#it is important to hear the author’s perspective

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

I would LOVE to hear more gripes about accuracy of portrayal of historical monarchies!!!

I have been wanting to do this for a while, because there is a lot that irks me. And this ranges across board from big budget period dramas to how people write royalty AUs, which means this isn't one specific thing I'm pointing at. And if it is helpful on a writing tips level, I'll be happy with that.

Long post under the cut:

Disclaimers:

I research 19th century European history, which has a lot of questions about what a monarchy is and why they continue to exist. That's the perspective I am bringing to this.

I probably shouldn't have to say this, but: this is not about modern monarchism. This is about history. I don't want to debate whether you think certain countries should continue to have their monarchs be public figures who are only nominally head of state.

The short version:

Monarchies are institutions. They are part of how the government functions and that should have implications for how someone writes them. A monarch is a person with a built in job that they were born into.

Monarchies are not all absolute. They can exist in a multiple forms with very different structures, and often discontent within a monarchy wants to reform the system not replace it.

My biggest advice would be this: figure out how your fictional or historical monarchy is structured. You don't have to exposit about it, but you do need to know it.

The long version:

The King has a job and there is a right and wrong way to do it.

Fantasy monarchies that draw upon history seem to have Versailles in mind in terms of an aesthetic space and royalty with a lot of power over the people around them. This also includes a lot of lounging around and looking pretty and doing lavish things. However, the issue is that this is a mental image of the dysfunction in the French monarchy close to the revolutions. You can't "Après moi, le déluge" through several centuries of government.

A King (or Queen) has a job, a really important one. They are the head of state, the highest authority in the country, and the highest judge on legal matters. At least in the platonic ideal of absolute monarchy, those jobs being concentrated into one person means their responsibility and good judgement will give the state stability and consistently.

Enlightened absolutism was exactly that: monarchs staunchly holding onto the ideals of the Enlightenment and making reforms from the top down. People who read texts about ideal government and natural rights and put it into practice.

A lot of fiction takes that and goes: Oh, so they have unlimited power and can do whatever they want. Being king means you can do what you want without oversight? That's why someone would want to be king?

And yeah, sure, in theory. But the problem with having a job is that you can do it poorly and people will object to you doing it poorly. If someone is not fulfilling obligations, it is noticeable because the state functions poorly. The premise of Robin Hood is that the king is doing his job poorly. He's overtaxing, the officials are corrupt, there's disorder. The solution? Bring back the true king who is good and fair, and thus functional.

Ludwig II of Bavaria gets ousted from his throne for being more interested in opera and extravagant building projects than ruling. Again, it is a problem and people notice.

Historically, if you want to protect from someone being bad at the job you can support the idea that there should be more oversight and safeguards: Other bodies that control parts of the government alongside the king's ability to approve or disapprove. This tactic takes away the ability to be arbitrary since laws and such are not just coming from the crowned head of state. That would be a constitutional monarchy.

Not everyone needs to be Franz Joseph, waking up at the crack of dawn and working on governmental papers and meetings until bedtime. However, if a monarch is shown in fiction lounging around or talking to courtiers all day but never doing any actual governing, I'm going to assume they are very bad at their job.

2. You're probably understanding Courts and Ministers wrong.

I run into the issue quite a bit that courts are flattened to random servants, ladies-in-waiting, and people trying to be the king's sole advisor (for malicious power grabbing reasons).

The first problem: Being at court isn't an easily accessible thing. You're probably nobility or a scion of an important family. Your presence is built on family prestige and your own skill. Yes, even people in service to the monarch. There are no random people here, because proximity heightens the likelihood of greater promotion.

For example, I'm currently doing my research on a prince from an important dynasty in the 19th century. His secretary is a Baron.

It's not impossible for someone not of noble birth to get to be at court. They could have risen up the ranks of the army or be an exceptionally skilled civil servant promoted to the rank of minister. Though depending on the time period, expect these "new men" to get pushback from nobility by blood.

Ministers also matter.

Unless your fictional monarch is one of the few people who decides (to mixed results) to do all of the thinking about government on their own, there is a cabinet and ministers.

These are skilled people whose job is to think about aspects of government and be knowledgeable about them. A monarch might have many of them that argue and balance each other.

Or, you can write a particularly skilled statesman in a leading role that makes them just as prominent as the monarch if not more so. There are many historical examples of ministers who define their period:

If your monarch character isn't a strong person politically, but is intelligent, having them find a minister to take over most of the governing is a good idea. This person is promoted based on merit, even if the monarchy is hereditary.

I have rarely if ever seen fiction do a good job with a prominent minister as a character (except A Royal Affair, which everyone should watch).

Think of monarchies as whole institutions of government. They have people within them who do all the jobs of governing. But the structure of the government and the personality of the monarch can determine whether it is one person (Joseph II, Peter the Great, etc.), a prominent minister (like a Metternich or Bismarck) or a counsel or congress.

The structure can support a person not doing a lot as monarch, but you as a writer need to think what structures are around them allowing that.

3. Revolutions are scary.

There is a common trend in fiction to make your good guys pro-republic. They're revolutionaries who want to get rid of the king, so they must be good.

But here's the thing: Revolutions are a step into the unknown and have historically happened rather rarely and with very mixed results. That's because the system has to be really broken for something totally new to sound better than what you already have.

A monarchy can create a sense of stability: A fixed head of state who will be there until they die. Historically, people aren't seeking to change that. More often, the call is for a change within the existing structure. The Magna Carta or a written Constitution. Firing of Bad Ministers or the abdication of a bad king in favor of their heir. Creating elected bodies under the sovereign. These are all shifting the monarchical paradigm but keeping the monarchy intact.

And historically even the most liberal of people wanted to place restrictions of some sort on voting, especially property and gender restrictions.

There is a myriad of ways to change the system, the person at the top, or both while maintaining a monarchy. You can have a monarchy be elected as the best person among the nobility (though it didn't go that well for the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth).

Completely throwing the whole thing out means risking all stability vanishing. That could be anarchy. That could mean a charismatic strongman who is also bad at governing in power. You could end up with a guillotine and rivers of blood in the streets. You could end up with a restoration eventually because Cromwell or Robespierre doesn't actually produce something people want to live under and they want the old certainty back.

People have a sense of inertia about changing government. What you have is better than what you don't know, especially if there can be internal reform. Making your character a Republican (in the Jacobin sense, not the US politics sense) means that they are a radical in most times and places and will likely be in the minority.

If there is one thing I would say is the point here is that monarchies are government systems, and thinking through how someone exists in that system in fiction is important. Being king isn't actually much of a fun job unless you're very good at delegating or very irresponsible. Unless you want to be celebrity, president, congress, and moral center of the state all in one, being king isn't a great deal.

[ham1lton]

QUESTION TIME?

pairings: (platonic) lewis hamilton x f1 driver!reader.

warnings: sexist comments. interviewers asking rude questions.

summary: being the only female driver on the grid means being the unofficial spokesperson for women in motorsports and you’re tired of it.

author’s note: a part of my newest series! i’m still actively looking for more scenarios and ideas regarding this universe! so if u have any thoughts or questions? let me know! i’d love to hear them <3

“do you worry that being more open and accessible to different drivers will lower the level of competition within formula one?”

the silence could be cut with a knife. everyone in the room looked at you expectantly, eyes wide as they waited for your answer. you took a sip of water as you collected your thoughts.

sometimes, when you were younger and karting, you’d wish that you had been born a boy. that might have been an unpopular opinion but you held it occasionally, although not for the reasons one might think. being a man would have meant that you would have been treated as just another driver rather than a novelty. no one else on the panel was expected to act like a mouthpiece for their entire gender.

taking a deep breath, you composed yourself before addressing the question. "i understand the concern about maintaining the high level of competition within formula one. however, i believe that diversity and inclusivity in motorsports can actually enhance the competition rather than detract from it."

you glanced around the room, meeting the expectant gazes of the reporters and fellow drivers. "by opening up opportunities to drivers from different backgrounds and experiences, we bring new perspectives and skills to the sport. this diversity can drive innovation and push the entire field to new heights."

pausing for a moment to gather your thoughts, you continued, "i don't necessarily think talent and competitiveness are determined by gender or any other factor. it's about skill, dedication, and passion for racing. embracing diversity not only reflects the world we live in but also strengthens formula one as a whole."

as you finished speaking, you could sense a shift in the atmosphere of the room. while your response might not have been what everyone expected, you knew it came from a place of honesty and conviction. and deep down, you hoped that your words would spark a broader conversation about the importance of inclusion in motorsports.

the room digests your response, slowly and steadily until another interviewer speaks up. "i get where you're coming from, but let's be real here. formula one is about pushing the limits, about being the best of the best. we can't afford to water down the competition just for the sake of diversity."

you respected his perspective, knowing that he always spoke his mind but god, if that wasn’t the worst way to word that. "i hear you," you replied, "but i don't see diversity as watering down the competition. if anything, it's about elevating it. different perspectives bring new challenges and force us to raise our own game. isn't that what racing is all about?"

he paused, considering your words. "i suppose you have a point," he conceded, nodding thoughtfully. "but we still need to ensure that the drivers who make it to formula one are truly the best, regardless of where they come from."

you nodded in agreement, acknowledging the importance of maintaining high standards in the sport. "absolutely," you agreed. "and i believe that by embracing diversity, we can do just that. it's not about lowering the bar; it's about expanding it to include drivers who might have otherwise been overlooked."

after a moment, lewis, who had been your unofficial mentor throughout the process of integrating into formula one, raises his hand. he had been listening to the whole exchange with a furrowed brow.

“i just want to echo what y/n has said,” he began. “diversity isn’t a threat, if anything it’s our greatest asset.”

he turned to address the room, his gaze steady. "we've seen time and time again how diversity helps drive innovation and pushes the sport forward. and it's not just about gender or race – it's about welcoming drivers from all walks of life and giving them the opportunity to shine."

lewis paused, letting his words sink in. "formula one should be a reflection of the world we live in – diverse, inclusive, and full of opportunity. and by embracing that diversity, we make the sport stronger, more competitive, and more exciting for fans around the globe."

you smile at that and grin at the interviewer.

“is that a good enough answer for you?” he nods and your remark sparks laughter in the room. after a moment, the interviewers target your peers and you take a deep breath. free at last.

when the interview concludes, you find yourself walking step by step with lewis, who smiles at you.

“you answered those questions well. i’m proud.”

“just followed the hamilton playbook.” you tease. “who knows? maybe i’ll be fighting you for that championship next.”

“i’d welcome the challenge.” lewis laughs, his eyes bright with amusement. “but seriously y/n, never underestimate the power of your voice and your presence in this sport. i always say that the goal is to leave the sport better than we found it, and you’re only in your second season and doing that. i have no doubt you’ll achieve great things.”

his voice is thick with sincerity and he places a warm hand on your shoulder before leaving. as he disappears, a young girl wearing your merch comes bounding up to you. she’s grinning wide with a missing tooth and when she speaks, her accent is thickly american with a strong lisp.

“y/n! hi!” she waves a massive poster in front of you. it has your name, your number and a message of support. “y/n you’re the coolest! will you sign my poster please?”

with a warm smile, you kneel down and grin at her.

“of course! i’d be honoured.” your assistant hands you a sharpie and you scrawl your signature in the corner of her poster. her parents taking a photo of the two of you and then with her parents permission, you sign her hat and her shirt. “thank you so much for all of your support. it means everything and more to me. keep cheering me on okay? i do this for all of you.”

“i will!” she beams. you laugh and pass your assistant her pen. “you’re my hero y/n! thank you!”

she bounces off and her parents wave while saying their thanks. your heart swelled up after that interaction, reminding you as to why you do this. why you deal with all those incessant annoying questions because it gives you the opportunity to help inspire the next generation of young racers.

as you stand there, you see a guy with a camera walking your way. your eyes widen as you make a sneaky escape. today has been filled with enough questions, you think as you hide out in gavin’s office.

[supersoakerfullofblood]

Point of View: the Biggest Thing You're Missing!

Point of view is one of the most important elements of narrative fiction, especially in our modern writing climate, but you rarely hear it seriously discussed unless you go to school for writing; rarely do help blogs or channels hit on it, and when they do, it's never as in-depth as it should be. This is my intro to POV: what you're probably missing out on right now and why it matters. There are three essential parts of POV that we'll discuss.

Person: This is the easiest part to understand and the part you probably know already. You can write in first person (I/me), second (You), and third person (He/she/they). You might hear people talk about how first person brings the reader closer to the central character, and third person keeps them further away, but this isn't true (and will be talked about in the third part of this post!) You can keep the reader at an intimate or alien distance to a character regardless of which person you write in. The only difference--and this is arguable--is that first person necessitates this intimacy where third person doesn't, but you still can create this intimacy in third person just as easily. In general, third person was the dominant (and really the only) tense until the late 19th century, and first person grew in popularity with the advent of modernism, and nowadays, many children's/YA/NA books are written in first person (though this of course doesn't mean you can't or shouldn't write those genres in the third person). Second person is the bastard child. Don't touch it, even if you think you're clever, for anything the length of a novel. Shorter experimental pieces can use it well, but for anything long, its sounds more like a gimmick than a genuine stylistic choice.

Viewpoint Character: This is a simple idea that's difficult in practice. Ask yourself who is telling your story. This is typically the main character, but it needn't be. Books like The Book Thief, The Great Gatsby, Rebecca, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and the Sherlock series are told from the perspective of a side character who isn't of chief importance to the narrative. Your viewpoint character is this side character, the character the reader is seeing the world through, so the main character has to be described through them. This isn't a super popular narrative choice because authors usually like to write from the perspective of their most interesting character, but if you think this choice could fit your story, go for it! You can also swap viewpoint characters throughout a story! A word of warning on that: only change your viewpoint character during a scene/chapter break. Switching mid-scene without alerting the reader (and even when you do alert the reader) will cause confusion. I guarantee it.

Means of Perception; or, the Camera: This part ties the first two together. If you've ever heard people talk about an omniscient, limited, etc. narrator, this is what they mean. This part also includes the level of intimacy the reader has with the viewpoint character: are we in their heads, reading their thoughts, or are we so far away that we can only see their actions? If your story is in a limited means of perception, you only have access to your character's head, eyes, and interpretations, where an omniscient narrator sees through all characters' heads at once. (This doesn't eliminate the viewpoint character--most of your writing will still be in that character's head, but you're allowed to reach into other characters' thoughts when needed. You could also be Virginia Woolf, who does fluidly move through everyone's perspectives without a solid viewpoint character, but I would advise against this unless you really are a master of the craft.) Older novels skew towards third person omniscient narration, where contemporary novels skew towards first person limited. You also have a spectrum of "distant" and "close." If omniscient and limited are a spectrum of where the camera can swivel to, distant and close is a spectrum of how much the camera can zoom in and out. Distant only has access to the physical realities of the world and can come off as cold, and close accesses your character's (or characters', if omniscient) thoughts. Notice how I said narration. Your means of perception dramatically effects how your story can be told! Here's a scene from one of my stories rewritten in third-person distant omniscient. The scene is a high school football game:

“Sometimes,” he said. “Not much anymore.” “It’s not better, then?” She shivered; the wind blew in. “A little.” His tone lifted. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be better, though.” She placed a hand on his arm, stuttered there, and slipped her arm around his waist. “Did it help to be on your own?” He raised an eyebrow. “You were there.” “Yes and no.” “And the guys, the leaders.” “Come on,” she heckled. “Okay, okay.” Carmen sighed. “Yeah, it helped. I don’t think—I don’t know—I’d be me if they’d fixed it all.” She grinned. “And who might you be?” “Oh, you know. Scared, lonely.” He fired them haphazardly, and a bout of laughter possessed him which Piper mirrored. “Impatient.” “And that’s a good thing?” “No.” He sat straight. “Gosh, no. But I don’t want to be like him, either.” He pointed to the field; Devon recovered a fumbled ball. “He’s never been hurt in his life.” She met his eyes, which he pulled away. “You don’t mean that," Piper said. “Maybe not. He’s too confident, though.” The cloth of Carmen's uniform caved and expanded under Piper's fingers.

With distant-omniscient, we only get the bare actions of the scene: the wind blows in, Piper shivers, the cloth rises and falls, Carmen points, etc. But you can tell there's some emotional and romantic tension in the scene, so let's highlight that with a first person limited close POV:

“Sometimes,” he said. “Not much anymore.” “It’s not better, then?” Frost spread up from her legs and filled her as if she were perforated rock, froze and expanded against herself so that any motion would disturb a world far greater than her, would drop needles through the mind’s fabric. A misplaced word would shatter her, shatter him. “A little.” His tone lifted. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be better, though.” She placed a hand on his arm, thought better, and slipped her arm around his waist. “Did it help to be on your own?” He raised an eyebrow. “You were there.” “Yes and no.” “And the guys, the leaders.” “Come on,” she heckled. “Okay, okay.” Carmen sighed. “Yeah, it helped. I don’t think—I don’t know—I’d be me if they’d fixed it all.” She grinned. “And who might you be?” “Oh, you know. Scared, lonely.” He fired them haphazardly, and a bout of laughter possessed him which Piper mirrored. “Impatient.” “And that’s a good thing?” “No.” He sat straight. “Gosh, no. But I don’t want to be like him, either.” He pointed to the field; Devon recovered a fumbled ball. “He’s never been hurt in his life.” “You don’t mean that.” She spoke like a jaded mother, spoke with some level of implied authority, and reminded herself again to stop. “Maybe not. He’s too confident, though.” Piper felt the cloth of his waist cave and expand under her fingers and thought: is this not confidence?

Here, we get into Piper's thoughts and physical sensations: how the frost rises up her, and how this sensation of cold is really her body expressing her nervous fears; how she "thought better" and put her arm around his waist; her thought "is this not confidence?"; and how she reminds herself not to talk like a mother. Since I was writing from the close, limited perspective of a nervous high schooler, I wrote like one. If I was writing from the same perspective but with a child or an older person, I would write like them. If you're writing from those perspectives in distant narration, however, you don't need to write with those tones but with the authorial tone of "the narrator."

This is a lot of info, so let's synthesize this into easy bullet points to remember.

Limited vs. Omniscient. Are you stuck to one character's perspective per scene or many?

Close vs. Distant. Can you read your characters' thoughts or only their external worlds? Remember: if you can read your character's thoughts, you also need to write like you are that character experiencing the story. If child, write like child; if teen, write like teen; etc.

Here's another way to look at it!

This is a confusing and complex topics, so if you have any questions, hit up my ask box, and I'll answer as best I can. The long and short of it is to understand which POV you're writing from and to ruthlessly stick to it. If you're writing in limited close, under no circumstances should you describe how a character other than your viewpoint character is feeling. Maintaining a solid POV is necessary to keeping the dream in the reader's head. Don't make them stumble by tripping up on POV!

[rainerioun]

WHAT CAREER IS FOR YOU? | pick a card.

HOW TO CHOOSE A PILE : The outcome may vary based on whether you receive clear messages visually or intuitively. If you resonate more with selecting a pile visually, trust that inclination. Personally, I believe the notion that 'looks can deceive,' so I prefer to take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the pile I'm meant to connect with to come to me. You might see the color of the pile, sense or hear a number, or simply feel its overall vibe.

Please don’t redistribute or edit my content.

MUST READ + MASTERLIST. | KO-FI.

PILE ONE

What Career Is For You? Fool — Light : Fearlessly revealing emotion. Helping people laugh at absurdity and hypocrisy. Liberator — Light : Freeing yourself and others from outmoded beliefs. Releasing negative thought patterns.  Abundance : Use your existing abundance to create beautiful things in your life and you will be rewarded in more ways than you can imagine. The Underworld : Bravery, Depth, Facing of Deepest Fears.  The Ocean : Deeper than Deep, Big Dreams, Discovery.

You are meant to do something that not only helps you but also helps others find the joy in life by navigating through the darkness. You’re here to use the morals and ideals you’ve developed to guide others toward happiness with your insights. Emotions play a big role in this.

List Of Careers: — Comedian, Performer/Influencer, Counselor/Therapist/Psychologist, Life Coach, Motivational Speaker, Activist, Entrepreneur, Philanthropist, Crisis Intervention Specialist, Law.

PILE TWO

What Career Is For You? Hermit — Light : Seeks solitude to focus intently on inner life. Serves Personal creativity. Visionary : Capacity to envision what is not yet conceivable to others. Willingness to proclaim a vision without regard for personal gain.  Yin and Yang : Strive for harmony and balance in your inner and outer life through change, reflection and growth.  The Crone : Magic, Clairvoyant, Psychic, Intuitive, Wise. 

A career that allows for creative expression would be an ideal fit for you, as it aligns with your natural strengths and passions. Beyond the creative aspect, it’s also important for you to find a career where you can bring your own beliefs and values to the forefront, allowing you to express your personal perspectives and ideals.

List Of Careers: — Spiritual Guide/Reiki Practitioner, Metaphysical Practice, Tarot Reader, Meditation Teacher, Yoga Instructor, Writer/Poet/Artist.

PILE THREE

What Career Is For You? Virgin — Light : Maintaining symbolic purity of heart and spirit. Scribe : Preserving knowledge and information. Life Purpose : Your own, natural intuition and the genuine wisdom of your heart is here to guide you. The Riddle : A Great Awakening or “Aha” Moment.

Much like the last pile, writing and expression play a big role for you. Sharing your knowledge, whether through teaching or learning, might come naturally. If you're uncertain about your current direction, you might suddenly find yourself drawn to a job or field you hadn't considered before soon, and it could be the right fit for you!

List Of Careers: — Archivist/Historian, Writer/Author, Teacher, Researcher, Journalist, Philosopher, Librarian.

[hertenskylarks]

More 2 Cents on S3

So, I know there’s already a lot of talk going around. Here’s my 2 cents. 

In light of the recent news, I keep hearing a lot of “Oh, I hope the third season doesn’t get canceled,” and “Oh, I hope it does. Fuck Gaiman,” and “Oh, what about Terry’s vision? What about the fans? What about closure?”

I have absolutely zero control as to whether or not season 3 is made. Many arguments for and against it have already been made. I don't want to beat a dead horse, but I will offer this perspective from my own personal experience. 

I’m a swing dancer, and my rapist was my teacher and one of the first people who ever taught me how to dance. One of the things that made me hesitant to come forward was that he was one of the most likable characters in my scene. He was the funny, goofy guy who wore funky printed shirts, he was sooo nice, he couldn’t possibly be a rapist, right? Right?

Seeing people praise him, hearing people talk about how great he is when I knew what he did to me… It drove me absolutely mad. I just wanted to shake people and say, “No, you don’t understand! You don’t understand who he is!” But I felt like I just couldn't. I felt his reputation was too iron-clad to say anything.

Coming forward was one of the scariest things I ever did because I was so sure people either wouldn't believe me or wouldn't care. And, as predicted, that was the case for some. You can only imagine how I felt when someone I used to call my friend went on to have him officiate her wedding. You can only imagine how I felt when the response from the organizers of the dance scene was to ask me to avoid mentioning Y-Town Swing in social media posts (Oops) to protect their reputation. You can only imagine how I felt when they continued to have him as a teacher, or when they updated their safe space policy to say they are not responsible for anything that happens “outside a Y-Town swing event.” 

Oh, so if he raped me in the bathroom at the event instead it would have made a difference? Right, sorry, didn't realize the location or a rape mattered that much.

Anyway…

This was all in the confines of a small dance scene, in a small city, in a very niche hobby. Now, imagine how it must feel when your rapist and abuser is a fucking best selling author, praised as this ally to women and LGBT people, he’s the quirky guy who has a Tumblr and actually responds to his fans and he’s so cool, he’s one of us, he can’t possibly be a rapist, right? Right?

I can only imagine how fucking mad it drove his victims to know who he really is and see him put on such a high pedestal. 

So, however this all unfolds, I will say this. The people I care about most are the victims. I say this as someone who loved and still loves Good Omens, I say this as someone who was torn up about the final 15, as someone who rejoiced when S3 was originally announced, before all the allegations came to light. I care about the victims. 

But what about the fans? Listen, it’s a fucking TV show. Do you really mean to tell me the ending of a fictional fucking story is more important than the very real people he’s hurt? Not having an ending to your favorite show does not hold a candle to the trauma of being sexually assaulted. There’s no comparison. Not in the same ballpark. Not even in the same galaxy. 

But what about Terry?

Terry is dead and in his grave. I am sorry to say this, but whether his vision comes to life or not, he will never be the wiser. It makes no difference to him. If I could wave my magic wand and have Terry alive and well and Gaiman dead and in his grave, believe me, I definitely would, but that is not the hand we were dealt. 

So please, all I ask is this. Before you go spouting shit like, “I hope we don’t lose S3,” or “I just need to know how it ends,” put yourself in their shoes for just a second.

Imagine you are Claire, or Scarlett, or any of his other victims. Imagine you are sexually assaulted by someone whom the world just puts on a pedestal. You have to sit there and listen to him get praised as being “such a great ally to women and minorities” and “he’s one of us,” and “he’s so brilliant. He’s so cool. He really listens to his fans. Look at this quote of his I got tattooed on my body.” And for years you just sit there and take it, because you’re so fucking afraid that no one will believe you if you come forward, you’re told your story “isn’t enough,” you watch him get richer and richer while you’re stuck with the therapy bill for everyting this “great ally of women” did to you. 

Now imagine that you finally come forward. You finally muster up the will to speak your truth, and tell people what he did to you, and you find that you’re not the only person he’s hurt. The world is finally hearing your story and learning what a manipulative monster he is. 

And now, I want you to think very carefully about what it means if we still get S3. 

S3 means press tours. It means more reviews praising him as a genius. It means certain people being contractually obligated to say nice things about him, or at the very least, not say negative things about him. It means, once again, seeing his fucking horse face or his name everywhere, on Amazon, on billboards, on busses, on posters, in adverts. Only now, it's AFTER the world heard your side of the story.

Just imagine how that would feel. 

So, if it wasn't obvious by now, my stance on S3 is… I don't really want it to happen. Not out of spite or some deep seated hatred for Gaiman (although, ya know, fuck that guy) but out of consideration for the people he's hurt, as someone who knows exactly how it feels to see the person who hurt you get put on a pedestal. 

I understand that production is paused and people think he may be getting removed from the project. I'm not going to comment on that because "paused” can mean a lot of things and there's so much we don't know yet.

There will be other shows. 

There will be shows that DO have satisfying endings. 

Media and shows can be replaced. 

But there is no such thing as being un-raped. 

[sairenharia]

Why Chloe Deserved A Miraculous

Its a thought that's been stewing in my head and the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was true. Chloe was entitled to a Miraculous.

From a Doylist Perspective.

When there is conversations of if Chloe was entitled to a Miraculous is always presented from a Watsonian perspective. For those who don't know, Watsonian means the perspective of someone inside the story. A character. Doylist is the perspective of those in the real world. The author and audience.

The problem I see from fandom discourse is how often people don't actually consider the tools in a story. Often they take a Watsonian perspective, talk about what is right and sensible and should be how things work if this was a real situation. But the thing about stories is they have messages. They have tools and metaphors and themes to help display these messages. Sure, shows are about entertainment, but a story always has some kind of point. It may not be a moral lesson, it may not be some grand philosophy, but any story worth telling says SOMETHING. It takes a stance. The Fast and the Furious is all about doing cool stunts with cars, but it also has a message of doing things for family because if you just want to see cool car stunts, just go watch cool car stunts, but no, people want at least a little humanity in the car stunts, so there is a message of family. Sharing is caring, do your best, the heat death of the universe comes for us all, the messages can be vast, but there's some point of emotional reality to invest us in this specific media.

If we talk about Chloe and the Miraculous from a Watsonian perspective, no, she is not entitled to a Miraculous. No one is entitled to an object of power. Not even Marinette nor Adrien are entitled to their Miraculous.

But superpowers aren't real. Superpowers have always been a tool to emphasize a point. The stories of superman only focused on his powers are boring, but when you tell stories of how he tries to fit into a world that is not made for him, stories of how much he loves this world despite how easy it could be to be cruel, it gets interesting. The reason superhero comics started is there was a want to show that there can be incredibly powerful people who choose to be good. To choose to make the world a better place.

Superpowers made just to be cool and show off are boring. There is only so much you can watch a fight with a cool power before it gets dull and repetitive. But you relate the powers, the struggles of using the powers, to the person wielding them, the story has a lot more staying power. The powers say something about the person, and is part of their development.

And honestly, Miraculous is a good case for why this is important.

Because good god, most of the superhero team is boring.

And I don't just mean because they're good people, so there's no spice, though that's also true, but because the powers aren't really used to emphasize anything about the character. Max has portals. Why? His mom wants to be an astronaut, but we never really hear about Max wanting to travel. Doorman is a better example of a portal hero because he loves going to other places and learning about them.

Now portals are good for a tactician....except Max is never the tactician despite the fact we know he's brilliant and is good at video games. He just does as he's told by Ladybug for where he should put his portals. Its so close, but its not utilized.

And that is the case for most of the superheroes. Like the bones are there, but nothing is properly utilized. Sabrina is definitely a dog, good at getting things, and is in fact well practiced in recognizing what things may or may not be important. But we've never actually gotten to focus on her BEING a superhero, she only had a small cameo with the power, basically. Same with Ivan, really. They're pretty perfect for their powers and it suits their personalities, but none of it is EXPLORED. And that's the case with most of the heroes.

Juleka and Rose were pretty good at using the Miraculous to develop more of someone's character and emphasize a strength about another in turn. These are good hero episodes because we learned more about them and their journey.

Kagami's first episode with the dragon showed off more of her, such as she could be reckless, which is new information, but we learn a lot about her without it, and nothing new beyond that.

Luka could have actually been incredibly good because the snake both emphasizes a big part of him, and something he needs to work on. Luka is someone who steps back and watches. He observes. However, he has a problem where he often is too willing to step back. But with the snake needs someone who can observe AND act. So its a Miraculous that uses an important part of his personality, but could have also helped him grow.

And the rest are just...nothing.

There is a little for Nino and Alya. Nino is definitely more bold about defending his friends than he was at first, and Alya learns to be better about secrets, but these are the primary secondary heroes. We should have seen a ton of impact and development due to them having the Miraculous.

Here is the stance Miraculous should be taking in their story.

The desperation of those trapped and the power of being given good options.

Most of the Akumas are people who are trapped. They feel powerless. They are desperate to escape their problem and feel like they have no proper recourse with things are they are. How accurate this is varies, but this is how they feel in the moment, and that is what Gabriel preys on. These people agree to the deal because they don't feel like they will be helped any other way.

Ladybug and Chat Noir are meant to bring hope to those who felt hopeless and chose a terrible way to try and escape. They are support. They are a hand people desperately need.

So by that same token, the Miraculous should be a good way for people who feel trapped to be given an option, OR give those people the ability to extend their own hands to help others.

While it doesn't have to every time, it should often be the case those who are given a Miraculous; A, dealing with a huge problem and the Miraculous helps them solve that problem, regardless to the Akuma being related. Like if Juleka was working on trying to speak up even if the Akuma wasn't her parents and the Tiger still helped her do that. B, they are related to the Akuma and why they feel trapped, so they are working through their own issues with the important person. Like Rose when Juleka felt guilty. Or C, the person wants to find a way to help in general and kind of go how it went with Nino becoming Carapace. Where they were trying to be that hand a person needed, and earn the Miraculous, and that helps them on their journey to provide more support and help.

But its often it is someone they know, but them being the hero doesn't REALLY matter. Penalteam, the people were just there, these specific people didn't matter. Why did Zoe need to be Vesperia? Anyone could have taunted Chloe and she got turned into a banana real fast, her being the Bee didn't really bring a lot, to the bee, to her, or even to Chloe, and then she proceeded to just not bring much as the Bee, to the story, or herself.

Now part of this problem is that Marinette is not allowed to not learn a lesson, and has to be the one to save the day. These heroes do have skills. They have things they could be good at. But often....the plan is just what Marinette says. These heroes are not allowed to have agency.

They can't make decisions on their own.

Often times, they're just bodies being told to do the power without the ability to make the decision how and when. Sometimes they let the heroes do things and make decisions, but nine times out of ten, its Marinette who says who does what and when and her mental health is degrading because of it.

The Akumas are stories that always at least tell us something about the person because we see what problems hit them hard. There is something to learn, a bit of conflict to develop from.

The Miraculous should be following that trend, but in a positive way, but...doesn't.

All that being said.

Chloe was entitled to the Miraculous.

Because here is the stance Miraculous takes.

Someone is trapped in a situation and chooses to lash out violently and while that violence can not be permitted to continue, the heroes offer their support so the victim can feel like they have another option.

This is the story of Miraculous crystalized. People who feel alone and helpless are easily convinced to hurt others until someone is willing to help them despite this harm.

Chloe is the story of Miraculous.

Akumas are a metaphor.

And Chloe is the reality.

A child who is alone. Who feels trapped in her situation. Who doesn't know what else to do. So she does the only thing she knows how. She lashes out. She hurts people. She keeps them distant because then it doesn't hurt as much when they leave, or when they treat her like dirt.

Chloe is an Akuma personified, but her problems are brief moments. They're not a bad day that someone took advantage of. They are ever present and continuous and more over, reinforced to continue.

Chloe knows being a brat gets her what she wants from her father and was never taught to not be like that. Because he didn't discipline her, because her mother acted like that, because all adults around her was staff. Making demands is what she was TAUGHT and learned, through observation and guidance.

A behavior she continued to do with kids, and she found out teachers responded to the same threats and was never properly stopped. Other kids, reasonably, didn't want to deal with her, or submitted to her like Sabrina.

Chloe was not never taught how to be good. She was, in fact, very much taught to NOT be good. Her parents both set a terrible example. Her father is a corrupt politician. He may spoil her, but he we know he bribes and blackmails people, plus, you know, abandoned his daughter and technically kidnapped Zoe. This is not a paragon of a man. Then there was her mother. But she had a choice, listen to the man who had to weasel and cheat and play back handed games to get what he wanted, or the woman who got anything and everything she wanted...of course she would try to be the woman who seemed to get everything her way.

Because if her mother got everything she wanted, if Chloe was like her, maybe she could get everything SHE wanted.

Except it wasn't working.

But Chloe wasn't taught it was because she was cruel. She just started to believe she wasn't GOOD ENOUGH.

Maybe if she was as great as her mother, it would work.

By the time she would be old enough to recognize that wasn't how the world worked...well, by then, most of her peers hated her.

And here is something I think goes under the radar about Zoe.

Zoe knows how to act like Chloe. Audrey didn't blink at it. Zoe defaulted to the same behavior as Chloe. Zoe said she put on an act and she was tired of it.

Zoe WAS CHLOE.

And we know what happened with Zoe. Zoe stopped acting like Chloe. And then she got bullied. People were mean and cruel and put cockroaches in her locker and she only had one friend.

I'm sure that's why Zoe moved to Paris. Zoe went to her mom because she wanted a clean slate. She wanted the bullying to stop.

Even then, she struggled to stop. She defaulted to her habit, and we see that she CONTINUED the act around the hotel for some weeks after, because it was a hard habit to break.

But then...

Zoe got support. A hand was held out to her. Marinette gave her a chance, and so did everyone else, and Zoe took it because she wanted to be herself and she wanted to stop being cruel. Of course she's nice. She was given the space to be so.

Chloe is never given that support.

Chloe doesn't know how to be kind. She doesn't know how to be nice.

But the greatest tragedy is Chloe does know how to be GOOD.

Out of all the heroes, besides Chat, to a lesser degree Alya, and Alix and Luka by nature of their Miraculous, Chloe shows the most agency as a superhero. All the other heroes have their hands held by Ladybug. She tells them what to do, to an overly specific degree, and they are just bodies to use a tool. Chloe? Chloe acts on her own. To good and bad effect. Discounting the whole Queen Wasp break down, just when Chloe is actually acting as a superhero, she doesn't wait for Ladybug to tell her everything all the time. She calls out to her father, which was a mistake, but then there is every other time she's Queen Bee...

And she's fantastic at it.

Miraculer, she almost had Mayura's Miraculous.

Star Train, she gets people away from the Akuma.

In Bakerix, she's the last the to leave the train car.

In Ladybug, she's defending Sabrina.

In Style Queen, played Style Queen in an effort to find a way to save Adrien.

In Heroes Day, she is a great teammate. Keep in mind, everyone on the team knows who Chloe is. Ladybug was desperate and doesn't fully trust Chloe as a general rule. Rena Rouge and Carapace definitely don't trust her at all. Chat Noir is the only one who believes in Chloe as a person.

And yet, throughout the entire fight, Chloe is keeping up and picking up the slack with everyone else. She fights, she keeps civilians from being hurt, her synergy is on fire despite the lack of trust. When Rena Rouge and Carapace go down, she is quick to try and protect them and even after two EXTREMELY dangerous Akuma show up by way of her parents, who are both gunning for her real hard, she holds her own for a while and even then, she had to be mind controlled to stop and to feel negative emotions. It took FOUR AKUMAS gunning for her specifically to corrupt her, akums who are made to mess her up mentally to boot. When they confront Gabriel at the end, she prepares venom without being asked, to have a back up for taking him down. She makes decisions and when she was trusted to act as a hero, they are largely good ones.

And she never once complained about the mental hardship of what she went through. Because that's the thing, all her times as Queen Bee are super intense. They are her loved ones she's fighting, they are incredibly powerful Akumas. She fought a frickin' army.

And everyone...

Just insults her.

She risked her life for people and no one cared.

She fought her family and no one cared.

Chloe doesn't know how to be nice. Nor kind. But she was so good. And while the next day, people appreciated her, it was only a day.

And the tragedy is Chloe didn't immediately go back to being a bully. After Despair Bear, Chloe's bullying habits took an extreme nose dive. We only see her being unreasonably cruel a few times. After Maledikator, the only time is when she bullies Aurore and when she teamed up with Marinette, but also Marinette was with her and they were both doing it for fear of losing Adrien reasons. Not reasonable, but also not just to be cruel and honestly, her plan was fairly benign. She wanted Kagami to leave, not even humiliate her. And even Aurore is because Chloe was reaching the point she did in Miraculer where she was doubting Ladybug's trust in her and as she is want to do, she lashed out.

Most of the time when we see Chloe, what we see is her bragging about being Queen Bee. Which, sure, isn't a great thing...

But better a braggart than a bully. And when things go wrong, she tries to use her status to help reassure and guide people, which is actually a pretty good idea. Akumas are attracted to negative emotions. If she can reassure them, then less likely of them getting akumatized. It may be bragging, but it could help.

Chloe may not have been picture perfect nice, but we literally have an entire classroom full of perfectly nice people. She may not be humble, but bragging is not a damnable offense. But Chloe was legitimately trying to be a better person. She put herself in between others and danger. She had faith and belief that there were solutions. Even without the Miraculous, she tried to help people.

She may have wanted appreciate and gratitude for it, but what's even sadder is she didn't require it.

Chloe believed in Ladybug for a long time. She believed Ladybug would trust her again. She believed she could be given a Miraculous again, and all on her own, ALL ON HER OWN, she was trying to be a better person.

Its actually amazing how good Chloe was being despite the fact no one was helping her.

Because that is the thing.

Zoe got support and help.

Chloe didn't.

Every. Single. Time. Chloe tried to do something different, something not cruel, she is rejected. She tries to join the art club and she's mocked out of it. She tries to be class representative, a job no one else wanted for years, and she loses it as soon as someone did challenge her. She auditions, legitimately, for a music video, with eight years of practice, and she loses it because she isn't nice enough.

She stops bullying, tries to be a reassuring presence, and she is treated with suspicion and derision.

And still.

And STILL.

That isn't what breaks her.

What breaks her is the realization the only time where her efforts were appreciated was taken away. And even then, she holds onto the pieces. Holds onto hope that maybe she would be given a new chance.

Her parents are in danger. The reason she was given she couldn't be a hero is because she and her loved ones would be in danger.

Except her loved ones were in danger.

She was in danger.

Not having a Miraculous didn't change anything. It didn't keep them safe, it didn't keep her safe.

And its only then, after months of no one believing in her for more than two days, of no one holding out their hand, helping her, supporting her, believing her, with the one person she thought DID believe in her proved that she didn't believe in her, and couldn't even give her the safety that not having a Miraculous was supposed to bring.

For months, Chloe only thought Ladybug believed she could be good.

Adrien wanted her to be less cruel, but Chloe knew her being good wasn't necessary for him.

Nor was it for Sabrina.

But Ladybug?

Ladybug needed her to be good to believe in her, and she thought Ladybug did.

Chloe was able to largely bite back her desires to lash out at people based purely on the fact one person, ONE SINGULAR PERSON, needed her to be good, and believed in her ability to be so. It got her derision. It got her suspicion. It got people comparing her to villains. It got her dismissal. But she still tried. She still believed.

A person who didn't really believe in Chloe very much.

And there is also the Watsonian argument that Marinette doesn't owe it to Chloe to help her improve AND THIS IS INCREDIBLY VALID and honestly, in a perfect world, it would be great if it was Adrien who helped Chloe improve.

Or you know, Zoe. Someone who has a clean slate with Chloe and understands where she's coming from and could help her.

But no, this is the Marinette Has To Solve Everything Show.

So from a Doylist view, it IS Marinette who has to help Chloe, but also the Watsonian problem could be helped if it was CLEARLY ESTABLISHED that Marinette knows she doesn't HAVE to help Chloe, and people aren't pressuring her to do so (coughBustiercough) because that is a bad message...

But Marinette can CHOOSE to help her and make that clear.

Because Marinette has seen a lot of Chloe and could understand that she really does just need a little more help. That Chloe needed just a bit more support and help. And, you know, didn't actively encourage Chloe to please her abuser.

But we're going from the Doylist view and we can solve the Marinette being the one to help Chloe problem by not having it be Marinette, but LADYBUG.

And this?

This is why I say Chloe was entitled to a Miraculous.

Because Chloe is the reality of the stance of the show, and so helping her problem with the metaphors would go a long way.

You see, Chloe doesn't know Ladybug is Marinette. And Marinette knows being Ladybug means being the bigger person. Ladybug believes in people. Ladybug helps everyone she can. Its not about the victim helping their bully, its the superhero choosing to help someone who NEEDS HELP.

Chloe is stuck in her situation. Her mother will always be emotionally abusive. Her father will always be an enabler. She can try to change, but no one will BELIEVE in her change. She will be derided and mocked and treated poorly because no one is willing to give her the chance to grow, and they certainly won't help.

Frankly, its a miracle that Chloe's Akumas are so merciful.

Because Banana Queen is the most destructive of Chloe's Akuma forms. Most of Chloe's Akuma forms don't care about HURTING people. They care about WINNING. She either wants to win or for people to just listen to her.

But give Chloe the Bee Miraculous, and suddenly things change.

Chloe feels like she has OPTIONS as Queen Bee. She doesn't feel she has to meet her mother's expectations as much if she's Queen Bee. She has people who trust and depend on her. At least right after she saves people, she gets a little praise, a little belief.

And people may say being a hero for glory and attention is a bad thing, but the thing is, Chloe's need for glory and attention is about being ACKNOWLEDGED. As feeling like people value and care about her. This is a BASIC HUMAN NEED and she doesn't know another way to get it. Its not like she's demanding physical things for her heroics.

She just wants to be appreciated.

By giving Chloe a Miraculous, she is given the tools to try and be good. She is given an escape from her situation. She is given SUPPORT in her efforts because the other heroes have to support her.

And over time...

That trust will grow.

Because what Chloe doesn't know, all her classmates are the other heroes.

And suddenly, all her classmates will see her as a different person. They will see what she's like when the chips are down. How much effort she's willing to put in. How seriously she takes the job.

Is she still a braggart? Sure. Is she still rude as hell? Absolutely.

But she will risk it all to help people, without asking for anything in return except a little faith.

Chloe is entitled to a Miraculous.

Because her story without a Miraculous is a story of a little girl who no one wanted to help, who were unwilling to offer her help because she lashed out while trying to survive a situation she couldn't escape, and because it wasn't super charged by a terrorist, she was deemed unworthy of it and instead deserving of isolation and constant emotional abuse.

But with a Miraculous?

Chloe is a girl who, when given a little faith, a little trust, a little help, returned it tenfold. Who puts her all in trying to be the best hero she could be. Is she imperfect? Sure. But she's giving it her all. (And frankly, she's spicy and it makes for entertaining character dynamics. You can have a character be a jerk and good, tsunderes are popular for a reason.) And as she gets more trust, as she gets more help, as she is offered that hand of help over and over again, she would continue to improve.

And as she's given power, she uses that same faith to figure out how to offer her hand to others. To help them. To spare them the same pain she suffered.

Because that is what given to the Akuma victims. They are given a little help, and a little power to break free of their magically abusive mindsets.

To have someone go from the continuing the cycle of abuse to someone who would save other people from that?

That is a real superhero story.

Chloe is undeserving from a Watsonian perspective.

But she's so very deserving from a Doylist perspective.

[tathrin]

Hey, so do you ever stop to think about how the premise of Lord of the Rings being an in-universe book written by some of the characters who lived through that story means that they decided what parts and perspectives to use to tell that story...?

And when our authors weren't there to experience the events themselves, they have to rely on what they're told about them by the characters who were there, right...?

Okay so stop and think about the Glittering Caves.

We never actually go to the caves in the narrative. Tolkien LOVES describing nature and natural beauty, but we don't actually see the caves described "by him" the way we do other places. Obviously Gimli's words are Tolkien's, yes; but we only see the caves filtered through his words about them, after the fact.

When Gimli and Éomer and the other Rohirrim take refuge there, the narrative doesn't follow them. Obviously from a narrative standpoint this is to keep the focus narrow, and not to interrupt the battle-sequence with a long ode to the beauty of the caves, and to create tension in the reader who doesn't know if these characters are okay or not. Which all makes sense!

But think about it in terms of the book that was written in Middle-earth by the folk living there. Why DON'T we get to have a direct experience of those caves? Gimli obviously related several other parts of the story that none of the Hobbits were there to witness to them, and which were written into the books as Direct Events Happening In The Narrative (think of the Paths of the Dead scene, for one of the more visceral moments!). So why not the Glittering Caves?

Was it because they wanted to keep that narrative focus and tension, and so they didn't include his perspective on that part of the battle? Perhaps, that's certainly a possibility to consider.

But also consider: when we do hear about the Glittering Caves, what we hear is Gimli telling Legolas about the Glittering Caves. THAT is the part of that event that is considered of importance to include in the book: not Gimli's actual experience when he was in them, but rather the part where he relates that experience TO Legolas.

And I kind of just THOUGHT about that today.

And went HUH.

[puppetwoman17]

Just thought about this and I had to write it down!

Do you ever wonder how serious Billy got about studying and learning after what happened to CC and Marilyn? The entire reason he was separated from his family was because he wasn’t doing well in school. So bad that he couldn’t go with them to the dig in Khandaq, despite Mary having a tutor over there.

He must’ve made so many promises. That he would get better, smarter. That when they came back, he would show them how much better he’d gotten at calculating numbers and finding the author’s purpose.

But then his whole world crashes down. CC died in the deep caverns he searched through. Marilyn turned up dead in her hotel room, by the body of Mary’s tutor, Meena. And Mary is nowhere to be seen. It’s as if she never existed.

Maybe Billy would’ve died if he’d gone with them. Or maybe he would’ve been taken with Mary. It doesn’t matter to him. His brain, his stupid, stupid brain, kept him away from his family. And because of how dumb he was, he would never see his family again!

He would never get to show mom and dad his increasing grades. He would never get to hear words of praise from the people he loved most. He would never see them in the crowd in his grad ceremony. Mary wouldn’t be with him, walking to pick up her diploma and standing right beside him.

Billy doesn’t look like the type of kid who cared about his grades, so it would definitely throw off the JL if they saw him studying so vigorously, or heard him say that he “can’t make it tonight guys, I’ve got some studying to do.”

Heroes like Dinah would be intrigued by it. Maybe she watches him one day, in a league rec room, his face buried in text books and his hand a flurry of motion as he took notes. It looked like the whole world was bleeding into nothing but him and only him. He doesn’t even look mad that he’s doing it. Like he wasn’t forced. No, he was choosing to do this.

I imagine the JL would also be surprised if Billy reacted in a certain way if a hero from the younger teams shrugged off doing their schoolwork or project. The hero would think that Billy was for their side, a kid like them thinking school was a waste of time.

But Billy is more against them than the adult leaguers! He tells them about the importance of studying. The importance of learning and that hard work goes a long way. How they should always strive to be the best they can be. Don’t be lazy. Don’t think it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, it will.

It’s jarring for them. Seeing how this boy, their teammate, who is usually so carefree, get heated over school studies.

Some keep their noses clean and just nod. Nosy heroes are nosy, big surprise. But Billy knows how to throw people off.

It isn’t until he tells them one day, whether he’s under a truth spell or it just slips out when he’s older, when he doesn’t care as much, that the horror of it really settles in.

This boy thought so little of his brain, of himself and his capabilities. He blamed himself for not being there. For not at least keeping Mary safe. Yet, he was desperate for others to see how capable they were.

It really adds more to the perspective some of us have of Billy being a workaholic.

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 16

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

best friend, baby by @ghosttotheparty*

“You— You make me feel so… good,” he finishes lamely, his head void of any words that could describe it, because how can Will describe the peace he finds in Nico’s presence, or the way he feels like he can finally breathe whenever Nico looks into his eyes? “You’re my favourite person,” he breathes. “My best friend.”

hooooooo boy the intimacy tag was NOT joking. i was gagged. yall tell me all the time how high u value will angst and like....this one DEVASTATED me for him??? like do yall ever think about how the first dialogue we hear from will in nico's perspective is self-loathing. yall ever think about how nico has always known him hating himself. well this author did. "i know you hate yourself but just because you hate yourself doesnt mean everyone else does too" hey what if we FOUGHT. also im going back in to all my FRFs to star my FAVE FAVE FAVE fics bc this is one of them LET ME TELL YOU.

2. just a dumb game by @ghosttotheparty

Nico di Angelo is not a party person. But Will Solace is going to be there. So.

they are SO FUCKING GAY and SO FUCKING IN LOVE and SO FUCKING STUPID. god i love them so fucking bad like they are inherently down bad obsessed with each other and this is how they should be. this is the way of the world.

3. even in the silver light by @ghosttotheparty

Nico is back. Will is still smitten.

first of all. latino and nb will. thank you. second of all. i am (obviously) obsessed with this author bc they KILLLLLL w burning intimacy. like you have no idea they write them like there is a twice burning fire only alive within them it's CRAZZZYYY. i also fckn LOVE that this is like. okay so the author says its plotless and it is kind of 45k of plotless, yes, but idk theres something to be said of love as a plot?? of learning and loving each other as a storyline.

4. splash by @ghosttotheparty

Annabeth is reading her favourite book. Someone walks directly into her.

yeah okay i think this is another one author week. sue me. this fic made me GRIN okay. it was so fucking cute and sweet and soft and autistic annabeth my beloved!! my love and light!! they are so in love in every universe fr and i fckn LOVE them dude i am OBSESSED. when this author writes people together it's as if you can hear them click.

5. isnt she lovely by @ghosttotheparty

Their eyes always meet in the halls. Her eyes are grey and shiny, and they make Percy think of stormy skies and marble sculptures. (She could be a marble sculpture, in the entrance of a museum, surrounded by scholars and artists and mesmerised passersby. Fucking beautiful in a way that only art ever is.) - - - Percy has had a crush on Annabeth since eighth grade. (He doesn’t know she likes him too.)

percy hitting the ground when annabeth kisses him 😭😭 HES SO REAL. i just recced this fic on instagram and i am here reccing it again bc it is EXCELLENT. i rly rly love to see pjotv percabeth in fic like i DO. theyre so fucking cute. and i LOVE how this author writes autistic annabeth!! it is so important to me!!! and this one is so CUTE like percy had such a huge crush on him.....like not just he liked her he had a CRUSH on her. god. i am melting.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[etherfabric]

Messages for Reassurance + Songs

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

You are the ultimate authority over your life. I merely provide my perspective. Sometimes the Universe lines you up with something that doesn't resonate with your truth, so you have contrast to find out what does. Never give away your power.

Pile 1

Knight of Cups, High Priestess

The hope inside of you is not delusion. You are safe to go after the things that seem promising and enriching. The days where you couldn't hear your gut well enough to listen to it are gone. Serendipities of various sizes permeate your day to day life, and it feels almost to good to be true. Did you really make it? Yes, dear. You did. You embraced your shadows enough to bask in the sun again.

Of course this is no utopia, and the frights of the past have sharpened your foresight to real possibilities, but believe yourself when you can't feel any danger closeby. You are stronger, smarter, and in better company than ever before. Now all there is left to do is putting some weight in those timid steps towards your bliss. Don't worry about tripping - you'll land on your foundation and get up again, eyes forward, one foot in front of the other. You will get there as soon as you fully arrive internally, and you are so close to completion already. You will see it once you believe it.

Pile 2

6 of Wands, The Hanged Man

You are exactly where you are supposed to be, in the exact context and circumstances you see at this very moment, inside and out. The conditions are perfect for you thrive in. You might have to get a little unorthodox in your approaches, and the shape of other people's successes sometimes clouds your inspiration, but let good be good enough for now. Think of past you - they prayed to have what you have now.

Okay, yes, they were a little misguided in a few details of their wishes (thankfully rejection is divine protection), and in thinking once you would be here, everything would be perfect - life is still life, you are still human - but the lessons that led you here widened your understanding of how everything had to happen this way. Guess what, future you will look back at this very moment with the exact same wisdom and compassion.

You can work with what you have at your disposal and rightfully expect the glory of tangible progress. Just keep doing what you are doing already, keep it simple and managable, and there will be nothing significant standing in your way. Those bouts of stagnation? That's where the depth of your skills comes from in the first place. Just like muscles, the soul and mind need their periods of liminal passivity to come back with full force to charge you ahead. You are on the right track. You are doing great. You can be proud of yourself.

Pile 3

Page of Swords, 10 of Wands

Oh dear. It's okay to say you are tired. It's okay to break apart. It's okay to hurt and just want to quit it all. Why are you carrying all this by yourself, tasks and thoughts alike? Don't you know the relief once you put them both down? For the thoughts: Speak, write, scream. To somebody, or nobody. The most important part is admitting it. Then at least you are freed of the burden to act like everything is fine. I know you are scared, I know you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place if you knew for sure you could let go. But I trust in the magic of coincidences, and you reading this right now tells me you need to stop swimming against the current and let the flow carry you downstream.

Stop clinging to things that only stay if you wreck yourself. The tide will wash them out of your hands anyway, because soon you will reach your body's limits, and then the decision will be made for you. Let the dam break. Let nature take its course. You are so smart and truly believed the best, I can see that, and it's no lack of character that caused things to go this way. But this wasn't meant for you. I know it hurts. I hurt with you. But once you stop fighting gravity, you will be drawn to what is truly for you. Put the burden down. I know you had the best intentions, but it's over. You can rest now.

Pile 4

9 of Cups, Knight of Pentacles

You already know this, but slow and steady does indeed win the race. Instead of doing a million things exhausting yourself, you are focusing on a handful of daily tasks, knowing they will lead you exactly where you want to be. Time and consistency are on your side. You know you don't have to be perfect and can always pick up where you left off. Appreciation from outside sources resonates with your own satisfaction about how things are playing out for you.

Your longterm goals seem closer than ever. You have your routine down pat, and trust in your ability of finding even better tweaks and spins for it in the future. This calm air of confidence looks so good on you! You have earned it. You can read the signs relative to your success, know which road to take, and which pitfalls to avoid. You feel incredibly rich and know how to pass the time until certain things come to fruition. It used to make you anxious when you were faced with slowpaced processes, and you fell back on less sustainable approaches to selfsoothe. Now you appreciate the journey itself, even welcome the delays, so you have ample time to smell the flowers on the side of the road.

[scoobydoodean]

y'know. a thought hit me about the whole john apologist discourse with sam and dean. john sacrificing his life to save dean was the best thing he could've done in sam's eyes and the worst thing he could've done in dean's eyes. and from there on, their respective forgiveness and bitterness grows. just thought you might find it interesting?

That's a great point. In looking at Sam's turnaround on John, I've looked more at a common trauma as the catalyst and the Stanford fight. Sam's feelings on his father start to shift in 1.02 when, after losing Jess, he suddenly shares a traumatic experience with his father almost play for play and is full of rage. He asks Dean brokenly how their father manages to handle the trauma. He suddently has an understanding of his father's pain that was explicitly absent in 1.01 on the bridge, when he said he didn't remember Mary and hadn't really lost anyone. Now he feels out of control and wonders how John even manages at all. But the big wound of the Stanford fight remains—how Sam thought John didn't love him and just saw him as an embarrassment. In 1.08, when he learns that John's actions were born out of fear, and that John had checked up on him periodically to make sure he was safe, his mood shifts and he outright says he wants to see John and apologize to him. I'm not one to say there's any excuse for John telling Sam never to come back, but I think for SAM, hearing his father show vulnerability and admit that he was afraid was important and needed—we can see how much it means to Sam to hear that John worried for him in 1.08 and 1.20. That certainly doesn't mean they don't butt heads though, as we see in 1.10, 1.11, 1.20, and 1.21. They're both so headstrong and they both want to be in charge—Sam spends all of 1.20 challenging John's authority, but then all of 1.22 (until the end when he sides with Dean) trying to enforce that authority in John's absence. As soon as they're in the same room again in 2.01, they're back to butting heads, but now Sam is furious on Dean's behalf, assuming that John doesn't care that Dean is dying. It's what their last ever fight is about, and it's absolutely vicious, and John very cruelly blames Sam for Dean's condition, and then... Sam tells him to go to hell. Which is a pretty mild insult, but it actually... happens—and because Sam had misjudged what John was up to, and thought he was summoning Yellow Eyes for another revenge plan... from Sam's perspective looking back, he got this whole thing so wrong. He was screaming at John for not caring about Dean when John was about to make the ultimate sacrifice to save Dean, and he told his father to "go to hell". What's more, even John's cruel words—blaming Sam for Dean's condition because it would all be over if Sam had just shot John when he had the chance—they reveal John's suicidality. We know explicitly that Sam regrets their last conversation being a fight (2.02) but I think a part of Sam thinks "If only I hadn't screamed. If only I hadn't picked a fight. If only I could have told him not to leave us, he could have looked for another way." Maybe it's even more than John sacrificing for Dean being a symbol of love, but Sam having so deeply misjudged John's intentions and not clocked his mental state. It leads Sam to reel back so far in guilt and regret that he arguably overcorrects, rewriting a lot of the things John did to be less traumatic than they were. This doesn't fully stop until 6.02, and even then, it's soulless Sam criticizing John, and quite arguably because he knows from their big fight in 4.19 that he can terrify Dean into coming with him by filling his head with fears about turning into their father.

But yeah! To Sam, dying for Dean is this ultimate proof that John loved them and that Sam was wrong about him, and he backpedals hard from being (in his mind) so wrong (and potentially feeding into John's suicidality, even though that isn't Sam's fault). Meanwhile, Dean is furious with his father for abandoning him with all the responsibilities, but he can't really grab onto that anger and process it because at the same time, he knows John did it because he actually does value Dean's life (something Dean was starting to question) and he's grieving and Sam is doing revisionist history and it all leaves Dean clammed up and silently seething and unable to process what any of it means. And that anger builds and builds and then in 3.10, he explodes, and then spends several seasons calling his father a worthless deadbeat before also cooling down some.

[mangowillow]

last to know | ch. 2: as always, even now

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst, hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: mentions of weight loss and a hospital, jeongguk has a panic attack (semi-detailed), problematic parent-child dynamics. let me know if i miss anything and please be kind!

word count: 5.3k

author's note: *peeks into the void* why hello there! let's pretend i didn't disappear off the face of the earth. earlier this year i went to see The Rose live for their dawn to dusk tour and it was so much fun! there's just a lot of things that have happened and continue to do so; please accept my sincerest apologies for being inconsistent! BUT. know that i haven't forgotten about this story. heh.

also a few more things: ♡ to put things into perspective: jeongguk, OC/reader, and woosung are all the same age; that also means they're as old as seokjin and yoongi in this fic. all the other members maintain their age. honorifics may or may not appear at times. if that bothers you, well, can't please everybody! ♡ this fic isn't beta'd nor proofread by anyone. we go rogue, always.

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

fic masterlist

Woosung plants a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek and giggles.

Looking at him, you ask, “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?” Woosung teases as he chews on his jjajangmyeon. You chuckle at his candidness and reach out to wipe the sauce that landed on the corner of his lip. The both of you resorted to sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes, using one of them as a makeshift table to place the food.

“I’m really happy you got to come today,” you muse, enjoying Woosung’s calming presence as he delicately places a piece of chicken karaage on your noodle bowl before setting his own down. You haven’t seen him for a few days because he needed to get some new music done in preparation for his application to a recording agency as a performer and a producer. You were more than happy to support him in any way you could, including giving him his space to figure things out. It was also who Woosung was— a quiet soul who liked working in solitude. 

You and Woosung are so much alike.

“Why? Did you think I’d forget?” Woosung teases, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“No, I just thought… maybe you needed more time to prepare for your application. That’s important.”

Woosung gently shakes his head, ready to disagree— “Nothing will ever be as important to me as you.”

A slight pink dusted your cheeks. You didn’t expect him to be this cheesy so early in the morning so you smile and cast your eyes back down to your meal. 

“... I do have news for you, babe.” Woosung starts. He turns his body to face you. Giving your hundred percent attention, you cut the noodles with your teeth and place the bowl down. Wiping your mouth with a napkin, you hum at his statement, “What is it?”

Woosung smiles and looks at you lovingly. You feel a bit self-conscious every time he stares at you so intensely and like clockwork, you feel your cheeks heat up. 

“I got the job, sweetheart.”

Hearing the news leave his lips leaves you surprised— your hands fly to your mouth and your eyes start to water. “R-really?” Woosung nods and chuckles through his own teary eyes, you throw yourself at him to give him a tight hug. “Woosung, oh my god— this is— “ you hold him by the shoulders, explore every inch of his face, elation in both of your hearts— “this is great, oh gosh I am so happy for you,” you hug him again. 

You feel Woosung’s body relax instantly in your hold; it has been a journey, walking with Woosung through his own painful moments struggling with his art and passion. Two years ago, he came to Seoul desperately needing a break from life and music after many unsuccessful attempts to make it into the music industry back home in the United States. Although he and his bandmates have put out several songs in the past, they never really gained as much traction with an audience as they had hoped. Going back home to his roots in South Korea also meant leaving his bandmates behind— they have been nothing but supportive of him and his time as they also needed to re-assess their own lives and figure out what they truly wanted. 

Two years ago, Woosung also met you. Both your lives changed ever since.

“Thank you for all your support, ____… you know I wouldn’t have been able to get through all this if it weren’t for you.” Woosung whispers, tightening his hold on your waist. You feel this, you feel everything when it comes to him— so you wrap your arms tighter around him, too. “This is all you, babe. This is all your hard work.”

You both stay that way for a while. Unspoken words are left hanging, as well. You both know well what might become of all this as you always try to communicate. You believe it is what has sustained your relationship for so long. 

Both of you know that Woosung will always belong to music— it’s his dream and the reason why he took so many risks along the way. It was only a matter of when. The possibilities have always been there— should there be a moment where Woosung would return to his career, to his band, to becoming a global star. The fears that come along with those possibilities were also ever-present: what you and Woosung’s future would look like. 

All of these thoughts come rushing to the both of you, but neither of you said anything.

For now, the both of you are happy. And that is enough.

When you parted from each other, you pushed away some of the hair that fell over Woosung’s eyes. “When do you start?”

Woosung takes a deep breath, “As soon as the higher-ups get settled in. I’ve been told they’ve recently landed in Seoul so it shouldn’t be too long now. I’ll be meeting with the owners and one of them is the lead producer. I heard he was a genius, but also a bit scary. They’ve also given me a signing bonus and a potential collaboration with him… that was new… he said they liked my work so much…”

“Wow, that… that sounds so exciting, baby. How are you feeling about all of this?”

“I’m nervous, for the most part,” Woosung murmurs, readjusting the collar of his shirt. It’s been a while since I talked to someone else about music professionally and… this company— I’ve heard so many wonderful things about it. For one, it was built by musicians, too. So I’m hoping they’re not just doing all of it for the business.” 

You smile warmly at Woosung and hold his hands. “You’re going to do great, you know that, right?”

Woosung draws in a breath and nods before meeting your eyes. 

That night, Woosung couldn’t sleep. He watches over you as you dream and when a strand of your hair falls on your face after moving a bit, he tucks it behind your ear. His fingers lightly dance while grazing the side of your face. Woosung sighs as a feeling of anxiety starts to creep into his heart. He loves change, but he cannot help but feel somewhat scared about it anyway. He gets so lost in his thoughts about you that he doesn’t notice you wake up.

“Baby, hey… you’re still awake.”

Your voice brings Woosung back to the present. Seeing your sleepy eyes under the sliver of moonlight that passes through your window makes his heart do a mini somersault— it always does.

“Hmm… I couldn’t sleep,” Woosung says. You scoot closer to him, his arm going under your shoulders to support your body in an embrace. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” you whisper, eyes closed, inhaling his scent— him. 

“Just… things. I’m not sure how to articulate them yet…”

You hum, “Then I’ll just stay like this with you to keep you warm… warmth helps you sleep, right?”

Woosung nods, bringing your body closer to his. “Hm… especially your warmth.” Seconds later, he feels you breathe deeper, letting him know that you’re about to let yourself succumb to sleep once more. “I love you.”

When no response came from you, Woosung closed his eyes. Then suddenly, in the stillness of the night, he feels your hand squeeze his ever so lightly.

“I love you, too.”

“Hyung, I think that’s the salt—” Jimin starts.

Seokjin snorts, stopping with the shaker in his hand mid-air, “What do you mean, Jimin-ah, I think I know the difference between salt and sugar.” He was about to potentially put salt on the croffle in front of him, leaving Jimin feeling both very nervous and distressed.

“Last time, I remember you put the sugar in a different container because a customer accidentally broke the original shaker. The color of the cap was blue, not red. This—” he pointed at the shaker Seokjin was holding, “— is obviously not blue.”

“Yah, that happened last week, but I already switched them out two days ago—” Seokjin tries to argue.

They didn’t notice Woosung enter the cafe until he spoke, “Why don’t you just taste it?”

“Oh hey, Woosung-hyung,” Jimin greets.

“Hey, Jimin. Good to see you,” Woosung replies as Jimin nods, his eyes turning into crescents as soon as he smiles.

Seokjin scoffs once more before greeting Woosung, but he relents and tastes whatever is inside the shaker. When he makes a funny face, Jimin and Woosung chuckle.

“Told ya, hyung. Tell us I saved your life.”

“I can’t believe this is salt, I knew I already switched it out—”

With possible disaster averted, Jimin doesn’t listen to Seokjin’s monologue anymore, “You’re here early today, hyung. Would you like to order the usual?”

“Actually, I am here to buy a mango parfait… ____’s fridge is crazy cold and the frozen mangoes are, well, too frozen. I might actually break the blender. I also forgot to make her usual overnight oats. We had to move a lot of things very quickly yesterday so she could have a bed to sleep on.”

“I got you, hyung. We just finished making a fresh batch of parfaits. Do you want one, too?” Jimin asks.

“Are there other flavors?”

“Blueberry and strawberry,” Seokjin adds.

“I’ll take one blueberry, then. Thanks.” Woosung gets ready to pay, but Seokjin waves him away. “It’s on the house.”

“You always give us free stuff, Seokjin—” Woosung tries to argue, but Seokjin shakes his head immediately.

“Taking care of my sister is more than enough, Woosung-ah.”

Woosung gives Seokjin a tight smile and nods. Seokjin then asks, albeit softer, “How is she doing lately?”

“She’s doing better,” Woosung reassures. “She has been painting more recently; not just because of her job at the university, but also at home. We’re going to set up her studio today so it should be fun.”

“That’s good to hear, right hyung?” Jimin turns to Seokjin, who nods. Jimin hands Woosung a paper bag with the parfaits. “I put some new desserts we’re experimenting with. Please give them a try.”

Woosung peeks at the paper bag and sees croissants and greenish muffins, presumably matcha-flavored. “Oh wow, thank you Jimin… I won’t take up too much of your time, guys. ____ is still sleeping and I need to clean up the mango disaster I left on her kitchen counter before she wakes up.”

Seokjin chuckles, “You really came all the way here for parfaits when you could have bought these anywhere near ____’s apartment.”

“Ah, but nothing beats your parfaits, Seokjin. A wise man once told me that,” Woosung smiles. He and Seokjin instantly formed a bond the moment they met two years ago, much to your relief. You’ve always been nervous to tell your brother anything remotely new about your love life— and you understand where he is coming from.

“Well whoever that wise man is must be pretty smart,” Seokjin replies. His eyes soften right afterward. “Go. Let’s have a drink sometime, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Woosung waves goodbye to Seokjin and Jimin.

Jeongguk walks the hallway of the recording studio, still groggy from sleep. Hands in his pockets, he stood outside Yoongi’s door, staring at his peculiar mat: a cat with its middle finger raised, the words ‘fuck off’ glaring at him. Figures, he thought. A doormat won’t stop him from ringing Yoongi’s doorbell, though.

“Who is it?” he hears Yoongi call out.

“It’s your favorite person in the whole wide world,” Jeongguk says, sarcasm lacing his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose; a habit he developed in college whenever he felt the exhaustion seep out of him. He hears scuffling from the other side of the door until the sound of the door’s automatic lock rings. Jeongguk sees Yoongi clad in a plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and a gray beanie— his signature style. 

“Dumbass,” Yoongi mutters under his breath before turning his back to return to his equipment. “Good morning to you too,” Jeongguk teases as he closes the door behind him. 

“How are you already set up? It’s barely a day since we arrived!”

Yoongi chooses not to respond. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Jeongguk asks in disbelief. “Please tell me you at least went home to get your shit sorted? Or maybe sleep like normal human beings do?”

“I did… for a brief moment, maybe?” Yoongi starts.

Jeongguk shakes his head, “You have to stop spreading yourself thin, Yoongi. It’ll be the death of you.”

Yoongi fiddles with a few knobs on the synthesizer before muttering, “That doesn’t seem so bad— spreading myself too thin, that is.”

Jeongguk throws his hands up in surrender and rolls his eyes.

“Have I succeeded in frustrating you to hell and back, yet?” Yoongi smirks while continuing to flit his eyes through the numerous screens in front of him.

Jeongguk was about to say something but then the door alarm clicked. Kim Namjoon’s head peeks out from behind the door.

“I came to say my welcome remarks,” Namjoon says as he lets himself in. Jeongguk’s mouth falls open because he couldn’t believe Namjoon could just easily waltz in without any resistance. What’s even more astounding was that he knew Yoongi’s passcode— while he, on the other hand, had to ring the fucking doorbell.

“Oh, great. So your boyfriend knows your passcode and I don’t?” Jeongguk asks.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Yoongi states, matter-of-factly. Jeongguk couldn’t help but glance at Namjoon’s way, who seemed unfazed.

“Right, and I’m Neil Armstrong,” Jeongguk plops down on the couch.

“You’re the CEO, Jeongguk, of course, you should know the passcode… right, Yoongi?” says Namjoon, ever the oblivious one. 

Yoongi continues to do work on his computer, his fingers deftly flying across his keyboard, “Don’t encourage him, Namjoon.”

Namjoon looks back at Jeongguk who has now taken an interest in the plant beside the couch. When they met each other’s eyes, Namjoon just shrugged, his dimples showing. 

“How was your flight, you guys? I hope everything was easy peasy.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Jeongguk responds. “Not sure about Yoongi here though. He looked like he was about to puke.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi retaliates.

“I can’t imagine the both of you tolerating each other while in another country. It’s a miracle this production company is still standing upright,” Namjoon says chuckling. 

Namjoon met Jeongguk first in university while they studied in New York. Although Jeongguk was a business student and Namjoon double majored in music theory and composition, they ran into each other at a frat party-— with Jeongguk being drunk off his ass. He was about to fall into the pool full of piss (which the other frat members thought was funny) when Namjoon saved him in the nick of time. 

Apart from Yoongi, Namjoon also served as Jeongguk’s confidant, especially after things went south between you and Jeongguk. When the dust settled and Jeongguk was sober enough to realize the gravity of his mistakes, Namjoon helped Yoongi pick up the pieces of Jeongguk’s brokenness. As with time passing by, Namjoon and Yoongi started to develop into something more, too. Much to Jeongguk’s delight and envy.

However, neither Yoongi nor Namjoon has admitted their feelings to the other. And truth be told, Jeongguk is sick of them dancing around each other.

But he also knows it’s none of his business.

“Hey, Jeongguk, is that family dinner of yours still happening tonight?” Yoongi decides to ask. Also probably to change the subject.

Jeongguk lets out a deep sigh. “Yes, it is.”

“Ouch. Will you be alright?” Namjoon asks out of genuine concern.

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi inserts. “You just need to work on making the right ones.”

Jeongguk slacks his jaw and runs his tongue across his lip ring. He doesn’t really have an answer to that.

Because once again, Yoongi was right. Not just about the damn family dinner; Jeongguk also knows his best friend’s words run deeper and imply a whole lot more than just feeling forced to sit down with his parents over steak and champagne.

“See you on the other side, then,” Namjoon says as he pats Jeongguk on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Jeongguk mulled over bringing flowers to the family dinner but decided against it.

He knows that the house would be filled with them, anyway. And his efforts won’t matter, either.

As he got out of his car, a chauffeur was already by his side ready to take his keys for him. When the car drove off, Jeongguk took a moment to look at the house he hadn’t lived in for years. It feels odd to come home; it feels even odder to feel numb about all of it.

It took Jeongguk a few seconds to ring the doorbell; for god’s sake, it was his house too, he thought. Ringing the doorbell meant he was a stranger— which he felt was appropriate.

He was greeted by a new housekeeper. He gave her a nod before stepping inside. Almost instantly, his mother appeared at the top of the staircase. They look at one another for a moment, before his mother breaks the silence.

“You finally decide to show yourself.”

Jeongguk doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond, either. He was prepared for a stare-off match with his mother, but that was until his father showed up from the kitchen. With a dish towel in hand, Jeongguk’s father smiled at him as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“It’s so good to see you, son.”

Jeongguk, once more, doesn’t have it in him to respond.

At the dinner table, the silence was so loud, that Jeongguk thought it could break glass.

“Did you settle in fine, Jeongguk?” his father asks.

“Yes, father, I did.”

“You should have chosen a place that was nearer to us, Jeongguk,” his mother chides.

“Honey…” Jeongguk’s father tries to put out a fire that is about to ignite. Jeongguk, on the other hand, was so tired from the flight and emotionally, that he felt a need to retaliate.

Because why not? Whether he speaks up or not wasn’t really up to him. Between him and his mother, he has nothing to lose.

“I don’t know, mother, I chose that place because I wanted to get away from here as much as possible.” Jeongguk remarks. He knows he hit a nerve because his mother downed her champagne rather than respond.

“How is the company going, son? Everything doing alright?” his father asks, trying to mitigate a conflict that neither of them could recover from.

“I guess. Yoongi and I haven’t managed to burn anything so that’s nice,” Jeongguk eats a spoonful of mashed potato. He knows he really needs to shut up and regulate his emotions, but he just can’t help but be sarcastic.

Once more, the silence won. However, Jeongguk’s mother is the type to not back down.

“You should think about getting married soon, Jeongguk—” she starts. Jeongguk feels himself grow cold as if on instinct. 

“—and this time, we want you to marry someone your level,” she finishes. Jeongguk felt his heart twisting so painfully that he didn’t notice how tight he held on to his cutlery.

Jeongguk swallows the once-repressed pain that used to consume him whole. He knows this is futile because he never dares to face his regrets square in the face. Instead, he allows the pain to make him angry. He allows his resentment to consume him in ways he doesn’t know how to handle and in a pained effort to avoid causing further damage, he remains quiet. Unresponsive. Cold. Withdrawn.

But his own mother is even more cold-hearted than he is. She is the one who made him like this.

It’s her fault.

“You need to marry a good woman who can keep up with your social status. Remember you’re not just anyone, Jeongguk. You’re a Jeon. And you have a legacy to uphold,” his mother condescends. 

Tears start to sting Jeongguk’s eyes, but he doesn’t want to let his mother win. So he keeps still.

“I have a few prospects for you, dear. We should set dates for them, don’t you think so? I chose the most refined and educated—” Jeongguk hates how his mother knows how to push his buttons and hurt him.

He knows that his mother knows his ultimate weakness.

You.

And because his mother cannot contain her insecurities and prejudice, she projects it all on her son. But most especially, you— whether you were in the room or not.

Jeongguk’s mother continues her monologue. His father miserably fails to become the referee (he always does). Heat starts to rise Jeongguk’s neck and he swears he could hear his own blood pumping through his ears. What almost immediately follows is the high-pitched ringing that only he can hear. 

Jeongguk starts to feel dizzy; like he’s about to lose control.

But instead of releasing, instead of crying, instead of getting angry— he does none of them. 

He finds himself standing up, his hands dragging the plate full of food to the ground. With all his might, Jeongguk tries to breathe deeply.

“That’s enough, mom.” Jeongguk croaks. A tear escapes his eye. “Please.”

Jeongguk rarely addresses her as “mom”. But in times of vulnerability and helplessness, it’s the term he ends up using.

“As I expected… you are still weak, Jeongguk.” his mother states with absolutely no remorse.

Jeongguk feels like he is about to throw up. To save himself, he drags his legs to leave the dining area. Housekeepers try to help him, but he brushes them aside. Security guards around the house up until the gate tried to support him, but Jeongguk just waved them all off.

He just needed to get away before his vision completely blurred. He needed to get out of this godforsaken house.

It was a miracle that Jeongguk got far away from the house as he had. But in doing so, he felt physically weaker and weaker. His mind isn’t done with him yet as thoughts of you start to resurface. His chest starts to tighten again. He feels cold and afraid and tired.

Jeongguk falls to his knees on the side of the road; he allows his body to go limp and fall to the ground. 

He barely remembers what happened next.

When Jeongguk opens his eyes, bright, stale lights greet him. 

He hears beeping, faint footsteps, a voice over an intercom.

He feels something brushing his leg so gently that it takes him a while before realizing that someone is standing over him, wiping the edge of his slacks.

Jeongguk squints his eyes to get a better look at the person touching his leg. When he tries to elevate his upper body, the person in front of him feels him moving.

Jeongguk couldn’t believe who he was seeing. His panic attack must still be happening because it was impossible.

It was you.

“Oh… hi,” you start. Jeongguk is at a loss for words so he continues to stare at you.

You immediately feel self-conscious so you start to wrangle the damp cloth you were holding. 

“Are you okay? Hang on, I’ll call the nurse—”

You start to leave, but Jeongguk catches your wrist. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. You look at his hand on your wrist before Jeongguk lets go of it.

“W-what happened?”

“You’re at the hospital… um, I– I got a call from them saying you were here,” you say.

Jeongguk’s eyebrows met. He is still confused as to how or why the hospital would call you. As he looks at you, in the flesh, in front of him, the familiar ache in his chest threatens to overwhelm him again.

You look as beautiful as ever, even more so than the last time he saw you. The last time he did, you were crying to him. He did that to you. That was his fault.

“Are you hurt, anywhere, Jeongguk? I think I need to call your doctor, just give me a second—”

“No… please. I’m okay. I don’t feel any pain.” Except for my broken heart.

“Oh… okay.”

Jeongguk observes you, more particularly your hands. You still have that habit of fiddling with your fingers when you didn’t know what to do, he thinks. 

“H-how did the hospital call you? You didn’t change your number?” Jeongguk is a hundred percent sure his choice of questions was dumb, but he doesn’t have any idea as to why you’re here.

“The hospital told me I was your emergency contact… they uh– they only found your wallet on you and found this,” you explain as you handed him his wallet. Inside was an old piece of paper with your emergency contact number and e-mail address.

“The e-mail address is now defunct, but my number is still the same because I had it reactivated when I came back here…”

When I came back here, Jeongguk repeated to himself. 

Jeongguk wanted to ask you a million questions, but his throat feels dry and he is unable to speak. 

“I um, I also called Yoongi. He should be here any minute,” you continue. When Jeongguk looks at you funny, you give him a small smile— the first one you’ve given him since he woke up. “We talk sometimes.”

There is a lot of information that Jeongguk needs to process but his head hurts a lot and he makes a mental note to interrogate his friend later.

You move to grab and open the plastic bag that is on the bedside table. You pull out a pair of black socks. Jeongguk sees you hesitate a bit before speaking again.

“I got these across the street… your socks got wet from the rain.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk feels really dumb.

“May I?” you tentatively ask. “Your feet will get cold if we don’t—and you have the IV on so you won’t be able to use your hands—”

“It’s okay…” Jeongguk’s response startles you. “Thank you.”

You nod and sit by his feet to put on the new socks. Jeongguk feels the tears again but he tries to hold them back as he feels your touch and your warm fingers graze his bare, cold skin. When you’re done putting them on him, you smile to yourself.

“Does that feel better?” you ask.

Jeongguk nods and hums. He took his time to look at you and to his mild surprise, you reciprocated. A sense of stillness seemed to occur like time stopped just so Jeongguk could fully take in the sight of you.

He hurriedly tries his best to memorize all your features—old and new. Your face is smaller, your cheekbones higher; both indicative of you losing a bit of weight since he saw you last. Your eyes are softer, but also more tired. You also grew out your hair. 

To Jeongguk, you are still so beautiful.

And he missed you so much that his heart hurt again at the thought of losing you.

“How are y—” Jeongguk tries to ask, but the door to his hospital room slid open, revealing a disheveled Yoongi.

“Jeongguk, are you okay? What happened?”

Jeongguk notices you quickly moving aside to give Yoongi room. 

“I’m fine, Yoongi. I guess I just passed out and—”

“You had another panic attack, Jeongguk. That’s the second time this week. Have you taken your medication?”

Yoongi’s string of questions had Jeongguk feeling anxious. He just had the unexpected chance of seeing you again but under the most dire circumstances. Surely, it wasn’t the time for you to hear about his mental health issues.

“Yoongi, can we—” Jeongguk tried to save face, but Yoongi was faster. 

Yoongi turns to you and hugs you. “I’m sorry, ____, you must have been so confused.”

“No, not at all, I’m… I’m glad I could be of help,” you reassure. More so for Jeongguk because you know this must be very awkward for him. 

A bit of awkwardness did happen because none of you spoke for a bit. Your phone ringing was the only saving grace.

“Hello? Oh, okay. I’ll be right out,” you answer the other person on the line. Hanging up, you say, “Um… I should get going.”

“Is someone picking you up?” Yoongi asks.

“Yes, Taehyung’s just a few minutes away,” you answer.

Yoongi nods and pulls you in for another hug. He whispers his thanks and you respond by hugging him tighter.

You also approach Jeongguk a little closer. “Take care of yourself, Jeongguk.” You see the pain in his eyes, but you refuse to acknowledge it to yourself, even if Jeongguk’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears and his nose was already pink.

Jeongguk doesn’t want you to go. But again, he has no choice but to let you.

“You too, ____.”

As soon as you close the door, Jeongguk allows his tears to fall.

As soon as you get into the car, Taehyung asks his questions.

“Why the hell did you just come out of a hospital?”

“Tae—”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? You’re the only one there? What happened?” You can feel the panic rising in Taehyung as he inspects you, but you just chuckle.

“Yah—you laugh?”

“I’m fine, Taehyung,” you tell him but he doesn’t look convinced. “I really am.”

“Then why were you in there?”

“I saw Jeongguk again, Tae,” you calmly respond.

Taehyung freezes. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” you answer.

“And you’re… are you okay?”

“I am.”

Taehyung knows you better than that but he gives you a pass because he could also tell you were tired and your short answers mean that you didn’t want to talk just yet.

“Do you want to talk about it over ice cream and fries?”

For a second, you felt tempted, but you just also wanted to go home. “Maybe some other time, Taehyung.”

Taehyung understands immediately and nods. “Should I take you to Woosung hyung or do I take you home?”

You do want to see Woosung because you know he is what you need, but you also don’t want to burden him with a bombshell of an event so you opt to be alone for the night. “Take me home, please.”

“Okay, ____,” Taehyung answers.

The rest of the car ride was a quiet one.

The short walk in the hallway leading to your home is a heavy one. As you punch in your passcode, you deeply sigh. You want nothing more than to collapse on the bed and ruminate on what just happened over the past few hours.

However, the moment you open the door, a wave of delicious scents welcomes you home. As you take off your shoes, you see a familiar pair. You smile to yourself as you place yours beside it. 

You enter your home further and see Woosung with his back to you, working his way in the kitchen. As if on cue, Woosung turns around and walks toward you. 

“Hey you,” you say with a smile.

“Hi,” Woosung responds, gathering you in his arms and pulling you into a tight embrace. “Did you have a good day, today?”

You feel yourself swallow once before nodding. Woosung, ever the sensitive boyfriend, holds you tighter.

You know you can’t hide from him. So you hold on to him tighter, too.

And you allow yourself to break down and cry.

Woosung feels your body shake and he runs his hand across your back to soothe you. 

He may not know what’s going on right now, but he also knows you will talk to him when you’re ready. So he continues to embrace you; kissing the side of your head after a while.

Woosung whispers against your ear, “You’re safe with me, sweetheart.”

taglist: @whoa-jo @nays2112 @junecat18 @jk97bam @butterymin @smdnai

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (1)

The Bronze Bitch's Daughter

Prince Daemon Targaryen has grown tired of his Lady wife, the “Bronze Bitch” Rhea Royce. But he is not so easily rid of her. She survives not only his brutal attack, but his cruel violation of her. Though she remains broken and weak, she endures just long enough to deliver a child: a girl of silver hair and steely eyes.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: Heavily implied rape

Author's Note: Here's the first chapter of my rework of The Silver Dragon! I'm keeping the old versions up, but they will be labeled "archived."

*Important Note* While he's not the villain of the show or book, Daemon is the villain of this story. We are seeing him through the perspectives of people he's hurt in various different ways. As such, he is not as morally gray as you may be used to. If you think this will upset you, don't read. Thank you!

Series Masterlist - Next Chapter

Rhea Royce lay prone on the earth ground of her beloved Vale. But she could feel neither the cold of the stone nor the dampness of the grass and stone as it seeped through her hunting leathers and onto her skin. As the heat of her body met with the chill in the ground, the runes of protection etched into her pauldrons became fogged over – rendered unreadable.

She knew she should hurt. The pain should be unbearable. Yorwyck was a mighty beast, like the Bronze King he was named for. The whole weight of the horse had come down upon her, so there was no doubt he caused her great damage in his fall. She had heard the sharp cracking of her own bones. Yet she felt none of it. 

All she could feel was fear.

The cloaked man waited until her steed was out of sight. Rhea was well and truly alone, with only the distant ramparts of Runestone peering from between the hills as witness to whatever would come next. 

He approached her slowly, casually, as if he couldn’t hear her desperate whimpers. She knew he just didn’t care. He ran his violet eyes along her body as he approached her head. It was not a gaze of lust. He looked on her with the same disdainful curiosity as one examining a woodland rodent crushed by a cart. 

As he stood directly over her, he turned his eyes from her face – he had always avoided looking at the face he found so displeasing. Instead, he turned to her outstretched arm. He took another step, raising his foot above Rhea’s lower arm. The ghost of a wicked smile danced in the corner of his mouth, and he stepped down. 

Nothing.

He raised and pressed his foot down again several more times. Not to be sure, but to emphasize to his victim that she was utterly helpless – precisely as he wanted her. Rhea knew the horrors his men had inflicted on the criminals of King’s Landing and the followers of the Crab Feeder. She knew the cruelty he was capable of and of his unparalleled creativity. He had hated her for years. In all that time, he must have imagined countless ways to torture her. 

Rhea braced herself for what would come next. At least she would not feel the pain.

But his steps retreated.

All the fear in Rhea’s heart evaporated, swiftly replaced by rage. After these long nine years, this was all he had for her? For nine years, he traveled the whole of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, slandering her and her family in the courts, then further insulting her with his brazen whoring. She had lost count of how often he had called her “Bronze Bitch” and accused her of ruining his life. She had been anticipating a reckoning from him. 

But this? 

This was an insult she could not stand.

Rhea knew she would be signing her soul over to the Stranger, but she would not let Daemon Targaryen have the final say.

“I knew you couldn’t finish,” she spat at her retreating husband. 

He turned back, looking at her face for the first time. Rage twisted his face, but his eyes were wide with shock. He had not expected that. But she was, after all, his Bronze Bitch.

What he said next had Rhea’s blood running cold as she thanked all the Seven that she would not feel what was to come. “My dear, lady wife,” he said, breath heaving and voice dripping with hateful venom, “perhaps it is time we consummate our union.”

The Lady of Runestone was dying, nine months on from her “accident.”

The people of the Vale were told that it was a miracle from the Seven themselves that she had survived such a devastating fall from her horse. Even more miraculous still, her husband had swooped in on dragonback to rescue her before she succumbed. He had even used his mount, Caraxes ‘the Blood Wyrm,’ to find and dispatch the offending horse. A true Targaryen prince, rescuing his bronze damsel. It was no wonder when her cousin and heir, Gerold, announced to the court that she was with child. They cared little that their Lady’s rescuer had swept flown out of the Vale as swiftly as he had arrived. 

Only her cousin, her Maester, and her ladies-in-waiting knew the truth. Maester Kerith had spent countless hours binding the broken bones that could be saved, and those he could not, he promptly removed. When Lady Rhea next sat the Bronze Throne, she made sure her ladies dressed her in her riding leathers rather than a gown that would hide her injuries. She wanted her court to see what she had survived, even if they could not know the truth.  

When it became clear that the consequences of what her husband had done extended beyond mere injuries, Maester Kerith offered her moon tea, but she refused. With her health still declining and her body struggling to overcome the trauma she had faced, she knew she would not survive long. But again, she refused to let Daemon have the final word in their hellish marriage. He had insulted her, paralyzed her, and raped her, but she would not let him forget her. 

She would leave him with an Heir of Bronze.

The babe was born as the sun rose, though the day remained dark beneath the clouds that so often surrounded Runestone. 

Rhea wept for the first time, having felt no pain throughout the birth, when she saw that her daughter had the silver-white hair of her father. She had prayed for months that her child would look just like her, to be a constant reminder of his Bronze Bitch. But the babe was just another silver Targaryen. Her final revenge had failed.

Gerold sat at her side, cradling the girl in his arms, as her mother could not. Then, as the babe began to cry, he held her out so Rhea could see her.

“Cousin, look at her eyes,” he whispered, all too aware of the grim looks on the Maester and Septas’ faces. 

Rhea turned her head, lifting her neck as much as her weakening body would allow to try and glimpse her child through her tears. She looked past the white hair at the small but wide eyes that beheld her. 

The slate grey eyes of Runestone, the Bronze Kings, and the First Men. Royce eyes.

Rhea smiled. Perhaps her revenge would not be as sharp as she would like, but so long as her daughter remained, Daemon would never forget her. He would always remember that he could not break her.

The Lady of Runestone’s breaths came slower, and though the Septas flurried around her, she paid them no mind. She had known all these months that she would not live to see the look on Daemon’s face when he first met his heir. She knew these were her last moments. But she did not want to spend them afraid. She wanted to spend them with her daughter.

Fitting, she thought, that Daemon’s heir should be a girl. His young niece had usurped his claim to the Iron Throne, and now his claim to Runestone was usurped by his own daughter. 

And what a beautiful daughter she was. Rhea’s vision began to blur around the edges, and the voices of the others in the room faded as she beheld the babe. Her eyes were bright, even as she cried softly, and the silver-white of her gently curling hair seemed to bring out a metallic shine in her grey eyes. They complimented each other, as her parents never had.

This girl was not bronze.

“Arianwyn,” Rhea whispered, naming her child as the life, at last, left her broken body. Lady of silver.

It was not Prince Daemon who came to Runestone to receive the child on behalf of the Royal family, but the young Queen Alicent Hightower. She came with the unwelcome news that the child’s father had already remarried. Less than a month after he became a widower. He had departed with his new wife, Laena Velaryon, to Pentos without leaving instruction on the care of his daughter – or even acknowledging her birth. 

Alicent, despite her reputation as a fierce supporter of her husband’s family, was more than empathetic to the child’s plight. It seemed to Ser Gerold that the young Queen held a similar opinion to his own regarding Daemon Targaryen. She commiserated with him on the pain the prince had caused his family, especially Rhea and her daughter. It seemed that As long as the prince had vexed the Royce family, he had been equally maddening to his brother.

But what was most shocking to Gerold and the court at Runestone was the offer the Queen brought: to bring the child to King’s Landing and raise her there. Despite her father’s indifference, the child was a Targaryen. It was her right to live amongst her people, to learn the traditions of Old Valyria. 

And at the Red Keep, Arianwyn would not be alone. The Queen had three children, each young enough to be peers to their newest Targaryen cousin, and more were anticipated from both Alicent and the recently wed Princess Rhaenyra. 

The King had already given his approval, both to the fostering of his niece at the Red Keep and of Gerold serving as regent of Runestone until the girl had come of age. Indeed, all the arrangements were already made. The Queen had even brought a small contingent of attendants for the child, from nursemaids to Dragonkeepers, who carried a great, steaming urn containing a silver dragon egg – supposedly chosen by the Queen’s infant son – to be placed in Arianwyn’s cradle.

Gerold had only one caveat before he agreed to the King’s plan: that Arianwyn would not venture to the capital alone. A handful of attendants from Runestone delegates would be sent with her to educate her on the history and traditions of House Royce. So that even surrounded by Targaryens, she would not forget why her eyes were grey.

Queen Alicent, herself clothed in Hightower green, happily agreed. 

After a long journey from the Vale, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen arrived at Red Keep, cradled in the arms of her aunt, Queen Alicent Hightower. As her attendants, including one of her late mother’s most trusted Lady’s Maids, continued on to prepare her rooms, the newest Targaryen was brought into the Great Hall. 

A hush fell over the gathered courtiers when the doors to the throne room opened, and they beheld the silver-haired babe. But the chatter that so often filled the capital quickly resumed when they saw the blanket she was swaddled in. A burnished bronze velvet, carefully embroidered with the same ancient Runes that graced the ancestral armor of House Royce. 

It was a slight on the Royal House that, in another court, would have undoubtedly caused a scandal. But in this court, where the Queen herself so brazenly wore the colors of her own house rather than her husband’s, it was immediately relegated to petty gossip. So the Lords and Ladies quickly resumed their conversations as the Queen approached the Iron Throne.

“My King, may I present your niece, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen,” Alicent said as she bowed before her husband as best she could with a squirming infant in her arms.

King Viserys’ eyes brightened, and he dismissed the Hand from his side. The King, having lost so many of his own children by his first wife, was always cheered when he had the chance to meet a healthy babe.

“Hello, my dear niece,” he cooed, reaching out to hold her, “what a delight you are!” His arms strained slightly at the weight of the plump child, so he pulled her into his chest. She relaxed into his against him, fussing softly as she reached for his long white hair.

Viserys laughed, running his fingers through her own hair. The exact shade of silver-white that graced nearly every member of his family. Though hers held significantly more curls than any Targaryen he had ever known.

“She is indeed a beauty, cousin.” A familiar voice drew the King’s attention. His cousin, Rhaenys, approached the throne. “It is a comfort to see our families flourishing.”

The King smiled and nodded, allowing his cousin permission to approach. She ascended the steps to the Iron Throne and ran the back of her fingers along the round cheek of her new baby cousin. “It is a shame her father is not here to meet her.”

Viserys heart sank. In his joy at meeting Arianwyn, he had momentarily forgotten the circumstances under which she arrived – without her father. Once again, his brother had shamed not only himself, but his family and the Crown itself. At least the child’s hair had put to rest any rumors that Rhea had been unfaithful. 

Suddenly, the sight of the babe made his heart ache. “Alicent,” he called to his wife, “take Arianwyn to her rooms. I am sure she is tired from the journey.” He handed his wife the child and slumped back into the throne, readjusting himself to try and remain comfortable. Then, when Alicent was out of earshot, he again turned to Rhaenys.

“What has my brother done now?” He said, running his gloved hand over his face.

Rhaenys grimaced. “I am loathe to speak against him now, as he has so recently taken my daughter to wife,” she sighed. “But I feel confident in saying that none of us can ever say exactly what your brother is doing, much less predict what he may yet do in the future.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Viserys said, “I just pray that poor girl won’t suffer any more than she already has.”

When she arrived, the Queen’s three children were waiting inside the solar of their cousin’s new rooms. Aegon, now four years old, ran from his nursemaid, cackling as he swerved precariously between the servants attempting to arrange the room. Helaena, approaching her second nameday, stayed in her nurse’s arms, hands clasped tightly around her ears as she took in the unfamiliar space. And Aemond, only a few months older than his new cousin, lay peacefully in his maid’s arms as he watched servants haul numerous sparkling bronze trappings into the rooms.

“Come and meet your new cousin, darlings,” Alicent called to Aegon and the nursemaids bearing her other children, “She’s come a long way to be with us.” The Queen sat on a plush chair near the west windows of the room, gently lowering the babe into her lap.

Aegon reluctantly approached, sneering slightly at the child in his mother’s lap. “She doesn’t look like Daemon.”

Alicent sighed. “Nor did you look like your father when you were so young. Indeed, even now, I wager you look more like me. You have the Hightower nose.” She tweaked the tip of his soft nose – the same as hers - to drive her point home.

“I am a Targaryen prince!” Aegon insisted.

“Of course, my boy. How could any of us forget it with this on your head,” she said, ruffling his unruly mop of white hair.

Aegon grunted, looking back down at the baby. He gently reached out to touch her silver hair, both neater and curlier than his own. “What is her name?”

“Arianwyn.” The Queen responded.

“Ari…” Helaena started, her hands finally coming down from her ears. Alicent nodded for the maid to set her down, and the young girl approached her mother and the babe.

The Queen spoke slowly and carefully as she repeated, “Arianwyn.”

Helaena listened intently, then repeated the name several times, struggling with the pronunciation. “Ah-ree-an-win.”

“That’s it! Very good, my sweet,” the Queen said, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, though the young girl winced at the touch.

Aegon continued fiddling with his cousin’s curls, “It’s a weird name.”

“Her cousin Sir Gerold Royce told me it is of the Old Tongue,” the Queen said, motioning for one of the nursemaids to bring her youngest babe closer, “it has some meaning, though I am afraid I forget what it is.”

Releasing Arianwyn’s hair, Aegon made a noise of quickly waning interest and stepped away, eager to resume his perpetual torment of his nurse. Had she not been holding her young niece, Alicent may have chased after him. But for now, she lifted the child babe to face her own.

“Aemond,” she said softly, “meet Arianwyn.”

As he beheld his bronze-wrapped cousin, he smiled, cooing and reaching a squirming fist toward her. A smile appearing across her own face, Arianwyn reached back toward him.

I'll be starting a new taglist for this, so if you'd like to be on it, please reach out to me or comment on this post.

[tookthe-405]

On our way

Chapter 1 :

We’ll keep falling on each other

DONATIONS & LINKS 🇵🇸

DAILY CLICK🍉

Loser!ellie x ex-bsf!reader

ROADTRIPPPP

authors note: first chapterrr🤪 ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO PLS

And pls tell me if the chapters should be shorter and what kind of perspective I should write from (Ellie pov will come later when I’ll fit), LONG AF

Summary: modern Jackson au!

you and Ellie were best friends through your childhood. Now your just neighbours who act like enemies towards each other, but after an incidence you both decide to run away together.

Joel lives 💯

warnings: anxiety , Panik attack?, alcohol, smoking, feeling of throwing up (only mentioned once) smut in future chapters!!, chaotic and stupid arguing between reader and Ellie, school anxiety, messy af (I mostly write at night when the demons come out🐺)

(ellie is 18 and reader is 17 (soon 18))

Readers pov:

6/25

You couldn’t remember the fall out.

For a matter of fact you couldn’t remember anything that happened that night.

You just knew that the next morning Ellie and you weren’t friends anymore. You guys weren’t anything, just total strangers who knew more about each other than any other.

“Iced Coffee and 4 chocolate donuts should be your order”

Your head snaps up and an older guy holds out a bag of donuts.

“Yes, thank you”

You quickly scurry out of the waiting crowd, out the dinner and into the summer air.

2:25 p.m. If Jody would finally pick you up, the both of you might only be 10 minutes late to the game.

While you're waiting, you take a donut out of the bag and realize as you're eating that you don't have a cold ice coffee in your other hand.

"Fuck”

you really wanted that coffee, and by any normal logic you should just go back.

But the fear of embarrassment won. so you decide to just wait outside without a coffee, feeling the dizziness of the lack of sleep in your brain.

The day before was the last exam and you couldn’t sleep the whole night, because of your anxious thoughts that are so unjustified that it’s actually embarrassing.

you watched the cars drive by, as you wait for Judy to pull over.

Today was the last school day. Ever. This morning was the last morning you would ever be in a high school class room to study.

After waiting for a while you hear the horn of Judy`s car or rather her parents car, since both of you are broke and only one of you has their license.

"i forgot my coffee" you complain as you collapse into the passager seat.

"yeah but you didn`t forgot the donuts and thats the really important thing here" Jody happily takes the box full of donuts, out of your hand

"footbal games always stress me out" you rummage through your bag, looking for gumm or just something that will help your body through this hard time.

"i hope my exams were good" you tell her anxious.

"It was our last fucking day, dont worry about something that is over soon. Those last days don`t really matter no one cares"

"I do"

Judy scoffs, puting the donute to her mouth again, all while looking at the street.

"I know, thats your problem. Really, you need to fix that. Your grades are amazing and whatever college you wanna go to, will say yes."

Now you scoff.

"right then why haven’t they replied yet then?"

"because you were too anxious too send your application, you almost threw up in my room"

Your face contorts at the memory. Judy's poor cat hissed at you the whole time because you couldn't sit still at all.

"yeah sorry he gets like that, but not all cats are this easy to annoy i swear"

Your giggle fills the car and you share the last donute, as judy tries to find a parking spot which is obviossly not that easy anymore.

"goddamit those wild people are so greedy" her hands grab the steerig wheel harder, but theres simply no other free spot anymore.

You grow even more annoyed now.

The thoughts in your head take more space than you usually allow them.

The whole morning was shit, the whole day is shit and your life is fucked if you don’t get into university.

"i think we need to use the other one" judy says

"then we`ll have to run through the whole fucking school, were already late, Malik is playing!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she looks at you, thinking, and finally sighs.

"get out I’ll park the car" You immediantly regret snapping at her.

"you dont have to-"

she interrupts you (no suprise)

"bro get out of my car. It’s my fault we`re too late anyway and we both know im only here for the fries"

For a few seconds you hesitate, but then you grab your bag and the donut, and get out the car. Outside, a warm brise tickles your skin, now that the sun is shining right on your face. You pinch you eyes.

Judy dissapers around the corner and you wave, hoping she saw it, but the worry leaves with her because you start running towards the football field.

The whole row was full, every seat. You try to push your way through the crowd on the front, which didn't make it any easier because everyone was pushing forward against the bar to see better.

And it was so loud, every type of noises from every angle. This is your last game of course everyone will be loud, Jesus you’ll be loud, but the game hasn’t even started.

Arriving in the almost last row, Lyla waves to you and you sprint towards her.

"I don't know how you manage to save us seats, thank you so much," You almost scream, because the large group sitting behind her started singing the fucking national anthem.

lyla quickly hugs you and sits right back down. "I don't know how either, but here you go. Where's Judy?"

Her gaze wanders behind you to look out for her, as if judy is hiding behind you "Looking for another parking spot and getting us some fries"

You feel the light box in your hand and remember the one donut inside it.

“Here we’ve left you a donut”

“How generous” lyla replies smirking

Your attention turns to the football field. No one’s there.

“Everyone is still in the cabins, you're not as late as you think" she adds while slurping her milshake.

Malik is Lylas brother and a good friend of yours. Even Judy likes him, and that's saying something.

After the "incident" you tried so hard to find another group of friends, that one day it actually happened.

Which wasnt easy, before ellie you didnt relly need other friends. You also didnt want other ones. You always thought she felt the same way.

Her company, her words, her feelings and thoughts were all you wanted.

"Holy shit im not late!"

Judy's loud voice pulls you out of your thoughts. She quickly sits down next to you and hands you the large french fries package. You grin at her and pass them on to lyla. The loud noises became quieter and quieter, which made you hear the microphone voice.

"Dear seniors and juniors, After weeks full of learning and exams, one last football game with our beloved team and a guest team of their choice should be enough for you. I don't understand why you wanted to have this when every one of you’ve seen so many other games, but as you want. That’s the last one really though, please."

Judy giggles at the voice of the principal, but with empathy rather than mockery.

"Poor Ms. Servopoulos, juniors and seniors are not easy. The Other Class's prank surpassed everything"

lylas eyes widened at the memory. "Which of the 20 One?" She asks, leaning a bit over my lap to hear judy better.

"The one where they all had their tables outside at the_" Judy's bright voice gets stuck in the air, and she looks past me with squinted eyes in dismay.

You know why and didn't want to turn around.

But you do it anyway.

She wore her typical short baggy shorts and a red oversize t shirt with a fucking beanie , which makes her look like the love child of Adam Sandler and Jesse Pinkman.

You’d be happy to laugh at her if she didn't look so fucking good. But you chuckle a bit in your head at the Beanie, because it’s fucking june.

She looks down at you , just standing there.

Ellie has always been a bit taller than you. You might be sitting right know, but you still know That hasn't changed yet. You don't have to get up to be sure. You would notice if she grew even 1 cm. You don't know if she would still recognize that about you.

The familiar, soft and light brown freckles on her face. As a tween you always wanted to connect them, to find out how it would turn out. Or how she would look. Or react. You wanted to make her laugh so bad it hurt.

"Seth told me to bring this too you"

The Ice Caffee, with your name on it, is suddenly right in front of your face.

"Why should I accept it? It's already warm anyway" The irritated pitch in your voice cannot be ignored

Elie's gaze remains neutral, but there was some caution in her expression. "He forced me when I was paying, just take it and throw it away."

"Why didn't you throw it away?"

"Because im at a point where I listen to that old man for my benefits. Seth hates me already. He didn't even tell me about the senior special last week" she protests

You roll your eyes in annoyance.

"i dont give a shit about you or the now hot coffee"

Your argument became more intense, Judy and lyla exchanged glances but stayed out of it. You want to sort out your shit yourself and they know that.

"just fucking throw it away ellie!"

"No, I'm sitting at the top and have to go down all the fucking stairs and-"

"I don't care Ellie"

The people around slowly became aware of the both of you screaming, and you wonder for a second how strange you both must look right now. How you line up like little kids. But ellie also hurt the child version of you. God she has hurt so fucking many versions of you.

"just be happy that I’m even bringing this too you, i didnt really had to do that"

Her hand holds the plastic cup so hard in front of your face that it looks like it's about to explode.

The fact that she thinks she has a right to be angry with you bothers you even more, as you try to hold back your tears. You try to imagine her as adam sandler, screaming at you in this fucked up voice from grown ups, to make the tears go away.

"right i didn’t ask you to do anything, you decided to be so stupid and come over here"

she chuckles sligtly at your words, really pissed now. "you bitch-"

The last words never came out of her mouth. But the coffee out the cup. On your shirt.

Frightened, you take a loud breath in and stand up. Ellie has already put a safe distance between the both of you and her own mouth is open with surprise and startle.

Behind her stands a paralyzed Joshua, with his hand on his mouth.

"I swear, he ran into me...," she babbles desperately to herslef, waving her hands in the air, the empty cup on the floor now. Looks like the rest of the liquor soaked your shoes.

Yo didn’t let her finish. You mumble to lyla and judy not to follow you and that you would call them later. You grabbed your bag and Then left.

And you cried the whole ride home with your mom next to you. And not because of the coffee.

The smoke comes out of your mouth, you take the ciggarette to you lips again, and breathe in deeply.

If you smoke in your room, you always have to lean almost completely out of the window, now with the shadows of the trees falling in your face.

The light, split by the limbs, danced to the movements of the branches. There was a small and almost sweet breeze in the air.

The sun is still shining, but the golden hour is almost here.

You get goose bums on your arm as a cold breeze comes, and you put out the cigarette on your ashtray.

As you lie down on your bed and just stare at the wall for a while, the dark smell of cigarettes is still in the air. your parents don't care as long as it doesn't get into the rest of the house.

You grab a book from your bedside table and start reading.

"And when you at last find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter- they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped darek inside yous so long"

You close the book with a jerk.

Yes, maybe no sylvia plath for today.

The buzzing of your phone makes your head move to the side.

Judy: Malik won

Judy: Tonights a party at the beach, everyones going

Your eyes stare back into the void of your ceiling.

Ellie has had so much influence over you and your feelings for so long, that has to stop at some point. And with all the anger in you, you think that today it will.

You get up and stand in front of your closet, you rummage around to find something and you do. A t shirt that belonged to ellie.

Your fingers brush over the dark green material. It was a fucking normal t shirt. Except that it wasn't.

"Today it will stops"

You put the t-shirt in your backpack and look for an outfit that was well suited for the beach. In the end, you wear short jeans shorts, where your grandma had sewn in flower patterns years ago, With a light blue shirt it goes nicely with the flowers.

you: can you pick me up?

Judy: I would love too :)

You quickly brush your teeth to get rid of the smell of smoke. Outside, you can already hear Judy's honking. You sprint down the stairs with your backpack and look for your beach shoes.

"Where are you going" Your mother is standing behind you with her arms crossed. In her old cardigan, she looked like she did a few years ago and you almost get a déjà vu.

"A party, Judys picking me up"

"how long are you gonna be there?"

"Mom im going to be 18 in what now 4 days you dont have to ask me that anymore"

she scoffs

"yes i do and guess what? i also want you to text me So i know youll be fine"

Nervously, you look out to see if Judy's car is still there, maybe she thinks you've changed your mind.

"Ok, Mom, I'll probably go to Judy's and be gone till midnight."

Suspiciously, she looks at you from head to toe, but (luckily) gives in.

"okay but please call me if something happens. Be smarter than your brother"

Your body flinches at the mention of him. "Has… he called lately?" you murmur

She looked at the floor and you thought for a moment she was going to cry. "No, but maybe if you call him, he'll answer"

You nod, but you know you won't do it.

He doesn't care about you either.

~

"I'm proud that you're coming along" Judy and you are walking, with beer in your arms, towards the beach where a few people have already gathered.

"I mean, that was a great show, a few people definitely noticed it"

You sigh at the unpleasant memory. "Then that's the way it is, I think a few other things are going to happen tonight, that are far more interesting than a girl with coffee on her T-shirt"

"I hope so" A mischievous smile on her face.

You look around to find lyla and malik, But because of all the people, it doesn’t really work. You were sure that there weren't that many seniors and juniors, but that a few friends of others came along. There was a big fire and even a barbecue.

After wandering around for a while, you find the two siblings. They had already made themselves comfortable on the big blanket and had taken some alcohol with them, but the bottles will probably spread over the whole beach anyway.

"Finally I see you, everything ok with you?" Malik mentions as he stands up, giving you a vigorouslyhug. "Really fucked up what happened"

You digress with a wave of your hand and sit down

"im fine, but you won, tell me abou it!" You try to make your voice as shrill as possible to make it clear that you don't want to talk about it.

“oh yeah we won, I made a touchdown, obviouly"

"almost didn’t catch it tho" throws lyla into the round and you giggle.

"Shut up, we only won our last game Ever, Because of me!”

Pride, but also the quiet pain of the loss of his team, can be noticed on his face andin his voice. The reality that you try so hard to run away from hits you again. high school is over, real life begins now.

“whatever, im getting something to drink and then im gonna tell sam to put on some music” Lyla ties you back into the moment. "I'm going with you , I need a drink of Voda-Coke"

~

Later that night Mr. Brightside was what got you on your feet and into the crowd.

Mesmerizingly, the fire flares higher and leaves just light trail of smoke behind. Malik and Judy are now singing along loudly with the others.

All these people who so clumsily sing the song about a heartbroken man, as if they would die if they don't do it, carry the same fate with them. They will all wake up tomorrow with a headache and worries about the next day. as it is one day closer to real life.

Some have broken families or parents, complicated friends, grief and draining fear of the future.

Knowing that it was like that but everyone was still singing along motivates you to do it too.

"Here more vodka has to work not taste good" Judy pours more vodak into your cup, but misses more than ends up in it.

Now you just laugh, because why did you thought so long about everything, this night was a good decision.

"I need to dance like I physically need to dance"

She grabs Malik's arm as he pours more beer next to her.

“let’s danceee!"

Lyla stands next to you, grinning and sober, and you both watch her.

"he likes her"

Lyla explains

"I know" you reply.

“That’s fucked up”

She looks a bit worried, as she watches the two of them dance and sing, with her arms crossed

"is that bad? or are you the "dont date my fucking brother" type of girl, please dont be by the way its always a bit-"

Your brain is mush, your tongue works on its own and Lyla obviously didn't like that

"no of course not, i don't care about him or who he dates"

The light from the fire reflected on her skin, she looked like a painting drawn at sunset and you wished you had your camera with you. It would be a shot of a very sad girl, with a lot of repressed feelings that she will never explain to a human soul.

But she didn't have to, because you understand.

You once looked at someone like that, from a distance where these looks were not visible to the person, where they were safe.

Comforting her was your first thought, dumb decision because a drunk person comforting a sober one never works out.

"I'm sure judy likes you back"

Alarm bells could be seen in her eyes.

"shut up you don't know that"

you laugh but it sounds unstable.

“No your right I don’t”

It looked like a lot of fun, everyone singing and drinking away their worries, you just wanted to join the dancing crowd when you see her. Again.

Fast an quickly, just ignore her, act like you didn’t see her.

But your eyes lock with hers and your stomach sinks.

In that moment you wish you could just admit that Ellie will always be a part of your mind. Wherever you are, with whomever, she will always appear In your mind and she will haunt you.

The worst thing is that it was also your fault, you allowed this relationship to be far too deep and perplexed even though you knew that it was becoming too emotional.

Ellie's presence on the other side of the fire, fills you with all those deeply buried feelings, as if she dug them up with her own hands. As if you told her where you buried them.

“I really don't understand you two"

with a snap you arrive back on planet earth.

"what?"

"the both of you. starring at each other, like you're about to run through fire to be just a bit closer. Makes me want to puke" lyla repeats.

Disbelief and vulnerability spreads through your chest and all those lights are too bright, the music is too loud and Ellie is too close.

"It's ok to forgive, we don't even know what happened so be honest, how bad was it?"

brushing all those feelings off, or at least trying to, you turn around and disappear into the darkness.

In a kind of trance you push your way through the many people, a few call after you, and you are sure that you have run into someone. You just didn't notice anything about it.

You stop in front of the many cars. You used to drive with your father to the local supermarket or other short distances, but you're not willing to steal a car.

Your head turns to the right then left, looking for something, anything that will take you away from here.

Cars, skateboards and bicycles.

Without thinking about it, you grab an unchained bike and get on it. The adrenaline in your veins works on its own and has far too much influence on your body.

It took some time to get stable on it, because the tears in your eyes made it difficult to see. Nobody seems to have noticed that you ran away and that you are riding a bike that doesn't belong to you.

The road was pitch black dark.

The warm summer wind wipes your tears away, the bright street lights of the city can be seen in the distance.

You step on the pedals and realize that you have arrived on the local road.

Out of breath, you press your fingers on the brake lever.

Desperately trying to get your lungs to return to normal, mind concentrate on the outline of your shadow that was visible on the floor, because of the street lanterns.

You get off the bike in silence, put it down next to you on the sidewalk and sit down.

The pumping of your veins feels like electricity.

You could still hear a few cars in the background.

You brush away strands of hair from your forehead.

“Fuck” you hear yourself whisper.

The tears were just about to come back when you hear a car turning.

She still drives Joel's old truck.

The vehicle stops in front of your feet and you notice that some of the light green paint has rusted off.

That wasn't the case the last time you saw that thing.

Ellie slams the car door loudly behind her, so she looks back to see if everything is still fine.

The feeling of shame just bubbles out of you and drips onto the floor, as she steps in front of you with even louder steps.

your head lifts up just a bit, to look at her. Her nose is a bit crooked and she's breathing just as fast as you were a few seconds ago, it looks a bit like she was running after you.

“What the fuck are you doing”

Ellie Williams will always come from the far corner of the world and remind you that you will never let go of her.

The effects of the alcohol still had an influence on your brain, so you stay calm.

“calming down"

For a few seconds it's eerily quiet, for a moment you thought Ellie had left again, but the squeaking of her sneakers prove the opposite. Her body settles down next to you.

"You look really stupid, sitting here like that."

You scoff mockingly.

"yes, that's exactly why you're sitting next to me bitch"

"don't fucki-"

"Don’t act so innocent, remember what you said today before you spilled my coffee on my shirt”

Her head turns to you, sweet regret and longing in her moss green eyes. She scans the bike next to you.

"i think i stole that" the embaressment goes up your cheeks.

"yeah totally badass, but we have to bring that back later" she chuckles softly.

The bright beam of light from the lantern above you gives her face an bright tint , like the beach sun always did in the evening.

"sorry... about the coffee, joshua ran into me and-"

"Yes, I know you've said that before"

She drops her head. No idea why she's sitting here, but you don't mind. you just wanted to capture her and keep her close to you, like a butterfly.

"your brother called me" Ellie mentions it so casually that it shocks you to the bone.

He can even call her but not you. After she just sat down, you were as close as ever.

"what did he say"

"He wants us to come visit him."

Her pupils were large, but you assumed it was because she just drove a dark route and not because she was high. She's way too lucid to be high.

"why? and why the both of us?"

Ellie shrugs her shoulders cluelessly

"He said that we would like Florida, that he was getting a new apartment next week and that we should visit him. You didn't tell him anything about me?"

"I haven't told him anything Ellie, we haven't been able to get in touch with him for months"

You can clearly see from her expression that it makes as little sense to her as it does to you, which worries you even more. something is wrong.

You can feel how your hands shaking, you tried to tell yourself that your just cold.

"Alex said that he tried to call you and your parents, but the line never got through, fuck he even reached Joel"

You continue to shake and Ellie gently grabs your shoulder like she has often before, when you were lost in your head, when you were so afraid of roller coasters that you almost vomited or when you cried because Alex moved out 3 years ago.

Ellie's own security was always an anchor for you, when things got too confusing she strengthened you and even though you didn't talk to each other for almost a year, she still decided to tell you that your brother was fine.

That he wants you with him.

Sometimes, on the particularly melancholic nights when loneliness and nostalgia take over, you read Sylvia's poems and it just clicks. That all because this girl with her hair that is way too short and her pants that are way too big and her full lips, her unhealthy obsession with the universe and planets, exists on the same time as you.

“There’s gonna be a explanation or a reason whatever but just calm down for now okay?”

her voice is suppressed but still safe. yes the Ellie Anchor effect, fuck that shit

“Okay yes your right what the fuck”

“Yeah I can be right sometimes”

“ I Doubt that”

Her lips pucker upwards and yours follow suit. you are still too close to each other, it all feels too new and yet too nostalgic.

The old patterns gave your heart a little sting, you quickly shook off her hand on your shoulder. You clear your throat, thanking the universe or whoever there is that it's night.

Otherwise Ellie wouldn't have been able to miss your red cheeks. In your mind you beat yourself up because you still feel this way after everything she did.

"Show me your phone"

Your hand goes protectively to your back trouser pocket. "um no?!"

Ellie Scoffs thinking your joking, but when she sees that you’re serious, she laughs.

"just give it? the fuck do you think im gonna do"

"I don't know"

With a little nudge to your foot, she gives you that look again that shows trust and you give in.

"fine"

It's a little painful for you, this morning you had a mental crisis because of her, now you letting her scroll through your contacts.

"yeah, sorry to disappoint you, but this is not your bros number"

But that must be his.

Your parents gave it to you.

Oh.

"show me" you said firmly, having a really fucked up scenario in your head, about why this is the wrong number.

Ellie takes out her phone and shows you your brother's contact. chats, phone calls, everything is there. the one from this week too.

"this doesn't make any sense, I just- I don't get it"

"Your parents gave you the number?"

You nod, "My mom said, a few Months ago he had to change his number, in the beginning we texted a bit but never really called"

your eyes switch from her phone to yours to check the numbers again and again .

"After a few days, he didn't get in touch at all, with no one. We thought he was just done with his old life." you pronounce the words and your stomach turns.

Ellie's eyes stare thoughtfully at the asgap in front of you. You're helplessly trying to build up eye contact to figure out what you're thinking.

"I think they lied to you… He said something like this could happen" She says it so fucking sure.

You couldn't take in any more and you get up with your eyes are watering "What the fuck are you talking about Ellie" Your voice broke with the trust in your parents, even Ellie looks at you sympathetically.

"Alex said on the phone that he has been trying to reach someone from home for a long time, but it doesn't work. He was so desperate that he even called me and joel. Do you think your parents or your mom-"

you raise your hand to tell her not to finish the sentence. "Why… would they do that?"

She gets up and comes closer to you. "He mentioned that your mother said he shouldn’t call her anymore or you anymore, that even you don't him in your life anymore"

It feels like your whole past is falling apart, all the beautiful moments with your family, you even want the bad memories back.

"Hey"

Ellie's soft fingertips gently touch the back of your hand. Roughness was still there, she hasn`t stopped playing guitar.

"lets run away"

a/n: omg, the chapters are gonna be shorter next time and we’re also on the road PLS STICK W IT

(and reblog😍)

anyways if you’ve come this far ur a real survivor thanks 🫶

@yourelliewillms @bready101 @liasxeatt @darkerstarsstuff @elliezato @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @lovelyxbaby @yalaysbee @macaroni676

[wongyuseokie]

Bake a Wish | c.s.c

Summary: Seungcheol knows it’s silly. Getting this mad that you forget his birthday, but it only happens once a year. He’s too prideful to let it go so quickly, and you’re too determined to continue letting your boyfriend sulk. 

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕ smut |  ♥ completed works

Word Count:  3651 words

Pairings: Choi Seungcheol x Female Reader 

Genre/Trope(s)/AUs: Fluff, Smut & Angst, Idol! AU, but like it’s not that important. It just sets the tone, I guess? Like why he stays in a dorm etc. 

Content Warnings: Smut, fluff, angst 

Smut Warnings: Unprotected sex (don’t do this irl), daddy kink, only for a few seconds tho, oral sex (f receiving), pussy fingering, overstimulation, cum licking (off fingers), ear biting (nibbling, it’s sexy), squirting. Nicknames, kitten because, at this point, it’s my favourite nickname to use. 

Authors Note: Thank you so much @here4kpopfics, @lovelyhan, @seokgyuu @sluttywoozi and @seungkwansphd, for hearing me go on and about this fic and helping me out 💕also tagging my lovely @duhnova because I know you yell about Cheol a lot 😗😗

Authors Note 2: Happy Birthday Cheol!! 🥳 here's a smutty little sorta plot-filled smut fic 💕💕 I posted it at 12 (Korea time) woo hoo.

© wongyuseokie 2023. All rights reserved.

“Cheol?”

No response. 

“Seungcheolie?” 

“Baby, I know I forgot. Work was just crazy and everything. I won’t make excuses. Please don’t be mad,” you pleaded, and your boyfriend sighed. 

“I’m not mad. You were the one who wanted to do something, so for you to forget,” Seungcheol trailed off, sighing as he ran his hand through his hair. 

“Forget it. I’m a grown man. I shouldn’t sulk over a birthday,” Seunghcheol said, defeated, as he started to get up from the couch. 

“Cheol, I just lost track of the days and forgot. I’m so sorry,” you apologised, getting up and going after him. 

“See, that’s what bothers me. You forgot. I’ve had friends forget, family forget, but you? I guess that puts things into perspective for me. I don’t know, maybe it’s my fault for putting you, my girlfriend, on a higher pedestal, but I thought you would remember,” Seungcheol spoke, each word breaking your heart even more. 

“I can make it up to you. Why don’t we do something this weekend?” You offered hurriedly, and Seungcheol shook his head. 

“I have plans with the guys and can’t back out. They initially wanted to celebrate on my actual birthday, but I told them that tonight, well, it would have just been for us,” Seungcheol explained with a sad smile. 

“But,” Seungcheol said, breaking the tension slightly. “You said there’d be an amazing chocolate cake waiting for me at home?” Seungcheol asked hopefully, only for it to shatter the second he saw your face fall. 

“Ah, right, you forgot,” Seungcheol deduced and shook his head. 

“Look, we can order something and get a bottle of wine, and I can spend all night showing you how sorry I am?” You offered, placing a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, making him look at you. 

“Sex isn’t going to fix this,” Seungcheol mumbled. 

“There’s nothing to fix. I just need to stop making birthdays such a big deal,” Seungcheol added, and you shook your head at his words. 

“No, Cheol,” you started to say, and he held up a hand to stop you.

“Look, you’ll say something, and then I’ll say something, and it’ll snowball. I don’t want to risk an argument, not on my birthday or with you,” Seungcheol said. He was tired, and he wanted to sleep. 

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. What if I draw you up a nice bubble bath, and we can just sleep? You can even hog all the blankets,” you added with a hopeful smile. 

“Actually. I was planning to sleep at the dorms tonight,” Seungcheol admitted. 

“Oh, but Cheol, since we’ve been together, we always spend birthdays together,” you protested, and Seungcheol shrugged. 

“Well, I guess tonight’s just full of firsts?” Seungcheol muttered. 

“I don’t want to lose you over this,” you admitted, and Seungcheol smiled softly at you. 

“You won’t, not over this. It’s not a fight. I’m just upset and want some space, but I don’t want to get into anything tonight because I know it’ll end in a fight, and I don’t want that,” Seungcheol clarified. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, and he shrugged. 

“We’ll be okay. I just need some space,” Seungcheol added, and you nodded. 

You had messed up so badly, and usually, when either of you messed up this bad, you’d argue and be fine in a few hours, but tonight was different. You hurt your boyfriend so badly that he was beyond the point of being angry, he was disappointed, and he felt defeated. 

“When can I see you?” You asked impatiently, and Seungcheol shrugged. 

“Let me be the one to reach out?” Seungcheol suggested, and you nodded slowly as you watched your heartbroken boyfriend put on his dress shoes and coat, things you told him to wear because you made a reservation at the best restaurant in town. Seungcheol got dressed up and excited for tonight, only for you to stand him up at the restaurant and forget his birthday together. 

As you watched your boyfriend dejectedly leave your apartment tonight, you had a plan, and you were determined. You’d do everything possible to ensure he never felt this shitty again and to redo tonight. No matter what, he’d still have a fantastic birthday this year. 

“Oof, she forgot?” Jeonghan asked Seungcheol when he saw his friend sulking about the dorm that evening. 

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t care,” Seungcheol started to say, earning a scoff from Jeonghan. 

“You are the sulkiest in general, but more so about your birthday, but continue,” Jeonghan interrupted. 

“Anyways,” Seungcheol said with a glare. 

“She planned everything, told me to get ready and clear my schedule, and she doesn’t show up? Then she told me a cake was at home, which she had forgotten. I don’t know, and it felt like she forgot everything,” Seungcheol mumbled, pouting. 

“Here,” Jeonghan said as he handed Seungcheol a black box with a bow. 

“Jeonghan, I’m taken,” Seungcheol joked, making Jeonghan roll his eyes. 

“Shut up. It's a little something for your birthday, it won’t compare to what Y/N got you, but I hope you like it,” Jeonghan added, and Seungcheol’s face fell. 

“She forgot to get me a present,” Seungcheol muttered. 

“Maybe something else is going on in her life? Something that requires her full attention, and she just got overwhelmed?” Jeonghan offered. 

“But she didn’t tell me?” Seungcheol questioned. 

“You’re a busy man, and I’m sure it’s nothing she can’t handle and didn’t want to bother you,” Jeonghan suggested. 

“She’s my girlfriend. She couldn’t ever bother me,” Seungcheol said softly, and Jeonghan patted Seungcheol’s shoulder to comfort the sulking man. 

“We’re still on for tomorrow. We’re planning to go out and get shit-faced. You can invite Y/N if you want,” Jeonghan suggested. 

“No, I think space would do us good,” Seungcheol responded, and Jeonghan hesitated and decided not to respond. He knew that Seungcheol needed his time to be petty, and he just had to let him be angry. 

“Alright, well, do you want any of us to keep you company tonight?” Jeonghan asked, and Seungcheol shook his head. 

“Nah, I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

You were tossing and turning in bed that night. Even when Seungcheol was on tour, you would always text each other good night. You hadn’t tonight; you wanted to give him his space, but you were worried that more space would result in more distance between you two, and that couldn’t happen. 

Worried, you grabbed your phone from your bedside table and called instead of texting. You couldn’t help it. You knew you weren’t being fair, he asked for space, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

Seungcheol picked up after four rings, and his sleepy voice immediately made you feel terrible for waking him up.

“Baby?” Seungcheol spoke sleepily, and you felt your heart swell and ache because of one word. You hurt him so badly, yet he was calling you baby here. 

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you mumbled. 

“It’s okay. Did you need something?” Seungcheol asked. 

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” you admitted sheepishly, and Seungcheol sighed. 

“You couldn’t text it?” Seungcheol asked. 

“I’m sorry, I messed up. I shouldn’t have woken you up,” you apologised. 

“Well, you did wake me up, so why don’t you tell me what’s up?” Seungcheol asked. 

“I miss you,” you hated how pathetic you sounded. It was his birthday that you missed, and here you were being miserable, and he shouldn’t have to deal with it. You heard Seungcheol sigh softly. 

“I miss you too. Do you need me to come over, or will you be okay tonight?” Seungcheol asked and smiled sadly, even though you knew he couldn't see you. 

“No, I shouldn’t. You said you wanted space. I should give it to you,” you mumbled, and Seungcheol groaned softly. 

“So you just woke me up for no reason?” Seungcheol quipped. 

“Cheol,” you started to say, only to be interrupted. 

“I need sleep. The guys planned something for my birthday, so I want to be rested and fresh tomorrow,” Seungcheol remarked sassily, and you frowned even though he couldn’t see. 

Seungcheol felt terrible for being so snippy, but he was just tired and wanted space and sleep. 

“Goodnight, Cheol. I love you,” you mumbled into the call. You heard Seungcheol take a breath and then hum into the call before hanging up. 

Seungcheol knew it was a dick move on his part not to say I love you, he knew that it would mess with you and make you overthink, but he couldn’t take it back. He could only hope that you understood that it occurred due to a moment of frustration. 

You tried your hardest not to cry your eyes out after the phone call, Seungcheol sounded so defeated and tired, but you were determined not to wallow and make it about you. You would make up for all this, and it’d be okay. 

“Cheol, you ready?” Jeonghan asked later that morning as Seungcheol was checking his phone. You hadn’t texted or called, he understood that he asked for space, but he selfishly hoped for none. 

“Dude, no, no phones today. No wallowing,” Jeonghan scolded lightly as he took Seungcheol’s phone out of his hand. 

“What if she calls?” Seungcheol whined. 

“Then I’ll tell her that you’re happily celebrating and you don’t wish to be disturbed,” Jeonghan teased, earning a scowl from Seungcheol. 

“You will say no such thing to her. You will not upset her further,” Seungcheol warned, and Jeonghan sighed. 

“I wouldn’t. Just for 24 hours, can you forget this argument and have fun? We don’t like seeing you upset,” Jeonghan pleaded, his voice softer, and Seungcheol nodded. 

“Yeah. I can. Let's get drunk?” Seungcheol suggested with a weak smile, and Jeonghan nodded excitedly. 

“Yeah!”

You weren’t sure what exactly you were doing here. You weren’t even meant to know where Seungcheol’s birthday plans were, but Soonyoung couldn’t keep anything to himself and posted videos and pictures of Seungcheol’s celebration. Your heart thought quicker than your brain, and you were now in the restaurant's car park where Seungcheol was celebrating his birthday. 

You knew it was clingy and overbearing, and everything you were doing right now went against Seungcheol asking for space, but you couldn’t help it. The guilt was eating you alive, and you hated being the reason that Seungcheol was upset. 

You figured that if you showed up with a big cake and showed that you went through the trouble of getting the cake and finding out where he was, then he’d forgive you. Or at least stop sulking at you, and hear you out. 

You checked your phone one more time before getting out of the car, and you wished you hadn’t opened up Soonyoung’s Instagram story on his private account, and what you saw made your heart hurt and eyes water. Seungcheol was hanging around other girls, posing and hugging one of them. 

You knew Seungcheol was loyal, he’d never cheat, but it still hurt, watching him spend his birthday with other girls, and while you know you were at fault for this since you forgot his birthday. It almost felt like he was just rubbing it in your face. 

You heard a muffled voice and saw Seungcheol tapping on your car window. You turned to face him, smiling at him, your vision blurring vision as you smiled at him through your tears. You unlocked the door and motioned for him to get in. 

“Why are you here?” Seungcheol asked, and you frowned at his question, hoping he’d be happy to see you. Seungcheol noticed how your face fell, and he noticed your teary eyes, but he didn’t want to comment on it, at least not yet. 

“I just, uh,” you fumbled, looking away from him and at the backseat. 

“I wanted to give you that,” you mumbled, pointing to the cake in the backseat. 

“Is this the cake you promised?” Seungcheol asked hopefully with a smile. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” you apologised, as you kept your stare on the cake box in the backseat. 

“I think you’ve apologised enough,” Seungcheol said softly as he took your hand, making you look at him. 

“I’m sorry if I sounded rude earlier, but I’m genuinely wondering why you’re here, but I’m not upset to see you,” Seungcheol explained. 

“I wanted to bring the cake as a surprise. I know you said to give you space and that you’d reach out, but I guess I can’t, not when I know I upset you,” you rambled. 

“So why didn’t you come? You just started crying in the car?” Seungcheol asked. 

“I cried because of Soonyoung’s Instagram story,” you mumbled, feeling ashamed that all it got was a temporary wave of insecurity to make you cry, despite knowing how loyal Seungcheol was. 

“What was on it?” Seungcheol asked, and you meekly pulled out your phone and showed Seungcheol the story. 

“Wait, so you thought I was cheating?” Seungcheol accused, and you shook your head. 

“No, of course not. Seeing my boyfriend hugging another woman and celebrating his birthday with other girls does suck,” you spat. 

“Do you want this to be something we fight about?” Seungcheol asked, and you shook your head. 

“No, I don’t. I know you wouldn’t. I just was being silly,” you mumbled. 

“Your feelings are valid, don’t dismiss it, but I know that’s not what upset you,” Seungcheol said, holding your hand tighter, interlacing his fingers with yours. 

“I just wanted to be the one you celebrated your birthday with, Cheol, and I guess seeing you celebrate with other girls made an ugly green monster awaken in me,” you admitted. 

“That’s fair, but I promised the guys I would celebrate my birthday with them,” Seungcheol said. 

“What about tomorrow?” Seungcheol offered. 

“I’ll be done at the studio around 8. We can meet for dinner. It’ll have to be quick because I have a meeting at 10:30.” 

“You’re only free for like 2 hours?” You asked. 

“I was free for longer on my actual birthday,” Seungcheol retorted, making you frown. 

“Okay, 2 hours. I’ll make it the best 2 hours possible, okay?” You said, leaning over to place on Seungcheol’s cheek. 

Choi “Husband” Seungcheol [9:00 am]: Morning love, I’m heading to the studio now. I’ll give you a ring once I leave. Looking forward to seeing you tonight. 🥰🥰

You grinned as you saw Seungcheol’s message the following morning and smiled as you typed out a response. 

You [9:01 am]: See you later, handsome 🥰

You put your phone away. You had a lot to prepare tonight, you were a couple of days late, but you were determined to make this the best birthday ever. 

“Ow!” Seungcheol yelped when he felt another balled-up piece of paper hit his head. He wasn’t entirely sure why Jeonghan kept throwing scraps of paper at his head. 

“What is your problem?” Seungcheol asked. 

“We’ve been trying to get your attention for. I don’t know, ten minutes?” Jeonghan responded. 

“Oh.“ 

“I’ve just been distracted.”

“Yeah, no shit, can you just go and make it up with Y/N? You look like a sad husky,” Jeonghan muttered. 

“Husky because I’m so handsome?” Seungcheol asked with a grin. 

“No, husky, because you sulk and whine as much,” Jeonghan sassed, making Seungcheol glare at him. 

“Look, she forgot, yes, but shit happens. Do you want to whine and let this cause a problem in your relationship? No, you don’t. What about when you forgot she was allergic to lilies and got her a bouquet?” Jeonghan asked. 

“Oh god, my baby was sneezing all night long,” Seungcheol groaned, recalling the night he accidentally gave you flowers you were allergic to. 

“Exactly, look, she didn’t mean it, and I bet she’s overthinking and overplanning just to make things right, and more importantly, just because she forgot your birthday does not mean she doesn’t love you,” Jeonghan added. 

“I overreacted, didn’t I?” Seungcheol asked. 

“No, not that night, but dragging it out? That might be unnecessary,” Jeonghan clarified. 

“I’ll apologise tonight. I’ll see her tonight,” Seungcheol said, determined. 

“No, go now. We can pick this up tomorrow,” Jeonghan insisted. 

“Sure?” 

“Yes, and Cheol?” 

“Yes?”

“Use protection!” 

“Baby?” Seungcheol called out as he entered your apartment. As soon as he entered your apartment, he was greeted with the aroma of baked goods and saw the apartment decorated with balloons, candles and confetti. 

“Cheol?“ You exclaimed as you wandered out of the kitchen. 

“Baby!” Suengcheol greeted you as he ran to embrace you, and you giggled as he pulled you into a tight embrace. 

“You’re home so early. I’m not done preparing,” you whined. 

“I don’t care. I’ve been a big baby. What matters is that you love me, and I love you, not some birthday,” Seungcheol declared, making you giggle. 

“I love you, but Cheol, but the dinner won’t be ready for another couple of hours,” you whined. 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for being such a baby,” Seungcheol apologised. 

“I’m sorry for forgetting,” you added. 

“We’re a pretty sorry couple, aren’t we?” Seungcheol joked, making you smile. 

“Come,” you said, pulling away from Seungcheol’s embrace slightly to take his hand in yours. 

“Where?”

“Bedroom, since dinner won’t be ready for some time, I figured I’ll give you one of your presents a little earlier,” you said with a teasing grin. 

“Lead the way, kitten.“ 

“Cheol!” You giggled as Seungcheol hoisted you up, causing you to wrap around his waist. Seungcheol wasted no time the second the bedroom door closed and pulled you into a passionate kiss, deepening the kiss by slipping his tongue into your mouth, making you moan as he started sucking on your bottom lip; his plush lips always worked wonders no matter what part of your body they were on.

“Can you strip for me, baby?” Seungcheol asked as he placed you down on the bed, and you nodded as you quickly peeled off your clothes and laid back on the bed, hissing softly as the cool sheets touched your naked form. 

“Baby, it’s meant to be about you,” you whined, making Seungcheol grin. 

“I’m meant to give you the present,” you mumbled. 

“You naked and dripping for me is enough of a present,” Seungcheol said, making you let out a soft moan.  “Then I’m all yours, Daddy,” you added.  

“No, Daddy, tonight, baby. Just Cheol, okay?” Seungcheol said as he climbed onto the bed and pulled you into his lap. 

“I’m sorry for being a big sulky baby, and while sex isn't the answer, it can’t hurt, but I promise I will, and I-” Seungcheol tried to apologise, and you shut him up with a kiss. 

“Cheol, please. Just fuck me,” you begged, rubbing your exposed cunt on his jeans, the friction making you moan. 

“Gladly,” Seungcheol complied, standing up to quickly rid himself of his clothing and positioning himself at your wet cunt.

He started by placing kisses along your calves and up to your thighs, never fully touching you. It felt different like he was going to take his time. He gently parted your legs, giving him access to your glistening cunt, placing your legs onto his toned back and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

Seungcheol placed soft kisses along your folds, his lips gently enveloping your clit. You let out a sigh of approval, tangling your fingers in his hair. He knew your body well, and his lips were a god's gift to your cunt.

He started sucking on your clit, while his tongue jutted out and started flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves. The grip you had in his hair tightened while he removed one arm from your waist and slipped two fingers inside you. Never once did he remove his lips from your clit as he kept fingering you at such a delicious speed. He was thorough yet delicate with his movements, he wanted you to feel complete and utter bliss. 

“Cheol, I’m close,” you moaned out, your words failing you as Seungcheol’s ministrations had you close to your first orgasm of the night. He said nothing. Instead just continued as you fell apart on his tongue, letting you ride your orgasm out against his face and fingers.

“Always so sweet for me, baby,” Seungcheol praised as he licked his fingers clean of your release. You moaned at the sight. You tried to get up in an attempt to take him into your mouth, but Seungcheol gently pushed you down. 

“Not tonight; I need to feel you,” he said softly.

Seungcheol laid down next to you, tilting you so that you were curled up into his chest. He pulled your leg to the side and pushed it back so that it wrapped around his muscular thighs, allowing him access to push inside you. He had one hand rubbing on your clit, and one on your nipple. He kept thrusting inside you, neither of his hands ceasing their actions. You moaned at the feeling. 

You suddenly stilled and fell apart around his cock. Seungcheol moaned and gently bit into your shoulder at the feeling of you clenching around him. He didn't stop; he continued pounding himself into you, picking up his pace as he was desperate to reach his release. He fell apart not long after he furiously rubbed at your clit, making you cum so hard that you shook violently against him. He gently pulled out of you, making you whimper at the empty feeling.

“It's been a while since I made you squirt,” Seungcheol said with a proud grin while you were still basking in the afterglow of your orgasm. 

“Hmm?” You moaned into his chest. 

“You squirted, baby, all over my cock,” he whispered, gently nibbling your ear, making you giggle as you into his toned chest. 

“Cheol?” 

“Hm?” 

“Happy Birthday, my love.” 

[literatureloverx]

Now i'm curious (from how you considered dazai's openness around chuuya "debatable") about how you consider chuuya and dazai's dynamic? I'm not presuming you think their connection isn't important or anything, or that you think dazai doesn't trust chuuya, but i'm interested in how you think dazai's openness around chuuya is debatable. I'm 50/50 on it too tbh, so maybe your analysis can give more insight :D

Sure, dear, let’s dive into it.❤️ This has become a grand analysis + my comments lmao. I hope you enjoy it!❤️

🩵~~~🩵~~~🩵

First of all, it’s important to note that I personally classify Dazai and Chuuya’s relationship as truly meaningful and admirable—but not in a romantic way.

I want to be clear that I don’t see their dynamic as romantic, which is where I differ from many Dazai x Chuuya shippers. This is exactly why this post will be very, VERY long.

Asagiri himself said that he understands where the Dazai x Chuuya ships are coming from and he definitely gets it, but he won’t make the ship canon because he doesn’t want to dishonour/disrespect the original authors.

So it is indeed very kind of the illustrators and the studio to still provide the fandom with “fan service material,” which is on one hand very thoughtful and kind, but on the other hand fuels toxic shippers and feeds their theories, which they accept as absolute facts. (I suppose they make much money from it no matter what they do, so why would they care, right?)

I’m not trying to demoralize anyone or diminish their character shipping preferences. Everyone is entitled to ship whoever they want, and I don’t want this post to come across as a hate post.

However, I don’t view these dynamics (or any ship in BSD) through rose-colored glasses but rather in a more realistic light.

Many ship blogs tend to romanticize nearly anything that fits their perception (and while I often understand where they’re coming from, I find their interpretations naive compared to other logical explanations), but I want to approach this from a perspective that stays as realistic and logical as possible.

So, I kindly ask those who are sensitive about their own opinions and perceptions to consider skipping this post, as I don’t intend to hurt anyone’s feelings.

A small reminder: you’re allowed to have your ship and preferences, but please don’t act like they are canon or the ultimate truth, or hate on those who don’t share your opinions. This is truly rude and disrespectful.

Wow, that intro was long, but it needed to be said. Now, let’s dive into it:

🩵~~~🩵~~~🩵

🩵~~~🩵~~~🩵

If we brush off the fan-service material of the scenes in Dead Apple (which we still don’t know if it is canon, and those specific scenes aren’t even incorporated into the light novel, I hear? I’m not sure about it, though; I haven’t read the light novel), what remains?

In my humble opinion, there is a great understanding between the two of them on a humane level, but their dynamic is double-edged.

So why did I consider Dazai’s openness around Chuuya "debatable"?

It starts with Dazai’s perspective. I once saw someone write (sadly, I have no idea where; sorry, I’m not good with past experiences and memories) that “Fyodor understands Dazai but doesn’t get him, and Chuuya gets Dazai but doesn’t understand him.”

I believe this thesis to be entirely true. The problem is that while Chuuya gets Dazai but doesn’t understand him, Dazai gets and understands Chuuya very well.

Let us move over to the 15 manga, if I recall correctly (lmao).

There was a scene where Dazai was ready to sacrifice a whole city just for Chuuya to find out his truth about humanity because it was bothering him on such a deep level.

Dazai could understand his feelings very well because he himself is also struggling with his own humanity.

Their dynamic is so meaningful because they are like two halves of an apple.

Dazai struggles with his humanity because he doesn’t feel human (the true reason behind it remains still unclear), but he is physically human.

Chuuya struggles with his humanity because he is physically inhuman, but he is still human with every fibre of his being.

I believe Dazai can see that as well, which leads him to believe that Chuuya is the most humane person he’s ever known.

This is entirely true. Chuuya embodies almost every aspect of a human so perfectly—with visible flaws (he is so gorgeous to me), emotions, impulses… (this aspect could be a whole other post, but I need to stick to the main point right now).

Does it matter that he is physically inhuman?

No, of course not. What truly matters is the inner persona of someone.

That is the exact aspect Dazai is struggling with. He feels empty, he feels inhuman because he lacks all those aspects Chuuya brims with.

I personally see admiration on Dazai’s part because Chuuya embodies the things he lacks perfectly.

We either admire people who are able to do or have the things we cannot, or we’re simply jealous or hateful. In Dazai’s case, he admires Chuuya; he is flabbergasted.

But wait… hate? How does this manifest in Dazai?

Remember how he said that he’s been trying to find a way to kill Chuuya for the past 7 years?

Well, first of all, I don’t believe he genuinely wants Chuuya dead. However, this statement could indeed be true (with Dazai, you never know if it is), because Chuuya embodies everything he is not.

He might have found solace in simply the imagination of getting rid of him, not truly trying to make it a reality. Because we all know—if Dazai wanted to, he would have.

The reason why he doesn’t want Chuuya truly dead? Well, isn’t it obvious? I believe from the bottom of my heart that he cherishes Chuuya. But not in a romantic way, because in the canon context, there is really no evidence of that.

You can find so many clues that suggest their bond is deep, heartfelt, and close. It is so beautiful, truly. Their bond is one of my personal favorites of all BSD relationships.

But the romantic side of it? There truly is none.

This is the common problem here. Just because their bond is very meaningful and deep, people find every opportunity and reason to make a romantic relationship out of those things because we sadly live in a world where meaningful relationships are not appreciated at all but simply put in a box called “romantic & sexual tension” (there speaks the INFJ). Most relationships are multifaceted, people.

However, I’m babbling too much. Let’s dive into Chuuya’s perspective:

Chuuya seems to be more aggressive towards Dazai, clearly and often declaring that he “hates” him. Does he now?

No. I don’t believe that he does.

I believe that he sees through Dazai’s antics and his void of self, which makes me think that he is rather feeling bad for him (compassionately). I know that Chuuya doesn’t seem to be the most empathetic person in all Bungo Stray Dogs universe, but I believe that he actually is quite empathetic; he just doesn’t show it much.

He tolerates Dazai’s unsettling aspects most of the time, even though he is short-tempered.

Speaking of him being short-tempered, this side of him shines even brighter at Dazai’s side. He is much calmer and composed around others.

I believe that this is: first, because he trusts Dazai that he has everything in control so that he can act more freely; second, that Dazai knows exactly how to push him into irritation, which makes him aggressive quite rashly.

I said this before when I described Chuuya’s ideal type, and I’ll say it again: Chuuya doesn’t hate Dazai, but rather the challenges he provides that unsettle him deeply.

Now, I’d like to point out another example: Remember when Chuuya hit Dazai, and Dazai said to him that it hurt and he is only a human too? Chuuya answers coldly, “no one would believe that” (again the 15 manga, I believe?).

This is the solace Dazai seeks from Chuuya. He helps Chuuya to see that he is indeed human and expects the same in return from him, which Chuuya doesn’t provide.

Chuuya, someone Dazai sees as the picture-perfect human, denies him his own humanity. That must hurt really, really bad.

This is exactly what I mean with “Chuuya gets Dazai but doesn’t understand him, while Dazai gets and understands Chuuya.”

Chuuya is unable to provide Dazai with solace because he is so fixed on his worry about the other people dying and struggling that he is unable to see that he hurts Dazai.

Which is ironic because not seeing what is in front of him is again, very Chuuya-like and very humane, after all.

We’re human; we may be impulsive, we make mistakes, we might hurt our friends and families.

And Dazai again is looming in shadows, lying almost dead on the sofa without a care how many people will die, which is again, very inhuman.

So, let me bring in another aspect:

Why did Dazai install a bomb in Chuuya’s car before he left the Port Mafia?

I believe it was his coping mechanism, as always. His cheerful, uncaring attitude he wears like a mask, his desperate attempt to show Chuuya he would’ve loved to get rid of him, but sadly he was lucky—once again. That stupid slug.

Chuuya is someone who Dazai cherishes, maybe not as much as Odasaku or even Atsushi, but he cares deeply for him. (This is initially why I thought that Dazai has a heart of gold, because he is able to cherish so many people so very deeply, and he himself isn’t even really aware of it, which is adorable to me.)

I read somewhere that those two are soulmates, and I believe that to be true also, but as I already said—not in a romantic or sexual way.

Remember when I said that I adore soulmate connections, not only the romantic ones but also the platonic ones? The relationship between Dazai and Chuuya seems to be exactly that to me. I love them and I love them as a duo as well.

So, as an addition, I’d like to speak about their unwavering trust in each other, which is one of the main aspects of their relationship and dynamic. Dazai trusts Chuuya because he knows that Chuuya understands his trust and has already plotted the entire situation with no errors whatsoever. Chuuya needs to play his part in order for Dazai’s plan to work out as intended.

The reason Dazai trusts Chuuya is quite simple: Chuuya is a truly trustworthy person. To work as partners, they need to establish a strong sense of trust, which plays out perfectly. They are both able to forget their quarrels and focus on the job at hand, making them unstoppable together. Chuuya is known for his loyalty; it is his most prominent personality trait. That is why Dazai trusts him so much, knowing that Chuuya also trusts him because he understands that Dazai never fails.

To Chuuya, Dazai is nothing short of a genius—a very strange one, that much is sure. He is well aware that Dazai is depressed and lacks many of the qualities Chuuya possesses naturally, but he doesn’t really judge him for it, as seen in his high tolerance for Dazai’s antics and childish manner.

In summary, their bond is truly admirable, deep, and very important. Please don’t diminish it by confining their relationship to a box of sexual and romantic feelings in a canon sense, as this simply cheapens their dynamic.

Create your ships, write your fanfictions, but please don’t be rude to others who don’t share your perspectives. It’s absolutely fine to disagree with my opinion and interpretation, but please be respectful to me and my dear followers.❤️

Reminder: Chuuya calls Dazai “Dazai”, just like the ADA members, which is his surname. This suggests distance. Dazai calls Chuuya not “Nakahara” which also would be his surname, but “Chuuya”, his given name, which suggests that he might disrespect Chuuya or not take him seriously, since Chuuya is actually older than Dazai. I’m not sure what to think about this fact, so I wanted to mention it but I had no idea what analysis I can make out of this.