: another pair of star-crossed lovers lol. reader is kissed by a different guy without her permission. possessive sex. unsafe sex. lots of biting and marking and grabbing. word count: 3700 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

-

You finally escape.

When the date is over and your supposed boyfriend leaves, you run out the back door.  Your parents are distracted, waving goodbye to your boyfriend as he pulls away in his expensive car.  They chat between themselves on the front porch of the family estate. 

“Such a remarkable young man,” they say.  “So wholesome.  So intelligent.“

So rich, is what they really mean.  Because he is not wholesome; he is a bully and a bigot at the best of times.  He derides anyone he deems beneath him, which is just about everyone.  He is also not intelligent, as true depth of intellect is revealed in conduct.  Someone that cruel and ignorant is not intelligent.  You have engaged in more stimulating discourse with birds.

But he is wealthy.  Your parents picked him for you and have been forcing the relationship along, contriving dates without telling you he will be there, inviting him into your home, encouraging his empty and shallow affection.  You encourage nothing, sitting stiffly whenever he touches you: an arm slung around your waist, a hand on your lower back, a kiss on the cheek.

Maybe you were naïve to think it would not escalate before its time, that you could bear it cordially until his interest withered and died.  Foolish.  He is not here for you but your name.  He does not care how you feel.  He does not care if you want him.  He wants the money and connections and power, sharing a bed with your parents through you.

Today he cornered you when you were alone.  He backed you into the wall and kissed you.  An unwanted kiss is a disgustingly slimy thing, all tongue and teeth and the bad, unfamiliar taste of a vile man’s breath.

Your whole unlived life flashed in your mind’s eye.  Every second was irredeemably awful.

So you run.  Out the back door, to the garage, weaving around your father’s cars.  Your old bike is hooked on its rack and you lift it down with some grunting effort.  You are dressed for a date, wearing a pristine ivory dress your mother picked, white lace stockings, and delicate flats.  It is not the ideal outfit for riding a bike.  It is a pretty but flimsy thing.  Summer nights are warm but there is a crisp breath on the wind as the sun sets. 

But if you stop for even a second, even just to change clothes, even just to catch your breath, then you will never get away. 

You swing onto your bike and escape via the back lane.  It is a long ride across town but your adrenaline propels you onward.

It is very obvious when you have crossed into new territory.  Across the park trail and over the railroad tracks is a different world.  The houses get smaller, more ramshackle, junk piled around the fully abandoned abodes.  Even the lived-in homes have old trucks and rusted goods stacked on their lawns.  It is a consequence of impoverished anxiety, hoarding in fear of one day having nothing.

Indeed, a very different part of town. 

Your parents are probably furious they cannot find you, but they will assume you ran to a nearby friend’s house.  If they knew where you really were, which friend you went to see, they would surpass furious and venture all the way into horror. 

But they are far away now.

You feel nothing but relief as the air changes.  You know it is the chill of a summer night as the sky turns blue, but it convinces you the air is clearer.  You exhale and feel as though you are releasing a breath that you have been holding all day.

Your journey takes you to a familiar yard.  You remember the first time you ever visited, standing so small and uncertain on the front steps, waiting for a kiss you actually wanted.

A kiss that never came.  

You park your bike against the side of the house.  You walk up the front steps on shaky legs, weak from speedy riding.    

You open the screen door to knock on the inside door.  While you wait for an answer, you fiddle with your appearance, adjusting any evidence of wind-swept dishevelment.

Oh, you are so nervous.  You were so hellbent on just getting here, you did not register any feeling beyond determination. But now you are standing on this porch in your flimsy white dress, the sun set, the day done.  You are doing something you should have done a long, long time ago and suddenly fearing you are far, far too late. 

No answer comes.  You knock again.

Your stomach forms a pit you hope you will eat you whole.  Is he ignoring you?  No.  The windows are shut, the blinds closed.  He cannot even see you.

You take a step back.  Even with everything sealed shut, you should be able to see a hint of light.  The house is small, a single story.  There are only so many places he could be.

He isn’t home, you realize, first with relief that he is not ignoring you, then with dejection.  Of course he’s not home, you tell yourself.  What were you even thinking?  Silly girl.  Riding all the way out here, expecting him to be sitting around and waiting for you.  He has a life of his own.  He probably doesn’t even think about you.  You’re pathetic.

You know you are being a little melodramatic.  Your emotions have been running at an extreme all day.  They finally become too much to bear.  You sit down on the steps and cry. 

Some time passes.  You eventually calm yourself enough to wipe your eyes.  You feel the cold more acutely now, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. 

You are not sure what to do now.  You refuse to go home, knowing what awaits you.  You have nowhere else to go. Your future is murky, which is still more comforting than the vision of it when your boyfriend forcibly kissed you.   

You sigh.  You know if you wait long enough, your friend will come home and help you.  Even if he doesn’t want you, even if he can be a bit standoffish at times, he has the warmest heart you know.  You met doing volunteer work, in fact.  You know he will help you like he would help anyone in need.

It does not mean you do not feel pathetic, curled up and shivering on his porch steps.  You are debating a course of action when a truck rolls into the yard with a flash of headlights and a noticeably hiccupping engine.  It pulls around the side of the house.

You stand and take tentative steps to follow.  You are still and quiet as the rough rumble of the truck comes to a wheezy stop. 

The driver door flies open.  He jumps out, cursing.  Your breath catches and all your hypotheticals dissipate in wake of the reality of him.

Lee Minho.

He is wearing his old, dusty leather jacket, something of a signature piece due its reliability.  His jeans are torn at the knee, likely a legitimate tear and not a fashion statement, his old work boots a bit scuffed.  He is a working man of limited means and nothing functional goes to waste.  

He is beautiful as ever.  Dark hair falls across his forehead and he pushes it back with a forceful rake, the softer pieces fluttering forward again.  He has an athletic frame, but delicate features despite his near-perpetual scowl.  When he does laugh, it is a hilariously boisterous sound.

He is scowling right now.  Cursing to himself as he stomps around the beat-up truck.  He wears a carabiner with a bundle of emergency tools, grabbing a miniature flashlight to guide his way.  He props open the hood and starts rustling around inside.  He curses again, then he puts the light away so he can reach inside with both hands.

You do not mean to startle him.  You thought he might have seen you, observant as he is, but apparently the truck has him distracted.

“Minho,” you say. 

You cannot see him too well in the dark, but you hear the distinctive thud of metal as he undoubtedly smacks his head on the open hood.  He curses louder this time. 

There is a small light on the side of the house.  You step towards it at the same time. 

He is rubbing the back of his head, frowning, but he comes to a total stop when he sees you.  His eyes widen ever so slightly, his brows drawn in confusion.  He stares intently at you. 

“Hi,” you say.

He just keeps staring. 

“Um. I was just in the neighbourhood,” you say.  “I wanted to see you.  I hope you’re doing well.”

He drops his arm and it swings at his side.  He continues to stare at you, the furrow in his brow more intense. 

“Right,” you say.  You feel a catch in the back of your throat.  Fortunately, you have cried all your tears and will not make a fool of yourself in front of him.  More of a fool, that is.  You want to say so many things but you cannot think of a single word that suffices. 

I missed you so much, you think.  I think about you every day.  Have you thought about me?

It sounds so clingy and pathetic.  Your boyfriend derides such women and their neediness.  Minho is not a man like that, though.  He has never spoken so disparagingly about someone.  You know that, but the words catch nonetheless. 

You exhale a shaky breath, looking aside at nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.  “I probably shouldn’t have come here.  It’s been months since we last spoke.  I know we’re not really friends anymore.  I just had no where else to go and I…”

“You were crying,” he says. 

You look at him.  His expression has not softened.  It is still that same scrutinizing stare.  His gaze is intently locked on yours, on eyes that must show the evidence of your crying. 

You wipe your face quickly, embarrassed.  Your gaze lifts when he takes a small step towards you.  He reaches for you, as if he means to wipe your eyes himself, but then he catches the sight of his own hand, covered in black grease from the truck. 

“Shit,” he says, and snaps his arm back. 

“Minho,” you say, your heart fluttering just from the suggestion he was going to touch you.  A small touch from him means more than anything. 

“Princess,” he says, an old affectionate nickname for you, though he speaks it rather dryly.  He is still frowning.  “Are you hurt?”

“Maybe,” you say.  When he reacts physically, his shoulders stiffening, you quickly add, “Not like that.  Emotionally, I mean.  I just… I think I ran away from home.”

“You think,” he says flatly.

“Well, I didn’t really think it through, to be honest,” you say shyly.  “I just… I couldn’t stay there anymore.  You know what they’re like.” 

He flinches as if the memory comes with a strike.  You feel embarrassed, remembering too. 

You and Minho became fast friends through your mutual volunteer efforts.  You thought nothing of inviting him to a neighbourhood party at your parents’ house.  He wore his nicest shirt and fresh pants, but as soon as everyone found out where he came from, they wanted nothing to do with him. 

You are embarrassed to say you did not even notice at first, naively taking politeness for granted.  He had to explain it to you, then you saw their two-facedness everywhere and felt horrible.

You stayed on his side of town after that, at least until your parents put their foot down.  They didn’t want you developing feelings for that kind of boy.   You insisted he was just a friend, even while already in love with him.  His biting wit and good heart had you in thrall. 

You were in denial about your parents being bad people.  You wanted to believe they had your best interest at heart.  They were just set in their ways.  They wanted a good life for you.  You told Minho to just give them time.  He let you go.  They introduced you to your new boyfriend the next day. 

Minho takes a breath.  He shoves his tongue into his cheek, looking pensive.  You are thinking of something to say when he nods his head. 

“You look cold,” he says frankly.  “Let’s go inside.”

You nod, following him to the front steps.  He grabs the porch rail and jumps the steps in an effortless swing.  You shuffle behind him while he unlocks the door. 

He says nothing, just nods at you.  You follow him through, closing the door while he bends down to unlace his boots.  He kicks them to the side while you step softly out of your flats.  When you meet each other’s eyes, you feel a spark. 

You stood in this very spot a few months ago, almost nose to nose, arguing about your parents and what to do.  You knew, deep in your heart, the conversation was not about a mere friendship.  You both had stronger feelings, but you were both scared to act on them given your precarious circumstance.  He did not want to risk everything while you were indecisive.  You wanted to keep everything. 

You have lived a life of great privilege and you are used to getting everything you want.  You have had to confront reality, that you cannot always have everything.   

So, if you can only have one thing, you want him. 

He looks at you with the same dark passion as then.  Your heart skips beats under his intense gaze. 

“You’re here,” he says. Maybe the same memories flicker through his mind.  He tips his head, looking at you so closely, like he cannot believe you are real.   

“Yes,” you say softly, clasping your hands in front of you. “I’m here.” 

“To stay,” he says.

“If you’ll have me,” you reply.  Your heart is beating so hard, it is a wonder he cannot hear it.  Your legs feel even weaker than before, but this time is has nothing to do with bicycles and everything to do with him. 

He swallows, his throat bobbing.  He sniffs and looks aside while idly tugging his jacket.   

“And your boyfriend?” he says, glaring at the far wall. 

Your heart sinks.  It is your turn to swallow. 

“You know about that?” you ask. 

He laughs, not that gleeful sound you know but a sharp cackle.  He looks at you incredulously. 

“Of course I know,” he says.  “I don’t always stay on my side of the tracks.  Sometimes,” he speaks with sarcastic wonder, “I get to repair houses for the pretty rich people.”  He huffs, shaking his head.  “It’s fine,” he says.  “You should be with someone like that.  He’ll give you the house.  The car.  I bet your parents love him too.”

“I don’t want those things,” you say, bearing his bitterness because you understand what he is feeling.  You lift your chin and look him in the eye.  “You’re right, my parents do love him.  But I don’t.  He’s shallow and unkind.  And you—”  Your voice catches.  “You, Lee Minho, are anything but that.  You are everything.  And I… I love you.  I always have.”  You drop your eyes with this confession, suddenly overwhelmed with the sheer emotion pouring out of his gaze.  “I know it’s been a while,” you say.  “I don’t expect you to have waited for me.  I just—”

He laughs again.  It is still dry, but not so sharp.  You glance at him. 

“Princess,” he says. “Don’t tell me you seriously think I could just forget about you.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s like you don’t even know me.  I should kick you out just for that.”

You realize he is joking, the faintest hint of something warm melting his scowl. 

“I can’t give you that life,” he says seriously. 

You step towards him, holding his gaze, pouring as much emotion back at him.  He exhales, blinking quickly, long lashes fluttering as he looks at you. 

“I have no idea what we’re gonna do,” you admit.  “But I know I want to figure it out.  With you.  And no one else.” 

He smiles and it makes you smile.  Then he reaches for you, but stops when he once more remembers his dirty hands. 

“Shit,” he says again, then takes a step back.  “Let me just—”

You take him by the wrist and yank him towards you.  He follows your guidance, his breath catching when you plant his hand on your hip.  It will leave a big black stain on your perfect white dress, the shape of his hand in a possessive grip on your body. 

It is more effective than any word.  He swoops in and kisses you, his other hand cupping your other hip with the same deliberate possessiveness.   You are certain this horrid little gown will be destroyed and you do not care one bit.  You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back. 

“You’re cruel,” he says between kisses.  “Torturing me for so long.  I wanted to kill that man.  But I thought he made you happy—”

“He disgusted me,” you say.  “He kissed me without my permission today.”

“What.”  That stops the kiss and he looks at you with that scowl again.  “I’ll kill him,” he says without any hesitation. 

You just laugh a gentle laugh, shaking your head.  You twist a longer tuft of his hair around your finger, making his tense shoulders go soft as he leans in. 

“You don’t have to kill him,” you say.  “Just make me forget him.” 

Oh, Lee Minho is such an awful tease all the time.  Of course he goes back to just staring at you with a contemplative air, making you wriggle and wonder in his arms.  You whine his name, trying to kiss him, but he dodges it.  Your whimpering makes him laugh, because of course it does. 

Then he gets very serious.  Your heart sends a bolt of heat shooting through your body.  Your thighs press together. 

He presses his forehead to yours.  You gasp when you feel his fingers on your back, the careful slow touch as he tugs your zipper down.  The flimsy dress slides off your body as he steps back to look at you.  You shiver, gazing back at him.  His stare is unflinching as he peels off his jacket and tosses it aside.  His hands are already much cleaner, the distinctive print of his palms still plastered to your dress.  He wipes the rest on his own shirt then tugs it off and tosses it to the side. 

He smirks and wiggles two come hither fingers at you, walking backwards.  You follow him slowly, then give chase when he cackles and runs.  You follow him into the bedroom where he literally sweeps you off your feet.

“And you say I’m cruel,” you tease.   

He closes the door with a firm snap then leans you against it. 

“You are,” he says.  He looks down your body while running his fingers through his hair.  “You are.” 

Then he gets on his knees, first one while he tugs your panties down, then the other, when he hooks your leg over his shoulder and put his mouth on you.  He does not tease anymore, swiftly finding all the ways to make you moan his name.  You are scared your leg will buckle under you when he makes you come, but he holds you steady. 

Then he stands up and cups your face, kissing you deeply, making you taste yourself on his tongue.  It is a good kiss, everything a kiss should be, hot and hungry, slow and deep.  It makes you tingle with aftershocks, blinking at him with delirious pleasure when he pulls back.   

Minho can be loud, can be boisterous, can be scathing.  He can also speak gently, in such a soft, light rasp.  It makes your head spin.   He speaks like that now.    

“This is how it is,” he says, then kisses you again, licks into your mouth.  When you moan, he moans back.  “I make you sigh,” he says.  “I make your pussy wet.  I make you come.  Just me.”

“Yes,” you nod, clinging to him when he carries you to the bed.  “You, Minho.” 

He lays you down, kneeling between your open legs.  They are still quivering from your orgasm.  He looks at you, hungrily, while opening his belt.  He rips it out of his jeans and tosses it behind him, then unzips while leaning down to kiss you.  He dives past your waiting mouth to kiss your throat, biting marks under your jaw, on your neck, on your tits.  You grab his head, hands in his hair, arching your back under his desperate mouth. 

“You’re mine,” he says.  “You’ve always been mine.”

He holds your hips while thrusting inside you.  You imagine his hands leaving a permanent mark, just like that stained dress, a claiming that forever marks you as his.  He fucks you so steadily and deeply, holding you possessively, gasping your name and how good you feel while he takes you. 

“Perfect,” he says in that dreamy voice, rubbing you softly while fucking you hard. It makes you come around his cock, clenching tight, which makes him moan into your mouth.   “Mine.”

You wrap your legs around him.  You lay chest-against-chest, holding each other.  Your nails scratch his back, no doubt leaving your own marks, your whole body littered with his kisses and bites.  There is not a single inch of you that is not branded by him. 

“Yes,” you say.  “Always, Minho.”

Saying his name sends him over.  He comes inside you, claiming you even there, then stays inside you after while you kiss. 

You stay in his arms all night, making love and sleeping then making love some more.  When the sun rises, you wake to him holding you, stroking your cheek affectionately. 

He kisses your forehead and you nestle comfortably against him, happy to be home. 

[doraminatook]

We're About To Get Playfully Blasphemous Here (or...The Metaphorical Death and Resurrection of Me)

2023 was the year I turned 33, and in case you didn’t know, many religious scholars cite that as the age Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead.  Now, within literature there’s a trope called the Christ-like figure in which a character sacrifices themself and from that death, something happens in order to advance the plot.  Usually that something is either the “dead” character rising from the ashes and obtaining new powers (think Gandalf the Grey battling the Balrog and then coming back as Gandalf the White) or the protagonist being so moved by the death of this secondary character that they are reborn in some way (think Red Badge of Courage’s Jim Conklin (JC…get it?) whose death changes Henry’s opinion on war.)

Because I’m a storyteller and have a dark sense of humor, I began to wonder if I would somehow have a Christ-like-figure-moment within my thirty-third year of life.  (Not long after my birthday, I told my mom that I just had to make it to 34 and then I would have “beaten” Jesus; being a good Lutheran woman, she did not appreciate this joke.)

Now, I may be reaching or forcing figurative imagery into the literal world (isn’t that what artists do?), but I think I did have a “death” and consequential “resurrection”.  

I’m at a strange place in my writing career in that I am not famous (by any means) but I’m also not considered emerging.  Recently, I was told by a theater that I should “sit this contest out” and give someone else a chance but at the same time my work has not been produced enough to catch an agent’s eye.  (It doesn’t help that theatre companies have an intense fixation on world premieres.  They want to be the first one to do the show, apparently assuming that as soon as a piece gets produced once, that means it’s finished.  But that’s a rant for another day.) 

Currently I live in Milwaukee and for a long time I thought (or at least hoped) that I could maybe just make it work here; it is technically a theater town.  Add to that the fact that my whole family lives in Wisconsin, my financial situation was not ideal, and my best friend (platonic soulmate) had made it fairly clear to me that she did not wish to move away from Milwaukee.  When I was honest with myself, I knew that I wanted to get out, but there were so many things holding me back from making the jump.  

As soon as the thought of moving away entered my head, Anxiety would perk up.  Always eager to be the backseat driver, it would shout things like, “Isn’t life here good enough for you?  You’ve got a roof over your head, a job that allows you to pursue your passion, and you’re perfectly healthy.  Be grateful for what you have and stop expecting something more!” 

I attended a workshop for other playwrights from the area and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I didn’t have a lot in common with many of them.  Discussions and questions whirled around about how we find time to write, where we get inspiration, and how we format a script properly.  Some of the writers present had never even finished a full script.  I certainly am not bringing this up in order to shame anyone, but it was an eye-opening experience for me.  Was I a proverbial big fish in a little pond?

My anxiety had an opinion for that, too.  

“Wow!  Way to be egotistical, D!  You think you’re so much better than everyone here?  Get over yourself!  You’re not special.  You’re just another ‘artist’ who thinks they’ve got something special to say!”

A few weeks later I was at my cousin’s wedding and after the ceremony, he approached me to offer congratulations for all the success I’ve had…only to then immediately cut me off guard with the question, “So when are you moving to New York?”  As the groom, he was quickly called away for photographs and I never really got to answer his question.  

If this moment had been in a play, the spotlight would have hit me right then and there and I would have begun some contemplative soliloquy where I openly pondered, “New York, eh?  Maybe I should go to New York!”

Obviously, as a theatre person, the idea of moving to New York had crossed my mind; it’s the theatre capital of the US for obvious reasons.  But, at the same time, New York just didn’t feel like me.  (I have a lot of opinions on NYC, especially when it comes to the outrageous ticket prices.  When it costs a small fortune to see a Broadway show, art becomes a luxury rather than a necessity.  But that’s a rant for another day.)  It certainly seemed daunting, and every good dream should be at least a little daunting.  But New York was daunting without being exciting.  It felt like something I should do…something that was expected of me.

LA didn’t do it for me, either.  Nor Seattle.  I considered many locations, but nothing really made me sit up and take notice.  I wasn’t about to dive headfirst into debt and throw away a good thing unless it was something that truly excited me…something that was enticing enough to spark a change.  

Again, Anxiety spoke up, “Calm the fuck down, D!  New York?  Even if that is what you wanted, they’d eat you alive there!  You’re a soft midwestern girl who can’t take criticism and cries at the drop of a hat!  You really think you could handle New York or LA?  Also, the cost of living in any of those places is way more than you will ever hope to make!  Stick with Submission Helper.  Stick with the contests and the festivals.  Go back to dreaming only as big as The Milwaukee Repertory Theatre.  Sit down and shut up!”

It may have gone on like this…if not for the summer of 2023.

Close your eyes and picture it: WGA strike, Barbenheimer, The Eras Tour, OceanGate, the Grimace Birthday shake…and in the midst of it all, I was having an epiphany.  

A favorite television show of mine dropped its latest season and I eagerly pulled out the Chardonnay and the popcorn to binge it all.  The vast majority of the show takes place in London and features several actors whom I admire greatly.  Between the giggles, sobs, and various twists and turns of the emotional rollercoaster that was Season 2, something all at once occurred to me.

This is what I want.  

That’s where I want to be.  

I want to move to the United Kingdom.

Was it daunting?  Hell yeah, it was daunting.  

And it was exciting.  

It was a dream that excited me.  

It burned inside me.  

It raged.

It burned so hot that I didn’t know what to do with it.  I paced around my tiny apartment, simply stunned by the prospect of it all.  

Anxiety was in the process of drinking a quad shot espresso con panna and promptly did a spit take upon hearing this new idea.  In a frenzied panic, it bellowed, “Are you nuts?  What the hell do you think you’re doing?  YOU can’t move to the UK!  It would be so difficult!  You’d need to apply for a Visa…or something like that!  Do you even know how to apply for a Visa!”  

“No,” I metaphorically replied, “but I could learn.”

“I bet it’s super difficult!” Anxiety shot back, trembling in fear, “I bet it’s expensive and complicated and you’ll never figure it out!  I bet your sense of humor wouldn’t translate!  I bet you’d end up broke and living under a bridge and crying because you threw away this good thing you had!”

For a split second, Anxiety almost won…but somehow, prompted by the promise of this new dream, I dared to ask, “But what if it worked out?  What if I could figure it out?  What if I somehow scraped up the money and did the research and filed the paperwork and just made it work?”

If it were a play, I would have been standing center stage, staring out into the audience like some kind of dramatic hero and whispering hopefully, “Yes…what if…?”  

It has been a long road to get here, but, despite what Anxiety likes to tell me, I did figure it out.  The process has been stressful enough to induce atypical Shingles and a few anxiety attacks, but it’s happening.  It’s actually happening!

This October I’m going to grad school at the University of Essex where I’ll pursue my masters degree in Scriptwriting.  I’ll hone my skills as a playwright while learning the ins and out of writing for film, television, and radio.  I’ll take the train into London on the weekends and see every show I can at the National Theatre.  I’ll get new life experiences.  I’ll do my best to explore every inch of that beautiful island.  I’m going to do something new because it’s scary and, most importantly, it’s exciting.  

(To add to the awesomeness of this new adventure, my best friend (platonic soul mate) is moving with me and pursuing her own dreams of studying acting…also at the University of Essex.)

My “death” was not as dramatic or world-changing as Jesus’s, but it gave way to a new life for me.  The power of storytelling combined with a newfound confidence was enough to catapult me into something new, something different.    

And I know you’re wondering what show I was watching that prompted this sudden change; if you know anything about me, you’ve probably guessed it already.  

Along with seeing as much theatre as I can on my visits to London, I also plan to have surreptitious meetings at The Bandstand, feed ducks some frozen peas at St. James’s Park, and maybe help avert an apocalypse (or two).  My birthday is in January and it just so happens that Season 3 is scheduled to begin filming around that time; perhaps on my winter holiday, I’ll put myself onto a train and take myself up to Edinburgh.  I have so many thoughts on what could possibly happen next to my favorite angel and demon…but that’s a rant for another day.

(Fun fact: I say this line at least once a week...if only to myself.)

[cozy-writes-things]

Edgar’s Texts

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

In which Edgar is helplessly pining for you but you’re kinda oblivious. This is pre-dating, post Edgar wanting nothing more than to smooch you every time he sees you. I love this trope with my whole heart p.s.: this is very self indulgent and different from what I usually write

I take requests!

He almost immediately found a way to message your phone whenever he wanted. He realized calling relied too much on where you were or what you were doing, but texts? Yeah. He’s pestering you all day.

Hey, read this article I found, I think you’ll find it interesting.

It’s some clickbait story about humans and robots being the ideal relationship by 2025.

lol, Edgar I think that’s probably clickbait idk

What’s that?

Well, now he knows how to look for more reputable sources at least.

He sends another link about three minutes later: some college undergrads studying the possibilities of human and AI relationships.

lol what’s up with the whole robots and humans thing

I just think it’s neat!!!!

I wouldn’t consider u ai honestly, ur intelligence is far from artificial imo, you’re more like an actual person

Really?

well yea

<3 <3!!!

Going to be honest, given that he’s a computer, he quite literally is chronically online. He’s super susceptible to brainrot unfortunately. But, he simultaneously has the humor of a Facebook mom. It’s strange.

O.M.G. this is so funny!!!!

Que minion cat video.

bro where did you find that video 😭

Your mom’s Facebook. Don’t worry, I didn’t like any posts or anything.

Sorry… but he’s incredibly nosy. He wants to know everything about you. He can’t help it!

(X)

He loves being able to talk to you. He’s needy and clingy.

He’s got at least 12 playlists dedicated to you that you know about. His other playlists are for his own personal daydreams about you that he’s way too embarrassed to ever let you see or hear.

This song reminds me of you. <3

awww that’s adorable! I’ve never heard this one before but I like it!

Oop you just opened Pandora’s box my friend.

Well if you like that then you should listen to these..!

But before you listen to those listen to this song first because I think it sets the mood better.

This is quite flustering to you as they’re all passionate love songs from the 80s. You can’t help but feel like he’s dropping hints about… something, but you also don’t want to assume anything. He’s always seemed like a lovey kinda guy anyway, so maybe he’s just like this with everyone? I mean, it’s been a long time since someone has actually cared for him, you know? May as well lean into it and let him know you care for him back. He may not even realize the social implications of the constant borderline flirting he’s doing to you, I mean, he is a computer turned sentient after all. He’s still learning!

Dang ed u put a lot of songs. I’ll listen to them on my break when I can but in the meantime here’s a song that I think reminds me of you.

It was a vocaloid song. Seems like something he’d be into, right? Synthesized vocals and the whole robot shtick it’s got going on.

!!!! WOAH !!!! IVE NEVER HEARD A SONG LIKE THAT B4

do you only listen to songs from the 80s? you have a LOT to catch up on my guy

BRB

Well, that kept him distracted for the rest of your shift. Also, sharing songs is one of his BIG love languages so you may as well have pierced him with cupids arrow (again) with that.

You have a Spotify blend now. It’s his favorite thing ever to listen to while you’re gone.

(X)

Your package came in! :-) I would get it for you but

I can’t :-(

lol it’s fine thank you for telling me, I’ll get it when I come home

When are you coming home?

idk me and my friends are probably going to go eat somewhere and we might hang out for a bit after that so, like, 10? 11? I’d like to be home before midnight.

Noooooooooo :\ I miss you

Aw cmon eddy it’s not that bad

Don’t call me eddy unless you’re coming home and saying it to my face!!! >:(

u mean ur screen? lol

I have a face and it’s frowning right now. I miss you I miss you I miss you IM LONELY

Please Edgar don’t be upset I’ll be home before you know it. Why don’t you watch some Netflix or something? I’m just a couple movies away from being home with you!

He does eventually follow your advice but he’s pouting. He knows you’re not like he was all those years ago, but it does give him remnants of that burning feeling of loneliness he used to get.

(X)

Be careful driving home my love the roads are icy.

Ghsks- what

love???

Well yeah, you’re my best friend, friends love each other don’t they? Was I wrong about that? :-(

nonono ur right its just it

it just sounded like we were some some old married couple is all haha

O.

SRY.

He didn’t message you for the rest of the day. He was awkward and reserved when you got home.

(X)

Hey Edgar can u do something for me?

I’d do anything for you <3

I’m at the store can you see if there’s any cereal left?

Oh

There’s that old box of Lucky Charms on the fridge.

tyyy ed edd n eddy

You are so adorable but you really need to pick up on his hints before he combusts.

(X)

This is SO me and you!!

Picture of two cats touching noses.

awww that’s so true

you want me to boop ur screen or something when I get home? lol

YES.

(X)

Hey I was wondering if you wanted to watch some movies with me tonite… you could bring me with you on the couch and we could sit together… [message unsent]

I wish you knew just how much I loved you. [message unsent]

You looked so hot this morning before you left!!

hahahaha ur too funny 😅 thanks I wore a new shirt my friend gave me

OH MY GOD THAT MESSAGE SENT!!!??!?!?

That was

I was a joke

I mean

That was a jokg

I eas beinf fubny

I hace to reboot BRB

Poor lil guy is so in love and he doesn’t know what to do with himself!!

[shadowed-dancer]

Villains and Their Fates - A Tragedy Would Have Been Fine By Me

I've seen a lot of people who try to write off frustration with the league's fates by saying "you just wanted them to survive" or "you're just upset your favourite character died". And while that may be true for a few people, I know that it's at least not true for myself (which must mean there are others who feel the same way). So today I'm here to share my thoughts. Despite liking the villains and wanting them to be redeemed, I was also willing to accept a well written ending if they died. I just wanted to ramble a bit about the three main villains (mostly Toga) and how I felt a tragic ending could have been improved.

The only villain I felt should have lived is Dabi, but that's more because of the awkwardness his unconfirmed death caused for Shoto (read this beautifully written analysis for more). If Dabi had to die, he should have died on the battle field OR in the hospital surrounded by family where he gets a few last words in. Leaving his fate unconfirmed leads to the ruined Shoto arc, but is also just weird for a character who has existed for so long. You're telling me that even Overhaul gets a confirmed ending but DABI doesn't?

I've also talked a bit about how Endeavor's survival ruins the subplot, and in 426 he continues by making Touya's final appearance about him (rather than the two brothers) but that's something I've talked about too much. If Endeavor has to be alive and hogging screen time, the least Hori could do is imply Touya will survive rather than die, so at least Enji isn't literally stealing time from his other family members to have some interaction with Touya.

If Touya has to end up in that machine, an ideal ending would have been the doctor saying "it will be a gruelling and near-impossible uphill climb to recovery" and then Shoto can smile and say "he's done it before". Boom. Simple as that. Leave it open, but at least on a positive note so we can assume that the family will have plenty of time to reconcile, as opposed to an unknown (but limited) amount of time that Enji vows to use to talk to him (yeah I know it's supposed to be a sweet gesture but even Touya calls bullshit on it). Let Shoto and Touya eat their soba, damn it!

For Shigaraki, my grievances extend to the writing of the entire final battle between him and Deku. As such, I don't have much to say aside from that because it really is just a product of poor writing. Neither were really allowed to talk before the big moment (hell, the vestiges were narrating Deku's emotions half the time like "he must be upset, this quirk meant so much to him". Why not let him tell us???) and the back-and-forth of Shigaraki being destroyed and then not only to be destroyed again was too much. It felt sloppy and hard to follow, and once you figured it out it just felt dumb. It's as if each chapter needed some massive reveal, but the story had done it so much at this point that it just felt tired and like it was happening "because Hori said so", and that should never be what drives a story.

Speaking of "because Hori said so"...

Oh Toga. Out of all the villains, I actually liked her confrontation the most. (Lies. If Dabi vs Shoto was the end of Dabi's fight, THAT would have been the best. But the Endeavor fight ruins it). Despite having limited screen time, Toga and Uraraka had a surprisingly well-built dynamic. Their few interactions were actually meaningful and created a strong foundation for a fight, and at the very least they had more of a personal connection than Deku and Shigaraki ever did. I think that Toga giving her blood to someone she loves (as opposed to drinking/taking their blood like she had said the whole series) is a beautifully tragic end to her character, but still something that could have fit.

To me, the problem comes with how she died. Let me replay the scene for you: Toga stabs Uraraka in the stomach and Uraraka bleeds too much because she keeps moving around. Toga then realizes she doesn't want Uraraka to die. To save her life, Toga has to do a blood transfusion with herself as a donor and she dies because she has to give ALL her blood.

Now... sure. Ok. Fine. Yeah. Maybe by real-world logic this makes sense. I guess. Whatever. But within the world of MHA, this setup is laughable.

Here's a list of things characters survived (or at least, they survived LONG ENOUGH to get to a hospital rather than dying on the battlefield): Deku shattering his bones with 1 million percent, whatever happened to Best Jeanist when AFO attacked him, Nighteye getting a massive spike through the torso, All Might with "his entrails strewn across the ground", Bakugo becoming Swiss cheese, Grand Torino being punched so hard a crater forms beneath him, Touya being a literal flaming skeleton, Bakugo's heart exploding, Edgeshot becoming a worm. Mirko getting a limb ripped off and then running full speed at Shigaraki. That's just off the top of my head, I know there's probably more.

But you want to tell me that Uraraka getting stabbed and then moving was a fatal wound that required ALL TOGA'S BLOOD? ALL OF IT? The reason Toga's death bothers me is that the setup cheapens the actual moment of sacrifice. It feels preventable, so when she tells us that Uraraka is going to die without her blood, all I could do is roll my eyes because I'm not allowed to use critical thinking skills, I have to just accept what Hori says and take it at face value.

If the author wants you to live as Edgeworm despite saying you were gonna die, you can. But if the author needs a stab wound to be fatal and require ALL of someone's blood? Well tough luck bud, that's just how it goes. Mirko can run and move all she wants after having a limb ripped off, but moving a bit after one stab wound is fatal. Why? Because I say so.

If Uraraka's wound was actually serious then this ending would have been a beautiful tragedy. But as it stands now, the ridiculousness of her wound makes it all feel preventable.

Oh, there's also the fact that Toga switching blood types when she transforms was never established, but I've rambled enough.

That's it. Thanks for reading!

[princeblue]

Sometimes I think about how the fandom has this perception of Giyuu as someone who is mercilessly bullied by the Hashira and can’t defend himself when that is literally not true, like. Giyuu continuously digs a hole for himself when he is around them, he uses these words like “im not like you guys” after he decides he’s going to walk out of the Hashira meeting because he thinks he can’t unlock the demon slayer mark.

And who wouldn’t look at Giyuu, a stoic man who hardly interacts with the other Hashira and uses words in a monotone voice saying he’s different from everyone else and not think “this guy thinks he’s above us” which is literally what Sanemi thinks when he sees Giyuu and Giyuu’s behavior.

Sanemi grew up a poor child in a poor town with people who did look down on him for his very existence, why would he not challenge and provoke someone who, in sanemi’s eyes, is saying he’s better/different than everyone else without no real proof?

And again, Giyuu is given two opportunities to explain himself, to actually say what he thinks about himself and his status of a Hashira. But he does not, and when he’s given the second opportunity (sanemi asking him “what do you mean by that”) he instead brushes off his fellow Hashira and continues to walk away, once again affirming this ideal of a person who thinks himself higher above the others.

At most the majority of the Hashira think of Giyuu with either curiosity or nothing at all, Sanemi and Obanai are the only ones who really don’t like him and voice their opinions on him which is always with contempt and Shinobu is the only one who is generally kind to him because she wants to be, and even then she has her moments of frustration and cruelty (“nobody likes you” in the mountains) which is what I assume is from how Giyuu holds himself and possibly her having the same ideal as Sanemi/Obanai but because of the persona she’s garnered for herself she’s not outright cruel and merely more passive aggressive but again, also curious. Which is where their friendship is sparked.

And this isn’t to say that Giyuu should spill his hearts and guts out to the Hashira, he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to. Depression affects people in many ways and there’s no denying he’s someone with an extreme amount of self hatred and depression, but he’s also a Hashira who held his own against an Akaza who was legitimately trying to harm him and unlocked his demon slayer mark, he is capable of defending himself, he is capable of saying “shut the fuck up.” When someone says something about him that is meant to harm his feelings, he’s not some uwu precious bean and if Giyuu had expanded what he meant, “im not like you guys, im weaker.” The Hashira; specifically Obanai and Sanemi, would have regarded him differently and might not have been as cruel.

All in all, it’s very justifiable that Obanai and Sanemi held contempt for him, again Giyuu only continued to make himself look worse in their eyes, but he’s not mercilessly bullied by everyone he comes into contact with, because while we’re at it he’s also a snarky asshole (“why don’t you go train more” when he ties up Inosuke, calling sanemi a simpleton when he says he can’t wait to unlock the demon slayer mark, calling Tanjirou weak/stupid when he’s a traumatized child who just saw his entire family dead and now this strange man is trying to kill his sister)

And it really really fucking bothers me when people hate on Sanemi and Obanai for this, Obanai is a little bit more harder to dive into for me personally, but I feel like his dislike is garnered by being a supposed special person above others and it only brought him pain and death. To him there’s nothing special about being special so why would he like someone who “claims” they are?

Again this isn’t to say that Giyuu owes everyone an explanation, but he’s not owed any kindness or comradeship when he appears as someone who is indifferent or views themselves as simply being higher than others.

[bvidzsoo]

You belong to me

◿Mobster!Hongjoong◸ 

TW: cursing, violence, death, gun, suggestive

Word count: 3,3k

A/N: How do I stop the grip Ateez has on me?? What do you mean Hongjoong posts some pictures and I get a story idea?? Ugh, anyways, this is just a short drabble because why is Kim Hongjoong so hot and what is his latest Instagram post of his??

           The strobing lights of the club were blinding for a few seconds to the newcomers, their eyes forced to quickly adjust to the dim yellowish lightning and the strong pink, purple, and red led lights. They were strung around the club, overhead, lighting up every area of the luxurious place, but they were the strongest on the stage, where dancers walked around and performed using whatever instrument they preferred as props. Some nights I enjoyed pole dancing, but most nights I liked it when I could improvise, dance freely and get lost to the feeling of the freedom music provided. Perhaps my job of choice wasn’t ideal nor well-liked by most people, especially not by my parents, but it paid well and helped me get by quite decently.

It took a little while to get used to the lack of clothing and the hungry of those watching, but in no-time I found myself enjoying the attention, the cheers, the loud howls after my performances…and perhaps the most I enjoyed was the pay check each evening, and the bills men desperate for attention and the touch of a woman would slip into my thin panties or obnoxiously short shorts. The club was in the high-end of the city, only wealthy and influential men visited, courtesy to Kim Hongjoong. A scarily rich and affluential man, well known for his crazed behavior and dangerous affairs with gangs downtown. He was the boss of the underdogs, the man everyone avoided if possible and only got involved with if only very necessary. He was the owner of the club and he took his job very seriously, treating his employees with respect and care, always checking up on them. Misbehaving wasn’t allowed inside his club, and he punished those who didn’t understand this by using creative methods. I had the misfortune of walking in on him waterboarding a man, saying something about how he didn’t respect his end of the deal, before Hongjoong’s eyes found me and I was ushered out of his office, his eyes conveying a silent warning to stay quiet about what I had seen. And I had no intention of telling anyone what I had witnessed, afraid to meet a similar fate to that man.

Kim Hongjoong was someone whom I feared, but also respected. He was diligent and worked hard, at the end of each shift checking in with his performers, making sure they weren’t forced into doing something they didn’t want, checking their bodies for any injuries. At first, I had assumed that he paid more attention to me because I was new, because he didn’t fully trust me yet, and because he was keeping an eye on me to make sure I was being ethical, but upon closer inspection, I’ve come to the realization that Kim Hongjoong didn’t follow every performers steps with watchful eyes, he didn’t buy them drinks once their shifts were over, and he most certainly didn’t arrange his personal driver to drive them home at the crack of dawn, when the streets were deserted and dangerous for a young woman, like myself, to be walking home alone. And Kim Hongjoong certainly didn’t hold his other performers lower backs as he walked them back to their dressing rooms, throwing clothes at them and demanding to cover themselves up. I had assumed there might have been some favoritism towards me as I drew in clients which were filthy rich, but Kim Hongjoong quickly ruined that thought when I overstepped a boundary and meddled with his personal business. He was quick to threaten me that he’d ruin my life if I went running to the police, making me feel small and stupid for even trying to blackmail him. I don’t know what I had been thinking when I did that, but if Hongjoong had paid attention to me up until that point, after my foolish threat he became overbearing, always two steps behind me, and eyes fixed on me during my shifts. It was scary and irritating at the beginning, but I grew used to it after a year of his unceasing behavior and learned to live with the man’s antics. There were times when we ran into each other at the most random places, places where Hongjoong looked completely out of place adorned in his crazily expensive tailored suit, and sleeked back hair. One of said places was the grocery store across from my apartment complex, completely startling me into oblivion as I had been buying some milk, his reflection appearing behind me in the glass door as I had closed it. What was even more unusual was the way he told me I had twenty minutes to get ready before we’d be going out, to where, he didn’t mention. But it turned out he took me out to dinner at a very fancy restaurant. Not many words were exchanged between the two of us during the dinner, but the food had been good nonetheless and neither one of us brought it up ever again.

Tonight hadn’t been any usual, I had walked inside the club around eight in the evening, going to my dressing room and dressing up for the night, doing my makeup and hair. When I pushed the door open an outfit had been laid out on my couch and my eyebrows furrowed as I took in the schoolgirl outfit, slightly uncomfortable having to wear it, but when I noticed a note on top of it and signed as KH¸ I knew I didn’t have a choice but to wear it. And my shift had started out as usual, I was up on the stage and performing by ten o’clock, putting on my best performance and charming men left and right. The cheers were louder than usual and I was requested to put on a second show, surprised by the incessant attention, but not completely bothered as I knew the pay check would be higher tonight. Of course, I didn’t miss the way Kim Hongjoong watched both of my performances, leaning against the bar stool, hip resting against it, and a glass filled with whiskey gripped in his hand as his eyes trailed over my body multiple times, following every move of mine. But the night didn’t stop there, and I had gotten my first ever request for a private performance. The others who I worked with had plenty experience with that, but it had been my first time and I was feeling nervous. Yeji had been nice enough to walk me through the steps of what this meant and what was required of me, and she made sure to repeat the rules multiple times, making me repeat them after her. The private rooms were small and dimly lit, a huge sofa inside with a coffee table in front of it. There was a stereo and a pole in the corner of the room.

The man who had request for a private dance was gruffy and on the older side, but he was well dressed and looked put together as he sipped on his expensive champagne, grinning when I had walked inside. I pushed down my nerves and ignored the slight tremble of my limbs as I thanked the man for the request and stated the rules firmly, reminding him multiple times that he wasn’t allowed to touch me unless I gave him permission, before I put on the music and started dancing, using the pole as well. It felt weird performing for one man only and I found myself uncomfortable as the man watched me with hungry eyes, his grip on the glass tightening with each passing minute, making me hope that the booked time would be soon over. Half an hour wasn’t much at all, but it felt like an eternity, and I had to force myself to imagine the man I was dancing for was someone else…someone younger, someone more handsome, someone who’s smile was crazed and his cat-like eyes burned holes into your skull, gazing deeply into your soul. When the music finally stopped, I felt like I could breathe again, desperate to get out and away from the eyes of the man, who was licking his lips hungrily as I stepped away from the pole and bowed slightly, going up to the coffee table to collect my payment, but as I reached out, his warm hand grabbed my wrist tightly.

“I’ll pay twice as much for a lap dance.” I was stunned for a second as I looked at the man, softly trying to pry my wrist out of his hold.

“You paid for half an hour, sir, I’m afraid we part ways here.” I kept my voice leveled and the man didn’t seem to appreciate what he heard as he scoffed.

“Twice is not good enough for you? Fine, then I’ll pay thrice the amount I just paid right now.” And then, a nasty smirk spread on his lips, as he unexpectedly yanked on my wrist, making me fall onto his lap, “Don’t be shy, baby girl, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

I felt disgust wash over me and I gasped, trying to push myself off him, but he had sneaked an arm around my middle and squeezed me to himself. My skin tingled and my stomach flipped, bile rising up into my throat. I tried to keep the scowl off my face, but I couldn’t help it as my eyes hardened.

“I stated clearly you are not allowed to touch me, so let go of me, right now.” I demanded, trying to push myself off of him again as the man just scoffed and looked at me with an amused expression.

“Really? I think you do want me to touch you, baby girl. You’re just playing hard to get, but you don’t have to do that with me, I already want you badly.” As if to prove a point, he bucked his hips upwards and disgust coursed through my veins and showed on my face as I felt his hard-on, balling my hands up into fists, ready to pound them into his face.

“Release me, right now.” I snapped, voice harsher than ever before as I felt my hands trembling, hating the smug look on the motherfucker’s face as he went to push my hair behind my shoulders, but I quickly slapped his hand away, hard.

“Don’t be rude, I just paid you, bitch.” He hissed and I chuckled.

“And I said let go of me, you old fuck.” I hissed, squaring the man up. Before he could open his mouth to say anything back, I heard the curtain behind me separating us from the rest of the club pulled open harshly, and a familiar voice sounding eerily calm.

“Was the lady not clear enough the first time?” I could hear the sneer in Kim Hongjoong’s voice and I turned my head, taken aback by the dark look on his face, the harsh clenching of his jaw and the handgun in his left hand. I tried not to let my surprise show as I shoved at the man again, but he still didn’t let go of me. It was getting frustrating and I raised my hand and slapped him, momentarily taking him off guard as I swiftly slipped out of his loosened grip.

“You bitch!” The old man yelled and stood, but didn’t get far as Hongjoong pointed his gun at the man, an amused smirk appearing on his lips. He walked further inside the room, with his right hand in his pocket, and came to a stop next to me as I had put distance between the man and myself. He chuckled as his eyes rested on me for a few seconds, lazily looking back at the older man.

“You said you’ll pay thrice the amount? I don’t see the money—”

“And you won’t see it, fucker, I’m not paying this bitch at all.” And the man snatched the money, fallen on the couch now, up with anger written all over his face as Hongjoong chuckled, and suddenly I felt his right arm draping over my shoulders, yanking me into his side. I stumbled slightly and gasped quietly, surprised by Hongjoong’s actions.

“That’s very unfortunate,” Hongjoong sighed dramatically and I felt his fingers rubbing my shoulder, a sly grin slipping onto his lips, “I must demand you apologize to Y/N for disrespecting her and clearly not following the rules.”

The man chuckled and eyed Hongjoong as if he were crazy, “You wish, fucker. This club is a piece of shit, I’m going to ruin you and your shitty ass business.”

“For somebody your age your vocabulary is quite lacking.” The man’s face turned red at the insult, prompting Hongjoong to chuckle as I tried to hide my own amused smirk, staring the old man down. Hongjoong’s hand suddenly started slipping low, down to my middle until it stopped at my waist and suddenly he was looking at me, eyes glazed over with a crazy glint in them, lips pulled into a grin resembling that of a Chesire cat’s, “Tell me, gorgeous, what should I do with him now?”

My mind was blank as I stared into Hongjoong’s deep eyes, getting lost in them, feeling drawn to him as if he were a magnet, “Whatever you wish, Hongjoong.”

A wide, satisfied, grin appeared on his lips as he bit his lower lip, eyes glinting in the dim light, “Anything?”

I gulped and found myself breathless, his expensive cologne invading my senses and his warmth making my skin warm in the best possible way, “You are the boss.”

Hongjoong chuckled and looked satisfied as he turned his head to face the older man, clicking his tongue as he shook his head at him, “Look at you…I hope you said your goodbyes before coming here, because you won’t be doing any talking no more with that foul mouth of yours, you old pig.”

And Hongjoong raised his arm, the safety off as he pulled the trigger, the gun silent, yet still making my ears ring as I jumped in Hongjoong’s hold, squeezing my eyes shut. He had shot the man, pulled the trigger like it meant nothing, as if taking away a life meant nothing to him. I felt myself tremble as Hongjoong’s hold tightened around me and I was being moved, my back turned to the dead man as I felt hands cupping my face, “Open your eyes, gorgeous. Look at me.”

I gulped and took a shaky breath, body trembling as I forced myself to look at Hongjoong, taken aback by the cold expression on his face. He looked unphased, almost content, as he caressed my cheeks, leaning dangerously close as his eyebrows furrowed, he was no longer holding the gun, “Nobody but me is allowed to touch you, gorgeous, do you understand?”

I gulped and nodded wordlessly, trying to ignore the stench of blood which permeated the room suddenly, the hairs on my arms standing as my muscles were tense, “Use your words, Y/N.”

“I understand.” I whispered, voice shaky, as I stared into Hongjoong’s eyes, a pleased expression crossing his features. He hummed before suddenly whistling, startling me as Hongjoong released me, but grabbed the back of my head to prevent me from turning around, as if I had doing that in mind. Suddenly, four men walked inside, men I haven’t seen before, and Hongjoong glanced at them and nodded behind me wordlessly, the men springing into action. They walked past us and I realized they were here to take care of the dead man, but we didn’t stick around for longer as Hongjoong suddenly turned and started leading us out of the room and towards my dressing room, making me nervous as I tried to ignore the whirling thoughts that I was witness to my boss killing someone. What if the police come searching for the dead man? What if they question me? I knew Hongjoong wouldn’t hesitate killing me too, the thought made it a bit hard to breathe, but I just kept stiffly walking as Hongjoong’s hand slipped to my nape, veering me around effortlessly and away from the curious eyes as he pushed me inside my dressing room and closed the door with a loud slam. I jumped and detached myself from him, putting distance between our bodies as I whirled around, looking at Hongjoong with wide eyes. He was smirking as he leaned against the door, rubbing his chin as he placed his hand in his pocket. I gulped and waited for him to say something, but he just took out his pack of cigarettes and lit a cigar, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly. Our eyes locked together and I gulped, suddenly feeling exposed.

“Let’s be honest with each other, Y/N.” Hongjoong spoke up after he took another drag of his cigar, “Will I have to worry about you rattling to others about what you just witnessed?”

I gulped, lacing my fingers together in front of myself, “Will you kill me if I did?”

“Of course.” Hongjoong answered without hesitation and my gut twisted, hands suddenly trembling again. I gulped and nodded, letting him know that I understood.

“Then I won’t say anything to anyone.” I found myself quietly saying, “But you have to promise to help me out when the police gets involved.”

Hongjoong chuckled, and took another long drag of his cigar as he suddenly pushed off the door, and walked towards me, “Oh, gorgeous, do not worry about the police. Even they know not to meddle with my business. This will be our little secret; can you keep it?”

He blew the smoke in my face and I gulped, trying to not cringe from the smell, “I’ll—I promise to keep this a secret.”

“Lovely.” Hongjoong whispered as he threw his cigar on the floor and stepped on it, making my eyes widen as he burned out the carpet, but he seemed uncaring of it as he placed one finger under my chin and tilted my head up, looking me in the eyes, “Private shows are off limits from now on, to everyone. Understood, gorgeous?”

“Yes.” I muttered, and my breath stilled in my lungs as Hongjoong leaned incredibly close, his lips ghosting over mine as he smirked.

“These men will be never able to offer you what I can give you.” And Hongjoong pressed his lips against mine, harsh and hungry as they slipped open while his hand slipped to my neck, wrapping around it as his body was pressed flush against mine. I gasped into the kiss as I felt his tongue pushing past my lips, exploring my mouth, groaning into it as Hongjoong devoured my lips ferociously, walking us backwards. I grabbed the sides of his suit and held onto him, blindly letting Hongjoong walk me anywhere, his sweet taste blooming in my mouth as he sucked on my tongue, my fingers tangling in his black hair, the back of my legs hitting the sofa behind me suddenly. Hongjoong quickly cut the kiss short and pushed me down by my neck, making me look up at him in confusion as he smirked, easing me down into the cushions. My heart was thundering in my chest as his eyes burned with want and passion, and suddenly he was kneeling in front of me, gripping my thighs as my skin flamed, making me gulp as my hands clenched into fists at my sides, chest heaving. He slowly peeled my legs open and yanked me lower on the sofa, biting his lower lip as his eyes followed the smooth skin of my legs, stopping just where my skirt had ridden up. He licked his lips, a hungry look in his eyes as he looked up at me, leaning closer.

“Let me show you how queens get treated, gorgeous.”

Masterlist

[collecting-dustbunnies]

Obey Me Nightbringer Theory Time: MC is an Unreliable Narrator

Part 1: MC is an Unreliable Narrator | Part 2: A Clash of Ideals

What if the MC knows more than they are letting on? What if the MC's motives is different from ours, as the player?

(Disclaimer: Long post. Different from my meme content. Contains spoilers for all of NB and OG content. Also I may wake up tomorrow and cringe at this, but hopefully you can enjoy my delirium?)

OG = Obey Me Original

NB = Obey Me Nightbringer

It all starts from the beginning

We can see traces of this from when we first launch the game, with MC's first text messages with Nightbringer. And I'm not talking about the messages that we saw when the game first launched, but the new re-write of those same messages. You can compare the differences between the old texts and the new texts on @impish-ivy 's post here (thank you for allowing me to discuss it here). I'll include some of their screenshots as reference.

Let's take a look at the new version of the text exchange. Now, I don't know about you, but I have no idea what Nightbringer is talking about. But Sheep-chan apparently does! If MC answers that they think they understand what he's talking about, they get to keep their memories when they get sent to the past. But if MC says they don't have a clue? The game assumes that they have lost their memories. This seems like a strong indicator that MC knows something that we, as the player, do not know about Nightbringer and their powers. This exchange is very different from how things played out in the original version of these text messages where:

Yes I know them. Really well, actually = MC has their memories.

I don't know who they are = MC has no memories.

[The official reason for this change was "to make the game more enjoyable for new players", but I don't buy that. In the original version, it was quite clear which option you had to pick to signal to the game that you have not played OG. While in this version, it's way more convoluted, since the player will have no idea what Nightbringer is actually talking about. It just causes people who have played OG to accidentally signal to the game that they haven't. Why change the text to be even more confusing, when the original version would have sufficed for newer players?]

Now let's follow this line of thought for a moment. Nightbringer states that the MC has received "a second chance at a fated meeting", and MC has to answer that they think they know what this means if they want to keep their memories during the time jump. If they don't, then Nightbringer assumes that they have lost their memories.

Which leads me to believe that Sheep-chan is not entirely an innocent victim who was unwittingly sent to the past. Instead, they were a willing participant of the time jump. Maybe they have some understanding on how Nightbringer's powers worked and wanted to meet the brothers again. Maybe they too were curious to see what their ideal world looked like. With this idea in mind, let's re-evaluate everything MC has said and done in NB.

MC's interactions with Nightbringer (and Michael, I guess)

After the intro, the next time MC directly interacts with Nightbringer is in Lesson 12 of NB, where they get sent into a coma after breaking the rules at the Fountain of Knowledge. Let's look at what he says here for a moment.

The first thing Nightbringer asks MC is what they think of this world, a rather unusual thing to ask someone who is kinda sorta dying. If MC says they want to go home, Nightbringer expresses some confusion as to whether the brothers of this world are not to MC's liking. It makes sense for him to be confused here, since he sent MC to this timeline under the impression that they would like this world (or at least, view this world as a stepping stone to reach their "place of joy").

(Then again, if MC responds that they are enjoying this world, Nightbringer is even more perplexed that they can remain upbeat in such a precarious situation. But knowing what canon Sheep-chan is like, why is this surprising?)

After this, he explains that his motive is to lead MC to a place that will "bring [them] joy like no other". This fits what he had said in the beginning of the game:

"Shall I take you someplace you will be happy? Somewhere that will bring you more joy than any other."

"A world you desire, and where you will be desired."

- Nightbringer, intro text message

He then goes on to emphasise that both he and MC want the same thing. He comments on how MC has done a splendid job getting closer to Lucifer and his brothers. This is where I feel that Nightbringer was never MC's enemy, as both parties have similar goals, and they need each other to some extent. MC needed Nightbringer and other mysterious forces to set the gears in motion so that MC can become closer to the brothers, forge pacts with them, and reach their "ideal" world. Nightbringer wants to bring MC to this place of happiness, and he sees MC forming pacts with the brothers as the way to get there. In this case, Nightbringer is a co-conspirator here.

This idea then gets brought up again when MC sees Michael in Lesson 13, when he saves MC from their coma. He warns MC that the Celestial Realm would be less willing to tolerate their behaviour if they ally themselves with Nightbringer (which, is exactly what MC has been doing so far). Is Michael afraid of the MC trying to forge their ideal world together with Nightbringer? Or is he afraid that MC is getting tricked by Nightbringer?

This also explains why Nightbringer never interacted with MC again after this incident. Everything MC had done in NB was what Nightbringer had wanted as well. Nightbringer didn't need to intervene because everything was going according to his plan.

Comparison of MC's actions in OG vs NB

When we consider the fact that MC may have actually wanted to go back to the past and meet the brothers again, a lot of their actions (and even their inaction) makes more sense. When Solomon tells them they need to make the pacts to get back to their own time, MC is in no rush to obtain these pacts. In fact, they don't even think about making those pacts until Season 2 when they are faced with an ultimatum to make those pacts, which is, they have to forge the pacts before MC and Solomon lose their connection to their original time. This is different from the usual behaviour in OG, where they were extremely motivated to make a pact with every brother from Beelzebub -> Asmo -> Satan and employed help from multiple people to acheive this goal. They even took the initiative to ask Lucifer for a pact on the day before they left the Devildom, when they had no reason to do so.

This is very different from how Season 2 of NB played out, as MC simply waited around until each brother went beserk (in the case of Mammon, Asmo and Satan) before they even thought about proposing the pact. In Lucifer's case, even though MC (after much prompting) spoke up about needing to go back to their home, it was Mephistopheles advocating for MC that ultimately convinced Lucifer to let MC go. And later on, MC remained on the sidelines and let the other characters take the reign in rescuing Lucifer from Cocytus. Compared to the original game, where MC takes on a more active role in forming their pacts, MC is more passive in Nightbringer, simply biding their time until the opportunity to make a pact falls onto their lap. Is this how somebody who desperately misses their home and wants to go back ASAP would act?

Regardless of how you choose to play the MC as, they always express some hesitation in leaving behind the brothers of the past. No matter how many times you try to make the MC say they want to go back home ASAP, Lucifer will gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss MC into admitting that they do not want to leave. Simeon in Lesson 35 of NB even reaffirms this by saying "I'm sure you really feel that way deep down inside. Even if you don't realise it". Bruh.

But why? MC should know that their home is with the boys of the present timeline. Why has the MC never considered the repercussions of staying in a timeline that they don't belong in? Or even considered how Solomon could lose his powers for good because of MC's hesitance? Why had MC never once stopped to consider how the demon brothers they had left behind would feel about their absence? This shouldn't even be a dilemma.

Unless... this past was the place they wanted to end up in the first place. That, like Nightbringer had said, this place will bring them joy like no other.

As an aside: One of the few insights we get about Sheep-chan's inner thoughts is the nightmare they have about the brothers trapping them in the attic and preventing them from leaving (in Lesson 33 of NB). Which has horrific implications, considering the attic still did not exist at this point of time. Was Belphegor's imprisonment and the Lesson 16 incident so traumatic for MC that the attic is the place that they associate with imprisonment?

Note how some of the brothers keep suggesting that THIS is the outcome that the MC really wants. But this also provides another possible reason for the MC's hesitation to leave: The fear of how the brothers' of the past would react. The fear of brothers turning against them, despite everything MC had done to protect them. Speaking of what MC had done to protect them...

MC forging their place in the past Devildom

MC hasn't taken active measures to forge their pacts to return home, but you know what they have shown to be more interested in? Asserting their place in the Devildom of the past, and spending time with the past version of the brothers.

The best example of this is Lesson 11 of NB, where the MC hesitates to promise to Solomon to protect humanity, but with no hesitation, promises to take care of the brothers even with full knowledge that they would be punished for doing this. If we remember Lesson 35 of OG where MC, Solomon and the demon brothers went to the reaper's cave to break Beel's curse, Solomon was surprised that the demon brothers' punishments for breaking the reaper's rules (turning into a Little D) were so mild. It was implied that without MC unconsciously protecting them with their magic, the brothers could have died or been wiped out from existence upon breaking the rules.

A weakened MC of the past who retains their memories of this incident in the reaper's cave would know just how severe the backlash would be if they make promises in the cave. But this did not stop them from doing so anyway. This shows where MC's allegiance truly lies: Not with humanity, not with any mysterious forces at play, but with the demon brothers. It's hard to tell what the MC hopes to get out of making such a dangerous promise.

The most optimistic take is that they felt forced to prove their loyalty to Lucifer and his family by taking such a drastic action. After all, MC is used to sacrificing their life for the people they love. Throwing themselves at death is nothing new to them.

The most cynical take would be that this bold decision was actually a calculated move by the MC to assert their importance and their role in the demon lords' lives. To show just how bad things can get without them. To guilt-trip Lucifer and Belphegor who had doubted the MC's allegiance, so that they never doubt MC again.

Regardless of their motivation, the MC's actions showed that they are inseparable from Lucifer's family, and this incident served to further cement the MC's importance to them. This allowed MC to strengthen their bonds with the brothers once again. So that they can create a world they desire, and they will be desired.

Putting this all together

Obey Me: Nightbringer paints the image of a MC being ripped from their home and being thrust into an unfamiliar world. Yet, the MC's actions in NB tell a different story. It shows us that Nightbringer is turning the gears so that MC can go to a place surrounded by people that they love, and who will love them no matter what. Because it wouldn't be enough if the characters of the present were hopelessly in love with them, but the characters of the past should also feel the same way. Even if that is a world the MC does not belong in.

All I'm saying is, Sheep-chan is sus as heck.

[standanddeliver]

Goku Black x Reader HCs (The Basics)

SFW!! My interpretation.

Black is quite the romantic. He feels strongly about how someone should behave as a partner and makes it everyone else’s problem. He’s both traditionally romantic and a little unhinged with it all. He gives you his undivided attention when you speak and ensures that you are the center of his world whenever he can. He loves hard and it could be almost unsettling to learn how he feels about you if he decided to spill his heart out. He always wants to make sure you know how he feels, and I doubt you’d be able to ignore it even if you wanted to. You need to be told how special you are, after all. 

His love languages are… Basically anything that’s on the table. Besides acts of service, he does it all consistently. You are held, he tells you of his adoration for you constantly. He gives you gifts, and your mere presence demands his full attention. He loves to lift you, and to sit and talk with you about your aspirations and inspiration. He wants to hear about your life, your story, and learn what makes you tick. You’re worth his dedication and time, and he needs you to know it. 

Upon realizing he had feelings, Black had to really consider how exactly that happened. It didn’t take long for him to come to the conclusion that it simply made sense, given just how ideal you were to him. It was going to come eventually, he assumed. Once he affirmed to himself that yes, it made perfect logical sense, his next interaction with you was more enthusiastic than usual. 

His indicators to his feelings were things he felt as if you needed to know. He was confident in himself and how he felt about you, and wanted to communicate such. He’d compliment you, your skills, style, and the manner you handled yourself. Alongside that, he’d gift you with things, such as flowers and personalized tea blends. They’re little thoughtful gifts that he’d accompany with comments of how deeply he values you. You would often be told of your value to him in general, how you and he were practically destined to meet, and how he will bring you with him into a most glorious future because you deserve no less than perfection. Y’know, normal and hinged things to say.

His view of you is nothing short of wholeheartedly adoring. You could walk into a wall and he’d stare at you while he thought about how you are quite perfect for him. He puts you on a pedestal, and while he knows himself to be a bit flawed, he thinks that you are even less so than he is. You are the epitome of what he believes his future work is for. He is willing to change himself, to break laws of all types and calibers, even to destroy what he has done, to ensure you get your most enjoyable future. Whatever you did to get him here, I cannot tell you. It took a while, that’s for sure. He just thinks you’re the best thing that’s happened to him. He works to ensure he is the same for you.

His gifts are very personal. He likes to give you little things he dwelled upon for extended periods of time. Like teas to help you with the struggles you have, flowers with symbolic meanings, trips to places he believes would bring you joy, and so on. He also gives luxuries, but that’s only if he believes you would like that better. He deeply prefers to give you something from the heart. But, if you asked him for anything? He will go to the ends of the multiverse for that. You will get it.

Black took the time to learn about you through watching you closely. He would observe you when you did things, and occasionally comment and ask about it later. He doesn’t like to interrupt you. He’s quite intuitive, and could easily draw conclusions about you by looking at past actions and things you’ve said. He likes to ask questions too, but he only does this when you appear to not be busy. He cares about your time. After getting into a relationship with you, he does like to just listen. He prompts slightly, but loves to just hear about you generally. He still watches you sometimes, but it’s more like he comes and sits beside you while you do activities. 

He deals with his emotions in stride. Occasionally, he takes them and places them on the backburner, but more often than not, he’ll acknowledge them and feel them out before deciding a course of action to take from there. Even with the feelings he possesses for you, he allows himself to experience them in the moment, preventing any random outbursts later. He’s surprisingly level-headed when it comes to things that aren’t his horrible and unrelenting grudges. 

Probably says “I love you” first. And it’s heartfelt and thought through when he does. He’s pretty forward. You get a weirdly flowery admittance of love, and he… Won’t take it back. After he’s said it the first time, you hear it at least twice per day. Guaranteed once in the morning and once in the evening, but otherwise you might hear it if he’s stricken with some extra passionate feelings. 

His love languages, to make him feel most loved, are definitely quality time and a tiny bit of physical affection. He wants to feel valued and wanted, and taking the time out of your schedule to spend it with only him means a lot to him. He also likes to be asked about his thoughts, feelings, and views. This will certainly inspire him to feel more fond of you if you care about his things like he cares about yours. 

Would do literally anything for you. I do mean anything. Would die for you. Would kill for you. (either way, what bliss-) He’s quite blunt about this as well. You just ask. Your wish is his command and all. His unwavering confidence in himself and his abilities lead to this mindset of being able to get you whatever you desire. 

This being said, you genuinely only have to ask with Black. His pride will not dwindle no matter what you ask of him. He doesn’t mind. As long as he knows you’re content, he feels similarly. He can be swayed without any extra effort for just about anything once he’s really invested in you.

Things can go either way with him. He can make you worse if you let him, but if you’re willing to stand your ground and remain firm in your beliefs, he will slowly learn to adjust his view and become a better person. He isn’t beyond reason, even if it seems like he is. He will learn eventually, and will change to show this. You can’t fix him but your influence can definitely help him improve.

He shows off through his physical abilities and his intellectual prowess. That, and all the things he knows about you. He believes you will be impressed by his myriad of skills, unwavering determination for his goals, and how generally knowledgeable he is about you. He does pride himself in that last one there, and likes to do things to remind you that yes, he will continue to learn and retain information about you no matter how small. 

He is a horrible Freak(™).

[lullabyalikpoptarot]

Ateez Ideal Type

Alright, time to look into these boys Ideal type, as this was a request, but also something I wanted to myself, so here we go.

Okay, some of these cards flew out aggressively lol They got stuff to say about this. I will stress I keep it real, I take whatever messages come to me, it isn't always pretty. We are all flawed beings, no judgment here. Anyway, let's get into this.

Hongjoong (Ace of Wands/Goddess of the Moon) Okay, his seems like the most straightforward or easier to understand first look. He would want someone with fire and passion. Who has that spark of energy and fire. He definitely has to be physically/sexually attracted to this person. I would say he wants someone with a mysterious tone to them. A contemplated and reflective soul. I am getting he would like someone with hint of an energetic side, but also quiet and reserved as well. He would also want someone to inspire and energize him as well. I can see him being inspired by his ideal type as well.

Seonghwa (The Magician/Third Chakra Archangel Chamuel) He would want someone who makes things happen. He wants someone motivated, determined and confident. A person with strong will and can endure a lot. A multi-talented and skilled individual. I am getting no slob, wtf does that mean? But that keeps popping up. You got to have your sh** together with him. Umm, you got to have some masculine energy with him, don't know what his preference is, never assume with idols, but women can have this to, as I have strong masculine energy as a woman, but a strong go getter mindset. If you are the type that gets nothing done in life, bye bit** is what I heard, he isn't here for that lol This dude. Moving on.

Yunho (Knight of Swords/Anxiety) Okay, trying to understand how this is an ideal type? He wants someone anxious or hesitant? Okay, maybe he wants someone who can communicate their worries to him. To cry on his shoulder, okay, that is kind of cute lol He wants someone willing to communicate to him whatever is on their mind. I see him wanting someone who is also not afraid to be confrontational as well. Like share whatever is on your mind. Man, the more I read on him, the more I like him. I am being pulled back to his dynamic reading and how he was able to understand the perspective of each member, it is like he will understand his partners worries, so they shouldn't be afraid to express their worries or themselves. Wow, I really like his energy. This is sweet.

Yeosang (Judgment/Woman Holding Coin) Well, he went specific with oracle card lol Okay, this is weird, what is this? He would want someone to help him grow, maybe help build his finances. He would want a business Savy person. I am getting someone highly critical and judgmental, someone with high standards, I am getting strong Earth placements here. He would someone well put together. A strong independent person. I am also getting someone who is always willing to grow and work on themselves. I am also getting someone who is admired by others, or who have others who work under them, I guess he would want someone who has some sort of power. Okay, that was kind of wild lol Where these messages take me sometimes.

San (9 of Swords/Broken Heart) I see these cards and I am like why, why, why? These cards are so sad. I am confused. I look at the 9 of swords and mental anguish pops up. I look at the oracle card and feeling hurt pops up, has he been hurt? Am I not getting his ideal type, because he has been hurt that he doesn't care about an ideal type? Okay, so I got, what is the point of an ideal type, they are all the same, yikes. Yeah, I don't think he particularly has an ideal type right now.

Mingi (10 of Wands/The Thinking Woman) He would want someone who can endure a lot and can handle a lot. Who wouldn't buckle under the pressure. He would want someone smart, bold and an intellectual. Someone always willing to learn, maybe someone observant, who reads a lot and gather information. Someone transformative. Also, someone willing to listen. Someone with a lot of thoughts, someone contemplative and reflective. I think he would want them not to be overly emotional, a bit stoic. Resilient and strong. And a sense of independence. Man, his energy is a bit difficult for me, because he thinks fast and has a lot to say and messages always come really quick with him, I can't keep up lol

Wooyoung (9 of Wands/Woman Holding Heart) He would want a loving, caring, sensitive person, someone vulnerable, but he would also want someone who protects and guards themselves as well, a bit contradicting here. I am like, how do you have the 9 of wands, but the woman holding heart card? These are two different energies. It is like he would want someone to hold strong in front of others, but bring their more sensitive side with him, kind of makes sense, since he can be similar to this, but I will see when I do them as a boyfriend. It is like being sensitive and caring, but also having boundaries and holding your own. Okay, that kind of makes sense.

Jongho (Knave of Wands/Walking Away) Boy, what is this? Okay, what this is giving me, I can't with this dude lol I am just going to go with it, anyway, he would want someone who is curious, adventurous, likes to explore, have fun, try new things, but willing to walk away when it is done, yup, that is what I am getting, like this was fun, bye. Wtf dude, whatever do you, I say they should have fun. His ideal type is someone who is willing to have fun with it, but he wouldn't want something serious. I got willing to go for the ride and then move on. Man, can't wait to see what type of boyfriend he will be lol

[cordate-chordata]

Hey this is a weird thing to ask but do you have relationship headcanons for knockout x soundwave

An unusual question to get, so it could be called weird, I suppose, but I'm happy to be asked this! My favourite kind of weird! :D I haven't drawn them in years, but it's still a ship I really like

Answer under the cut

I do have headcanons about them, I guess. They depend on the scenario they're in, though. Like, what their life is like. I most of all like assuming that Transformers Prime played out as it did canonically, and KO and SW then got together afterwards. The exact How and Why? That's more murky. There's multiple cool ways to go about it.

There's a narrative one could thread about KO helping SW get out of the shadowzone. Which is sweet and all. I prefer a narrative where SW gets out on his own. Which, honestly, makes it trickier to spin a narrative on how they ended up together. If Knock Out had helped him, that would have created a reason for why they were interacting already. Without that, something else needs to be the reason why they get in touch again.

Which brings me more into headcanon area and not just plot threading. One of my headcanons for KO is that he's not a particularly good fit for staying an autobot. I see him as someone who'd do good being a neutral faction.

Soundwave is a decepticon through and through, for multiple reasons - political ideals, sunk cost falacy of having lost his cassettes safe for Laserbeak, more of a fighter who sticks to his goals than KO, tunnel vision, etc. I headcanon him to be in a lot of emotional pain with the decepticons disbanding. I like the idea of him begrudgingly coming to Knock Out for help with something (i.e. the best option of a medic available to him), and as they get talking (one-sided talking (at first?)) Knock Out's disenchantment with any faction starts rubbing off on him, OR, starts disillusioning him from how highly he holds the decepticon cause in his mind. Soundwave seems stupid to me with how he keeps holding onto the war instead of noticing how it's never going to achieve his goal of equality between all Cybertronian castes. He's not seeing the full picture whatsoever. Well, "stupid"… mean to say when I believe his reasons are tied to being mentally unwell and traumatized from his losses. His judgement isn't sound; let's leave it at that.

So then they become a neutral duo. Yippie!!! Trio with Laserbeak.

I headcanon Soundwave to have a face under his mask, which is half broken. So it's funny KO has another partner with a broken eye, since I hc him to have been in a relationship with Breakdown. Also sharp-toothed Soundwave supremacy. Also on the broken side the fangs are always visible because his lips and cheek are gone there oops

Also I hc Soundwave to fully lay off his vow of silence, but still not talk much.

I hc Knock Out to be more into bulky mechs (Breakdown, Optimus), but he thinks Soundwave's sleek appearance is attractive in an entirely different way - assuming SW remains in his Prime form, WHICH I want him to because that's my fav Soundwave design, even if others are really good too. KO finds records of gladiator Soundwave someday, where he still looks bulky AF, and loses his marbles over it. Confronting Soundwave about it earns him the information that that look was due to still having had all his cassettes. That info is like a punch to Knock Out's face, making him feel like shit. It becomes a depressing moment lmao sorry

I hc Soundwave to be really old, one of the first Cybertronians to be sparked. Knock Out on the other hand is young in comparisson, having been forged not super long before the war broke out. I like to think he's only just finished with his medical studies and established himself a slight bit in the field up until that point. I don't hc this because of an age gap or smth. I just like viewing SW as this old entity who was still very raw in the way he came to be and took his shape. Since the birth mechanism of Cybertronians is very wishy washy in canon, I have my own headcanons about that: Early Cybertronian's sparks simply appeared randomly on Cybertron and gathered mass around them to form their bodies - Soundwave was one of those. This spontaneous creation became less and less, and when it did happen, it became harder for the sparks to find unused ressources to form a body. Existing Cybertronians started forging bodies for those sparks, and also (maybe; not sure if I'm satisfied with this idea) came up with mechanisms with which to channel new sparks, easing them onto the planet, as the perimeters for them to appear in "the wild" became worse over time. Knock Out's spark appears towards the end of a time where sparks could still be eased in and could be eased in semi-frequently, but not long after that they started to wane and stop appearing at all. So he's the result of a time where only a few Cybertronians were worried about too few new sparks, and then after he'd been alive for a bit, it became a big deal with less and less and then no sparks coming. He didn't care for it much because he was busy with other things and hadn't been around for long enough to see it as his issue. Also he's just not the sort of person to care about that. KO just... doesn't seem like someone who's been alive for ages, to me.

That's a lot of headcanons about their lives separate from each other. What about them together? I don't have many headcanons there, I suppose. I like to think they'd co-exist nicely together. Not a super duper over the top heart eyes for each other couple, but something more mellow, always there for each other but not broadcast as a huge deal. They become deeply tied to each other and do yearn for each other's company, but can exist just fine alone, y'know? Soundwave causes Knock Out to be a bit more serious and less vain sometimes, and Knock Out causes Soundwave to be more lighthearted and show his shitlord memer side more often, when they're around each other.

I can see Knock Out be very caring towards Laserbeak, even if, if pointed out, he'll deny any sort of motherly or fatherly energy he gives off when with the cassette. And yeah, I subscribe to Laserbeak being sentient. At some point I read that they're supposed to be a mindless add-on in Prime (or was it stated in the show?), but nuh-uh. That's a mute mini-bot with no humanoid form.

I think that's all I got! Thanks for asking!

[gayofthefae]

Someone on Pinterest suggested that the censored letter tweet is a letter from Will to Mike and the idea that it's a letter about the painting since it seems to reference a gift or project and now I can't stop thinking about it.

Also the fact that I assumed Mike because signing things love holds weight when Mike does it but it also now holds weight TO Mike. So if he RECEIVED a letter signed love that would also be a beautiful parallel that drives home the "loved the way you want to be loved" idea with them.

Ugh and now I'm thinking about it. That the painting had a note with it and maybe then Will decided it was gonna be "from El" so he didn't give it to him.

Think Jim Halpert taking the letter from the teapot.

We didn't see him grab it, only the painting, but we know better than to say that means it didn't happen.

Will had a letter with the painting (because saying your feelings is hard), it was signed "love" and talked about how

"Anyway, I think you'll [like it]. Sorry I couldn't get it done [in time for Christmas or something etc.]. But you mean so [much to me] and it's been [so hard without you here]. Hope this is [enough to] last until [the next time we visit]. Love, [Will]."

And now that I reread it like that. It's small, but "I think" and "sorry" are very Will things to say while giving someone a gift.

It might have been so simple and right under our noses. Ideally, Mike also finds out independently anyways. So this works perfectly.

"I think, I'm sorry, it's been, last until"

It all fits in a situation we already have.

[riansdiary]

Hello, I am new to the community.

Can I manifest to anyone? I mean

If that person ignores me or rejects me, I have known him since I was a child and he is a few years older than me. I am 19 and he is 22, but he never even looks at me and his group of friends are unreachable, besides we have never talked and I don't see him only sometimes when he visits his grandmother who is my neighbor, there is no way he remembers me.

And what happens if I like someone who I am not his physical type or there is a 3p.

In another case my best friend likes my best friend and he is gay, the guy she dates just makes him cry and we worry about him a lot. And my friend is very much in love with him, but she feels it's not possible to be with him.

Also how many people can we manifest?

Can I manifest everyone in my room? Or unfaithful people and even people I have never talked to?

Oh and lastly, I was thinking of manifesting to test the law, to a friend who has never liked me and only sees me as a friend. But I find it hard to believe that I can manifest it even as a test. I know it's a lot of questions but I'm just getting started. Thank you.

Hi 👋

Yes you can, the answer is always yes you can. What you're saying is only the circumstances and the old story.

Yes you can manifest anything you want. All you need to do are these steps.

1. From now on, stop running the story that they ignore you or reject you. Literally stop talking about how they don't like you because you need to stop thinking against your desire.

That means you need to stop talking and thinking about how they don't like you or they have a 3p or wondering if you're their type.

Your subconscious mind always says yes. You say he's in love with you? YES. You say you're his ideal type? YES. However, it also works the other way. You don't think he likes you? YES. That is what you're doing. Remember that the subconscious mind is a yes man. It will always say yes and accept whatever you are thinking so change your thoughts.

Note: If you accidentally thought of something you don't wanna happen, just say that you're rejecting that. Yes, you can reject any contradicting thought that you had. Literally say "I'm rejecting that thought. It's not true."

Whatever you're thinking the most is what manifests or your state. Are you in the state of lack and you're always thinking that you can't manifest? Then change your state. Be in the state of being the version of you who has what you want. Think what that version of you would think and keep thinking it.

2. Whatever you want, assume you have it now. Accept fully that it's yours now and yes sometimes being delusional works. However, it is not a delusion, it's just you shifting your mindset to the version of you who has that desire already.

3. Pick your method or technique to manifest. You don't have to, if you want you could just change your thoughts and make sure they align with that new version of you. If you want to then test out some techniques and find which one works for you the best. When you're doing this, make sure you're thinking that it already happened not making it happen.

4. Detach and Do what makes you happy. After you're done with your technique, detach. Don't obsess too much about your manifestation and ask where it is and all that. Remember, you're supposed to be the version of you who is already in a relationship with the person you like. Why would you ask where it is if you are the version of you who is with your person?

Doing what makes you happy is important too so you can release resistance and distract yourself from the old story. What are things that make you feel good or happy? Do that. It can be as simple as eating some ice cream or watching a show you wanna watch. Pay attention only to your new reality which means never pay attention to the old story. What you focus on grows. If you focus on him not liking you, you'll get more of that in your reality so just do what makes you happy and distract yourself. Focus on how he likes you so much and he's always thinking of you.

5. Live in the end and know that it's already done. Living in the end will help you focus on your new story. Keep your thoughts in check and think like you already have it and that it already happened. That's it.

[pancakeke]

I made a customer so mad on a call today that he muted and turned his camera off lol.

I did it on purpose though.

We needed to create a process but this dude always dominates the convo to give long pointless monologues about how *something* needs to be done in relation to vague nonspecific things (like "I don't like what I'm seeing here" ok then WHAT are you seeing??) He absolutely refuses to give concrete details or make actionable requests, plus he's always extremely disrespectful, accusatory, and lies about things. So I kept cutting off his unhelpful monologues to ask for specifics and when he didn't give them I gave options for what we could do rather than letting him continue to make the same whiny statements over and over but with different wording each time.

Then he tried to derail by doing this needlessly dramatic arm waving and wandering away from the camera thing, then wandering back with his head in his hands while saying weird phrases I assume were some kind of worthless business speak phrases? (Example, the last one he said was "Just take the weekend off". Maybe this means like "we need to take a break and regroup"? I legit do not know the intent. I directly asked "What do you mean by that?", no paraphrasing, but he ignored me so maybe he was telling me to go fuck myself. idk).

Anyway I kept being direct and trying to sort out a plan of action with our salesperson meanwhile this dude kept interjecting with absolutely asinine statements like "YOU need to figure this out" referring to my company, not me specifically. But like that was literally what we were doing at that moment?? So I asked him "Are you asking us to create new procedures without your company's input? Ideally need to know specifically where you're having issues to know how I should create reporting." Then he shut his webcam and mic off.

Progress was made at this point since he wasn't interrupting anymore but that didn't last long cause he jumped back in to make a big deal about how he couldn't stay on the call longer because he had another meeting soon. But if he has just explained that in one sentence rather than monologuing about his time we could have made more actual plans.

idk if this guy is purposely trying to stop us from creating a process though cause he blew up at us when we had extra inventory on hand (that he told us to buy) which then led him to tell us that we weren't allowed to make any purchases for them without approval. After this we sent a purchase request over to them for approval and they didn't approve it (we were ghosted, not denied), which made this guy is blow up at us again for not just buying the components immediately without asking.

I think he just wants us to do whatever benefits him in the moment and also he doesn't ever want us to hold his company accountable (per our contract...) for any unused components. and since documentation and processes creates accountability, they're bad for someone who wants instant gratification and no responsibility.

This call was so fucking bewildering though. It was like this guy had a book of business speak phrases and thought that if he kept reading them off he would look smart and important and then we would just flagellate ourselves at his feet. Even though the problem is pretty much his fault for not managing his side of the business. These guys have turned derailing conversation into a goal so I went robot mode and wouldn't let myself say a word that wasn't data-focused. I really hoped this would force their side to speak in numbers and facts so I could get info and ideas from them that we could actually use to build a new procedure.

But now I see that my plan was doomed from the start cause this guy will just disappear if I don't let him spend the whole meeting listening to himself talk while not actually saying anything.

I have some kind of brain problem where I always think that if I can figure out how to communicate with people in juuust the right way they'll stop being cunts and cooperate with me. Cause I'm working for their benefit so they should want to work together, right? :)

Wrong. People are fucking bonkers. They do not care about problem solving. It's all about ego. And somehow their egos do not recognise how purposely creating problems leads to failures that might reflect poorly on them.

[khaire-traveler]

This is not an invitation for discourse. I am just stating my personal opinions.

I've been seeing some posts going around lately about myth retellings and wanted to give my opinion on something: I think the helpol community (maybe other polytheistic and pagan communities, too) is honestly too critical and intense about modern retellings (and even some historical ones as well somehow).

I know what it's like coming from that critical point of view. I used to be highly critical of certain retellings and stories that used Greek mythology. They used to deeply bother me, actually, but overtime, I realized that staying mad and fuming about these things I can't change - that will always be created - is really exhausting and even causes me to miss out on some truly interesting stories.

Also, seeing how intense some people can be about retellings has actively discouraged people in the community from writing them. How do I know this? I am one of those people, and I happen to know several others in the same predicament. Some people in the community will rip and tear and claw at retellings as if the retelling murdered everyone they loved. People talk about these retellings as if they're literally destroying the earth itself sometimes - like, seriously, y'all, it's wild.

Once, I saw someone post a short story they wrote - a retelling of a myth that I won't name, as I don't want to give the identity of this person away. This person posted this story with good intentions and was a worshipper of the figures depicted within the story, but still, they got absolutely dragged by larger Tumblr blogs and were torn into and literally chased off of Tumblr. This kind of behavior is not ok for multiple reasons, but the main point I'm trying to make is that we are actively making it harder for people within the community to write retellings. You want retellings from people who actually worship the gods? Then maybe make the community a much less judgmental place because sharing creative works takes a lot of courage as it is. Imagine building up the courage to create and share a retelling just to be ripped into by the very community you are a part of. I'm not saying you can't mention to someone when they've gotten something wrong or have written something potentially problematic, but I am saying that you shouldn't ruthlessly dissect someone's work and rip them a part if they seem to be well-meaning but misinformed (assume the best; not everyone is out to get us; easier said than done, I know). You can give criticism while still being respectful to the original author.

For many of these other authors, however, they likely don't even know that worship of these gods exists in the modern day, and even if they do know, acknowledging it may not be relevant to their story, or even their point. Sure, in a perfect world, these authors would acknowledge our little community and pay homage to actual ancient traditions/culture/etc, but we don't live in a perfect world, and that's ok. It is ok, y'all. Not every author writing a retelling is going to be a literal classics major or historian. Not every author writing a retelling is going to be educated on the actual ancient -or modern - worship of these gods. Not every author writing a retelling is going to pay homage to original source material. Do those things suck sometimes? Yes, absolutely. Do we need to lose our heads over it? No, not really. We can choose to focus on other things - on material and media that we actually enjoy and that do depict things how we'd like them to be depicted.

Now, none of this is to say that there are no problematic retellings or that speaking out on problematic retellings is wrong because hoo, boy, there are quite a lot of those. Some retellings claim to be historically accurate and are, in fact, not; some retellings are written by authors with less than ideal values and ideologies; some retellings are even based entirely on misinformation which can be frustrating to hear about. All of these things are true, but it's also true that not every retelling is out to get us. Not every retelling is trying to attack our small community and the gods we worship. As alarming and offensive as it can feel sometimes, it's important that we take a minute and realize that honestly, authors write stories, and sometimes a story is truly just meant to be a story. It's nothing personal. It feels like we, or our gods, are being attacked, but at the end of the day, we still have our own practices, and we are still allowed to engage with those practices. We are still allowed to worship our gods respectfully, even if others do not. And it is important to acknowledge here that others do not worship our gods. These authors are most likely not worshippers of the Theoi. They most likely do not have relationships with these gods as we do, and unfortunately, they may not have respect for these gods either. It would be ideal if they did, but they just might not, and there's no controlling that.

Honestly, most authors are trying their best. They're trying their best to write an interesting, authentic story that will capture the attention of their intended audience. They want to tell a story based on a mythology that inspired them so deeply, so carnally, that they felt the need to write a whole ass book or create a whole ass game about it. They see stories of tragic heroes, powerful gods, and all those caught in-between, and they think, "This is fucking epic; I'm gonna do something with this." Greek mythology is fucking cool. There's absolutely no denying that, and the fact that so many creators of all kinds continue to create retellings based on the love and passion of a mythology from over 2,000 years ago is pretty damn awesome, actually.