#if they don’t interact I don’t know what I’d do

[trammellesstangent]

For the other main character in the comic (named Pitch):

1. No. They don’t really sleep, but wouldn’t have any toy or object even if they did.

2. Theoretically they could, but they see no reason to. They do not want a pet or a child.

3. This character is also ace. (Honestly I didn’t feel like writing romance and the idea of being in a relationship seemed out of character for both of them anyway)

4. Red makes them stand out, but not in a good way.

5. Also no. Actually the other character is more likely to give a speech than them. They’d probably at least consider shooting someone to get out of it.

6. They will usually at least think about what their friend (again, neither of them would admit that they’re friends) suggests. They do not take advice from almost anyone else.

7. They are a sarcastic blunt asshole. They’d say the same.

8. Both? They like puzzles and using logic to figure things out, but they also usually dislike problems they can’t just fight their way out of.

9. Kind of. Not that they think these objects have feelings, but they know what it’s like to be treated as an object so it brings up uncomfortable memories and emotions for them.

10. They don’t age in a normal way, so the question doesn’t really apply.

11. I don’t know. I’d need to think about that a bit more and it’s currently eleven past midnight.

12. They like tv dramas, but are disgusted by sex and the more physical, biological side of relationships.

13. They don’t have parents.

14. Sort of. They watch soapy tv dramas, which they’re not ashamed of, but they don’t exactly broadcast it either because people generally see them as intimidating and they want to stay that way.

15. Pretending to be something you aren’t. Apologising for your nature. Being nice purely to make others more comfortable.

16. High quality, plain looking clothes that are tailored specifically to them and probably have some kind of high tech built in armour or something.

17. They have mixed feelings towards children, but they don’t interact with kids often anyway.

18. They would be horrified if you asked them this.

19. No

20. I don’t know ask me later

21. N/A

22. They hate pet names, but kind of use insults in the same way. If you called them a pet name they’d probably be irrationally angry but recognise it as an attempt to get under their skin so they wouldn’t react.

23. Stability in theory, novelty in practice.

24. Honesty.

25. They’re unsure

26. They’re also unsure

27. Vengeance

28. N/A

29. As I said they don’t really sleep, so they don’t dream. N/A

30. Absolutely anything to make sure the people they care about are not put in harm’s way.

oc asks that reveal more than you think

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Do they look good in red?

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

What age do they most want to be right now?

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Name one thing their parents taught them.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Do they like children?

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

What do they like that nobody else does?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Stability or novelty?

Honesty or charity?

Safety or possibility?

Talent or effort?

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Would they date a fixer-upper?

What recurring dreams do they have?

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

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[russo-woso]

Familiarity || Lia Wälti x reader

Request | Masterlist

Summary Lia takes you to Switzerland for Christmas and there’s a sense of home and familiarity when you’re there

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I’m excited.” You reveal to Lia as you board off the plane.

Amongst all the nerves of meeting Lia’s family for the first time, there was a sense of excitement and belonging.

For Christmas this year, you and Lia decided to go to Switzerland.

You’d been dating for a little over six months and decided it was the perfect time to meet lias family over in Switzerland.

It was also your first time in Switzerland which was a big thing for you.

Not only had lia felt it was time for you to meet her family, but she was also bringing you to her home country, something that was very precious to lia.

“I promise, they’ll love you. Just be yourself.” lia whispered, grabbing your hand as you walked off the plane. “Welcome to Switzerland, baby.”

“Pleasure to be here.” You replied, a massive smile covering your face.

—

Flakes of snow fell onto the ground as you left the airport, Lia flagging down a taxi.

Lia greeted him in German, thanking him for loading the suitcases into the boot before telling him the address to her parent’s house.

You squeezed Lia’s hand as you pulled up at the house.

“They’ll love you, baby.” Lia said, calming your nerves.

Lia’s family were all waiting outside, their faces full of excitement.

Lia got out the car first, hugging her parents.

“Y/N! It’s so good to finally meet you.” Lia’s mum said, bringing you in for a hug. “Thank you for making our Lia happy.”

“She makes me just as happy.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Lia’s dad smiled, hugging you.

Lia watched with hearts in her eyes at the interactions, her parents finally meeting the love of her life.

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly.

You got to know Lia’s parents a bit more before some of her extended family came over.

Lia’s mum was in the kitchen cooking so you headed through offering to help.

She took up your offer as you quickly swooped in and helped cut stuff up.

“Lia seems so happy, thank you.” She said, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s hard, knowing we’re here in Switzerland and she’s in England but when we saw how happy and safe she was with you, we didn’t feel worried anymore, so we, as Lia’s parents, can’t thank you enough.”

“She’s the best thing to ever happen to me. I love her so much and I’d protect her with my life. Thank you for letting me love her.” You told her, Lia’s mum bursting into tears as she hugged you.

“What’s going on here?” Lia asked, walking into the kitchen.

“You’ve found yourself a good one here, Lia.” Lia’s mum told her daughter, Lia just smiling at you as she nodded in agreement.

“I did.”

You decided to watch a movie before calling it a night and heading up to bed.

“See, I told you they’d love you.” Lia told you, your head resting on her chest as she stroked your hair.

“They’re so nice.”

“They are. So, tomorrow we’re going snowboarding in the mountains. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. My cousins taking her daughter for the first time and invited us to join.” Lia explained, your face lighting up at the idea.

“I’d love to, baby. I haven’t been snowboarding since I was little.”

“It’s settled. We’ll go snowboarding tomorrow.”

—

“Love, do you want me to teach you how—” Lia began as you reached the top of the mountain but before she could say another word, you were gone.

You zoomed down the mountain gracefully with ease, even jumping a slope.

Lia’s jaw dropped as she saw you, not knowing you were good at it.

“My dad used to take us to the mountains in Austria at least twice a year. I’m a pro.” You’d shrugged, finding Lia’s reaction amusing.

“Y/N, that was amazing.” Lia’s younger cousin said.

She was cute, only about five.

“Thanks, hun. You wanna go down with me? Here hold my hand. There we go, I’ve got you.” You said, holding her hands to balance her, the two of you going down a less steep slope.

Lia watched once more with hearts in her eyes as you played with the young girl.

Lia realised just how perfect you were.

Her family loved you, you were good with kids, just everything about you was perfect in Lia’s eyes.

“You really love her, don’t you?” Lia’s cousin questioned

“I’m going to marry her.”

[gotta-winwin]

(🎞️) ... hit the road docu.<> if i walked at my own pace

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

word count: 1.8k tw: anxiety, mentions of bullying, panic attacks, sleeping pills italics are interviews cut between scenes + english a/n: we're finally starting to dive into cyana's backstory + the mystery of what happened in LA! if any of the above trigger warnings trigger you - scroll away, stay safe, and come back for the next one 💓

Cyana never really understood how some of the members could stand to watch their own fancams. Sure, she understood that it was a vital part of analyzing their performance, but every time she tried searching up her own fancams, she was greeted with a wave of self-embarrassment and cringe. 

“It won’t be like that forever,” Vernon tried comforting her, pausing his own fancam on his phone to look up at her. “You’ll end up getting used to watching yourself on camera.” 

Cyana shuddered. “I can’t imagine I’d ever get used to that.” Reaching over, she pressed play on his phone. “Other people’s fancams, however, that I like to watch.”

Vernon laughed, his ears turning pink as he adjusted his phone, letting Cyana watch over his shoulder. 

“Woww,” She marveled at the end, quietly applauding the performance. “So cool.”

Vernon smiled, swiping out of the video. “Not bad, huh.”

“Psh.” She smacked his shoulder lightly. “Not bad my ass. Give yourself some more credit, Hansol.” 

His lips quivered into a small smile, amused by how Cyana seamlessly switched to calling him by his Korean name when speaking English. Ironic, but for some reason it fit. 

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” 

Vernon opened the door to the record store, motioning Cyana to head in first. He had promised the girl he’d accompany her to get a couple records, knowing how much she had been looking forward to browsing the New York streets. He was just as excited, shopping for anything music related was probably the only shopping he found himself enjoying. 

“The National.” Cyana said, already flipping through the boxes of records. “The 1975, The Cure, really anything I can get my hands on.” She pulled one out, gasping as she presented it to Vernon. “No way! Look at this.” 

Taking the record from her hands, he turned it over to read out the artist. “The Beatles?” He looked at her, a little confused. “I didn’t think you’d be a big Beatles fan.”

Cyana looked a little offended at his words. “I am. Huge fan. I’m getting that one.” 

Vernon held the record out of her reach, tucking it underneath his arm as he moved to another aisle. “I’ll get it for you, don’t worry about it.”

“Really?”

Vernon hummed, sifting through the boxes, looking for his own purchase. 

“Wow. Look at you,” Cyana tucked into his side, a hand around his lower arm as she browsed the options with him. “So dependable.” 

“How are you feeling?” The doctor prodded at Vernon’s neck and throat. “Any soreness?”

He shook his head, thankful that he wasn’t feeling at all ill, unlike the others. “I’m doing fine, doc.”

He watched as the doctor moved on to Woozi, repeating the same procedure with him and asking the same questions. Pulling out his phone, Vernon scrolled in a daze, allowing his mind to shut off for a little bit before their concert. He liked letting his mind blank out for a moment, like it was rebooting all his thoughts, worries and signals. 

It was Cyana’s quiet voice that pulled him out, most likely because the girl was speaking English.

“Do you think I can get some meds for sleeping?” 

Vernon looked up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Cyana interact with the doctor, who was packing up his kit, ready to go. 

“Have you been having trouble sleeping?” The doctor asked her, pausing to give her a proper lookover. 

“A bit.” Cyana mumbled, glancing around, as if to check that no one was listening. Her eyes drifted over Vernon before returning to the floor next to her feet. “Or just in case.” 

Nodding, the doctor pulled out a bottle, shaking it slightly before handing it to her. “Most people in your line of work ask for the same thing, so I always keep it on hand. Take two before bed, three, if it’s not enough. But no more, alright?” 

Vernon watched Cyana slip the pill bottle into her hoodie pocket, thanking the doctor before retreating back into her chair. He frowned before shrugging, returning back to his phone and putting his brain back on airplane mode. It was whatever, right? 

“I could remember our LA show extremely clearly because I remember how Cyana’s face looked minutes before it.” Vernon told the camera, moistening his lips before continuing. “She looked like going on stage would destroy her completely.” 

Even under the dim lights beneath the stage, Vernon could tell there was something different about the way Cyana looked as they waited for the platform to rise with them on top of it. Usually she’d be smiling his way with a bright, dazzling grin, all pumped up for their performance and buzzing with energy. Now however, as Vernon stared at her, she seemed distant - almost muted - as if something had drained all the color from her cheeks. 

He reached over and gently shook her shoulder. “You good?” He mouthed, searching her eyes for an answer.

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and mouthed back an okay, before turning away and readjusting her mic.

He didn’t believe her one bit.

“I mean,” He tried explaining himself to the camera. “I could relate to her, I guess. I keep things to myself a lot too. If I'm struggling, I won’t hide it, but it’s not like I’ll talk about it either.” He let out a small sigh. “I guess that’s why I didn’t say anything for a long time. I thought maybe silence was just normal for her like it was for me.”

Looking back now, on that concert day in LA, Vernon could remember seeing her hunched over, backstage, after a particularly intense run of Getting Closer. He remembered chalking up her sweat and body chills to mere overexhaustion, simply handing her a bottle of water before going back up for his turn with the Hiphop Unit. 

He also remembered hearing her quiet sobs and harsh breaths from across the room, as they all waited for the Performance Unit to finish with their set. Cyana was mostly covered by a worrying Joshua, fussing over her and whispering something Vernon was too far away to hear. 

He remembered how worried everybody was that day. How DK and Hoshi were unnaturally quiet on the way back to the hotel, their eyes sending fleeting glances over to Cyana, unsure what they could do to help. How Jeonghan and Joshua could only sit and hold her hand, Joshua’s eyes sending signals to Jeonghan that Vernon couldn’t understand. But most of all, he remembered how Dino came to sleep in his room that night, tears tracking down his face as he sobbed over Cyana asking to room alone. The boy couldn’t understand why she had kicked him out - and why they were all useless to stop it. 

“I was already worried about Coups hyung.” Vernon recalled. “We look out of sync when we’re missing someone, and I didn’t want Cyana to need to leave as well.” 

Vernon had no idea what was going on, as he tried meeting Joshua’s eyes to ask him what the hell was up with their youngest member. The older boy infuriatingly refused to meet his eyes, only leaving Cyana’s room to grab food or water for the girl. 

“Just wait.” He told Vernon when Vernon finally got a hold of him, just about to leave the washroom after brushing his teeth. “She’ll explain when she feels better.”

“Why can’t you just tell us now, though?” Vernon asked. “Everyone is going insane. Both DK and Dino went to bed crying last night and Mingyu looks like a kicked puppy waiting outside her door. Seungkwan even told me Wonwoo’s affected, something about how his face is stuck permanently in a worried expression. I’m going insane too, hyung.” He admitted the last part rather timidly.

Joshua looked torn. “I can’t.” He finally said after a painful pause. Moving behind Vernon, Joshua left, leaving him standing in front of the bathroom, looking incredibly stupid and pathetic. 

“I just wanted answers.” Vernon mumbled, not looking at the interviewer or the camera as he spoke. “And it felt like no one really had them. All of us had recounted that day, trying to piece together what could have affected Cyana so terribly - but none of us could think of anything at all.”

Cyana made sure to walk right next to Woozi as they exited the venue in between the barricades holding their fans back. It was rather strategic of her, she knew. Walking next to Woozi would ensure a constant presence - he wasn’t one to run up to the barricades and interact with fans, wasn’t one to draw attention to himself and therefore those around him. Cyana chose to be next to him for send-off for one reason: to not be seen. 

She couldn’t justify the fear to herself - let alone other people - so she kept the fear she knew was irrational and childish hidden. How was she to explain she was afraid of the crowd? Of their beloved fans?

Oh hey, Joshua. Yeah, I can’t do today’s concert because I’m afraid I’ll go up onstage and someone from the crowd will jump me. Or shoot me. Or throw a knife at me. Or throw acid up onstage. Or- anyways, yeah. So I can’t perform today. I feel like I might pass out onstage. Why? Oh- I kinda have people who want to kill me in LA. Yeah- from highschool. Bullies. I know, a long time ago. So it’s irrational. Right? And it’s not like they said they’d kill me. So it should be fine, right?

A swirl of thoughts wrapped around her as she continued to walk, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to block out the loud cheers and screams from the crowd. She had gone through the concert. Now all she needed to do was walk through the sea of fans, enter the company car and go home. 

You have to at least wait till you’re back in the hotel room before you break down. She chided herself. You must.

A scream, not much louder than the rest of the fans, caught her ear. She whipped her head around at the sound of her voice - yelled out through a sea of fans. She knew that voice. Her blood grew cold as her ears rang - muffling the world around her - and Cyana felt as if she was sixteen once again.

Her eyes drifted from face to face in the direction of the scream until it landed on a girl in the front row, holding a bright pink banner with Vernon’s name on it. 

“Cyana!” The girl yelled out again, her eyes twinkling in a way that made Cyana’s skin feel ice cold. 

And she watched, horrified, as the familiar girl mouthed an all too familiar five words at her. I’m going to get you. 

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 23

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Sitting on the hard concrete platform of your cell, you were scheming every possible way to kill Noah when he crossed your path. From plucking out his hair with tweezers to tearing out his guts with your nails.

All the humiliation you endured when you were approached and locked in this smelly square, he was going to pay back double, with interest. It was a surprise to you when the police stopped you just a few meters from your house. They had received a report that the car you were driving was stolen, and since you had no idea where the paperwork was, you had to go with them.

The Jaguar was registered in Gerard's name, of course. Noah couldn't possibly afford a month of a car like that when he was still paying off the damage you had caused to the other vehicle. While it was impressive that he had borrowed a car to cross the city looking for you, you couldn't help but think about how dirty he had played after your departure.

“Hey!” the guard called out in a dragging tone as he unlocked and opened the cell. “You’re free to go.”

“Finally!” You stood up from where you were sitting, planted your feet firmly on the ground, and tossed your hair back.

Standing at the reception, waiting for your belongings, a shadow covered the light from the lamp when he positioned himself behind you, causing immediate tension in the guard. From the irritated clearing of his throat and the absolute silence, you knew Jolly wasn't happy about being woken up in the middle of the night.

“I want to go back to my cell…” you whispered to the guard, leaning over the counter.

“Not happening.” He handed you your belongings with a barely contained smile, and you shot him a narrowed look before grabbing your phone, purse, and keys, turning to face Jolly’s serious gaze, which immediately made your shoulders shrink.

Still silent, he walked ahead toward the station doors, and your hurried steps, despite wearing heels, managed to keep up. You hated when your best friend stayed silent for so long—perhaps because you knew exactly what would happen when he finally spoke.

“Honestly? I’m almost afraid to ask how you ended up here.” Jolly shook his head as he adjusted himself in the driver’s seat.

“Jolly…” you admonished, pretending to be offended. “This time, I really didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Then how did you go from an awards ceremony—where, oddly enough, you behaved all night—to a police station hours later, wearing your ex-boyfriend’s jacket and accused of stealing your record label owner’s car?”

“Noah Sebastian.”

“OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

He rolled his eyes with a groan, banging his head against the steering wheel. It wasn’t the best moment, but you couldn’t help but burst into laughter at how absurd the situation seemed when viewed from the outside.

“I’m not going to tell you again to be careful with these games you and he play. If someone leaked this or took a single photo, you know exactly how the next few days will unfold, don’t you?” he warned, spinning the steering wheel with an indignant tone. “He went after you, didn’t he?”

“Yes…” You sank into the car seat, biting your lips. It was complicated to bring up his name without recalling every detail of the bar still etched into your brain—like the scent of him on your skin.

“I could say something, but I think I’d better stay quiet.”

“I actually care about what you have to say, Jolly.”

A string of insults? A harsh dose of reality? A mix of mockery about your situation? It was inevitable to guess what he was about to unload, but no matter what it was, he had a way of making any word sink in and stick, often breaking through your stubbornness.

“So I’ll ask just one question, and I want you to be as honest with me as we always are with each other in all our conversations, okay?”

You nodded without taking your eyes off his side profile, tight-lipped as he dodged cars on the fog-clogged road.

“Do you honestly think that allowing any kind of intimate moment last night won’t make things worse between you two?” He threw the question while stopping at a red light, and out of the corner of his eye, Jolly noticed your face shift as you looked away toward the dashboard. “I’m not talking about you; we both know how you’ve handled the breakup since it happened. I’m talking about him…”

“He wanted it just as much as I did.”

“Of course he did, girl!” he retorted, snapping you out of your reverie. “He hasn’t thought about anything else since you left, and last night, you handed him the perfect opportunity. But I’m talking about what happens tomorrow. Noah will wake up alone again. He’ll see that the problems between you two still exist and that he didn’t solve everything with a snap of his fingers like you made it seem. That’s the part that worries me, you get it?”

The light turned green, and you pressed your fingers together as the car moved forward once more. Jolly was right; you would treat it as a mistake that shouldn’t have happened. As difficult as it might be, you’d try to keep moving forward. But for him, the weight of that night, layered atop the hurt he already carried, was far greater.

Hurting him with an impulsive act had never been your intention. But the magnetic pull that drew your bodies together in that moment spoke beyond reason, as if, for that fleeting time, there were no endings, no anger, no pain, no lies, or anything bad that had driven you apart.

In the end, it was just you and him.

Him and you.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed him…” you said softly, almost embarrassed, as you picked at the loose skin around your nail. A wound formed there, but you kept pulling until the trail of blood stretched longer. “But it’s not just his body I miss, Jolly. I miss my friend Noah, you know? I miss staying up all night talking nonsense with him, hearing him laugh until he chokes, sharing a space with him where the energy feels different, singing truly with him, composing, sharing ideas, making plans…”

You didn’t know what it was like to make long-term plans anymore. You had never pictured yourself going so far before him. It was usually Noah who injected confidence into your veins, who pushed your mind to believe it was worth living longer. You just wanted more time with him and begged the universe every day to extend it.

But now that plea was useless. You didn’t know how to use that time alone.

“I know how you feel. I miss my friend Noah too,” Jolly said for the first time in a more melancholic tone, keeping his eyes on the road. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him swallowing hard, as if struggling with something. “The same one who insists he died almost two years ago.”

With the silence of thought that situation brought to both of you, Jolly reached your street and stopped in front of your house. You took a deep breath as you glanced sideways at the road leading to the front door, dark due to the absence of street and porch lights.

"Are you okay staying here alone tonight? The guys and I are spending the night at the studio. You could keep us company; I’m sure anything there is more comfortable than this house..." he said, his eyes comically wide, drawing a smile from you.

"I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow. I definitely won’t be productive at the studio at this point."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "You're gonna miss out on pizza."

You let out a quick laugh and shook your head at his sarcastic remark. Jolly said goodbye with a light touch to your hand, and you closed the passenger door, holding your belongings and high heels in your hand as you made your way to the entrance.

The drizzle kept hammering against the asphalt, each cold drop serving as a soundtrack to your uneven steps. The shoes in your hand felt as heavy as if they were made of lead, but something else began to unsettle you: a creeping sensation that something wasn’t right.

It was when you reached your front door that you noticed it was ajar. Your heart raced. For a moment, you stood still, staring at the small dark gap between the door and the frame, trying to rationalize. Had you forgotten to lock it? Could the wind have pushed it open? But deep down, you knew neither of those made sense.

The unease rose in your chest like a tide. Your trembling fingers touched the damp wood, carefully pushing the door open. The sound of it scraping against the floor echoed in the darkness, sending shivers down your spine. Inside, the house was completely dark, except for the faint light from the street casting long, distorted shadows on the walls.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, its flashlight trembling along with your hand as it lit up the hallway ahead.

"Hello?" Your voice came out weak, almost swallowed by the heavy silence.

No response.

Every step you took seemed to echo louder than the last. The air inside the house was still, suffocating, yet there was something about it — a presence you couldn’t quite pinpoint. The flashlight swept over furniture, corners, slightly open doors, but revealed nothing beyond shadows and silence.

You checked every room. The living room was untouched, the couch exactly as you had left it. The kitchen was empty, but the cabinet doors seemed strangely ajar, as if someone had rummaged through them.

"Is anyone here?" you tried again, your voice slightly steadier but still met with no reply.

Your chest tightened, fear beginning to blend with anger, a natural reaction to the vulnerability you hated feeling. You climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking beneath your weight. Upstairs, you checked the bedrooms, the bathroom, even the hallway closet. Nothing.

Finally, you stopped in the center of the house, clutching your phone as if it were your only line of defense against the void. Your breathing was quick, almost gasping. There was no one there. There was nothing.

And yet, the weight in your mind remained, as though something invisible was watching you. You tried convincing yourself it was just your imagination, that the ajar door had been a mistake, and all of this was the result of an overly long night.

You turned off the flashlight, the phone’s light vanishing and plunging the house back into darkness. The silence now felt even more oppressive, almost deafening.

And still, the feeling that you weren’t alone refused to fade.

The next day, the weather seemed gloomier, and you barely slept due to the paranoia implanted in your mind that someone had entered your house while you were away. After torturing yourself with those thoughts for hours, you finally dozed off just minutes before your alarm went off.

Showered and dressed, you yawned while hurrying down the stairs to head to the studio. If this was the life you had, it was up to you to at least try to make things right, even if just a little. That included pretending you cared about this project.

Not for the label. Not for that idiot Noah. Least of all for yourself. But your friends deserved for the band to still be taken seriously, for their dreams and efforts not to go to waste.

They believed in you and hadn’t let go of your hand even when everything fell apart. It was only fair to push this forward for their sake. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t done this before—finding yourself in places you didn’t want to be.

On the sidewalk near the studio, you slowed your pace, letting yourself drift into thought. In truth, you were reflecting on how it would be to face him after everything that happened the night before.

But he landed you in jail by the end of the night, you thought. Though that was just a detail, as at that moment, you were trying to channel your energy into a different kind of memory.

It had been a while since you’d felt him, since you’d been so close and exchanged anything other than insults. With the growing distance, you’d gradually gotten unused to Noah’s physical presence. You’d forgotten what his touch felt like, the texture and natural scent of his skin, the way he worshiped and knew your body as if he lived to study every part of it.

All of it resurfaced in seconds as your memory returned.

You didn’t want to think a single night could change everything between you or erase over a year of suffering—it was impossible. But part of you thought about clinging to it as soon as you stepped through the studio gates and heard his voice.

Noah was out of tune, and you dared to say his voice was dragging as if being there was a huge sacrifice. Dressed warmly despite the studio not being that cold, he had drooping eyes that betrayed a sleepless night and seemed utterly distracted as the guys discussed sound adjustments.

“Sorry I’m late…” you said, drawing attention to yourself.

“It’s not like it made much of a difference,” he replied, sharp-tongued as ever.

“I think I did make a difference if you consider the tone you’re singing in. Need help?” you countered, challenging him.

“I need you to stop interrupting the rehearsal.”

“Great! Then you won’t mind if I head back home to watch a series and do my nails?” you retorted, narrowing your eyes with a fake smile as you walked toward him.

The guys slumped their shoulders in dismay, realizing how close the exchange of barbs was to turning into a real argument. You had left home determined not to give the devil a voice, which included avoiding trivial fights with Noah—even if he was begging for attention.

Slowly, you stepped up onto the short stage and adjusted yourself behind your microphone, your fingers tapping on it as the intro began.

“If you think you’re getting away with your stunt last night…” you muttered, glancing at him sideways.

“Try something, and I’ll make sure you spend more than a night in jail, you pickpocket!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“You should be ashamed to call me a thief when your wallet had twenty dollars, and the car wasn’t even yours!” Your attempt at whispering seemed to fail with every sentence.

“Twenty dollars you didn’t return.”

“It’s the fee for putting up with you!”

“I thought your services were a bit pricier.” He shot back, amusement lacing his voice as he watched your chest puff up in fury.

“GO TO HELL, JERK!”

Noah only tightened his fake smile at you before turning back to adjust his microphone and start singing. Fine. You’d just broken your promise not to let him get under your skin today.

During the song, you focused on your part but couldn’t ignore his unusual behavior. Noah was breathing harder than usual during breaks, his voice still fluctuating, and he couldn’t hit all the notes, needing your help to complete them.

By the end of the first song, you saw him stop and rest his forehead against the microphone, leaving a strange feeling lingering over you.

“Are you okay?” you asked hesitantly.

“Just a headache.”

“How long have you had a headache?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s keep going,” he said, lifting his gaze and motioning with his chin for the guys to move on to the next song.

“I think we should stop for today.”

“If you want to stop, you can just leave,” he snapped, his tone curt as he began the intro to the next song.

Noah couldn’t keep up the rhythm, not even until the chorus, when his body leaned forward, and his fingers pressed against his temple. Everyone stopped immediately, and you set your microphone aside to help him to the couch.

The pain he was feeling clenched his jaw, and his teeth were so tightly pressed together that you could clearly hear them grinding.

"Hey!" You called out as you crouched in front of him, and in a sudden motion, he grabbed your hand. Noah was gripping it too tightly, perhaps causing some pain, but you didn’t care.

"My head hurts so much I can't see," he groaned, his voice a near-painful rasp.

"Let’s take him to a doctor," Ruffilo appeared, concern etched on his face, but Noah tightened his grip on your hand and shook his head.

"No, I don’t need a doctor."

"Alright, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to..."

"What?" Jolly interrupted. "We don’t even know what the hell is wrong with him, and you're just going to listen to him?"

"Rehearsal’s suspended for today. I’ll take him home once he’s better."

You gave the order without turning to face them, your thumb never leaving his skin for even a second. In that moment, your heart felt like it was racing; you needed to be certain of where you were standing, as if afraid.

Afraid of truly losing him.

The boys, confused and irritated by your decision, left the studio. You remained there, crouched, waiting for him to lift his head while fighting your own uneven breaths.

"I know you hate headache medication, but since you don’t want to see a doctor, I don’t see another option." You shrugged with the suggestion, and he just groaned.

"I’m just really stressed. There’s nothing a doctor can do for me unless it’s a lobotomy." He rolled his eyes, and you smiled.

"Hey, but that’d destroy most of your memories, I’d imagine. Do you really want to forget everything?"

Noah paused for a few seconds, as if he needed extra time to process your words through the sharp pain. He seemed to drift away, and gradually the force he was using on your hand subsided, leaving a cold air between you.

"Just the last nine years."

Your smile vanished as quickly as the thought hit you. You could barely feel the pins and needles in your heels; the burning in your chest was stronger.

"Makes sense," you muttered, pressing your lips together slowly. "Memory loss is the least of it in cases like this. You’d basically become a vegetable—your brain wouldn’t work anymore, nor your basic functions..."

"Not much different from how I live now."

You swallowed hard when you heard his raw words and saw his downcast gaze, the weight in your throat growing as he leaned closer to your face.

"I made a deal with Gerard. I’d sell him three singles, and he’d shorten the band’s contract," Noah exhaled the information with the limited air in his chest. "Just because I wanted to get rid of you once and for all."

"You tried to betray me and ended up having to put up with me even more in the fine print," you said, shaking your head.

"Consequence."

"How can you keep being so selfish, acting like you’re the only one who suffered through all this? Like you’re the only one who ended a relationship, the only one who was hurt, the only one who loved, Noah!"

"Because I’m the one who lost the most in all of this!" he snarled through tears, leaning his face closer to yours. Noah pointed at his own chest, his labored breathing visibly unstable. "You never needed me to live, so your life goes on. But I always needed you—I made you my life!"

"Just because we handled it differently doesn’t mean I loved any less or that my life’s been better than yours. It just means I’ve gotten used to sweeping pain under the rug."

You responded, wiping under your eyes.

"I told you, you wouldn’t last a day living in my shoes. That’s what I was trying to avoid when I protected you."

"Protected me from your own lies and the horrible person you become every time you break a promise."

"Look at that—we’re not so different," you challenged, locking your eyes onto his. "I was broken by you too. I saw you turn your back on me, I saw you lie, Noah. You just forget the feeling when it’s not happening to you!"

"I wanted it to hurt you as much as it hurt me," he said weakly.

"But before you ever knew that pain, I’d felt it countless times, my love."

He shook his head slowly. His trembling hand hovered near your face but retreated, as if pulling back from an action he couldn’t bring himself to complete. Both of you were crying at the same pace, and you remembered the conversation in the car.

The impact of the previous night was different for you than it was for him: where you saw hope, he saw memories of failure.

He seemed trapped in an internal struggle, wanting to console you but convinced he was no longer worthy of that role.

Both of your tears fell in silence, and you couldn’t tell if it was the despair of the situation or the memory lingering between you. The conversation in the car. The words that had left their mark.

"I don’t know what to do anymore, I... I don’t know," his voice came out fragmented, almost a whisper, as he pressed a hand to his chest. Then you realized.

Noah’s breathing was too fast, irregular, as if he couldn’t find enough air. His chest rose and fell erratically, his hands trembling like leaves in the wind. He brought a hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut, but the motion only made him look even more lost.

"Hey, hey, Noah, look at me," you said, trying to stay calm but feeling panic rise within you. You placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to anchor him, but it was like he was far away, unreachable. "Breathe with me, okay? Just... inhale, slowly."

He shook his head, still clutching his chest. "I... I can’t... I can’t!"

The ground seemed to vanish beneath your feet. He was having a panic attack, perhaps the worst you’d ever seen.

"Noah, listen. I’m here. I’m here, okay? You don’t have to do this alone." But it was as if your words couldn’t penetrate the veil of agony surrounding him.

You picked up your phone with trembling fingers, dialing the record label’s medical support and describing his condition as clearly as you could. Seconds felt like hours as you waited, trying to keep him focused, trying to hold back the chaos consuming him.

When they arrived, you could hardly think. They placed him on a stretcher, and you held his hand the entire time, ignoring the questioning looks. All that mattered was that he felt he wasn’t alone.

At the hospital, the waiting was torture. You paced back and forth, images of the previous night blending with guilt and fear. He was in a room with the doctors, and you were there, not knowing if he would come out of this stronger or if this was his breaking point.

"Always at the crime scene," said the devil.

"We seem to have that in common," you replied, rolling your eyes and stopping at the reception desk to face him.

Chewing gum and crossing his arms, Gerard couldn’t have looked more amused.

"What happened to that brat this time?"

"Panic attack," your voice was serious. "Do you know if he’s had anything like this recently?"

Gerard thought for a few seconds, making a ridiculous pout.

"Not that I know of."

"Strange, this attack seemed way too intense for a first time. Noah didn’t even seem surprised... he didn’t even want to come to the doctor."

"Because he knows it’s nonsense," the man shrugged, continuing to chew the never-ending gum in his teeth. "But of course he wouldn’t be surprised. You stress the poor guy out all the time just by being around. No wonder he’s falling apart."

"Surely it’s not the working conditions or the pressure you put on us. Of course, blaming me is easier."

He laughed, waving a hand as if you’d told the funniest joke, but you remained serious, arms crossed and frowning.

"It’s the most obvious thing. No wonder he didn’t refuse the label’s strategy to dissociate his image from yours," Gerard noted, raising his shoulders. "Noah isn’t that stupid."

"What are you talking about?"

"Playing dumb, are we? Haven’t you been paying attention to the news lately? Little by little, people are talking more and more about his appearances with Scarlet, and fans are confirming theories that the two of them are together."

You stared at Gerard for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

"He hasn’t denied a single one of them," he continued. "In fact, he thought it was a good idea that his name is now being tied to someone less... well, you know."

"How can you be so pathetic?" you countered. "Noah doesn’t have all his wits about him, but a PR romance..."

Your words died in your throat when you glanced across the reception and saw the girl with voluminous red hair approaching the room’s entrance.

"He’s desperate to put an end to you..." Gerard continued. "Are you going to say it’s a lie?"

No.

You weren’t going to say it was a lie.

Not after what you’d heard at the studio.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

So, obviously, everyone has their own opinion and experience. How much Andrastianism in Veilguard is to your personal taste I couldn’t say. But based on your statements, I feel like we’ve played not just one but possibly several different games despite them having the same names.

Andrastianism isn’t “absent everywhere,” whether in plot, imagery, or even audio. As you yourself said, we go to the Temple of Andraste in Minrathous where people are both milling about and praying both inside and outside. So we see the Andrastianism happening, visually. And there is, contrary to your experience, ambient dialogue from NPCs we pass that reference the Maker (Andraste I believe as well, but I’d have to double-check that, and less reference to her would be expected as a schism over her importance is part of why the Northern and Southern Chantries split) both near the Temple and in other parts of Dock Town.

We also, in Minrathous with Neve, visit the Wall of Light, the city’s memorial for the dead and an explicit reference to the Chant of Light. Something of enough significance to Neve that she feels the need to go there before the end of her quest line. A Shadow Dragon Rook can even speak the traditional words of remembrance at that point. It’s fairly explicit Andrastianism. Different than it would look and be done in Ferelden, but that’s because we aren’t in Ferelden we’re in Tevinter.

I’m not entirely sure what the mixture of Northern to Southern Wardens would be at Weisshaupt, and I’m less certain than you are that Southerners would have a significant presence. Orlais’ Wardens were decimated at Adamant and may have even been disbanded at that time (dependent on player choice). Their numbers suffered regardless, and would have been hard to build back up since it has apparently gotten around that they tried to build a demon army (which is why in Veilguard the First Warden is so quick to throw them under the bus). Ferelden didn’t have any wardens to speak of until a cup of coffee before the Fifth Blight, as we see in Origins. And at the end of that blight had one or two. After Awakening maybe six? But there’s a bunch of conditional stuff to even hit that number, if I remember correctly. They’ve had some time to build up since then, but we don’t know how many went down from Ferelden at Adamant and Ferelden’s Wardens also don’t have spotless reputations due to the whole coup thing.

In any case, I agree that there probably are some devout Andrastians in the Wardens. But I think devout Southern Andrastian wardens - those whose Andrastianism we would recognize - are probably a very, very small minority. Not only for the reasons I already gave, but because they are competing with religious military orders that can recruit soldiers as children while generally only recruiting adults. I’m not surprised, since based on what we know their numbers are fairly small, we don’t personally run across a bunch of vocal devout Andrastian Southerners at Weisshaupt.

The people of the Anderfels are devoutly Andrastian, you’re absolutely right. But we don’t meet nearly any of them. Our only exposure to the region is through working with the Wardens in a fortress that is Wardens Only tm and in a town that has been so overrun with blight that nearly all of its inhabitants are gone. I’d be more inclined to agree with you, solely vis-a-vis the people of the Anderfels, if we interacted with more than a handful. But we don’t, we pretty much just interact with the Wardens which I already discussed above.

What you didn’t mention were Treviso and the Necropolis. We do get ambient dialogue in Treviso explicitly referencing both the Maker and Andraste (sometimes to blaspheme, but that was probably more than half the Andrastianism we got in DA2, too). Lucanis references them, and talks about having lost his faith while imprisoned and tortured (and reaching a state of hopeful agnosticism by later in the game which he is also open about). He has statues of Andraste in his house. It’s part of his character arc, even if it’s not the main focus.

The Mourn Watch is an Andrastian religious order. Their whole deal, different though it is to what we see in the South, is them being devoutly Andrastian. Just Nevarra mortalitasi-style. And we go through and attend to religious rites in that style with Emmrich.

We witness the results of slaughter by the Southern Chantry in a quest in Rivain.

Harding at one point straight up asks if we just disproved the Chant of Light.

Religion is discussed, where relevant, multiple times. (See, e.g., all of the above.)

Is it enough Andrastianism for you, or any individual player, personally? Maybe not. That’s okay. You’re allowed to feel that way. Everyone is entitled to their opinion.

Is it not there or in someway incorrect based on the lore of the game? I have a hard time understanding that argument.

I really don’t understand the criticism that Veilguard doesn’t include enough open, devout Andrastianism. Like, it just perplexes me?

Unlike the first three games, which take place in Southern Thedas (the purview of the Orlesian Chantry, the Sunburst throne), Veilguard takes place almost entirely in Northern Thedas. And it’s clear the Chantry’s role there is very different than in the South.

In Southern Thedas, the Chantry is a power unto itself. The Southern Divine, holder of the Sunburst Throne, occupies a place of real significance and power. She has her own militarized forces (the Templar and Seeker Orders). She politically has to interface with the rulers of the various places in Southern Thedas (Orlais, Ferelden, the Free Marches, etc.), but is not formally associated with or dependent on them. The South is comparatively poorer than the North, and we see a majority of services (taking care of orphans, medical care, the Circles, and very significantly education) being taken care of by the Chantry without necessarily much assistance from the relevant countries.

The Southern Chantry is an ever present figure in Southern Thedas, even for those that aren’t devout. And that is reflected in those stories and the cultures we learn about there.

The Tevinter Imperium is not like that. And that’s not terribly surprising. First, the Imperium pre-dates Andrastianism. They have another, older religion that helped form some of their cultural touchpoints. The Imperium did adopt Andrastianism, but did so as a consolidation of empire (which tracks with the Imperium being, in no small part, a reflection of the real life Roman Empire). As such, the Chantry is folded into and subordinate to the Imperium’s government. The real power in Tevinter, and control over the incidents of daily life that we see the Southern Chantry involved in, is the Magisterium and the Archon.

The Imperial Divine doesn’t control the Templars, the Magisterium and Archon do. He doesn’t control the Circles/education. That’s the Magisterium and Archon again. He is, in practical terms, less powerful than Dorian. He can’t make any real change as the Imperial Divine, so he dons a mask and runs a vigilante group to free slaves and make change that way.

The Northern Chantry simply isn’t as omnipresent as the Southern Chantry in the areas it exists, and it competes with a preexisting cultural backbone in a way the Southern Chantry doesn’t (because it largely stamped that out, though some of the Avvar and Chasind are still around).

I think a lot of people are comparing the impact of Andrastianism in Veilguard to that in Inquisition, because it’s the most recent, and the criticism spawns from that. But that…doesn’t make sense. The Inquisitor is leading a religious organization, ultimately affiliated with the Southern Chantry itself and founded by the left and right hands of the former Divine. It claims its legitimacy from Andraste herself (even if the Inquisitor doesn’t believe a single bit of it). The people who join the Inquisition are all okay enough with Andrastianism to affiliate themselves openly with it (Solas aside, but of course he has other reasons), and many are devout.

The Veilguard are just…random people. Skilled, powerful, talented people, but not people with any real affiliation with any Chantry. Davrin and Bellara have complicated relationships with the Dalish religion they grew up with, for obvious reasons, but they weren’t raised in Andrastianism or an Andrastian culture. Neve, per her, “barely keeps the holidays.” Her relationship to Andrastianism seems closer to the average non-church-attending American who celebrates Christmas and Easter, but isn’t particularly Christian beyond that. Lucanis does seem open to belief in the Maker and Andraste, but isn’t kind of ambivalent to it. More agnostic than anything else. Taash wasn’t raised Andrastian, their mom largely still embraces much of the Qun even if she left, and Rivain was always kind of religiously funky anyway. Only Emmrich and Harding are particularly Andrastian, and even then Emmrich is from Nevarra which although deeply Andrastian is unique. Harding is the only companion whose Andrastianism we’d recognize from the prior games.

So in a game set in a region where Andrastianism is culturally less of an influence, where the Chantry holds far less power, and that has companions that aren’t devout Andrastians…how is it a failure of the game that it isn’t brought up more. That makes sense. It’s consistent with the world building that came before it and the continued reveal of that world in game.

I don’t get it.

[rinabin]

arcade

the door chimes as you and ningning enter the arcade. the place is quaint but decorated with old video game posters and machines giving it personality. scanning the room for your friends, you spot sohee and seunghan immersed in the pinball machine. as the two of you walk over to them, ningning slows down. “isn’t that wonbin and shotaro?” she questions, looking towards to the guys hovering over another machine as you follow her gaze. seeing wonbin in person again, you internally cringe as you’re reminded of your last interaction. determined to make up for the horrific first impression, you begin to walk over to the unfamiliar guys instead. “come on, let’s go say hi.”

by the time you make it over to the boys, their game has ended, relieving you of the awkwardness of hovering around and waiting. feeling a tap on his shoulder, wonbin turns around, confused, until his big brown eyes meet yours. “hi,” you say, extending a hand and giving him a small smile. “i told u i’d be normal the next time we met.” as wonbin returns your handshake, he chuckles out, “that you did. hi again.” letting go of his hand, you look over to shotaro. “you’re shotaro, i presume?” “mhm,” he responds with a big smile, “but you can call me taro. shotaro is too formal.” nodding your head, you look over to ningning as you introduce her. ningning compliments them on their outfits, prompting the guys to thank her. 

not wanting the conversation to stall, you ask wonbin and shotaro what they were playing before you and ningning got there. as wonbin opens his mouth to answer, he gets interrupted by seunghan tackling you in a hug. “YNNNNNN.” stumbling back, you let out a giggle as you hug seunghan back. “what’s with this greeting?” letting go of you, seunghan grins and shrugs, saying it was just cause, as he begins to tackle ningning next. looking over to wonbin, now standing alone watching the scene unfold, you give him a smile, asking where shotaro went. pointing over to sohee and shotaro, “sohee stole him”, wonbin responds with a gentle smile. as you look over at shotaro and sohee, there is only one thought running through your head: wonbin has a really pretty smile. fuck.

just as the implications of the thought begin to consume you, the rest of your friends roll into the arcade. minjeong grabs your arm, pulling you toward the pac-man machine, saving you from your deranged brain as you wave bye to wonbin.

plopping down on the empty couch in the lounge, you open your phone and scroll for a few minutes until you feel another presence next to you. looking over to the seat beside you, you see wonbin. “we meet again. what are you doing here by yourself?” he breathes out. placing your phone in your lap, you mutter, “eunseok and sohee have beat me in practically every game in here. there’s nothing for me but humiliation waiting out there.” wonbin raises his eyebrows. “not a gamer?” you scoff. “the only game i’ve ever played is bad ice-cream when i was 8. i don’t know why i agreed to this hangout.” wonbin hums in response as he looks out into space. a comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you begin scrolling on your phone again. 

after a couple of moments, you feel wonbin get up. “come on, let’s go.” looking up at him from your phone, you see him gesturing you to get up. you tilt your head and look around in confusion before asking if he’s talking to you.“yes, you. get up. i’m gonna teach you how to play some games. i can’t let eunseok walk around with a bigger ego than he already has,” wonbin smirks, nodding his head toward the games. you let out a snort at the comment. still sitting, fiddling with your phone, you let a moment pass as you think about it. with a sigh, you place your phone into your pocket. “you’re right. the only person who should have a big ego around here is me.” wonbin shakes his head in amusement as he begins to walk back into the gaming section, and you follow behind him.

masterlist

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a/n: first written part, tell me what you guys think... also i think arcade dates are some of the cutest type of dates who agree?

taglist [send an ask or comment to be added] : @antosaurius @jkeydiary @cherrytaesan

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

1  2  3  4  5

Chapter 6

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: implied possessive and obsessive themes/actions/behaviors/thoughts, reader is one second away from having a panic attack, indirect mention of death, mention of murder, implied toxic family/child abuse, very, very light choking, mention/possible stalking, Toxic marriage/relationship, Reader is so done mentally despite only living in the Argece mansion for one (1) day, Reader becomes sassy, jealousy, everyone ooc

NSFW warnings: Very suggestive, throw back to their first time, implied dacryphilia

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE THEY ARE BOTH ARE  EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS 

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DON’T INTERACT/REBLOG WITH FANDOM STUFF DNI AND PLEASE DO NOT SPAM LIKE MY POSTS

= = =

“You never once referred to Dion as your husband.” 

“P-pardon?” 

That caught you off guard. Frankly speaking, calling the man your husband aloud is stomach-turning. Not that you would admit that, or rather not that you could. The punishment you would receive from Lant if it were to ever reach his ears…

 “Well, we haven’t been married for even a week.” Carefully explaining yourself, you scan behind her to check if anyone was there. “So, I am still a bit shy about it.” you smile shyly. Blood rushes through your veins and you can hear the thundering pumping and feel it. 

Your blood becomes ice and skin slime as Roxana observes your behavior and reaction before making a move. Fresh coral lips tug into a soft smile as Roxana sees past your lie and stares into your soul. Her eyes remind you of your husband’s; glowing scarlet that curtains their true emotions and thoughts. 

Sinister or otherwise, you’re afraid to drown in them. 

“I see. That’s adorable.” She reminds you of a venus fly trap; inviting only to trap you. Even so, her ‘affection’ towards you nearly has you tripping on your feet. No. This is how she gets people. 

“Lady Roxana, I had a fun time speaking with you.” You halfheartedly bid her farewell, bowing. You plan on walking the moment you raise your head. What you don’t plan on doing, however, is returning to your chambers immediately. 

Ah, but… where would you even go? 

“Oh, right. Do you remember the way?” she blinks at you while you blink back. Your mind is a void - absolutely nothing in it. Next, she laughs. 

It sounds like bells on Christmas, a chorus in the church, that exciting and relieved feeling you get once you hear ‘shift’s over,’ from the managers. Head full of cotton, you allow yourself to simply enjoy this moment. Once the blissful laughter has ended, she offers to guide you.

Personally. 

“O-oh, it’s fine - “ you just got mind fucked - Roxana willingly go anywhere near Dion’s room? Something’s not right. You take a step back. 

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” You give her a faux smile, worried.

 Worried for what? Your safety? The possible argument that could break out between the two half-siblings? Seeing something you’re not supposed to? Or having to awkwardly stand to the side as Dion acts weirdly and creepy towards his sister?

“It’s fine; I’d like to get to know you more. We’re family now, so it’s natural.” 

We’re family now. 

“...I’ll accept then. Thank you for taking care of me.” The scream that wishes to burst from your chest, the saliva drowning your gums and mouth, the quiver that threatens to take over your body - you hold it back. You have to. 

“It’s not a problem.” 

Fear prevents you from asking about Hana. 

You follow once she starts to walk, the sound of heels hitting the floor echoing. Even her back is elegant - perfect form, back straight and head up. Carrying an air of sophistication and confidence, Roxana Argece deserves the female lead role. Her blond waves lightly bounce with each step. 

She is the definition of beauty. 

And as a dedicated fan - also driven by fear and mental stress - you will stay steps behind her. It’s for the best, it’s for your safety. Walk in her shadow but not at her side. Let the spotlight shine on her so you won’t be noticed, left alone by anyone and everyone. That is one plan for survival. 

“Oh? Sorry, I didn’t realize that you were behind me.” The fifteen year old girl waits for you to join her side after stopping, refusing to walk another inch until you do so. And your eighteen year old self  heistates - not because you feel inferior to her. God no, but because her mind is a puzzle you can’t solve. 

You don’t have the power to read her thoughts. You are only able to guess. 

This isn’t fiction anymore. 

“It’s fine. I was also lost in thought.” Busy with admiring her rather. You pick up your pace a bit if only to please her. She resumes guiding you once you’re right by her. Nothing falls into place despite observing her from the corner of your eye. You don’t sense anything.

No hostility nor mischief. There wasn’t a hint of pity on her face. Mockery was also absent, genuine joy nonexistent. 

“If I may say, you’re more lovely than I heard.” She compliments you, offering another one of those sweet smiles. And like the fool you are, you trip over both your feet and words. 

“A-ah, you’re too kind. If anything, the saying goes towards you.” Your neck feels hot and your mind is turning to mush. “Truly, you are indeed an interesting person.” 

She stops again, taken aback. But she quickly recovers before returning back to the conversation. “Interesting? You’re the first person to describe me as such.” 

“That’s a surprise. I thought many would have.” You think about it. What was the first thing everyone notices about Roxana? Her beauty, of course. 

But, as a reader, how could you ignore and forget her personality? 

…then again, this entire time you were mentally obsessing over her appearance and voice. You were no better than everyone else.

You take a turn in the ridiculously long hallway. Just for a moment, tranquility replaces the harshness of reality. Funny. 

One moment you’re afraid of her and the next she brings you peace. She’s a bit easier to deal with than Dion. Softer, gentlier, and outwards she is humane. The most sane person in this hell. 

“We’re in the main hallway.” Roxana informs, and the staircase looks familiar. When you had made your way with Hana to the dining room, you were disoriented so hard you didn’t even realize your feet were moving. 

“Up these stairs and we’ll be closer to your room.” Roxana tells you, a hint of disgust in her  voice. Aha. So she doesn’t want to go near him. Then why guide you? 

“Oh,” you say, “how nice.” How wonderful indeed, seeing the husband who left after your first night, who’s acting weird, who’s brutal personality is hidden beneath a layer of indifference, who probably stalked you while - 

Oh. 

Oh God. 

Never once did you think of the possibility that Dion Argece had stalked you during the duration of your engagement. The shampoo, the sheets, that horrifying look in his eyes - 

“? Are you okay? You look pale.”

Roxana’s question brings you back to reality. Blinking, you try to calm yourself before your breathing gets heavier. Your heart won’t stop rattling. Your blood won’t stop rushing. Your ears are ringing. 

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course. I’m just a bit… nervous.” Did he stalk you? If so, why? To drill even more fear into you, to show you that he could easily cause you harm? To silently threaten the safety of your family if you were to ever act out? 

“But yes, I’m fine. Just need a minute to gather myself.” 

Either out of curiosity or obligation, or even consideration, Roxana lets you do just that. 

- - -

You got to the door sooner than wanted. Way too soon. 

Despite the show your sister-in-law displays, she can’t hide the disgust and hatred in her eyes as she stares at the heavy double doors. You don’t blame her. Even if he acted out on orders, your husband still killed her brother. Their brother. 

He also attempts to harm her mother. Just to see her cry. 

…would he do the same to you?

“Well,” turning to her, you show a smile. It doesn’t reach your eyes. You’re too tired to even try. “Thank you for showing me the way.” 

You open the door before she could even get a word out. Shut it behind you before every single ounce of bravery evaporates, leaving you a slimy mess. Monster or not, Dion Argece is still your husband. And, as you were raised, you have to play the role of his wife. 

 His pretty, little, obedient wife. 

Only to see that no-one is in the room. 

“...haha…wow…hahaha!” like a mad woman you giggle, falling to the floor as your legs give out. Was it from stress? Relief? Does it matter? 

You’re happy - you don’t have to see his face for a bit longer. Even if it’s only for a minute, you don’t have to be in his presence. But with happiness comes realization - Dion will eventually show up. He told you such. 

“...I… I just want to sleep.” your shoulders slump as you become boneless - so much happened within the span of a few hours. Odd behavior, old memories, confusing feelings - you’re not meant for this environment. Forget about being murdered or tortured - your mind would dismantle before anything could happen. 

The floor is uncomfortable but all of your strength is gone. Were you always this weak? This hopeless? So much that you couldn’t even last a single day. Pathetic. 

“...” ahead of you is the bed. The same bed you lost your virginity on. The same bed you will have to share with your arranged husband. It was comfortable, but the fact you laid with Dion on it makes you sick. 

You’d rather sleep on the floor. 

Moonlight fills the room from the glassdoors closing off the terrace. Jeremy said you should escape. Is it worth it? Was jumping off the terrace to attempt an escape worth it? Would you survive it? 

Get caught? 

Die?

Your mind is becoming muddy. You haven’t even met with Lant yet. The worst of the worst. Yet here you are, already thinking foolishly. Of course you would be caught. Dying wasn’t something you wanted to do, though. Neither was being punished for attempting an escape. 

Your ears perk at the sound of the door opening behind you. 

“Do you find the floor more comfortable than the bed?” Low and deep, Dion doesn’t even properly greet you. Well, not like you want to either. 

You want to tell him to try it in spite. But you’re too tired to even turn around and face him, much less stand. His footsteps get closer until he’s right behind you. Your eyes shut close. 

“Wife.” he calls once, and you don’t respond. You don’t want to.

You want him to stop calling you that. You want him to stop talking to you. You want him to stop existing. 

His footsteps echo in the room before he kneels in front of you. Finally, you look at him. What type of expression are you making? 

His hand is cold as he brings it up to cup your cheek. Scarlet that glows in the moonlight that looks at you in such a strange way. Do you know what was swirling in his eyes? Do you want to?

“...Dion. Welcome back.” acknowledging him, you peel his hand away from your cheek. He already touched you the night before. That’s enough. 

Instead of leaving, he grasps your wrist. Firm enough to where you couldn’t tug your hand away. You eye it before giving up. Just for now. 

“I’m sorry, but i’m too sore from last night,” you say, assuming that sex is on his mind. Obligation, lust, routine. Either one could be the reason. 

“I’m not here for that. Nor do I want it.” 

Your head tilts to the side before he continues. “Father expects us to dine with him tomorrow.” 

“I see. Is that all?” 

“You look dead,” free hand cupping your face - again - Dion gently swipes his thumb under your eye. “Worse than when you showed up for dinner.” Hah. Is he enjoying himself?

“I’m just tired,” lying your eyes travel to your lap. “I’ll… if that’s all, then I’ll retire to bed.” You want him to leave you alone. You want to go home. 

On shaky legs you force yourself up and your husband lets go of your wrist. Your knees buck as you walk towards the bed. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. All you need to do is make it to bed. Changing clothes isn’t even on your mind - you just want to lay down. 

“You’re not going to change?” Your husband inquiries. What was wrong with this man? He barely spoke a word to you before the wedding. He left after cumming and leaving you alone, in pain and shivering like a fucking newborn foal. He didn’t spare a fucking glance at you during dinner until his siblings showed up. 

“Where is Hana?” You ignore his question, focusing on the one person who doesn’t feel like a death trap. 

“She retired for the night. On Roxana’s orders.” 

“What? Why?” you almost get whiplash from how hard and fast you turn your head to look at Dion. Your husband has been looking at you this entire time. 

“She didn’t think I’d show up here.” 

I wish you didn’t. I wish you would have stayed indifferent as you were until today.

“Oh. Then, I’ll just sleep like this.” Flopping onto the bed, you kick your heels off. The corset is still tight, and it makes it harder to breathe. But you refuse to ask him for help. 

Thankfully, your husband makes no move to. Instead you hear him walk and the sound of the closet opening. Ruffling of the clothes before it stops. From what you heard, nothing dropped to the floor, rather, heavy boots walk towards the bed until they stop right at your side. 

Amazing how being so mentally and physically worn makes a person forget their survival instincts. How it makes fear turn into annoyance and gulps become huffs. 

But annoyance becomes confusion when something soft and loose lands on your back. Did he just… throw something on you?

Why can’t your husband just pick a side? Decide to ignore you. To be nice to you. Not go back and forth like it’s a fucking swing boat. 

“Wife,” there he goes again with that dreadful title, does he not remember your godforsaken name? “You won’t fall asleep with it on. You’re unable to.” You’re one second away from tearing your hair out. One second away from strangling him. 

You can regret everything tomorrow. 

“... Will you leave me alone if I change?” Supporting yourself on your shoulders you crane your neck to look over your shoulder. Your husband only nods, not explaining why he’s so insistent on having you change. 

You’re so done that you don’t even realize he’s enjoying this side of you. Your frustration, your annoyance, all spent and directed towards him. Tomorrow, when you’re of clear mind you’ll freak out, kicking and yelling at yourself for risking making him mad, only to question why he didn’t say anything in the first place. 

“I can’t reach behind my back,” you communicate to him, waiting for his reaction. A reply that may never come. 

“Just lay face down. I’ll untie it and won’t touch you further.” You wish he would leave and maybe fall down the stairs and break something. Ah, but maybe Lant should go through that instead. Break his neck and lay there, lifeless. How would the scene play out after that?

“Alright,” you give in, preparing for a war that doesn’t exist. Dion removes whatever he threw onto your back before nimble fingers quickly and carefully undo the strings on your dress. Once he’s done with that, he works on the corset, completely gentle. 

Wait, something wasn’t right. 

“Wait, how do you know how to undo the strings so quickly?” Waiting for his answer, you don’t make an effort to watch his reaction. You’d rather not look at the man who’s walking on thin ice right now. Yes, you are going to consider chucking yourself into the nearest river tomorrow. If you could find one. 

“... I was taught.” 

“By?” 

“A teacher.” 

He leaves it at that, choosing to leave out the details. It makes you suspicious. …was he also taught those techniques by a so-called teacher too?

Considering the amount of wives Lant has, STDs most likely don’t exist in this world. Regardless, the mere thought of your husband sleeping with someone before you irritates you. Not because you were jealous or anything of that sort, no; but because it was hypercritical. You were expected to stay ‘pure,’ a virgin while -

“You are the only person I’ve touched, much less slept with.” Was he a mind reader? Or were you just that obvious?

“As your wife, I think I should meet and thank your ‘teacher.’” Exhaustion does wonders to a person. The brain doesn’t work as it should and fright is no longer a thing. Instead it’s replaced by reckless behavior and a clouded mind. 

“Although, I do wish they also taught you aftercare.” 

“That person,” Dion begins, “is someone you know but are unable to see.” Sure Dion Argece, sure. “As for afterwards… Father called for me.” 

“Mhm. For what?” Cold fingertips barely graze your spine as he looks at your skin. By now everything was untied yet the male doesn’t move. With lidded eyes he considers biting it. But he’s already breaking his promise by granting himself to graze it. 

And you’re giving him a pass, perhaps with a blurred mind. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be having this conversation, much less show something other than fear in his presence. 

“To discuss further action regarding our marriage.” 

“You know,” you yawn out, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “most people in arranged marriages would refer to the marriage as ‘this,’ not ‘ours.’” The call of sleep is tempting you. 

“I’m not most people.”

“I know. If you were then you…” 

“Then what?”

Then you wouldn’t be a product of two insane and mental people. You wouldn’t be so jaded nor affection starved to the point you consider hatred as it. You wouldn’t have killed your own siblings or live solely to make one cry. You wouldn’t wander around the earth until your sister decides to kill you. 

You change the subject. “You could have let me finish at least once. It was my first time - you’re supposed to make it a positive experience.” Why you brought this up, you’re not sure. You doubt he feels guilty about it. 

“...Should I make you now?” He traces your spine, the cold sensation making you shiver. Odd. His touch doesn’t feel as gross as earlier. You must be going mad. 

Even more so since you’re hallucinating the hint of hunger in his voice. 

“No. I hated the entire thing. Just jerk off and I’ll shove it in, or something.” The idea of his cum going anywhere near you repulses you, but you understand your role as a wife. His wife. 

“You also found my crying cute. I don’t like that, I actually hate it.” Was communication always this easy when your body is boneless and mind worn? Was he so talkative because he’s tired as well? 

“I can’t help it, “ Dion rubs circles between your shoulder blades and it makes you melt. For a split second, you forgot who you’re talking to. Where you were, who your husband was, your in-laws forgotten. For a moment, everything was ordinary and domestic. 

“I enjoy seeing you cry.” His fingers travel higher until his fingertips are at the sides of your neck, feeling your pulse. He wants to squeeze it, see you squirm. The urge to make you cry over and over again from overstimulation gets harder to resist. You’re allowing him to touch you, to see the skin of your back, to see you so vulnerable - surely, you could offer him a taste too, right? 

“...You’re not supposed to be this way.” A light chuckle comes from your chest. “You’re supposed to be brutal, selfish, unredeemable - well, you probably still are, but still. You’re not supposed to be married nor basically asking your wife to fuck.” 

You go on. 

“You’re not supposed to be this way. You’re driving me crazy, acting so different from what I know.” You’re supposed to be the character that was written in the series. Not… whatever this is.

Maybe you misunderstood his character. But you never did finish the novel and the webtoon was put on hiatus because of the shit the artist went through�� you hope she’s doing better now. Way better. 

“Even Jeremy and Roxana are behaving weirdly.” You leave it at that, becoming silent. Dion doesn’t say anything. 

You decide to ask him a question that’s been nagging you ever since he mentioned his ‘teacher.’ 

“Oh, by the way… how would you react if I also had a ‘teacher’?” An undertone of teasing laced your voice - of course, you didn’t mean it. Unless it was a lover, you wouldn’t sleep with anyone outside of marriage. Although, you never did enter a relationship once prior to your engagement. 

The atmosphere becomes stiff. You suddenly remember who you’re dealing with - an Argece. Dion Argece, to be exact. 

Horror spreads throughout your body once you realize just what you asked him. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him lean over you, fingers putting slight pressure on your neck, a silent threat to choke you. He’s like a heavy cover, you can barely breathe. 

When he talks it’s lower and deeper, sinister and possessive, his breath hitting your ear as he answers. 

“Easy. I would kill them.” 

[letsjustwright]

HEY HEY YALL!!

Thank you to everyone who has followed this page I greatly appreciate it. 😁 Since I know we wanna read over here I was wondering if you guys don’t mind I’d like it to be a little more fun and interactive over here I have an idea. I know it’s a bit stale in the fandom and there’s only a few still standing. But, I know the ones here still want what they want. To be honest it’s hard to want to write when there’s no real interaction so here’s what I’d like to do to try and make this fun for us all.

So. I have some stories that I’ve started and what I would like is if you enjoy what’s written to comment or reblog with “🕶️🕶️🕶️” because Tish always wearing shades and that’ll let me know you want more. That’s just for those who are usually a bit shy about leaving comments and don’t know what to say to interact with the post. But, also Feel free to create discourse around the charecters! SAY HOW YOU FEEL! But leave the shades somewhere in there too lol.

When I see that you all have read and are enjoying I’ll add on. So what I write won’t always be super long. But I’ll add onto it every day or two that way its fun and we all have some Shuri content to look forward too. And I can create craziness with each update! Y’all down for that? If so….

GIVE ME SHADE!!!!🕶️🕶️🕶️🕶️🕶️🕶️

[tacomicyuri]

Taco permadeath in the finale would be so heartbreaking for a couple reasons but Do you know how messed up it would be if Microphone permadied.. especially before Taco got a chance to rekindle their relationship, or at the very least apologise. Especially if she died in front of Taco Or trying to save or protect Taco, even if she hadn’t made things right yet. What if Taco has to live with that guilt of not only Mic sacrificing herself for her but it was before she ever got to apologise. Mic still cared about her enough to die to save her, and she feels it should’ve been her, that she didn’t deserve that, especially coming from Mic. Taco knew what she did to Mic was bad, she felt sorry, she’s been living with a guilt already of what happened between her and Mic and now she just gained even more guilt. Microphone saw she was in danger, and she was still upset, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about Taco anymore. She rushed in to save her and ended up being the one to get hurt. Taco got to watch as her only true friend dies for her sake. The one person who truly cared for her, and they weren’t even on good terms at the time. She’d have to forever live with herself knowing she never got to fix things between them, yet she still helped her. She’d feel unworthy of it. She’d forever wonder why Mic would want to save someone like her

[otaku553]

New blorbo :)

Also a silly interaction with this piece

[quibbs126]

You know, it’s sad to me that Peach Blossom basically got nothing

He was only given one short scene in the story, and he only talks to one character, that being Dark Cacao. And most of their interaction was about Peach Blossom giving him food and directions, with whatever character work being pretty much Dark Cacao centric. And how he’s left, he’s probably not relevant enough to ever bring back in another update, he’s just a guy tending to a peach bao garden

I mean sure, other playable characters have been relegated to short cameos, like Blueberry Pie, but in Blueberry Pie’s case, she already has Ovenbreak, in which I believe she did have a small story, and she has relationship charts. She has a whole other game of context, and it’s similar with Peppermint (though I never finished Mermaid’s Tale so I don’t know all his scenes), but with Peach Blossom being a CRK original, he doesn’t have that luxury

He doesn’t even have interactions with anybody right now in game, which could be changed later and they hopefully give him someone else to talk to other than Dark Cacao, but as it stands he’s got nothing other than saying a Cake Hound bit him or that the thing on his head isn’t a peach

Heck, there are NPCs who have had more characterization in stories than him. Yes one of those is Smoked Cheese, but still

It’s almost like no wonder he just gets lumped in with Affogato despite being nothing like him other than more feminine appearances and being a new femboy, that’s the most characterization some people are willing to give him because there’s not much else to work with. I mean he does have a character, or at least things you can base one off of, but you generally have to look for them in his story description or some of his in-game lines, and I think most people aren’t gonna go out of their way to do that

[ichayalovesyou]

I want to once again thank SNW and Jess Bush for making Christine Chapel a whole complex and interesting human being and upgrading her wildly from being kinda creepy toward Spock and otherwise sidelined to being this kickass Klingon War veteran ambitious nurse whose WAY too good for the VSA with a seriously self-defeating aversion to vulnerability/intimate relationships. Like, daaaamn girl! You want a side of complicated with that nuanced?! 😂

[devilfic]

I feel like a lot of people confuse battinson!bruce’s social awkwardness with being shy

sometimes I see people describe bruce as being this shy, nervous, shaking chihuahua of a man who will curl up into a fetal position if a social situation stresses him out and as funny as that is to imagine… I think a lot of people are forgetting that bruce could NOT care less

like. bruce isn’t scared of the public eye. he doesn’t like it. he’s not shy, he’s awkward. I’d argue the only times he’s truly close to being shy (and I’d argue even further that he’s just. disarmed) is when he’s around selina

when bruce is uncomfortable in the public eye like at don mitchell’s funeral, it’s not because he’s scared of what people will think of him. if bruce cared what people thought of him, he’d have started playing a more active role as CEO years ago. that’s not what’s happening

he’s uncomfortable because he’s there to get a lead on the riddler case (the only thing he cares about) and he’s inconvenienced by being noticed. he’s not nervous. he’s annoyed!!

[puppyeared]

wish they would just let me live on wuhu island man.. kicks pebble and sighs

[platypusisnotonfire]

I’m picking up way more Norwegian than i expected watching Skam. I fully expected that I’d watch the entire series once through understanding practically nothing of the audio and then in subsequent rewatches after having really picked up my studies (I’m at zero studies rn) start picking up words and phrases.

I’ve already got the days of the week, quite a few personal pronouns, several variations of hello and goodbye, some numbers, variations of yes and no, please and thank you, sorry, and a few short phrases (it’s all right, are you ok. Are you sure- that kind of thing) that I can understand while having looked away from the screen and missed the subtitle, and I’m only in episode 7.

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D