#in theory they will give you a raise if you go above and beyond but i did that for a year and just got a thank you

[fereldanwench]

i've been considering resuming job hunting again but i think I'm still, like, traumatized from what i went through in 2021 lmao

[softringing]

The thing that's so off putting about Sampo is that he's willing to go really far to make others happy, even at the cost of becoming a punching bag. But at the same time, he's been warning us about himself purposely, masked fools and the dangers of becoming too selfish when it comes to elation.

It's obvious he wouldnt harm ordinary people in a serious way but at the same time, we don't know if he's actual hiding evil intentions.

Remember that sampo has dead snake imagery in his design, and usually, snake imagery isn't used on moral characters, it's used on evil, morally grey or manipulative characters.

It's telling you not to trust people who hide things easily behind a disguise but at the same time, Sampo has a "line he won't cross".

He's so paradoxical that it's actually hard to tell what his motive is. I feel like he might have split personalities because of his mask's influence or just him as a very odd and mysterious character.

I went though the trashcan lore (I feel stupid) BC in his event, after you sell items it gives you these random texts and one of them has "Diagonese's Utopia" achievement that you get from searching belebogian trashcans.

I posted this on twitter and my theory revolved around the fact that Sampo's mentality may not be the same as a normal human's.

I always felt that his odd behaviour of acting like a "fool" was genuis. Because the best way to fool someone is to make them believe that YOU ARE the fool. They won't doubt you because in their eyes you're less intelligent or less complex than them.

But when I dug deeper, I realised that Sampo actually ENJOYS being hated. This is where my search through the Belebog trashcans apply.

(some of these are out of order sorry 😔)

I initially thought Sampo was Tatalov, the Garbage King because of Sparkle's portrayal of him in the dream bubble. And as you can see in the above images where there's a story of a trashcan being stabbed by someone they raised (Tatalov/Garbage King), you can link it back to the fact that Sampo MAY have betrayed someone he once loved. "The moment of betrayal" also closely aligns with this!!

"Wind of change" "snake", these elements are all mentioned in the above story of Tatalov stabbing someone--> sampo's wind is element, he has snake imagery!! Should be straight enough to say HE IS TATALOV RIGHT?

Now listen closely, in the DREAM BUBBLE, Shentana (aka Natasha) talked about how Tatalov was once a great ruler who cared about equality and justice (sampo behaviour) but was blinded by "the thing beyond the sky" (stelleron). => Now it's making a reference to cocolia rather than SAMPO. Which DOES NOT ALIGN WITH SAMPO BEING TATALOV/GARBAGE KING and hence the "backstabbing " story gets muddled and confusing.

My theory was that Sampo killed the person that made him (Seppo Illmarinen) according to the Kalevala story, after he realised that no one truly LOVED him for who he is, but rather only his ability to bring wealth and fortune. Hence, he felt vengeful, and decided to kill Illmarinen as a revenge because of how others saw him as an object (maybe including Illmarinen too). But in that story, it's mentioned Tatalov said "you will collapse beside me" to the dying trashcan (Seppo).

That's when I went back and looked at "Garboski" (Koski) from Sparkle's dream bubble. Garboski mentions that Tatalov betrayed them, and sealed them for 10,000 years. Garboski also mentions that he will reward the people who found them with WEALTH (sampo's function in Kalevala) and then he decided to eventually give anyone who found them a painless death. You can clearly see over time that Garboski's mentality went lose. I tried to link Garboski's story of being sealed for 10k years to Tatalov's betrayal but it said 15 years since the dying trashcan hadn't seen their face. That's when everything got far too confusing for me to comprehend and link together but the only thing I was able to TAKE from these stories is that they are both about BETRAYAL.

The consumable above depicts a colorless rose. You can only see it's reds in the reflection on the dagger. Which led me to think-> Sampo's eidolon "the deeper the love the stronger the hate" might refer to the fact that he despises being loved by others because he had lost trust a long time ago from the events that happened to him, how he was betrayed by the people he thought loved him but turned out to be just to use him for their convenience and selfish desires.

Remember that red roses represent passionate love and that Firefly mentions Sampo looks like he'd been training to use daggers all his life. So the symbolism of that consumable might be that Sampo trusts people's hatred more than their love because when you hate something, the hatred is (mostly) sincere. Why would you pretend to hate something you love? Sampo ENJOYS this sincerity.

He hates love because you can always hide things behind it under selfish pretense. Why else would that consumable reflect a red rose 🌹 ONLY on the dagger and not the rest of it? Because as soon as Sampo was betrayed/betrayed someone, it became clear to him/them that their true emotions towards him are HATRED not love. And SAMPO LIKES THAT!! HE LIKES BEING THE FOOL, HE LIKES BEING DESPISED BECAUSE YOU CAN'T DECEIVE HIM AND HURT HIM WITH LOVE.

He uses roses to decorate his packages in the event, also his suitcase and he uses roses to attack in HI3.

He hates love because the more someone loves him the further he will doubt them.

And that's pretty MESSES UP! To have a mentality like this means he you must've gone through some messed up crap, just like how he mentions at the end of his event that he had a "Hot-blooded past". If you didn't know, "hot blooded" usually means feeling complex emotions all at once, like anger, love, hatred, doubt, pain.

The description of the consumable sounds so warm in the begging and suddenly shifts to a tense mood? Did you notice that? It's so paradoxical. So hot-blooded. And it says "that person" so speficially!!

I'm still not sure what to believe about sampo's past, but I'm sure that his idea of love is completely messed up. In HI3, as you fight him during his boss battle, there's a bar called "depth of love", which is UHH WHAT THE HECK?? IT TELLS YOUTHE MORE YOU HURT HIM THE MORE HE LOVES YOU.

In his beta lines that were removed Sampo says something along the lines "Sampo gives all the affection yet never receives anything in return *sigh* but I'm used to it anyway 😃👍"

Ummm?? OKK?? IM SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE HE IS SANE? HE IS MENTALLY STABLE AND UR TYPYCAL CONMAN? NO WAY IM NOT!!

I hope this theory makes sense. I just need everyone to know this man has some screws lose but I love him anyway!

[someiicecube]

I had this post sitting in my drafts for a while and I was suddenly reminded of it haha. 

Anyway, we all know this line from the main character synopsis, right? 

Only humans?

Is this purposeful on the writer's part to specifically mention the curse can only affect humans? Or are humans the only creatures mentioned because that's all the main character has had the chance to... curse with their touch?

Can the curse affect monsters?

Currently, we can't know one way or the other. 

Even if we did touch Leander, bare hand and all, it's Leander. The main character is under the impression that, because he's such a strong and powerful mage recommended to us by the mysterious doctor Kuras himself, it's just something he can do apparently—  although, we as the players know that's not all there is to it... just what is it? Is it part of his supposed monsterous-ness? Does he really know a spell that can protect against our curse? What's Leander's Jungle Juice really made out of? We can't tell yet...

Chosing Leander in this context is such a strategical plot point because he cannot answer our initial question. Is Leander not affected because he cast his little protection spell? Or is Leander not affected because he is/has become a monster?

However, we still can assume that the main character doesn't have full knowledge on what they are capable of with their curse— ya' know, probably being mostly surrounded by humans and such. So, the idea of touching even a monster is probably not a theory anyone wants to test (unless you're a mage, then please do it on some random monster and not the LIs for funzies... unless you want to).

Could this be a seed the writers are planting? Maybe, maybe not. But leaving the question unaswered (by Leander), again, makes the player and main character cautious by nature.

But what if they did slip up?

What if they slipped up and it happened on accident? 

Your bare fist colliding into Ais' chest, skin-on-skin but still a solid blow. Your hand desperately reaching out for Kuras' own, just wanting to feel his warmth once more only for a moment. Your palm sweeping against Vere's shoulder, pushing him away, your skin brushing along the thin translucent fabric. Or your fingers digging into Mhin's wrist as their dagger hovers right above you, their pulse hard against your uncovered touch.

It's startling. It's something you didn't mean to do. Fear grips you immediately; dread rises as your stomach falls. You are as quick to let go of them as your eyes are to look them in the eye and...

Nothing.

While, it wouldn't come as a shock to either Vere or Ais. Kuras, who the main character wouldn't know is an angel at this point, and Mhin are another eyebrow raiser for sure. It didn't affect them, when you know it should. If it doesn't affect them... that would only make the MC raise many more questions about Leander in turn. Ah, what a dramatic way to reveal the fact that the person you fancy is a monster.

Other notes and thoughts:

While, yes, an interesting idea to think about. I'm torn between wanting the monsters to be immune and 'fuck it, this curse affects everyone, even your pet rock ain't safe'. I can't help but feel this idea also lowers the stakes of the MC's curse... if done wrong.

Let's say this, the curse doesn't have an effect on monsters, right? But for each monsterous LI there will be a catch. Say, Vere, for example; a monster who lusts for power beyond him... having a human like yourself with such a deadly curse, well, who's to say it wouldn't give him a few ideas on how to use you it. What? You're still planning on finding a cure? Oh no, but you have him now, don't you? Why need a cure when you have him, your curse, and your soon-to-be mindless worshippers at your feet?

(Won't lie writing some of Vere's points made me think of Leander, but that's manipulation for you)

Or think Kuras, a doctor, an angel who passed through the shroud to watch over humanity. How would Kuras feel if the person he's grown so close to decides their curse isn't worth getting rid of now that you have him— can't you see the danger in yourself anymore?

Or try with, like some previous theories once said for us touching Leander: it doesn't affect him now... but eventually he will devolve into madness like the rest of everyone. But don't just apply that to Leander, now think of everyone else. Imagine finally finding someone you can touch without consequences. It's something that gets your blood rushing and heart pounting with a feeling your haven't felt in a while! However... the more and more you do so, you've noticed they've changed. They're more irritated, they've been having more headaches than normal, and their once beautiful smile twists into something dreadfully familiar. Congratulations, you've made your beloved mad with love! Here's the bad ending! Yipee!

Really, in the end it's all a balancing act, the stake were there and you don't want to take them away before the climax. If you do, place something else in its steed— something to raise them even further than what was initially thought possible.

[lunarnekomancer]

Okay, so. I've recently been really, really, really into Dandy's World (yanno, the Roblox game). There's many toony, intriguing characters, but the one that has caught my eye from the very start and has been holding it captive since August, when I started playing (what the hell dude give it back) is...

Astro! After all, I can't help being a sucker for moon-themed characters. They speak to me on a level unavailable to mere words.

Wanting to know how people characterize Astro, I scoured the internet for headcanons and theories, just to gain the slightest insight into how people perceived my darling moon man. It was not a very, ah, fruitful search.

You know what they say: if you want a job properly done, do it yourself. Thus this post. yayayayayaya (feat. projecting. like. a *lot* of projecting. And also me desperately trying to explain how badly I relate to this gloomy, tired waning cresent. If I am getting awfully verbose, please bear with me. I'm just excited.)

- First of all, it's quite strange that I don't see that much headcanons for autistic Astro. Some traits of his really resonate with my own autistic traits. (I also headcanon him as predominantly inattentive ADHD but this is more projecting than 'I have a point actually' but it's not entirely projecting either? I don't know man I'll try elaborating later). I also headcanon Astro to have problems with anxiety (probably canon) and depression (might be canon-ish, if you read his Twisted description).This will all hopefully be elaborated on later in the post.

- Aroace! His relationships are actually QPRs :3

- He's fairly sensitive to others raising their voice. Not only is Loud and Uncomfortable, it also gives him the gut feeling of 'oh shit are they mad?? are they mad at me oh shit oh shit' and it's fight or flight from there.

- He's not the best with his own (and to some extent, others') emotions. He can get random, inexplicably strong emotions out of seemingly nowhere, eg. guilt, sorrow, anxiety, etc. However, people consider him quite an understanding Toon as he's fairly good at listening to others.

- His blanket is weighted.

- His circadian rhythm is beyond salvageable (well, if Toons have circadian rhythms). This is due to staying up all night to ensure the Toons have good dreams, and a lot of long day naps. A lot.

- Intense sensory input tires him out. This includes bright lights, highly saturated colours, crowds of people moving & stamping around and talking at the same time. Which is why the Astro's Room map exists. It serves as a place of refuge for him when all the snap and noise and colour of the rest of Gardenview get to him. If he can't go back to his room when things get too much for him, he will sometimes curl into a ball mid-air as to ensure he doesn't touch anything, even the ground. The toon handler photo actually relates to this. I headcanon that Astro was supposed to take the photo in a more isolated area, without flashlights and the public surrounding him. But the Gardenview higher ups just. Didn't give a shit and made him take the photo at a large publicity event, intense sensory input and all. This is why Astro's handler looks pissed, as he was angry for Astro's needs being unaccommodated despite being a main. It took quite a long time for Astro to unwind and destress from the event, with help from his handler and some other toons (mostly the mains).

- Speaking of Astro getting mistreated by Gardenview, young Astro was a massive crybaby and got so much flack for it from the Gardenview executives. The photography headcanon mentioned above was caused by said executives think that 'he had to toughen up somehow'. He has not grown out of being prone to tears but he's growing accustomed to holding it in until he's alone until he starts breaking down sobbing.

- His stims include fidgeting with his nightcap and blanket, hand flapping (he often does this without knowing), rocking himself and pacing. Pacing is by far his favourite + most common. He also has one that involves him doing a small jump in the air and slowly floating back down (similar to his ability animation).

- He can definitely sleep while standing up.

- It's pretty much canon that he has psychic powers, but I headcanon that the specific powers he has include telekinesis, some degree of precognition and levitation, not to mention his power over sleep and dreams. The precognition thing is a large reason for the guilt that consumes the mind of his Twisted version and Toon version (albeit the latter being on a more minor scale).

(TW for self harm in the next point)

- Sometimes he overexerts himself with his powers on purpose. This leads to symptoms like vertigo, nausea/vomiting and extreme lethargy and depression. His Twisted form is permanently stuck in this state.

Now, time for some lighter headcanons!

- He's really intelligent and can be quite logical and strategic. Hell, he'd have figured out what Dandy was doing with the Ichor even without his powers. (HE'S ALSO A NERD. THIS IS COMING AFFECTIONATELY FROM SOMEONE WHO IS ALSO A NERD. HE'S MOST LIKELY A SPACE NERD THOUGH BUT I ACCEPT NERDINESS OF ALL SORTS)

- He has plenty of catlike mannerisms. I will not elaborate.

- The blanket he carries around has been with him since his conception. It used to be way too big for him so you'd just see a baby Astro towing around a cape of a blanket. (He'd trip on it sometimes, but he usually stands back up unscathed).

- There's probably numerous forums out there made by grown up fans of the show discussing 'what the fuck is Astro'. Some might just consider him an anthropomorphic moon, but others disagree and continue debating because 'what kind of moon has SIX LIMBS' (side note: if i were Astro, I'd only ever show my hands when I'm flipping someone off. Rest assured that I will use all four of them)

- Assuming that Moonflower was canon at some point + resulted in marriage/engagement, Dandy probably proposed with an armillary sphere ring. However, I headcanon their current relationship to be highly strained or even borderline abusive (pov: manipulative ahh abuser Dandicus) due to the Ichor situation. Despite Dandy's efforts to hide the degradation of their bond, other toons have already noticed it. Vee was the first to know and is slowly persuading Astro to let go. (okay if anyone jumps at me for mischaracterizing Dandy, I wanna clarify that I see him as kinda... morally grey? Grey-ish? Like he might have had good intentions but stuff happens and he ends up hurting and manipulating others)

- If the Toons knew about Pokémon, there'd be a running gag that Astro was one. Specifically Lunala.

- Has read the DSM at some point. I don't know, I think he'd read it out of sheer curiosity, just as a 'mmm interesting 👁️👁️'

- Given the right topics, you find him becoming Shelly in terms of enthusiasm and knowledge.

- Sweet food connoisseur.

Okay. I promised you a part on AuDHD Astro. Nobody asked, yet you receive nonetheless. My verbosity does not improve here so you can guess what's coming. Spoiler alert: I go off topic. Very, very off topic. (This isn't me trying to diagnose Astro or anything, it's more or less relating my own relationship with my disabilities with a silly fictional character that speaks to me.)

- The first thing I saw in Astro was the... melancholy? Hanging over him like it was his default state. (also fun fact this was also the reason that lead to me buying Razzle and Dazzle for my first purchased Toon) I also saw the physical obscurity, the way he hid his body behind a tightly-wound blanket, the way part of his face was always in shadow. I've always been somewhat reluctant to be fully perceived. Maybe that why I enjoyed the Moon, something that erratically switches between 'i will gladly be dissected to bits and put on display' to 'for the love of God, don't acknowledge me'. The desperate feathered want for understanding clashes with the deep-rooted fear of the pain that comes with rejection and once again being seen as too 'weird', too 'off', too 'difficult', too 'sensitive', too 'anxious', too 'logical', too much yet too little of everything, paradoxes and all. It was ridiculous, but Astro seemed like he'd know, what it was like to never get a hold of the middle ground that others seem to navigate with ease. I laid my eyes on him, and I decided that I would buy him one day. One day.

- Once I had taken an interest to Astro, I consulted the Dandy's World Fandom wiki to scrape out any information I could get out of the site. I learned that he was shy, that he was stealthy, from his dialogues and the way he shies away from the camera, hiding behind his handler. He was tired often, and would sometimes doze off during excursions. He did not like loud spaces, and has the tendency to talk with many pauses, perhaps to think out what to say next. He enjoyed reading, and in his conversations, he is confronted by another toon, to which he responds by backtracking and apologizing. Yet he does not seem to be entirely without backbone. All these traits coagulate into a foreign yet oh-so familiar persona, while my mind pokes and prods at me, saying 'look, that's you'. His traits, my traits, my traits that came as a package deal or a cause-and-effect with my own disabilities (the dislike of noise and light and the attention it tends to entail, the exhaustion, the apologies that I have gotten many an amused 'you haven't done anything wrong' for, the withdrawal of the needs and wants of the self, see Vee's comment of 'You need to start worrying about yourself more' the being told that you made to be great but still act like a wallflower, maybe out of fear or other incomprehensible reasons). I can never put it all into words, how Astro, a cartoonish character from a Roblox game, has this much significance to me. It's ridiculous, yes, but it's still true.

In short: *blasts Astro with the self-projection + 'he just like me fr' beam*

(Also, if you managed to get through all of this, wow. I'd never expect someone that's willing to wade through my projectile-word-vomit, but here you are. Thank you for reading it all; it means worlds to me :D)

[sueske]

See this is why I could never let go of the “sarada was an experiment/test tube kid” because everything about it makes so much more sense for sasuke and sakuras absolutely bizarre dynamic in gaiden and beyond including how they don’t act like a normal married couple at all and how there’s still so much mystery around their relationship even after gaiden

i just could never really subscribe to the “sakura wore sasuke down and followed him for so long so he just finally married her and had a kid” theory HOWEVER i can easily see sasuke quickly marrying sakura after sarada is born and playing pretend normal family with her as his own way of trying to make sarada’s early life be as normal as possible with two parents because he knows that her finding out she was an experiment would be extremely traumatic for her (and it just sounds like something sasuke would DO because it’s a rational decision and he wants sarada to grow up in a somewhat normal environment)

also I know for a fact that sakura’s character would HAPPILY agree to raise sasuke’s kid (or any uchiha clone) because in her mind if she raises sarada…….she will also by default finally have sasuke…..like they would finally have something that actually connects them (cue sasuke’s “because we have you” weird speech) even though he still can’t manage to kiss or hug her like if they were actually in love

kishimoto certainly portrayed them as being in a loveless marriage whose feelings are only connected because of their kid. and what type of feelings exactly? it's left pretty vague, but it's clear they're not feelings of love from sasuke's side. the test tube theory makes the most sense tbh, even with the new developments in boruto.

in any case sasuke didn't quickly marry sakura after giving birth to sarada. you can tell by the uchiha crest.

this is during a flashback in gaiden - sarada looks quite young here, but neither her or sakura are wearing the uchiha crest.

this is during chapter 700 - they both look a bit older, but again neither of them are wearing the crest. it's also an interesting choice to show us their backs in clear view like that, we all know how careful kishimoto is with his angles and perspectives 😅

then we have another flashback in gaiden where finally we can see sakura wearing the crest - it's a bit unclear but you can still make out its shape.

the exact timings of the flashbacks are unclear but based on how they look my guess is that once sarada got older and started asking questions about her dad, sakura raised this concern to sasuke, and sometime during while he was in konoha to accept the mission they got officially married on paper, in sasuke's case to make it easier on sarada. they certainly didn't have a ceremony or anything because sakura doesn't have a ring and there's not even a wedding photo to show for it.

and then in gaiden (sarada is much older now) we can see the uchiha crest on their clothes and on the house that sakura eventually destroyed because she got angry her daughter was questioning her marriage... uhm...

I know some ss like to bring up 'sarada's memory' of them all:

but first of all kishi doesn't draw flashbacks like this. the actual flashback started after that panel. secondly, they're all wearing the uchiha crest. in the actual flashbacks above neither sakura or sarada wore the crests until sarada was much bigger. sasuke doesn't even wear his at all after the last anymore. It's more of a fantasy image on sarada's part. and kishimoto did draw something in a similar style at the start of gaiden:

this is sarada's fantasy of how she thought her father daughter reunion was going to go down, but never actually did. both of these events are things that never happened basically, but that she likes to imagine.

edit: forgot to mention that sarada herself said that for as long as she can remember she has never even met him. so yeah, it's obviously not a memory.

[tomyrtle]

Chapter 7

Bound into insanity — Bound into eternity

Sneak peak:

“Let me tell you something, Riddle,” she growled, clenching her fists. “You're not as magnificent as you think you are. If you could only see anything beyond the tip of your nose, you'd notice that you're not the only one getting outstanding grades in Potions. And maybe if you hadn't been climbing deeper and deeper up Slughorn's arse at every opportunity, perhaps he would have noticed it too! But no, you give him candied pineapples, pretend you're the perfect prefect, a polite boy, and he eats it up. Sometimes I think that if you were to spit into the cauldron before his very eyes, he'd consider it a pioneering idea worthy of a future Potions Master!” Riddle had acknowledged almost all of Myrtle's monologue with a pitying look through which he let her know that she was mentally challenged, but the last sentence made him raise an eyebrow. His eyes went hazy, as if he was picturing the scene described, and - to Myrtle's surprise - he burst out laughing.

“Quite plausible these theories of yours,” he admitted, though not without a shadow of ridicule. He repositioned his body, thrusting his hips forward slightly and stroked his imaginary beach-ball shaped belly. “Unconventional, Tom, unconventional, but very interesting indeed,” he mimicked Slughorn's voice, which would have turned out better had they been in their proper bodies. He added in his usual manner: “I'm sure I could do a lot more with the cauldron, and the old fool wouldn't have said anything.” Myrtle blinked, shocked. She was floored and hoped that she would not only rub his nose in it, but make him realise that he was not as good of an actor as he thought he was. Instead of being surprised and appalled by her words, what she received was another round of ridicule. “Now I'm going to tell you something, Warren,” he said with an unpleasant smile. “I don't pay attention to people who don't deserve it. Clearly you are jealous of me, but the truth is that you are a plain idiot. Yes, an idiot,” he repeated as Myrtle's jaw dropped. “You've got good grades, so if you wanted to, you could win Slughorn over. You know that candied pineapples and kind words work, but instead of participating in the game, you'd rather act like you're above it. You think you should get recognised because you're so magnificent, don't you? As magnificent as me? More magnificent?” He laughed unpleasantly. “And who's got an inflated ego here, huh? I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty in order to get what I want. You think you deserve the attention just because you're a tad better at cramming than the rest of that bunch of idiots that roam around Hogwarts.”

Read Chapter 7 here.

Read from the beginning here.

[samuraiko]

Yet ANOTHER late-night round of CR musings... (SPOILERS AHOY)

YOU KNOW THE DRILL

LOREM IPSUM

ARMA VIRUMQUE CANO

---

So apparently somewhere along the way (whether it was developed by Thull and the Paragon’s Call, or maybe the Cerberus Assemly, or possibly some third party), someone developed this toxin that was “designed intentionally to lock away divine magics, to prevent resuscitation.” (C3E36)

It’s also extremely expensive to make, hence why people aren’t just dashing around with it. And given how generally UNAVAILABLE resurrection magic is for the general populace (so who gives a fuck if they can be revived or not, the average citizen and even above-average citizen doesn’t just walk into a temple and ask for this), this has to have been developed with a VERY specific purpose in mind.

However, as demonstrated by Weva Vudol when she casts Speak With Dead (which does NOT converse with the soul, just with whatever temporary arcane ‘intelligence’ is manifested within the corpse long enough to speak with it), *SOME* divine magic still kinda sorta works on the body. (That said, Speak With Dead is also part of the Necromancy school of magic, and Bards can learn it, too.) But rejoining body and soul is RIGHT OUT.

So...

... would necromancy still work on someone killed with this poison? Could you still raise them as an undead?

Also...

If this poison severs the divine connection...

... what would happen if you used it on a cleric?

Granted, this theory would need a bit more testing, in whether its use on an individual that uses divine magic, but WITHOUT killing them, would still successfully sever said connection.

What would that mean, I wonder? If there were a poison that removed divine magic?

And for that matter...

... what if you used it on the physical manifestation of a god?

Imagine what would have happened if Vox Machina had used that on Vecna, and then just flatout killed him instead of just sealing him away with the trammels.

It’d make things REALLY interesting if part of the Ruby Vanguard’s goals are to destroy the Divine Gate. Since freeing Predathos doesn’t automatically mean he can GET to the gods if they’re all beyond the Gate. So SOMEWHERE in all this, the actual Divine Gate (not just the one surrounding Ruidus) has to come down.

OH FUCK I JUST HAD A THOUGHT.

WHAT IF LUDINUS AND CO. FOUND *ANYTHING* ABOUT LAERRYN’S ASTRAL LEYWRIGHT?

That thing that allows you to bampf to ANY plane you want using the leylines?

Is the Ruby Vanguard going to use something like that to just point Predathos at the Divine Gate and go, “Have fun”? Would that allow you to BYPASS the Divine Gate?

So much for C3 being a ‘lighter and fluffier’ campaign than C1 and C2...

[vaspider]

Ah, yes, because as we know, the expression of free will is far more important than something that actually functions properly or creates real equity.

I have never seen a better explanation of the difference between the concept of charity and the concept of tzedakah, and why I don't like translating the latter word into "charity," because it's not.

"Charity" comes from the word carus, referring to the Greek word agape, for love. It comes from "feelings" as noted above. You do it because you love people. And in theory, this concept isn't bad, except that it can manifest like this bullshit above where what's more important is how the giver feels about it than how effective or just it is or what kind of real change it creates.

Tzedakah comes from the same root as tzedek, justice, as in "tzedek, tzedek tirdof," Justice, justice you will pursue. Tzedakah asks not how do I feel about this, do I love the people that I'm giving tzedakah to, do I feel good, do I feel like they deserve this, but is this just? This is why the highest level of tzedakah according to Maimonides is to give to someone in such a structured way as to allow them to no longer require help, and the second highest is to give in such a way that you don't know the person receiving and the person receiving doesn't know who gave. You know. Like. Systematically. In a structured way.

Tzedakah asks, "Is it creating justice?" not "does it make me feel good?"

(Nothing is a fool-proof system, because people will always be people, so don't bother me with that, but the difference in priority here is striking.)

The point of the above post is that people love feel-good stories that don't actually address the root causes, don't actually lift people as a whole out of poverty or need. People eat up stories where a kid runs a lemonade stand and wipes out the lunch debt of the kids at his school without asking "why does lunch debt exist, and shouldn't we just do away with it?" They devour stories where the kids at a school raise money to buy a car for the janitor at their school because he was walking 10 miles a day to work without asking "why doesn't his job pay him enough to be self-sufficient?"

These stories never address the root causes, never go beyond the surface, never want to systematically solve problems. Because if we did that, gosh, how would people have the "expression of free will" that allows them to feel good about lifting up a deserving poor?

I do think it's also extremely telling that the immediate assumption of the above poster is that they'd be required to give more than they'd receive, that they'd have to give monetarily, that they wouldn't get what they actually needed in their own time of need, or that their feelings are more important than someone else's dire need.

I dunno, buddy, if you're so sure that you're going to give more than you get, or that the system won't be there for you when you need it, you could try being part of the group that builds the system to make sure it works. But if the problem is that giving to others in a systematic way that actually works and creates justice and equity takes away the special warm feeling in your tummy, that sounds like a you problem.

tl;dr: nobody asked for you to be the bad example, but here you are, honking your squeaky red nose and spinning your bow tie for everybody.

[sweetanxiousangel]

Themes

Have you ever noticed that every day has a theme? Or maybe every week?

Maybe it's just me over thinking... or maybe astrology has something to do with it... But I have noticed that there are patterns of events, thoughts, and observations that lead up to a daily or weekly theme. Sometimes it clicks randomly and I'm like "oh shit... Today's theme is___." It's kinda fun. I feel like themes add more meaning to my life.

Today's theme (11/15/2023) is "What is 'good enough'?"

I graduated university in May, finally got my license, then quickly after got into a car accident that forced me to go a few months without a vehicle. I stayed home to fulfill my end of a deal between my great-grandmother, which was: I get to live for free as long as I take care of her. In other words, I'm at Walmart every other day. I am very grateful for the deal, but it's hard being alone without much support. I had to raise myself, a bunch of kids, and my mom. I have a mother who is physically present but genuinely absent. She has always forced me to handle things completely alone. I managed to get a degree and my license with some help from my long time boyfriend but it was still a lonely journey. Well, anyways....

Now to the theme.

My mom has the tendency...uh... to not be honest to get her way? She has always loved to attack my insecurities in ways that she feels are subtle. The biggest, most recent example of this was telling me about a conversation between her and my great-grandmother. She insists that my great-grandmama said that "She is sick and tired of waiting for us to get our shit together." I don't understand. My mom has refused to work for years so she can recieve more child support from her ex and more benefits from the government. She doesn't contribute financially or even emotionally. She forces me to figure it out for my great-grandma, sisters, and myself. Yet I'm being told that I'm not doing enough. I'm not working because I was without a car and I live far from everything. My mom was always weird about me using her car... and defintely didn't want to help me get to interviews or appointments. Why am I being seen and treated like a loser because I'm not making money? Why are family members who do not talk to me call me names despite me dedicating my time and effort to ensuring that their mother/grandmother/aunt is healthy and safe?

It's funny. Honestly. I feel guilty for not doing more. Especially those months I literally could not do more. I had to rely on my boyfriend who has recently gone back to school. I felt guilty asking for help because my family really isn't his problem.

My theory regarding that conversation between my mom and great-grandmama is that there is some truth. My great-grandma wants to see me work before she feels comfortable giving me my inheritance (the home we live in). I feel that my mom is adding pressure on me to "handle" the situation, so she feels safe living here. As in... as long as I'm the owner, she will always have a home.

For a woman who is aware that she has failed me constantly... she sure has a lot of nerve to feel this entitled.

I've tried my best my whole life. I was only ever met with "Good. That's what the fuck you should be doin'." :| It's like I was trained to go above and beyond and never stop. I'm so drained.

I'm 23. I'm a woman now. Why can't I recognize my worth and give myself some credit?

What is good enough? Why am I so unhappy despite doing so much with so little?

So... What's my next step? I got a little excited thinking about my blog that it has already motivated me to take headshots to update my LinkdIn and resume. I can't wait to start my career. I just want to be secure finally. Secure in all aspects of my life.

[miekasa]

six thirty

+ pairing: armin arlert x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, enemies to lovers… kinda… in a very nerdy academic rivalry kind of way, me being a comedian you’re welcome, fluff, smut/nsfw content

+ word count: 5.6k… pls say sike

+ notes: shout out to ryn​​ for listening to me during our very many rambling sessions and also for extorting me into posting this. consider it a late birthday present for my favorite menace </2

+ side notes: no i am not a part of armin nation and i never want to be, nor do i wish speak of this again.

Armin Arlert is the perfect student. Prompt and well prepared during lecture; smart and insightful during office hours; the apple of any teacher’s eye. Unfortunately for him, so are you.

If you asked Armin, you were a little too clever for your own good, and liked to make it very well known that you believe you’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that he has to sit there and worship your superiority complex. 

If someone asked you, you’d say that Armin was a know it all, and a manipulative little piece of shit. Again, not a completely false statement, but perhaps a slightly biased character analysis.

Neither of you are wrong. It’s why you’re both the bane of each other’s existence.  

There’s a noticeable grimace on your face, chin in your palm, elbows resting atop your desk, as you turn your head to where, sure enough, Armin is seated where he always is: first row, right side, directly in front of the podium, like perfect little teacher’s pet he wants to be. He doesn’t have any books to unpack like everybody else because a shiny, blue iPad is propped up on his desk in place of all of that. He’s robably looking through his pre-written list of showboaty questions to ask during lecture. Like he’s a cut above everyone else.  

Maybe some of the other morons in this course, but not you, that’s for damn sure. You bet that if you broke his thousand dollar tablet he wouldn’t think he’s such hot shit anymore. Maybe that would knock him down a couple of pegs.

“Look at him sitting there with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid Bieber haircut, and his stupid, shiny blonde hair, and his stupid fucking glasses. I bet they’re not even real and he just wears them to—”

“Did you just call his hair shiny?”

You snap your head to your left, “What—no, of course not. I said shoddy, he’s probably a bottle blonde. Maybe all the chemicals from the hair dye seeps into his head and warps his sense of reality.”

“I’m pretty sure you said shiny.”

“Shut up, Annie.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “You got something against blondes? Because your track record would beg to differ.”

“Once. We kissed once, and it was truth or dare, and we were both sloshed.”

“You still chose me,” she reminds you, pulling her notebook out of her backpack.

You huff, ignoring her words and turning your head back to Armin, this time finding him twirling his stupid fucking expensive Apple Pencil between his fingers like it’s nothing. You can feel your eye begin to twitch.

Perhaps he can, too—or maybe he can just feel your eyes boring holes into him—because he turns in your direction and ceases his pen twirling the moment you make eye-contact. More students filter in, walking past your line of vision, but each time they move, you and Armin meet gazes again; neither one of you daring to look away, a palpable tension between you.

His eyes might be icy blue, but you can see the rose pink tint underneath his skin, even from the distance; a familiar blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks. You exhale with a silent laugh, breaking your eye contact before he grows completely red, just in time for Dr. Zöe to start the lecture.

Everybody thinks that Armin’s so brilliant, so smart, so untouchable. You know that his only genius is that he’s fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the kind, humble, little nerd boy who wouldn’t harm a fly, when that’s far from the truth.

Armin is mean. He’s competitive and possessive and snarky and sly. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but you’re pretty sure the only person in the world who might believe that is Eren. Though, you’ve heard some of the insults Armin throws Eren’s way, and they’re not exactly soft. Granted, that’s a factor in any friendship, and most of his jabs are coated with a layer of intellect the brunette likely doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t make Armin any less sarcastic. It just means Eren’s too dumb to know what’s going on.

Poor kid. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s all to say that Armin is nothing but a big talker—not even; a smooth-talker, is more like it. He comes across as perfect, all good and sweet and soft, because that’s what he lets people see. Nobody else looks through to the sharp tongue and ragged edges, because they’re too busy cooing over innocent blue-eyed baby in front of them.

But you know that Armin, the one he doesn’t want other people to see: the one that’s so good, he’s bad; so sweet that he’s sick; so nice that it’s cruel. And you know just how much pressure to apply to make his façade crack.

And you intend on doing so.

“I don’t know which formula to use—hey, are you two eye fucking again? Cut it out, I’m trying not to fail over here,” Eren exclaims, poking Armin’s shoulder with his pen.

The jab averts the blonde’s attention back to his friend, eyes wide as he blinks himself back to reality. He curses under his breath when he feels a familiar warmth creeping across his cheeks. Few things piss Armin off like the way he gets red in the face after thinking about you, or even just looking at you, for too long. Whether it’s red out of pure annoyance, or another feeling he tries to push down, it’s irritating, and above all, embarrassing.

He spares one more glance over his shoulder, to where you and Annie are sat a few tables away in the library. You’ve looked away by now, focusing back on your notes, but Armin swears he can still see that irritating smirk on your face from this angle.

He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should be able to keep it together around you by now, but he can’t, and it bothers him. You bother him.

“We weren’t eye fucking,” he refutes, turning his back to you completely, “She’s such a little know it all sometimes, s’annoying.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. He knows that you and Armin don’t get along, but he doesn’t understand why. Armin knows almost all your friends, and you definitely know all of his—Eren would even go as far as to say that you and him are pretty close friends—so it’s not a matter of not spending time together. You’re also the two smartest people Eren knows. In theory you should have more than enough to talk about together, but every time you’re in the same room, you hardly acknowledge each other outside of surface level commentary, or glances that border on staring.

Thankfully, the bickering remains in the classroom for the most part. Eren’s seen you and Armin go at, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s beyond intimidating. Though, a little part of him finds it oddly entertaining, and he can’t help but to be impressed. All the more reason for you two to start playing on the same team. 

Eren thinks the two of you should get to the root of the issue already. Which, if you asked him, has very little to do with your rivaled academic genius, and a lot to do with your lack of it concerning your feelings for each other.

“She’s not that bad,” Eren vouches for you, “I think you two might get along if you ever spoke outside of trying to one-up each other in class.”

“I’m not trying to one-up anybody,” Armin rolls his eyes, a nasty habit he’s picked up as of late, “And if you stopped and used your brain for a moment, then maybe you could solve the problem.”

“I did use my brain!” Eren’s lips fall into an offended pout, “But none of this makes any sense to me! I fucking hate math, you know that.”

Armin sighs, feeling sympathetic for Eren as he slumps into himself defeatedly. He knows that Eren isn’t dumb, but math in any capacity is certainly not his strong suit. He also knows that he shouldn’t give Eren all the answers, but sometimes he needs a little push to get him there. A little bit of added guidance and motivation to keep him going. It’s either that, or he has to trick Eren into doing the work himself, but clearly that method wasn’t working out today.

“You already solved for the activation energy, now you’re supposed to use the Arrhenius equation in the expanded form.”

Eren’s lips fall into a small o-shape, as his eyes scramble across his paper again. “But—how do you—”

“There’s two measurements given for temperature.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Okay, right, but then—”

“You have to convert it to Kelvin first or it won’t work. It’s given to you in Celsius.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows together, and then it finally clicks for him. He mutters to himself as he puts his pencil to paper to begin to work through the problem, “How do I convert—”

“Add 273.15 to it. Make sure you put the bigger one first in the equation, or else you’ll get a negative error.”

“You didn’t even do it,” Eren huffs, angrily punching numbers into his calculator, “How do you know it’s right?”

“Because I took this class already,” Armin reminds him, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’m tutoring you?”

Eren coughs over his embarrassed blush, “Oh, yeah, right.”

It’s quiet between them as Eren makes a final attempt at solving the equation, carefully and proudly circling his answer when he’s finished. He looks to Armin with bright eyes, and is content when the blonde gives him a reassuring nod, confirming that his answer is correct.

“Well that was a bitch to work through,” Eren sighs, stretching his arms behind his head with a slight yawn, “Chemistry is nothing but glorified math. It’s barely a science.”

Armin shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree. He isn’t the biggest fan of chemistry, unlike somebody else he knows. “Why’d you take chem if you knew it would have so much math?”

It’s Eren’s turn to shrug, slumping back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, “I gotta take all the pre-med requirements… just in case.”

“You wanna go to med school? Since when?”

Eren averts his eyes from his friend, a telltale sign of his bashfulness coming over him. It doesn’t happen often, but Armin knows it’s sincere when it does.

“Dunno. I’m not sure of it, just wanna keep my options open, you know?” Eren replies casually, “Doctors help make a difference and all that, and surgery looks kind of cool. Besides, if my bastard father could do it, how hard could it really be?”  

A gentle smile grows on Armin’s lips, “You can do it. If you really want to, I know you can.”  

Eren’s head snaps up, eyes wide and filled with affirmation and adoration. He relaxes his expression quickly after, but the pink hues are still present, “Thanks, Min.”

From his position he catches eye of another head of familiar blonde hair over Armin’s shoulder, and beside it, your own hair. There’s a flash of a moment when your eyes meet Eren’s, and you offer him a small wave before turning back to Annie to resume doing your homework. Eren barely gets the chance to wave back, but a dopey smile sits on his features at your kind gesture. It fades when he looks back to Armin, once again pondering the animosity between you two.

You and Armin aren’t all that different, you just need to get to know each other better. Actually, Eren thinks that you might make a good couple if you both stopped overthinking it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and (_____)?” Eren asks, bending his right knee to wrap his arm around his leg and rest his chin on top of it, “You act like she kicked your cat.”

“What?” Armin questions, flustered, “What—no, she wouldn’t touch Soup.” 

Eren quirks an eyebrow at that. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Soup.”

“It’s technically a nickname.”

“A nickname for what?”

“…For Miso Soup.”

Eren blinks. “Okay, if she didn’t mess with Soup, then what’s the issue? You scared of her or something?”

“Why would I be scared of her?” Armin asks, tone incredulous; then softer, more subdued, like a kid who doesn’t want to admit they’re wrong, “’M not scared of her.”

“You stare at her like you are—well, you look kind of angry, but also scared. Like, when you see those balloon things outside of car washes. You hate them, but you can’t look away from them—”

“I am not scared of those!”

“You are, and it’s okay,” Eren waves away his friend’s denial, “Oh, I get it—is this one of those things where she makes you nervous, so you respond with anger and sarcasm instead of thinking through your feelings?”

“You’ve been going to therapy for one month, relax.”

“Maybe you two should go to friend therapy and work this out,” Eren bites back, “It probably doesn’t help that she’s always with Annie. They both look like they would murder someone with no remorse. I admit, it is kind of scary… but it’s kind of hot, too.”

Armin spares him an unamused glare. Eren crosses his arms in defense, “What? I’m not wrong. It’s sexy in a scary kind of way, maybe that’s why you’re always eye fucking. I don’t blame you, she’s hot. I would let her and Annie axe-murder me without regret.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do problem six, I don’t have all day.”

Eren huffs, but flips the page to the next problem, grumbling under his breath as he attempts the, “It’s not as sexy when you’re mean, you know.”

Armin hits him silent.

Tuesdays are Armin’s favorite days because he only has one class. Sure, it’s three hours long, but it’s much more bearable than his usual eight-hour day.

It’s also the one class he shares with you. Which is why he’s always mentally exhausted by the end of it, but physically, he feels like he could punch a wall; all his pent up anger and frustration is channeled into his body and he’s desperate for an outlet for it. It’s a feeling he hates to love.

Annie seems to have cut class today seeing as she’s not next to you; and it’s almost as if it’s emboldened you to mess with him even more than usual.

He bites his tongue as Dr. Zöe enthusiastically uses your latest point as a segue into the final topic of the evening. He made that same point ten minutes ago. You just worded it differently—admittedly, more concisely, but somehow with a little more nuance, than when he had hesitantly proposed it—and, yeah, maybe you made it sound more convincing, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come up with it first. If his stupid, fancy stylus didn’t cost upwards of $200 he might have snapped it in half.

You’re definitely the better conversationalist, that much he can admit. Words have never been his forte and he hates the way you can talk circles around him, and that there’s so little he can say to make you stop.

He wishes you would just shut up. In fact, he’d like to shut you up himself.

Thankfully, class ends sooner rather than later. Armin finds himself briefly talking with Dr. Zöe afterwards, most other students having taken the opportunity to leave early for the night. To nobody’s surprise, you’re not one of them, having stuck around to talk to the professor, too.

“The two of you should consider lab research this summer,” Dr. Zöe suggests ardently, walking between the two of you as you exit the lecture hall, “I could really use two students like you!”

Armin chuckles at his boisterous professor. He’s known about the research opportunities at their lab for quite some time now, and he knows that you have, too. “I don’t know that lab work is really my strong suit.”

The three of you come to stop at the hallway intersection, the professor now standing across from you and him. You give them a polite smile, “And I’m not sure that collaboration is mine.”

Armin spares a glance just in time to see you flash one of your own in his direction. Dr. Zöe’s eyes flicker between the two students rapidly, a slight squint to their eyelids.

They aren’t quite sure why their two brightest students seem to despise each other. They wish you two would just get along already, so that they don’t have to spend the summer training half-witted chemical engineering majors how to use basic lab equipment; and instead, conduct some actual research.

“Well, I hope the both of you reconsider,” they smile, “I’ll see you during office hours, I presume?”

You two nod in sync, sending the doctor off with happy smile, just long enough until you see that they’ve turned the corner further down the hall

“Had fun stealing my point earlier?” Armin questions, looking your way as you still wave mindlessly, eye-twitching at your polite façade.

“I would call it improvement,” you tell him, not bothering to turn in his direction; still and smiling waving like the professor can see or hear you, “You should stick to showing, rather than saying. You never were good with your words.”

Armin kisses his teeth together. He’ll give you what you want, if that’s how you want it.

In a fit of irritation, he grabs your moving hand by the wrist, and pulls you down the opposite hallway, not caring for your dramatic wailing behind him.

“Hey, Einstein, the exit is the other way, do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of observational learning? Maybe if you shut up for a second, you would figure it out,” he snaps, pulling you further.

There’s a door on the left that Armin knows is unlocked, and he’s quick to open it and pull you inside. Before you have the chance to glance around, he has you pushed up against the wall, jaw forced up and forward.

He could scoff at the small hitch in your breath at his actions, clearly a little too satisfied with being manhandled; but instead, he takes the opportunity to press your lips together. Armin quite likes the feeling of your lips on his; warm and soft and far too welcoming; a rare moment of silence.

“Someone could hear us.”

Or not so silent.

“Then be quiet,” he snarls.

Armin feels your fingers weave themselves into his hair, scraping along his undercut in sync with his lips trailing down your jaw. A groan falls from his when he feels you tug at the ends of the strands, just hard enough to force his face back to eye level with yours.

“You’re the one with the big mouth.”

“You’re so smart, huh. Always got something to say,” Armin lets out a low chuckle, deft fingers running down your sides to squeeze at your waist, “You can be really fuckin’ annoying, you know that.”

You mirror half of his ministrations, letting your right hand trail down his chest barely brushing over the very visible bulge in his jeans, before hooking your index finger under the belt loop, effectively pulling him closer to you.

The smile on your face is dirty, but you’re not laughing like he was, “Do something about it then.”

His blue eyes grow cloudy as he takes a good look at you; slowly rakes over your features, from that stupid, snarky look in your eyes, to your kiss-bruised lips, down to your chest, and back up again. Armin finds himself copying your smirk for all the wrong reasons. But it’s your own fault; you always did like to push him one step over the edge.

“Fine.”

Despite your twisted grin there’s a look in your eyes that’s eager; willing; ready for the taking. That same look you have when you talk over him in class; when you pretend to ignore him around your mutual friends; when you want him to fuck you stupid.

Armin uses his right hand to cup your jaw again, closing the distance between your mouths with a less than gentle kiss. He feels your groans reverberating through his body, waves of heat accompanying them and going straight to his erection. Your arch your back into the kiss, but he forces you backwards, left hand flat against your tummy.

Following suit, he pushes himself against your body, pressing his knee between your legs; the thin fabric of your stockings doing little to prevent your thighs from rubbing against him.

He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips, earning a frenzied whine when glides his tongue across yours, and teasingly licks at the roof of your mouth. Your tongue is lithe against his, but somehow just as deceptive and sly as always, and Armin would be a fool to deny that he loved it.

There’s a spark flickering in his stomach when you push your center harshly against his; and it’s only ignited further when he feels you bite his bottom lip. A guttural growl escapes him, his right hand moving to your throat with practiced ease, pushing the back of your head into the wall.

He pauses for a moment, drinks in your wide eyes and desperate visage, “You are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

And he couldn’t get enough of it if he tried. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You must see through his words, into the grainy expression of adoration in his eyes, because he can see it filtering into yours, pupils dilating with both want and care.

“Aw, baby, I love you, too,” you pout, leaning forward as best to can to peck him on the lips, “Now, shut me up and fuck me. It’s exhausting being this pretty and smart-mouthed, you know.”

Armin dips his head into your neck, squeezes against the column of your throat with warning until he hears a gasp escape from your lips. He presses gentle kisses into your skin, in stark contrast to the increasing pressure from his fingers, waiting for one last request, and then, finally—“Please.”

He smiles, loosens his grip for a moment, just long enough to hear your pretty panting, before slotting his lips against yours again. Your moans are lewd and sloppy and breathless between kisses, and it makes his dick twitch in his pants. You really are so fucking loud. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He uses his free hand to push your skirt up, and subsequently dip past the weak barrier of your tights and underwear. The slightest flicker of his fingers against your center has you choking out a moan, and Armin is forced to press his right thumb harder against your neck.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “You asked nicely, so I’ll give you what you want. No need to be loud about it.”

He watches you nod with short and restricted movements, a sadistic kind of power washing over him at your eager compliance. He uses his middle finger to rub slow, careful circles around your clit; the feeling of your wet cunt against his fingers, coupled with your wanton moaning only spurs on the throbbing in his pants.

“Armin,” you whine, impatiently; but he expected that of you, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes flash to yours briefly, pressing his lips to yours again to swallow your shuddered moans. He dips his tongue into your mouth at the same time he does his middle finger into your cunt. An obscene moan echoing through the classroom, as Armin feels your body arching into his again; feels your fingers frantically flying to his hair, searching for purchase to anchor yourself on.

He pulls away in time to add another digit and watch you groan underneath him. He pushes both his fingers in to the knuckle, carefully curling them upwards to elicit the prettiest sound out of you. He has to admit, it’s probably his favorite thing to hear come out of your mouth.

He keeps a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy with perfect friction, teetering between letting you moan his name and choking you silent. Your hands are frantic in his hair, grasping and pulling and so, so, desperate, Armin can’t help but to finger fuck you harder.

“You want one more?” he questions, but his voice is taunting, words ghosted over your lips just out of reach for you to kiss.

He can feel your leg trembling against his, see you pupils shaking along with your shaking head. Armin stops to smile; he thought you might do that. He could probably make you cry right now if he wanted to. Maybe later.

“Want you to fuck me,” your words short and ragged, eyebrows raised when he uses his thumb to press lightly against your clit, “Armin, please.”

The blonde shakes his head, “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m gonna fuck you in a classroom, baby, so if you want to cum now, you better tell me.”

You have the audacity to pout of all things, “You’re mean.”

Armin lets out a breathless laugh. “You like it,” he leans forward to peck you sweetly, “So, what’ll it be?”

“Fine, but I want head later, too,” you tell him, words becoming less firm when Armin teases his ring finger against your slit, “Please.”

Armin hums in compliance, leaning forward to kiss you again, this time with more tact, and he chases your whines when he finally pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Look at you,” he croons breaking your kiss and forcing your head back again, “You take it so well.”

“Ah—fuck, there, Armin—there,” you cry, wet heat squeezing around his fingers in intermittent spasms.

Armin watches your chest heave with desperate breaths, air stuttering to pass from your lips to your lungs with his hand around your neck. He can feel your walls constricting around his fingers, feel your body shaking underneath him when he increases his pace. He curls his fingers again, just right, just until he hears you sing a strained call of his name. And when he feels your nails scraping down the nape of his neck, and the slight weight of your body convulsing, Armin knows you’re done for.

He’s nice enough to fuck you through your orgasm, shallow thrusts of his fingers bringing you to and down from your high as he watches you pant for him. He presses small kisses against your throat, up, up, up, until he’s kissing you, and carefully pulling his fingers out.

He removes his hand from your neck, and slides it down your waist to offer you support. He’s not prepared for your sudden pull on his neck, forcing him into a kiss that conveys your content; he’s quick to raise his left hand, palm meeting the wall to hold himself up against your sporadic actions, chuckling lightly into your kiss. You were always so reckless and happy after an orgasm.

You kiss him like you have him wrapped your finger despite being the one pleading moments ago. You do, so he supposes it’s not unwarranted; and he welcomes your flirtatious kisses despite the annoying blush they always bring forth.

And sure enough, he can feel his face on fire when you pull away. Armin scoffs internally at himself; he really should be able to keep it together around you by now. But when you kiss him like that, you kind of make it hard to think straight.

“You’re so good when you’re not… pretending to be good,” you hum, a blissful, hazy look on your features as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Armin shakes his head with a chortle of disbelief; leans forward to kiss you again, “’M not pretending. I am good.”

“Yeah, you’re such a good little saint that arguing with your girlfriend turns you on,” you taunt him, “It’s okay, Armin, you can admit it.”

He groans, out of shallow annoyance this time, and it makes you giggle. “Why are you acting like you’re not complicit in this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you refute with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, “You get turned on by hearing me talk about biochemistry. I like it when you tell me to shut up about it. We are not the same.”

“Yeah, because you look hot doing it,” he tells you, “Speaking of which, Eren called you hot today, so I kind of need you to slip a neurotoxin in his Gatorade.”

“Aw, Eren thinks I’m hot? Tell him I think he’s hot, too,” you bat your eyelashes at him, but Armin only offers you an unimpressed glare in return.

“I think he might be onto us, actually,” Armin notes, affectionately bumping his nose against yours.

“If he’s onto us, then it’s because you’re the one giving it away, not me.”

“Oh, because you could never do anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” you flash him an overconfident smile before reaching up to kiss to the tip of his nose, “See you’re so smart, baby.”

Armin shakes his head again in disbelief. You’re a handful, he can see that much.

“Come on,” he prompts, “We should go, I still have to finish my lab write up, and I know you haven’t started your paper.”

Armin tries to motion you forward, but is stopped when he feels your hand combing through his hair, and sees the genuine spark of concern in your eyes. “The one for your elective? I thought you said you were going to finish it on Monday.”

“I was,” Armin admits, “But then I didn’t.”

“You want me to help you with it?” you offer kindly, pushing his bangs back and letting your hands fall down the sides of his face, palms resting against his ears.

He nods gently, turning his head to press a kiss into your left palm, before wrapping his hand around your wrist, “I can help you outline your paper.”

You nod in return, and Armin spares one more kiss, before pulling your hand away to lace your fingers together.

Thankfully, nobody’s around to catch you exiting the classroom, or see you holding hands as you make your way out of the building and towards the bus stop. This was Armin’s favorite part of any Tuesday; the one time he could hold your hand on campus without the fear of getting caught by your friends.

He reasons that you guys should probably tell them soon, though, especially if Eren might have an idea of what’s going on. You were bound to get caught sooner rather than later. That, or Eren and Sasha would start meddling.

“If you think Eren knows, then Mikasa definitely knows,” you note, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk through the parking lot as a shortcut.

“Maybe if you actually remembered to hide Soup’s toys, there would be less evidence for her to piece together.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t forget when your midterms are, I wouldn’t have to emergency cat sit the hour before Mikasa comes around, and there wouldn’t be any toys to hide in the first place.”

“I’m bad with dates, you know that!” Armin pouts, “I don’t say anything when you forget about ten page papers until four hours before they’re due.”

“You’re saying something right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I—you know, you’re so—”

Armin’s quiet when he feels your lips pressed against his cheekily, “Annoying. I know. You like it. You’re not very good at staying mad for very long.”

Armin’s tempted to roll his eyes yet again—he really needs to quit it, or at the very least, get your own temper under control before it’s irreversible and completely rubbed off on him—but takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead, instead.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your eyes twinkle under his affections. “And that you love me?”

He nods, “And that I love you.”

“And that you’re gonna fuck me before you make me write my paper when we get home, right?”

Armin chuckles and presses another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll see about that one.”

Hange huffs as they make their way through the parking. They always forget their keys in their office, and always, inconveniently park half-way across the campus. In their defense, this parking lot is free, and the one closest to the Medical Sciences building is not. So, really, capitalism is the one to blame for their frequent late night car lot strolls.

They hear two familiar voices bickering just as they’re about to step into their car, and are more than surprised to see their two favorite students walking together. Walking together and holding hands. Wait—you and Armin are walking together and holding hands?

Hange blinks for a moment, drowning out the sounds of the conversation after they see you two kiss. Their jaw practically falls to the asphalt and they might not blink for a full two minutes as they process what they just saw.

Their trance is broken when it finally, finally clicks together, and Hange has to try their hardest to contain their squeals before sitting in the driver’s seat, an overly forceful slam to the car door following. They waste no time fumbling with the pockets of their lab coat to fish out their phone, and make a call to their favorite math professor.

“Levi, I told you Arlert and (_____) had to know each other outside of class! I think they might be dating! You know what this means, right? I can have them both in the same lab without worrying they might start a chemical fire, and I won’t have to hire two brick heads this summer!”

Levi has never hung up a call more quickly in his life.

[etaleah]

I think the most valuable life lesson you can ever learn is that you should never, ever, ever put your job ahead of everything else. Do not even think of sacrificing your health, happiness, relationships, free time, and wellbeing for a company that will forget you were ever there and either replace you with a machine, outsource to a country where they can treat workers even worse than they do here, or give your job to another employee who will now be expected to take on double the responsibility for no extra money. Do not give everything you have to an organization that would never even think of doing the same for you.

I know we’ve been conditioned to think that if we just work hard, go above and beyond, and put in extra effort, the boss will notice and reward you accordingly. I used to believe that. But the truth is that the person who has the power to reward you accordingly is often so far up the chain that they’ll never even see your work, and even if they do, they won’t care. Because they like the idea of having lots of money for themselves more than they like the idea of you getting what you’re worth.

I worked for a corporation for 5 years. One of my conservative co-workers believed very strongly in the personal responsibility/bootstraps mentality. She routinely took anywhere from 8-16 hours of overtime whenever it was offered and made it clear she was happy to do it. I took none or very little. She had higher scores than me, better customer reviews, more experience, and a stronger skillset. I did the barest of bare minimums, as little as I could get away with. She went above and beyond many times.

We both got laid off the same day.

And as far as I know, her pay was the same as mine.

I realized early on that it did not matter how hard I worked. There was never going to be a raise in pay, an improvement in benefits, more vacation time, or shorter hours, because the company did not want to spend the money to give us those things even when they could easily afford it. And so, since they invested minimum money in me, I invested minimum effort in them. I used up all of my time off every year without a second thought and found all kinds of little tricks to get out of work.

I don’t regret it for a second.

You can (in theory at least) always make more money. You can never make more time. Money is replaceable. Time, relationships, and health are not. Those should always come first, before any job. Any workaholic who puts their job above everything else will live to regret it. Their jobs will not return the favor. No one is ever on their deathbed wishing they’d spent more time at the office.

Put the important, irreplaceable parts of life first. Your job, especially if it’s at a corporation, should come in last fucking place.

[hanafubukki]

“Love is for the lonely.

Love is for fools.

Loving you is precisely how it’s meant to be.”

“I am having,” he begins slowly, before gesturing outwards. “A crisis.”

Yeah…yeah you are dear. Don’t worry we all have them😂😂

“Is young master not hungry?” The kobold asks as its black eyes meet with his. It licks away blood from its fingers. “Does young master not wish to indulge? We fae are creatures of indulgences. Silly, to deny nature. Perhaps young master is my silly rat instead.”

YES YES THIS THIS THIS

Someone give that kobold a title and a raise!!!! 🤣🤣🤣💞💞💞

Lilia was wrong when he said Malleus wasn’t ill—what he should have said was; “Malleus, I fear you may have a case of idiotitis.”

STOP STOP THIS IS SO FUNNY 🤣🤣🤣

MALLEUS WISHINF FOR PHONE LINES AND LILIA TEASING HIM

My heart has been healed absjwjshahajdksk

His gaze follows it slowly straight back to Lilia’s scarlet eyes, which watch him with that familiar seriousness eons of experience can bring. When they meet gazes, Lilia’s expression softens to a small yet warm smile as that hand then ruffles Malleus’ hair.

“All will be well,” he hums, and the way that he says almost makes Malleus believe him.

Giggling and kicking my feet, ahhhh to be a malleus and Lilia simp has me going crazy

Giving malleus anxiety is kind of cute because he always wanted to be normal you know?? And who doesn’t feel anxiety over a crush???

The bards!! Believe me malleus you have Lilia to worry about, he’s much worse 🤣🤣

“I’m sure all will be forgiven.” He’ll make sure all will be forgiven. Respectfully.

IM LAUGHING AHNDJSJAJDJSHAH

Malleus once said to himself that loving you was for someone much bolder than he, but that had been a lifetime ago now. That had been when he was a recently broken boy lying on a hospital bed, trying to come back to himself after one of the most traumatic moments of his long life. That had been before his parent’s tomb, before the kobold, before he realized that to get what he wants he needs to be that bold.

He can be bold. He can be brave. He can say this.

“You are... gods. You do something to me. You inspire many feelings in me, and it is so overwhelming that my mind cannot wrap around them all.”

“Let me know you. Make me remember every damn moment so when the inevitable does come, when Death enters our home, I have something to hold onto.” He rasps. There’s a flicker of fire in your eyes but he hardly lets it ignite before he’s surging forward and finishing what you started on Main Street.

Kissing, to his surprise, is not as the books write it to be. His lips collide with your own and your teeth hit as he kisses you hard, like a starved man before a meal. His eyes shut tight and he holds his breath until he feels you respond as your hand releases his wrist to rest on the back of his head instead. His body relaxes against your touch as you both move to find a proper rhythm.

No, kissing is not as the books write it to be, but this isn’t a terrible thing.

When you finally separate from him, he’s all but ready to move in again, only to have you move so that your lips are against the shell of his ear instead. He can’t help but shiver at the sensation as you speak. “Malleus, breathe for a second.”

“Listen carefully.” You begin as your fingers slowly thread through his hair. “I will not be going anywhere for a long time. Yes, I will not live as long as you, but I will live as long as I can for you. You wish to remember every moment, so I’ll give you enough memories that you’ll have a new one for each day you remain beyond me.”

See above meme for my reaction andkahahjwkdndsjjsjs

He is a prince—and heir to a noble bloodline—and you are... well. You. But you are also you, and someone that he’ll go to hell and high water for. Come what may—he will end things with you by his side.

He says your name again, if only to see the warmth in your eyes before he moves in to test his theories about kissing once more.

Elegy

Inc: Malleus x Reader, Lilia, 1 kobold who deserves a raise Warnings: Little bit of angst/crisis, little bit of fear of death, and anxiety WC: 4.3k.... lmao Summary: Sprites are unpaid therapists, guardians are good at catsitting, and a prince has his third life crisis in 1 year. PART 1 | PART 2

The final part of the series!

He did not anticipate ending up in the mausoleum again, and yet it’s as though something had a lure on him from within, which dragged his unwilling body along until the scent of dirt and death took away all his other senses. The crown prince did not shuffle, but he did drag his feet a little as he disturbs the earth, and his gaze moves across the room. The air is stagnant and makes him feel like a burden for stirring it so. 

The last time he came here was when he was a child. He had plenty of opportunity to come back since then, but every time he would look at the dark entrance into this abode, he would feel a terrible sense of fear which would send him scurrying back to his grandmother with his tail between his legs. The fear has since diminished now that he has endured the events at NRC. Although a sense of unease still stirs in his heart, he forces it down as he sits on a stone bench fixated in the middle of the room and looks to the tombs.

His mother and father look back, expressionless and dead-eyed. 

“... hello.” His voice breaks from lack of use as he speaks to the ghosts that linger. He has said scarce few words since his return to Briar Valley for the summer, instead letting his retainers, and servants, and senate do all the talking for him. He clears away the dryness before continuing. “I figured it would be best to quickly visit and check on you. I see the groundskeepers have done well at clearing away the weeds.”

The stone statues offer no response to his comment as he takes in their features. He has inherited much of his mother, and extraordinarily little of his father. He does have Levan’s ears, and his lips, but Meleanor’s eyes and aquiline nose trump these features and demand observers’ attention. His fingers reach up to touch his face as he looks at hers, mapping their features together as he once did when he was younger. 

Then with a sigh, he drops his hands back to his lap and clasps them tightly together. He has come for reasons other then a familial obligation to check on his parents' tombs. His father had been a Duke, only a rank below his mother’s status, and so he isn’t too sure if his plight is even something he can rationalize to them.

Not that they can hear, anyway. His mother is nothing but dust and his father isn’t even in the bloody tomb. 

“I am having,” he begins slowly, before gesturing outwards. “A crisis.”

Well put. He is certain the mice and kobolds listening to him are nodding in their sympathies right now. 

“I am feeling a lot of things that I am not fully understanding, and I would quite rather brick myself up here then talk about them with anyone.” He already had Lilia giving him looks the entire boat ride back to the Valley. That had been two days of seasickness (which he still can’t rationalize how he has) and unbridled guilt eating away in his mind. “But you cannot comment, so I reasoned yours would be the best ears for listening to this.” 

He hears a chattering from somewhere in the back corner and pauses long enough to frown in the noise's direction. Kobolds, indeed. He would need to pass word to the groundskeepers about that. After the noises cease, he turns back to the tombs.

“There is a human who I seem to have developed quite an attachment to.” 

His mother would have cut him off right about here. From what he’s gathered, she was not the biggest fan of humans. His father on the other hand would have shushed her and bade him continue. Malleus finds himself creating very inspiring visuals in his mind of the entire interaction. 

“At the same time, I find myself seemingly paralyzed—”

“Silly rats, make silly hats!” A sharp, rasping voice causes Malleus’ jaw to snap shut and an unamused look to cross his face. The kobolds, again. He looks over his shoulder to see one of the small, gaudy creatures shambling along after a rat, which is scurrying as fast as possible to its nest. The kobold gnashes its sharp teeth while chanting, “Run, rat, run!” 

Malleus exhales through his nose before turning away for a second time now. “As I was saying, seemingly paralyzed at the prospect of doing anything regarding these feelings. I have lied to them numerous times now to remove myself from situations, and a few times I have acted beneath myself in their presence, and yet they have stubbornly remained by my side. They are sympathetic, and they seem to understand, but they are—”

“Rat! Rat!” The kobold’s shrill voice causes Malleus to grit his teeth again before twisting around on the bench. 

“Oh, for gods sake, I am trying to peacefully have a crisis here!” He finally hisses at the creature, which freezes in its place and looks at him with beady eyes. The rat takes this moment to skitter into a hole in one of the tombs. Only when its tail vanishes does the kobold look at where it last was with a forlorn expression. 

“Rat…” It rasps out. Then it looks back to Malleus. “Starving.”

“Aren’t we all?” Malleus grumbles before turning to the tombs again. He barely gets a word in before the kobold has skittered to his side and onto the bench. He can feel the muscle in his jaw twitch as he looks down at the creature. 

“Young master, hm?” It croaks as it begins tugging on his sleeve, likely trying to see if he has anything to offer. Malleus waves a hand and a plate of meat appears, delighting the creature as it begins to eat. 

“Anyway, I am at a loss.” Is what he concludes with as he looks at his parents once more. “My fear holds my tongue and I sense the opportunity of something slipping further away from me. Perhaps I should have remained sequestered in these halls if only to prevent such a cacophony of emotions from erupting in me.” 

“Fear inhibits us.” The kobold rasps as it pauses between bites. It licks its lips with its blackened tongue and looks up to the prince. Kobolds are cunning creatures, even if they may not present themselves as such all the time. This one assists in cleaning the tombs—for a fee. “What does young master fear?” 

“Death.” Malleus replies dryly, entertaining the kobold for now. He’s already treating his dead parents as his therapists—why not add another thing to the mix?

“Inevitable.” The kobold chokes on a piece of meat before correcting itself and continuing to gorge. It pauses between bites to keep speaking, however. “Why fear what is unavoidable? Silly. As silly as my silly rat. Best to live. Best to welcome him into the home when he comes knocking. Bam! Bam!”

The kobold lets out a shrill cackle, which causes Malleus to shake his head.

“I don’t think you understand the delicacy of my situation. Death will not come into my home before it does the home of my present disruptor.” He scoffs. “I already am surrounded by enough silent tombs. I have little interest in adding another.”

“Young master doesn’t know Death’s schedule. Death could be in his home tomorrow. Death could be in his home right now.” The kobold cackles again as it licks the remaining blood from the plate. “Silly to let Death cage you before he is required to.” 

Malleus falls quiet as he watches the kobold. It speaks so plainly to him, pointing out the holes in his mind’s argument. He knows he’s orchestrating this to keep himself safe from the pain of loss, but it feels as though he’s only hurting himself more by withholding from his wants. 

The minds battle with the heart—a war as old as time. 

“Is young master not hungry?” The kobold asks as its black eyes meet with his. It licks away blood from its fingers. “Does young master not wish to indulge? We fae are creatures of indulgences. Silly, to deny nature. Perhaps young master is my silly rat instead.”

It gives a wide, sharp grin, which Malleus returns with a sneer before waving a hand and vanishing the creature to another part of the tomb. The plate clatters onto the bench next to him, and the scent of copper lingers. 

The kobold had a point, and the more he thinks about it, the more the point makes sense. Death could be in his home tomorrow. Death could be in his home right now. Malleus didn’t know when he would go, nor when the Prefect would go. He couldn’t control that—but what he could control is what he could do right now. His fingers tap a pattern on his thigh as he looks at his parents. 

They married during a war. They had him during a war. They lived every day knowing the same thing he does—that Death could be in their home within a few minutes. And yet, they embraced life anyway. They loved, and were loved, and left a legacy behind. 

Hells. 

Hells. 

Lilia was wrong when he said Malleus wasn’t ill—what he should have said was; “Malleus, I fear you may have a case of idiotitis.”

His parents, still together despite one having gone well before the other. You, still by his side despite all that he’s done. 

Malleus swears under his breath before pushing himself to his feet again. He brushes a few stray vines away from the hands of his mother and father, which are carved to be holding each other before moving towards the tomb's exit. He has a letter to write, a mistake to rectify, and an order for a large quantity of meat to be sent to this tomb.

_____________________________________________________

There is nothing as banal and painful as waiting for a reply. Malleus wonders if he should have telephone lines installed all throughout the Valley, if only to save him the agony of waiting for your arrival. His hands are pressed against the glass of the window he leans on for the third time today as his eyes burn holes into the gates down below. He could have sent you a text by now, asking if you’re on your way yet.

Goddamn phone lines.

“I should get the royal painter.” A sly, teasing voice snaps him out of his focus as he looks over his shoulder. Lilia hovers close by—close enough that Malleus wonders how long he’s been here—with a coy glint in his gaze. “This is quite the artistic scene.”

“I am in misery.” Malleus declares as he presses his forehead to the glass. The hard thunk of his scales connecting with it makes Lilia wince briefly.

“And you’re bound to get a migraine if you do that again. Be patient, Malleus. Prefect did say they would be here today.” Lilia pauses. “With Grim in tow.”

Malleus scowls briefly as he turns his head to look to his guardian again. “You are on Grim duty. Go take him to the ponds for an hour or so.”

“Sacrificing those poor fish to that bottomless pit of a stomach...” Lilia sighs and shakes his head in false despondence. “A noble death they shall have.”

Malleus refuses to deign him with a response as he looks back to the gates. A few of the royal guards are pacing their routes, and in the courtyard below he can see the servants rushing through last minute preparations. His declaration that a ‘friend’ was arriving (because he can’t give away his motives too easily) had sent the entire palace into a frenzy. Malleus had never invited someone over, save for Silver, Sebek, and Lilia.

“You won’t be able to see the carriage until it arrives. The bend on the mountain pass certainly makes sure of that.” Lilia drifts over again and frowns out at the scene beyond. “I do think we should set up a mirror in Black Scale. If you intend to invite more people over, then we can’t keep shuttling everyone through The Leaky Pint. The poor bartender will be overwhelmed.”

The Leaky Pint, the only tavern in the town that surrounds Black Scale, serves as both a community hub and a makeshift transport stop. It’s the only building with a magic mirror since the security risks of placing one in the palace were far too great. Lilia’s point of overwhelming the poor bartender had some merit; if Malleus did intend to start inviting more people—or at the very least, one person many times—it would be good to think of alternative routes.

He doesn’t get an opportunity to consider any solutions, however, as the sight of a carriage rounding that very pass captures his attention. He straightens up suddenly—

—and then feels an undeniable sense of anxiety. It plunges to his core, rooting him on the spot and causing a cold sweat to touch his neck. He stares at the carriage as it draws closer, closer, closer. Suddenly he wishes to make some vague excuse again to lock himself in his chambers and only interact with you when surrounded by scores of other people. Not alone. Not like he intended.

“Malleus.” Lilia waves a hand in front of his face. His gaze follows it slowly straight back to Lilia’s scarlet eyes, which watch him with that familiar seriousness eons of experience can bring. When they meet gazes, Lilia’s expression softens to a small yet warm smile as that hand then ruffles Malleus’ hair.

“All will be well,” he hums, and the way that he says almost makes Malleus believe him.

_____________________________________________________

Malleus doesn’t actually get to see you until the evening, which may have been a good thing considering how long it took him to ease his nerves. This is yet another new feeling that you inspire in him—anxiety. He’s anxious if he looks good enough, anxious about how he is to approach this, anxious about what your response will be.

He spent a good portion of time preening in front of his mirror before leaving his chambers, and he isn’t afraid to admit it.

Yet when he finds you, it’s as though all of this build-up of fear and what if’s are wiped from his mind. You’ve been directed to the greenhouse which contains his portion of the rose garden. Years of plantings are blossoming in the warm summer night, filling it with a sweet scent that can lull one into a blissful peace. You’re sitting on a bench, one arm slung over the back and your head looking up at the sky. The glass is clear enough to see the numerous stars that spill across Briar Valley.

That’s one good thing about the lack of modern amenities within his homeland—the light of the celestial is not hidden by the light of man.

You seem lost in your own world, and for a moment he worries it might be intrusive of him to approach, until you finally notice his idling and a warm smile break across your face.

Gods. When the bards learn how your mere look can make the scion of the fae fold, they’ll have material for centuries.

“Well look who finally decided to say hello.” Your tone is teasing as he exhales and approaches, sitting down on the spot next to you—albeit a bit more gracefully. He can feel the heat of your arm near his back. “Lilia dragged Grim off to go fishing or something. Personally, I think nine at night is a weird time for that, but he was very insistent that the best time to catch the largest fish was right now.”

“Was he?” Malleus hums, utilizing this as a means to ease into the conversation he wants to have. “I would trust Lilia’s judgment on the matter. He has been in Briar Valley long enough to know the most ideal times for any activities.”

“I think Grim was just keen on getting more food. He wolfed down his dinner, and then my dinner, and then the dinner of a few others.” You grimace at the memory. “Reckon I might need to write a few apologies before we leave.”

“I’m sure all will be forgiven.” He’ll make sure all will be forgiven. Respectfully.

The two of you lapse into a moment of silence before you begin launching into how your trip to Briar Valley was, unprompted but certainly appreciated. Malleus listens intently as you regale him of your pilgrimage to the Mirror Chamber at Crowley’s behest (and not because Malleus sent a secondary letter expressing the urgency of your arrival—which meant no two day boat ride). You then detail the arrival to The Leaky Pint, the way you almost missed your carriage because the bartender roped you into helping him, and the several stops you made along the way to take photos—at the carriage drivers’ misery.

As you speak, Malleus finds himself relaxing to the sound of your voice. The way it changes with each emotion you put into your story, as well as the inflections and the quirks it carries. He doesn’t even realize he’s smiling or that you’ve moved closer together until your tale ends with your breathless laughter over Grims behavior during your welcome feast.

“—truly he’ll get us arrested one day. I’d rather it be here, though. At least I know you’d bail me out.” You send him a smirk. “Although I also feel like you’d make me wait a while. Just to keep me on edge.”

“You think me so cruel?” Malleus chuckles softly as he watches you. “I would have you out in a heartbeat, were you to be kept in my cells.”

“How valiant. Be sure to be riding a white horse when you come sweeping to my rescue then, yes?” You laugh and lean back against the bench. Your arm is still draped around the back, still resting against him. Your warmth has crept through his body a bit too efficiently. He feels a burning in his cheeks as he turns his head away.

Another pause of silence falls then, broken by the sound of a distant fountain and an owl calling a mournful song from beyond. He hears you clear your throat as you shift and withdraw your arm.

The absence of your warmth is profound.

“I, um.” You seem to be turning many thoughts over in your mind as he looks at you, waiting for you to continue. “I know this happened a while back now, and maybe bringing this up isn’t the best idea, but the night that you and I were on Main Street together—”

Main Street. You were sitting together quite like you are now, facing each other. His mind had been in turmoil, and your gaze had been on his lips, and it had been too much—at that moment.

“I wanted to ap—”

He cuts you off mid-way through with a swiftly raised hand. The sound of your words catching in your throat and your eyebrow raising dubiously would normally fill him with amusement, but not tonight.

“There are a few things I need to say beforehand.”

Malleus once said to himself that loving you was for someone much bolder than he, but that had been a lifetime ago now. That had been when he was a recently broken boy lying on a hospital bed, trying to come back to himself after one of the most traumatic moments of his long life. That had been before his parent’s tomb, before the kobold, before he realized that to get what he wants he needs to be that bold.

He can be bold. He can be brave. He can say this.

“I was not ill that night, nor are you at fault for that. I was... I am afraid.” He confesses. Your mouth closes and now you wait for him to continue, which he soon does. “You are... gods. You do something to me. You inspire many feelings in me, and it is so overwhelming that my mind cannot wrap around them all.”

Oh, now he feels himself beginning to ramble a bit. This is very uncharacteristic of him. He faults you for this, again.

“I am afraid because I have never wanted something before. Then there you were sitting beside me when I was in that infirmary after everything that happened, and you were just talking about Grim and your day like you did just now, and I,”

He stops again. This is harder than he imagined it to be. He’s usually quite eloquent, and yet right now the words to describe what he wants to say seem to be running paces ahead of him. He shakes his head and looks out to the roses. For a moment, nothing happens, until he feels your warm hand on his arm again and it somehow spurs him to continue.

“You are... a disruptor. I had my entire life planned out before me since birth, and then you came crashing in like a comet, usurping all of that in one fell swoop—and I enjoyed it. I enjoyed your presence by my side during those evening walks, I enjoyed seeing you in Diasomnia, I enjoyed every moment you gave me. Yet that enjoyment was tainted by the fear that those moments would not last forever. You will likely die far before I do, and this thought just sits in my mind whenever we’re together. That this won’t be forever—this won’t last—and it scares me. It scares me.”

Malleus hears his voice break and for a moment he’s startled. His mind wars with his heart again—get control of yourself!—but a stinging in the back of his throat takes him off-guard and his hand flies up to cover his mouth as though in shame.

If it wasn’t intercepted by yours, that is.

“What are you afraid of?” You ask, your voice serious as he finally looks your way. You’re watching him with such focus and such warmth in your eyes that he wants to shrink back, return to his chambers, pretend this never occurred. He doesn’t. Instead, he speaks.

“... you.”

Not death. It had never been death to begin with. What he was afraid of was how much you had come to mean to him, because this was never supposed to happen. You were never supposed to come into his life. You were never supposed to impact him so much, make him want so much.

“Malleus.” Your voice is calm as you hold both of his wrists in your hands. “What do you want right now? What do you need me to do?”

You know he’s shaken which is why you’re letting him control the situation. Your kindness should be sickening, but instead it’s pulling him closer towards you, and in his fit of delirium he speaks.

“Let me know you. Make me remember every damn moment so when the inevitable does come, when Death enters our home, I have something to hold onto.” He rasps. There’s a flicker of fire in your eyes but he hardly lets it ignite before he’s surging forward and finishing what you started on Main Street.

Kissing, to his surprise, is not as the books write it to be. His lips collide with your own and your teeth hit as he kisses you hard, like a starved man before a meal. His eyes shut tight and he holds his breath until he feels you respond as your hand releases his wrist to rest on the back of his head instead. His body relaxes against your touch as you both move to find a proper rhythm.

No, kissing is not as the books write it to be, but this isn’t a terrible thing.

When you finally separate from him, he’s all but ready to move in again, only to have you move so that your lips are against the shell of his ear instead. He can’t help but shiver at the sensation as you speak. “Malleus, breathe for a second.”

Funny words coming from someone who sounds so breathless, but he obliges, resting his face against your shoulder as he does so.

“Listen carefully.” You begin as your fingers slowly thread through his hair. “I will not be going anywhere for a long time. Yes, I will not live as long as you, but I will live as long as I can for you. You wish to remember every moment, so I’ll give you enough memories that you’ll have a new one for each day you remain beyond me.”

Malleus takes in your words slowly. They sink into his mind and his body, and he can feel himself relaxing into your touch. A new memory for each day he outlives you. He can capture those memories, store them in a glass ball so that he may watch them whenever he pleases. You will never truly be gone if you can both make it work.

Semantics dictate that this will be a hard relationship anyway. He is a prince—and heir to a noble bloodline—and you are... well. You. But you are also you, and someone that he’ll go to hell and high water for. Come what may—he will end things with you by his side.

He says your name against your shoulder. Each syllable rolls off his tongue and fills the air like a melody as he withdraws just enough to see your face. You seem surprised—he has never really said your name before—as your hand comes up to wipe his cheek.

Look at him, breaking like a blubbering mess before you over a few reassurances and touches.

He says your name again, if only to see the warmth in your eyes before he moves in to test his theories about kissing once more.

Love is for the lonely.

Love is for fools.

Loving you is precisely how it’s meant to be.

[obviouslygenuinely]

Babygate Analysis/Conclusions: A Non-Larry Perspective

(Image Credit: Hollywood Life)

I'm prefacing this post with a few disclaimers:

After some consideration, I chose to write this without factoring in Larry whatsoever. No Larry-related points, proof, or speculation in any way. This is solely analyzing babygate from an unbiased perspective. 

I don't claim to know the entire truth. It is impossible for any of us to know.  What I conclude is based on direct evidence, circumstantial evidence, research, and analysis.

I am willing to discuss opposing views. I’m happy to talk about the topic in a civil, kind, and mature matter. I will dismiss any discourse that is aggressive, immature, and so on.

I did not include every single opinion/conclusion/piece of evidence I found. I condensed my thoughts as much as possible (and this is still a novel-length post). There are so many more points I can think of. However, babygate masterposts cover all of that; I’ll link to some of those at the end.

The conclusion points aren't in a very specific order. I aimed to list related points one after another. Aside from that, it's not in order of "hardest to weakest" evidence.

Please read “Author’s Notes” for additional clarity/input. They interject thoughts/etc. that I feel are necessary to include. 

Lastly, I included links to every source I cited in this post. However, I did not tag the Tumblr users. I’m not sure if they are comfortable with having Babygate questions/comments directed to their blogs. If you are a linked source and want to be tagged, please let me know! 

My Initial Reaction To Babygate

In February of 2020, I received several messages on LateToLarry requesting that I analyze something called “babygate”. I had no idea what babygate meant at the time. 

I learned what it meant, and prior to any research I felt the theory was so absurd. I also felt uncomfortable analyzing it because I believed I’d feel bias as a single mom. The idea of discussing a random child in depth initially bothered me, too. I declined to analyze it last year.

However, I did a LOT of research over time. My opinion has changed significantly. Below, I’ve shared my main conclusions and analysis about babygate. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy my post! 

1. No Paternity Test Was Performed Prior To The Pregnancy Announcement

Louis was/is a prominent celebrity and has a current net worth of $70 million. From legal, financial, and practical standpoints, it makes no sense for him to choose not to get a test. 

It’s unheard of in Hollywood and the entertainment industry. Any sensible team -lawyers, PR reps, managers, advisors, etc. - would not just go along with it. They are employed to protect his career and image. 

The Opposing Views

A. “Briana/Louis didn’t want to risk miscarriage with prenatal testing.”

Non-invasive testing is completely safe for fetuses and pregnant women, so there’s no medical reason for the lack of testing.

B. “Louis chose not to get the test done because he wanted to be a father and was invested in the pregnancy/parenting.”

Time has shown that this is not true. Louis does not have custody; there was a brief custody case in 2016 that led nowhere. He does not have a consistent or prominent role in the child’s life.

Conclusion

There is no logical reason for the lack of paternity testing prior to the announcement unless Louis knew he was not the father and all parties knew this to be true.

2. There Was No Confirmation Of A Paternity Test After The Birth

I’ll keep this section fairly short. A quick Google search returns dozens of conflicting reports. Many of them state that Louis demanded a paternity test shortly after birth. Other reports state that he has never pursued a paternity test. 

Here are a few examples:

“Louis Tomlinson not interested in paternity test” - Business Standard

“EXCLUSIVE: Louis Tomlinson Demanded a DNA Test “As Soon as the Baby Was Born”” - InTouch Weekly

“Louis Tomlinson: No DNA Test Needed ... Positive Freddie's His Son” -TMZ

“Louis Tomlinson & Briana Jungwirth: WhyHe Had DNA Test Done on His Newborn Son” - Hollywood Life

This Twitter thread discusses TMZ reports that - as of 2020 - no DNA test was done.

Conclusion

There is no reliable confirmation that Louis pursued a paternity test. The media cannot come to a general/factual consensus.

Again, there is no reasonable explanation for the lack of paternity testing unless Louis knows he is not the father of the child. 

3. The Conception-To-Birth Timeline Is Inconsistent/Unreliable

Pregnancy and conception as a whole can be rather confusing; timelines from conception to birth are unique to each person. Having said that, Briana’s timeline is full of glaring inconsistencies that don’t add up. 

I’ll begin with this timeline based on bulletprooflarry’s post and my own research. Dates I’ve added myself include linked sources:

May 5th, 2015 - Louis and Briana were first seen together in public.

May 6th to May 31st, 2015 - Briana and her mom followed baby-related social medial accounts.

May 12th, 2015 - Louis and Briana were pictured together in public.

July 3rd, 2015 - Louis is seen with Briana’s brother in Hollywood.

July 14th, 2015 - The first pregnancy report is published.

August 4th, 2015 - Louis confirms pregnancy on GMA.

January 21st, 2016 - The child is reportedly born.

Based on the dates above, these are the possible dates/milestones for her pregnancy:

Scenario A - If conception occurred on May 5th, Briana was 37 weeks and 2 days pregnant on January 21st, 2016. This is considered an early-term birth and about 26% of births occur at 37 weeks.

Scenario B - If conception occurred on May 12th, Briana was 36 weeks and 2 days pregnant on January 21st. This is considered a late-term or late premature birth and about 10% of births occur at 36 weeks.

These dates matter because Briana’s alleged hospital stay was not consistent with a premature or early-term birth. She was pictured in public - healthy and holding a baby carrier - within one week of giving birth. 

(Image Credit: Daily Mail)

(Image Credit: larrysbbrbb28)

If she gave birth based on the dates above, it’s extremely unlikely that she or the baby would be out in public so soon.

Below are screenshots of an additional timeline from an archived Tumblr post. It provides excellent points about more timeline inconsistencies: 

The main inconsistencies and red flags are bolded in the post. It supports the unreliable conception timeline, and it also mentions my next point - the official pregnancy announcement. 

The post above mentions that the Jungwirth family followed baby-related accounts before Briana could possibly know she was pregnant. Here’s one screenshot from skepticallarrie proving it:

I’ve also seen several posts that show inconsistencies with the size of Briana’s baby bump. Unfortunately, the most reliable post no longer exists. You can view a web archive of Briana’s pregnancy photos, but most of the image links are broke. 

The only post I have saved is a web archive of a long babygate post. The beginning of the post contains photos showing discrepancies in the size of Briana’s baby bump. 

The Opposing Views

“Pregnancy looks different on everybody, everyone recovers differently, etc.”

Yes, this is true and a valid point! As a woman who has gone through multiple pregnancies and two live births, I truly understand this argument. 

However, the sheer amount of inconsistencies are what make this a red flag. There are too many unreliable and contradicting points to brush this off. It goes beyond the point of “well, each person has a different experience”.

Conclusion

There are a few conclusions/scenarios I believe you can draw from the information above:

Briana was pregnant prior to meeting Louis.

Briana was never pregnant in the first place. 

Both are valid to consider, but I personally believe she was never pregnant. 

(Author’s note: My calculation for dates are based on the date of alleged conception. Most due date calculators, by default, use the date of a woman’s last mentrual period - LMP - to provide estimations.

I also used Date Duration Calendar for my calculations. Accessible due date calculators only allowed me to input dates from 2019/2020. Depending on the tools and dates you use, your mileage may vary.)

4. The Announcement Itself Was Highly Unusual

This point ties into the first and third points. I don’t consider it a major piece of evidence, but it’s noteworthy due to the other points. 

So, there are a few reasons why the Good Morning America announcement stands out. 

A. If Briana got pregnant on May 5th, then she was approximately 10 weeks pregnant when the first pregnancy report was published. This also means she was approximately 13 weeks pregnant at the time of the GMA announcement.

If Briana got pregnant on May 12th, she was approximately nine weeks pregnant at the time of the first report and approximately 12 weeks pregnant at the time of the GMA announcement.

B. The public announcement on Good Morning America raises a lot of questions. I’ve had multiple issues embedding the video; the bolded link takes you to the GMA announcement on YouTube. 

Anyways, these questions/thoughts - disregarding any Larry theories -  come to mind when watching the video: 

This is a segment for promoting/discussing their album/music.

The baby announcement is the sole non-album/music related topic that is mentioned during the segment.

The announcement is not organically worked into the segment as a natural talking point.

Louis’ reactions - such as bringing the microphone to his lips and not talking - is very unlike his standard interview demeanor.

The male interviewer and the band members have noticeable facial expressions and body language that suggest discomfort, stress, or awkwardness. 

A post by skepticalarrie draws similar conclusions. Her post is much more detailed than mine, and I highly recommend reading/viewing it. 

(Author’s Note: I’ve touched upon this on LateToLarry and will make a post here eventually, but body language and facial expressions are valid. They’re valid to the point that they are used in court cases.) 

Conclusion

My conclusions here are twofold. One is that: 

Announcing a pregnancy - especially a celebrity-related pregnancy - this early is extremely uncommon and unlikely.

The announcement itself seems out of place and very forced. 

This particular point, to me, is not extremely strong evidence. I still think it’s worth keeping in mind and is relevant to other points here. So, I’ve included it either way.

5. Briana Posted Stolen Pregnancy/Baby Photos On Social Media

(EDIT: I wrote this piece before the recent release of Briana’s alleged ultrasound and don’t have time to add it. It’s pretty strong proof and can easily be found in recent babygate posts.)

Babygate posts often point out that Briana and the Jungwirth family used stolen/fake pregnancy and baby photos on social media. It’s a well-known topic that’s often discussed. 

I’m condensing this section to a few examples. I encourage additional research if you’d like to see more. 

A. This Tumblr post shows stolen baby bump photos that Briana’s cousin Ashley posted on Twitter: 

B. This Tumblr post and Twitter post show a stolen baby photo that Briana posted on Instagram:

(Author’s Note: Since I was not active in the fandom at the time, I am relying on information from other blogs and social media posts. I vetted my sources pretty well, but any false information is my own mistake.)

Conclusions

The only word that sums this up is “suspicious”. Using stolen photos of a pregnant woman/baby is not necessary if you are legitimately pregnant. That’s really what it boils down to. It lends to the conclusion that Briana was never pregnant. 

6. Photos And Videos Of The Child Are Heavily Altered And Manipulated

It is indisputable that many photos and videos of the child are heavily manipulated to alter his appearance. This goes beyond filters, lighting, and angles. 

Several detailed posts show the manipulations; here are some examples:

A web archive of all Photoshop evidence from tellmethisisnotlove

An in-depth post from genuineconspiracy that includes detailed photo evidence.

A video post from freefreddiereign that shows Photoshop evidence based on photos the child. 

There is no doubt that his facial features are frequently altered. This is easy to conclude using any free software that detects Photoshop. As a photographer myself, I can easily spot the manipulations.

(Author’s Note: I know that directly discussing the child is controversial. When I first heard of babygate, my initial reaction was discomfort about analyzing a child.

I quickly learned/concluded that his family members are responsible for heavily putting him in the public eye. All content I’ve used for research is based on the family’s posts.

Still, I have personally chosen not post pictures of the child, but the links I am sharing contain photos/videos of him.

Additionally, I used FotoForensics on photos of myself prior to writing this. It was important to me to feel absolutely certain about this point. I’m fine with sharing my own FotoForensics images if anyone is curious.)

The Opposing Views

A. “Freddie looks like Louis in pictures that aren’t Photoshopped.”

Parentage cannot be based on whether or not a child looks like his mother/father. I understand the viewpoint, but it’s simply not evidence. Additionally, thinking the child looks like Louis is a matter of opinion. 

There’s also the fact that appearance means nothing overall. Science backs up this statement very well. Examples and references:

“How can children from the same parents look so different?” by HowStuffWorks

“My Baby Looks Nothing Like Me: A Genetic Explanation” by FamilyEducation

Additionally, here is a personal anecdote. I have two sons close to Freddie’s age. One of them looks exactly like his father and nothing like me. The other looks exactly like me and nothing like his father. Despite how they look, they are both of them are our biological children. 

Conclusion

There is no reasonable explanation for altering the child’s appearance - particularly to make him look more similar to Louis. 

I cannot think of a single argument as to why the Jungwirth family would do this unless they need/want the child to look a specific way. 

7. Johannah Deakin’s Official Obituary Does Not Mention The Child

When looking into babygate, I read the argument that the child is legitimately Louis’ son because he is listed as her grandchild in Internet-based obituaries and announcements. 

I also read the counter-argument that Louis’ mother’s official newspaper/print obituary does not mention the child.  I recall seeing proof, but I did not save it at the time. I did some research and this appears to be true. 

The Doncaster Free Press is a local weekly newspaper in Doncaster, and it published an article about the funeral. The article is NOT an obituary itself, but it does list her obituary details. The publication does not list the child among the surviving family members. 

If a mistake is made regarding these details, it’s typical for newspapers to post a correction addressing a misprint. Upon further research, the Doncaster Free Press did not issue a correction at any time. 

(Author’s Note: I lost my own mother and am personally familiar with how local obituaries are written. Immediate family members - i.e. spouses and adult children - provide information regarding surviving family members.) 

Conclusion

The conclusion here is straightforward. Louis and his family chose not to include the child in his mother’s official obituary. This strongly suggests that he is not legitimately related to Louis. 

My Opinion-Based Conclusions

Update: After some consideration, I am saving my opinion-based conclusions for a separate post. I originally intended to include them here; transparency is important to me.

Unfortunately, the section became rather long and took away from the main post points. So, I’ll be working on a post that’s just my opinion-based conclusions. In the meantime, feel free to message me with any questions. 

Final Thoughts

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my post! I appreciate the interest expressed for it, and I hope it lives up to expectations. 

Again, I want to reiterate this is:

Not an all-inclusive post; I narrowed down my findings to seven points.

Not a masterpost on babygate.

Purposely omitting any potential Larry-related points to remove bias. 

I’ve reread this quite a few times, and it’s as error-free as possible. If you spot any mistakes/errors, I’m completely open to making corrections. Just kindly let me know. 

This list contains references/research about babygate that I consider the most reliable. It includes Larry and non-Larry related Babygate content.

Tumblr posts tagged with babygate by Tumblr use genuineconspiracy.

A web archive of babygate posts by Tumblr user tellmethisisnotlove (her account was deactivated by staff).

Tumblr posts tagged with babygate by darkrainbowlouis.

Tumblr posts tagged with babygate by skepticalarrie.

Lastly, if there’s interest in an opinion-related post or Larry-related post, I’ll consider writing them. Feel free to let me know as you all did with this post. 

Thanks!

Amy (obviouslygenuinely/latetolarry)

[swcetnight]

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 5

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: implied sexual themes, emotional breakdown, taehyung is too much of a gentleman and may have you swooning, anxiety, a little bit of yelling… angst is beginning to settle in…

→ word count: 12.8k

authors note:

happy birthday to meeee!!! i’m now 20 years old… that’s terrifying. but what better way to celebrate another year gone by with kim taehyung being the ultimate boyfriend who knows how to take a girl on an official first date??? there is no better way! I'm so sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter out.. life has been.. insane. i just previously moved so i've been settling in with all that comes with it! thank you for waiting for the next chapter and I hope y'all enjoy it!! let's cry over kim taehyung together.

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hobipaint for beta-reading and helping me put this story into words! seriously, hazels feedback and suggestions are SO freaking helpful. i love you girl. also, a huge thank you to @amourtae for beta-reading and supporting this story!! thank you to everyone who continues to support me and my work... i could not thank you all enough for the kind messages and comments you've left on this series!!! i'm so beyond thankful that you enjoy my writing and are looking forward to the outcome of this series! I believe there will be two more chapters left before I close out this series and finally work on one shots LOL but I hope these next two chapter keep you all on your toes!

if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to reblog + send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

without further ado, here is chapter 5!

December 8th

The art that stands before you is nothing compared to the concrete knowledge of Taehyung's feelings toward you— even the most iconic of art pieces wouldn't come close to the weightless feeling in your chest. Right now, you're standing before a building filled to the brim with art pieces that go down in history… and yet, all you can truly focus on is the warm hand clasped within your own, a creation unlike any other: an artist's hands.

Taehyung's dark eyes have been flying across The Met’s exterior: a large off-white building, towering above like a concrete cloud with its dazzling architecture catching eyes of nearby tourists who "ooo" and "ahh" at the finery. It beckons you towards the front doors as two red ribbons fall on either side, flowing in the chilly wind like lava; seemingly as bright as the tips of your frost-bitten noses.

You've been to The Met a few times, mostly alone when you needed time to think after a rough day— especially since it was free and provided you time to appreciate others' art, rather than focusing on the failing of your own. Usually, you would walk the halls and glance at the groups rummaging through the exhibits— eyes wide and smiles bright. Usually, you would admire the works you'd seen countless times with a fond smile, quietly making your way through. Usually, you would be walking through these doors alone.

But today was not a usual day.

The breeze brushes Taehyung's hair out of his eyes— as if the universe wanted him to truly see your efforts to bring him here— and he looks happy. A gentle smile graces his lips, his honey-like skin slightly creasing near his eyes with joy and solitude. You can't help but feel a sense of luck.

He is truly beautiful.

“I have no words.” A sigh leaves his lips, his smile full and bright like the sun that shines overhead. “Why did you bring me here?”

A few nights ago, you had briefly remembered Taehyung's confession of having been to The Met over a year ago— which shocked you, ya know, since he is an artist. And The Met is free. Free art for an artist? Why hasn't he gone more often? He assured you that he "just didn't have the time," but you knew that wasn't the truth.

You're getting better and better at picking up on his lies, and it saddens you to know that he tells a lot of them.

“It’s important for you to go to The Met.” You had claimed that night. “As an artist.”

Despite kissing him a few nights ago, you didn't have the guts to tell him that the truth behind your bringing him here was to spend more time with him. You were about to leave for a whole month… and a part of you missed him already. You cursed at yourself, claiming that it wasn't far enough into your relationship to start missing him while away— and yet your heart keeps aching every time you think of leaving him in a week.

“Just because.” You shrug in reply to his question, rocking back on your heels and smirking at him while he marvels over the view.

The fact that Taehyung had cried in the hallway of your apartment building also weighed on you. You still haven’t asked him about it — nor are you going to — but that was the final push towards this trip. He must be facing something extremely difficult, judging by the look on his face that night. He looked utterly broken and horrified. The least you could do was try to help him smile again.

Thus, here you are, standing before The Met, which holds the world's most significant artworks, while you hold an artist's hand.

"This place seems more ethereal now…." He exhales, his shoulders dropping in relief, and you can't help yourself from rubbing his back gently. He turns his head to look at you. "Especially since I get to be here with you."

Cheesy.

Truth be told, this was all very foreign to you: this thing called dating. Which… you couldn't say you were necessarily doing since he hasn't asked you on a proper date yet. Still, your stomach flutters when he looks at you this way— and his dark eyes hold the promises that you've kept locked away for a long time.

If you said that the only reason you hadn't dated when you were younger was that no one was interested, you would be lying. Your parents had gotten a divorce when you were young, then went through second divorces with your stepparents— so to you, love seems impossible. Love seems fake. It seems impossible to grasp.

And yet here is Taehyung, with eyes full of love and a hand that holds yours like a cocoon, keeping those little promises safe. You can't believe that you're lucky enough to have him by your side… to hold him like this and to learn what real love should be like.

Of course, you would never say this out loud… but with every day that passes, you realize that you truly are falling in love with him. No matter how scary that may be, it's inevitable.

"Alright, enough with that." You huff, pushing him towards the doors.

"Am I not allowed to be romantic?"

You shake your head. "Not at this moment; we've got too much to look at and not enough time."

Taehyung laughs at your eagerness, reaching forward to open the door and holding it for you. You pause, staring at him with an annoyed look on your face.

He looks lost.

"What?" He questions.

"I told you you're not allowed to be romantic."

A grin emerges onto his lips, the wind jostling his hair— and you want to slap yourself because this truly feels like a dream. A dream you never want to wake up from.

"I'm holding the door for you, M'lady. Besides, you have to lead the way— and we do have limited time." With that, he grasps your hand, nods to the people behind you in apology, and pulls you through the entrance.

It takes a moment to rebalance yourself, and you nearly fall over again when you notice how close the two of you are, noses touching. Taehyungs arm is around your waist, gratefully holding you up, or else you would've been on the floor by now. An inescapable blush creeps onto your cheeks and you shake your head slowly.

"This is still romantic." You whisper softly.

"Sorry." His voice is soft; his smile is shining brightly. Chocolate eyes run over your features, slowly traveling from your nose, to your lips, to the strand of hair falling on the side of your face, and settling back to your eyes. You're having trouble breathing. "I guess I can't help it."

A moment more of him staring at you like that is enough to make you pull out of his embrace, embarrassment evident as you turn him towards the first room. He's laughing, and you can't contain the smile that stretches onto your lips, despite your bashfulness.

"All hail the artists of artists!" You exclaim.

You had initially come here to raise Taehyung's spirits— and yet you are absolutely entranced by the art before you, maybe even more excited than the artist himself. You're starting to wish you'd studied art in school. Theatre was cool, too, but you felt like drawing the way Taehyung does at this moment. Each piece tells its own story, the metaphors and symbols dancing within brushstrokes and sculpted clay that overlaps and curls in a beautiful pattern. It’s almost like a script full of secrets… where the art is right in front of you, but the meaning within is hidden and up to the viewer's understanding. It’s intriguing.

"This one reminds me of you." Taehyung expresses quietly, standing before a simple painting of a single microphone standing in the center of an empty auditorium. A dim light is cast upon the mic, making it glow and shine in the otherwise dark and gloomy atmosphere. You had to bite back a smile. He sure had you all figured out, didn't he?

You pass so many stories; a woman and a child painting within a painting, a sculpted deer, a weird sculpture that you honestly have no idea the meaning of… it seemed as if the artist was drunk while creating it. And yet, Taehyung stood staring at that single confusing sculpture in awe. The passion that radiates through him as he glances at the awkward objects that make up the sculpture makes you smile. You can feel his enthusiasm within his long pauses and lingering gaze… these small moments make your heart seize; seeing him in his element was a whole different experience.

There's one drawing in particular that makes Taehyung pause for an exceptional amount of time, and you can't bring yourself to continue to admire the lover's hugging sculpture in front of you, too curious about what has him so distracted.

Silence fills the room as the last couple leaves to embark on the next exhibit, but Taehyung doesn't move. He's quiet as he stares solemnly, his hands hidden deep within his jacket pockets. Without asking any questions, you finally look at what's entranced him for this long.

The Clock. by Anpan

It's a drawing of a grandfather clock, a dim reflection of a man's outline with his finger moving the clock's hands in reverse. On the face of the clock, there are different drawings of a girl going through life, from birth to teen years, middle age, old age, and death.

You admire the way it's drawn, all by pencil, not needing any form of color to express the deeper meaning. The meaning of a man going back in time to recall his lover's life. It takes you a moment to finally look away from the drawing, turning your attention towards the gentle eyes that are already settled on you.

"What?" You question, grasping onto Taehyung's arm when his gaze never strays from your own.

All he does is offer a small smile— a boxy shape that outshines the sparkling lights of The Mets Christmas decorations — a smile that you've grown so fond of.

"It's nothing." He responds.

----

December 9th

"You and Taehyung did WHAT?"

You wince awkwardly, glancing around to make sure that no customers in the cafe caught wind of your conversation, which (as usual) is hard to believe since Jimin's excitable self is loud when he takes in mind-blowing information. Sometimes, it's a blessing and a curse. More so a curse in this situation.

You barely move your mouth as you utter, "we kissed," before taking another sip of your seasonal beverage.

This year (courtesy of yourself), the cafe has a "milk & cookies" latte, with customers raving inside and out of the Academia walls over the flavoring. You even heard customers discussing it in a nearby grocery store, which had you smiling ear to ear at the notion of your own flavoring blend exciting their taste buds.

Even Jimin was drinking the aforementioned latte, but he has barely taken many sips since you enlightened him with the topic of you and Taehyung's brief make-out session on your couch.

Jimin's leaning across the small table in eager interest. His smile is probably reaching from the East Village to Washington Heights. "You KISSED? And when were you going to tell me? When I was old and gray??? How did this happen? What happened? Was it good??? Did Taehyung—"

"Oh my gosh, could you be any louder?" You seethe, smacking his hand that rests on the table. He's quick to respond, gasping and rubbing the pain away with an over-dramatic glare. "Yes, we kissed, and yes, it was good and you can shut up about it now."

You brush off the topic like snow off the roof of a car, unable to converse any further without your face igniting into flames. You enjoyed every second of that kiss... every brush of his lips against your own, every time his fingers ran through your hair, every single moan that he released that you swallowed eagerly and wished to hear again.

However, there was no way you dared to speak these feelings aloud.

As if on cue, Taehyung's chilled frame breaks through the doors of the cafe and straight into your direction, wafting cold winter air in with him and cutting off Jimin's next question about the kiss. He's bombarded with bags, shifting his weight as he rests them on the empty seat beside Jimin. They must be his college bags, filled to the brim with binders and folders, the starry night painting plastered atop one of them— most notably his art bag.

He's heaving, attempting to catch his breath as he removes layers and layers of clothing. And yet, he looks stunning as always, his hair parted slightly as snowflakes sit peacefully within the dark waves. It's easy to admire the way one falls onto his nose and melts at the touch. Beneath the mounds of coats and jackets, he's wearing a dark brown sweater that highlights the earthy tone of his irises.

"Woah, woah, woah—"Jimin exclaims, pushing the chair farther from him when a piece of snow falls onto the floor, nearly hitting Jimin's shoe. "Keep the cold outside, will you?"

Taehyung smiles, finally collecting himself as he drags his computer out from the Starry Night bag. "Sorry!" He exhales happily.

His attention turns immediately to you, and before you can even think— he leans over and places a kiss on your cheek, a snowflake falling onto your forehead. You usually would squeal at the cold, but you're too busy suffering from a hot face after an utterly unpredictable kiss was just planted straight onto your skin.

It all happened so fast, and it has you careening.

Jimin is grinning like a buffoon, waving his eyebrows in your direction, which causes your cheeks to grow even hotter. You nearly forget that a kiss on the cheek is a regular occurrence in relationships— which, again, you can't say you have a relationship when he hasn't really put a label onto this whole endeavor.

Taehyung seems unperturbed by his actions, continuing to seat himself beside you and open up his laptop. On the other hand, you are red in the face and have trouble breathing. Does this mean you're official? Does he want to pursue regular relationship actions with you? Did he kiss you on the cheek in a friendly way?

What the hell, Y/n. Kissing is not friendly.

Jimin can obviously tell that your brain is spiraling because he's quick to change the topic, questioning aloud in the brain-wreckers direction. "How's the project coming?"

"I'm almost finished. I have to put my signature on the drawing and then—" He holds out the "n" in "then," shuffling through his many google docs on the screen. When he seems to have found the doc he was looking for, he continues. "Then, I'll be able to send it to our teacher and Kim Namjoon… which is totally freaking me out."

"I'm sure it's amazing." You chime in, quickly shutting your mouth again when he turns to look at you with a smile. Can he tell that you were freaking out literally two seconds ago?

Taehyung speaks nonchalantly. "It's not perfect, but I tried my best."

Nope. He definitely can not tell you're freaking out… good.

Jimin sighs, seemingly coming down from the previous conversation since he's nursing his latte again. "Everything you make is perfect; let's be honest." Jimin leans towards you. "He won almost every single 'artist of the week' award in our school— but they had to mix it up the other times so that it seemed fair."

"That's not true." Taehyung huffs in ignorance.

"It is true. You we're constantly leaving class to go accept your award at the main building."

Taehyung doesn't respond, too busy clicking through files while Jimin mouths "it's true" to you. It's hard not to smile at the thought of Taehyung doing so well in his studies, seeing as he was this stressed out over it the minute he walked into the doors. Even enough to kiss you on the cheek in his haze.

"Do you want to see it?"

You almost don't register Taehyung's question, but the second you do, you find him looking at you with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. What did you know about art? Shouldn't he be showing Jimin? The truth is, you know it's because he favors you and wants you to be happy with his work… and you can't help the fluttering feeling that erupts in your chest at the notion.

You nod. "Yeah! Of course I do."

He slides his computer over, clicking on the link before bracing his arm around the back of your chair. It takes everything in you not to lean into the ghosting heat of his skin, but you refrain and attempt to focus on the painting that splays out in front of you.

The brushstrokes dance and skim across the surface like golden swirling ribbons. Architecture made from rays of the golden sun. It's almost as if you see the theatre in person again, the building radiating with dark brown and golden strokes that paint the exterior of the theatre perfectly. Golden swirls cinch at the top of the double doors which hold shadows of people beyond the grey painted glass. The theatre is sparkling in what seems to be a spotlight, blotches of white accentuating the sparkles across the golden surface. Next to the doors, there’s a sign which reads “Kim’s Theater: Now Open!”

"Oh my gosh, Taehyung." You whisper, catching his lips twitching upwards in the corner of your eye as you lean toward the screen to get a closer look. "This is… Wow. This is incredible."

"Yeah?" Taehyung says quietly. You almost feel as if he's trying not to touch your back, the ghosting heat becoming warmer before fading back to the way it was before. He was trying to put his arm around you. You barely notice this, however, too intrigued by his profound talents.

"Yes. It's almost like you're actually there! You made the exterior so much prettier, too… people will want to see this place far and wide, I promise you."

"Oh! That's not all." He exclaims, moving his arm from the back of your chair to reach towards his laptop. He's changing to another link, and yet another incredible painting comes into view.

This time, it's up on the rooftop. The same chairs and decorations from that night are painted in such a way that you can almost feel the soft, cushy couch beneath you. This is amazing because you're currently seated on probably the most uncomfortable chair you've ever had the displeasure of sitting on.

"You have such a gift." You breathe out quietly, shaking your head at the sheer beauty of his art. The art of someone so passionate, so in-depth with his creations— someone you know tries his absolute hardest to succeed. And here he is with successful projects and art pieces. "Truly."

His left hand, once hidden beneath a wooly glove, is now bare on the table, bracing himself beside the computer. Without thinking, you place your hand over his and give him a reassuring squeeze as you inspect the dotted stars across the top of the painting.

His skin burns at your touch, warm and inviting you to take his hand within yours. He's so gentle in every way; even the feel of his skin is buttery smooth and taunting you in a way that makes you utterly nervous. You attempt to move your hand away from his own, but he's quick to stop you and grab onto your ghosting grip. You can feel your heart beating wildly… he must feel your hand pulsing.

If he does, he doesn't point it out. In fact, he continues on as if nothing is happening.

"I have to be there for the opening night of the theatre…." He pauses, collecting himself with a quiet inhale. "Do you want to come with me? As my plus one?"

You nod, offering him a toothy smile. The smile that grows on your face is inevitable, and after a few seconds, your cheeks burn from the overextended joy. You don't know how Taehyung does this… even the tiniest of things give you an enormous amount of serotonin.

"Of course I do." You respond.

----

December 10th

You're trying to pay attention, truly you are.

When Taehyung offered to help you with house chores, you were eager to say yes and use him to get out of the tasks you didn't want to do: vacuuming, dusting, tidying up, etc. Cleaning is not your favorite thing in the world, but you figured with Taehyung here, it would be easier.

Boy, were you wrong.

Leave it to the two of you to get sidetracked by each other's presence. You had merely scrubbed your kitchen counter before the two of you took a break and erupted into conversation on the couch. Normally, you wouldn't mind having a genuine conversation with him… but the tingling deep within your stomach has you dazed and unable to process the words coming out of his distracting mouth.

His cologne is a bit more prominent today, and it's making your head spin in the most blissful way… it takes everything in you not to lean forward and hug him just so you can soak in it a little bit more. But that would be rude, seeing as Taehyung is trying to have a conversation with you about his teacher's feedback on his project.

"He was actually really nice about the criticism—” he chirps across from you happily, totally unaware of your struggles, “and luckily, he said there wasn't much to criticize… so I guess I won't have to change anything before opening night!"

All you can seem to do is stare at his moving lips, plump and soft— making you heated and dizzy. You continue nodding as if you understand what he's saying, but every other word that leaves his mouth is drowned out. Was this what sexual frustration felt like? If so, it was more than frustrating.

"Y/n?"

You jolt up. "Hm? What?"

He's looking at you with a confused expression, licking his lips in a way that has you cursing his habit. It was cute, you're not gonna lie... but how dare he do that when you're in the middle of a horny crisis?

"You okay?" He questions, moving his hand to the side of your arm to hold you gently, an action drenched in concern.

"Me? Yeah! I'm fine; why?" Maybe it was because you responded too quickly, or maybe it's because you're obviously blushing (judging by the heat of your face), but Taehyung's expression changes slightly before his lips lift into a knowing grin.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks teasingly, scooting towards you slowly before running his palm up and down your skin.

Geez louise...

A smile snakes its way across your lips; you shake your head. "Nothing…"

"I don't know…." He taunts, moving even closer so that the already overwhelming smell of his cologne is more flustering. You have half a mind to jump on him and finally get the attention you're craving for, but the smarter half keeps you seated and nervous within his grip. "You seem distracted."

"Not distracted at all…." But your eyes drop to his lips once more, studying the ever-growing curve of his grin, and he chuckles before finally removing the distance between the two of you and placing his smile onto your own.

You don't think you'll ever get used to this. Your heart is racing when he moves his lips against yours, scooting even closer as he wraps his arm around your waist. The want within your lower stomach grows stronger, butterflies beating their wings against your sides, and you nearly see stars when you feel his hand travel up to the side of your neck. With a gentle hum, he lays you down onto the couch, slowly and carefully, as if you're made of the finest glass.

Every time Taehyung kisses you, it feels like the two of you are the only people in the world… as if he was the only man that existed and was solely created to be with you. Every tantalizing move he makes is like a whispered secret, something only the two of you know. Truth be told, if soulmates are real— you're more than certain that you have found yours.

The only problem is that Taehyung never takes it past a certain point. Even now, as he's kissing your neck and running his hands over the sides of your stomach, you can tell that he's holding back from truly letting go. Veiny hands ghost over the bottom of your shirt, obviously itching to take it off of you, but he keeps still and settles for playing with the edges as he grinds down onto you. You've tried to say something like "it's okay" or "you can keep going," — but he refuses to do so, saying that he "wants to do it right." Which utterly confuses you.

Is this not right for him? It feels right for you.

You partly wonder if he's never done this before, and maybe he's simply too nervous… yet every move he makes seems so natural for him. As if he's done this before. As if a barrier is in place between what he truly wants— and honestly, you would bulldoze straight through it if you could.

You don't want to break his boundaries, though, so you're fine with just kissing him for now.

And so you do.

----

December 11th

It's getting even colder now in the city, almost too cold for your liking, and you're typically one to enjoy it. You enjoyed the feeling of walking in the snowfall, almost like a princess in a fairytale movie with white snowflakes falling around your moving figure. You enjoyed snowball fights with Jimin in central park and warming up inside a neighboring cafe with Taehyung so that you could complain about how much better tasting the Academia Cafes coffee was. But this cold was getting ridiculous.

People are whisking quickly past the cafe's foggy windows, frost clinging to its surface. The passersby are most likely on their journey toward home amongst the freezing temperatures, wearing irritable looks on their faces. At this point, you're wondering if you should just hail a cab back home instead of walking to the subway a mere block away.

At least you weren't alone.

Taehyung is seated on a neighboring barstool, his coffee-colored eyes stealing your attention as they scan the screen of his laptop. He's been working on final touch-ups like a dead man walking. You admire his perseverance to make it even more perfect than it already is… which to you is practically impossible, seeing as the painting looks like it was literally painted by God. Taehyung claimed that it "wasn't quite there yet" much to your surprise.

Still, you couldn't blame him for wanting to continue working on an already completed piece. You're one to continuously work on a musical theatre song, then film it two thousand times until you finally get the worthy enough take. This is probably the same situation.

You're grateful for his company… and he's been around you nearly every day since the night you kissed. Which was nothing to complain about. In fact, it made you feel safe and wanted, which is something you haven't felt in a very, very long time. He wants to pour all of his time into being with you, and sometimes, he looks at you in such a way… a way that makes your heart jump into your throat and your head fog up, and your vision blur. A look of longing. A glimpse of… misery? He looks at you like you'll disappear at any moment. It's unlike anything you've ever seen.

The soft humming of the speaker, which is seated proudly on the bar, distracts you from focusing too much on the artist in the room. The broom in your hand is also a good reminder of what you should be doing, rather than harping on him. Soon you're swaying, rhythmically sweeping to the tune of "You Matter To Me" from Waitress the musical.

You nearly forget that you're not alone when you spin around slowly, dipping lower to free a bit of pastry from beneath a chair leg. Seriously, why do people not clean up after themselves when they drop food? It's not that hard to bend over and pick it up. The trash can is literally a meter away, and these people still have the audacity to leave their food on the ground. Through your muddled thinking, you feel hands wrap around your waist before you have the chance to whisk the arrogant food into the pan. The hands are warm yet still cause you to lurch slightly as a gasp leaves your lips.

"Woah— easy." Taehyung laughs (you love his laugh), lowering his head to gently rest his chin atop your shoulder.

"You scared me." You act as if you're unamused, but you're obviously leaning back into his embrace to soak him in just a little bit further. He apologizes quietly, swaying in time with the music. Your eyes flutter closed. No matter how cliche it sounds, every moment with him is like a musical theatre scene. So perfect, so scripted-- and yet it's not scripted, so Taehyung must be a genius at making you swoon.

"Come out of hiding; I'm right here beside you…." The speaker sings.

Taehyung is quick to remove the broom from behind you and set it against a nearby table. The close proximity of his body against yours is magical, and it takes no effort from him to lift your linked hands and spin you away from him. His movements are smooth, and you have half a mind to ask him if he dances at all— but when he pulls you back in, you're unable to utter any words when your nose brushes his.

With a massive smile on his face— and you mean massive because this boy is totally patting himself on the back for aforementioned smoothness— he reaches forward to hold your waist. Within moments, he's swaying with you softly and holding you in a way that makes your stomach churn slightly…

He's going to be the death of you.

----

December 12th

You don’t see Taehyung today.

No matter how badly he wanted to hang out with you (which he made very clear when he called you in a tizzy), duty called at the theatre, and Taehyung was forced to be there early this morning.

Despite not being with you in the flesh, you’re almost embarrassed to admit that he is literally all you’ve been able to think about today. You wonder what he’s up to… what they have him working on. You wonder what he’s wearing— maybe the coat he bought with you at that old consignment store, the black one that made him look like a businessman and had you weak in the knees.

Still, looking past the fact that he’s ingrained into your thoughts, you continue with your day: doing laundry, cooking lunch to bring to Jimin, who’s working busily at the cafe, and shopping around for some decor for your apartment.

Even Jimin decided to give you a hard time when you checked the cafe for the familiar dark-headed artist.

“This is what they call the honeymoon phase.” Jimin coos, handing you a warm caramel latte with a smirk. When will the day come when Jimin doesn’t tease you over something you have absolutely no control over? That is a question for the ages. And he has the time of his life doing so… judging by the ever-growing smirk on his face when the blush sinks deep into your cheeks.

Jimin might’ve been right.

Even folding your laundry reminded you of him. Reminded you of the night he took you to the laundromat to pick up your clothes and helped you fold them. Lucky you, it was just jeans and t-shirts… if Taehyung had seen anything else, you think you would’ve crawled into one of those laundry machines and tried to spin yourself out of your misery.

It was almost embarrassing how much you missed him.

You shouldn’t be feeling this way when the two of you literally just connected in a romantic way, should you? You shouldn’t feel like you’ve known him all your life when you had barely even begun your relationship…

It was weird and sudden-- yet so familiar.

----

December 13th

The last thing you were expecting this morning was a phone call from Taehyung, bright and early, lighting upon your face as soon as the clock hits nine in the morning. If it were anybody else, you probably would've thrown your phone across the room and dove back into the dreamy state you had been awoken from-- but this was Taehyung, so the only thing you were throwing was yourself towards the alerting device.

"Hello?" You voice groggily, clearing your throat as you wince at the rude reminder that you literally just woke up.

"Wow, good morning." Taehyung chuckles over the line, and you're pretty close to punching him through the phone for making fun of you, but the sweet sound of his laugh distracts you. "Did you just wake up?"

"... Maybe."

"Ahhh, and here I thought you were a morning person! Guess I was wrong." You can hear the smirk in his voice. A faint sound of cars honking is heard in the background, diverting you from your feigned annoyance... Was he out of the house this early? Bless his soul.

"Where are you?" You question, finally propping yourself up against your headboard.

"Out and about running some errands." You can hear his footsteps across the snow, quiet crunching in the background playing like a soothing lullaby, nearly lulling you back to sleep. "We have plans today."

And suddenly, you're wide awake.

"We?"

"You and me." He explains.

A smile grows onto your face as you play with your duvet bedding, containing the relieved sigh at the thought of seeing him again. Even now, your brain revolves around him in the most pathetic way… but you don't mind that much.

At your hesitation, Taehyung breaks the silence once more.

"Are you busy?" He questions anxiously, his frozen footsteps faltering over the line like a sad child who was denied hot chocolate. You can hear the pout in his voice, and it nearly makes you laugh… the desperation seems mutual. "That's totally okay if you are... I just thought we could go on an official date today."

You hide your smile behind your hand and collect yourself enough to respond, feigning nonchalance. "The other days haven't been dates?"

"… They weren't official. This is official." He states, the creaking of a door in the background piquing your interest in what he has planned… Did all his running around and preparation have to do with your date today? What is he planning? "We can do it another day if—"

You jolt up. "No! No— mm, no. I was just joking around."

"Good," he responds, the smile and childlike excitement fully evident in his voice. Honestly, you can't remember the last time someone was this excited to see you… and it wraps around your heart like a heated blanket. "Get ready! I'll pick you up at two!"

You're really not a fan of heights. Actually, scratch that; you've never been a fan of heights. The last time you can remember being high above the ground was back in middle school when you climbed a reasonably small mountain during a field trip, and you nearly blacked out when they took you to the final overlook. You couldn't imagine people willingly coming this far above the ground to marvel at the views, seeing as the views nearly made you sick to your stomach.

Maybe it's because Taehyungs with you that you agree to visit the Summit One Vanderbilt. It towers over the city at an appalling height of 1,401 feet tall— and they expect you to enjoy the views. Truth be told, you were definitely not enjoying the view as you stood and stared up at the building from the sidewalk, the lump in your throat threatening to eat you alive. You're basically the filet mignon on the menu.

Again, maybe it's because Taehyung is with you that you agree to go. Maybe it's because you didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of him by being a total chicken and backing out of his request. Which, much to your disappointment (mostly in yourself), is obviously not working when you cling to his jacket through your thick gloves— scooting the tiniest bit closer to him in the already cramped elevator. Right at this moment, you're praying not only to live but also for your will to live. If you turn even the tiniest bit, you'd be able to see the elevator view going up and up and up— continuously moving like a flowing river even though you wish with every ounce of your being to reach the top already.

"You're doing great." Taehyung whispers, an evident smile in his voice as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his neckline. He's holding your head to hide you from glancing at the height— and you know that your cover is blown.

"Not really fond of heights.” You voice quietly, muffled words spoken into the jacket gracing his shoulders, embarrassed to even admit it when you've already come this far. No way you're backing out now.

Still, Taehyung holds you tighter, and you can feel him suppressing a laugh before he whispers gently, the faintest wind from his voice blowing a speck of your fear away.

"I know."

You have to give Taehyung credit for his efforts. He's slowly guiding you out of the elevator when the damned thing finally decides to stop rising into the clouds. Your eyes are still frozen shut in fear, but the warm palms around your shoulders are keeping you grounded… but not actually grounded because you're thousands of feet in the sky.

Stop reminding yourself that you're thousands of feet in the sky!

The farther he takes you, the more curious you get— but despite this fact, your eyes still refuse to open. The view must be horrifying.

"Okay, gotta be careful here cause there's a huge hole in the floor." Taehyung voices quietly, his hands gripping onto you. "Just take a laaarge step; it'll be fine."

And that's when your eyes suddenly fly open; your need to be in control of the current situation is sullying your stubbornness— cause no way in hell are you letting Taehyung lead you over a cliff. Not that you think he would lead you off purposefully, but accidents happen! You shriek aloud, faltering backward into his chest and away from the aforementioned hole… which seems to not exist. Your face is staring back at you through the glass floors, which are completely flawless in design. And that's when you see Taehyung's body shaking behind you in silent laughter.

It takes a moment for your heart to beat again, but as soon as you've regained some of your sanity, you elbow him in the gut. "That is not funny!" You whine, shoving his hands off of your shoulders when he finally lets out a peal of laughter.

And that's when you look up.

Holy– okay, this is high up.

The room is an echo of mirrors and glass windows, making you slightly dizzy as you glance around the room at different versions of yourself and a view unlike anything you've ever seen. At the very top of the city, towering over the hundreds of buildings and thousands of people that are probably whisking away along the streets, you feel like a tiny ant. A tiny, little ant that keeps getting stepped on… but nonetheless finds the solace of a crevice. A crevice to hide in. A hand to hold.

And he's looking at you fondly as you marvel at the view… partly scared and partly in awe. He's looking at you and not the view in front of him… as if this is something he gets to see every day, which you know is not the truth. When you meet his coffee-brown eyes, they hold something within them… something that whispers the softest of I love yous. Something that makes your insides turn out. Something that feels so familiar– and it only takes you a moment to break eye contact out of fear of awkwardness.

Nonetheless, you can still feel his eyes on you.

"From up here, the difficulties we face seem so minuscule, don't they?" He questions, finally turning his attention towards a flock of birds flying across the sky.

You hum in agreement.

The Rockefeller Center is lit up in bright Christmas lights, the snow that softly descends above you dancing within its fluorescence like ballerinas on the stage. At any other time, you would be in awe by the colors around you and watching the light show unfold… but…

"Good! Now, glide, Taehyung. On the ice. Let's go."

To you, it seemed as if Taehyung was good at everything. He was handsome, talented, kind, funny, and every piece of him reminded you of how lucky you are to have him by your side. But right now…He was embarrassing himself by clinging to the side of the ice rink walls.

Maybe he wasn't good at everything.

"I'm gonna fall." He whines like a toddler, holding out his shaking gloved hand when you ask him to reach for you. You can't help the chuckle that bubbles within your throat, and Taehyung can obviously tell that you're amused with his struggles. "Stop laughing!"

His plea just makes you laugh more, doubling over as you attempt to catch your breath with quiet "sorrys" and "I'll stop, I'll stops," nonetheless continuing to sputter out giggles.

"Come on, Tae. Hold my hand." You say softly, the aching smile on your cheeks never faltering as you see his brows knit in concentration. "I won't let you fall, so grab onto me."

You aren't a pro ice skater either, but you've gone ice skating quite a few times and absolutely adored every single moment of it— especially growing up. Your family had a river that froze over every winter, and there was no wall to cling to there, so naturally, you had to learn pretty quickly.

Taehyung huffs, digging his leg closer to you as he shakily releases one hand from the wall, reaching for your own. You can't help but smile at the notion that he brought you here because you said that you liked ice skating. Even though the poor guy could barely get two feet in the rink.

"You're so close! Come on, a little more." You wheeze, unable to help yourself since he looks like a newly birthed giraffe attempting to eat grass, all long limbs stretched out in heated frustration.

"This is hard." He grunts.

"I believe in you."

"I don't believe in myself, y/n."

"You're so close, Tae. Look how close you are! You're doing great, just un-cling yourself from the wall, please and thank you."

"This is the worst moment of my life."

He looks ridiculous…. ridiculously adorable.

When he finally places his gloved hand within yours, you forcefully pull him away from the wall, sending his beautiful face into deep-rooted shock and fear as he holds onto you like a lifeline, attempting to find his footing on the ice as skaters pass the two of you in a flurry. Gotta hand it to him; at least he's off the wall now. Baby steps.

"See," you smile, "you did it." He's glaring at you with snowflake flurries in the dark sea of his hair. His attempt to look angry is squashed by the pure innocence of his appearance. You gently brush them away with your free glove and give him a smile. "You're gonna be a pro-skater in no time."

"You're mean." He whines, but nonetheless, he can't hide the smile on his own face.

Holding Taehyung's hand while you drag him across the ice is most likely the highlight of your day– seeing as you expected to be the one getting dragged, but now you feel somewhat powerful. With legs as frigid as the ice beneath, he slowly begins to skate in the least proportional way possible. You smile at his efforts. He's doing great.

Well, he was doing great, up until the point where said frigid legs decided to give out and topple you to the iced floor. The two of you convulse with laughter, breathing out into the night air of the ice rink as you stare up at the sky with toothy grins. For a moment, the nearby skaters who have to swerve to not run you over don’t matter. For a moment you can appreciate his company as you feel his gloved hand reach its way towards yours.

It’s only until he shuffles beside you that he breaks your resolve.

“C’mon! We’ll be late!” He laughs, attempting to stand but ultimately falling back down. When you question what you’re going to be late for, Taehyung merely smiles.

Within an hour, you're sitting from the top of the ice to the front row before a stage, lights dimming gently as Taehyung taps his feet beside you to the pre-show music. You're holding a playbill in your hand, the paper adorned with pink letters that glisten in the faint light of the theatre. "Waitress," they read. Not only did Taehyung dance with you to one of the songs the other night, but he also bought tickets to see said song live.

You’ve been wanting to see Waitress for a long time. You listened to the entire score in a day and were bursting with excitement upon knowing it was returning to Broadway– but money was tight, thus being the reason why you’ve never bought tickets. Now, as you hold tight to the ticket in your hand, you can feel your chest erupting in excitement. Taehyung's proud smile is still gracing his features when you stop to take a picture of the two of you with the playbill.

Oh my gosh, you bet these were expensive.

You shove down your worry, trying to remember how grateful you are to be spending so much time with him (especially time spent in a theatre) before you leave. Until then, you'll be happy to sit beside him as the music chimes, and the show begins.

Sugar.

Sugar, butter.

Sugar, butter, flour.

Within moments you're the little kid within you again, eyes gleaming as they stare at the art taking place on the stage— and you can feel Taehyung's hand slide into yours, ever so gently. You turn to face him, a smile present on your lips, and he's smiling back at you with admiration gracing his eyes. Every time he looks at you, it's as if you're some art piece that he loves— that sits in an exhibition specifically for him.

For a moment, you think this is the happiest you've ever been.

And then, you see the unwelcoming sight of your apartment door. The wreath that hangs upon the outside does nothing to sully your newfound bad mood. Why do good days have to come to an end? Why can't we live inside of those good days, bundle up and cuddle within its warmth without the cold bite of tomorrow sneaking in?

Why, oh why do you have to leave in three days?

You know the reason why… and you're excited, absolutely. But the thought of leaving the person whose hand is holding your own is starting to leave a bad taste in your mouth. Why does it feel as if you're never going to see him again when you know you'll see him tomorrow?

Leave it to Taehyung to steal any bad tastes from your mouth and replace it with the sweetness of his kiss. It's gentle and soft, all-encompassing as he runs his gloved hand up and down your back. So comforting. This comfort makes you bold as you deepen the kiss, and pretty soon, Taehyung is slowly backing you up against the door. He takes your lower lip between his teeth.

You know this will only last for a moment; you know that he'll end up saying no; still, you can't help yourself.

"Do you want to come inside?" You ask hesitantly between kisses, key at the ready to open that door and beckon his figure through it. Much to your disappointment, Taehyung pauses. Why is he so against taking another step in your relationship? "I can make us some hot cocoa… maybe a movie or something?"

It's another moment of silence before his shoulders drop along with your heart. "I don't think that would be the best idea… I mean, I have to prepare for the opening of the theatre tomorrow night, and I think a good night's sleep is needed." Unable to hide his desperation, Taehyung's eyes linger on your door for a touch longer before he removes himself from your embrace. "Big day tomorrow."

"Huge day, yeah." You agree.

And with a small apology and a goodbye kiss, Taehyung's warmth disappears through the doors.

----

December 14th

Honk, honk!

The abruptness of the rather boisterous sound causes your cream heels to pause before crossing the street, cars whizzing past in a flurry of bright yellow taxis and other colors of the rainbow. If it weren't for the sound of the horn, you would've been hit by the cab whose driver seems to be flipping you off as he continues down the street. He's the one who nearly hit you, yet here he was giving you the middle finger?

Classy.

You straighten up your curled hair, taking a deep breath before releasing your cloud into the crisp of the air. The cream-colored dress that hugs at your waist and falls just below your knees is doing nothing to keep you warm, golden sparkles shimmering in the city lights. A trail of golden leaves dance across its surface, gathering at the top so your neckline and shoulders are smothered with leaves. Luckily, the white double-breasted jacket keeps the chill from nipping too harshly.

With the time it takes to cross the road and the harsh winter winds lapping at your exposed legs, you're starting to regret telling Taehyung that he didn't have to pick you up. Who told the weather that it could be this cold? Still, you worm your way through the cars and finally reach the entrance of Kim's Theatre.

It's as beautiful as you remember it being, only now the sparkling golden party decorations add to its glamour. Gold was an exceptional theme choice.

You feel as if you don't belong here… everyone around you is walking inside in ballgowns and things you'd seen only on the red carpet— outfits you could only dream of affording. They all look beautiful– and now the golden leaf that holds the left side of your hair back and away from your face feels like a childish style choice. Why didn't you choose something more mature? Did you look like a child? Should you go home?

"Ma'am?" The voice that calls your name distracts you for a mere moment. It's the theatre's doorman. "You better come inside. It's only going to get colder!"

It is freezing. And you're not here to worry about your style choice; you're here to support Taehyung. With this change in mindset, you take a deep breath and nod to the awaiting doorman.

Walking through the doors is almost like walking through a fairytale novel; every twinkling light and golden array of decoration is increasing your excitement. The second entrance is decked out with golden and white balloons, strings of silver falling over the door like a hidden entrance to the fairytale world. There are more people inside than outside (which you can’t say you’re surprised about due to the weather), and they stand conversing when you enter. One of them throws you a glance, but immediately delves back into the neighboring conversation. Despite the feeling of not belonging, you're grateful you're here; you're grateful that you're here to support Taehyung; you're grateful that he's looking at you as if you're the star of this night the second you walk into the lobby.

His lips are parted at the sight of you. Maybe pinching yourself would be a good idea because geez Louise, is he handsome. Before tonight, you never really understood the hype of a man in a suit. So what if someone got all dressed up? All suits look the same anyway. But now… a suit on Taehyung is making you weak in the knees.

"Hey." He says, almost nervously. You can't help but smile.

"Hey." You respond.

His eyes run along the leaves scattered across your neckline and shoulders. He smiles softly. "You look incredible."

And just like that, every doubt that you had while walking into the building disappears through the door and out into the chilly air. It's unwelcome at this party. Especially since Taehyung is looking at you as if you're the best-dressed woman here— which is totally untrue.

Nonetheless, a quiet "thank you" leaves your lips before he's grasping your hand with his own and leading you to a neighboring group of people.

More men in suits. Nothing compared to Taehyung, but you know who these men are: directors and actors from the theatre world. The nerves within your stomach are starting to grow, and when a waiter passes by with glasses of champagne, you're quick to grab one. You're gonna need some encouragement to get you through this conversation. Plus, champagne is classy! So maybe you'd look more presentable while drinking it.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kim?" Taehyung voices, drawing the attention of the men before you.

A tall, dimpled man in glasses is quick to raise his head, his smile growing at the sight of Taehyung. They must know each other pretty well now, seeing as Taehyung has been here multiple times a week to draw the theatre.

"Kim Namjoon, this is my girlfriend, Y/n Y/l/n."

The room spins for a moment when you hear the word "girlfriend" spill naturally from Taehyung's lips, and you have to mind yourself before your champagne glass can tip over. He's looking at you fondly, unabashed, pulling you slightly in front of him and presenting you to his colleague.

Yet, all you can think is: he just called you his girlfriend. AHH!!

"Y/n, I've heard so much about you." Kim Namjoon smiles warmly, holding his hand out to shake yours. Before he can utter another word, Jimin is quick to intrude himself into the conversation, grabbing Taehyung's attention.

"I am so sorry to interrupt, but there's a couple here who wants to talk about your drawing, Taehyung." He voices, quickly offering you a smile— you can tell that he's holding back from jumping up and down with you at the fact that you're here and with Kim Namjoon. Much to scream about later over hours worth of a phone call. "You'd better go and talk to them."

Taehyung nods before turning to you.

"Will you be alright?"

To be honest, you don't know how to answer that question. You want him to do what he needs to do without worrying about your well-being, but at the same time, you have half a mind that you'll crumble within seconds of being alone with a group of theatre prodigies.

Get it together, Y/n. This is Taehyungs night.

"Of course, go go!" You whisper excitedly, pushing him towards Jimin, who drags him through the crowd and out of your sight. His gaze never leaves yours until he's turning the corner, offering you a small wave and apologetic eyes.

Namjoon breaks the silence. "He's a wonderful artist."

"He's immensely talented." You agree, turning back to the man whose dimpled smile shines brightly on his face. "And a wonderful person, too."

He laughs. "He's also quite the boaster. He never stops talking about how immensely talented you are. I must say, after listening to you sing, I highly agree with him."

You must be pale in the face. "You've heard me sing?"

"Taehyung likes to play videos of you singing while he draws— it's the only thing he listens to, quite frankly. At least when he's here. He's convinced practically everyone in the theatre to listen to you."

Videos of you singing? Multiple videos? When did Taehyung take videos of you singing? You pause for a moment, taking a glance at your champagne to remind yourself that Kim Namjoon is talking to you, and you should probably answer before it becomes awkward.

He speaks again before you have the chance.

"You have a wonderful voice… one that should be recognized." He states as a matter of fact, nodding before he takes a sip of champagne.

That's the moment you remember who got you the audition in London in the first place… the man standing directly in front of you.

"I— oh my gosh, I can't thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to audition in London." You shake your head, excitement bubbling in your chest. "It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so I sincerely thank you."

Namjoon raises his hand, brushing off your thanks. "No need to thank me. Your talent got you that audition."

"I wouldn't have been able to audition if it weren't for you." You insist.

"I wouldn't have heard you sing if it weren't for Taehyung— so really, you should be thanking him and his love for you. He's very vocal about your talent… and very vocal about wanting you to succeed." Namjoon smiles, taking another sip. Little does he know, your head is spinning at his words.

You should be thanking him and his love for you.

"Y/n!"

With a quick turn of your gaze, the same Taehyung who's occupying your thoughts is making his way across the lobby and grabbing onto your hand. His words are almost a blur to you— you can barely think straight.

"Sorry to interrupt," he apologizes, offering Namjoon a smile. "Do you mind if I steal her from you?"

Taehyung stands beside you in front of his drawing while holding your hand. Onlookers pass by with pleased expressions, studying his art before carrying on with their journey around the theatre. The room smells of champagne and vanilla, with a mix of the woodsy cologne that is sunk into the lapels of Taehyung's suit. Your head is still spinning from the previous conversation with the theater owner, and his scent does nothing to calm you down…

Did Taehyung tell Namjoon that he loves you?

Taehyung must not notice your inner overthinking, too busy conversing with guests and talking about his work. It's only until you hear your name brought up in a conversation that you come back to reality.

"Y/n is an incredible singer. No doubt she'll be on this stage soon!" Taehyung expresses confidently, giving your hand a squeeze.

"You'll have to make her sing for us someday soon!" A woman in her thirties responds, casting you a glance with a gentle smile. "We'd love to hear your voice!"

You smile in return with a quick "thank you," a hint of bashfulness sneaking its way into your bones. It was one thing for Taehyung to talk about you— but truth be told, the last thing you wanted to do was talk about yourself. Taehyung made it look easy, seeing as he brought your voice up in conversations with nearly every guest who stopped to admire his work.

It wasn't until everyone was asked to be seated that he finally halts his boasting and walks you towards your seats. Front row seats. Center stage. The red curtain hides the magic beyond, staring at you in the face and making your excitement rise.

Within minutes, the theatre is open and a symphony is playing a medley of all different art pieces in theatre. Wicked, Phantom of the Opera, Guys and Dolls, My Fair Lady, and even mixing in modern works such as Hadestown, Dear Evan Hansen, and more. Every time you'd sit up straighter at the sound of a familiar tune, Taehyung would steal a glance at you. He's running his thumb along the skin of your hand.

The night is magical, yes, but it's nothing compared to the magic that is seated beside you. Which sounds cliche- extremely cliche,you realize - but it couldn't be more true.

Your feet hurt. Damn those cream heels. Taehyung had offered to take a cab with you back home, just to make sure you got in okay— but you insisted that you walk. You didn't want him spending money on you and truth be told, the theatre wasn't too far, so you weren't about to spend money on a cab either.

This night was everything you dreamed it would be. The music is still thrumming in your bones and it's almost as if you can still hear the violins singing in your ears. You're so proud of Taehyung and his accomplishments, he deserved this. He earned the recognition. He deserves to be happy… and judging by the toothy grin on his face, you would assume that the night was everything he dreamed it would be as well.

"Thank you for coming with me," Taehyung speaks into the night. You don't know why he's thanking you, seeing as he was the one who invited you to a party filled with people you've dreamed of meeting for years. Younger you who played Little Red Riding Hood in Into The Woods used to daydream about a night like this– a night filled with sparkly lights and surrounded by people you looked up to. The only thing missing was your favorite Broadway actor, Jeremy Jordan, kissing you on the cheek and confessing his love for you…

You could care less about Jeremy now.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world." You smile, dipping to slide your smaller hand into his.

It's quiet for a moment, the two of you lost in thought as you make your way down, avoiding tourists who ooh and ahh at the Gershwin Theatre nearby. Finally, Taehyung breaks the comfortable silence.

"What time are you leaving for the airport tomorrow?" Something in his voice sounds like he doesn't want to hear your answer.

"Eight in the morning." You respond, your own tone of disappointment seeping through.

He clears his throat, turning his eyes to see someone walking up to their apartment building. His hand feels colder. His breathing is kind of uneven. For a second, you think he might be on the verge of a panic attack before he asks something unexpected.

"Can you go another day?"

You smile at the notion that he doesn't want you gone just yet, squeezing his hand tightly in your excitement-

"Like maybe you can catch a flight tonight? I can drive you there right now."

Oh.

Now you're confused.

With your sudden silence, Taehyung turns his head in your direction. You're staring straight forward, gathering the thoughts that he sent running across the city. If he doesn't want you to stay, why would he mention changing the flight date? Why would he want you to leave sooner? This makes no sense.

Is he not happy with you? Did you do something tonight that bothered him?

"Y/n." He cuts off your ragged thoughts. "If I could convince you to stay, I would… but I know this is your dream, and I want you to chase it." His eyes are glossy, the lights of the city reflecting in the coffee brown hues. He continues, his voice is shaking slightly (must be because of the cold). "But I think there's gonna be some bad weather tomorrow and maybe tonight would be a… safer bet?"

Bad weather? You didn't see anything on the radar? You've been checking the news often to ensure this flight wouldn't get delayed. You're already a worrywart when it comes to flying, so of course you would make sure that nothing would make you attempt to crawl out of the aircraft. You don't remember hearing anything about disruptive weather.

"I've been up to date with the news, though - I haven't heard anything about the weather?"

Still, you pull out your golden-cased phone (because of course you had to buy a case for the occasion) and check the weather. Clear skies. Which you show to Taehyung, but he seems unconvinced.

"I just– heard something, I don't know."

He's acting weird.

"Is something wrong?" You question softly, halting your footprints from butchering the snow's crystallized surface. Taehyung stops for a moment, unable to turn his gaze to you. The cloud that proves that he's breathing pauses, then continues, then pauses again. Was something actually wrong? Over the course of your relationship, you've found that you're extremely good at reading people… or is it that Taehyung just sucks at hiding his feelings?

Finally, he turns to you, a smile present on his face as he shakes his head– you try to stop your brain from realizing how ethereal he looks; now is not the time.

"Nothings wrong. I just want to make sure you're safe."

He's lying. You know it, but nonetheless, you don't question him further, pressing a hesitant kiss on his cheek to reassure yourself.

----

December 15th

With the last pair of socks (reindeer socks) stuffed deeply into your suitcase pocket, making you question if you would be able to close this thing, you finally finish packing for London. If you were excited last night, it's nothing compared to right now. Your heart has been doing backflips, unable to control your overwhelming elation and flooded thoughts. Your life is going to change tomorrow. You're auditioning for a West End production. Even though you know this is true, you still feel as if you're dreaming.

You would be lying if you said that you weren't sad to leave Taehyung… not being able to see him every day was not going to feel good, especially since you finally got over yourselves and outwardly confessed your feelings. It was going to be weird not having him there with you. Taehyung hasn't texted you since last night, which is unlike him… and you're trying so hard not to let it get to you. Especially since you already have enough to worry about. Still, you kind of hoped he would bring you to the airport to say goodbye.

Before you let it ruin your mood, you stuff yet another pair of socks into the overflowing suitcase before deciding that you're actually done. You could never have enough socks anyway.

Wheeling your suitcase toward the door, you turn to look back into your quiet and small apartment. The mustard yellow couch (which you thought would look extremely ugly but ended up being the best furniture choice in your entire apartment) sits vacantly, magazines rest on your kitchen counter, and the plant that Jimin had gifted to you last night once the opening was over stands proudly in the windowsill.

You remember the way Jimin bounced in front of you with the unwrapped present, explaining that the yellow color of the flowers meant “success” with an unbeatable sense of pride. You're going to miss everything about being in New York.

It's only a month. You'll be okay.

Taehyung's voice greets your thoughts; a memory from last night when he dropped you off at your door pops into your head.

"You're going to do amazing things…." He had said, a warm smile sitting on those lips you already missed. "And you're going to see me sitting in the front row at your first Broadway show… I promise."

You smile gently at the memory, remembering the feeling of his lips on yours before you pushed him down the hallway and out the door. He would've stayed on your doorstep all night if you hadn't.

With newfound confidence, you reach for the door handle and open the door.

And suddenly you're frozen, suitcase in hand.

Hazy, red-rimmed watery brown eyes are staring back at you, a shaking fist elevated as if he was going to knock on your door at any given moment. Taehyung is wearing the same suit he wore to the opening yesterday, his hair mussed up as he studies your concerned expression.

Did he… Did he not leave last night?

"Taehyung, what are you-"

"Don't go."

Your eyes skim up, glancing into his. They're wide, you notice… almost desperate. The more you stare, the more you realize just how red they are, shaking with the quivering of his lips. You swear you can hear your heart breaking…

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" You question.

Taehyung shakes his head slowly, releasing a deep breath that you think he's been holding all night. Honestly, you're starting to get a little freaked out… Did something happen when he tried to go home last night? Is he breaking up with you? Oh gosh, maybe he is breaking up with y—

"Please don't go." He repeats.

You study his eyes, trying to see if they're speaking words more than his mouth is… all you can see is deep-rooted fear and desperation. You're confused.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Just— please, do not get on that plane and just stay here for another few days." His voice is hushed as he's moving his way through your doorway and gently stealing your suitcase from within your hand.

Despite the tears that hug at his lash line, you can't help but feel the tiniest bit of amusement at his babbling. You know you're going to miss him while you're gone… but-

"Are you gonna miss me that much?" You smile, sinking closer to him as you place your hands on his shoulders. "Do you like me that much?"

You wish you could say that he's smiling back at you, but truth be told, this is the most serious expression you've seen on his beautiful face.

He's quick to respond. "This isn't about that…." He's also quick to remove your hands from his shoulders, backing you farther away from the door and towards the couch. He looks even more terrified in close proximity and it’s easy to register the beating of his heart, fast and heavy, between your linked hands.

Something is seriously wrong.

"What's going on?" You question hesitantly, your smile vanishing from your face.

"Just don't go, okay? You have to trust me on this." He begs with a choked up voice, glancing at your bag before removing it from your shoulder with now quick and frazzled hands. Stopping him before he can remove it completely, you grab the sides of his face.

"Hey, hey— stop. You have to tell me what's going on." You speak firmly. That's the moment you feel your heart drop to the floor... because his body is shaking hard between your palms. It nearly has you dropping everything and obeying his every plea… but your stubbornness is quick to step in. "I'm gonna be late for my flight, Tae. I've got to- "

He cuts you off. "I just don't think this is a good idea. It probably won't turn out the way that you want it to."

You're dumbfounded. Is he saying you're not gonna make it?

"Wha-" You laugh humorlessly, letting your bag drop to the crook of your elbow. "What?"

"Maybe it's just better to stay here."

The one person who's been rooting for you this entire time is suddenly deciding to take back everything he said?

"You've been pushing me since the moment we met to follow my dreams, and now you're telling me that it probably won't work out?" You scoff, eyebrows cinching in confusion.

He winces openly, his eyes squeezing shut. "I- No. That's not what I'm saying—"

"Then what are you saying exactly?"

The volume of your voice is getting louder, obviously catching Taehyung off guard since he pauses for a moment with nervous eyes, mouth hanging open. You don’t know what he’s trying to get out of this, but the desperation on his face is prominent as a single tear falls down his cheek.

Don't give in, Y/n. He's being an asshole.

"I just think it's smarter to stay here." He repeats.

And for you, that's not good enough. You're quick to pick your stuff up, hoisting your bag back onto your shoulder as you move Taehyung backward towards the door. He’s attempting to stop you, but the suitcase greets your hands once he's in the doorway. No way in hell were you not going. What is he even on about? Why is he being like this?

"Why are you being like this?"

"I'm trying to protect you." You try to ignore the tears in his eyes as he stares at you hopelessly, his hands attempting to reach for your suitcase before you roll it away from his pursuit with a scoff.

"Taehyung." You say shortly. "Move."

Yet when you try to move past him, he doesn't budge an inch, and he's gripping onto the sides of the doorway like a traffic barricade. Preventing you from dangers that probably don't exist. Your patience is wearing thin.

"Move."

Nothing.

"Move!"

He cracks. "No— No! I can't lose you again!"

This has your stubbornness wavering. You can't remember the last time you saw someone so worked up… so scared. Still, his comment throws you.

"What do you mean again?" You question, confusion tugging at your facial features when Taehyung goes completely silent.

He's staring at you. Standing still. Staring at you in a way that takes you back to the first day you met him at the cafe. The day he looked like he saw a ghost. The day you were scared of him and thought he was some kind of insane person… But now? Now, he's genuinely crumbling. Now he looks like a lost child asking for help, begging to find his home again.

That's when he breaks down.

With his arms reaching around you, pulling you into his chest, Taehyung releases a quiet cry. A sound you never wanted to hear. His whole body is shaking, quivering in your hold as you attempt to soothe him with a hesitant hand on his back. Still, he's clinging to you like a lifeline, gripping onto every last fragment of you that he can.

It's even becoming difficult to breathe.

"Please…" He cries. "Please don't go."

"Tae…" You speak softly, unable to focus on the time when he's crying harshly into your jacket-covered shoulder. He’s not just crying over you leaving. No, this is something more. "What the hell is going on?"

He removes himself, tears streaming down his face as he holds you by your shoulders. It takes everything in you not to bring him back into the hug… to dry his tears and tell him that everything's going to be okay. Now, you're not so sure.

"Listen," he sniffs, "I have no clue what's going on. I've been so confused since I saw you in the cafe again. That wasn’t the first time I met you and all I know is that you can't get on that plane because it will crash and you will die, so I need you to just stay here for a couple more days, please."

The plane will crash? You'll die? Your confusion only doubles as you try to remain calm; you don't want to call him a liar— but this is so unrealistic that it nearly makes you laugh out loud. Does he think you're stupid? Naive?

"How the hell would you know?" You question.

He pauses, the nervous habit of licking his lower lip returning. You're confused, angry, annoyed, and concerned all at once-- and here he is, being quiet as a mouse, unable to utter the explanation you so desperately want to hear.

"Taehyung-"

"Because I've lived this day before." He blurts.

Now you're quiet, your mind completely jumbled as you try to understand the words coming out of his mouth. Everything he's saying is making no sense… Nonetheless, he continues.

"I don't know how but I–" He shakes his head, red-rimmed eyes falling to the floor. "God, I'm living this nightmare all over again."

Confusion is an understatement.

"What are you saying?" You ask.

"Y/n…" He's now looking at you, his lips trembling as he attempts to catch his breath. It's as if everything he's been holding back from saying is nipping at the back of his teeth, hounding its way to his lips, and trying to escape through his mouth.

And then, he lets go.

"I’m a time traveler."

next chapter (coming soon…)

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[akaashisupremacy]

Moments of Courage

Summary: Osamu Miya is a difficult ex to have. When your paths cross endlessly, you try to rebuild your relationship. Will there be second chances? Or just more broken hearts?

HQ Masterlist || Multi-fandom Masterlist || Read it on A03

Osamu Miya  x reader  

“Are you leaving this party because of me?”

Osamu calls you out from the tiny hallway of your friend’s get together. After locking eyes with him, you did your best to subtly scamper towards the door.

“You don’t have to go. I can leave if it’s making you uncomfortable.” he assures.

You shake your head, “You can stay. I’m not having that much fun.”

You begin shuffling through the coat rack to look for yours. You’re desperate for anything to cut the time talking to him, talking about him. The only guaranteed way for this to stop is to leave.

“Are you hiding from me?” he asks almost rhetorically. His brows are gently raised.

“Yeah, obviously,” you retort, “I don’t want to be seen by you or with you.”

Osamu Miya is your ex. After over a year of dating, he decided to end things with you in a small cafe far off his onigiri stall.

“I’m too busy,” he claimed, “You deserve someone who could give you more time.”

You reasoned out that you didn’t mind not spending so much time together. His job was time-consuming. You understood that.

But Osamu was unsettled. You didn’t mind cheering him on from the benches waiting for him to finish up work. You liked seeing Osamu do things he was passionate about. And yet he felt unsettled, because he knew this was the type of work you would not engage in.

Osamu pressed on, “I’m sure you’ll find yourself someone more worldly, more sophisticated in the city. I don’t want to prevent you from meeting someone like that.”

Something dropped at the pit of your stomach. Your mouth was ajar. He’s really trying to break up with you. It’s no secret that you preferred the city and Osamu the countryside, but neither of you seemed to mind. You’d both make the time to visit each other. You made it work.

You remember barely touching your drink. Listening to him talk was like having a ton of bricks dropped on your back. The sunlight pouring in from the glass window suddenly felt prickly.

“I just don’t think we’re a good fit.” he swallowed, unable to look you in the eye, “I think someone from the country, someone simpler and more traditional would be better for me.”

You don’t miss the yearning in his voice, the dreaminess for someone who was clearly not you. He’d always tease that you were a true blue big city girl. You liked the tall buildings, the noise and the fancy department stores. You thought it was a point of endearment, but apparently not.

It’s been almost a year since you last saw him. He looks so unaffected it irks you.

“I broke up with you respectfully. Why are you mad?” he scratches his head.

It takes all your self-control to not slap him across the face.

“Because you hurt me! You’ve hurt me so…so…much.” your voice hitches before you can catch it. This is so humiliating. He’s clearly moved on from you.

Tears start pouring down your face. You quickly hide your eyes behind your coat.

“You’d eventually realize that I’m not right for you.” he murmurs, “We’re too different.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” you snap, clenching your fists, “So is this is it? To make you feel better you’re going to date a small town girl to solve all your problems.”

“Well, Kita did introduce me to someone lately.” he unironically replies, “She works in her family ryokan (inn) and we work similar hours. I think we’ll understand each other more than we did.”

Your eyes narrow.

“There’s no point staying in a relationship that I can’t make time for. Why can’t you understand that?” he snaps back.

It is one thing to be left for someone else and another for him to dump you just because. Somehow you feel like you lost even if you didn’t even have competition. He simply didn’t want you.

Your face contorts into an angry frown.

You slip on your coat and grab the door. “Man, you are a terrible ex. Do you know how it hurts when you tell me how wrong I was for you?”

When Osamu regains his cool, he tries to reach out to you, “I didn’t mean it that way…I didn’t feel good that I could make time for ‘ya and so I let the relationship go. Because i don’t know…—“

“Well, this is all just theory anyways.” he says, “I haven’t met Kita’s friend yet. We haven’t gone out yet, just the two of us.”

You do a double turn. “What?!?”

“Yeah, we’re working all the time but we haven’t made the time to meet.”

You break into a laugh. He stands stunned and confused.

“You know what? You stay behind. You left the last time. I want to be the one to leave this time.” you sigh, closing the door behind you.

You don’t turn back to see the look on his face.

————————————— Osamu mostly works in the countryside which means that you’d be less likely to run into each other in the city. It’s easier for you to keep your mind off him and focus on your current life.

So when you see him in the corner store in place of a small fried chicken stall you used to frequent, you’re visibly shocked, appalled even.

“What are you doing here?!” you jump back, “What happened to the fried chicken stall that was here?”

Osamu looks left and right, making sure no approaching customers can hear your dialogue.

“I run this stall now. Kawaneshi-san retired. It’s a great location. I’m literally in a crossroad between a shopping district and some schools. The rent isn’t too bad and it’s a very busy location.” he answers in his usual no nonsense tone.

You make a mental list not to pass by here again.

He recognizes the look on your face, “Have I just ruined your usual route for you?”

“I thought you were a country boy.” you avoid answering him.

“Even I need to make a living.” he snorts, carefully arranging umeboshi-flavored onigiri in his display case.

Sure! All of a sudden working in the city becomes important after he breaks up with you!

You roll your eyes and curtly walk away. You got here first. You love this city. You refuse to let some onigiri-making man ruin your everyday route.

The days roll into weeks. You stick to your route and diligently ignore Osamu each time. After a while it stops feeling weird that he’s there. You feel like you’re slowly taking pieces of yourself that he broke.

It feels so good to start to be whole again.

———————————— Your newfound peace with Osamu is interrupted when he calls you out of the blue one evening. He calls to tell you that he’s sick and that he needs help running groceries. The nerve!

“Don’t you have anyone else?” you groan. Hasn’t he made friends with some other shopkeepers?

“I have no one else. There’s only you.” he coughs through his words. He tries to explain that one of his few friends is out on bereavement.

You let it go. He clearly doesn’t have anyone for today.

You find out that Osamu lives in the apartment above his stall. The space is rather small. He shares his home with some of the equipment and supplies from his store.

He must hate it here. Osamu always loved wide open spaces.

You open the fridge to find it totally empty. His sink has a few empty bowls from his earlier rice porridges. You understand his desperation. He had nothing to eat.

Moved by his situation and the little compassion for him that remains in you, you sigh and begin chopping up some vegetables to make a nutritious broth. You add in some mushrooms and root crops. While the soup boils, you prepare rice and some pickles.

The faster he recovers, the less you have to interact with him.

When you bring him a tray of food in his room, he is equal parts surprised and confused.

“You can cook?” he clears his throat.

“No, Osamu.” you roll your eyes, “I eat all my food raw.”

He sits up and sniffs the aroma of your food through his clogged nose. He dips a spoon into the soup to sample his first meal of the day.

“I mean you can cook well, like a proper home cook.” he says, his eyes wide with awe. He quickly takes a few more sips and starts on his rice.

“I’ve never known.” he croaks, turning to you.

“You never asked,” you shrug, “And you like to do the cooking yourself. You probably assumed I can’t cook, because I’m not as passionate about food as you are.”

He quietly eats and looks away to confirm the truth in your statement.

You sigh and take a nearby basin with some towels in it. “I’ll leave after I bring the basin back.”

——————————————- Something changes in your relationship with Osamu after that incident. He starts to greet you when you walk by and sometimes offers you onigiri from his store.

You always insist on paying. He doesn’t always take it.

“You’re here to make a living.” you say as you push money into his hands.

In between these exchanges you start to ask about each other again. How are you doing? Was today busy? Stuff like that.

Slowly and surely, you two were rebuilding your relationship ground up. But it was tough. Neither of you went beyond these interactions. Maybe things are just meant to stay that way.

One late evening, the last customer for the day disappears out of Osamu’s line of sight when he heads into the back to start cleaning up. He’s about to start pulling down the rafters when you suddenly show up at his counter.

His face expresses his surprise.

“If it’s too late, I can just go.” you gesture sheepishly.

He’s always surprised when you come here on your own volition.

“It’s not,” he denies, “I was closing up too early anyways.”

You pick out your usual onigiri flavors and quickly pay up. As soon as you turn your back, Osamu stammers at you.

“I-I’m cooking up some stuff at the back. Do you want to stay and eat? Think of it as a return favor for the other week.” he refers to the episode of his sick day.

You’re caught off guard but you slowly nod your head to agree. You hadn’t had Osamu’s cooking in a while and it was getting quite late. He opens the door for you and you follow him towards the back of his shop.

In a messy plastic table, you see an array of salads and pickles with different kinds of miso soup laid out. You feel almost intrusive, even more than last week.

You set the table. Osamu fetches hot rice.

It feels unnecessary for you to be here especially if he is with someone else. You do your best to keep your mouth shut. This is a friendly return of favor.

Osamu notices how unusually quiet you are. He chats you up about work. He tries his best to be animated and show interest in your latest project. He asks about your coworkers and your work environment. Were you having fun? Do you get to eat on time?

For dessert, he brings out mochi wrapped in leaves.

“It’s made by the girl I was telling you about.” he remarks, while clearing the dishes.

“Oh,” your heart sinks. You get up and leave, feeling humiliated by your naivety. Of course he’s with her. You feel stupid for even hoping.

You’re about to walk out when he comes back in. “Apparently, she’s been secretly in a relationship with another chef in her family inn. They recently got married and are hoping to start a family soon. She sent these down to inform me. I suppose that solves the problem of having to see someone outside of work—”

He sees you standing. Confusion runs through his expression.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Just stretching…” you lie.

You want to shoot yourself in the foot in embarrassment.

When realization dawns on him, Osamu looks crestfallen. Any energy left in his body abandons him. He sighs, resigned.

“It’s ok if you want to go,” he nods, “Or if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

He bites his lip and looks down on his shoes. The room is still and pregnant with silence.

“I really am just stretching. My hip feels wonky from sitting all day.” you insist with some renewed energy. You grab hold of the pot on the table. “Also, can we get some more hot water? Tea would be nice with the mochi and it’s kind of gone cold.”

He offers to make another pot, relief evident on his face.

“I’ll go heat up the water.” he walks to the kettle, “Are you sure you want dessert?”

You sit back down.

“Yeah, I want to stay.” you murmur. For once you don’t go running to the door.

He glances at you, content, a small smile creeping on his face. ——————————————————

Atsumu, Osamu’s twin brother, always finds himself in his brother’s kitchen every time he visits. He doesn’t mind too much though. It gives them something to do when they catch up.

“Samu, you can’t still be moping around your ex!” Atsumu exclaims. He’s washing Osamu’s dishes as his brother prepares for their meal.

“I’m not ready to get back out there.” Osamu waves dismissively.

Atsumu flicks some water his way. “You’re just not open to seeing someone else.”

His words clearly prick Osamu who throws flour into his face. Atsumu dodges right on time and flicks some flour right back.

Some flour grazes Osamu’s sleeve. He sighs and dusts himself.

“It’s tough, because I’m working all the time. This job doesn’t pay too much and it’s not glamorous. Who’d wanna date someone like me?” he murmurs.

“That’s why you gotta date around to find out!” Atsumu emphasizes, “Maybe you’ll even find someone who might help you with your business when you get married.”

Osamu obstinately shakes his head. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

Atsumu dries his hand and carefully observes his brother. He puts his towel down onto the kitchen counter and raises his brow, “Or maybe I should just give you advice on getting back together.’

As if right on cue, Osamu slams his hand down onto the counter, “I hate that we still haven’t gotten back together. This is killing me!”

Atsumu chuckles in satisfaction. He’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Why has nothing happened yet? I’m already in the city!” Osamu continues on, “They can cook too! Did you know that?! I wish we can skip to the part where we can settle down.”

He vigorously gestures in frustration.

“I cannot! I just cannot move on until I know I’ve given everything to make this work and yet every time I see them all I do is offer them food!”

Atsumu places his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “You need to be more strategic about it. Here’s what you need to do…”

———————————————————————————

Osamu takes a deep breath before knocking at your door. He holds a bag of onigiri in one hand and whatever courage he has in another.

One knock, then another. He hasn’t been this nervous in a long while.

When you open the door, his ear picks up on a male voice inside your house. Combined with your expression, he realizes that he’s come at an inconvenient time.

“I brought you something.” he tries to smile despite the sweat pooling, “I made you lunch. I just wanted to make sure you were eating. We don’t have to talk. I just wanted to give this to you.”

He tries to look past your shoulder, attempting to glimpse at your guests.

“Are you seeing someone else by any chance?” he blurts out, “I want to clarify before I make any more free deliveries.”

You frown. “That’s none of your business, Osamu. You should leave.”

Your frankness pierces something within him. He hadn’t expected to be rejected so quickly.

Osamu’s eyes widen and his mouth drops. He quickly gathers himself before he gets disheartened.

“I want you to give me a second chance. You loved me so deeply. Maybe you can find love in me again.” he says quietly.

“I thought I was too much of a city girl for you,” you retort, despite lacking an edge in your voice. You notice his hands tightly clutching the plastic bag.

The noise at the back seems to melt away. It’s like you’re back in that party, standing too close to each other near the coat rack and the door.

“Maybe you’re not.” his shoulders gracefully go up and down.

You shook your head wryly, “Osamu, I haven’t changed. I like my job and the city. I’m not the life and business partner that you’re looking for. I’m just a customer and we should keep it that way.”

“I can stop if you like.” he offers meekly, putting his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, you should. You’ve hurt me so much.” you cover your mouth with your hands while you try not to sob, “There’s nothing to go back to.”

“I’m sorry I ended things the way I did.” he looks away, “Seeing you walk by me every day feels like penitence…“

You close the door before he says anymore.

Osamu gazes longingly at the door. It’s only now that the full weight of losing you sinks in.

—————————————— “How’d it go?” Atsumu calls to check on Osamu.

Osamu sucks in his breath, his palm pressed on his temple. Atsumu braces himself, this doesn’t sound good.

“They had someone else over.” Osamu is seething in frustration and angry tears.

“Calm down. Were they alone? Or was it a friend group?” Atsumu ’s mind races. He sifts through the situation in an attempt to placate his brother.

“Yeah? No? I don’t know.” Osamu snaps, “They told me she didn’t want to talk about it. Your advice sucks!”

Osamu walks most of the way home. When he catches sight of his store, he curses. He had left his damn bike at your apartment complex! The universe is not giving him any breaks today.

He sighs and continues towards his store. He had a friend watch it while he was away. He’ll have to come pick up after he closes the store.

Throughout the rest of the day, he tries to push you out of his mind. By the time he closes the store, he is bursting at the seams with anticipation to make his way back to your apartment.

Before he sets off, he sees your figure wheeling his bike towards him.

“You left your bike.” you breathe out. You fish something out of your pocket and toss him the key to his bike lock, “You left this in your lock too.”

“Every time you see me, I just look dumber and dumber.” he sighs in exasperation.

You can’t help but burst into laughter at his candidness. He perks up a bit. He hasn’t made you laugh in a while. Of course he’d rather have you laugh with him than at him. Still, this was a start right?

"Did Atsumu put you up to this?" you chuckle, handing the bike over.

“Yeah, how did you know?” he asks dumbfounded.

“I just do.” you scoff, “It’s not like you to show up on people’s doors.”

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again. It was a moment of weakness.”

Your eyes lower, framing the sad expression that sets into your face, “Yeah, it better not. I’ve moved on.”

You turn around to walk away. In a brief moment of courage, he cups his hands around his mouth.

“I’m not ready to move on from you and if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” he calls out.

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

Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar​

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! I’m definitely making a part 2!

[thefanficmonster]

What's It To You?

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: To some people, relationship labels aren’t important. To some they aren’t important only in theory. Well, Y/N finds out she falls in the later category, leading to a falling out with her boyfriend Corpse.

Requested by Anon. You’ll know who you are when you read the fic 😉 Thank you for the ‘angsty argument’ request. I hope I captured what you had in mind and I hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy 🥰

The time is nearing 7PM and Corpse has barely eaten anything. I always keep track of his meals and time spent in front of a computer screen, making sure he doesn’t spend too much time exhausting his eyes or starving himself. He never notices he’s hungry until he takes a bite of something and his appetite grows in  matter of seconds. The real battle is to get him to take that first bite.

I get up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. I open the fridge, scanning its contents for any ideas that might pop into my head for dinner. When nothing comes to mind, I resort to my last option - asking him. There’s only a slight chance he’ll be of any help. He’ll most likely say he’s not hungry or that he’ll make himself something late. He never does. I’ve gotten used to him being a man-child when it comes to eating. In the eleven months that we’ve been dating, I’ve force fed him more times than he has eaten on his own terms.

I go upstairs, stopping outside the door to his recording room to see if he’s talking to someone so I don’t walk in and interrupt. When no noises come from the inside I knock. 

“Come in.“ 

Upon opening the door, I’m met with Corpse nonchalantly sitting in his desk chair, leaning as back as he can without tipping over. Arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out in front of him. The whole nine yards, suggesting that he not streaming.

“Hey.“ He greets me as he turns his chair a bit in an attempt to face me

“Hey, what’d you like for dinner?“ He opens his mouth to reply the millisecond after I have spoken my question. I already know what that reply will be so I hurry to prevent it, “And no, ‘later’ and ‘I’m not hungry’ aren’t on the menu.“

He sighs, shaking his head as though he’s disappointed that I caught onto his game. The smile that slowly makes its way to his lips, however, suggests that he appreciates my concern. “Grilled cheese sandwiches? I mean, if you feel like it.”

I smile, relieved that the usual convincing portion of our interaction on this specific matter has been avoided. “Ok. Be down in fifteen then.” I give him a nod before heading back out into the hallway.

Before I am able to close the door, I hear someone else’s voice come from behind me. “Hey Corpse, was that on your end?”

Oh shit, he wasn’t muted

“Yeah man, sorry. Accidentally unmuted myself.“ Corpse sounds unbothered by this, but I am a little uneasy now.

Corpse and I have agreed to keep our relationship by a ‘won’t ask, won’t tell’ rule - if someone asks him if he’s in a relationship, he won’t lie and say no, but we haven’t gone public nor do we plan on doing so without someone asking us about it head-on. Well, not us. Him. His friends don’t know me and neither do his fans. I’m not in the same industry. I don’t stream nor film YouTube videos. The most I do for that platform is help Corpse with some editing when he needs to have a rest. So, if anyone were to reveal our relationship, it’d be him.

“Oooh, who was that?“ A girl’s voice asks teasingly. “Corpse, what are you not telling us?“

By this point, I’m out in the hall but I left my ears in the room. I know I’m not in the right here - eavesdropping is most definitely not nice, but I can’t help myself.

I hear him chuckle, “Nah, it’s just my friend Y/N.”

My heart drops so suddenly for a reason beyond my understanding. I feel like a kid feels when it’s told Santa isn’t real - I can’t believe what I heard. 

I hurry to get back downstairs as soon as possible and also as quietly as I can. It’s tough, running with a pit in your stomach and a knot of I’m pretty sure is tears in your throat. When I’m finally in the kitchen, the aforementioned tears are blurring my vision. I try to blink them away but accidentally send one of them trickling down my cheek.

I’m aware this might be an overreaction and if I stopped to think I could probably find ways to justify what Corpse said. But I’m genuinely hurt, and I hate that I am.

I’ve never cared about what others know about me or think of me. Same goes for my relationships. I don’t put labels on things nor on my connection to people. I am surprised and disturbed by how much the label ‘friends’ bothers me. We’ve been dating for almost a year now, you’d think calling me his girlfriend would be second nature. Guess not.

I swallow the hurt and surprise, deciding to keep myself busy with the preparations for the dinner I was planning to make. However, keeping my hands full and giving my eyes a place to look doesn’t stop my thoughts from eating away at me. 

                                                             * * *

Twenty minutes later the sound of a door opening echoes from upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps going through the hallway and then down the stairs. 

“It smells so good in here.“ He comments, his eyebrows raising when he takes in the freshly made sandwiches on the kitchen island. “You’re the best, Y/N.“

“Hmm, aren’t you lucky you have a friend who knows their way around the kitchen, huh?“ I reply sharply, not even sparing him a glance.

In the twenty minutes I was left alone with my wilding thoughts I declared that I wouldn’t beat around bush when he comes downstairs. That I would address the issue and tell him exactly how I feel about it. What I didn’t plan was being so harsh. I actually barely contain a wince when I realize how sharp of an edge my words had.

I feel ten times more guilty when I see the regret that flashes on his face, “You heard that.” He grips the edges of the table, leaning down and letting out a sigh, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

The anger in me evaporates, leaving room for the hurt to keep spreading and take over me. I was never really angry with him, I’m just upset by the fact that his immediate reaction wasn’t to refer to me as his girlfriend. 

“Why would you panic? What’s it to you if they know?“ My voice is barely above a whisper now, the tears I’m fighting back are clogging my throat, not allowing me to sound as clearly as I’d like.

“What’s it to you? I thought you didn’t care.“ He argues back, his gaze travelling from the tabletop to my eyes. I see the guilt in all his features and his body language.

“I thought so too.“ I shake my head, “But hearing you call me a ‘friend’...’just a friend’ stings. I don’t even know why, but it does. It feels almost like you are embarrassed of me. If that’s the case you can just tell me, you know?“

In a blink of an eye he’s crouched down in front of me, one hand holding both of mine while the other cups my cheek. “It’s not. It has never been and it will never be the case. You are one amazing person, Y/N. You deserve the world, not to be stuck with me. I’m just...” He trails off, his eyes not able to focus on mine any longer, “I’m scared of how people knowing about us will affect our relationship.”

My blood starts boiling again. I know I need to get away from him before I reach the point of saying something that’ll hurt him, so I untangle my hands from his grasp, pulling away from him. “Weak excuse, Corpse. You know it will change nothing except make me feel more included in your life. I will no longer feel like I’m a house rat no one knows about.” I stand up, unable to look at him, and start heading for the staircase. 

“Y/N, please! ”I stop dead in my tracks when he calls out my name, his footsteps following behind me. “Don’t be...-”

I turn around, cutting him off in the process, “I need to be alone right now.” I tilt my head in the direction of the dining table, “Sit down and eat dinner. We’ll talk...later.”

                                                             * * *

Now that it’s been almost twelve hours with no contact between us I realize that my reaction was justified only to a certain extent. I understand his concerns and I could’ve expressed mine a little more calmly and in a lot less accusatory manner. But what happened happened and all I can do now is go over to him and apologize, establish a proper communication to resolve the issue that I so stupidly blew out of proportion.

My phone died sometime during the night and has been sitting on the charger but still turned off for a while. I go over to it and press-hold the start button. While it’s powering up I start changing my from my pajamas into my regular clothes, noticing a small stain on my shirt in the process. As I’m examining the stain, my phone starts going crazy with notifications, causing me to jump and drop my shirt.

“Fucking hell.” I mumble, disconnecting my phone from the charger and looking at the huge list of notifications on my lock screen. They are all alerts of new followers, likes and tags, non from people I know. Non except one.

@ corpse_husband tagged you in a post 

Wait what?

I tap the notification which leads me to a picture Corpse posted two hours ago. It’s a picture of me taken in the living room without my knowledge. I’m an oversized sweater and yoga pants, my hair in a messy braid and my attention caught by the book in my hands. My glasses have slipped a bit down my nose, suggesting that I’m too concentrated on the contents of the pages in front of me that I haven’t noticed.

We started off as friends but it didn’t take long for her to become my best friend. And then she stole my heart. I know you’ll read this eventually, Y/N. So...hi. Love you. 

PS - the sandwiches were bomb 🖤

I’m more than caught off guard. Like a surprise hug from behind, warmth spreading all throughout my body. 

Without a second of hesitation I put my phone down and run to the bedroom door. However, I don’t make it very far considering I nearly run straight into Corpse’s chest as I exit the room. He catches me before I knock him straight to the ground, thankfully.

“Aren’t you a rocket this morning. Where are you headed?“ He chuckles, holding onto my upper arms.

One look at his smile, a single word out of his mouth and I’m melting. I walk straight into him, wrapping my arms around his torso, hiding my face in his chest. He comfortably rests his chin on the top of my head, not asking any further questions until I finally answer.

“Right here. I was heading for you.“ I whisper before I pull away enough to be able to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I was being childish and overdramatic and I’m sorry about all I said. I was really upset.“

“It’s ok, baby. I’m sorry for making you upset in the first place. I understand now how much it means to you.“ He caresses my cheekbone with the back of his hand. “I...um...tried to make things right by...“

I push up on my toes, pressing my lips against his, putting an end to his timid stuttering. “I saw it.” I mumble in the kiss.

“Did you like it?“ 

“I loved it.“

“Did you read the comments?“

My heart skips a beat when I hear that dreaded term. Just the thought of reading through the comments terrifies me. I tell myself that some strangers’ words aren’t gonna have an impact on me, but I know they will. Especially since these ‘strangers’ mean so much to Corpse.

I shake my head. He pulls away, taking my hand and leading me towards the living room. “You have to. You’re gonna love them.”

I reluctantly follow him, plopping down on the couch next to him as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the comment section of the picture he posted. He was right. All these people have said such things about me and about our relationship. Some verified names are also there, sharing their support much like the fans. 

“See, this is why I was nervous. I’ll have to do duels for your attention now.“ He glances at me, leaning in and kissing my temple as he sometimes does so impulsively.

“You don’t do duels when you are already sitting at the throne. Right next to me.“ I once again capture his lips with mine, tempted to never pull away, but also tempted to keep reading the comments.

Damn, he might be right about the duels.

He takes his phone from me setting it aside as he slowly lifts me and settles me in his lap, never letting our lips detach.

Nevermind. Fuck the duels

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze