#i wonder about what will happen to my art after i die a lot. and. hm.

[crimsoncold]

Jonsa Fairytale AU (True Love's Kiss) by @crimsoncold

If you must mourn, my love Mourn with the moon and the stars up above If you must mourn Don't do it alone

...

If you must die, sweetheart Die knowing your life was my life's best part If you must die Remember your life

-Keaton Henson, You

For a while l've been considering doing a Fairytale inspired jonsa AU but was never able to make up my mind in terms of which specific fairytale I wanted to base my art piece around (i could of course just do multiple ones but with already so many WIPs i didn't want to plan to add several more into my art rotation) so unable to make a decision I set the idea aside to work on other more concrete art ideas.

Then of course I saw the prompts for the Jonsa Valentine 2025 event, and it really did seem like the world itself was encouraging me to make a fairytale jonsa art piece.

This time I chose to avoid basing it on one specific fairytale and instead considered more general fairytale tropes that are found across many tales when I was brainstorming ideas on what I would make for this prompt.

In the end I decided to use the trope of True Love's Kiss (i.e. A kiss imbued with it's own sort of magic, able to break a curse, or even bring someone back from literal death) both because I thought it would be visually interesting and because I felt it would incorporate several elements of asoiaf/got canon.

(i.e. both the inherent romanticism of Jon and Sansa's personalities and storylines as well as specific events like Jon's tragic "death" and his later resurrection as well as the likely possibility of Sansa being the girl in grey fleeing north to be reunited with her "brother")

As for the related quote, I had been struggling to pick one as most of my possible choices, while admittedly poignant and romantic, felt very specific to either Jon or to Sansa in this art piece rather than being about the two of them together, so I'm actually really pleased with my final choice (lyrics from Keaton Henson's song You) as it feels like it had segments that represent the differing perspectives/wishes of both Jon and Sansa in this scenario.

I was pushing hard to have this finished in time (with the event being about a month a way when I first started this) and even though it ended up taking me a lot more time than I had hoped, I am happy with my decision to make two versions of this artwork as i feel the most satisfying element and impactful part of this fairytale trope is in the profound transformation it can create, and to do this justice I really felt I needed a before and after version of Sansa's Kiss being what brings Jon back from the dead.

Anyway thats about all the background info I'd like to dump on you about this piece so l'll end this on a thank you; specifically thank you to anyone who found, liked, or shared this piece and/or bothered to read my rambling thoughts about making this, as well as a thank you to everyone in this fandom who arranged and/or participated in this event!

Being part of a small but so dedicated fandom is just the sort of thing that makes me happy when everything else around me starts to feel harsh and distressing. I hope you all have a wonderful day and that everyone feels inspired to keep making and sharing all sorts of art and creative pieces for this fandom- it seems a very small thing in the scope of everything happening in the world and our lives but its still something that brings some much needed joy that I think many (especially myself) greatly value while also forgetting or struggling to actually find a way to adequately express our appreciation... so this is just my attempt to say thank you all for making this little slice of fandom so wonderful!

-Crimson Cold

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[jupiter-reimagined]

just watched this video essay about art while i was making art and now im having so many feelings 10/10 i highly recommend it

or alternatively: Art For No One by Jacob Geller

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.1

Chapter One: Hide Your Heart From Sight

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Celebrities, Starstruck,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Welcome to this disaster of a fic that I have constantly daydreamed about. Logistically, yes, it is so improbable and unrealistic— but there’s a 0.001% chance that it could happen… to you. It’s nice to wonder and dream. I like wondering. Granted, I’ve never worked in production ever… I am studying advertising and arts soooo that’s as much knowledge I have tehe. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: It Could Happen To You by Laufey

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

The hum of the plane’s engines filled the air as you settled into your seat, trying not to fidget. You glanced at your boarding pass again, as if to double-check you weren’t hallucinating. Seat 3B—business class. Marvel had spared no expense for the production team’s travel, but you still couldn’t quite believe you’d be flying so comfortably.

What shocked you even more, though, was the man lowering himself into the seat next to yours: Pedro Pascal. Yes, that Pedro Pascal. The man whose movies you’d watched obsessively before joining this production, the actor who somehow seemed both unattainably larger-than-life and heartbreakingly down-to-earth.

“Hi,” he said with a warm smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Looks like we’re seatmates.”

You froze for a moment, then managed a weak, “Hi.” Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you mentally scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete idiot.

“You’re with the crew, right?” Pedro asked, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “What do you do?”

“Oh, um,” you stammered, “I’m just a production assistant. It’s my first big project.”

“No kidding? That’s awesome,” he said, genuinely sounding impressed. “First time working on a Marvel movie? How’s it going so far?”

“It’s… surreal,” you admitted, relaxing slightly under his easygoing demeanor. “I mean, it’s been amazing, but also kind of overwhelming. There’s so much to do, and everyone’s so talented. I…” You trailed off, realizing you were rambling.

“I get it,” Pedro said, nodding. “First big gig can be a lot. But hey, you’re here. That means someone saw something in you, right?”

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Pedro asked you about your favorite movies, your hobbies, and how you’d gotten into production work. You told him about your love for art direction and set design, your dream of one day being a production designer, and your side passion for writing and music. When you mentioned you played guitar and sang, he raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll have to play something for us on set sometime,” he said, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed nervously. “I don’t know about that. I’d probably die of embarrassment.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he replied, his tone light but mischievous.

By the time the plane landed, you were buzzing—partly from the conversation and partly from the fact that you’d just spent hours talking to Pedro Pascal as if he were an old friend.

The buzz quickly faded when you arrived at the hotel. You stood in the lobby with the rest of the crew, listening as the location manager, Duncan, argued with the front desk staff. Apparently, there’d been a mix-up with the bookings. The hotel was overbooked due to a telecommunications conference, and somehow, you’d been assigned to share a suite… with Pedro Pascal.

“This has to be a mistake,” you muttered to yourself, your anxiety spiking as Duncan tried to sort things out. But no matter how much back-and-forth there was, the conclusion remained the same: there were no other rooms available.

“Look,” Pedro said finally, stepping in with his usual calm demeanor. “It’s fine. I don’t mind sharing if she’s okay with it.”

You blinked up at him, your mind racing. “I…”

“Hey,” he said gently, noticing your hesitation. He leaned in slightly, his voice soft but steady. “Look at me. I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it. No pressure.”

You swallowed hard, glancing over at Duncan, who looked as stressed as you felt. Finally, you nodded. “I’m fine with it if everyone else is.”

“Great,” Pedro said, flashing you a reassuring smile. “It’s settled, then.”

Duncan pulled you aside before you headed to the elevators. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, his tone fatherly.

“Yes,” you said, forcing a smile. “Is there any kind of form I need to sign, or…?”

“No, it all falls under the NDA from your employment,” he assured you. “But seriously, if you need anything, just text me.”

You thanked him and joined Pedro in the elevator. The ride up to the suite was silent, save for the soft dinging of the floors passing by. When you finally stepped into the room, you couldn’t help but gape. It was a spacious suite with two bedrooms on opposite sides, a small kitchenette, and a cozy living area.

“This isn’t so bad,” Pedro said, dropping his bag by the door. He turned to you, his expression kind. “Do you have a preference for which room?”

You fidgeted with the strap of your bag. “Um, no, you can pick.”

“Ladies’ choice,” he insisted, his tone playful.

“Okay,” you said, gesturing to the room on the right. “I’ll take that one.”

“Perfect,” he said with a grin. “Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

As you unpacked in your room, the reality of the situation began to sink in. You were sharing a suite with Pedro Pascal. For at least a week. And somehow, you had to act like a normal, functioning human being the entire time.

You took a deep breath and flopped over on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Letting out a huff of air in disbelief, you muttered to yourself, “This has to be some sort of dream… or prank, right?”

Placing both hands over your face, you rubbed it in exasperation. “Get your shit together, girl. No screwing things up, no more internal freakouts. He’s a person, like you. Mhm, sure. Yup. Totally fine.”

You sighed deeply, trying to convince yourself of your own words. The suite was spacious and nicely furnished, with plenty of room to keep your distance—but that didn’t stop your overactive imagination from running wild. Every interaction felt loaded with the possibility of embarrassing yourself, but you swore you’d keep it together.

To say people around the production crew had heard about your new roomie was an understatement.

The day before shooting began, you attended a pre-production meeting that covered everything: call sheet details, blocking and camera movement, technical requirements, and a bunch of safety protocols. It was standard procedure but felt ten times more overwhelming knowing your friends would tease you mercilessly.

You sat with your friends from the art department, trying to focus, but they weren’t making it easy. Archie, one of the lead set designers, leaned over with a smirk. “So, how’s life as Pedro Pascal’s roomie?”

You felt your face heat up instantly. “I—it’s not… it’s just temporary,” you stammered, fiddling with the edge of your notebook.

Stephanie, a costume designer with an endless supply of sass, raised an eyebrow. “Temporary or not, it’s the stuff of rom-coms, babe. Don’t tell me you haven’t imagined a meet-cute scenario in that suite.”

“I have not!” you protested, though your flaming cheeks betrayed you. 

Will, an art director with a love for stirring the pot, chuckled. “Come on, you’ve gotta admit it’s a little… serendipitous? You, a huge fan, sharing a suite with the guy? Sounds like fate to me.”

“It’s not fate,” you insisted, trying to deflect. “It’s a logistical mistake, that’s all.”

Max, the trainee set dresser, chimed in with a grin. “Yeah, but a logistical mistake that’s got everyone talking. Even Steve heard about it, and he’s usually the last to know anything.”

Steve, the lighting technician, shrugged. “What can I say? Word travels fast. I’m just here to see how long it takes for Pedro to find out about your… fandom.”

“Oh my god, can we not?” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “He’s going to think I’m a weirdo.”

Rebecca, a fellow production assistant and one of your closest friends, patted your shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t worry, he seems like the kind of guy who’d find it endearing. Besides, you’ve been professional so far, right?”

You nodded hesitantly. “I think so. I mean, I haven’t said anything stupid yet.”

“Yet being the keyword,” Sophie teased, earning a laugh from the group.

Patricia, always the voice of reason, smiled warmly. “Just be yourself. You’re great at your job, and Pedro’s just another actor. A very charming actor, sure, but still just a person.”

“Thanks, Patricia,” you said, feeling slightly more grounded. But the anxiety still lingered, especially with everyone’s teasing reminders of your not-so-secret crush.

As the meeting wrapped up and you headed back to your tasks, you couldn’t shake the nervous excitement bubbling inside you. Sharing a suite with Pedro Pascal might’ve been a logistical mistake, but it was quickly turning into one of the most unreal experiences of your life.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL, LONDON — NIGHT

Dinner with the cast and crew had been lively, filled with laughter, and far too many knowing glances sent your way by your friends. The teasing hadn’t stopped, even over plates of pasta and glasses of wine.

Archie had leaned over at one point, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when Pedro walks out of the bathroom shirtless? Swoon or faint?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Archie!”

“I’m just saying,” he said with a laugh. “It’s a valid question.”

Stephanie smirked. “She’s probably rehearsing her ‘I’m totally cool and unaffected’ face right now.”

You groaned. “I hate all of you.”

Rebecca grinned. “No, you don’t. But seriously, just enjoy the moment. How many people can say they’ve shared a hotel room with Pedro Pascal?”

By the time the group had wandered back to the shuttle, your cheeks were sore from laughing, and your nerves were only slightly calmed. But as the cold London air nipped at your skin, you found yourself longing for the warmth of the hotel.

Your teeth chattered as you stepped off the shuttle, clutching your coat tighter around you. You didn’t like the cold very much, and London was very, very cold.

The moment you entered the hotel lobby, the warmth began to seep into your body, and you let out a sigh of relief. The elevator ride to your floor was quiet, your mind finally shutting down after a long evening of socializing. By the time you reached your room, you were operating on autopilot.

Tapping your keycard to the door, you quietly pushed it open, careful not to disturb Pedro if he was already asleep. It was just past 9:30 p.m., and you knew the early call time tomorrow would have him resting early.

You shut the door softly behind you, locking the deadbolt before shuffling into the room. You removed your coat, scarf, and shoes, swapping them for the fuzzy slippers you’d packed. The room was dimly lit, and you moved quietly, hoping not to make too much noise.

“Oh, you’re back.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, clutching your chest as your heart tried to escape it. Whipping around, you found Pedro lounging on the sofa, a book in his hands and a soft, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He was wearing a plain white tee and gray sweatpants, his square-framed glasses perched on his nose, and he looked entirely too comfortable—like he belonged there. Like this was normal.

“Oh my god, I didn’t know you were still awake,” you said, voice breathless as you tried to recover from the scare.

He chuckled, his laugh low and warm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. You were so quiet coming in, I thought maybe you were sneaking around.”

You set your things on the small table by the door, giving him an exasperated look. “I wasn’t sneaking around. I was trying not to wake you.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” He tilted his head, watching you with that relaxed air that somehow made you feel completely exposed. “How was dinner?”

“It was good,” you said, shrugging as you moved toward the kitchenette to grab a bottle of water. “Everyone was in high spirits, and the food was great. We took a little walk around the city before heading back.”

Pedro closed his book, setting it on the coffee table. “Sounds nice. London at night can be magical.”

“Yeah, it was.” You paused, feeling the weight of his gaze. “Though, I think I underestimated just how cold it gets here. My teeth were chattering the whole way back.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile softening. “Didn’t bring a warm enough coat?”

“I thought I did, but apparently not. I’m not built for this kind of weather,” you admitted with a laugh, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to stave off the lingering chill.

Pedro stood, crossing the room with an easy grace that made your breath hitch. “Well, we can’t have you freezing, can we?” He grabbed the throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa and held it out to you. “Here.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the simple gesture. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I just get cold really easily. Besides, I’ll warm up eventually.”

“Take it,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “It’s not a big deal.”

Reluctantly, you took the blanket, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. It sent a jolt of warmth through you that had nothing to do with the fabric now wrapped around your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmured, pulling it tighter around you.

“Better?” he asked, stepping back to give you space but still watching you with that disarmingly kind expression.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “Much. Thanks, Pedro.”

He smiled again, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, like something unspoken was hanging there. But then he broke the silence, his voice light. “So, did they give you a hard time at dinner?”

Your face heated instantly. “What do you mean?”

He smirked, leaning casually against the back of the sofa. “I heard some of the cast talking earlier. Apparently, your friends in the art department have been… teasing you about the room situation.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh no. What exactly did you hear?”

“Nothing incriminating,” he said with a laugh. “Just that they’re convinced this is some kind of meet-cute scenario straight out of a rom-com.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, mortified. “I’m so sorry. They’re ridiculous.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, his tone easy, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s kind of flattering, actually.”

Your hands dropped to your sides, your eyes wide. “Flattering?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s nice to know someone thinks sharing a room with me is worth all that excitement.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to process the fact that Pedro Pascal—Pedro Pascal—was standing in front of you, teasing you in the most charming way possible.

“Well, I’ll let you get some rest,” he said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Big day.”

He gave you one last smile before retreating to his side of the suite, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a head full of thoughts you were too scared to unpack.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY  

You woke to the soft chime of your alarm, the faint glow of early morning light creeping through the curtains. Shuffling into the bathroom with a yawn, you turned on the shower, letting the warm water coax you into wakefulness. You placed your phone on the counter, tapping on a playlist to fill the small space with soft, melodic tunes—comforting background noise that kept your mind from spiraling too early in the day.  

After your shower, you toweled off and began your morning routine. Skincare applied with practiced ease, makeup brushed on with care, you avoided the mirror for too long, focusing instead on the growing anticipation of the day ahead. Pinning your ID to your lanyard, you glanced at your phone again.  

The group chat with your team was buzzing:  

Archie: "We’re fifteen minutes out. Don’t keep us waiting, queen 👑."  

Rebecca: "Text when you’re coming down!"  

Max: "Coffee run? Pls? 🙏"  

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tapped out a quick reply, your fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before you switched apps.  

Your heart did a little stutter as you opened your browser—a Joel Miller fanfic you’d been obsessing over still lingering on your screen. You skimmed the most recent chapter, your thumb pausing to scroll as you half-laughed at the absurdity of sneaking in a few paragraphs before a full day on set. You switched to the chat thread with your online friends, who were deep in a heated discussion about whether Joel would be the type to cook breakfast for his partner. You couldn’t help but chuckle, throwing in a quick, “He’d definitely make pancakes and act like it’s no big deal,” before locking your phone and setting it on the counter.  

Moving on autopilot, you padded into the small kitchenette, barefoot and still humming softly to the tune stuck in your head. You set the coffee machine to brew, pulling out a couple of mugs, a jar of Nutella, and some bread. Your hands moved with muscle memory, spreading the hazelnut spread on toast and slicing up a handful of fruit without a second thought. It wasn’t until the scent of coffee filled the air that you realized you’d made two plates of toast—one for you and one for Pedro.  

The realization struck at the same moment you heard the faint shuffle of footsteps behind you.  

“Morning.”  

His voice was low and warm, still carrying the huskiness of sleep. You froze, phone in one hand, butter knife in the other, as you turned to see Pedro leaning against the doorframe. His hair was adorably tousled, and he was dressed in a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants that somehow made him look effortlessly put together. His eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled at you, and you nearly dropped your phone in a panic.  

“Good morning,” you managed, your voice a little too high-pitched as you fumbled to lock your screen. The thought of him catching even a glimpse of what you’d been reading was enough to make your cheeks burn.  

Pedro glanced at the counter, taking in the toast, coffee, and neatly sliced fruit. “You made breakfast?”  

“Oh, uh—yeah.” You set your phone down and gestured awkwardly toward the spread. “I made you some coffee and toast with Nutella. I wasn’t sure if you’d want that, and there’s fruit, too. I was just about to cut some more, but obviously, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, and—”  

“Hey.” Pedro’s soft chuckle cut through your rambling, and when you met his gaze, he was looking at you with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”  

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Oh. Yeah. No problem. It’s nothing, really.”  

He moved past you to grab a mug of coffee, the proximity sending your pulse into overdrive. As he poured himself a cup, you noticed his shoulders relaxed and his movements unhurried. He took a sip and let out a small, contented sigh.  

“Perfect,” he said, glancing over at you with a grin. “You’re spoiling me, you know that?”  

Your laugh came out nervous and breathy. “I’m pretty sure this doesn’t count as spoiling. It’s just toast.”  

“Yeah, but it’s good toast,” he teased, holding up a slice as if to emphasize his point.  

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension in your chest easing slightly. The moment felt impossibly domestic—like a scene out of one of those fanfics you’d been reading. Only this time, it wasn’t Joel Miller standing in the kitchen with you. It was Pedro.  

And that was somehow even more surreal.  

Pedro leaned against the counter, his mug cradled in both hands. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to. “So,” he started, his voice warm and casual, “what were you so engrossed in on your phone earlier? You looked ready to throw it out the window when I walked in.”  

Your stomach flipped, and you tried to play it cool, even though you were fairly certain your face was now several shades of red. “Oh, nothing,” you lied, brushing a crumb off the counter. “Just the group chat. You know how chaotic they are.”  

Pedro tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Mm-hmm. Sure it wasn’t something more... intriguing?”  

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee cup a little tighter. “Intriguing?”  

He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes twinkling with mischief over the rim of his mug. “You tell me.”  

“It’s nothing!” you blurted out, a little too defensively. “Just—just boring stuff. Work stuff.”  

“Work stuff,” he repeated slowly, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Because people laugh at boring work stuff while making toast.”  

You groaned, setting your mug down as you ran a hand over your face. “Can we not? Please? I’m already mortified enough.”  

Pedro chuckled, the sound low and teasing but not unkind. “Alright, alright. I’ll let it go... for now.” He set his mug on the counter and raised his hands in mock surrender. “But you owe me a story later. Deal?”  

You hesitated, narrowing your eyes at him. “Depends on how much coffee you’ve had by then. I might need you slightly less smug for that conversation.”  

His grin widened, and he leaned closer, just enough to make your heart stutter. “Smug? I prefer charming. But I’ll take it under advisement.”  

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. The playful banter made the room feel lighter, warmer.  

By the time you both finished your coffee, the atmosphere had shifted into something comfortable and easy. You quickly rinsed the dishes, your hands moving on autopilot as Pedro lingered nearby, chatting about everything and nothing.  

As you dried your hands, your phone buzzed on the counter, and you glanced at the screen.  

Rebecca: “Bus is almost there. Better get your cute butt down here!”  

You shot back a quick reply: “On my way.” Turning to Pedro, you grabbed your bag and gestured toward the door. “I’ve got to head down. My shuttle’s waiting.”  

Pedro grabbed his own bag and trailed after you. “I’ll walk down with you. I’ve got my own ride coming, but they’re always late.”  

The two of you stepped into the elevator, the hum of its descent filling the silence. The confined space suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with unspoken tension.  

Pedro stood close—too close. You could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you pressed the strap of your bag tighter against your shoulder, hoping it would anchor you somehow.  

“So,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost intimate in the stillness of the elevator. “What’s the plan for today?”  

You glanced at him, his brown eyes watching you closely, the curve of his smile softer now. “Same as usual, I guess,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Make sure everything runs smoothly while you and everyone else look good on camera.”  

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You make it sound so simple, but I know you’re the one holding it all together.”  

His words caught you off guard, and you looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I just do my job.”  

“And you do it damn well,” he said, his tone sincere now, no teasing edge in sight.  

The elevator dinged as it reached the lobby, breaking the moment. Pedro gestured for you to step out first, and you did, your pulse still racing.  

“Thanks,” you murmured, not entirely sure if you were thanking him for his compliment or just for letting you escape the charged space of the elevator.  

As you spotted your shuttle waiting outside, you turned to him, suddenly aware of how reluctant you were to leave. “I’ll see you on set?”  

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah. See you soon.”  

You stepped outside, the crisp morning air hitting your face as you walked toward the shuttle. But even as you climbed aboard and found a seat, your mind was still back in that elevator, replaying every glance, every word, every spark.

End Notes:

Oh hi! I missed doing these silly bits; I thought to bring ‘em back. But, don’t worry, I’ll try to yap less haha

Yes, it’s super cliche, cheesy, unrealistic, and practically a hallmark movie in the making. But that’s the fun part in fanfiction and writing, it’s all made up and no one here is allowed to “yuck” each other’s “yum” if you know what I mean. ;)

Also, I have no idea how production for film works so I’m researching stuff and making stuff up along the way pls no one come after me T^T

Weirdly enough, I saw a reddit post from someone who works at the front of the hotel desk and they say the one-bed trope/one-room trope; it actually happens pretty frequently lol so who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca

[k-martins]

Updating mine

MY TOP TEN FAVORITE JJK SHIPPS!!!!

10. SHOKOHIME

They stole Jogo and Hanami's place because I got it into my head that Jogo is like the grumpy grandfather and Hanai is the vegan aunt of the curse family! I like them. I think it's a ship with a lot of potential. I need to consume more content, but I love the fanarts!!!

9. HIGUNANA

This crack grew in me and now I'm suffering for them after the last chapter. In a kind universe, Higuruma and Nanami adopted Yuji and they live happily and happily!!! I think the two go together a lot and the fanfics are adorable! These Old Yaoi will be the death of me!!!!

8. CHOSOYUKI

They've come down a little, but man I still love them!!! Even more so now because my thirst for Choso awakened and I started reading fanfics of him being a good big brother and I fell to my knees! I still want to write more and explore his relationship with Yuji. And God, YUKI IS AMAZING!!!! THEY DESERVED TO STAY TOGETHER, AKUTAMI YOU DAMN IT!!!!

7. HIGUKUSA

A friend on twt is feeding me higukusa art and, god, this crack (not so crack, because that "I'll protect you even if I have to die for it" from kusakabe hit me hard) has taken root in my heart! I'm also obsessed with Higuruma, so I combined the useful with the pleasant!

6. INUOKKO

THEY ARE CUTE OKAY!!!! I AM OBSESSED WITH CREATING HCS FOR THEM!!! I don't consume much of their stuff, but all the fanart I've seen is cute and their participation in the itafushi fics I read is always welcome!!! It's kind of strange to read something where they're not together…

5. NOBAMAKI

MY OPINION HAS NOT CHANGED, OKAY??? NOBAMAKI IS WONDERFUL AND I WOULD KILL TO HAVE MORE OF THEM!!! But since I saw Nobara's flashback I've been wondering if Fumi wouldn't be a good ship too? Does anyone have a fanfic/fanart of him, by the way??? ANYWAY, NOBAMAKI IS STILL MY FAVORITE!!!

4. KIRAKARI

I'M IN LOVE WITH KIRARA!!!! SHE AND HAKARI ARE THE ONLY HEALTHY THINGS IN THIS MISERABLE MANGA!!!! I love imagining what their relationship is like, writing hcs slice to life minis and drawing Kirara! But I'm getting worried because I saw someone saying that Kirara could appear in the Hakari x Urame fight to help her boyfriend and I know what's going to happen and I don't want it to happen! GEGE GET THESE DIRTY CLAWS AWAY FROM MY BABIES!!!!

3. SATOSUGU

YOU RUINED BLACK AND WHITE FOR ME, YOU DEPRESSED BITCHES!!! My friend is obsessed with them and boy can I understand! These two are tragic, with a beautiful dynamic and a happy ending(?). Plus they fucked up my Christmas Eve. I hope these two bitches are causing terror in heaven!

2. ITAFUSHI!!!!

If you've known me for more than a second, you'll know that I have an average of five outbreaks a day because of these two. This whole thing about always trying to save others even if it condemns them destroys me, okay??? Fanfics and fanarts also feed me! And I'm going to convince all my friends to ship this too so I can yell at 2am at them about little details of their dynamic! AND THEY MATCH SO MUCH!!! Of course, no more than our first place!!!!

.

.

.

EVERYONE X THERAPY!!!

Please let the deaths stop and this become canon

Honorable mention for _ Tojikuna (more because a twt artist is obsessed with them and that rubbed off on me) _ Hainana _ Toji x Mamagumi _ Okkofushi (Yuta was Megumi's first crush and you can't get that out of my head) _ Uraume x Sukuna (one-sided) _ Yuta x Maki

[starredblood]

NOWHERE GIRL

PART TEN

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: just when you start to feel closer to Sae-byeok, she tries pushing you away after having doubts of her character.

wc. 3.8k

warnings: alcohol use and surprise surprise angst and comfort

(nowhere girl masterlist)

Recently, Sae-byeok has become quieter if that’s even possible. But this is a different type of quiet. It’s one filled with ease and content even. Although, her worry about not making enough money looms her mind every waking moment, right now she’s a tad less concerned. Maybe tomorrow she’ll have to regain focus, but once she gets off work she’ll have the entire afternoon to ease her anxiety ridden mind.

When you come back from a short shift at the art gallery, you stopped by the convenience store with a bag full of snacks for when you’re hungry at school and for you and Sae-byeok to share whenever you see her.

After last week, you noticed Sae-byeok’s ease towards you whenever you ran into each other as it began happening more often. She’d waved back to you through the window panes inside the bakery shop, subtly ask about your day, and yesterday morning she snuck a croissant that was meant for Yong-sun in your lunch bag while he wasn’t looking.

You eased into her reserved nature as well. Never pushing it when it came to asking her about personal details and accepting her silent responses.

“Got these bag of shrimp chips.” you say when you spot Sae-byeok sit crisscrossed on a plastic chair behind the bakery. You pull the chips out and toss them to her and pull up the astray chair across from her. “Also, soju but only for me—obviously.”

“Bad day?” Sae-byeok asks, opening the bag of chips and shoving a handful in her mouth.

“Guess so. I deal with a lot of high status clients and they’re so pretentious and out of touch I feel like an extraterrestrial whenever I have interact with them. Like today, this teenage child of a chaebol family demanded two of the same paintings and I had to explain to him for ten minutes straight that the artist passed away three years ago.” you sigh and take a swig of you soju before continuing to rant. “Not to mention my professor already assigned us a new big project right after we completed the last one. And I need to do extraordinary with this project after horribly losing the Hangaram prize.”

You never know what goes on in Sae-byeok’s mind whenever you ramble off. Or talk in general. She just keeps eating chips and nodding along to whatever you’re saying. You want to be careful when approaching her like walking on eggshells, however, you do wonder how far can you get to do something out of the ordinary in her routine life.

“You should help me it’ll be fun.” you suggest after careful consideration. A skeptical look expands across her face. “Only if you want to.”

“I’m not an artistic person. I don’t think I’ll be any use to you.” she says flatly.

“Have you ever tried?” you ask slowly, squinting your eyes hoping not to get a feisty reaction from her.

“I guess not.” she responds. “What are you planning on doing?”

You clear your throat hoping she didn’t catch the smile that was about to bloom your lips. But you couldn’t help the giddiness brewing in your stomach that she was actually going along with this.

“Um, well the project is called urban sketching. Basically, it’s painting a specific urban area. It sounds easy but it can get complicated since there are twenty of us in that class and the chances of us drawing a similar location is pretty high. I want to find the perfect unique place.”

Sae-byeok doesn’t seem convinced. “I doubt I can help you.”

You slouch on the chair in disappointment. “Awe. Come on, have you ever stumbled upon a place that you thought was cool?”

She stops digging in the bag of chips and thought to herself, before nodding no. That’s when you tell yourself not to prod her any further and let this conversation die out.

“Have you seen, Yen-ho, around your school lately?” she asks suddenly.

“No, actually.” you hum. “I think he got banned from the property from what I heard. I hope it’s true. Why?”

Sae-byeok puffs out a air of hesitation. She debated telling you the truth for a while, wondering if you’ll quickly rise to panic. But maybe the soju you were drowning on will ease your reaction. This worry has been eating Sae-byeok alive, she needed to tell someone.

“Him and his dad are looking for me.”

“What?” you murmur. “W—Why?”

“I used to work for his dad before I went rogue on him.” she explains and doesn’t think it’s wise to add further details.

“Do you think they’ll keep their word?” you ask and Sae-byeok nods. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. But hey—listen to me carefully.” she says in a threatening manner. You pause your drinking and look at her with wide frightened eyes. “Don’t tell another living soul I told you this. Especially not, Ji-yeong. Okay?”

“I won’t…” you say lowly.

She maintains a close eye on you, trying to read your body language until her phone alarm started ringing. It was time for her to go back to work. She claps her hands to wipe the chip crust on her fingers and throws you the half eaten bag before heading back to the kitchen.

You don’t know how much longer you can be around this mysterious girl anymore.

✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

After doing some research, you found a place called Ihwa mural village that you heard about a while back but never got the chance to see. To you, it sounds like the perfect and unique place to get inspiration for your upcoming project. So, you decide to check it out during sunset hours to get a picture perfect scenery.

You thrown on a light brown jacket you bought last week at a thrift shop and triple check to see if all the drawing utilities are in your tote bag before heading out the door. Luckily, the mural village is only a few train stops away from you and by the time you arrive, the number of tourist and visitors should dwindle.

After a ten minute walk, the first mural you came across was the koi fish staircases. You grab your phone and carefully snap pictures, trying to find a perfect angle that has the sunset reflecting down the koi fish stairs. As beautiful as it was, it felt wrong to step in them so you trudge forward hoping to find a hidden gem.

Most of the walls in this village were covered in mural art. And you particularly liked the simple animal murals as they resembled child drawings but clearly done by adults. There were also a lot murals that told a sequence of stories—one of them covered three buildings that will take you a longer time admiring and studying.

There were a few people admiring the large murals with you, but it felt like it was just you and the art alone.

Until your peace was disturbed when you spot someone staring straight at your profile a little too long. The sketchbook and pen on your hands dropped and your shoulders slumped when you meet face to face with, Park Yoon.

“Hey—“

“Fuck off, Yoon.” you groan, slamming your sketchbook hard and shove it back in your bag.

Just when you were getting an influx of inspiration, of course it had to be ruined by her. You used to be so good at hiding your disappointment and anger to appease the ones you wanted to keep close. But you are at a point in your life where you can’t hide your true intentions anymore. Your outburst clearly shocked Yoon since her eyes grew wide in bewilderment. You even shocked yourself for being so straightforward.

“Shit. You’re here for the next project too?” she asks, genuinely taken aback.

“Yeah, but you beat me to it…Just like that Hangaram prize.” you mutter the last sentence underneath your breath.

You toss over your hoodie and check the map on your phone to figure out how to get out of this mural labyrinth.

“Don’t leave because of me.” she says, lowering your phone so you can look at her. She smiles in her known poised fashion, her lip gloss blinding you. “Why don’t you hang out with us?”

“Us?”

“Yeah, Hyunji and Chaeun are on their way they’re just stopping to get soju. They’ll bring enough for us to have two bottles for ourselves and then we are going to have a little photoshoot. It’ll be fun!”

You press your lips into a thin line, putting thought into her invitation. If she asked you three months ago, you’d merrily tag along—probably go help the other girls buy more soju too. But now it feels wrong to be around the people you used to call friends.

If Yoon is inviting you though, could she have possibly overcome the disdains she felt towards your sexuality? You study her facial expression carefully, seeing if you can see any signs of ill-intent.

Maybe, deep down you’re so desperate to fit in with them again that your brain refuses to see the signs or she is actually being genuine towards you.

“Only because I made the journey here.” you say quietly.

Yoon claps cheerfully and starts leading you by the small of your back up a set of painted flowers staircases, claiming that she found a beautiful mural she wants to use for her project.

“It looks just like my living room I have that exact same couch!” she explains point at the painting of a living room with a long blue sofa and a bookshelf above it. “My ex—not Yen-ho the guy before remember?—he bought me the couch after his trip to Italy. I thought about throwing it out after breaking up but it’s a perfectly good couch I was just so—“

“What’s the deal with your recent ex?” you interrupt, your mind going back to earlier today when you spoke to Sae-byeok and her threat. It’s not like you will mention her to Yoon though…

“Uh…What?” she lets out a nervous laugh and slowly starts walking away.

“I’m not going to judge you. I just think his dad is going to be after…” you trail off. A shiver goes down your spine, it’s like you can feel Sae-byeok sharp eyes on you.

Yoon does the same thing you did to her earlier, study your face. Eventually, she just sighs in defeat because she knows you aren’t going to let this conversation die.

“I didn’t know about his past at first. He hid it all from me but not very well. Three months after dating I began seeing some signs. A lot of signs actually—he really sucked had hiding things. And he always mentioned how much he hated his dad especially when he got drunk.”

“Is his father a criminal or something?”

“He’s more than just a criminal. He is a leader of a gang. And Yen-ho was—no is a part of it.”

Your eyebrows furrow. Suddenly the pieces you collected of Sae-byeok’s life start forming into a solved puzzle.

“He won’t come looking for you anymore though.“ Yoon assures you.

“How can you be sure of that?”

“You don’t remember?” she frowns. “I went to stop him from hurting you the day I texted him to leave you alone. My father is a very big donor to the school so security is going to be extra vigilant on him.”

You pull on the strings of your hoodie, feeling extra vulnerable. “But security can’t protect me when I’m not on campus.” you murmur.

Silence hits you both. You don’t want to speak and Yoon is hesitant to find the right words to say as she knows she can’t help you beyond school property. She would’ve reached her hands to touch your shoulder if you both didn’t hear hysterical laughter at the end of the block.

Lee Hyunji and Im Chaeun, your other old friends, reveal themselves coming around the corner with a bag of soju bottles in their hands. They briefly exchange skeptical glances when they saw you before covering it with a cheery facade.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming?” Hyunji’s squeaky voice chimes beside you.

“She arrived here before I did we didn’t plan it out but now we are. Right?” Yoon says, nudging you.

“We got enough soju to pass around.” Chaeun shrugs and hands you a bottle.

What was going to be an enriching experience visiting the mural village became a drunken stupor with the girls that ditched you at your lowest period. After finishing half the bottle, you are filled with resentment and shame for even being around them.

While they skipped around and pointed out murals they found hilarious you followed behind them like a rag doll, a dreadful discarded one.

At some point, you’re sitting on a curb on the opposite end of where the girls are, who having a photo shoot behind an angel wing mural. That’s when you pop open your second bottle of soju. The you who was in denial of being a lesbian back then would have loved to join in with them.

At this time, the sun was long gone and all visitors besides the four of you have also left. The art was ideceptable in the darkness, so you had to basically stare at a dark wall while preparing yourself to drown in more alcohol.

Then the weird sensation of goosebumps trailing down your arms came and you wonder if it’s the alcohol in your system. That is when you hear footsteps, so you look up to see a tall hooded figure emerge from the top of the staircase. For some reason, you thought it was that familiar cold faced girl who happens to work at a bakery.

“This is so weird I think I’m seeing things.” you laugh to yourself and take your first sip of your second round of soju.

You expected the passerby to keep on walking, but instead they stood in front of you, their shadow casting darkness over you.

You throw yourself backwards, almost spilling contents of your alcohol when you saw it was Sae-byeok with her usual stoic demeanor.

“You’re actually here?” you gasp.

“Yong-sun mentioned you were going to be here. I always wanted to visit the Ihwa murals.” she says. “I’ll look around by myself since you got company.”

“No, I don’t—not really.” you admit, as shameful as it is. “I ran into them and I think they just want me to tag along because they look at me like I’m some wounded puppy.”

Sae-byeok’s tired eyes look between the distanced classmates and you then lets out a sigh. She sinks down beside you in the sidewalk, her hands classically stuffed in the pockets of her jacket.

“I told you to look after yourself and you’re here up late.” you say.

“I told Miss Ahn I’m taking the day off tomorrow.”

You give me a sincere smile, not expecting to hear “day off” come out of Sae-byeok’s mouth. “That’s good.”

She nervously shoots glances at you. “Do you have school tomorrow?” she asks after momentary silence.

“And work.” you add.

Although Sae-byeok went silent briefly as she normally does, it was the stillness in her body movement that spoke volumes. She felt regret.

“I shouldn’t have taken that money from you.” she whispers.

“Stop.” you whine, throwing your head back to face the night sky. “I can handle pity from those girls but not from you. Besides, I prefer being busy nowadays it keeps my mind at bay.”

“Didn’t you complain to me about your job earlier?”

“Everyone complains about their job.” you roll your eyes.

The girls roaring laughter died down just then. You watch them inspect each others pictures taken in their phones. Then Chaeun points to something in the distance and the rest all follow suit, forgetting that you were supposed to be there with them. Unknowingly, your face becomes crestfallen at the second silent betrayal from your classmates.

You should’ve known what you were risking being around them, but you can’t control the swelling in your chest by how hurt you felt. Maybe a small part of you hoped that things would’ve gotten better.

“Sae-byeok, are we friends?” you blurt out. You aren’t sure if it was the bit of alcohol in you system or the desire not to feel alone right now that spoke for you.

“I don’t know.” she admits plainly, fidgeting with her hands. “We barely know each other to consider each other friends.”

“Yeah.” you mutter. “I want to but…”

“But?”

“We have this sort of push and pull thing going on and I’m confused.”

She finally looks directly into your eyes and you can finally see her face underneath the street light that illuminated her. Your breath hitches by the proximity of her face close to yours.

“I know you wouldn’t want to be my friend if you knew everything.”

“I sort of do. Bits and pieces of them.” you say and she shakes her head in disbelief. “You and Cheol are defectors and you joined Yen-ho’s fathers gang to earn some income before you—“

Sae-byeok snatched your bottle of soju before you could finish talking.

“Hey, watch it, you drunk.” she spat. She gets up from the pavement ledge and you quickly follow suit.

You don’t know why you said it when you knew from the start that she wouldn’t like hearing it. Maybe you’re finally tired of receiving her mixed emotions. But you must’ve opened up a fresh wound, because she took a large swig from your drink.

“Sae-byeok—“

“You don’t get it do you? After you figured it out, you really don’t get it?” she removes her hoodie in a frustrated manner and gets closer to your face. So close that you can smell the alcohol she consumed. “I’m not the good person you credit me to be. And if you get too close to me bad things will start happening to you. I took your money when you clearly needed it and now you have a target on your back with a gang because you’re affiliated with me.”

“No, you don’t get it!” you retort, poking her roughly in the chest making her stumble back slightly. “There’s a difference between a bad person and a person who did bad things. If you were truly a bad person you wouldn’t have left that gang to overwork yourself at a fucking bakery to raise your little brother.”

Before you could see her reacting, you turn around to catch your breath. Sae-byeok’s enigmatic energy is something you don’t think you can handle anymore.

To make matters worse, Yoon’s horrible timing struck again when she leaps in front of you, her cheeks rosy from the alcohol. She grabs you by your shoulders to balance herself. “Found you! Oh, hey aren’t you that girl that fought off my ex?”

You didn’t Sae-byeok was still here, assuming she stormed off in a heat of rage. But you heard her scoffing.

“Woah, wait—did I interrupt something?” Yoon points at you and her, dumbstruck.

You slap her finger out of your face. “I’m leaving it’s getting late.” you announce, brushing past Yoon.

“No, I’m sorry if I did I’m seriously not judging whatsoever!”

“Bye, Yoona!” you say sarcastically, hoping she gets the hint to back off.

A part of you wishes to be alone to process the heated conversation you just had with Sae-byeok but another other part of you was hoping she was only a few feet away. When you got into the subway station, you whip your head back and saw Sae-byeok stand there—guarded as ever. Your cheeks dust a light pink at the heaviness of her stare on your figure.

When you slide your metro card to go through the turnstile, you were ready to hand over Sae-byeok your card until she swiftly pulls one out and passes through.

The rest of the journey home was quiet as it always is when Sae-byeok is around. Her stop is after yours, but she got off with you and there was no energy left in your body to question her behavior so you let her get her way.

It’s not until you walk up the stairs to your apartment when she stands still. Curiously, you peek to see if her eyes still had that tension in them but no. She just looks tired.

“Thanks for walking me home.” you say, still sulking. “Bye.”

“I know we did kind things for each other but other than that I don’t get why you want to get close to someone like me.” Sae-byeok admits in one breath. Like she was holding these thoughts the entire journey here.

You let go of the doorknob and face her fully. For once, you towered over her since she was still standing two stair flights away from you.

“Someone like you?” you question her, puzzled.

“At the end of the day, I’m still a criminal no matter how good my intentions are.”

Those words felt like a hit to your stomach. You don’t speak right away, thinking carefully of your word choices.

“Sae-byeok, there are people in this world who do cruel and inhumane things for money and power. They laugh and mock people like us while they do the same criminal acts. The only difference is they have the money to get away with it…You’re a good person, okay?”

Sae-byeok doesn’t look away from you this time. A small unsuspecting smile crept on her chapped lips. However, her intense gaze was too much for you and you peer down at your feet—your blush reaching up to your ears now.

A tiny folded piece of paper enters your field of view making your eyebrows furrow. “What’s this?”

“My phone number.” Sae-byeok says like it’s nothing. “You know, since we’re friends now.”

You slowly take the piece of paper, looking dumbfounded when you heard her say the word friends.

“Have a good night.”

“Night.” you mumble, hiding the smile that appeared soon after you unfolded the paper. You wait for her to leave the walk-up before entering your studio.

After removing your shoes by the door, the first thing you did was fall face first on your pillows and whine loudly. Your head was pounding, you still felt woozy from the alcohol, and you aren’t sure when will be a good time to text Sae-byeok if ever.

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss @everly-summers-solace

[waitmyturtles]

Final Thoughts on Spare Me Your Mercy, Thailand's Biggest Queer Show of 2024*

(*domestically!)

Due to the holidays, I was behind on watching last week's finale of Spare Me Your Mercy, but I got it in, and I'm glad I did.

I am mucho on the record that I thought, throughout this series, that the romance portion of this series was done weakly. I throughly enjoyed and appreciated @clairedaring's objective and appreciative commentary throughout the airing of this drama to provide all of us with context about novel!SMYM versus series!SMYM, helping us to understand what of the many bits were missing between the two versions of this story.

There has been a nice lot of debate online about the ultimate success of the telling of the SMYM story in drama format, both pro and not so pro regarding the script. There was also quite the revealing interview with the screenwriter Lux Sirilux, who revealed that the show's design purposely excluded NC scenes to favor more time being spent on the euthanasia ethics debate (thank you so much to @clairedaring for reblogging so much, I wouldn't have these references without you!).

I want to note that even despite the recent holidays, that the heightened online burble of debate around SMYM indicates to me -- like the ensuing debates after the airing of the 4 Minutes finale -- that the story of the SMYM drama format didn't land for everyone. If it was universally successful in its storytelling from all the classic narrative markers, then much of this debate would not be happening.

I first entered the SMYM world understanding that it was a part of a storytelling trilogy of sorts, connecting Sammon's previously adapted stories in 2020's Manner of Death and 2022's Triage (I haven't reviewed Triage yet, but I watched it in 2024 and it is absolutely one of the five best Thai BLs I have ever watched.)

To go back to the Lux interview quickly, and to note fan commentary in defense of Lux's position: what Lux Sirilux posits is that the show essentially decentralized NC scenes and intimacy in favor of giving the script more time to dwell on a debate about euthanasia -- the ethics and morality of being a part of a person's death, and the ethics of a person deciding to die in the first place. The defense of this position essentially stated: well, because the show wasn't intended to be about romance, then why criticize it on its romantic context?

When I think back to the show's original positioning as a part of the MoD/Triage trilogy, I think to myself: the couples of TanBun and TinTol were absolutely central, as romantic pairs, to the success of those two stories, and both shows absolutely balanced their mystery elements so as to leave us fully satisfied on two (!!) genre fronts. At least, before SMYM premiered, to be excited about the TorJJ/KanTew coupling was therefore a reasonable expectation.

As well: there was a lot of implied attraction and romance in SMYM. A lot!

All these scenes! And we had more.

As soon as this show started airing, I was pulling for it to work as well as Manner of Death and Triage had. And I was side-eyeing to my drama homies about what I was smelling, when I started to feel like SMYM was NOT working. While a defense that the show was never meant to be a romance is... an interesting postscript to ponder: I don't buy it, because many elements that were clearly designed to otherwise communicate romance actually failed. I squinted heavily at the middle episodes of this series, really wondering, ".....so......are these guys.... DATING? Just feeling things out?!"

If these elements weren't actually intended to be in the show, the attraction between Kan and Tew, then -- why did we get them?

What was missing, narratively, for me? It was emotional context based in the reality of how I understand intimacy to function between two humans -- an understanding that, in the very best of art, I don't need to suspend in order to make a narratively unsuccessful show otherwise work.

The progression of emotional (let alone physical) intimacy was choppy in this series, to say the least. @clairedaring gave us the very important context early on that the novel version of SMYM had two volumes -- the first of which focused on KanTew's dating, before the ethical clashes of euthanasia entered the picture. If we had had that narrative context in the drama, the drama would have worked wonders, and I believe the crew was working throughout this debate in the writing process, from how the script turned out.

The script here did not work, because even if romance was intentionally deprioritized to focus on the euthanasia debate -- many episodes still spent too much time on KanTew, without giving us viewers an emotional journey for us to understand where they were in their emotional intimacy. And I posit, because the script seemed to be so indecisive, that the euthanasia debate got lost for much of the show as well. Up until the end, in the final episode, with that utterly fabulous attic scene.

If only the show had the strength of dialogue and conflict as that attic scene! I wrote yesterday that Tor and JJ will win awards for the whole series, based on that scene alone. That scene finally held the full and holistic scope of the tension between Kan and Tew totally bursting out in all its glory.

Let me just note, though, that we had to get through the first half of the episode to get to that scene -- a first half that really, REALLY made Kan look like an AWFUL LYING SCUMBAG to Tew (HOW COULD YOU LIE TO TEW LIKE THAT IN YOUR HOSPITAL BED, KAN, AND TELL HIM THAT HIS PAIN HE WAS FEELING WAS GUILT, YOU MF'ING ASSHOLE, okay I got it out of my system). Really, with all the lying Kan was doing to Tew about Tew's mom, I was praying that Tew would do the full COPS treatment on Kan, "Bad Boys" and all.

Kan was, in my absolutely personal opinion, ultimately rendered unforgivable during that first half of the finale (regardless of my personal thoughts on the ethics of euthanasia) simply because of his disingenuousness to Tew. The penultimate conversation in attic between Kan and Tew was a phenomenal encapsulation to the ethical conflict that Kan and Tew had danced around for the entire series -- and it highlighted, to me, again, where the script had failed the show, because it actually put a spotlight on moments when the EXCELLENT and FASCINATING nuances of the euthanasia debate in Thailand were sidelined for weak attempts at romantic development. (The socioeconomic nuances, the inequity in health care nuances, the impact that terminal illness has on caretakers, all of them! GAH!)

My takeaway from all of this is that the crew of this show did not hit the exact and delicate formula of deciding what the crux of this show should have been about, despite the commentary we received posthaste from the screenwriter. While the intention of that commentary indicated that the euthanasia debate was supposed to be the only center of the show -- too much time was spent showing us KanTew moments, and those moments lacked context and clarity to give us viewers an understanding of where they stood in their engagement or relationship at any one time. Thus, I do think the postscript commentary from the crew was also a touch disingenuous, regarding the success of the narrative itself as art.

And — I believe it was also disingenuous to the two previously adapted Sammon stories of Manner of Death and Triage as well, as both of those dramas were able to hold both mystery and romantic storylines to excellent ends, with wonderful touches of intimacy along the way (MaxTul couch scene, my beloved). There's more to say, as other people have noted, about writers deprioritizing intimacy to tell "another" story, as it were, but that's a debate for another time, that I think speaks to where Thai BL is going in general.

But otherwise, while I think SMYM was ultimately narratively unsuccessful (that last "I love you" and the rushed close were just brutal), I'm not surprised about how well it did in Thailand. No one can argue with the star power that Tor and JJ hold in Asia — the show was always going to do well, no matter the artistic success of its narrative. I just wish the show had lived up to the caliber of acting and writing that Tor and JJ got to display in that attic at the end.

[fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma]

Hi! I'm literally obsessed with Zukka and every time I see your art, I die and resurrect about seven times, cause it's SO GOOD!! 😭

I wanted to ask, what are your most 'unconventional' or odd Zukka headcanons? If you have any 😅

If not, maybe just your favorite ones? Or some original ones? 👀

shuhudhideaiun you’re so sweet thank you and of COURSE I do but like. I also would like to list my favourites and originals bc some of them are so so adorable n fun.

Unconventional

-sokka fidgets. like a lot. but the way he does is by biting his nails so zuko bought him beads and necklaces and just jewellery in general so he could play with that instead of destroying his fingers.

-zuko has like no spacial awareness at all (he’s literally blind in one eye) so sokka always has a hand on his back or arm to make sure he doesn’t crash into anything 😭

-zuko has trouble staying on top of his work and is constantly complaining about needing a clearer schedule so sokka just, invents highlighters and comes to zuko one day like: here you go babe now you can colour code your schedule 😊 and zuko’s like: what the fuck

Favourite

-one by my wonderful friend @motheryves: sokka can sing but pretends to sing badly in front of his friends to annoy them

-another one by my friend @kiki-strike: a long post which you can find if you scroll through my ask tag about zuko’s relationship with his scar and how sokka finds a way to be tender and gentle with him (like, touching it) without freaking him out. (seriously this is such a tender sweet head canon and I still think about it to this day.

-not sure where it came from but the hc that sokka and zuko can’t take showers together because one setting is in the pits of hades and the other is the literal icy tundras.

Original, but less odd

-sokka is a sleep wrestler and at first zuko thinks it’s because he’s just. like that. but after sokka starts talking in his sleep about ‘I need to save them.’ ‘I’m strong enough.’ then zuko’s like: oh. oh his failure complex is on even in his sleep. so next time it happens he wordlessly just pulls sokka close and strokes his hair until he’s still. (it takes Sokka a few weeks to figure out why he’s suddenly sleeping so well.)

-the first time sokka says I love you is when they’re lounging in zuko’s chambers and it’s late there’s dim candlelight and zuko is laughing at something stupid sokka said. so sokka tries to say I love you but gets whacked in the face with a bottle (zuko flails) so when he gets to the sick bay and zuko is tending to his bruise saying shit like ‘I’m so dumb I’m so sorry’ sokka just, blurts it out. (a true display of zuko being authentic zuko, not hiding behind a cold unfeeling mask, but always looking out for others and caring for them. that’s the zuko who sokka loves, so he told him then.)

-the first time zuko says I love you is when sokka is painting, and he comes over to bring him tea and sokka gets startled and just, spills his tea all over himself and his painting and he stands up too quickly to get a towel so he slips on the spilled tea on the floor and now he’s ass first on the ground just laughing, wide and unapologetic and that’s when zuko says it. (a true display of sokka being authentic sokka, not trying to prove his worth or be more of a man or be anything other than himself. that’s the sokka that zuko loves, so he told him then.)

[mewguca]

I was thinking about how people should talk more about the parallels between hunter and moon

This is a rather self-indulgent piece...I find it very comforting to be able to express my emotions through a media I love like this...that's probably my favorite thing about art. Being able to express something...being able to connect emotionally with the viewer...is really nice

textless versions and a long rambling under the cut

Hunter is often viewed as a very strong and agile slugcat...they are the "hard mode" after all. Hunter probably has a lot of physical prowess. But, with the rot...they become weaker. At its worst, they struggle to do basic movements...until they eventually die. Of course, in my version of events...Hunter's rot is cured, but it still leaves lasting side-effects. Their scars go beyond simple battle wounds...there's a sort of pervasive sickliness throughout their whole body. Treatment helps, of course...but

You know how that is, right...? You have to keep getting treatments. You have to work for your recovery. And you have to work to prevent your body from getting weaker again...Or y'know, that's how it is if you've ever had any reoccurring or chronic health issues. It's...a struggle I feel like doesn't get expressed very often...so I wanted to express it through my version of Hunter.

Even though Moon isn't anywhere near as organic, I feel like she can relate to similar struggles. She used to be like a god...a powerful supercomputer who could do just about anything! But...she couldn't bring herself to do the one thing that'd preserve her own wellbeing. She delays and delays on forcing Pebbles to stop with her administrative powers until it is far too late...

Maybe she thought she could handle it. That everything would be fine if she just waited for Pebbles to understand...or waited for him to stop. If she just kept sending messages, eventually he would listen.

But he didn't. Things didn't get better. And by the time she finally took action against it, it was too late...her forced communications did nothing but make her brother furious with her...because she "ruined everything." She could only accept her imminent collapse...

When she woke up again, she had only a few neurons left to run on. Her umbilical was broken, her overseers were out of her control, and even the roof over her head was incomplete.

She couldn't do most of the things she used to. She could hardly move. She could hardly even think. She could barely remember who or what she used to be...and she didn't have great ability to remember the present, either.

It must have been really painful...but she keeps doing what she can anyways. She reads the pearls you bring her. She tells you about the items you bring. She gives you information as best as she can. She is kind and hospitable. She encourages you. She could be so bitter and depressed...so resentful and cruel...but she isn't. I'm sure she has plenty of bitterness and resentment, plenty of hopelessness and great sadness, plenty of suffering...

But when she sees the little slugcat, she's still kind to it. She is grateful for what she has. She is happy to see you. And she keeps on living.

She's so strong...she is a huge inspiration for me.

So, I think if anyone could relate to Hunter's struggle...Moon is probably the closest. I think people should talk about their relationship more...after all, Hunter is her "little savior." I think they would be wonderfully close. They could support each other in their struggles to keep living, even if their bodies fight against them. I also think their friendship is just cute! Great potential for angst, for fluff, for comfort...idk. everything, really. It would be wonderful for them to reunite when they're both in better shape...as creatives, we can make a versions of events where that happens. It's really wonderful to me...for a work of art to inspire others to create art because of it.

This game means a lot to me...and it means a lot to me that it resonates so much with other people as well. So, thank you...

[year2000electronics]

General thoughts on Luigi?

MY GENERAL THOUGHTS ON LUIGI.

- he is adorable. as is his brother. he and mario have a cute quality to them and the universe needs to accept this

- i think it’s always been kinda interesting how a lot of people seem to treat luigi as a character as if he’s still “the underdog in his brothers shadow”. i can see where they’re coming from, since it just makes such a compelling story of being a Victim of Circumstance, and his eventual “rise to the call” in luigi’s mansion really giving him legs to stand on, and games like spm exploring luigi’s specific lot in life as “player two”, but the culture and treatment of luigi has definitely shifted since the experimental period of the 2000s. not only is he treated as just as much of a hero as mario but i feel like the public opinion of him has grown so much that he’s likely more popular than even mario himself is (just look at how big of a lead he had in the schafrillas mario ranking).. i frequently find myself pondering the logistics of Underdog Luigi but i feel like more people need to recognize that it definitely isn’t the case anymore in mario canon writlarge

- he needed more screentime in the movie! and i’m NOT just saying that because i love him! genuinely think about it for a moment. luigi gets stuck in the darklands through no fault of his own. neither brother knew what was in the warp pipe, and their separation in the warp zone was almost random. so then, yes, he does spend a lot of the movie cowering in fear, but that’s because he HAPPENED to land in the darklands. hell, he even stands up to bowser (verbally) at one point! and why this is a problem for me is that luigi is supposed to be a shrinking violet and a scaredy cat, and i love how weird and socially awkward he can be in the movie, but because this is MARIO’s movie, mario as a character ends up more flawed (in the fleshed-out character sense) and needing to learn more than luigi does! it’s just WEIRD when mario has to learn all these lessons and be the better man and then luigi is just kinda. coasting? like no! no no! that man should be NEUROTIC!!! (and the icing on this cake is that mario’s dad is all “you’re holding your brother back” I FEEL LIKE IM IN BIZZARO WORLD. WHAT. WHY.)

- my fav version of him is paper luigi <3 he’s the closest thing we’ve had of a luigi who is able to start his respective series as the man in the shadows and then graduate into self-confidence. it’s not a perfect “arc” for him since the modern games don’t exactly follow up on SPM but i’ve always found it more interesting the way he’s positioned in the paper mario series. there’s not any room for him in your party so you see the most distinct divide between mario and luigi we’ve ever had aside from luigi’s mansion itself

- i miss his striped socks from early m&l art :(

- him and e gadd are so funny together i think more people should acknowledge how bitchy they are at each other. it’s fantastic. luigi and this old queen

- i can’t wait to hear more of kevin afghani’s luigi VA :] i have unfortunately heard a lot of his luigi’s screams of death in wonder though. sorry to luigi for killing you so much.

- i want to see nintendo continue to try and figure out what they want to do with luigi in 3d marios. in 64 and sunshine he just wasn’t there (boooo), in galaxy he has probably the best compromise? being someone you run into in the overworld as well as being an unlockable character after getting every star, and odyssey has him doing balloon world. which is not really anywhere near the action but he is admittedly very cute with his balloons and bow tie. i feel like neither of these answers are the “true, cohesive 3d luigi experience” though. i hope they don’t give up on it.

- mr. l has and forever will be cool. technically not a luigi thing but i’m ride or die for him.

i always have thoughts on luigi. i could go on like this all day.

[savagewildnerness]

There’s really an awful lot of pondering on death & suicide & what it takes to endure existence in The Vampire Lestat… for all it’s viewed as a lighter book than Interview with the Vampire! Like, to the degree that every single main character is at some point either suicidal or wishes to die… or that actually happens. Even though the majority of them are immortal!

It’s making me wonder on this re-read, where I try to think about it more deeply, rather than just reading it - is an innate understanding of how difficult it is to endure/how easy it could be to just slip from existence a reason many of us initially loved this book? Is that Anne can articulate so well that desire to escape oneself & how it feels when that’s impossible one of the most important themes of the books?

Obviously, I’ve spoken about it often: I always associated with Nicolas a lot. Primarily due to how he perceives his own ability/experience of violin playing (I was 12. I definitely wasn’t then, nor am I now anywhere near as cynical as Nicolas….) but I don’t say it is *only* the violin & Nicolas’ music & how he feels to play and about his music that I associate with. Not least because in my opinion, how Nicolas perceives his own music is a reflection of how he perceives himself & how he perceives the world.

In any case, after my last night pondering on Armand’s internal desolation & the way he is actually most emptied of feeling when filled with some external source… yet that’s what he desires/needs because it is the only way he can feel safe… and he’d welcome death it feels if it came to him rather than him having to seek it, and going against God.

Well anyway, I haven’t read on yet, but I listened to the next bit on audiobook as I drive today. And it really struck me how delicate everyone’s mind & heart is.

Nicolas is actually like a fragile genius as a vampire - creating wildly creative, dark plays, articulating the horrors he feels are true (& thus creating Good Art Actually Lestat!) yet he cannot cope. But is it really *madness* that Nicolas screams of horrors in the streets to mortals; that he wants to create a league of vampires; that he wants humans to destroy them all; that he cannot bear it? It seems quite natural to me. Not mad really at all!

And Lestat too, gives himself over to death in despair. For all he talks of enduring, he would not have been able to rise this first time he went into The Earth, but for Marius saving him. And no wonder. He has lost everything. Lestat, talking on fate & how if we escape it, perhaps it waits for us.

It’s hard for me, as a friend died last week at a similar mortal age to Nicolas’ 30 years & this whole part is death & inability to cope with the simple Horror of existence. (Albeit; monstrous existence… but existence *is* monstrous as it is, right? Vampires are a fantastical representation of the very real & way more horrific in my opinion (as it can’t be contained in beautiful, sensual, philosophical vampires in reality…) truth of the actual horror of existence for us all.)

And Lestat speaking on fate reminds me too of Debbie. A girl I went to secondary school with. When she was 11 she got Lupus & her secondary school years were awful, but she endured. I didn’t keep in touch with her after school & her Uncle worked in aircraft engineering & got her a good job. But she survived Lupus in her teenage years, only for death to claim her at 23 in a totally unrelated way… as if it had always just lain in wait. She had escaped it, but then fate waited for her.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I kind of want to create a poll, but I’ve just made myself laugh out loud at what that poll would be - like something like *Did your wee tween self relate to the self-immolatory desires of vampires?* Nice cheery question for a Monday!

I don’t mean it in a depressing way though. We can talk about The Horrors, while allowing joy & fun & play & amusement & silliness & innocence & childlikeness, right? Can we? I am not sure what I’m getting at…?

But this part is hard for me to read right now. And yet cathartic always too. Because… we all feel it, right? Anne is expressing what we humans feel in our tiny existences too.

How to bear it? The overwhelmingness of that.

Right?

[heliads]

okay, hopefully you have room for more than one request from me !! this time, could i pretty please request billy rocks with a gender-neutral reader, since you know i have to send in my obligatory magnificent seven request ? the reader is a member of the seven and their resident medic, in charge of patching up everyone else’s injuries after a fight. they’ve had a kind of flirting banter thing going on with billy for a while, but neither of them are planning on really doing anything about it anytime soon, until the reader collapses after a battle because they ignored their own injuries in favor of helping the others and billy completely freaks out. when the reader finally wakes up, the others tell them that billy hasn’t left their side the entire time they were out, and after billy soundly scolds them for ignoring their own health, they finally confess ?

again, obviously you don’t have to right this if you’d rather not, but if you do, thank you so much in advance, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'living, surviving' - billy rocks

masterlist

He will die tomorrow morning, but now, while the town of Rose Creek is still quiet and dark, Billy Rocks is alive. Alive and alone. No one sees him, no one knows him. He remains invisible, curtained by deep shadow. He looks around him at the wavering lights of candles in windows, and wonders, depressingly, when they’ll get blown out by gunshots. When every glass pane shatters, when every roof collapses, when each body falls and friend goes missing, Billy will remember this night, back when nothing had gone wrong yet.

The wind whistles through the slots in the door out back, bringing with it the vague lilts of laughter and conversation from a few doors down. There are people here who still harbor hopes of walking out of tomorrow morning’s fight alive, and they’ve gathered around fires or drinks to convince themselves that it’ll happen. Not Billy, though. Billy, as per usual, is alone.

He likes being alone, though. It lets him see what others don’t. Billy remembers being a child once, a long time ago in a place that was not this one. A schoolmate of his, a friend, maybe, had shown him a print of an ancient warship in the book with a proud figurehead at the front cut out to look like the head of a god. It was meant to guard the ship, apparently, and keep it from harm.

It had always struck Billy as a rather lonesome thing. One god, brought down to land in the form of a wooden carving, always staring ahead sightlessly and separated from the crew. Forever bond to solitude. Watching out for the men aboard that would never look it in the eyes.

Now, though, Billy thinks that he quite understands it. He is alone now, hidden comfortably in the shadows such that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Tucked away in a dark corner, he can see the various inhabitants of Rose Creek nervously passing the time before they’ll likely lose their lives. Lost in drink or card games, doing their best to do too much so their minds can’t sit and think about how little time they’ve got left, nobody has the patience or nerve to check for things hiding in the shadows. They certainly don’t look hard enough to find him.

They wouldn’t if they tried. Billy has had a lot of time to perfect the art of remaining out of sight. He shows off when he wants to, twirling a silver knife just right so the lithe blade reflects the sun like an arc of pure light, but he prefers being quiet. He’ll let Goodnight do the talking, or Billy’s knives. When he’s quiet, he can watch. When he’s quiet, he can learn the secrets about people that they aren’t aware they’re telling. He can guide his crew from the shadows. He can lead them from his place alone above the stormy water.

Usually, no one can find Billy unless he wants them to. The exception, of course, is Goodnight, because as business partners, it became somewhat of a necessity to find Billy when need be, so he’s let that slide. Tonight, though, with Goodnight gone and everyone else highly strung due to the battle looming ahead, Billy doesn’t think he’ll be found.

That makes it even more surprising when he is. Billy sees this new arrival coming, of course, but he assumes they’ll veer off towards the bar, or that they’ll go laugh with the drinkers or the dancers like everyone else sees fit on this restless night. Instead, their path stays true, and they not only find Billy at once but pull up a chair next to him. Like the only thing they want to do on what may be their last night alive is to spend time with him. Like Billy is the only person worth seeing at all.

Ordinarily, Billy Rocks has no problem holding his tongue. He’ll whisper a few biting jokes here or there, typically never above the volume of a sigh, but he’s never had a problem with keeping his peace. Tonight seems to be a night of surprises, though, because Y/N L/N, their resident medic, has hardly sat down before Billy’s asking them cautiously, “You don’t want to be with the others, then?”

Y/N glances towards him, surprised, as if they hadn’t even realized this would be an option. “Now, why would I do that when I’ve got such pleasant company here with me?”

Billy chuckles in spite of himself. “It’s not the most entertaining of company.”

“Mmm,” they hum, “but I like it better that way, I think. Tonight’s not a night for shouting. Seems wrong that way.”

Billy lets out a slow breath. He can feel his fingers curling at his sides, readying themselves for triggers or blades come the next morning. “No, it doesn’t,” he agrees.

Quiet falls. Billy waits for them to leave, but they don’t. They stay, and they smile at him, warm in the lamplight from across the room, and say, “You don’t mind me being here, do you?”

“Of course not,” Billy replies hastily. “Besides, what sort of man would I be to kick out our medic the night before a fight? I can’t risk upsetting you now, sweetheart. You might do something wild, like sew me up with pink thread.”

Y/N laughs. Billy finds himself glad for the isolation again– out there in the main room of the bar, the sound of Y/N’s laughter might have blended in with the stomping of heels, the creaking of wood, but out here, with nothing else to disguise it but his own bated breath, Billy delights in it entirely. The sound curls around him like music, and his fingers twitch again, this time not to reach for a weapon but to hold their laughter. To hold them, maybe. It’s a good thing he knows better. It’s a good thing he doesn’t want that more than anything, because if he did, he might do something foolish like try.

“I’d never mess with you,” they grin. “Promise. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Wouldn’t just ruin your reputation, it would ruin my skin,” Billy grumbles, but he’s smiling again.

Y/N knows it too. They always seem to smile all the brighter when he’s smiling too, like it’s a bet they’ve won. “I wouldn’t dare,” they promise. “Besides, I can’t go threatening one of our best shooters the night before I fight, can I? What sort of friend would I be? I need you on my side to keep me safe.”

Billy arches a brow. “I’ve seen you with a gun, darling. I’m pretty sure you can keep yourself safe all on your own.”

Y/N’s lips curl suggestively. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Something hot rushes through the back of his neck. “I leave it to you to find the fun in a gunfight,” Billy says hoarsely. Changing the subject is the safest thing to do right now. It’s safer than leaning closer, than returning Y/N’s fire with fire. Safer than touching them, which is what he wants to do right now most of all.

This is not the night for that, Billy reminds himself. They’re going to die tomorrow and he won’t cloud either of their judgment. So, even though he wants nothing more than to keep testing this theory and see where they break, he forces himself to pull back and resume a normal conversation. He encourages Y/N to get some rest before everything goes to hell tomorrow, and hopefully, they will. Y/N’ll have a lot of hard work headed their way by dawn. He doesn’t want them any more stressed than they need to be.

The sun rises, bringing trouble with it. Bogue brings a lot of men, too many by Billy’s estimate. He grits his teeth as he watches them ride in, and prepares himself for a long, bloody morning. They’ve set up a small medical center in one of the better protected buildings where Y/N can practice their craft. If Billy can only make sure none of Bogue’s thugs make it to them, he’ll die a happy man.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to like the idea of sitting pretty while their friends die. Ordinarily, Billy wouldn’t blame them for that, but he can’t deny that his heart starts racing whenever they sprint out into the streets to tend to the wounds of their fallen friends. Once Goodnight turns up, the other man wastes no time in teasing Billy about his obvious partiality to the brazen medic, but Billy’s only half listening, anyway. He can’t both partake in snide comments and keep Y/N alive, and he’s really only interested in one of those things.

The battle rages on, then, startlingly enough, quiets. Bodies line the streets, both the dead and the injured. Y/N has been moving non stop almost the entire time; how they haven’t passed out from exhaustion, Billy has no clue. He sees them swaying slightly on their feet as they move from patient to patient, and mentally reminds himself to make sure they’re doing alright. He just needs a little more time to clear the enemy from the town, then he’ll be free to check on them.

Once the final thug has been killed or chased off, Billy starts scanning the area for Y/N. A couple friends mention that they saw the medic recently, but none of them can point him in the right direction. He checks the medical center, but it’s only inhabited by the groaning injured, not sunny would-be doctors with a spark in their eye and a quick joke on their tongue. 

Heading outside again, Billy completes a slow loop around the building, but he can’t find them anywhere. Panic starting to grow in his chest, he pulls aside Sam when the other man walks by.

“You haven’t seen Y/N around, have you?” Billy asks hastily.

Sam gives him a slow, worried look. “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure that I have. They were keeping plenty busy while the fighting was hot, but it’s been a while since they crossed my path.”

Billy nods, not even sparing the time for a thank you before continuing on his careening search through the city. As he paces down the streets, some of his friends make to approach him, but he brushes them all off. Nothing matters except finding Y/N. Nothing matters except finding Y/N.

And then, almost by accident, he does. It isn’t how he’d expected. Somehow, some naive part of him was hoping he’d find them in the tavern, already with a drink in hand, or surrounded by some awestruck sharpshooters, dazzling them with their wit. Anything that would guarantee their safety. Anything that would keep them out of harm.

In reality, when he finds Y/N, it’s no different than finding any of the other fallen bodies. They’re slumped against the wall of a building, a roll of bandages fallen loosely from their hand. There’s a man unconscious next to them, a friend of theirs who’d evidently suffered from a gash across the arm. Billy spots Y/N’s expert handiwork in the form of a clean wrap across the injury, but the one who seems to need medical care now is Y/N themself.

Hurriedly, he crouches by them, lifting a hand to check for a pulse. “Y/N?” He asks, his voice wavering.

Y/N stirs slightly, their eyes half-lidded. “Billy? That you?”

“It’s me,” he confirms. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

They move slightly, grimacing in pain, and that’s when Billy notices the dark splash of red seeping out of their waistcoat. “Sweetheart,” he repeats unsteadily, “Don’t tell me you got shot, now. You can’t just bleed out like that without getting yourself some help.”

“I had to help him,” Y/N whispers. “That’s what mattered.”

“No, you’re what matters,” Billy hisses. “Fuck the rest. You were supposed to put your health above theirs.”

Y/N manages a slight slip of a grin, not even a half-smile, and the obvious pain it causes them makes Billy’s heart clench in his chest. “Now, what kind of medic would I be if I did that?”

“A safe one,” he sighs. “Now, come on. I’m going to pick you up and get you some help, alright? Don’t you dare close your eyes. I need you to stay with me.”

“I like staying with you,” Y/N mumbles as Billy picks them up.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he tells them. 

Y/N feels deathly still in his arms, and Billy doesn’t want to give that a single moment of his attention. All that matters is sprinting back to the medical center; calling for someone, anyone to help him; carefully setting Y/N down on a clear bit of space. He has to be moved away from the table so the doctor can treat them, so intent is Billy on staying within reach, and the second they tell him that Y/N’s going to be okay, he’s right back by their side.

Y/N will wake up soon, they tell him. Just a bit of exhaustion and blood loss. Y/N’s made of tough stuff, they’ll be alright. When they open their eyes again, Billy will be right by their side. This time, he has something he’d like to tell them, and this time, there isn’t anything holding them back from the love they were always meant to share.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[lightofthemoonglow]

Okay, from one of your prompt lists, I matched some characters with words that seemed to fit and you can write whatever you get inspiration for.

Tarantism - the urge to overcome melancholy by dancing with Crawford Tillinghast. I just wanna dance with him.

Grapholagnia - the urge to stare at obscene pictures with Marty (maybe like at a fancy art museum they get dragged to by friends and Marty is absolutely baked and reader is trying not to die laughing at his observations?)

Concilliabule - a secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot with Ash Williams.

Druxy - something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside with Amanda Young (oh the angst possibilities)

Ayurnamat - the philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed with Herbert (he seems like a bitch who can hold a grudge for decades)

Mamihlapinatapei - the look between 2 people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move with Milton Dammers?

(sorry i couldn't write Crawford, my brain just wouldn't so after a month, i gave up. and the Milton one just made me so sad that i wound up crying, so i'm saving that for when i'm in a better place)

Ayurnamat - The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed.

Herbert West (oops, i went in a different direction, sorry!)

It’s only a small setback. There is no use in getting upset over this because it’s already happened. Unlike Dan, Herbert is not the sort of bemoan not being able to go back in time. Even if such a thing were possible, he wouldn’t bother with it. Not when he has the tools to move forward.

Dead weight is not easy to move alone, but Herbert has had plenty of practice. He manages to maneuver your body onto the lab table, your head thunking against the cold metal. Hopefully that won't cause any issues upon reanimation.

It happened quickly. Considering the rampage that had led to your death, it had been painless as well. Just a fall in the wrong way. Herbert had lost control of an experiment and your attempts to stop it had led to your own end. Led to him having a fresh specimen, one of the freshest he’s ever had. He can save you. There’s no brain damage, you’re still warm as he lifts your head to sedation.

“Do not fret,” he mutters, as if you can still hear him, as he preps the syringe. He can calculate the dosage in seconds now, no longer wasting precious time trying to figure it out. You don't need much, not as much as the dosage he had given to the thing that killed you. It would rot and you would thrive. “It will be as if none of this ever happened.”

Druxy - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside.

Amanda Young

It was love at first sight.

She was leaning against the brick wall near the free clinic, watching people come and go. You had noticed her when you had gone in to get your shoulder checked and she had still been there when you had left. Something about her drew you to her, made you walk over to her and ask if she had a lighter.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” Amanda had said when you had lit up, needing a smoke after the week you’d had.

“Hey, if you were the last thing I saw before I died, I’d die happy.” You try to play it cool, ripping off a line from a movie you saw once. If she realizes your stupid pickup line isn’t original, she doesn’t let on. She smiles, as if she thinks you’re actually charming or something like that.

It’s great at first. It’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to you and you wonder how you got so lucky. Amanda is perfect at first, it’s the best two weeks of your life. You don’t ask about the scars because you have a few of your own and she’ll tell you when she’s ready. When you find out about what happened to her, you just hold her in response and tell her that everything is going to be okay. That she’s safe, she’s fine. You stay up all night after nightmares, you make sure she eats and sleeps, it’s a lot but you do it because you love her.

The darkness starts to seep in. Sometimes she sees someone, maybe in person, maybe on TV, and she gets this look in her eyes. It’s darker than disdain, it’s almost loathing. You’d consider it loathing if she knew them, but she never does. It sends a chill down your spine when you see that look and you wonder. You wonder if Jigsaw got under her skin. If this is how she copes, by seeing people the way he sees them.

But sometimes she’s happy, she’s wonderful and you ignore the little things. The dark looks. The long nights out.

The blood on her shoes.

Concilliabule - A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.

Ash Williams

The supply closet doesn’t lock from the inside but a broom handle jammed in the right place would do the job just fine.

“Come on, baby, it’ll be fun.”

You roll your eyes and brush your lips against Ash’s. There’s a bucket handle digging into your back but it’s hard to care about that when his hands have somehow made their way into your hair, your scrunchie on the floor. It’s gonna be covered in debris but you’ll survive. Ash’s mouth on your neck more than makes up for it.

“We have another three hours on our shift.”

“That’s why I’m going to start a little fire in the ladies room.”

You blink rapidly a few times, trying to process what he said. “A what in the where?”

“It’ll only be in the trash can, baby. And then you and me can head outta town for the weekend.” Ash is smirking, you can fucking hear it in his voice. “It’ll be great. I know a place off the highway with free cable and a vibrating bed.”

You laugh and kiss him on the cheek. “Let me do it. They’ll wonder why you’re in the ladies room.”

Grapholagnia - The urge to stare at obscene pictures.

Marty Mikalski

“Are you guys stoned at The Met?”

Curt sounds somewhere between amused and appalled. They had been able to get free entry because Holden knew a guy who knew a guy, it was a whole series of deals but it worked out in the end. The two of you had taken some gummies just before getting on the subway, timing it just right so it would hit when you were already at the museum.

Marty felt light as a feather, you felt like there were rocks in your legs, so it made sense to lean on each other as you stood in front of the largest painting of a naked woman either of you had ever seen.

“That’s inconsequential,” Marty brushes off the question, even though it’s obvious to anyone that knows either of you. “We’ve been hypnotized by this magnificent work of art.”

You lean forward and need a moment to actually read the plaque under it. ​​“Le Ravissement de Psyche,” you manage to say, giggling at nothing, except for maybe it’s French. “The Rapture of Psyche.” You feel weirdly proud of yourself, your head going back on Marty’s shoulder.

Curt looks at the sight of the two of you standing there, eyes on the painting instead of each other and he smirks. “You guys gonna look at anything else.”

Marty, his nose full of your shampoo and the weight of your head on his shoulder, just shook his head. “I think we’re right where we need to be.”

[k-s-morgan]

Hello! I sincerely hope everything goes well for you in the future. The reason I am sending this ask is that I am taking a class in Stanford called “Genocide and Humanitarian Intervention” currently, and while we haven’t gotten to the part in the course where we talk about current events, my professor said that there is a very clear case to be made that Russia is committing genocide against Ukraine. I was wondering if, as a Ukrainian, you had anything you wanted/would be willing to add. I know you talk about your experiences in Ukraine quite frequently, but I don’t remember if you ever touched on this specific topic. Sorry if I am making you repeat yourself or if this is formatted or worded poorly.

Hi! Thank you for your ask, I'm more than willing to share my thoughts!

Of course, there are large things. Russia is committing genocide by murdering Ukrainian men, women, and children (we have so many new cemeteries now), stealing and burning our land, bombing historical sights and churches, attacking fields with crops, factories, etc. It's eliminating our language and culture in the placed it occupies, and it's been doing it for decades. Most ex-Soviet countries have Russian as their pre-dominant language. Not because they lack their own language, but because USSR spent a lot of effort on turning everyone Russian and making people forget where they come from. Ukraine is not an exception, although it's incredibly resilient, especially now, after the full-scale war.

But Russia is also committing genocide in smaller ways. It bombs our critical infrastructure. We have a severe lack of electricity as a result. What does it entail? Much more than people normally think. As an example, right now, it's over 40 degrees Celsius outside. When there is no electricity, the elevators and air conditioners don't work. Just recently, I was taking a walk, and I saw an old man sitting on the bench, asking people what time it was with increasing desperation. It was already dark outside, and he couldn't get home because he lives on one of the top floors. He can't use the stairs, so he's dependent on the electricity to simply get home.

During the winter 2023, multiple Ukrainians froze to death, mostly those who weren't able to leave their apartments due to the lack of heating and working elevators, the consequence of bombing.

Sick people, disabled people, those with fragile health are all being slowly killed by the situation Ukraine is in. I barely function in such a heat, and I'm a young woman. What about people with heart diseases? What about the elderly?

Hospitals and vet clinics can't perform surgeries with certainty that the generator isn't going to break at the most critical moment. Small business close down because they can't afford to work.

Russia has made bombing a gruesome art. When the bombing is coming, first, it turns on the connection on a combat range. Usually, it happens around 20:00. From then on, we know that the whole country is about to be bombed and people and animals are going to die - we just don't know who's going to bear the worst impact. At around 22:00-23:00, Russian bombers fly out. It takes them about 4 hours to approach our borders and send their missiles. Then another 1 or 2 hours. Sometimes they are faking it. Most often, they are not.

Imagine how it affects every Ukrainian. To know what's coming hours in advance and to be unable to do anything about it. How many nerve endings are being destroyed. How many stress-related diseases are brewing already inside us, waiting to kill us months, years, or decades later.

Fearing for our lives, for the lives of our loved ones. Fearing losing our apartments - regular people like me will be homeless if the missile targets our houses. Fearing dying in the war. Fearing Russians burning down and occupying our cities, towns, and villages.

Russia is killing us in many ways, some instant, some not. And if nothing changes drastically, if the world continues to condemn Russia on words and play nice with it in actions because it's beneficial to them, I think Russia will succeed. We are a very small country compared to it. It will simply overwhelm us at some point, killing and injuring hundreds of thousands and displacing millions of Ukrainians.

Another short video. Note that it's just some scenes from some bombings in some regions in Ukraine, all taken this week. This week alone, Russia sent over 700 bombs, 170 drones, and 80 missiles against my country, including my city, killing many people. And this happens every. Single. Day. For two and a half years.

We are surviving against all odds. For now.

[bambi-kinos]

Re: John being demi - don’t you think it’s possible he had sex because that’s what was expected of him? His age, lifestyle, etc. Especially because of his self-destructive tendencies and not always acting on how he truly feels. Or acting in a way that doesn’t express how he truly feels - i.e. Barcelona. He could have easily slept with Yoko early on, with her throwing herself at him but it wasn’t until correspondence and a deeper connection did he engage sexually. Not to mention him not wanting to have sex with men later in life because he couldn’t find one he connected with in that way. To me even the lyric “My love will turn you on” - is revealing.

If you want to interpret John Lennon as demisexual then you certainly can and I can't and won't stop you. But since you're asking me directly my answer is just a flat "no." John was sexually attracted to women so he slept with them. He was conventional that way. He was also hooking up with Yoko soon after Indica, he did not wait until the night he took LSD with her and recorded the sex tape.

You need to remember the cultural climate John existed in. It was "expected" of John to get married to a woman, settle down with her, have children, hold a steady uninspiring job, and then die at 70 with a gold pocket watch in his waistcoat without ever standing out from the crowd or doing anything that would express his individuality and personal needs. These were the stultifying expectations John grew up under and he hated it.

The Beatles kept their orgies secret because it would have destroyed them as a band if it got out that they were nailing groupies, this is the exact OPPOSITE of it being "expected" of them to have sex with lots of women.

The performative aspect was the groupies expectation of John to act like Beatle John while he was thrusting. That doesn't mean John disliked it or was carrying out an act he found distasteful for the sake of expectations. And remember: John kept posters of Bridget Bardot and Elvis Presley in his bedroom at Mendips because he was jerkin' it to their images. He only had a parasocial fanboy relationship with them but he was deeply sexually attracted to both. This is the opposite of demisexuality which requires a personal connection of some kind.

I talked about this in the McLennon server this afternoon so I'll just repost what I said in there:

Leggy「IT'S A GUNDAM 」 — Today at 5:20 PM john was just so laden with PTSD and agoraphobia

like Shotton talks about how John started turtling up once he got Kenwood, the hibernation years were a long time coming. but he was so deeply separated from other people even as a child and that just got worse and worse over time.

like sex was a way for John to connect with human beings and I wonder if it was the only way he could. that's not to say he couldn't fall in love if he met people but he had to keep his connections shallow as a matter of survival, he wasn't able to form those relationships easily and when he did connect to others it was because they pursued him.

Cynthia was the aggressor in her relationship with John, he liked her but he didn't pay attention to her until she dyed her hair blonde to catch his eye. Paul was super down bad. Yoko stalked him.

Otherwise even as a teenager John's relationships were strictly about sex, not romantic love, and he wasn't interested in romantic love until Paul and art school came into his life.

***

This is the exact opposite of demisexuality. John could form personal relationships and he could fall in love with people but when he did, he seemed to back away from them sexually. If we count Paul as one of John's lovers (and I do) then we see this happen to where John broke it off with Paul to pursue someone else physically (in this case Yoko.) John liked using sex as a way to connect with others but the moment genuine feelings got involved he got skittish. Note that he initially was planning to buy a house with May Pang but then he went back to Yoko when the Montauk plans began solidifying. John was certainly attracted to May Pang and he certainly had a personal connection with her but when that started getting a little too real and too deep, then he left her and would only hook up with her occasionally in controlled environments where he could ghost her easily afterwards.

The same thing happened with Yoko: after Sean was born, she and John stopped having sex and she sent him to the massage parlors to avoid dealing with him.

And don't forget how John's relationship with May Pang started: Yoko hired May Pang to be John's mistress. May was paid by Yoko to have sex with John and to keep him within Yoko's reach while they were in Los Angeles, what with Yoko's daily phone calls. May did fall in love with John but John knew that May was a business asset controlled by his wife and that she was being paid to never leave him. This was the foundation of their affection for each other. When May and John went back to New York and started looking for houses in Montauk, John opted to go back to Yoko for her smoking cure and came back ready to leave May Pang, aka the relationship with May Pang was becoming too real and too deeply rooted in actual Love (with that capital L) that meant May would no longer be forced to stay with John due to receiving a salary from Yoko Ono.

What seems to be more of a pattern in his life is that he was very wary of forming personal connections with others, when they did form it was because the second person pursued him vigorously, and then he had a saddening tendency to leave once his love with that second person began to develop into a deep, long lasting adult relationship. If anything, John seemed to use sex as a way to keep himself hidden and to stop forming connections with others because the moment he had sex with someone he could safely label them "disposable" which is exactly what he did with Paul and May despite his intense connections with both of them and the fact that he was sexually intimate with both of them.

John seemed to fear love and the responsibilities and ecstasies that it brings. This is not demisexuality as I understand it and I simply cannot agree with the assertion that John was demisexual.

[elizakai]

UH OKAY DUST X REAPER AND/OR SWAPFELL X NIGHTMARE? AHEUUEHA

omfg i love you i’m jumping at the chance to look at dust x reaper i better see some art somewhere in this fandom OUGH ok

well, dust’s died like how many times now, lets just assume they’ve ENCOUNTERED one another yeah?

⬇️⬇️⬇️

reaper feels bad for him. he isn’t even allowed to actually die, just experience death over and over, only to be thrust back into this torturous cycle.

imagine dust dying in the hall, he’s stumbling away and he just. sees the grim reaper. and he’s like oh shit. well then. *gets thrown back whenever they decide to reset*

reaper visiting a lot because, well, he’s dying a lot, he’s probably gotta. imagine a scenario where they actually get to talk. but its so so brief, dust is never dead very long, and reaper probably shouldn’t interfere otherwise…

(he’d also, be witnessing the deaths of the aus other residence, which. interesting. wonder what they have to say about things. and what reapers response may be.)

(of course this is assuming they interact after death, which i think makes sense with common depictions of the reaper at least)

dust probably chalks him up to a vision he’s having, or hallucination, when he dies, but maybe when he’s given more time, they can have broken up conversations.

like hey, mid sentence he gets thrown back into the land of the living, but HEY! next time he dies, just pick up the convo like nothing happened. “Anyways as i was sayin-“

Another thing to think about is just how SIMILAR dust is to geno. and most of us are afterdeath junkies i think💀

like, dust and geno have VERY similar motivations and go to similar lengths (think of error even)

i think of reaper could come to respect genos desires and motives, he’d feel the same towards dust. reaper always strikes me as a really lonely person, and dust is too for obvious reasons.

i’m imagining a scenario where reaper is just. real bored of just watching. so he starts like following dust around so he can see him. and dusts like ah. cool. fucking phantom ass to add to the list. i’m imagining reaper telling him like no, i’m very real dude, and dust is like haha ok, lemme touch you then

…for obvious reasons he can’t let him touch him💀💥 but that would probably make dust assume he is in fact a hallucination. but that’s ok. he’s an ODDLY nice hallucination.

maybe he even reminds him of the river person🤷🏽‍♀️

anyways, reaper just having convo, dust finding he likes it, it’s pleasant chatter to listen to, and then he’s like damn i really am sick, why am i so attached to this weird ass hallucination

(i’m just idea dumping so hard i apologize.)

reaper would find his conviction kinda cute, if not slightly frustrating. like bro, out here denying my existence, wtf💔

i wonder, if reaper can touch him when”” when he’s in the space of death, temporarily.

that would be cool :,))

if reaper doesn’t show up for a while and comes back dust just, getting happier, he’s got someone to talk to again that isn’t a dead friend or relative he’s killed multiple times.

i imagine dust has seen “death” enough times that, in life, he can “see death” (reaper)

they gain this weird little affection for eachother ok💔 a selfish part of reaper hopes dust will always get reset…so he can come talk to him

but part of him is also disgusted by the hope that he’s able to just. be laid to rest. what can be done yk?

YOU COULD MAKE THIS SO ANGSTY WHERE LIKE the anomaly suddenly

stops!

and dust is actually on his way to wherever you’d go when you die

imagine, reaper just. guiding him away to whatever afterlife or lack thereof, carrying his soul away and having to let him go. no more coming back.

cries

or yk, we can imagine a scenario where dust gets out of the loop, and they continue to see eachother and have their weird little friendship (?)

dust is like “i’ve seen death, he’s over my shoulder as i walk, whispers in my ear as i lie awake at night. death awaits my presence, and i deaths. i’ve felt the touch of death, and it was unbearably sweet , a feeling i will forever long for”

*horror from whoever he’s speaking to*

meanwhile reaper is just like, telling stupid jokes in his ear and giggling over someone’s stupid outfit, gossiping about the other gods and making dust look crazy laughing at stupid shit

i wonder if reaper could potentially see dusts phantoms, it’s a fun idea. they aren’t REALLY there, but dusts magic is kind of projecting them i imagine, and reaper has seen them when they die. i just imagine him shooing them away for dust, and he’s like naw man pay attention to me instead *slutty little strut*

you could interpret the way death even works a million different ways and have a bunch of different potential even. what if dust were to die and reaper…DOESNT guide his soul away. what if he keeps him. maybe dust wants that. they could “be together”.

maybe there’s an afterlife, and reaper is able to cross the gap. who knows. lots of potential.

they both have hoodies >:3 idc if that doesn’t mean anything

i feel like reapers dark humor would almost comfort dust lmao, it kinda lightens the load for him. reaper can assure dust that their souls are…ok. they’re at peace.

reaper is just happy to feel so validated and seen all the sudden

he can help dust understand how life really works

ironic huh. the essence of death being the thing that gives you a will to live.

just imagine in a time he’s died, reaper not being able to help himself. he just comes in for a hug. and both of them need it so badly. when dust is alive, he CANT touch him.

they both think about that hug a lot <//3