#ive historically not been confrontational

[ribbittrobbit]

brb crashing out bec of the casual use of image generation artificial intelligence in my own household

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

So happy your back!!!😊😊❤️could you please do one where the readers (Baldwin Iv’s wife’s) mind work differently, for example she doesn’t understand jokes or sarcasm, doesn’t pick up on social cues, brutally honest, obsessed with organization and cleanliness, but very smart and kind and she’s very self conscious because she knows she’s different and Baldwin reassures her that her mind is a gift from god, and that he loves her, later on Baldwin hears people gossiping about her because she’s different and gets angry and confronts them and defends her. Thank you! 😊

♡ Gift From God - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Anon! Thank you for the request and your kind words 🩷, I'm so sorry this has taken so long to get to, I have been so busy 😭. I hope you enjoy! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Leprosy, Self Doubt

Y/n had always been different. For her entire life, she never truly felt the same as everybody around her.

Not her brothers and sisters or her friends. Especially not her parents. Her father was a lord with much land. He was powerful and required respect.

Many times through her life he had become angry at his daughter for speaking out of turn during important meetings or events and embarrassing him.

Y/n was intelligent. Women were not supposed to be intelligent, they were supposed to bear children and take care of their husbands. They were supposed to be silent.

Y/n was far from silent.

She spoke her mind. She simply couldn't help it and did not understand why so many were offended by her. She never meant to harm anybody, it just happened.

Her intelligence left many feeling threatened by her with the blunt remarks and witty replies. Because of this, she had been rejected by many men who her father wanted her to marry.

The young lady was kind, organized, clean and tidy.

“I would make a perfect wife!” she thought one day. “Why am I not enough?”

She felt alone in the world for many years, until he came along. The king of Jerusalem himself who her father had arranged for her to marry.

No matter how much she protested this, her father was insistent.

Y/n had come to believe she was unlikable and would never make a good wife. It wasn't that she did not want to be married, she simply believed that no man would want to marry her.

But this simply was not the case. From the day he laid eyes on her, Baldwin was in love. She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and after speaking to her for the first time after the wedding, she was even more beautiful in his eyes.

Her words were like magic, leaving him hanging at the end of each sentence. He loved how she spoke so honestly.

To the young king, she was different to every woman he had ever met. She was unique and reassured her of his such feelings. He loved everything about her.

The two were a perfect match. They played chess, studied in the library, and had many deep conversations well into the night, lying side by side in a comfortable bed.

They spent every possible moment together.

Y/n had been nervous at first, desperately trying to remember everything her mother had taught her about being a good wife, but her nerves were soothed with each moment she spent with her new husband.

Baldwin was gentle and kind, patiently reminding her of social hints that she missed in public and doing everything he could to stimulate her sharp mind. 

They had been wed for a few weeks and everything was perfect. The castle had taken a great liking to their new queen and Baldwin could not be more pleased.

She fit right in.

Until one day, the young king overheard something that made his blood boil.

Guy De Lusignan, his sister's husband, sat in the dining room, speaking with a small group when Baldwin heard him mention the name of his wife.

The young king stopped to listen with his ear against the door.

“She is a total freak,” the older man said.

“Can't take a joke, blunt and cold. I don't know what the leper sees in her. HAH! What am I saying, they are perfect for eachother! They can hide away in his chambers and play chess all day like the freaks they are-”

Baldwin had heard enough and pushed open the door, taking the air out of him slightly but he did not care.

“How dare you speak ill of my wife! Not just my wife but your queen. Show some respect for your higher ups, you ungrateful bastard!”

It was not often that the young king raised his voice, but when he did, even the most arrogant listened.

Baldwin even shocked himself with the sudden outburst.

“Y-yes my lord. I apologize” Guy stammered out, standing and taking a small bow with that half smile Baldwin despised.

“Get out of my sight. The lot of you” he growled sternly.

The group obliged and scurried off, leaving Baldwin to his thoughts.

He took a seat at the table with a pained groan. How could this happen? Why did Guy have to be so cruel? He simply prayed that his beautiful wife never heard that rotton man speak about her like that.

It would break her heart.

She had been doing so well, finally accepting herself and coming out of her shell and all.

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

Baldwin returned to his chambers to find y/n tidying up his desk. Upon noticing him, she turned to her husband with a smile.

“Hello darling! I figured I would tidy up a little while you were out!”

Baldwin smiled, his heart relaxing in her presence.

“Thank you my love” he said gently, taking his wife in his arms.

Pleasantly surprised by the sudden affection, y/n wrapped her arms around him in return.

“Never change y/n. You are a gift from God Himself. I adore you just the way you are” Baldwin sighed.

The young queen smiled, looking up at him.

“Thank you sweetheart. I love you just the same and I always will

[pennyellee]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐭

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings:minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, religious references, mentiones of physical violence, loss of blood, incision wound, suicide attempt, strong language, consented sexual intercourse, oral sex, fingering, handjob, emotional distress, remorse, verbal confrontation, emotional manipulation, suicidal ideation, bargaining, ... (if i forgot smth, pls i'm so sorrryy)

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 11,6K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: is at the end of the chapter! 🫧🩵

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER IX

lítost (n.) a state of agony and torment by a sudden sight of one’s misery

She could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, the soft rustle of wind making her hair dance. The scent of fresh blooms filled the air. She buried her feet into the warm sand and smelled the summer heat mixed with the salty ocean. It was as if time stood still, frozen in a moment of perfect happiness.

She relished the sensation of sand between her toes, the soft grains shifting beneath her feet with each step she took. As she gazed out at the endless expanse of the ocean, the horizon stretched out before her like a canvas painted with shades of blue and gold. The waves lapped gently against the shore, a rhythmic lullaby that echoed the beating of her heart.

She slowly returned to the porch of a quaint cottage, the soft glow of sunset casting a warm embrace around her. Y/N could hear the front door to open when she carefully slumped down to one of the armchairs in the cosy living room.

“I’m home!”

His footsteps were steady and purposeful as he crossed the threshold, his presence filling the room with a sense of familiarity that tugged at the edges of Y/N’s consciousness.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted, his voice like a soft melody that danced through the air, sending shivers down her spine. He moved closer, his features slowly coming into focus as he stepped into the light.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she met his gaze, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. His eyes were dark and intense, but filled with a warmth that made her pulse quicken with anticipation.

“How was your day?” she asked standing up again to greet him, her voice barely above a whisper as she took in his rugged appearance, the faint stubble lining his jaw, the way his hair fell effortlessly across his forehead.

“Been better, -”

“-hurried home to you, love,” he replied, his voice low and husky as he reached out to take her hand in his. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, igniting a fire deep within her soul. She feels such a strong connection to him, not stopping to think why.

Y/N’s eyes wandered around the room, overlooking the family portraits on a wall full of memories. Her fingers enveloped his dark soft hair, playing with them. As she caressed his hair, a sense of comfort washed over her, as if she had done this a thousand times before. The warmth of his hand in hers felt familiar, like coming home after a long journey.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “And how is my sunshine?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the endearment, a warmth spreading through her chest at his words. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her eyes soft with affection as she smiled up at him.

“Missed you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. His lips curved into a tender smile, his eyes glowing with adoration as he leaned in to press another kiss to her forehead.

“Did you?” he teased her.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush at his teasing tone, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she nodded in response.

“Of course, -” she replied, her voice filled with genuine affection. “You know I always miss you when you’re not home.”

He grinned at her words, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, we better fix that, love,” he said, his voice laced with warmth as he leaned in to press a lingering kiss to her lips. Y/N melted into his embrace, her heart fluttering with joy as she wrapped her arms around him, savouring the feeling of his lips against hers.

“Good enough?” He asked, his tone playful.

“Maybe a tiny bit more,” she murmured, her voice filled with love. A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he pulled back slightly, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Is that so?” he teased again, his voice husky with desire. Without waiting for her response, he captured her lips in another searing kiss, his hands trailing down her sides, igniting a fire deep within her.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she melted into his embrace, her fingers tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss, losing herself in the intensity of their passion. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, their bodies pressed together in a perfect symphony of desire and longing.

“Seems like I can’t get enough of you, love,” he moaned to the kiss, his hand already travelling past her underwear to coat his fingers with her juices. The nearest wall served as a support column for her once she wrapped one of her legs around his waist, working on his suit pants.

With each touch, each caress, she felt herself slipping deeper into the abyss of desire, her body humming with pleasure as his fingers expertly explored her most intimate places. She gasped as he skilfully teased her, sending shivers of ecstasy coursing through her veins.

Hiking the hem of her dress up, the nearest table collided with her upper body, her hand spread over the width of the wood, gripping the edge forcefully. Within her, a fire burned bright, consuming her with a fervour she had never known before, as she surrendered herself completely.

“Such a pretty ass, -” slapping the soft skin with his palm he lowered to taste the juices she produced. Y/N’s free hand reached to press his head to her heat, moving her hips slightly to the rhythm of his tongue.

The feeling of his warm breath against her skin, the flick of his tongue, sent her spiralling into ecstasy. Her hand gripped the edge of the table tighter, her knuckles turning white as she surrendered herself completely to the pleasure. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him, craving more of his touch, more of his intoxicating taste.

With each flick of his tongue, she felt herself getting closer and closer to the edge, the fire within her burning brighter with each passing moment. Before she could release with a loud moan he slapped the other cheek, turning her over while he straightened himself behind her, chuckling at her frustration once he did so. With a hunger that bordered on desperation, he positioned himself, his hands roaming over her curves as he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear.

“Is my baby needy?” a soft whimper came out of her, she nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as she craved more of his touch, more of his intoxicating presence.

“Yes, -” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath as she pressed her hips back against him, desperate for the connection she knew only he could provide.

With a swift movement, he entered her from behind, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her lips. The sensation of him filling her, stretching her in all the right ways, sent waves of addiction coursing through her body. His movements slow and deliberate as he fills her completely. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she felt him moving inside her, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing over her.

“Fuck!” She had to curse out loud, biting her lip. The room was filled with loud moans and groans, the audible skin to skin contact as he raised the tempo, his hand pressing her head to the table.

As he moved in perfect harmony, Y/N felt a sense of bliss wash over her, her body trembling with pleasure as she surrendered herself completely to the moment. With each thrust, she felt herself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, her senses heightened by the raw intensity of their desire.

“You’re such a good girl, -”

She tightened around him, her nails digging into the wooden surface of the table. His groans became louder with each snap of his hips to her welcoming heat and Y/N could not help but bite down her lip, painful yelp filled with the backdrop of pleasure leaving her mouth as he continued to hit all the right places.

A primal growl resonated as he buried himself deeper inside her, feeling her walls clenching around him, urging him closer to the brink.

With one final thrust, they both reached the pinnacle of their desire, their bodies exploding in a symphony of ecstasy. Y/N’s back arched, a guttural cry escaping her lips as waves of orgasm washed over her, engulfing her in a whirlwind of bliss.

He groaned loudly, his release echoing hers as he emptied himself inside of her, their connection deepening with each pulsating wave of pleasure.

As they slowly came down from their euphoric high, Y/N’s breaths came in ragged gasps, her body still trembling with aftershocks. She turned to him, her eyes glazed with satisfaction, a lazy smile playing on her lips.

“A bath, shall we?” Y/N’s head twitched to the side, thinking why this trivial sentence sounds way too familiar. Shaking it off she pressed her damaged lips to his with a pleased hum as agreement.

Time seemed to slow as Yoongi lunged forward, reaching out to stop her, but it was too late. The blade sliced through her skin, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as pain seared through her, her vision swimming with darkness. She felt Yoongi’s hands on her throat, his panicked voice calling out, but it was too distant, as if coming from a faraway place.

“Seokjin?!!” he shouted; his voice raw with desperation.

He cradled her in his arms, his hands trembling as he pressed against the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood.

The sound of loud footsteps echoed in the corridor as others rushed forward to reach the doctor, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief. But amidst the chaos, Y/N’s empty gaze remained fixed on Yoongi, her eyes still burning with flames.

“Stay with me, baby. Don’t leave me please.” Yoongi whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. He pressed his lips to her forehead, willing her to hold on, to fight for her life.

But as he looked down at her pale, lifeless face, he knew that the road ahead would be long and fraught with challenges. For now, all he could do was pray that she would survive, that she would find the strength to forgive him, and that they would someday find their way back to each other.

“Please don’t take her away from me, my Lord.”

Yoongi prayed that it was not too late to save her from the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

One thing remained clear in Yoongi’s mind: he would do whatever it took to save her, to make amends for the pain he had caused, and to prove to her that his love was worth fighting for.

Yoongi’s voice cut through the turmoil, his words a desperate plea for forgiveness. He begged for her to forgive him, to give him another chance to make things right. No more secrets, no more lies. No more pain. He was willing to rebuild their relationship from the ground up, on a foundation of honesty and trust.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the tang of fear, thickening the air with a palpable sense of impending doom. He ripped one of his sleeves a while ago, pressing the roughly crumpled fabric to the wound, praying that Seokjin is near, or that anyone heard him scream frantically enough to relay the message.

“You can’t leave me, baby, please. I promise we’ll work everything through.”

He kissed and caressed her hair with his free hand that was covered with her blood. Tears blurred his vision as his hand trembled at the sight. A blood he never wished to shed.

“Please, Y/N, you have to forgive me.” The weight of his actions pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating him with the weight of his mistakes.

“Fucking goddammit, Yoongi!”

Y/N set the plates on the table, pouring the hot water into a kettle of green tea as he joined her at the table. They exchanged smiles, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the kitchen and the windows providing a magnificent view of the sea.

“I’ve been thinking, -” she said with a smile on her face while she set the seaweed salad down in front of him. He hummed in response, reading today’s paper.

“About opening my own practice.” He nodded, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

“Thought you wanted to wait until the babe arrives?”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at his words, her mind spinning with confusion. A baby? What baby was he talking about? Her mouth seemed to work without the help of her mind. As if she was a mere observer, not the main character.

“I know. I know. But I can’t shake the feeling that now is the right time. I want to create something for myself too. Daddy's successful, why shouldn’t Mommy be successful too?”

Lifting his eyes from the paper, he reached across the table, his touch gentle as he took her hand.

“Opening a practice is a big step, especially with a baby on the way.”

She knew this was going to be hard, but she was determined to build herself a name too. And help those who can’t help themselves.

But as she looked into his eyes, she noticed a subtle yet unmistakable change. A faint scar marred his eye, tracing from above his eyebrow to his cheekbone. Y/N was certain it wasn’t there before.

“How are you feeling? Can you feel the babe moving?” he asked, his eyes softening with concern as he gently brushed his hand against her stomach. Y/N gulped down, trying to shush all the thoughts that echoed in her mind.

“He’s been active today,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly as she placed her hand on her growing stomach, feeling the gentle flutter of movement beneath her palm. “I think he’s just as eager to be with his Daddy as I am.”

The man’s eyes widened with surprise at her words, his expression softening with emotion as he took in the sight of her. And in that moment, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the room with hues of pink and gold, Y/N felt a sense of peace wash over her.

She cradled her swollen belly with tenderness, feeling the gentle flutter of life within. The promise of new beginnings and the joy of impending motherhood enveloped her in a cocoon of love and warmth.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. Something doesn’t feel right, and she can’t help but wonder what he’s hiding.

The door slammed wide open, Seokjin’s voice was soar, his breathing frantic from running. His expression grave as he took in the scene before him.

Seokjin wasted no time, his training kicking in as he rushed to Y/N’s side, his hands moving with practised efficiency as he assessed her injuries. Yoongi watched in silent desperation, his heart pounding in his chest as he prayed for Seokjin to work his magic and save the woman he loved.

“You have to save her, Seokjin-hyung,-” Seokjin never saw Yoongi in a condition like this since his parents died and never thought he would ever again.

“She would lose too much blood if we attempted to transport her now, but I need my shit, Yoongi,” his tone was urgent and commanding as he took charge of the situation. “Get me my briefcase, hot water and towels, -”

As Seokjin worked to staunch the flow of blood, Yoongi hovered nearby, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s face as he whispered words of encouragement and prayer. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, of facing a future without her by his side.

“Yoongi, snap out of it and get it! I left it in the sunroom,” Seokjin left in hurry once a distant cry of his leader echoed at the first floor. He was sure that everyone outside of the celebrating banquet room heard it.

Yoongi nodded in a mixture of desperation and determination, scrambling to his feet as he absorbed Seokjin’s instructions. His mind raced as he mentally registered each item Seokjin urgently needed. In the tumultuous atmosphere, Yoongi rushed out of the room, his steps echoing in the corridor as he desperately sought the necessary supplies.

“What happened Yoongi?” Hoseok rose from his seat in the sunroom walking towards the dishevelled state of his friend. Yoongi did not even register him as he frantically searched for Seokjin’s briefcase. Reaching out to get it with his bloodied hands his ears miffily caught the younger Miss Wang’s anxious voice.

“Whose blood it is, Kkangpae Min?”

She couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something was amiss. The scar on his eye screamed volumes to her, yet her mind could not put things together and decipher what it wanted to tell her and why she does not recall that her husband had a scar like that. Where would a businessman come to get hurt this way? She couldn’t shake the feeling that her husband’s explanation didn’t quite add up. She stared at the scar on his face, her thoughts swirling with confusion and doubt.

“What do you mean, baby? I’ve always had it.” Said he, setting down the hat from his head, running his finger through the dark locks, pushing them back from his face.

But try as she might, she couldn’t recall ever seeing that scar before. It wasn’t just a minor detail that had slipped her mind—it was as if her memory had been rewritten, leaving her with a sense of disorientation and unease.

“Always?” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper as she struggled to comprehend what he was saying. Following him to his office where he lifted the briefcase to put it on the table while she slumped down next to the unlit fireplace.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the scar as if searching for answers.

He reached out, gently taking her hand in his, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of her confusion, and she did not understand why the scar evokes so many feelings inside her, yet his touch calms her.

“You traced it with your fingers when we first made love, baby, I can assure it has been there for a very long time.” She tried to grasp onto the fragments of memory, to recall the moment he spoke of, but it eluded her like a fading dream.

“I want to remember,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the tumult of her thoughts, “it feels so... significant.”

“Memories can be elusive, maybe it’s because of the accident?” he murmured, his voice soothing.

“An accident?”

“You are fucking lucky she did it with a stupid letter opener, it seems like it did not manage to do as big of a damage as a regular knife would.”

His brow furrowed with concentration, his hands moving with practised precision as he worked to staunch the flow of blood and assess the extent of her injuries.

“She scraped over her artery, not much but enough to slow the blood flow to her brain. I need to close the wound as soon as possible.”

Seokjin’s words hit Yoongi like a physical blow, sending a shiver of fear down his spine. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him as he realised the severity of Y/N’s injuries. The thought of her life hanging in the balance sent a wave of panic coursing through him, but he forced himself to focus, to push aside his fear and uncertainty.

“She did not reach her windpipe, nor did she cut herself deep enough, thank God for that Yoongi.”

He never fell out of God’s grace, and he hoped he wouldn't do so now. His hand intertwined with hers as he whispered words of love and hope into the stillness of the room. Minutes felt like hours as the doctor carefully disinfected the wound to reduce the risk of infection. The stitches are precise.

“Why is she not awake, Seokjin?” He asked carefully, awaiting the worst. Seokjin’s expression softened briefly as he glanced up from his work, meeting Yoongi’s anxious gaze with empathy in his eyes.

“She lost quite some blood, Yoongi.”

“I understand-,” Yoongi murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he squeezed Y/N’s hand tighter, as if to anchor her to this world. “But she’s strong, Seokjin-hyung. She’ll pull through this, right?” Seokjin offered a small nod of agreement, his eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and determination. If only he had been more attentive, more willing to listen and understand, perhaps they wouldn’t be facing this crisis now.

“I should have done more,” Yoongi murmured, his voice heavy with remorse.

“You know, this would probably never happen if you would let me ease her mind in the beginning.”

The warm water cascaded over their bodies. He was holding her and her naked body in a tight embrace. The flickering candlelight casting a soft glow upon their entwined forms.

His hands roamed over Y/N’s skin, she arched her back in response, a soft moan escaping her lips as he trailed kisses along her neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His touch sends shivers of pleasure coursing through her veins.

She moaned softly against his lips as he teased her, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her whole body. Y/N reached between them, her hand finding his manhood, firm and ready for her touch. She grasped him firmly, feeling his arousal pulse beneath her fingertips.

“Fuck, love, —” he moaned loudly, a raw expression of his pleasure and desire as she brought him closer to the edge. She followed the rhythm he settled for, stroking his manhood.

Y/N first felt the warm stream of his ejaculation before she heard his throaty moan of her name and then she could feel his fingers deeper in her than before, moving faster until she saw the stars too.

So, is this how love feels?

Her fingers slowly traced the faded scar from a wound on her neck she couldn’t quite remember when it appeared on her body nor how it came to that. Closing her eyes, trying to recall and dig up any memory that would help her and ease her confusion turned out unfruitful.

“Good night, Dove-” Her eyes snapped open hearing his voice. She felt his lips press into her cheek, one hand caressing her belly. Y/N’s lenses took in the change of surroundings. She’s in bed that feels like home as if she was sleeping in it for years. Clutching the silk duvet she looked at him. The scar is still present on his face, calling to her. He looked so calm, at peace, falling asleep with a smile on his face.

Dove. The word echoed in her mind, stirring up fragmented memories that danced just beyond her reach. It was a name she couldn’t recall ever being called before, yet it felt right, as if it belonged to her in ways she couldn’t comprehend.

Everything around her felt right yet so wrong at the same time. The soft crackling of fire, soft wind blowing outside and the symphony the crickets created. It was nighttime. A day went by, and she could not remember what she was doing for all the hours after breakfast.

Her hands slipped down to caress her belly with a stranger inside. Her hand slowly moved to cover his. Holding it felt somehow right, even though her mind was saying otherwise. The only thing that was wrong yet felt right was her helplessness, her indecisiveness, her unawareness. She was a prisoner of her mind and her body. This life felt surreal, sweet, and endearing, musing to her to live it without doubt. But doubts she had. Is this what her mind thought life would be? The more she thought about it, the more she felt like this projection is what her sound heart and mind longed for. This is what she wanted.

Love, happiness, and-

“Why do you call me that?” She asked suddenly, leaving her mind to speak to him. His eyes fluttered open to lovingly gaze at her. He pulled his hand from under hers, gently took it to intertwine their fingers together.

“What do you mean?” with a gentle smile playing on his lips, he whispered. The flickering firelight danced across their intertwined hands, casting shadows that seemed to whisper untold stories and shared moments.

“Why do you call me Dove?” She searched his eyes for answers.

“Because you brought peace to my heart, -”

“-and my world.”

His gaze held hers, a depth of emotion swirling within those familiar eyes that she couldn’t quite place. The doubts and uncertainties that had clouded her mind seemed to fade away, replaced by a deep sense of trust and acceptance. At least, for now.

“Are you satisfied now? Hm?” The widow’s steps and words were aimed at the man she loathes. Her brother is laying at the sanitorium’s metal beds, a fractured skull and internal bleeding to be treated. They fear he might have been admitted far too late as Doctor Kim’s priority was the lady of the house.

They are to relieve pressure on the brain caused by the fractured skull and to stop the internal bleeding. They did not tell his older sister anything else. It was a horrific picture of her brother’s head being immobilised to prevent further injury, a trepanation has been done to prevent severe head trauma, his face swollen from all the hits he took from his leader. All for the Kkangpae’s selfish act of desire for his loved one to obey.

She stopped in front of the man whose face was puffy and eyes bright red from all the tears he shredded for his loved one. Now he cries. Daiyu’s mind could not understand the notorious man Min Yoongi is. Nor any of the men of Min Clan. Their women are weeping, yet the reason is not what they assume it is. They weep because of them. Because of the pain they brought upon them. The pain they’ll never admit that ever was there.

“You ruined us all, Yoongi.” No honorific for a man that has done so much damage to her family. He stood there without looking her in the eye and quietly apologising for his doings.

“Missus Park,-” he attempted to raise his voice above the line so she could hear him.

“My mother gave me up to your clan during the first war and after years I made my peace with that, -” he listened to her, standing there like he was the victim.

“Yet you were cocky enough to ask for more?” Her words are laced with bitterness and anger, fuelled by the injustice she feels at the hands of the Min Clan. She vows to never forgive him for the harm he has wrought.

“And yet again my mother gave up Y/N too. But that’s not quite right, hm?” The widow’s heart remains hardened, her anger burning bright as she refuses to grant him absolution for his sins.

“You think you and the rest of your hooligans are clever? Abducting women and forcing them to elope.” A heavy silence descends upon the room, broken only by the muffled sounds of distant footsteps echoing through the hotel corridor. Yoongi is letting her relieve her anger on him. He deserves it.

“Missus Park, I think you’d rather be at your brother’s side, don’t you think?” A smooth low voice echoes right beside her. She turned slowly to face the source, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Standing there, with an air of quiet confidence, was a man she recognized all too well – Kim Taehyung, a trusted associate of the Min Clan.

“You.” She said with venom in her voice. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she regarded him, his presence only adding to the tension in the room. She knew all too well the power and influence he wielded, and she braced herself for whatever he had to say.

“Hyung, go inside, she might wake up any moment now. She’s been through a lot; you should make sure she’s taken care of-”

“How dare you say that!” Daiyu’s voice got an octave higher when she accused the consigliere.

“This is not the time or place for your interference, Missus Park.” Taehyung said, his voice calm but tinged with a hint of warning.

“We all have been through a lot because of you!”

“What on earth you did to make Xiaoli love you so blindly, -” Taehyung’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but there was a hardness in his eyes that belied his demeanour. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers. But she refused to be intimidated. She knew that Taehyung’s influence over Xiaoli was a dangerous one and her mind was bothered numerous times.

“Your mother was not as smart as the clans perceived her after all.” The widow’s jaw clenched with anger as Kim Taehyung’s words cut through the air.

“You dare speak of my mother?” she spat, her voice trembling with fury. “You and your ilk have no right to claim any semblance of intelligence. You prey on the vulnerable and the innocent, twisting their minds and hearts to serve your own selfish desires-”

“The nature of our private affairs are not something you have the right to be noisy about, Missus Park.” His tone dripped with disdain as he stared at the widow with cold indifference. Daiyu’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to contain her anger.

“You and your clan have caused nothing but pain and suffering, and yet you have the audacity to stand here and lecture me about privacy?”

Taehyung’s smirk widened; his eyes gleaming with amusement at her outburst. He took another step closer, invading her personal space with an air of arrogance that made her skin crawl.

“We operate by our own rules, Missus Park,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And if you value your brother’s life, you will do well to remember that.”

“This is far from being over. Once my brother recovers, I’m taking them both and Xiaoli to America.”

“Is that so?” he replied, his tone laced with scepticism. Taehyung’s expression darkened at her words, his jaw tightening with barely concealed rage. For a moment, it seemed as though he might lash out in anger, but then he seemed to regain control of himself, his features smoothing into a mask of icy calm.

“You’re welcome to take your brother and go to the far far land but my fiancé and Buin will stay put, end of the discussion, Missus Park. Or do I need to take any precautions — how’s your son?”

She knew all too well the lengths to which the Min Clan would go to protect their interests, and the thought of her son being caught in the crossfire filled her with a sense of dread.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she spat, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear. “You wouldn’t lay a hand on my son.”

“Oh, of course not, we’re not child-killers, Missus Park. But you wouldn’t want me to make sure they take him away as you’re clearly unstable to raise a child.” Taehyung’s smirk returned, his eyes glinting with malice as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear.

“You all are fucking monsters.” She spit his way and with a flick of fear in her eyes she turns away to storm down the hallways back to the waiting car that will take her to the sanitorium.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, lending an eerie atmosphere to the hushed conversation that unfolded.

Yoongi’s brow furrowed with concern as he glanced at Y/N, her delicate features softened in sleep. He was holding her small hand in his large one, refusing to leave her side.

“Hyung, do you think she could be pregnant?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, mindful of the gravity of their discussion. Seokjin and Namjoon exchanged a solemn glance, their expressions reflecting the weight of Yoongi’s question.

The older man did not want his brother to be in more pain than he already is.

“It’s certainly possible, —” Seokjin replied softly, his gaze shifting to Y/N’s still form.

“—yet, it’s way too soon to tell.” Namjoon nodded in agreement, his eyes lingering on Y/N with a mixture of concern and hope.

“Her health and recovery must remain our primary focus.”

A sense of apprehension settled over Yoongi as the reality of their situation sank in. The prospect of impending fatherhood filled him with both excitement and trepidation. His hand possessively slipped under the duvet, caressing her belly with a tender touch. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her hand, a silent vow of love and protection that lingered in the quiet of the room.

He was determined to never fail her again.

Y/N found herself drifting into a state of peaceful slumber, the gentle rhythm of his breathing lulling her into a sense of security she hadn’t known before. A feeling that was for a long time foreign.

Yet, even as sleep beckoned her towards its welcoming arms, a nagging sense of unease lingered at the edge of her consciousness. It was as though a faint whisper echoed through the chambers of her mind.

Images flickered in the darkness, fleeting glimpses of faces and places she couldn’t quite place. It was like trying to catch hold of smoke, the harder she tried to grasp onto them, the more they slipped through her fingers.

And then, amidst the chaos of her mind, a single image emerged from the depths of her subconscious—a flash of silver amidst the darkness, a glimmer of recognition that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins.

As Y/N’s dreams began to swirl with fragments of memories she herself did not recognise, she found herself waking with a start, the remnants of a haunting nightmare still lingering in her mind. The boundaries between reality and illusion blurring in the hazy mist of slumber. Beside her, the man stirred, his gaze filled with concern as he noticed the tension in her features.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft yet filled with a quiet intensity that spoke volumes.

“It was just a bad dream-” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his expression understanding as he reached out to gently brush away the stray strands of hair that clung to her face. “Nightmares are just the mind’s way of processing the chaos of the world,” he said, his words carrying a weight of wisdom born from years of introspection. “-the unwanted reality we dare not to accept,” he slowly caressed her cheek.

“Sometimes, facing our fears head-on is the only way to conquer them.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice steady despite the lingering unease that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. “It feels like the nightmares are trying to tell me something, -”

“Perhaps they are,” he said, his tone tinged with a hint of curiosity.

“What do you mean?” She asked, shrinking her eyebrows.

“Wake up, little Dove.”

“I don’t want to wake up, Yoongi. I’m wide awake.” Her words proceeded her mind once she uttered them.

Yoongi. Only now she realised that she never uttered his name out loud this whole time. His name is Yoongi. She recognises him now, but this man is not the one she married.

This man is the one the other will never be.

“Are you?”

The warmth of the bed was replaced by the sterile chill of a sanitised room, the soft breathing beside her now replaced by the distant sound of metal clinking against itself.

Her eyes fluttered open to meet the gaze of Seokjin, the doctor who had been overseeing her treatment. There was a sombreness in his eyes, a depth of understanding that spoke of the gravity of the situation.

Her initial reaction wasn’t one of shock or panic but rather a stoic silence whilst she looked around the room. Just yet. That was giving the young doctor a hunch that her mind is stronger than anyone ever thought it is.

“Y/N,-” he began, his voice gentle yet firm. He carefully placed the file he was holding in his hand back to the nightstand next to the bed. Seokjin didn’t want to trigger her. He needed her to be as calm as possible.

“What did you do to me?” A hoarse broken voice laced with pain echoed in the room. It was barely heard and the immense pain on the side of her throat got her head spinning. The sight of Yoongi’s rage-filled eyes flooded back to her mind, the desperation of her attempt to protect Kai from his wrath. She instinctively reached up to touch the bandages that now adorned her neck, wincing.

“You mean, what did you do to yourself?” he replied softly, his words heavy with implication.

Y/N felt a wave of nausea wash over her as the reality of her actions sunk in. The realisation that she had tried to take her own life filled her with a sense of profound despair.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “There was no stopping him. He would have—” it was hard to swallow, it was harder to breathe, painful to speak and just like countless times before, it was harder to see through the tears.

“Is Kai alive?” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. Seokjin met her gaze with a solemn nod, Y/N felt a sliver of hope pierce through the darkness that had consumed her. Perhaps, amidst the chaos, there was still a chance for redemption, for healing.

“He’s going to make a full recovery in a few weeks,” he said softly, his words a balm to her wounded spirit.

“But you need to heal too—”

Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded in silent agreement, the weight of her own pain pressing down upon her like a burden too heavy to bear.

“Little birdie sang that you promised to make a snowman with a certain little man.” The little boy was a reminder of the love and happiness that still existed in her life despite the darkness that surrounded her.

“Can I sleep some more?”

Before she managed to drift back to sleep, Seokjin quietly went about checking her vitals, his experienced hands moving with precision as he monitored her condition. With a deep sigh, he made a mental note to bring her iron pills to help replenish the blood she had lost. Looking at her bandaged neck, he couldn’t shake the feeling that her academic background would totally exclude the possibility that this petite woman wouldn’t know how to kill herself with that one swipe of a letter opener if she aimed correctly. And that made Seokjin suspicious of the young Buin’s intentions and endorsed him into believing that after all, the girl still has some fire to burn and will to live. She just needed good guidance, he thought.

“How is she?” The Kkangpae rushed to approach him once he closed the door to his office. It was very hard to convince him to leave her side. She was asleep for a while and Seokjin did not advise on waking her up anytime soon until she woke up herself. With conflicting emotions, he turned to face his dishevelled form.

“She wants to sleep some more, otherwise she’s stable, but—” Seokjin replied, his voice tinged with weariness.

“—she’s lost a significant amount of blood so I’m going to have her take iron pills—”

The Kkangpae’s brow furrowed in worry, his gaze flickering back to the closed door behind Seokjin.

“I want to see her,” he said, his voice tinged with desperation when he interrupted his Hyung.

Seokjin hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks of disturbing Y/N’s rest against the Kkangpae’s obvious concern. Ultimately, he decided to trust his instincts.

“We need to talk first, Yoongi.” Seokjin said firmly. The Kkangpae nodded reluctantly, his shoulders slumping with defeat. Not happy with Seokjin’s stalling. Nonetheless, Seokjin could sense the tension radiating off him, the weight of guilt and fear pressing down on his shoulders.

“You pushed her way too far, Yoongi—” the doctor begins, slumping down to the low cushion sofa looking at the faded yet evident scraped puddle of blood on the wooden floor.

“I want you to consider me helping her.”

Yoongi’s blood ran cold at the mention of such a drastic measure to be taken. He knew of the doctor practising such methods and he knew of them being successful once two living and walking examples were among them.

“We’ve talked about this Seokjin, and I declined your offer. She doesn’t need it.”

Seokjin’s gaze hardened, his eyes locking onto Yoongi's with unwavering intensity.

“Are you ever going to accept the truth Yoongi? She is suffering here!” Yoongi’s jaw tightened; his fists clenched at his sides as he fought to control the rising tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He knew that Seokjin was right. But he was also still the selfish man he was before.

“She’s my responsibility, Seokjin,” Yoongi said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll find another way to help her. I won’t let you do this to her unless it will be absolutely necessary.”

Seokjin’s expression softened, a flicker of empathy shining in his eyes as he reached out to place a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “I know you love her, Yoongi,” he said gently. “But sometimes, loving means making difficult decisions for the greater good.”

Yoongi couldn’t continue to bury his head in the sand, hoping that Y/N’s pain and suffering would simply disappear on its own and perhaps the moment she heals she’ll be capable of falling in love with him just like he did.

“Just how long can you go without your love being reciprocated?”

Seokjin’s question echoed in Yoongi’s mind, a painful reminder of the unrequited love that had tormented him for so long.

He couldn’t bear the thought of robbing her of her identity, of erasing the very essence of who she was. The essence he loved her for. But now, faced with the prospect of losing her altogether, Yoongi couldn’t bear the thought of erasing the very qualities that had drawn him to her in the first place. He loved her for her fire, for the strength and passion that burned within her.

He wanted to keep her flame alive.

How ironic, isn’t it?

Waking up again felt even worse than the first time. The dizziness remained and a strong feeling of fatigue only reminded her of what she had called upon herself. The bed seemed to mock her with its warmth, the pillow unyielding beneath her. It was a bit firmer for some reason and a heartbeat echoed in her ears.

Her hand went up the sheets until another hand fell upon hers. The bed was not warmer, the pillow was not firmer and the heartbeat she hears isn’t hers. The fingers, adorned with cold metal rings that now laid on top of her smaller hand squeezed hers in firmer grip. What was supposed to be a comforting touch seemed like shackles to Y/N.

Y/N gulped down, trying to not slap his hand right away just like she wanted to. The pit in her stomach was larger and larger. She did not know what to expect from him. Is he going to punish her? Is he mad? Does he have the right to be mad? Of course not. But for what is to come, Y/N would rather him mad and angry.

“I am so sorry, little Dove.”

His voice shattered her thoughts and Y/N’s eyes stayed wide open, just staring up front. He was holding her laying form on his chest and she could feel his other hand caressing her back. He held her way too close, as if trying to mend what he had broken with his other hand.

“I thought I was going lose you,” he choked out, confessing, his grip tightening. She pulled away with swift movement, sitting up to confront him and look down on his half laying form.

“You’ve almost killed him, and the only remorse you feel is for me?!”

Her weak voice trembled with a mixture of anger and disbelief, her eyes flashing with hurt as she confronted him. Her vocal cords were not as damaged, yet her throat was too sore for her voice to be heard fully. The weight of his actions hung heavy in the air, suffocating the space between them. Guilt etching lines on his face as he met her accusing gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

“The words you said before, back home, got to me, and I lost control. I did not mean for any of this, Dove. I am genuinely sorry,” he finally managed to utter, his voice thick with regret. His eyes pleaded for her understanding, begging for forgiveness in the face of his unforgivable mistake.

Despite the hurt and betrayal, she felt a small part of her longed to believe him, to believe that he was capable of change. But she knew very well that the Yoongi starring in her dreams is a completely different man. The scars of his actions ran deep, leaving behind wounds that could not be easily healed.

“You crushed his skull, Yoongi,” she said with a stone-cold anger, her voice laced with an icy fury that sent shivers down his spine. He messed up.

“And I shall do everything to redeem myself. I love you, baby-” He knew he had to make things right, to earn back her trust and repair the damage he had done. How could he earn something back if it was never there?

“You don’t love me, Yoongi. You love the idea of having me under your control!” Each syllable drips with bitterness and resentment. He lifted himself on his elbows to look closer to her teary eyes. They reflected so much pain and sorrow.

“You know that’s not true. I’ll do anything for you.” He insisted, his voice trembling with sincerity as he reached out to gently wipe away her tears whence she slapped his hand off.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she spat, her voice sharp with venom. She stood up, putting distance between them, but he refused to let her go. The weight of his actions had left her wounded, her trust shattered beyond repair. She could no longer bear the false promises and empty gestures that had become their relationship.

“Did I have to reach the edge of despair for you to wake up?” Her words cut through the silence, echoing with the pain of her betrayal.

“I was scared of losing you,” His voice trailed off, the weight of her accusation hitting him like a ton of bricks. He struggled to find the right words to express the depth of his fear and regret, knowing that no apology could ever fully erase the pain he had caused.

“You never had me to begin with.” She said, her voice filled with finality. But he wouldn’t accept it. The ancient melody, the notes that echoed in the silence, screamed, full of wounds that will never heal.

“Promise me you’ll never do that again, love. Hurt me, not yourself.” He pleaded again trying to reach her, his voice breaking with emotion as he reached out to grasp her trembling hands, hoping against hope that she would find it in her heart to forgive him, to give their love another chance. He cannot let her words get to him again.

“Again?!-” she retorted, her voice laced with disbelief and incredulity. She wondered if he’s even worthy of her pretending. Her hands went to hit his chest, pushing him away from her.

“-You think there’s going to be fucking again, Yoongi?!” Her words were sharp, cutting through the air with the finality of a verdict. A flying cup shattered right next to his head. He did not even register when she took it into her hands and threw it at him, missing him just by a few inches.

“I’ll do anything to have you by my side. Dove, I beg you.” Min Yoongi pleaded, his voice breaking again. On his knees, Min Yoongi bowed his head in remorse.

“You’ll never change, Yoongi.” The weight of disappointment was evident in her words as she turned away, unable to bear the sight of him at that moment. But the selfish side of Min Yoongi wouldn’t let her do that.

He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her close, not leaving an inch between them.

“I can’t fucking live without you-” his voice cracked, raw with desperation and longing, tears welled up in his eyes, begging for her to understand the depth of his love.

“-without those arms,” he continued, his voice softening with the memories of their intimacy.

“-full cheeks-”

“-lips,” he whispered, each word a plea for her to see the love and longing in his eyes.

“Yoongi, I cannot do this anymore.”

Yoongi felt his heart drop like a heavy weight in his chest. He collapsed onto his knees before her, his arms wrapping desperately around her delicate frame.

“I’m so tired of the pain in my chest,” she admitted, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

He had pushed her too far, hurt her too deeply, and now he stood on the precipice of losing her forever.

“I was ready to die—”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Dove” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the tumult of emotions raging inside him. Y/N glanced at his trembling hands and thought about his words for a second. Contemplating his sincerity.

It was his eyes this time that cried. The endearment sounds different coming from this version of Yoongi. It felt so distant from the Yoongi she had once met in her dreams. The man he’ll never be.

“I can make it better. Just let me in and I’ll show you how happy we can be.” Min Yoongi promised, his eyes filled with sincerity. He’s haunted by the knowledge that he just might have let the love of his life slip through his fingers.

“You’re really that delusional, aren’t you?” Y/N questioned; her voice laced with disbelief.

“Aren’t we all? -” Min Yoongi replied, his voice tinged with resignation. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. Please, give me another chance.”

Y/N remained silent; her expression guarded as she wrestled with her own emotions. Her mind swirled with thoughts and even when she tried to say something, an inaudible cry of frustration, sadness and anger was heard.

Min Yoongi slumped down to his knees, holding her small hands in his. Looking at her with hope in his eyes.

“I beg you.” He pleaded once more for her forgiveness. His eyes searched hers, hoping to find even the smallest glimmer of something that would tell him that he’ll manage to woo her right this time.

If she could walk away, she would do it right now. But this isn’t her que to leave the scene. Just not yet. Be patient.

“Your beloved God shall decide upon your fate, Yoongi-”

“Upon the fate of us,” she continued to preach.

“What do you—”

“Should God spare his life, I’ll consider forgiving you,” she interrupted, her voice firm.

“Then let it be so,” he said, his voice filled with determination and hope.

Y/N was clutching the delicate cup of tea in her hands whilst her eyes remained fixed on the outside surroundings of the hotel. Riling herself up was something she was told to seize. Yet, there she stands, ready to run outside any minute.

“He’s trying, you know,” Xiaoli said softly, following Y/N’s gaze. “In his own way, he’s trying to make things right.”

The sight was both heart-warming and heartbreaking, a glimpse of the man he used to be and the man he could still be.

“Well, he certainly knows how to evoke emotional damage.” Y/N sighed, her eyes lingering on Yoongi’s figure adorned in a warm coat. His hands were covered with leather gloves that protected him from the frostbiting cold snow.

“People can heal.”

“Some wounds run too deep to heal completely,” Y/N glanced at Xiaoli, her eyes searching for understanding that she will most likely never find.

“Love has a way of healing even the deepest wounds-” Xiaoli reached out, placing a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm. Y/N scoffed, her eyes never leaving the Kkangpae and her little brother Bo Cheng. Building a snowman. It was a picture of normalcy; his current actions were mocking the magnitude of his power and acts he performed to obtain it.

Min Yoongi was on top of the world. One day, the prime minister of Japan expresses his gratitude for clearing the Yakuza clan and unburdening the country, the other, he’s powerless when the woman he chose to be his companion throughout life, and what’s after, paints the floor red with her own blood.

“Relax, Y/N Buin.” The other voice echoed from the other side of the room. She was clutching the cup way too tightly, making her knuckles go white. She hated when people called her Buin. It did not evoke power in Y/N, rather the opposite. It was a reminder that she is the lady of this clan because Yoongi forced her into this position.

The room felt heavy with tension, each word from Xiaoli pulling at the raw edges of her emotions. The far away sound of Bo Cheng’s laughter when he threw a large snowball Yoongi’s way.

“You did not see him that day,” Y/N finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with pain and regret.

“The darkness in him consumed him.”

“I saw him after that—”

“-He’s trying to make amends now,” Xiaoli said gently, her hand tightening around Y/N’s.

“I wish I could believe that he’s capable of change, Xiaoli.” The rustle of newspaper reminded her of the other presence in the room. The consigliere silently worked at the table, overviewing contracts Y/N daren’t deem anything but legal. The other man present in the room was now folding the said newspapers, standing up and walking in the direction where Xiaoli and Y/N stood by the large window.

“Never in my entire fucking life I have thought that I will see Min fucking Yoongi build a snowman-” Hoseok spat out jokingly, his disbelief evident. There was even a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Y/N’s grip on the teacup relaxed slightly, but her gaze remained fixed on the scene outside the whole time.

“He just might be able to change, we all do-” he began, leaning down to her height level, admiring the velvet rose pins holding her hair in an updo.

“for lov—”

“Jiě jie! Have you seen the snowman we built?!” Y/N’s eyes brightened at the sound of Bo Cheng’s voice. The change in her expression was immediate.

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yes, dear. It’s marvellous.”

Bo Cheng’s delighted laughter echoed across the snowy expanse as he ran back outside to Yoongi, pulling him towards their creation.

Hoseok, witnessing Y/N’s transformation, teased, “See? He’s not all bad. Look at how happy he makes your brother.”

“One snowman doesn’t erase the past, Hoseok.”

Hoseok laughed, conceding with a nod, “Fair enough, Y/N. Fair enough.”

“What about two?” Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. But the daunting feeling never left her as she watched him and her little brother.

“Is he asleep?” She asked quietly, trying to restrain her voice as much as possible. The best was not to overload the muscles of her throat at all. She talks very little but thinks a lot. That certainly is not the best situation for someone like Y/N.

Her mind takes her to places. To those she visited and those she is yet to see. The “Yoongi” comes back to her in dreams from time to time, and Y/N’s mind cannot grapple with why it is happening so. What is the cosmos trying to show her?

“He is usually stubborn to go to sleep if it’s not for Ma reading him a story-” The younger sister began to rely upon her never-ending gratitude to her beloved leader. Safe to say, she shifted her loyalty without having to pledge it first.

“-thank you, Kkangpae Min, you’re marvellous with children.” Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Xiaoli. Not like she was cautious to not get caught doing so, Xiaoli did see her doing so, poking her elbow to express her gratitude to Yoongi too.

“What?” Y/N asked her. Xiaoli was easier to manipulate, easier to forget, and easier to forgive. Y/N wasn’t, she would let him feel the chasm in between them before she made her move to wrap him around her finger.

“Aren’t you grateful for such a caring husband?”

The loud silence echoed in the room, making everyone uncomfortable. Y/N closed her eyes and sighed very loudly. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Xiaoli-” Y/N has begun only for Xiaoli to not let her speak.

“No, Y/N, he’s at least trying. You never did-” her younger sister interrupted her instantly. Y/N looked into Yoongi’s eyes, for the first time since he crossed the door threshold after he put Bo Cheng to bed. She did not know what she was looking for, yet she expected him to speak up.

“Xiaoli-” she attempted again but this time it was Yoongi who interrupted her.

“Mrs. Wang, I appreciate your concern, but me and Y/N shall resolve our marital issues without your guidance.”

Yoongi’s voice was calm, but there was a firmness to it that made the room go still. Xiaoli’s eyes widened slightly, surprised by his assertiveness. Y/N’s gaze locked onto his again, searching for a hint of what he was thinking. She raised her brows at his diplomatic words to her sister.

Not wanting to admit it, Y/N enjoyed the guilt in Xiaoli’s eyes. Yet it was Yoongi she apologised to and not her.

“Well, I would say that is our cue to leave those two alone, love,” Taehyung murmured all the way from across the office where he was still seated. The room was quiet enough that everyone heard him.

“I meant well.” Was the last thing Y/N heard before Xiaoli and Taehyung got too far away for them to hear anything.

Yoongi took a deep breath, breaking the silence.

“She can be a lot, the sister of yours.”

Y/N chuckled softly, wiping away a stray tear. They sat down by the fireplace.

They always do. He reached out, taking her hand.

“How was your day?” He said gently. For the past week, she wasn’t avoiding him - she was avoiding the talks he wished to have with her to reconcile.

“Jimin told me you went to visit Kai today.”

Y/N’s eyes widened momentarily before she looked away, her grip tightening around the fabric of her dress. Yoongi’s thumb gently stroked the back of her hand, a gesture meant to be comforting, but it only intensified the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

“Seokjin says he is getting better slowly.” She hesitated to talk, biting her lip. Kai was a sore subject between them, yet Yoongi realised that’s where his only chance of a life with her lay. He agreed upon her terms of forgiving him, seizing any opportunity to keep her by his side.

“And so do you, but I would love to hear that from you, Dove.”

“It still pains me to talk, and I get dizzy if I stand for too long.” Yoongi’s heart ached as he heard her soft confession. He knew all too well what her condition was and that he was the sole reason for it.

There wasn’t a day, an hour where he did not think about what he could have done differently with her. Maybe if he told her the truth at the very beginning, she’d let him woo her. But he’ll never know that. The damage was done, and he’ll have to build their relationship from scratch.

Yoongi hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching Y/N’s face for any sign of pain or discomfort.

“I’m sorry, Dove,” he whispered, his voice filled with regret. “I hate seeing you like this.”

Y/N gave him a weak smile. It wasn’t a warm smile, it was not genuine, and it certainly did not reflect the emotion Y/N was holding in.

“Then why lead me to this state?” Yoongi’s eyes filled with guilt, his grip on her hand tightening. For the first time, Yoongi rethought all the decisions he had made since he settled his eyes on her. There wasn’t a day he did not think about what would be different if he would’ve been honest with her. Would she fall in love with him?

“We don’t have time for that, Hyung.” The voice of his right-hand man echoed in his mind. He listened to him, and here they are. Broken.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Dove—” Yoongi’s tears threatened to fall as he watched the woman he loved struggle with the pain he had caused.

“And that there is way too much damage done, but I burn for you, and I always will.” She only listened to him, there was no need to answer.

“I will wait for you until you are ready.”

“We had a deal.” Her eyes slowly flattered open upon hearing his low baritone voice. She gulped down carefully, wincing at the still evident pain in her throat. She squinted her eyes at the change of lighting. She was wondering whether he would pay her visit. Several weeks passed and here he is. Kim Namjoon in his full glory, ready to get on her nerves.

“Where’s Yoongi?” Looking at the empty side of the bed she asked, not minding his words. He sneaked late in the night, thinking she was dead asleep and left her room too early in the morning. She has let him do that. It will only help her in the future.

“We had a deal,” Namjoon repeated, his voice firm and unwavering as he was seated in the armchair next to her bed, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of concern and disappointment.

“And we still have a deal, don’t we?” She asked rather mockingly, her tone laced with sarcasm, pulling herself up to sit on the bed. Her eyes still not used to the lighting she blindly reached to a glass of water that was on the nightstand to ease her throat of the uncomfortable dryness burning inside.

“You attempted to kill yourself. I’d count that as violating our deal,” he stated bluntly. Y/N’s jaw clenched as she listened to Namjoon's accusation, a surge of defensiveness rising within her. The man and his tactics irked her.

She knew she had pushed the boundaries of their agreement, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Not to him at least.

“It was a moment of weakness, okay? I’ve had enough at that point.” Namjoon’s gaze remained steady, unmoved by her protestations. As if he saw right through her.

“Do you want us to throw you into a mental house? Is that what you’re trying to do?”

Y/N’s grip tightened around the glass of water as she fought to control the rising tide of anger within her.

“You all would have to throw yourself in first.”

She refused to back down, refused to let him belittle her struggles or dictate her fate. Y/N’s grip tightened around the glass of water, her knuckles turning white with tension as she fought to control the rising tide of anger within her. Namjoon’s words felt like a slap in the face, a harsh reminder of her own vulnerability and the consequences of her actions.

He chuckled at her response. The sound grating on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“As I said, it was a moment of weakness, there was no different means to stop him—”

“Maybe if you didn’t provoke him before, he wouldn’t do it, Y/N.”

“I did not provoke him. I did not ask for any of this,” she spat, her voice trembling with fury. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she glared at Namjoon. She wanted to throw the glass at him so badly.

“Yet here we are.”

“Here we are indeed,” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And whose fault is that, Namjoon? Certainly not mine.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened at her defiance, his gaze hardening as he met her eyes with unwavering intensity.

“You’re just like him, Y/N,” he muttered darkly. “Stubborn. Refusing to see reason. Refusing to accept help. We had a deal goddammit—”

“With all due respect, Namjoon. I do not trust you nor your intentions to actually send me over to America once the time is up.” He had expected her defiance, but her lack of trust cut deeper than he cared to admit. He did not know why in detail. But it was for the greater good that the Buin and Kkangpae will be a power role model couple for their clan.

“You don’t trust me?” he repeated, his voice low and tinged with disbelief. Ridiculous. 

“Trust is earned, Namjoon,” she retorted, her voice unwavering despite the tremor in her heart. “And you haven't exactly given me a reason to trust you.” His frustration was simmering beneath the surface.

“Aight.” He said after some time of thinking.

“What do you want?” He asked, intrigued about what would make her trust him. Y/N’s gaze narrowed; her expression guarded as she considered Namjoon’s question.

“Assurances.”

“Name it.”

“I want Xiaoli, Kai, Daiyu and her son out of here. Somewhere overseas. Unharmed and not to be bothered again.” His expression conflicted as he weighed the implications of her request. The smirk on his face was still present.

“Xiaoli is betrothed to Taehyung, and she is so of her own volition. You yourself gave them your blessing, Buin.” Y/N’s tongue clicked unsatisfied with his words.

“Give her the courtesy and at least give her the chance to decide, without your influence.” He knew she had a point, even if he was reluctant to admit it. The power dynamics within their world were complex, and he had grown accustomed to wielding his influence with impunity. The holy seven always did so.

“Fine,” he conceded, his tone grudging. “I’ll make sure Xiaoli has a chance to make her own decisions. But you’re pushing your luck, Yoongi may not—,”

“He will agree.” She stated resolutely. Namjoon’s eyebrows rose slightly at Y/N’s bold assertion, surprised by her unwavering confidence.

“Very well,” Namjoon replied, his voice tinged with resignation. “I’ll speak to Yoongi and I’ll arrange for them to sail away once Kai is well enough to travel, but only if you promise to uphold your end of the deal and it’s new conditions”

“What conditions?” She asked, utterly confused. This was about him earning her trust. But of course, Kim Namjoon would somehow manage to manipulate his way through.

“Forgive him, Y/N. That’s what I’m asking for. It’s been weeks since Kai can stand on his own feet. Talk, walk, eat, everything. Why’d you still not uphold your side of the deal?”

A weighty silence enveloping the room as Y/N processed his words. The idea of forgiving Yoongi felt like an impossible task, a betrayal of everything she had endured at his hands. She could not find a word that would describe what she feels now.

“Holding onto anger and bitterness will only continue to weigh you down. Death would be redemption, yet you are still here, living and breathing by God’s will and doing.”

I N T E R L O G U E

“When is he planning to do it?” She spoke softly, her words laced with urgency and caution.

“I don’t know-” she murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat. “But I can’t bear the thought of Bo Cheng witnessing such a horror.”

Daiyu’s eyes darted around the dimly lit corridor, wary of lurking shadows and prying ears.

“We must leave this place, Y/N,” she urged, her voice a breathless whisper.

“I can’t-” Y/N’s voice caught in her throat, her gaze dropping to the floor as a wave of despair washed over her.

“—not yet, at least.” Daiyu placed a gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“But you will-” Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Daiyu’s gaze hardened.

“-And you’ll take Bo Cheng with you. Even Ma if we will be clever enough.”

“Xiaoli?” she inquired cautiously.

“Xiaoli doesn’t share our sentiments. Taking her against her will would make me no better than them.” Daiyu nodded, understanding the complexity of Y/N’s feelings towards Xiaoli.

“He won’t let us all go,” said Daiyu, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. In normal circumstances, he would never give a green pass to anyone from inside of their clan. Especially, to the closer circle. But the circumstances were not normal. And as he spoke himself numerous times at this point. He will do everything to keep her by his side.

“He will. If I promise to stay.”

“But that’s-”

“It’s not my time yet, Daiyu—” she interrupted her quickly.

“But it will come.”

.

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next

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: this took me longer than I thought, mainly coz of life getting in my way, but nonetheless, chapter 8 is here. So far, this is the most I'm sceptical about chapter so yeah, nervous to put it out. Yoongi's got a taste of his own medicine to some degree and maybe finally he'll start to see things differently. Do you believe Yoongi can change for her? Hmm? We will see. Enjoy the chapter. Thank you for reading and continuing to read the story 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

PS: I hope you don't hate Xiaoli entirely coz I have a filler one-shot mapped out in my head 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

PPS: accounts highlighted cannot be tagged, so if you want to be in the tag list, please make sure you have it allowed in your settings. 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

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[1eos]

I got the purple reader too! I hadn't thought about my taste like that honestly. Though I think the book recs didn't seem to interest me necessarily. (Or well, I just donnnt like Murakami :/ ) Do you have any book recs that you think would also suit this kinda style?

i thought i was being snooty when i wasn't vibing with any of the book recs but everyone else was like 'damn these recs are ASS'. like i saw ishiguro's never let me go on there and honest to god scrolled back up thinking the quiz was for summer reading 😭 and GOD i hateeeee murakami. ppl keep toting him as some kind of revolutionary but every time i try to read his shit its deadass just man making his objectification of women verbose and 'deep' but if only if you're like 17 and have no life experience idk.

but YES i do have some purple reader recs! the description focused on books being dream-like, innovative, pushing the envelope or being experimental so i'd say:

in the dream house by carmen maria machado - a memoir but packaged in a way that's more like a domestic horror short story anthology about how abuse escalates in a relationship is akin to a haunting in a way. not easy to explain but it's SO good and carmen maria machado just has a very dream-like way of writing

ring shout by p djeli clark - one of the most unique books ive read concept wise. its an alternate historical supernatural novel where in the mid 1900s the kkk is actually like a demonic clan and these black hunters are tasked with taking them out. and omg the main character has this recurring nightmare and there's a major reveal abt that and it's stayed with me FOREVER

a tale for the time being by ruth ozeki - the book that got me back into writing. ruth's a writer and lives on an island and finds a lunchbox on the beach that has the journal of a japanese girl named nao who is being bullied in school and wants to chronicle why she's gonna kill herself. and it's such a long lasting story abt not hope per se but the infinite amount of growth and resilience of the human spirit and how buddhism is the wave basically lol

the nine lives of rose napolitano by donna frietas - i've never encountered a book that focused on alternate timelines without being heavy into scifi like this one. the book starts with rose on the fritz with her husband bc she's never wanted a baby but he's now pressuring her to have one and from this one confrontation it explores all the different ways her life can splinter and it's so interesting bc it doesn't go the cliche 'this is the life where im happy with a baby and here's a life where i'm miserable without one' it truly explores the deeper aspects of her marriage and how rose can find contentment no matter what. i really liked it at the end

jungian symbolism in astrology by alice o howell - i never know if ppl ever check out my astro book recs BUT this one is SO purple book coded. its abt astrology but you don;t need to know much because she doesn't talk abt methods but rather breaking down the meaning of astrology symbols. and it's not in a classic format its written like letters from the author to a dear friend. AND it goes beyond the basic astrology shit and really breaks down the importance of symbols and connects astrology to carl jung's ideas and it was such an interesting read that changed how i look at a lot of things

the night guest by hildur knutsdottir - a short but bold psychological horror. idunn realizes she's been sleepwalking and things happen. this is very dream like and very cold. very sparse. in a good way. a lot of american horror writers overwrite so this one was interesting in that it was more bare bones. the ending and the the reality of the horror is left really open ended and on goodreads a lot of ppl didnt like that but i fawking loved it

there's no such thing as an easy job by kikuko tsumura - follows the main character as she goes thru 5 different jobs after getting burnt out and the pitfalls of each job as means of 'escaping' the jobs that cause burn out if that makes sense. all of the 5 jobs are pretty unconventional and the main character accepts that even tho these jobs are 'easier' than her old job there's always just something that makes even an easy job complicated.

the secret lives of color by kassia st. clair - this is a nonfiction book about colors! like literally how we got the names for colors how we got them etc etc. i read it a long time ago but i remember that it was formatted really uniquely and written well

room by emma donoghue - read this for my humanities lit class in college a while ago but i never forgot it because i don't think i've ever read a book from the pov of a child in this kind of situation. basically jack's 5 and he's lived in a single room his entire life with his mom bc theyve been held captive by this weird ass old man. and the whole book you're like okay the mom's actions are kinda weird what's going on and then the reality of the situation sinks in and it's like...oh! all from the pov of a child that literally has only ever existed in a single room

[goomyloid]

the chara comic you posted is awesome! i really love the way you color things!

personally, i think chara would not be okay with seeing the monsters be killed, even to "see everything about them because they love them". if i interpreted the comic correctly, and you were suggesting that they would think it's worth it to "see everything", i'd like to ask: why do you think that?

i'm not trying to be confrontational or anything, i'm just curious about your interpretation of their character

hiii firstly thank you for enjoying my comic!! i worked pretty hard on it so im really glad people like it!

i had to think about this question for a while, and i guess this is my answer:

i think that while chara was alive, they weren’t okay with seeing monsters around them die, and wouldnt kill them themself, but that doesn’t mean they were ‘pure’ and against killing altogether; they did want to kill the humans from their village, and getting the chance to do so was presumably one of the reasons they were willing to commit suicide. after all, it seemed to me like their plan was just as much of a revenge plan as it was a plan to save monsterkind, and i think it’s a common interpretation that they were stewing on those negative feelings after death for a loooong time.

though i suppose that’s just my reasoning for their capacity to kill. in terms of them wanting to “see everything,” i intended for there to be a few different meanings/implications for this:

1. the more literal comparison to the player, relating to how we do the no mercy route not because we hate the characters, but because we love them; we want to see everything they have to say, even if it means hurting them, because we’re too attached to the world undertale has to offer (though this feeling depends on your personal experience with the game)

2. the less literal, more diegetic comparison to flowey, who has cycled through numerous timelines, “reading every book” and “burning every book” so to speak, i.e. seeing everything the world has to offer — not out of love, but in a desperate attempt for entertainment, since he couldnt feel love himself. hence the line, “you need more and more and more love, but it’s never enough. so you stretch everything thin until it breaks.”

3. a nod to chara’s tendency to push things to its limit in general. things like them filling water glasses all the way to the top, or 9 being their favorite number. but their desire for extremes (such as their plan, which was pretty extreme if you ask me) doesnt always end in success; sometimes it ends in dire failure.

this, along with the fact that no matter what interpretation of chara you may hold, they generally might not have been the greatest person. which makes sense, right? no one is gonna be entirely good or bad. if anything, people tend to portray more of the ‘bad’ side of chara we see in the no mercy route. and while chara interpretations historically DO tend to be overwhelmingly (and inaccurately) negative (insane killer facemelty evil demon and all that), it still feels wrong to me to do a complete 180 and say chara was completely good and normal and hated dying and death and everything related to it. (not that this was your interpretation ofc, just using hyperbole to describe other interpretations ive seen in passing)

before this gets wildly too long, the point ive been trying to get to is that there’s Nuance. i dont think chara is “okay” with killing monsters so much as them seeing it as a means to an end, in a sense; the person doing it is trying to achieve something outside of just Piles of Asriel's Monster Dust. to “love something so much you want to destroy it” isn’t usually a conclusion most normal people come to, but these three entities in question — the player, flowey, and chara — are definitely Not Normal, each in their own respective ways. all of this is to say that chara doesn't necessarily condone the player annihilating monsterkind or flowey toying with people's lives, they can understand the sentiment behind it and Why we do it.

i could go on but the TLDR is that: while i think chara has the capacity to wish death on others in general, the main idea is less about what they think is morally right or wrong and more about their reaction to OUR (and by extension, flowey's) decisions; it's less so chara "being okay" with monsters dying (in fact, i tried to convey that they're not all that happy about it, with how they look down at flowey rather Menacingly on that one page) and more of them analyzing the situation as a whole and reflecting on their life and sentiments.

DEEPLY SORRY FOR THE WALL OF TEXT but it was fun to get my thoughts out more clearly! usually i like to leave comics like this more up to the reader's interpretation, so if others saw it differently than me, that's totally okay, these are just my personal thoughts ^^

[goodqueenaly]

Absolutely here for the way Sansa turns from using the story of Prince Aemon and Queen Naerys to idealize Joffrey (and, so she believes in that moment, her love for him) to using the story of Aemon and Queen Naerys to defend someone against Joffrey's abuse

Sansa first cites the romanticized history in AGOT, as the royal party travels near the ruby ford back to the capital:

The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

If Sansa's history is generally right here (at least regarding the verifiably historical figures she references), her allusion fails to accurately reflect her own situation. Far from Prince Aemon defying his royal brother's clumsy attempt to invent an almost certainly untrue accusation against their queen-sister by offering to stand as her champion in a trial by combat, Prince Joffrey had only followed the directions of the queen herself to go to Sansa, and later spend the day with her. Nor does either Ilyn Payne or Sandor Clegane really fit the role of Morgil Hastwyck, who had openly denounced the queen as a traitor and participant in an extramarital affair with Aemon himself: Joffrey in fact brags to Sansa that Sandor is his "dog" (or, as he allows, his mother's dog), obedient and "ever faithful" to the prince's command, and if Sandor had made a dry joke about the Stark direwolves, neither he nor the unwillingly mute Ilyn had actually falsely accused Sansa of anything, much less a crime for which the penalty was death (as Naerys had been accused). Indeed, though Sansa could not have known it in this moment, it would not be Joffrey who, Aemon-like, would intervene to save the life and honor of Sansa by confronting an antagonist knight in single combat, but Joffrey who would himself direct Ser Ilyn to crush and traumatize Sansa via the order for her father's head; likewise, it would be Sandor Clegane, very pointedly not a knight, who would intervene to help Sansa, as Joffrey gloried in the killing of Ned Stark and directed another one of his knights to abuse Sansa.

Later in AGOT, as Sansa still believes she loves Joffrey, she again uses Naerys and Aemon’s (supposed) romance:

"I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies."

Here, however, Sansa's allusion to Aemon and Naerys even less resembles the real-world history, much less her own situation. If Aemon and Naerys really did love one another (and I think they did, putting aside the very obvious criticisms of Aemon's position in the Kingsguard relative to Naerys' woeful position as queen), I definitely do not believe they ever engaged in a sexual affair, much less that the future Daeron II was the product of such an affair. (In fact, it was Naerys who had approached her father to prevent the marriage and her brother to end it after the birth of Daeron - hardly an auspicious example for Sansa.) To be clear, Sansa is I think only repeating the romanticized tale passed down by singers and storytellers for the better part of 150 years - yet even without a true sense of historical accuracy, Sansa's citation to Aemon and Naerys little supports her actual relationship with Joffrey. Indeed, far from the beau ideal of chivalry which Aemon the Dragonknight has come to represent in Westerosi culture, Joffrey instead more closely resembles Aegon IV - abusive, cruel, and hateful, eager for any humiliation great or petty (and especially sexual) which he could inflict upon his betrothed, much as Aegon had done toward Naerys. The story of Aemon and Naerys persists in Westerosi culture, moreover, in no small part because it is a doomed and tragic romance - an impossible love which neither queen nor prince could satisfy in their respective positions, clouded by a suspicious, malicious king. If Sansa had wished to cast herself and Joffrey as perfect lovers destined by their love to be together, her choice of story accomplishes precisely the opposite; to the extent that she and Joffrey will resemble this story, it will be with Sansa as the miserable princess doomed to marry the king and Joffrey as the king who causes her such misery.

So in ACOK, well aware of Joffrey's sadism and patterns of abuse, Sansa again reaches for the example of Aemon and Naerys - not, though, to laud Joffrey, but to support another against him:

Prince Tommen sobbed. "You mew like a suckling babe," his brother hissed at him. "Princes aren't supposed to cry." "Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon," Sansa Stark said, "and the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound."

Whatever the historical accuracy of her statement - Yandel reporting that "[t]he singers say that Aemon and Naerys both wept during the ceremony, though the histories tell us Aemon quarreled with Aegon at the wedding feast, and that Naerys wept during the bedding rather than the wedding" - Sansa seizes here on a pointedly apt moment from the story of Aemon and Naerys, as a direct counter to Joffrey's sneering criticism of his brother. Just as the occasion of his sister's marriage had (again, so the singers relate) been the cause of brother Aemon's tears, so now Tommen weeps to see his own only sister depart for her marriage. Nor does the parallel end there: here again, as in the days of Aemon and Naerys, are there three royal siblings, two brothers and a sister - and if neither Myrcella nor Tommen are exact duplicates of Naerys and Aemon, both live in shadow of an abusive and cruel eldest brother. Sansa takes the opportunity of Joffrey's attempt to hurt and demean Tommen by providing so admired an example of Tommen's very conduct. If even Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, popularly beloved for his (apparent) chivalry, bravery, and nobility, could have been seen to weep at his sister's nuptial parting without losing any of his celebrated standing, then how could Joffrey, so Sansa argues through this allusion, criticize Tommen in nearly the exact same circumstance? Just as Sansa had used (invented) singer mythology to defend Dontos Hollard from Joffrey's brutality, so now she cites the legend of Prince Aemon, preserved in song, to stand up for Tommen against the same.

[the-most-humble-blog]

“Have Fun Sleeping Tonight: The Dead Version of You Might Be Watching”

— If the many-worlds theory is even half true, then sleep isn’t peace. It’s surveillance.

I. THE SCIENCE DOESN’T REASSURE YOU. IT MAGNIFIES THE NIGHTMARE.

Let’s begin where your science teacher ended: The Many-Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics (Everett, 1957). It posits this:

Every decision, action, or observation splits reality into parallel timelines.

That means:

There is a universe where you said yes instead of no.

A timeline where you died in your sleep.

A version where you snapped. Killed. Regretted nothing.

You don’t just exist in one place. You’re fractally smeared across infinite permutations.

Now stop.

Do you feel that nausea creeping in? That’s your brain trying to collapse the waveform back into a comforting lie:

“But those other ‘yous’ aren’t real.”

Except they are. According to cosmologist Max Tegmark, the multiverse isn’t fantasy — it’s the logical extension of quantum math. (Tegmark, Our Mathematical Universe, 2014.) He states plainly:

“Parallel worlds are not a theory — they are a prediction.”

Prediction.

That means if you follow any school of modern physics not 100 years out of date, the idea of “other yous” isn’t science fiction. It’s default reality.

And you haven’t asked the worst question yet.

II. WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ONE OF YOU DOESN’T STAY PUT?

Let’s talk spillage.

Physicist Sean Carroll speculates that consciousness might be quantum-based. Roger Penrose, Nobel Prize winner, agrees. They propose that consciousness is not just produced by the brain — it might be entangled across quantum fields. (Penrose & Hameroff, Orch-OR Theory)

So what happens when:

One version of you dies?

Another version becomes violent, unstable, malevolent?

One you commits suicide while another sleeps peacefully?

Answer: If even one fragment of consciousness is entangled across realities… then your peaceful version isn’t alone.

Your dreams may not be dreams. Your shadow may not be your own. You may be watched — by a version of yourself with nothing left to lose.

III. PARANORMAL REPORTS LINE UP DISTURBINGLY WELL.

Let’s shift gears.

Ever heard of The Doppelgänger Effect?

Historical records, folklore, and police reports all document encounters with one’s own double. But not metaphorically — visually, audibly, and viscerally real.

In 1845, Emilie Sagee, a French schoolteacher, was reported by her students to appear in two places at once — teaching in the classroom while standing in the garden. Multiple students saw this. Repeatedly.

In 1983, a woman named Mrs. H called a UK radio show describing waking up to see herself standing at the foot of her bed, grinning. The double vanished when she screamed. That night, her twin sister died — 300 miles away.

You think these are just ghost stories?

Then explain the U.S. military remote viewing project ("Project Stargate") which openly documented experiences of operatives describing altered versions of themselves when viewing alternative locations.

Not other people. Alternate versions of themselves.

This wasn’t a YouTube rabbit hole. This was government-funded parapsychology lasting 20 years.

IV. SPIRITUAL SYSTEMS HAVE BEEN TRYING TO WARN YOU FOR CENTURIES.

Every major religion describes some fragmented self:

In Christianity: “The old self must die for the new to live.”

In Buddhism: “The self is an illusion constructed from fragments.”

In Gnostic texts: “You are a splinter of a fallen Aeon, seeking your original totality.”

In Islamic mysticism: “Your nafs (ego self) will devour you if not purified.”

All agree: There is a You that must be confronted, destroyed, or merged — Or it will consume you from the inside.

You think religion is primitive?

No. It’s just older science, wrapped in parable.

Even Carl Jung said:

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life — and you will call it fate.”

But what if that unconscious isn’t in your mind? What if it’s in another reality? And it’s grown stronger by watching you ignore it?

V. NIGHTMARES MAY BE THE ONLY TIME YOU’RE IN THE SAME ROOM.

Let’s talk sleep.

During REM, your brain emits gamma oscillations at frequencies seen during lucid dreams, psychedelic states, and near-death experiences. Studies suggest the brain enters a hyper-networked state, where it becomes sensitive to… what, exactly?

Answer:

Possibly the other yous.

Ever had a nightmare where you were the villain? Where you watched yourself do something you never would? Or woke up sweating, shaking, but couldn’t explain why?

That wasn’t “just a dream.” That may have been a cross-link.

Neurologist Dr. Patrick McNamara believes that sleep paralysis, nightmare recurrence, and certain terror hallucinations stem not from disorder — but from an encounter with hostile psychological doubles.

He writes:

“The Self is not singular in dream states. It fractures. It negotiates.” And sometimes? It loses.

VI. THE SHADOW THAT MOVES DIFFERENTLY THAN YOU.

Ever catch your reflection moving wrong?

Not metaphorically. Not “I’m tired” wrong.

Wrong.

Faster than you. Smiling when you aren’t. Tilting its head a millisecond off.

Psychologists call this The Capgras Delusion — a syndrome where a person believes their loved one has been replaced by an identical impostor.

But what if some of these “delusions” are true experiences from a consciousness spilling sideways into another dimension?

Because the phenomenon doesn’t just happen with people. It happens with mirrors. With self.

Ever heard the phrase:

“You looked like someone else for a second.”

No one says that about strangers. They say it about you.

VII. SO WHAT HAPPENS IF THE DEAD YOU NEVER LEFT?

Let’s push this horror to its logical conclusion.

What happens when a version of you dies with rage, regret, or obsession?

That echo doesn’t vanish.

If consciousness is quantum-entangled, death doesn’t delete it. It disconnects it. And disconnected things are unpredictable.

That version of you, furious and free from laws of physics, no longer tethered to a body… might cling to the nearest iteration of familiarity.

You.

You — who still breathe. You — who still dream. You — who left them behind.

And every time you wake up in a panic at 3:17 AM, sweating, sure that something was in the room?

Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was you. Just not the version who brushes their teeth and posts online.

The version who lost everything, and now just… watches.

VIII. SO WHAT SHOULD YOU DO?

You want peace?

Too bad.

You are being watched. You are being mirrored. You are being remembered by the parts of yourself you tried to forget.

The religious were right to pray. The scientists were right to worry. The philosophers were right to scream into the void.

Because the void sometimes screams back. And it knows your name. Because it used to wear it.

IX. CONCLUSION: THE EYE IN THE DARK IS YOUR OWN.

This isn’t fiction.

Every citation above comes from peer-reviewed research, Nobel lectures, classified debriefs, or theological traditions predating modern ego.

And every night you go to sleep thinking you’re “just dreaming,” you might be giving a front-row seat to the part of yourself that no longer needs eyes to see.

So tonight?

When the lights go out. And you close your eyes. And feel the breath behind your shoulder — even though no one’s there.

Don’t worry.

It’s probably just you.

One of you.

Reblog if you feel watched. Reblog if you felt something read this over your shoulder. Reblog if you suddenly aren’t tired anymore.

⚖️ Final Reminder: This post was engineered to exploit gaps in quantum theory, mirror neuron mirage, and cross-dimensional memory decay. It may cause insomnia, dissociation, or arousal in certain readers. This is literature. This is a mirror. This is not safe.

[crispycreambacon]

apologies for bursting into your asks like this but you are literally one of the only sprafessor artists ive seen to my knowledge and i’ve been overcome with such a desperation to spread this information to anyone and everyone who will hear me out on this obsessive, nigh soul crushing devotion-pilled yaoi agenda, which is to say: sprafessor symbolism analysis! ( you will see how this got away from me so fast )

i will be discussing MAJOR SPOILERS for the puppet history season 7 finale that i’m aware you’ve seen but putting this here just in case so you can tag it for people who don’t want to get spoiled :’]

1. the professor, dr. sprat and beans.

i think it’s no surprise from the season seven premiere itself and from looking further into historical context surrounding pythagoras and his philosophical beliefs, ( really flexing what i’ve learned in my philosophy course for the semester /silly ) that pythagoras held a belief that beans, specifically fava beans, were sacred vegetation, responsible for the continued cycle of reincarnation that humanity underwent.

although this is repeated enough in the series to have become common knowledge, humor me for a bit: what is the professor’s favorite little treat?

jelly beans.

of course, this feels not only obvious but a match made in puppet purgatory! this isn’t where this analysis ends however.

i find it absolutely fascinating that our mathematical mastermind is associated with a living being; not living in the way that it is something sentient, but in the way that it grows and develops and dies through decomposing as all living beings do. our pedagogical protagonist, however, is associated with something non-living, something artificial. in the most ironic twist of fate, someone who has canonically died and reincarnated as a new puppet, is associated with a treat that, in essence, is an encapsulation of dr. sprat’s wildest dreams. which is to say, it’s my little theory and maybe sprinklings of my personal headcanons here and there, that the jellybean represents immortality.

but even if this is all just conjecture, we like to have fun here! plus it’s fun to think about dr. sprat developing some sort of obsessive complex about why “puppet mathematics” isn’t doing as well as he’d have hoped. well, not in comparison to watcher’s big-shot poster boy, “puppet history” anyways.

ah, dr sprat. so close, yet so far. how does it feel i wonder, to struggle with something that someone you believed to be so foolish, did so effortlessly. to go through all that trouble to “solve immortality”, only for someone to cheat the system on mere chance, reincarnating into a new life without the use of your geometric grandiosity.

2. triangles and immorality… kind of.

i know i literally just discussed this bit with the beans and everything so i’ll keep this relatively short but hear me out: triangles being “perfect shapes” because of how they are typically portrayed ( equilateral ), triangles being placed in long-standing significant positions throughout history ( pyramids, the bermuda triangle, dare i even say the pythagorean formula and right triangles... ) i know i was going to say “triangles are equitable to immortality” but i just spent this entire section going on about how triangles throughout history are thought to symbolize perfection and have held a position of long-standing significance and power throughout the ages. so pretend triangles, perfection and immortality are all synonymous to each other, which according to some historical accounts they very well could be.

3. nemesis lore ( isn’t it always? )

ok, this one will be kept brief. you cannot tell me that the final confrontation in the retirement room wasn’t somehow homoerotically charged. c’mon now. “i knew then professor, that you were my lifelong nemesis dancing with me through the sands of time.” and even from we first met dr. sprat, “soft romantic piano music” h. hello?! the caption writers simply did not need to go through all the trouble of wording it like that, yet they did so anyways. absolutely insane of the late “shot like a dog” estranged producer shane madej to set the stage for the most unhinged situationship between a professor and his self-declared lifelong nemesis slash rival. absolutely frothing at the mouth at the implications that “lifelong nemesis” holds, i cannot stress that enough. what compelled him to say that.

4. memories and forget me nots: the good, the bad, the eternal dance through the sands of time.

this last one is more of a stretch considering there’s no flower language or symbolism to my knowledge in this season. having said that, we like to have fun here and i’ll be damned if i keep this to myself.

forget-me-nots, aside from the name itself alluding to something memory-related, are also something of an eternal promise of true love and respect.

respect is something we can knock off immediately. think of dr. sprat’s respect for the professor functioning similarly to a kismesis; despite dr. sprat’s alleged contempt with the professor for being a mockery of his dream of immortality, he saw him as enough of an equal to declare himself his “lifelong nemesis”, a status that denotes equality, just on a side opposite to dr. sprat and his beliefs on math’s “obvious” superiority.

now then, begs the question: would it be plausible to say that there is a chance that the sprat loves the professor, albeit in his own way? i’m sure you can tell with the amount of times i’ve been repeating it over and over by this point: no sane villain self-declares themselves as someone’s nemesis, someone’s lifelong nemesis, without being at least a little obsessed with their nemesis in question. there is a fine, fine line between obsessive hatred and soul-crushing devotion and dr. sprat is fucking dancing on it. there’s a really interesting sprafessor tumblr post that analyzes the way dr. sprat goes about his plan in a way that alludes to his desperation for human, or in this case, puppet, connection, for an equal, even if he’s convinced himself that this desperation is only out of hate. ( shout out to tumblr user tasty-littl-snack’s sprafessor/spratnasty analysis post! )

also: forget-me-nots are predominantly blue. i rest my case. ( spoken in the same tone as someone whose source is “just trust me bro” )

i realize how little i’ve talked about phorgedyotl considering it’s what inspired the selection of forget-me-nots, but here’s some non-canonical, but interesting all the same, food for thought:

memories and eternity, it’s weird theming to have in the latest season isn’t it? of course, it’s plain to see that these concepts play off one another with their common denominator, time but i feel there may be something more to this.

maybe, just maybe, memories are the final tether humanity, to have such means you are able to recall your experiences and to experience and live unpredictably is human after all. maybe memories are the only separating simply being alive, and truly living. perhaps dr. sprat sought to do away with the professor’s humanity, or puppetity in this case, to become perfection, with no need for the chaos and adventure that comes with truly living, but an ideal, everlasting existence without flaw; only one other person has ever truly understood him and he fucking hates the guy for embodying every idea that he is not, and therefore despises.

maybe, this was indeed a part of teaching the professor a lesson, to cement his superiority while taking on the mantle of his dearly detested, knowing full well he could’ve bested him on completely unrelated terms but choosing to devote his time to making the place that holds the professor’s memories and experiences a part of him as much as it was part of the professor; not like he’ll ever admit it though, least of all to himself.

maybe, it was never really that serious. but i guess we’ll never know. ( this part is absolutely the ramblings of the insane but it’s an interesting concept to ponder if you’re willing to lose yourself to the delusion of making things way more significant than they’re meant to be )

so all in all, we’re left with a blue flower that is linked with remembrance if only through its name alone, symbolizing a vow to keep the person you hold most dear in your thoughts no matter what; a flower that represents the unshakable connection you and this person have, a tumultuous bond for that as long as it is tucked away safely in the innermost sanctum of your memory, will never truly die.

they’re much more alike than i think they realize, though they are narrative foils and i love the toxic yaoi route of these two, i am also legally obligated by the deranged machinations of my own mind to say that i think a slow burn redemption between the two would be equally as compelling in both platonic and romantic aspects. but as in the spirit of the rules of three, we like to have fun here, so long live toxic scholarly rival yaoi!

i literally shot up from my nap and wrote a whole ass deep dive analyzing this pairing’s potential themes i can already feel the rot setting in and i have you and your phenomenal sprafessor art to thank for it /pos

i hope you enjoy this silly rant as much as i enjoyed scripting it :]

spiraling deeper into sprafessor insanity, anon lesbian muppet.

ps: throwing my own ship names for these freaks into the ring, hypotnuses and histories ( self explanatory ) and infinity waltz ( infinity is not only a mathematical term, but can also be used to describe the continuous and eternal process we call history, as time marches forward setting the stage for new societal developments. waltz is a reference to dr. sprat’s little “dancing through the sands of time” quote, but it’s also a dance that moves in a triple beat time signature, 3/4 time. it’s like a kind of dancing triangle in my heart. )

Hello I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to this ask. But know that I am bonking heads with you like Ryan and the Professor were in S7E5. Holy fuck you understand them so bad. You get them so badddddddddddddd. Absolutely delicious analysis, we're eating a full course over here.

[ludinusdaleth]

im looking forward to c3's aeor arc for pretty much uncountable reasons but id be lying if i said a big one wasnt the sheer impact that will come from orym, who has admitted (validly, & tragically) he cant see past his own traumatized view of the war, when he learns of aeor.

because what happens when objectivity of how bad a situation is can't be ignored over personal grief? what happens when the objective event also created people traumatized like orym to add to that injury? what happens when you're reminded on the largest scale of history possible how small you & your sufferig are? what happens when they meet devexian and learn everyone in his city was slaughtered by the entire pantheon? what happens when the m9, who i think orym has come to value, back up devexian's historical reason for his own stilted grief that has, despite being objectively more massive in scale, led him to change the world more than orym has, through fixing the broken? what happens if we learn that ludinus is aeorian, and orym is faced with the fact that his worst enemy has an objectively more traumatized past than his own in scale and has a reason for doing what he did too even if it's unexcuseable, that they're both part of a cycle of war far older than them? obviously ludinus has caused, objectively, unspeakable & unforgiveable damage, an entire eon of terror. but he didn't begin it. how do you go about fixing a universe fundamentally traumatized without confronting that trauma is central to it? who puts down the blade first? because you begin to wonder if a blade can finish it.

every discussion & discourse about orym and c3 at large fundamentally comes down to what actions due to trauma are validated and the ever-constant pull of historical objectivity vs personal subjectivity. the thing about every aspect & filament of aeor, is: you cannot, in any way shape or form, escape that conjecture, that question of perspective. orym managed to look away from hearthdell; he quite literally cannot look away on eiselcross. it is going to shatter so much of how the bells & the fandom process these philosophical debates and ive been awaiting it for years.

[kryptonbabe]

The gay experience in literature: a horror comic and a literary fiction novel parallel

From The Deviant #8 (2024) by James Tynion IV, Joshua Hixson & Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou

The Deviant is a horror comic from 2024, What Belongs to You is a literary fiction novel published in 2016.

Sexuality encapsulates multiple aspects of human life, the physical / hormonal aspect of love, the emotional aspect of intimacy, the social / historical side of tradition and expectations based on notions of gender... It can be a lot, so it's alarming to think about all that happening during your teenage years, usually when the discoveries are taking place. It's just too much for someone so young to make sense of, especially when you do not conform to what is expected from you. The moment in the panels above took me to several places, some deep and personal and others relating to the familiarity of this scene from other books, specifically to one moment in the novel What Belongs to You by Garth Greewell.

In the second chapter of that novel the author describes a teen boy's sexual discovery, and I believe what he says works to expand the themes of self-hatred and disillusion some of us feel when our feelings are confronted by the heteronormative perspective of how love is supposed to be. These feelings are also present in the comic panels above, partially described, with the art also playing a part in evoking a sense of otherness and shame. There are differences in how rejection occurs in the comic and the novel, but despite that, I still felt an intertextuality in the way the emotions are expressed in these works.

For context, the scene in the novel takes place after the first night these two boys (the narrator and K.) spend together, they've been best friends until that moment and on that night they share moments of intimacy, cuddling together and letting all the confusing and satisfying feelings of sexual discovery take hold. However, K. gets sick and wants to go home, the narrator wakes his father, with whom he has an uneasy relationship much due to the narrator homosexuality, to drive his friend home.

Novel excerpt under the cut.

"As if by instinct we sat well apart, and though I couldn’t help glancing at him we said nothing to each other. Shortly into the ride I realized I could still smell him, not only his vomit but his body, too, his sweat, which was bitter and strong; I was embarrassed for my father to smell it. I lowered the window a little and laid my head against the glass. The air was cool as it flooded in but the foulness still remained, and though K. had always before filled me with joy he seemed part of my shame now and of the foulness in the air, not just a bodily foulness but something stranger and heavier. My father glanced at us often in the mirror, a quick flick of the eyes. K. sat with his face to the window but I thought he must feel it too, that watchfulness and the weight it added to the air. It was the watchfulness that made it foul, I realized, not with its own foulness but with a foulness it found in us. K. turned away from the window but didn’t look at me, and when I asked him if he was all right he didn’t answer, though when my father asked him the same question, the very same, as though he hadn’t heard me ask it or as though it were a different question from his lips, K. spoke, he said Yes, sir, and I felt him turn from me, in that foul air I felt him identify me as foulness. It was as though he felt my father was health and I contagion, and I was at once bewildered by this and unsurprised. Those were the only words they shared; for the rest of the drive we were silent, and it wasn’t until we arrived at K.’s house that he glanced my way and nodded, and then he thanked my father and got out of the car and hurried inside the door his mother held open. My father waved at her, leaning across to the passenger-side window, and then he reversed the car and slid out of the driveway as I turned to look at the door that closed behind K. When the car stopped for a light at the end of the street, I looked again at the mirror where I could see my father’s face. He was watching me, not with the flickering surveillance of moments before but steadily, and when my eyes met his he grimaced, as if he could still smell K., though there wasn’t any smell in the air anymore. I stared back at him. For a moment I thought he was going to speak and I steeled myself, I saw his face harden with what he would say; but instead he saw that the light had changed and began driving again, and I let my head fall back against the window, watching the streets as they passed. I had been ready to accuse my father of what he had done, the disgust he had shared with K., and I felt my anger again as I walked through the grass in that undeveloped space I hadn’t known was there."

From What Belongs to You (2016) by Garth Greenwell

I find this excerpt (the whole chapter honestly) resonant with my own experiences, I believe it's safe to assume it can resonate with others too. This also underlines the necessity of queer representation in art from multiple angles and in different mediums. From the early discoveries, being good or bad experiences, to late in life reflections... Give us all sides of the queer existence. We are multiple and there are more than one way to feel the world around us, and art is key to connect us despite our differences. Thanks for reading!

[pinkberrypocky]

pmmm rewatch live notes: ep 1

ive been rewatching pmmm w my friends who haven't seen it before and have decided that i am incapable of being normal abt it so uhhh.... gonna dump the notes i took during ep 1 here. they are entirely incomprehensible ramblings of a madman but the goal is to synthesize some actual analysis once im done w the watch through. im convinced there is significant color symbolism related to the colors of the holy quintet but idk the exact symbolism for each color so there's a good amount of notes of just instances of those colors that i think could help me pin down the symbolism later on so there's that too a gift for u (or i guess a hurdle if u don't care abt color symbolism but honestly if u don't care abt color symbolism i don't understand u). idk i thought it might be silly for like maybe 1 other guy out there. also my friends bullied me into it (read: hyped me up about it until i relented)

ok buckle in folks this is solidly two pages on google docs

first scene happens bc madoka remembers it from another timeline 

spiraling time is it the future or the past does it even matter

brightest thing in intro is her hair ribbons bc they are what links madoka and homura across time and space 

everything else is desaturated

god madoka w her in the intro bc god madoka saves and treats all the magical girls like that when she saves them from their witch future 

hard to tell what the world is like bc does it even matter 

no matter what the setting is homura will fail to save madoka and madoka will sacrifice herself 

also adds to the eerie effect 

madoka’s mom tells her to use the red ribbon

madoka never chose her fate for herself, she’s always doing what others want and what she thinks is best for others 

the scenery has a weird juxtaposition of greenery and industrial things which mirrors the juxtaposition of the magical girl stereotype and the psychological horror reality 

the classrooms are like bird cages 

homura walks in like she’s not seeing everyone and not really there bc she’s living in the past which is also the future 

THE ANGLE WHEN HOMURA FIRST TALKS TO MADOKA

like idk what that loom w the dramatic lighting means but it means Something

the way homura doesn’t hide that she knows the way to the nurses office shows that she’s getting desperate and tired of this cycle

insisting that madoka call her homura even though they “just met” shows how important their relationship is and how much she yearns for their old dynamic 

when she confronts madoka in the hall she shows emotion for the first time showing how much she cares about this 

it seems cruel but in reality she is grasping at straws to protect madoka 

she doesn’t care if she has to be seen as cold as long as madoka is safe

homura knows the math so well bc it’s the same every single fucking time

the symbolism of kyubey with the spikey evil statue that’s all rusty and the shadow where it merges w him 

when madoka reveals she has seen homura in a dream and they brush it off bc haha we’re just middle schoolers this is a magical girl anime nothing weird would happen

red in the scene where homura tries to kill kyubey… kyoko’s color… what does red represent in this show?

kyubey reaches out to madoka asking to be saved bc he knows that’s her weak spot , that she will always jump into danger to save other regardless of her own well being 

when homura appears trying to kill kyubey there are chains what could this represent 

chained to her cycle, chained to kyubey, chained to madoka 

they form the shape of a cross bc homura is jesus, she takes the brunt of the harm and the blame in an effort to save the others 

use of collage in the witch labyrinths is disorienting and jarring it doesn’t fit and it’s confusing and creepy and unsettling 

language is similar to german at times maybe a reference to historical german witches 

sayaka protects madoka in a  hug like embrace when they first end up in the labyrinth symbolizing the way she is to the end a protector

mami makes sure to act unbothered and not scared when she meets them to keep her persona of a magical girl who saves ppl despite the horrors of the reality 

the fact that mami uses guns alludes to the horror of magical girls hidden just beneath the surface 

the use of the word contract also shows the severity and adult nature of what they are about to embark on

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

If you still accept requests now... Uhm... Well... Maybe a KOH fic about "mad" people after party (like someone's wedding etc.)? Godfrey worried, crying and being overstimulated after the whole crowds and noise (like a kinda typical introvert). Sybilla being not able to walk due to aching feet because of too much dancing. Guy de Lusignian being overly horny after "not enough during the party" and annoying others by this. Baldwin IV almost suffering and sick due to eating too much dessert after the dinner at the party "cause the king has to also eat well to manifest his prosperity". Tiberias and Balian laughing and behawing illogically while being drunk. Literally drunk. Very drunk. Too drunk to be normal. Kidding like typical drunk people. Baldwin V, the only child in the group, the only one who didn't expierience the whole party and the only "healthy and normal" in the group, very embarassed and confused by "those weird adults". And the confrontation between all of them at once. I hope it's not a problem. (And i know i'm not too good at requesting... Sorry...)

♤ After Party - KOH Crack Fic ♤

♤ Crack Fic ♤

A/N: Hello Anon, no need to appologise, I like this request a lot. Seems like a funny idea to me 😄. I hope this is what you had in mind! Also I am so sorry that it has taken so long to get to, also I'm sorry that it is not very long. As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

PS: I wrote this in class and had to slam my laptop shut when my teacher walked behind me 😭.

TW: Alchaol Consumption

It was around midnight by the time most of the wedding guests finally left the castle.

The event had gotten way out of hand and everyone was suffering.

It was fun at first but everybody had well overestimated their limits. The combination of alcohol and too much food left practically all the guests drunk and sick.

Everyone regretted their choices and knew they would regret it even more by tomorrow morning.

From the hallway outside the dining room, Baldwin V had been watching the entire event unfold through the crack in the door, confused and worried for the usually very professional and uptight adults.

He had never seen them act like this before, it was both amusing and concerning.

Stifling giggles he watched them bicker with each other all while groaning in pain from developing headaches.

His mother sat beside her brother, rubbing her temples while removing the shoes that had been vastly impractical for the occasion. Her feet were in agony from standing for so long.

Beside her, Baldwin, her brother, was exhausted from the long day.

The event had been strenuous on his sick body and what did not help was too much alcohol and rich food. Sybila had warned her brother to not overdo it with the wine, she knew his limits better than he did and whenever there was an event he always ended up thinking that he could take more than he could.

He tried not to move too much, the combination of headache, sore stomach and aching body made any movement too much to bear.

While all this went on, Guy (who the child hated immensely) pestered Sybila about how much he yearned for her.

She pushed him off, telling him to go away but he continued. He was getting on everyone's nerves, especially Sybila’s. He paced around the room, drunkenly attempting to seduce any maid he came across and failing horribly.

Eventually, the king yelled for him to leave as he was annoying everybody that he spoke to.

Finally, Guy begrudgingly left to go bother somebody else.

Amongst the all people left in the dining room were Tiberias and Balian, who the child knew as his uncle's friends. They were the most drunk of the group.

Their usually stern, professional personalities were replaced with happy, drunken laughter.

The two joked with each other, every sentence adding onto whatever they were laughing about until they couldn't get any words out. They looked like they were having the most fun out of everyone left.

Maids and servants bustled about the room, cleaning up the table and doing their best to ignore their superiors.

The child barely noticed Godfrey sitting towards the end of the table, as far away from everyone as he could get looking incredibly pale and drained from energy.

The leftover guests spoke with the king and Syblia, completely ignoring him, and he didn't seem too angry about it, more lucky to be finally left alone.

The boy watched the adults for a little while longer before leaving to do something else, feeling excited that since his mother was “preoccupied”, she would not be paying attention to the time he went to bed.

[vriskarlmarx]

Ive never seen a star wars movie in its entirety but i want to know more about - star wars leftist infighting expanded universe

hahahaha ok this one is an idea I had when andor was airing and it's basically a collection of statements by political organizations in the star wars universe (some canon some not) at different points in time. inspired by real life. i wish to finish it some day, maybe for s2 of andor hehe. here is one of the statements:

Towards a people’s rule of Onderon Too long, the people of Onderon have been made to bow. Our lands were wrestled from us by a King, who now takes it upon himself to draft us into another war, this time on behalf of the mercantile alliance calling itself the Confederacy against the bureaucrats who have sanctioned the illegal trafficking of sentients across the galaxy, including from our world, and the exploitation of our resources by the same mercantile powers that it is now forced to confront. The people of Onderon must rise and say enough! We will no longer bow to Kings, Confederacies or Republics that aim to make our decisions for us, to exploit and destroy our lands and relegate us to a life of misery. As the Onderon People’s Militia, we know we must take a definitive stand for Onderonian autonomy – true autonomy, for our people, not mediated by a King who would sell us to the highest bidder. This monarchy historically has not meant anything for us but war, death and toil. Our participation in the Galactic Senate is a sham that keeps all progress in an eternal bureaucratic loop subject to the whims of those drowning in pleasures in Coruscant. And the mercantile alliances that claim to push back on the Republic’s “overreaches” act only out of greed; their end goal is not to replace the corrupt Republic with a better system, it is simply to fatten their bottom line. We refuse to be played as puppets in this mercantile war. We call on all Onderonians to join us and rise against our masters, on- and off-planet. We must unite, fight, and reclaim our communities and our lives. To savage freedom! No Kings, no Republics, no Confederacies! Onderon People’s Militia

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (May 25)

On May 25, the Catholic Church celebrates Pope St. Gregory VII, who sought to reform the Church and secure its freedom against the intrusion of civil rulers during his 11th-century pontificate.

Born in the Italian region of Tuscany sometime between 1020 and 1025, the future Pope Gregory VII was originally named Hildebrand.

His father Bonzio is thought to have been a carpenter or peasant farmer, while his mother's name is unknown. His uncle Laurentius was abbot of a monastery in Rome.

Sent to the school run by his uncle's monastery, Hildebrand entered a world of discipline and fervent devotion.

After his primary education, he entered religious life as a monk.

Hildebrand served as chaplain to his mentor John Gratian who had a brief and turbulent reign as Pope Gregory VI.

In 1046, Hildebrand left Rome for Cologne along with Gratian, who was forced to leave Rome and resign from the Papacy.

After the former Pope's death in 1047, Hildebrand left for France and spent more than a year in the monastery at Cluny.

During 1049, he made the acquaintance of Bruno of Toul, who would soon become Pope Leo IX.

Under his reign, Hildebrand was put in charge of a historic monastery, which he rescued from structural and administrative ruin through a series of reforms.

Hildebrand served Leo IX as an adviser and legate until the Pope's death in 1054.

While others considered him a possible successor to Leo, Hildebrand did not wish to be elected, though he continued his work as an influential and respected cardinal during several subsequent pontificates.

In April 1073, Hildebrand was finally elected as Pope Gregory VII.

Though he still did not want the office, his electors praised him as “a devout man … mighty in human and divine knowledge, a distinguished lover of equity and justice, a man firm in adversity and temperate in prosperity.”

Overwhelming challenges confronted the new Pope – including scandalous corruption among the clergy, a hardening schism between the churches of Rome and Constantinople, and a struggle against civil rulers who claimed a right to choose the Church's clergy and control its properties.

In March 1074, Gregory promulgated a sweeping set of reforming decrees. These met with widespread opposition, but the Pope stood his ground.

The resulting standoff pitted him against the German Emperor Henry IV, who sought to depose the Pope when threatened with excommunication.

The Pope carried out his threat and declared that the emperor's subjects were no longer bound to obey him as their ruler.

In 1077, the emperor was forced to come before the Pope as a penitent, spending three days waiting in the snow before he was received and given the conditions of his reconciliation.

Though temporarily reconciled, Henry was excommunicated for later attacks, which included supporting a rival pope and invading Rome.

Gregory never gave up his pontificate but was forced to flee the city in 1084.

“I have loved justice and hated iniquity, therefore I die in exile,” he proclaimed, just before his death in Salerno on 25 May 1085.

Remembered as a champion of the Church's freedom against state intrusion, Gregory VII was beatified by Pope Gregory XIII in 1584. He was canonized by Pope Benedict XIII on 24 May 1728.

[noriyucko]

i know that the gays all love their little reclaimed slurs and its a lot of fun BUT heres a thought: maybe be wary of other gays who may not be comfortable with them in any form? ooh yeah i know big controversial opinion. but also whats the deal with hating on people IN THE COMMUNITY that dont enjoy getting called that stuff, cuz ive known too many people who got mad when lightly confronted abt it.

sorry that i dont wanna go to school to just talk to one of my friends and then have a baby gay come over to say that i smell like a f*g just bc they saw me wearing a little pride pin and then later keep saying horrible shit about “people who dont like the f slur”(true story)

i dont say the f and t slurs, but i understand reclaiming and im like normally completely fine with seeing people just say it in passing and on posts and whatnot but the audacity to get mad at a person for being like “hey im uncomfortable hearing/being called the f slur can you please not say it (or at least not as much)

when i met my irl friends who were 100% definitely also neurodivergent theyd from time to time say the r slur and i was just like “hey can you not say that it makes me really uncomfortable since im autistic, always feels targeted towards me no matter who or the context” and you know what they did? EASILY stopped saying it, at least around me.

meanwhile anyone in the lgbt asks “hey can you guys not say the f or t slurs around me” and its something bad?? only arguments ive seen against it have basically just been “let me say slurs” no ones stopping you from saying it??? some people just simply dont wanna hear slurs and theres so many possible reasons why so why does it become an argument when someone just. wants normal boundaries. like its insane

oh nooo not the most commonly taught childhood lesson: be mindful of other people?? i cant believe that other people in a marginalized community maybe WOULDNT like to be called a slur historically used against people in our group!! i cant believe that other people would have different experiences with things from me that could cause them to not like the same things as me!!!

[smoothie03]

Analysing the "Plagues Animatic"

Okay, so, it's been almost a week since I've posted the animatic about the Templar Trials and only now I get to write my analysis to the animatic. When imagining and drawing everything I tried to make as many historical easter eggs as possible. But lets start with the beginning.

At the beginning we see that it is morning and King Philipp IV. and a young Francis watch the city from above. Afterwards, the soldiers are wandering through the city.

This is a reference to the 13th October 1307 when the Templars got arrested in the morning hours. This action was planned beforehand as seen afterwards in the animatic:

We get a short flashback of a scene inside the king's castle and someone writing on a piece of paper.

The two people kneeling before king Philipp IV. are Guillaume de Nogaret and Enguerrand de Marigny, two of his ministers who were quite active during the Templar trials. Especially Nogaret was known for creating propaganda for him and he already played a crucial role within the conflicts of France with the papacy (which was also a reason that led to the Templar trials!) Therefore I drew him writing and preparing propaganda. This can also be interpreted as writing the letters that were sent to Philipp's bailiffs and seneschals. They were sent on September 14th 1307 and contained the royal order of arresting all Knights Templar within France which means that this "police operation" was planned thoroughly. Even the date when these letters were created had a meaning to them. It was the day of the  Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross.

Now we have a scene where the money of the order got confiscated and the knights got arrested. We can see people watching the arrest unfold and whispering to one another. Then, the Knights Templar get sent to prison where they're getting inerrogated which often resulted in the usage of torture methods or the threat of torture.

The whispering of the people is also supposed to be a reference to the rumours about the Knights Templar that were told by people even years before the trials. Ever since the fall of the Holy Land people got more and more dissatisfied with the Templars and all the other knight orders, however, the Templars had the problem that they primarily saw themselves as a military order while the other orders like the Hospitallers and Teutonics also had hospitals to care for and started to focus on their presence in certain places within Europe (Teutonic Knights at the Baltic sea/Old Prussia and the Hospitallers on Rhodos and later on Malta). The Knights Templar didn't do that. (That whole thing sounds like an existential crisis)

Before we had on to the main part of the animatic we see a shot of king Philipp and pope Clement V.

Apart from their conflict because of the Knights Templar and Philipp shitting on the fact that he should've consulted with the pope first before ordering such a police operation (the pope was the Templar's boss and they were under his protection) Philipp had a conflict with the papacy overall, even with Clement's predecessor which is why Clement was under pressure a lot since the papacy lost its "good image". In general there was lots of Othering and preserving a good image within this mess-

The next part of the animatic when Gabriel and Francis start talking, they're looking older.

That's because this whole sequence doesn't happen in 1307 but in 1310 when the Templars had one chance to revolt and tried to save and defend themselves and the order. This is also the reason Gabriel is directly confronting Francis. Their whole fight within the animatic is - apart from their own personal history I'll explain in another post - low key a reference to the Templars' attempt to prove their innocence. (failed)

Francis: "And even now I wished that God had chose another. Serving as your foe on his behalf is the last thing that I wanted."

A direct reference to the Capetian attempt of pontification. (popes of Avignon, power imbalance between the church and the worldly rulers) In the propaganda of Philipp he even stylizes himself to be the angel of god with a sword in his hands to protect Christianity. In this narrative he made himself look like the good guy protecting Christians from the foul, heretic knights/sinners.

Afterwards we see a glimpse of Gabriel with a dark red neck.

This wound is another reference to the torture the knights of the order had to endure.

Gabriel: "This was my home..."

Referring to the district of Paris that belonged to the Templars. Especially after the Fall of Acre, they were there a lot.

Gabriel: "All this pain and devastation, how it tortures me inside. All the innocent who suffer from your stubbornness and pride."

Another reference to the imprisonment of his people and the torture and the pontification of the Capetian Court within that conflict.

Then there is a flashback of a younger Francis where he actually tried to speak with his boss to help Gabriel only to be handed the confessions of the Templars from their time in prison and the list of charges against the Templars (papal bull: faciens misericordiam 1308)

Francis becomes a victim of propagada and the pics in the animatic showcasing some of the charges are: stinginess/wrong approach with the order's wealth, idolatry (yes the sheep demon in the animatic is a reference to Helluva Boss' Belphegor because her design is similar to Baphomet the demon that was associated with the Templars later on), spitting on the cross/denying Christ (portrayed with a broken cross here as a "broken bond" to Christ) and sodomy (homosexuality)

After this we go on with the scenes of Gabriel, Francis and the king and Gabriel realises that Francis was influenced by the king etc. In the end the soldiers bring Gabriel away from Francis and the king.

Reference to the outcome of the Templar defense of 1310. The Templars that were trying to defend themselves were burnt at the stake.

Epilogue: The stake and Gabriel's remains.

Can be interpreted as the outcome of 1310 but I personally like to link it to 1312 (dissolution of the order) /1314 (death of the last grandmaster Jacques de Molay) when the order was officially gone. Since Molay was burnt in the evening I also made Gabriel's death happen in the evening.

Last side note:

I picked backgrounds from Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame not only because they're pretty and fit the scenery, time and place but also because of it's historical narrative. The last grandmaster - and in my hc Gabriel as well - died on the same 'island' (Île de la Cité) on the river Seine where Notre Dame is also located. Molay died at the other end of the island though, pont neuf. The last judgement for the grandmaster was also apparently announced at the square of Notre Dame.

The plagues | Historical Hetalia: Templar Trials

6 months of work, 106+ frames, my hyperfocus made me draw the entire second half in about a month with barely any breaks in between (thank god because I need the motivation kick to get such long projects done)

But I finally did it and I'm proud of me for pulling through 😭❤️

Anyways here we have a Historical Hetalia animatic about the Templar Trials and the conflict between Gabriel and Francis (who fell victim to the king's propaganda).

I might make an analysis post later on.

But I hope you like it 👉🏻👈🏻