#like. if you're ex-religious or even religious but not the way you used to be. and you have experience actually BELIEVING.

[gxlden-angels]

I love watching people discover the absolute chaos that is Christian Parody Songs

[july-19th-club]

the actual star is a great book whenever it's in leah's chapters it's just leah going "i NEED to have a violent mystical experience RIGHT. NOW." and then "im so horny right now im gonna piss myself here in the sacred cave. and i need to have a violent mystical experience in ten seconds or else" and then "im so autistic it unsettles everyone around me because of my earnestness and intensity. and i need to have sex and have a violently mystical experience right now before i go another step or somethign drastic is going to happen" and then something drastic does happen

[starblushh]

“What I've learned from women who are totally killing it”

Part 2

(part 1)

☁️ The secret to be the luckiest person in the room is to always think in your favour, no matter the circumstance is.

☁️ A daily routine actually makes your day easier. But the key is to have one which resonates with you.

☁️ Stop blindly following routines you see on the internet; they don't even resonate with you. Ex: Maybe you're not a gym person, but you're half heartedly going to the gym just bc of xyz routine. Instead, try to find what you actually like, such as yoga or exercises.

☁️ Never apologize for things which gives you joy and is literally hurting nobody. Trust me honey you don't wanna be 70 and live your life regretting things you could have loved and enjoyed but didn't. So go stream your ‘not so cool�� artist and enjoy that ‘boring’ hobby.

☁️ The happiness you're searching outside is within you. You will never ‘arrive’ to happiness, it's in the small things you do.

☁️ Music or the songs you listen to can actually affect how you feel all day ! When I started listening to songs with affirmations, I found myself humming those songs again and again. Similarly, when I listened to sad songs I found the same thing. Your subconscious believes what it's hearing, so be mindful of the music you listen to.

☁️ Honey, you're punishing your body if you're only using water and soap/body wash while bathing. Your body deserves to be properly cleaned and these aren't enough to remove the dead skin cells. All you need to do is use an exfoliating tool such as a washcloth, body sponge, loofah, etc. If you don't have access to these right now, then even a simple cotton napkin will work.

☁️ If you're religious and want to have stronger connection with God then the best way you can do it is by reading your religious scriptures. Whether it's the Gita, Bible or Quran, it will provide you with more knowledge than anyone else can.

☁️ “The fears we don't face become our limits” I spent a whole minute reading this quote again and again. One of the most moving quotes I've came across for sure. (I can make a whole post with all my fav quotes too!)

☁️ ‘Nature is women's best friend.’ Take some time out of your day to spend time in nature. Feeling anxious? Take a walk in the garden. Feeling like the world is cruel and everyone is against you? Go hug a tree. Trust me sweetheart, nature has the solutions to all your problems.

[hindahoney]

If you want to code-switch so often that you are nearly incomprehensible to goyim, here is a list of my favorite and most-used Jewish terms:

Schvitzing - Sweating. (Ex: "I'm schvitzing so much it's showing through my clothes.")

Schlep - A tedious and long journey, depending on usage it can mean that you were carrying something. (Ex: "I had to schlep all the way across campus, my backpack was so heavy." Usually denotes a long walk, but other forms of transportation are acceptable too. "You drove all the way to New York from Florida? That's quite the shlep.")

Shtati - Something really cool. (Ex: "I visited my friend's place and they had a shtati mezuzah!")

Neshama - Soul. (Ex: "Mazel tov on your conversion, you have such a strong Jewish neshama!")

Balagan - A big mess, chaotic, confusing (Ex: "Moshe forgot to bring challah for shabbat dinner, and it turned into this big balagan")

Achi/Achoti - "Achi" literally means "my brother," but can also be used like bro or dude, "achoti" is the feminine equivalent meaning "sister"

Yalla - Come on, let's go (Ex: "Yalla yalla, you're going to make us late again")

Mishpacha - Family. Doesn't have to be literal blood relatives, usually a sign of warmth or friendship. (Ex: "I care about every Jew, they're all my mishpacha.")

Pshhh - Interjection sound, to express respect or agreement with what someone is saying, but can also be playfully poking fun at someone taking themselves too seriously, can be used sarcastically.

Achla - amazing, awesome, great, the best (Ex: "You graduated from university? Achla!")

Sheina Punem (Shayna Punim) - Pretty face (Ex: My bubbe kept pinching my cheeks and calling me a sheina punem) Can be used ironically, in which case it means "a disgrace."

Ahavat Yisrael - to love your fellow Jew (Ex: "I firmly believe in ahavat yisrael, even if it's hard sometimes.")

Schande - Shame, dishonor among the nations, meaning a Jew who represents Jews badly, a serious insult. (Ex: "He's a schande, he feeds into antisemitic stereotypes.")

Schmutz - Dirt, stain. (Ex: "Use your napkin, you've got schmutz on your face.")

Amalek - Any enemy of the Jewish people. ("[Fill in blank] is the modern Amalek, they hate the Jews.")

Lanceman/Landsmen - Two jews from the same place, a point of connection between two Jews who now live far away from their hometown. (Ex: "Your grandma is from Crown Heights? Mine too, our grandparents are landsmen!")

Goyisch - Something not Jewish (Ex: "I don't listen to Taylor Swift, her music is too goyisch for me.")

Goyischekop/Goyische-kop - Goyisch head, a jew who thinks/sounds like a non-jew. (Ex: "How could you say about your fellow Jew? Do you have a goyische-kop or something?")

Kindaleh/Kinderlach - Little children (Ex: "I passed by the school and saw the kindaleh on the playground, they're so cute!")

Chamud/Chamuda/Chamudi - Sweetie, cutie, usually aimed at children, but can be a term of endearment between a couple. Can be condescending when said rudely to another adult, like "Sweetheart" can be in English. (ex: "Goodnight, Chamudi. I can't wait to see you tomorrow.")

Daven - to pray ("Are you going to join us for davening?")

Frum - A religiously observant Jew. ("He's frum, he davens three times a day.")

Treif - Unkosher, generally something not good, doesn't have to literally refer to a food. ("I trained my dog to stop barking when I say 'treif!'.")

Bubkis - Zero, nothing, nada ("Moshe got a gift from bubbe and I got bubkis.")

Kvetch - To complain ("I'm just kvetching, I'm not that upset about it.")

Kvell - Extreme pride. ("I heard your daughter made it into her top school, you must be kvelling!")

Mensch - A good, admirable person. ("He volunteers every week, he's a mensch.")

Chillul HaShem - Disgracing God's name, someone who does something that makes Jews look bad.

Kiddush HaShem - Something that sanctifies God's name, brings honor to God. ("I love seeing you wear a kippah, it's a kiddush HaShem!")

Bubbe meise - Little white lies ("He told his teacher a bubbe meise about his dog eating his homework.")

I should acknowledge that these are mostly Yiddish words, as my experience is primarily with Ashkenazi Jews. If you would like to add common slang from your community (like Ladino phrases, Judeo-Arabic, Italki, etc) I would love to learn about them!

[cheriecoke]

it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions — currently at 21k words

PART I ♰ MASTERLIST

As another careful conversation progressed, you poured the tasteless champagne down your throat, the liquid far too much like sandy water.

It was the same, over, and over. The sentence structures were unchanged, never deviating from saying too much without saying anything at all. A practiced smile would follow, where lips perfectly curled upwards. Copied faces plastered onto the next, making it difficult to determine where one individual personality ended and the next began.

These were repeated games, you knew, and you maintained the politeness required of you, even as each curtsy felt stiff and robotic, each refined handshake felt dishonest and meaningless.

Still, you’d grown used to the monotony of this dull life. You tolerated it gladly, ignoring the continuous throb in the back of your mind that grated at you, reminding you that things hadn’t always been this way.

Quietly, you shoved that small voice away. If all of the pomp and circumstance meant you’d feel normal, you’d gladly put on a show and pretend you belonged there.

The woman that stood before you continued her monologue, her dark eyes bright enough to match her elated smile. Her lips were a red, distracting and perfectly lined with the kind of makeup you were certain was far outside her budget. Though her cheeks were powdered and bright, you noticed the beginnings of lines on her young skin, the signs of a life more taxing than she let on.

You’d forgotten her name already. Too many people had introduced themselves to you this evening, and you hadn’t had the patience or interest to remember them. It was unlikely you’d see most of the guests again, after all.

“Congratulations,” the woman said, squeezing your wrist like you’d once played together on the playground. You cringed, wondering if she’d say anything about the iciness of your skin, though it was almost indiscernible with your satin glove as a cover. “I had a feeling you two were going to get engaged soon, but I had no idea when he would pop the question.”

You traded her an indulgent smile, nodding along as you tried not to let all of the conversation float right over your head. Somewhere in the past few decades, you’d lost interest in the faux interactions that events of this grandeur yielded. Everyone was merely putting on their best act, fitting in with those that they deemed superior to them in every way.

In truth, your engagement party was never supposed to reach this scale. Somewhere in between a few close friends, half the city had been invited. It was alarming to see so many unfamiliar faces in a celebration that was supposed to be entirely for you and your new fiancée.

“Thank you,” you said smoothly as Atsushi nudged you gracefully, probably wondering if you’d been ignoring all his friends that evening.

You had… but you felt bad telling him that and would never admit to it. The engagement ball had been his idea, and while you were vehemently against it, you’d indulged him in his innocent excitement. After a life that you’d lived to the fullest, Atsushi seemed to think he had something to prove when it came to loving you.

You just wanted to be with him, plain and simple. There was no need for all the theatrics.

“I’m surprised you invited so many people, Atsushi,” the woman continued, and you’d wished you’d paid attention when she told you her name. She was one of Atsushi’s co-workers, after all. He’d be upset with you if you forgot everyone that he introduced you to. “You’re not usually that type of person.”

Atsushi flushed, and he darted his eyes away bashfully. “It wasn’t my intention for so many guests to be here. Someone got a bit carried away with the invitations.” His thought trailed off, and he diverted to the story of how the elaborate affair had been conceived. Atsushi was the friend of a wealthy agency president’s son, who had offered to organize the event for you. Predictably, he went completely overboard, and now appeared to be having more fun than either you or Atsushi.

Atsushi spun that particular tale with passionate amusement, and you let your eyes wander, hoping to spot a singular face that you were familiar with. If you stood by your fiancée with nothing to say any longer, you weren’t sure you’d make it to the end of the night.

Across the room, a couple of your neighbors huddled in a circle of gossip. You considered speaking to them, if only to entertain yourself, but their husbands were horrendously awful, you didn’t think you could stomach it.

The rest of Atsushi’s co-workers shared hors d'oeuvres and a polite conversation away from the societal elites. On the left side of the floor, the woman who tailored your clothes spoke with another young girl you’d never seen before. A baker from down the street drowned himself in a glass of champagne, looking so dreadfully lonely that you weren’t sure how he’d gotten into the party at all.

You frowned inwards, realizing that while you recognized many of these people, they were more Atsushi’s friends than your own. These were people who greeted him every night on the street, passing their eyes over you like you were just another midnight fling, not the woman he’d been with for nearly two years.

There were too many strangers here to celebrate a marriage they felt nothing about. The superficiality of the situation left a bitter taste in your mouth, and you, very quickly, felt like an outcast at your own party.

You played with the chain around your neck, glancing from person to person. Atsushi, beside you, carried on his conversation, every so often throwing in a word about his work. You were listening half-heartedly, still trying to decide if this was worth all the trouble, or if you should give up on the niceties and head home early.

Someone behind you laughed.

The noise caught your notice because of how achingly familiar it was, how eerie, even. It was cynical and sharp, almost a snort of air that had been released on an accidental exhale. Still, you could hear the genuine amusement in it, a gratitude that came with being able to have something to laugh about.

You shuddered, your body unwillingly reacting as you turned to see who had been loud enough to draw your attention, to stand out amongst a sea of disinteresting people and intolerable voices.

In the corner, the man stood with an aligned spine, every muscle taut to hold himself up. His dark hair was grown out, but every strand remained smooth and healthy, falling over his forehead in loose waves that were glossy in the candlelight. He was caught in a conversation with another, twirling a glass of wine between his fingers, disgustingly captivated by the individual before him.

There was something too recognizable about him for comfort. The shadowed outline of his silhouette was the ghost of a memory, and you were left gawking at a person that you might not even recognize once he turned.

Swallowing, you tried to avert your gaze more subtly as he began to shift his position. He’d noticed you watching him, and he peered over his shoulder, in the fraction of a moment, to catch your eye.

His features were unmistakable.

Your glass slipped from your hands, shattering into a hundred tiny shards on the marble floor. It shushed the room as you maneuvered clumsily to hide away behind Atsushi. From head to foot, you had gone stiff, your body colder than it ever had been, even when you were on the brink of death, before the bliss of sweet blood had ventured down your throat, a memory you’d tucked far away.

You’d long since given up on praying, but you thought about it, just this once, in the hopes he hadn’t recognized you.

Which was a ridiculous concept, really. The memory of him was as fresh in your mind as every bit of yesterday was. He was as likely to forget the image of you as he was his own name, even if you did your makeup differently, if your clothes had changed from how they’d once been.

He’d come here with a purpose—that was the only thing that made sense—and it certainly would have something to do with you. The undeniable acknowledgement sent another wave of nausea through your gut, and you tried to remember what it was like to breathe.  

“Honey?” Atsushi asked, concerned, his voice bringing you back to the present. His hand was on your lower back, wide eyes full of an anxiety you often saw reflected back at you. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said, clutching your hands to your sides to calm yourself. If you didn’t turn around, maybe he’d go away. Maybe he was just an illusion. One way or another, you needed to be free of him. “I just need to get some fresh air. I’ll be alright.”

It was then that you realized that almost everyone’s eyes were on you, and while some stared back at you with pity, some began snickering under their breaths at the darkened stains on the bottom of your gown. You ignored them, trying not to feel the burning observation against your back, trapping you.

If you left, he was certain to follow.

You stepped away from Atsushi, and his hand reached out to you, before retracting, falling. “Are you sure?” He followed your every movement. “You seem—”

“Yes.” You smiled at him placatingly, hoping no one else could hear you. You didn’t want them to be concerned—least of all, Atsushi. It had nothing to do with your engagement, and you were afraid it appeared that way. “I’ll be right back.”

Atsushi seemed to understand after that, shifting his attention to his friends warmly, as he attempted to diffuse the tension. If anything, he knew that you had no desire to cause a scene and relented to your wishes, drawing everyone’s focus off of you. “Alright. I’ll wait here.”

He’d always been steadfast in his understanding. It was one of the reasons that you had fallen for him in the first place.

You nodded and said goodbye to the dark-haired woman before escaping from the ballroom, hoping you could find a room to hide in. Once your feet started moving, they didn’t stop, carrying you throughout the manor in a desperate search for the closest escape route. There were too many doors in the house, a multitude of bedrooms that weren’t needed at all.

As you weaved your way through the halls, you ran into a few couples caught in a salacious embrace, blocking each of the rooms that had once been private. They shouted at you, and you slammed the door uncomfortably, having no desire to intrude on their secretive affairs.

You couldn’t remember what it was like to be sick, to expel every last fluid from your stomach, but you were certain it resembled whatever you were feeling now. Foreboding dread had come to cripple you in every sense of the word, gripping you tightly in the vice of panic.

Finally, you reached an empty bedroom, one with a balcony that overlooked nothing but the gardens. It was a beautiful night, and the dark sky calmed you, bringing you back to the present, pulling you away from memories that you had shoved deep into the pits of your soul, burying them under lock and key.

There was a dreamy hue over the garden, illuminated by the candles and lamps outside. For just a moment, you basked in the serene lighting, the calmness of the evening away from all the guests. The music inside was but a faint whisper, the orchestra stumbling their way back into a tune after you’d escaped the ball less than dramatically.

Inhaling through your nose, you stilled your mind, and waited for the peace to end.

You felt his presence behind you before you heard him, those sharp eyes on you like daggers along your back. He moved silently, gracefully, like he was floating above the floor and not even there at all.

You curled your hands into a fist, staring hard into the horizon as your nails broke the skin of your palm. He’d be the first one to speak, as he always had been, and you’d get sucked into his alluring features, letting yourself indulge as you knew you shouldn’t.

Closing your eyes, you waited for him to break the silence. To come up behind you and hover his touch over your skin. The fragrance of his skin got closer and closer, and you squeezed your eyes tighter, hating how much you’d missed him. That even when you despised him, a part of you still belonged in his possession.

“I’ve missed you, my angel.”

Five words were all it took. Your knees buckled under you, the voice you hadn’t heard in decades like a soothing lullaby from your childhood, a hymn you’d used to worship a god that had left you behind. Your knuckles turned pale as you squeezed the stone of the balcony barrier, just enough force to keep you on your feet.

His voice was never gentle, but for you, he plated his steely knife in rose-colored foil, softening the edges until it couldn’t cut too deep. The sound was exactly as it had always been; nostalgia had its teeth deep in you, before that cool wave of horror crashed over you, remembering who it was, exactly, that you were dealing with.

“Don’t call me that.” You grew stiff as you felt him drawing closer, pulling to you with every word. Within seconds, he was near enough to ghost a breath along your neck, merely a phantom sensation.

“Hm.” His fingers dipped along your shoulders, the blades between them, and you tilted your head away, refusing to gaze into those eyes. “You always did hate that, didn’t you?”

Against your better judgement, a part of you had lit on fire. You longed for him, even when it sickened you.

“Perhaps my lovely devil will suffice instead. You never could accept that you were the very killer I made you out to be.”

“I don’t care what you call me.” You stepped away until you were digging your flesh into the balcony guard, the stone cold as it pressed into your stomach. “I’m not yours anymore.”

“Can you say that while meeting my eyes?" Dazai laughed, and though the sound of it was acerbic and mocking, he stayed where he was. "Maybe I’ll believe you, then. You’ve always been so horrible at lying to me.”

You snarled, ready to slice your nails across his cheek and watch with satisfaction as the blood dripped to his chin.

The anger steeled you, made you think you’d be prepared to face him once more; surely the hatred for him outweighed your lasting weakness.

You turned, eyes narrowed, and though you continued to exhibit your antagonism, the sight of him was poison to your resolve.

Dazai was still as hauntingly beautiful as always, those deep eyes gleaming in the moonlight, watching you with a hint of amusement. His hair was styled as it had been a century ago, transcending lifetimes while he remained eternally twenty-two. He smiled, lips curling into a grim expression, all too delighted with the loose hold he still had over you.

You averted your gaze but stood your ground. “I hate you, Dazai.” You curled your arms around your chest, keeping the distance between you. “I always will.”

For all his confidence, Dazai’s expression momentarily fell, like he’d expected you to welcome him back with loving arms, grovel at his feet with apologies you didn’t mean. Then, the insincere smile was back, drawing you in with revolting sweetness. “I’ve searched for you for decades. I thought you were dead—”

“I don’t care.”

“—Only to find out you’d been running from me this entire time.” Dazai invaded your circle once more, and his fingers pinched your jaw, studying you raptly. There was just a foot of air between you, the cool heat exchanged in your breaths. You ignored every muscle in your body that was relying on memory, wishing to do all the things that it had once done. “Did those years together mean nothing? Were you not to be my everlasting companion?”

You swatted his hand away, a million little fires starting along every point where your skin met. But no matter how beautiful he was, how calm those saccharine words of his made you feel, you knew the mercilessness that he was capable of. “I never made that choice of my own volition. You took it away from me.”

His eyes flashed before he retracted, complacent. “I gave you what you asked for. A life more than the one you had. And then I gave you everything I had left to give.”

“Your apology means nothing to me. Get the hell out of here.” Your words lacked the bite that you’d wished for, not sure you had the courage to push him into a fight. His strength outweighed yours by centuries; you had enough sense not to challenge that.  

Dazai blinked, and then laughed, jeering, without any sense of real humor. “You misunderstand. I’m not apologizing.” He tucked a hand back into his coat, regarding you with serious disdain as he sunk back, the outline of his dark clothes blending with the evening. “I never regretted the decision I made that night.”

You stared at him, blinking, before retracting and matching his heartless laugh with one of your own.

It was as if you’d never been parted at all. The unpleasant decades thinned into one small period, an insignificant point in time that, now, seemed nothing more than a development to your character. “Fine. I’ve got nothing to say to you, Dazai. I wanted to be rid of you, and I was. Your insincere words don’t matter to me anymore.”

His jaw tightened, and you stared each other down, searching for any glimpse of the familiar figure you’d used to love. Undeniably, he was there. Those eyes of his were just the same. The soft words he used for you and only you had never changed.

Yet, just as those sweet parts of him were as comforting as ever, the ugly parts of him were there as well. You remembered his cruelty, his gift of manipulation, and you pushed him away, never again wanting to be strung in that web.

Dazai did nothing but blink as you withdrew, standing straight, pulled taut by a marionette cord. “Is this the life you intend to live now? This half-hearted existence where you befriend mortals that will wither without you, to be engaged to a man you will never spend eternity with? Pitiful, really.”

For just a moment, you’d been so caught up in Dazai that the man who’d loved you with all of his heart had vanished into the atmosphere. It was as if, somehow, you’d forgotten that Atsushi was there at all.

Guilt overwhelmed you.

That man, the sweet, kind man who had become your saving grace, was at risk because of your carelessness. Dazai was too smart not to have taken cautious measures, and you knew he’d learned everything there was to know about your life before intervening.

It made sense why he’d appeared now of all times. It was the perfect opportunity to ruin everything you’d loved for good, reducing you to the whimpering mess that had accepted him in the first place.

He'd made you; he’d known you; he’d loved you for decades. If anyone knew how to break you, it was Dazai Osamu, and that was the thing that scared you the most.  

“I fully intend to turn him,” you said, hating the way your voice broke on a singular syllable, making you seem uncertain of the decision you’d made nearly a year ago. “Though I appreciate your concern. I’ll be perfectly happy this way.”

The comment didn’t faze Dazai, who grinned, his eyes burning with a fire you’d never forget, a sort of glee that only transpired from evil. “I should kill him before that happens, shouldn’t I?” His teeth gleamed in the candlelight, two long fangs slipping over his lips with threatening causality. The points were even more severe in the lighting. “I’ll be sure to savor in the taste as I rip his throat out.”

The image was sickening, a gruesome thought that made your old panic reignite. You schooled your lips into nothing but a line, knowing that Dazai could detect even the smallest change in your features.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve managed to control yourself so well.” He went on, mocking you with every second that passed. “After three years, did I hear? I admit, I was having trouble listening over the band.” He tilted his head, studying you, searching deep into your consciousness for an answer that would satiate him. “You’ve never been able to resist your hunger before. What changed?”

You knew better than to underestimate him and stood taller.

“I’m not the same person I was when I was with you, and I never want to be her again.” You closed your eyes, looking away.

“This isn’t the life I envisioned for you a century ago.”

“My life is not yours to craft. I’m not some doll you can bend to your will.” Finally, you reached out to him, wrapping your hands around his own. His skin was cold, dead, void of any blush from the stolen blood in his veins. You were one word away from begging, pleading with him, even as you stood your ground. “Just don't kill him, Osamu. I’d never forgive you, and that’s what you want, isn’t it? You want me to come back to you.”

The scowl twitched ever-so-slightly as something in his eyes flashed. His name on your lips had always been his greatest weakness, and you could see him thinking hard. “For once, my love, you’re wrong. That’s not what I came here for.”

You stared, puzzled, before dropping his hand and frowning. “Then what are you here for?”

“I was looking for you, yes,” he admitted with a one-shoulder shrug. “I’ve been looking for you for years, and it is by mere coincidence that I found you here.” A cheer sounded inside the house from a toast. You wished that you were in there, warm, where all of this was but a nightmare. “As happy as I am to see that you’re alive and well, I refuse to compete with someone who turns you into everything you are not. If you’re so much happier without me, then who am I to stand in the way?”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” you scoffed.

You’d be a fool to believe that was any more than an obvious lie, that Dazai’s motives were pure of heart. He had never been loud about his jealousy, but he’d killed every lover you’d ever dared to take, leaving you alone with no one but him for comfort.

Dazai had always refused you even one outlet of happiness, even when he’d had other lovers of his own, had brought his one-night affairs to your shared home. The place where you slept in the same bed, fucked on most every surface imaginable had been tarnished with decisions that he’d never be able to undo.

Your gaze hardened. It didn’t matter anymore. With lives that never ended, vampires weren’t known for their monogamy. You were naïve to think that a man like Dazai would give that to you.  

“I mean it, Dazai.” You shoved away the vile memories from the forefront of your mind, wanting them to stay just that – memories. They would not become a repetition of the past. “If you kill him, I’ll burn you to ashes. Then, I’ll step into the flames myself.”

“Ah, but wouldn’t that be such a lovely way to go? Tossed into the flame by the very woman I care for most dearly, reunited only moments later in death.” He seemed too fascinated by the idea, his gaze faraway as if wondering what could possibly push you to that breaking point.

“Hell has a special place for you, Dazai,” you said, disgusted. “Somewhere far, far away from me.”

He laughed darkly. “Oh, how wrong you are. If I am the devil himself, as so many say that I am, then I’ll ensure we spend every moment in the flames together.”

Your lip curled, and you pushed him back in abhorrence, ignoring the tug in your heart that wanted to do everything but. You hated him, you loved him, you never wanted to see him again, you wished he’d stay by your side forever.

Nothing was more dangerous than the allure of fond memories. It seemed even those could lead you to turn a blind eye to the horrors that had been unleashed in the very city you inhabited.

You exhaled. There had to be a line in the sand, a point that you could never pass.

“Please, Dazai. Let me go.” His very presence had already put a kink in your future plans, and if he stayed any longer, you weren’t sure how much damage he’d cause. “Things can never go back to the way they were. I don’t want them to.”

“I don’t either,” he promised, nodding sincerely. “You’ll be rid of me once I make sure that this is what you really want. Who would I be if I watched you lock yourself into a marriage with a man you can never love more than you loved me? To watch you live a life reduced to hiding in the shadows, pretending you were never there at all?”

The arrogant bastard.

“I do love Atsushi more than I ever loved you,” you said with as much conviction as you could muster, your eyes full of flames, unrelenting. That man was waiting for you downstairs, probably worried out of his mind. You refused to play any more games. “Loving you was the biggest mistake I ever made. It was a mistake to let you turn me. I regret all of it.”

Dazai’s lips curled, his gums exposed as he snarled. “Ah, but mistakes are your specialty, aren’t they? You’ve made even more in my absence.”

You said nothing, tired of already falling into the same routine with him. The same old song and dance, taking you back to a time when all you had was him, a time you never wanted to go back to again. The exchange of cruel words was more familiar than your own last name.

“I should be on my way to my room. Sunrise is fast approaching, and I won’t be taking any risks, now that I know what I have to look forward to.” He bowed his head, though you could see his careless smirk, filling you with an irrepressible anger. “I’ll be around.”

With that, you watched him turn and walk out the door, ruining the rest of your evening.

Dazai’s chin was covered in blood, clots drying together around his lips as he pulled away from the lifeless doll between you, the woman that had once been on her way to becoming a well-known actress. Now, she’d be found in a pile of her own blood, the liquid creating a sticky pool beneath her.

It was a sight you’d never tire of; Dazai the very product of his own misdeeds, looking forever the gruesome killer that he made himself out to be. He was most alluring this way, his fangs protruding over his lips, teeth-stained ruby red from the drink of eternal life.

Your adoration for him was most intense in moments like these, when blood became the one thing that bound you together.

“You are beautiful,” he said, shoving aside the corpse, her deadweight toppling onto the floor. “Everyone pales in comparison to you, my darling.” His fingers were soft around your jaw, bringing you closer, reducing the space between his own lips and yours. “I am eternally yours.”

You woke in the bed that you’d chosen to share with another, the one with a squeaky spring, so unlike the coffins you’d previously spent your days in. The room was completely dark, sun-proofed to save you from your fatal weakness. It could have been the middle of the day, and you wouldn’t have known.  

Atsushi was beside you, a flickering candle creating shadows on his features as he read through his reports. It’d become routine for him to be by your side as you slept, now that you didn’t fear the sun slipping through cracks on the boards.

It wasn’t as much time as you would’ve liked together, being on such different schedules, but you made it work as best you could. Atsushi often went into work with puffy eyes from sleepless nights, or you fumbled around the house, bored while the whole city slept.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes full of concern. His hand inched across the bed to hold your own. “You haven’t been yourself since yesterday evening.”

You hated that he’d noticed, even though it was his job to do so. It was wrong to keep secrets from the man you loved, even more when you were to be married in just a few months.

Still, you were reluctant to say anything on the matter, certain that you could deal with Dazai on your own. You’d mentioned him to Atsushi only once, and it was through vague details that gave the impression you were in too much pain to talk about it. Like the sweet man he was, Atsushi had accepted it, and he had never once forced the words from your mouth.

You owed him nothing, but it felt wrong to keep your history with Dazai a secret from him. Especially now. Especially when Dazai, who was a loose cannon on his own, had never been very rational when you were around.

“I’m fine.” You sat up in the bed, maneuvering closer to the side where Atsushi was, his legs spread out in front of him. He was wearing casual clothes and seemed scrubbed clean from a bath. It must have been later than you thought. “Just a weird dream is all.”

“I didn’t know vampires had dreams.” Atsushi went back to his reports.

That was because you’d never told him. You rarely had dreams, and when you did, they were more like memories. Or some prophetic, horrible vision that you’d learn to ignore. Nothing pleasant, like when you were human.

“What time is it?”

“About eight. Sun should be down by now, I haven’t checked. I’ve been working—there seems to be an increased amount of crime this week. I don’t know who came into town, but they’ve got an itch for trouble.”

“It’s not a vampire, is it?” you asked, instantly feeling nauseous. Dazai had no qualms about making a spectacle of killing humans. He’d leave a string of bodies like a signature, knowing you’d recognize his mark.

Atsushi snorted. “No, I think I’d see the signs. Just some regular guy.”

You weren’t convinced. Dazai knew how to hide his tracks and make it seem like anything but a vampire, but you convinced yourself to keep quiet. If Atsushi had even a suspicion about Dazai, he’d go after him, and you didn’t want to see what would happen if he did.

For both your sake and Atsushi’s, you hoped that he was right about this.  

“Okay.” You threw the covers off the bed, putting yourself together with the clothes you’d strewn across the room. Atsushi’s eyes remained on the paper, ever the savior of the city he lived in. It was admirable, really, even if his work took some fraction of your time with him away. “I’m going to go out, Atsushi. I’m starving.”

“Want me to come?” he asked, finally looking up, much too eager. He was always so willing to stand by as you clamped your jaws into rodents, feeding off the unwanted pests that lingered the streets.

It was disgusting. You knew that your diet to him, and to all the other humans, was noble. It was repentance for all the horrid sins you’d committed at your lowest point.

To vampires, it meant you were rejecting your nature, trading your gift for a chance to thinly grasp at the cord of humanity you’d never truly held at all. It was abhorrent and shameful.

“No,” you said, certain that if anyone saw you feed on a rat that evening, you wouldn’t be able to recover. How Atsushi could stand to be with you after that display of events was beyond your comprehension. “I need to clear my head.”

“Okay.” Sometimes, you wondered if he’d ever doubted you at all. He was always understanding of each rejection, each carefully chosen word, no matter how harsh they were. “Will you be back quickly?”

“Of course.” With that you smiled, never wanting to waste the precious hours you had with your fiancée before the sun rose. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Atsushi kissed you before blowing out the candle and laying his head down. “I’m going to take a nap. I’ve been working on this all afternoon.”

“See you later.” You watched as he tucked himself into the bed you’d just left, waving at you lazily from the covers.

You swallowed down the sharp pang in your chest, looking away from him as you left the room, into another that was bathed in moonlight.

Really, you were content with your, but the arrangement between you and Atsushi was growing dismal. While you made it work, you always had, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that you’d never be able to accompany him on daylight ventures, confined to your midnight prison.

You lost your head as you traveled through the dark streets, the city busy with nightlife now that the sun was far beyond the horizon. As usual, there were all kind of people out and about, the rich and poor, the young and old, the good and the bad. And you, the worst of all, the one pretending to fit right in with the rest of them.

After a young couple, not much older than Atsushi, crossed the road, you slunk down into an abandoned alley, bending yourselves into the shadows like the nightly creature you were. You heard the rats scurrying about before you could even spot them, your supernatural hearing so much more attuned to subtle sounds.

With a face, you walked to the hub of rats, your speed much quicker than any of their tiny legs. One particular animal looked back at you, intrigued against its very nature, holding a piece of garbage between its small human-like hands.

You took the rat by the neck, staring into its beady eyes as you plucked it from the ground like a dandelion. The creature looked back at you so helplessly that you almost felt guilty for freeing it from its meaningless existence. Without thinking, you bit into its flesh, draining the rodent dry. The fur was rough against your tongue, disgusting as always as the strands got caught in your teeth.

It wasn’t enough. What little blood you had gained from the animal was never enough to sustain the bloodlust that had increased tenfold since Dazai stepped back into your life.

With a sideways glimpse down the alley, you plucked another rat from the gutter, remembering why you were destroying your own dignity in such a way.

“You’ve made some concerning decisions lately, but this certainly takes the cake.”

With the rat still thrashing around your lips, you glanced up at the man lingering down the alley, his tone cruel and mocking. You continued to suck the last bit of blood from the rodent before tossing the body aside, meeting Dazai’s eyes.

“Why do you care?” you asked, and though you were still starved and lightheaded, you would draw your hunt to a conclusion. You would only embarrass yourself further with Dazai’s keen stare watching your every move.

“I’d wondered why you seemed so weak.” He tossed a disgusted look towards the rats scurrying through the trash, their plump bodies dragging thick tails behind them. “I see, now.”

“Spare me the lecture. I swore I’d never feed from another human, and I’ve never broken my vow.” A rat ran past you, unafraid, even after you’d just killed another member of its clan. The long tail hit your ankle, and you cringed, to Dazai’s satisfaction.

“You’ll get yourself killed. For a vampire of your age, you should be much stronger than this.” He took a step towards you, cornering you in the alley. “Now, you’re a threat to no one.”

“Then, I will die. Something I’m surprised you haven’t done already.”

Dazai was silent, his eyes hard. For all of his promises of the threats that lie out there, you couldn’t spot another but him. There were dangerous vampires in the world, you knew that better than anyone, but he’d always be the one you feared the most.

“Will you continue to torment me for another night?” you sighed wearily, wiping the blood from your chin with a handkerchief. “Your very presence exhausts me.”

Dazai, irritatingly, lit a fire deep in your gut, increasing your hunger to lengths you hadn’t felt in years. You could smell his blood from where you stood, the ambrosia that you’d never tire of. It was a dessert so unlike anything you’d tasted as a human, and you hated that he was tempting you with it now.

Your vision flashed with images of you sinking your fangs into his shoulder, draining him of every last drop as you lost yourself into the man that was Dazai Osamu.

Dazai eyed you carefully, dragging his gaze down to your chest, across your body, back to the blood-stained mouth that remembered too fondly what it was like to taste him. “You still wear the ring I gave you, hovering delicately over your heart.”

You’d forgotten; or you just thought he’d never notice. You’d hidden it under layers of clothing, but still, it had broken free. “A reminder of my past mistakes. It has nothing to do with sentimental value.”

He hummed, considering twirling it around his index finger before he thought better of it. “If that’s the case, why haven’t you turned another companion? Is it not for the hope that we might return to another one day?”

You hadn’t noticed when he’d gotten so close, close enough to touch you. It became hard to focus, even as he kept a respectable distance, letting you retain a semblance of control.

“Atsushi clings to his human life as I did. I will never turn him against his will.” You stood taller, even as you refused to look into his brown irises, to see the mockery that was pushed back at you. “When the moment is right, only then will I do so. That’s something you’d never understand.”

He laughed. “You’ll continue with this narrative, will you?”

You said nothing, staring at the bodies of dead rats that would soon begin to decay. Let him find amusement in the choices you’ve made.

“Sweetheart,” Dazai said, his voice softening with the tone you’d never been able to resist. Your heart twisted, your forehead wrinkling as you kept your eyes firmly on the ground. “Don’t hurt yourself in this way. These vermin will not sustain you.”

“I won’t hunt with you, Dazai. I won’t kill anyone. Don’t try to deceive me into coming back to you.”

“That’s not what I was suggesting.” Before you could discern his actions, Dazai had bit into his wrist, opening a vein as blood poured down his forearm.

You froze.

Fangs had dropped over your bottom lip without a thought, your pupils dilating with the desire of blood. The scent was hard to resist, a sweetness that had been placed on this Earth only for you, handed over from the Devil in an attempt to bring you furthest from God. Though, that might have been all wrong... maybe your god was standing right before you.

Your eyes glued to the fountain of life, and you began to doubt your restraint. It’d been so long.

“Dazai—” you tried to step away, but your feet were cemented, buried under the cobblestones of the dimly lit street. You were a stronger woman than this, and certainly a vampire of your age would not collapse at the sight of blood in the way you were. “Stop it.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t want your help. This isn’t what I want at all.”

You finally tore your gaze away, taking a few more steps back into the alley as you regained control of yourself, sick with a yearning for him. Dazai was playing a torturous game, and you refused to be the victim.

The vein closed, and Dazai watched you curiously, but he made no move to reopen the wound. Your irrational thoughts began to calm, and though you could still smell the blood that circled through his body, warm from a recent kill, your resolve was now stronger.

“I can’t stand to see you like this.” His words were hard, disappointed. “I won’t leave until I know you’re safe from harm. Even a mortal could end you with the weakened state you’re in.”

“Safe from harm?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. “I’m in no danger here. I’ve been fine without you for fifty years, and I will continue to be fine without you for the rest of eternity.”

His voice deepened, eyes narrowing into a glare as he watched you retreat. “Don’t pretend to be a fool. Your very position with me put you at risk. You betrayed vampires even older than me, and they won’t stop until you’re dead.”

You exhaled, looking up at the stars before dropping your attention back to Dazai. “I don’t think you actually care. You told me that you loved me, and time and time again, you failed me. You left me there, Dazai. I had no choice but to betray them; they were going to kill me.”

“I thought they already had.” He reached out to you, curling his hands around your chin, desperate and wanting and so many things that you had never seen him. “Don’t you understand? I thought you were already dead. I never would have left if I’d known the truth. I’d never think of escaping without you.”

Your breath caught, and while you couldn’t stand to believe him, you felt yourself giving in a little more, succumbing to Dazai each time you crossed his path. Still, you removed his hands from your face, forcing yourself to be a little stronger, to put up those steely walls until he left your life once and for all. “I don’t trust you, Osamu, and you don’t trust anyone but yourself. There’s no reason for us to be speaking at all.”

His jaw tightened, but he let you go, straightening with a frustration he didn’t deserve.

“I’m going home to my fiancée—the man who has never put conditions on his affection. Please, stay as far away from me as you can.”

You shoved past him, shaking with nerves. Though he was stronger, he stumbled back, watching you go with an emotion you couldn’t discern.

PART II

tag list: @cerberels @thateldribitch @hauntedsol @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346

[melminli]

Devil's Advocate II

pairing: hazbin hotel x fem. reader

summery - after you died, you didn't really find it surprising to end up in hell. though, what you did find quiet amusing was that your life down here sucked just a bit less than the one before.

word count: 1.5k

contains: cursing, strong language, sinner reader, violence, religious themes (obviously), sexual themes, demon horniness

part I

"So...ya and that pretty lady over there seemed to be pretty tight, if ya know what I mean." Angel Dust asked curiously, ready to hear some tea. He grinned as he tilted his head to the side flirtatiously. "She some ex of yours, or somethin' like that?"

Husker just looked at him with his usual grim look while he was cleaning a few glasses. Then his gaze briefly wandered away to your figure, who was forced to deal with the Radio Demon and the Princess of Hell. Yeah, you haven't really been successful in getting out of this hotel yet.

"None of your business." He said with his monotone voice and let Angel hang his head in disappointment. "...I'm far too sober for this shit."

A groan could be heard. "Oh, come on, ya grumpy cat! Don't leave me high and dry, I know there's some good story to be heard!"

Before Husker could leave him hanging one more time, a red demon manifested next to them, much to their surprise. "I would also like to hear this good story, if you wouldn't mind sharing it with us, my good friend!" Alastor expressed his interest and looked menacingly at the barkeeper for a few seconds to make it clear that he did not have the privilege of turning his request down.

Fuck you, Larry. This is all your fault. "...we go back a long way." He reluctantly shared the information. "She was obsessed with money back then too, so I saw her in the same casino as me sometimes. Though, she died a long time before me, so I've only really known her since I went to hell." He summarized as briefly as possible.

Angel Dust raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" He asked, a little disappointed, even though he hadn't expected the man in front of him to be a good storyteller. "How did she die?"

Cat eyes looked a little nervously at the two people in front of him, while he didn't make a sound. How unfortunate, Alastor thought to himself, and his sharp teeth showed as he understood the situation. "Looks like Husker isn't allowed to tell us this information. That's very interesting! Very interested indeed..." He laughed, and his creepy gaze shifted briefly to your figure. "Seems like we need to find out directly from the source."

The once Overlord looked over at Angel Dust with slight concern and saw how the spiders' eyes were also glancing towards your form. It wasn't that he didn't trust you, but demons as reckless as him fell into your trap like flies to a web. Besides, it wasn't like he was on your best side right now. "I'd be careful." He said to the crowd even though he didn't give a rat's ass about Alastor. "She's not known for making packs with demons left and right for nothing, and I can assure you there's not the slightest chance of escaping from her contracts once you're in it." He said and added. "That's the price for holding up her end of the deal without any sneaky tricks, I suppose."

Well, that sounded unusual. After all, it was normal that one Demon after another stabbed the other in the back, there was no such thing as trusting the other person's word. But maybe that was why you were so popular. "Calm down, I'm not gonna sell my soul to her." Angel laughed. I couldn't even if I wanted to.

Husker placed another clean glass on the counter. "It doesn't have to be your soul. She'll find something she wants from you, and she's good with her mouth, so you'll give it to her. They all do in the end." He said and reached for a bottle of whiskey, ignoring the two incredulous looks he received. He took a sip and was initially confused as to what was going on with the two until he realized what he had said and choked on his drink. "Words! I meant to say words, damn it." He corrected himself.

Alastor didn't blink for a few seconds, and Angel, on the other side, just laughed amusedly. Maybe he wasn't so wrong with his first guess, after all. "Of course ya were."

"Well, thank you for your kind hospitality, but I'm afraid that I'll be taking my leave now." You spoke to the two girls. As much as Charlie regretted it, she couldn't convince you to spend a few nights at the Hazbin Hotel. Apart from the fact that she would have had a new guest, it might have enhanced the hotel's reputation if someone as renowned as you had visited. Though, unfortunately that didn't work out.

I've messed up again. Charlie tried not to look too depressed, even though she really was an open book. "Oh, all right. Thanks for listening to me."

You smiled while rubbing her shoulder. "Of course, darling." You replied, but that didn't really seem to cheer her up. You couldn't help but be a little gentler with her, she had a good heart for a hell born. "Let's make a deal." You suggested to her as an idea popped into your head.

Right after the sentence came out of your mouth, Vaggie narrowed her eyes and stepped protectively in front of her girlfriend. "Charlie doesn't make deals with demons like you." She said protectively, and you leaned closer to her at what she said. Your pupils narrowed to slits and two more eyes opened menacingly on your face. "What do you mean with demons like me, little lady, hm?" You asked her as the light in the room began to flicker, and you saw her continue to stand her ground, even though you could smell the slight fear emanating from her.

You pulled back again and returned to your normal self. "I'm just kidding, I know I'm a greedy bitch." You laughed out and saw how Vaggies eye twitch in irritation while Charlie laughed along a little uncomfortably. "Well, even though I wouldn't mind making an official deal with the little princess, I was thinking more of a friendly kind of deal." You suggested. "I'll put in a good word if the subject of your hotel comes up with anyone I know, and in return, I'd just like to ask you for a teeny tiny favor."

That didn't sound so bad. It would be good for their image if someone like you would spread a few good things about the hotel. Before Charlie could agree, Vaggie straddled back in. "And what does this favor involve?"

You conjured up a collar with a bell and an old Poloroid camera with a snap of your fingers. "Make Husk wear this and take lots of photos of it. Preferably of the process too, 'cause I'm working on some thank you cards for my company." You say and put the two things in her hands. You then remembered something. "Oh! And give this to him too." You added and handed Charlie a piece of paper. "That bastard owes me sixty thousand dollars 'cause of that Berry guy, or whatever his name was."

You were about to turn around and walk to the door when you met two red eyes right in front of you. "Leaving us so soon, what a shame." Said the Radio Demon with a smile as you took a step back so that you were no longer face to face. "Your presence turned out to be quite entertaining, I too had secretly hoped that you would give our great hotel a chance." He announced, pointing his funny stick at you.

You pushed it aside with your finger. "Well, thank you, Blossom, but I'm afraid my presence is in demand at other places." You pronounced not very regretfully.

He raised an eyebrow and would find your nicknames more amusing if he'd understood the reference. "And where would that be?"

You looked neutral. "I actually have a massage appointment at six. See you then." You said goodbye and went away with a poof after you clapped with your hands.

A few seconds of silence passed after you disappeared, and Vaggie looked at the objects in her hands again, a little questioningly. "So, what's the best way to go about this?" She asked Charlie, who was already looking thoughtfully at the bar. "Let's ask him first. Maybe he's in a good mood."

Vaggie looked at the man in question and saw him drinking a large bottle of alcohol before throwing it in the back to get his hands on another one. "Sweetie, do you know Husk?"

[edelfie]

#𝓣𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘! who’s that girl?

Y/N L/N is a nobody. well, maybe that’s a stretch, but it’s nothing compared to the other words the media uses to describe you. washed up, irrelevant, talentless—any cruel word or insult has or will be thrown your way. but 10 years in the game has forced you to grow thick skin, even if the supposed quality of your music doesn’t suit it. so why is it that today, of all the days, you awake to the worst news imaginable—worse than all the name-calling and jeers?

or, you open twitter. it doesn’t go well.

BLIND ITEMS! —

## this millionaire’s daughter influencer is known for buying many of her followers across all platforms. however, brands and colleagues ignore it because of the fat check lining her pockets.

## this one-of-a-duo A-list model is having business disputes with his other half and sibling. apparently, he wants more creative control over their projects despite having been in the industry for less time. it’s so serious that legal litigation is in the works. [revealed: lev haiba, alisa haiba]

## the not-so-indie band’s newest album is rumored to be about a controversial figure in the industry. this figure has already produced an album about the lead singer years ago, however it failed to garner any publicity.

## off-the-charts wannabe pop star is postponing her next album because her team knows her career is over if she doesn’t chart well. after nearly a decade in the industry and without a single long-lasting, cultural hit, she’s better off waiting tables than writing music. [revealed: Y/N L/N]

gracetheestallion. the haiba twins fighting ?? i can’t believe, like actually

colormeshocked. if y/n doesn’t clutch up rq then i’m gonna be so sad for her — underdawg. honestly, it’s just not fair how she’s treated by the industry — garagoesgaga. it’s “unfair”? she literally only makes trash songs and hooks up with men in relationships, girl bye — underdawg. your misogyny is showing, ugly <3 — garagoesgaga. wowwwww insults, so mature. average iq of a y/n fan

read more…

NOTES! —

Two posts in one day? It's more likely than you think! Anyways, today's fundraiser is for the family and sons of Reyna and Javier. Reyna and Javier lost their lives in a fatal crash, leaving their three sons without parents. Of their sons, one of them was dependent on their parents as he has been wheelchair bound all his life. In this brief period of time, he has lost both his parents and his primary caregivers. The entire family is feeling the financial strain of the sudden loss, so every help counts. Please consider donating here on GoFundMe or copy the link and share it online!

If you're new here, or even if you're not since I'm just starting to post again, I strive to bring attention to different fundraisers in all my posts. I primarily focus on sharing the stories of individuals in dire need, such as refugees in Gaza or those experiencing sudden homelessness, however there is no comparison between struggles, grief, and loss here! So I also take the time to share the stories of families such as Reyna and Javier's, and would deeply appreciate it if you could show them some much needed love as well.

I won't say too much, but as someone who has had the cards stacked against them (being a poc, nonbinary, queer, a religious minority, etc.) and has experienced my own share of loss, I can say that while the pain doesn't feel the same, the knife digs itself into you either way. My family was privileged enough to afford a funeral for my grandfather, who recently passed, but with many other family members getting older in age and being taken by the devil that is cancer, it does make me nervous as to how we will make it through. Regardless, I just hope that my plea and the stories I share will implore you to help others—not out of moral or societal obligation or to save face, but out of humanity and compassion <3

SEVEN EVIL EXES + MASTERLIST + NEXT

© all rights reserved—edelfie (2024) // do not plagiarize, modify, copy, use, translate, or repost my work on other sites without permission

[queerprayers]

I'm a lifelong Christian and I've been struck with fear recently because I've never feared God. I love God so much, but I cannot fear anyone whom I love. Those two things can't go together in my mind. I think of 1 John 4:18 and I justified, but then I think of all of Proverbs (wisdom is the fear of God) or even some of Jesus' sayings (ex. Luke 12:5)... and I start feeling like a horrible Christian because I just can't imagine loving someone that I'm afraid of. I guess I am afraid sometimes of God showing me my guilt when I sin, but I'm not scared of God sending me into eternal hell or anything, because I wouldn't be able to believe in a God who'd do that to anyone. Is there another way to think about "fear of God"?

What a great topic, beloved! The answer is yes, there are many ways to think about the concept of "fear of God!" 

The first thing I want to bring up is that we have to be careful about moralizing emotions. As someone with a mood disorder, I know all too well that when we do this, we alienate people with emotional differences, and we also fundamentally misunderstand a lot. We cannot control our emotions. We can choose between reveling in them or moving on from them, we can learn ways to process them, we can identify whether they're helpful, but we cannot control them. Because of this, we cannot require certain emotions as a virtue. It's not realistic or helpful.

Fear, the way we usually talk about it, is an emotion. It can be a logical response or a completely illogical one. Someone with an anxiety disorder may experience fear in perfectly normal situations; someone with paranoia or a phobia may be afraid of completely safe situations. We may not feel fear in an unsafe situation because of recklessness or ignorance. 

Emotional responses to God are varied and uncontrollable—although with religious education and emotional intelligence, they can be useful. We can process our guilt to decide whether it's pushing us to change or keeping us trapped. We can process our joy and cherish when it is a response to holy things. We can let anger lead us to work for justice. We can honor our grief at injustice but work to not let it paralyze us. We can love worldly things or eternal things. Again, I don't want to moralize emotion, but rather honor it as a part of the human experience and use it to serve God.

You're afraid because you don't fear God—this comes out of a desire to be a "good Christian," to cultivate in yourself what is holy. Ironically, your fear is leading you to God, the kind of fear you were afraid you didn't have. Now if fear of being a horrible Christian traps you, if it causes you not to care for yourself, if it keeps you from experiencing the joy of Christianity, we know it isn't serving you. But it can, and it may be doing so right now, pushing you to think further about this.

To see fear as a virtue, though, we have to look beyond uncontrollable emotional responses. We have to see it in Scripture in all its many facets. You have identified two completely different verses on fear—showing us that fear can be can be the enemy of perfect love, and also a logical response to a God that has ultimate power. Fear can prevent us from reaching out (being afraid), or it can be an awareness of our own lack of power, our dependence on God, and result in surrender. Anxiety is a shutting in; reverence is a reaching out.

I cheated and used the Wikipedia page to find this, but Pope Francis said that

The fear of the Lord, the gift of the Holy Spirit, doesn’t mean being afraid of God, since we know that God is our Father that always loves and forgives us,...[It] is no servile fear, but rather a joyful awareness of God’s grandeur and a grateful realization that only in him do our hearts find true peace.

We don't fear God because we don't trust him—we fear offending God because we love God, we fear losing God because we are completely dependent on God, we fear forgetting God's love because that's the only meaning in the universe.

I've really valued C.S. Lewis's perspectives on fear—I don't have The Problem of Pain with me right now, but the Wikipedia page for "numinous" helpfully quotes it:

Suppose you were told there was a tiger in the next room: you would know that you were in danger and would probably feel fear. But if you were told "There is a ghost in the next room," and believed it, you would feel, indeed, what is often called fear, but of a different kind. It would not be based on the knowledge of danger, for no one is primarily afraid of what a ghost may do to him, but of the mere fact that it is a ghost. It is "uncanny" rather than dangerous, and the special kind of fear it excites may be called Dread. With the Uncanny one has reached the fringes of the Numinous. Now suppose that you were told simply "There is a mighty spirit in the room," and believed it. Your feelings would then be even less like the mere fear of danger: but the disturbance would be profound. You would feel wonder and a certain shrinking—a sense of inadequacy to cope with such a visitant and of prostration before it—an emotion which might be expressed in Shakespeare's words "Under it my genius is rebuked." This feeling may be described as awe, and the object which excites it as the Numinous.

Proverbs states multiple times that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom—not guilt, not an eternal state of being afraid, not self-hatred, not doom. When it is an understanding of our dependence on God, our recognizing how small we are and how much power God has, when we realize that everything real to us is a pitiful reflection of what is in store, that is where we find wisdom in this life. 

Proverbs also tells us that to fear the Lord is to hate evil (8:13). 16:6 says that evil is avoided through the fear of the Lord. Job 28:28 tells us that the fear of the Lord is wisdom, and to shun evil is understanding. We see here fear of God leading us to good works and obedience—if it's not leading us anywhere, it's stagnation. (The same with guilt.)

Another place fear of God leads us is life and rest (Proverbs 14:27; 19:23). Fully understanding and submitting ourselves to God, knowing how afraid we would and should be without that rock, we can rest knowing that we have God, the fountain of life.

Another interesting thing besides evil that fear of God is set against is arrogance/pride. Romans 11:20 says, "Do not be arrogant, but tremble." Proverbs 22:4: "Humility is the fear of the Lord." When we set ourselves as the center of the universe, when we think we're in control, when we cling to earthly things, we are not in that state of reverence. 

Fear of God is holy—but over and over, God tells us to not be afraid. So what's the difference between these fears? Fear of earthly things (the emotion) is a logical response to the very real dangers we experience. But when we make that a state of being, when we don't move anywhere, we're not trusting God. Fear of God, on the other hand, is that ultimate trust and awareness. "Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe" (Proverbs 29:25).

Fear keeping us safe seems an oxymoron if we define it as an emotion, which is an earthly experience. We have to look further. We have to understand that the logical response to an all-powerful God is being afraid, but the first thing an angel meeting us would say is, "Be not afraid." Fear the one who has the authority to throw you into hell, yes, but worship the one whose love drives out that fear. 

You may have skipped the first step—your love of God is admirable. But leave some room for awe, for the strangeness of religion, for the reality of your lack of power. If fear comes up, let it lead you to Life. Don't try to control your emotional responses, but cultivate a spirit of reverence. And keep thinking. Keep finding seemingly conflicting Bible verses. You're not a horrible Christian—you're just a Christian. Not to be a Lutheran, but you cannot by your own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ or come to him—but the Holy Spirit has called you, and will not meet you in the middle, but rather make all the steps and land where you are. And the only response that I have ever found is to surrender.

<3 Johanna

[hellyeahsickaf]

You know how you look back at past shitty connections, friends, family dynamics, and relationships and you're like "I can't believe I let them treat me that way"? I think it hits differently with disability because when you're disabled you don't always even know that you're being mistreated and/or abused in regards to it.

I know statistically disabled people are more likely to be abused but sometimes there's an additional type of abuse that's hard to identify even in hindsight because no one tells you how abusive it is.

But ableist abuse relating to your disability can look like:

Pushing you to do things beyond your limitations despite their awareness of them.

Blaming you for the "inconveniences" brought on by things beyond your control (ex: missing a movie because you had to wait for your pain meds to kick in).

Not allowing you to take breaks or antagonizing you when you do.

Bullying or making fun of things you can't help like gait, a lisp, an embarrassing symptom.

Trying to "cure" or "fix" you, often framing it as "helping" you. Sometimes they look similar and you might be able to tell by their reaction towards lack of improvement.

Holding over you the things they have to do for you (cooking, cleaning, driving, working, etc).

Giving ultimatums that demand things of you that you can't do (getting a job, keeping up with multiple chores).

Using insulting terms, language, and/or slurs that you have not permitted them to or in a context where there is intent to harm you.

Interrogating you about your disability or trying to find discrepancies between your experiences and what they've heard/read/seen about it.

Implying or saying anything along the lines of you faking, being lazy, or exaggerating. Reducing you to a hypochondriac, saying you enjoy being disabled because you seem to like having things done for you, or that you're lazy or abusing them by depending on them for things.

Asking you about it not to learn more, but to use it against you in some way.

Having a martyr complex, acting as if they're a hero for giving you the support you deserve.

Calling you a burden, implying you to be one, or treating you like one.

Acting like you owe them a debt, sometimes even demanding some kind of repayment. Keeping track of money they spend on you that you won't be able to pay back, feeling entitled to things like control, sex, a portion of government benefits, etc.

Self victimizing. They act like you being disabled causes more suffering to themselves than you.

Accusing you of being addicted to your medication. If you genuinely develop an addiction a normal response is concern not rage, finger pointing, etc. if you don't have one baseless claims are very harmful

Trying to force you to stop "depending" on things you need like medication and disability aids

Comparing you to others that are doing "better" than you. Maybe showing you inspiration porn of someone with no legs for example doing incredible things- which is great for them but the "I don't let my disability stop me so you can do anything" shit is harmful. Some of us will get very unwell if we try, and some just can't.

Trying to make others also see you as dramatic, faking, or lazy. Often embarrassing and mocking you as well.

Withholding things you need like medication or disability aids as a punishment

Saying your disability is karma or something inflicted by a divine entity/religious figure. Maybe as punishment for not praying, being queer, or something else they disagree with.

Saying that it's a result of being "promiscuous"/LGBT. For instance if you have HIV or ME/CFS that was a result of something like mononucleosis ("kissing disease").

Shaming you for things related to your disability beyond your control or expressing embarrassment over these things. including but not limited to: appearance (general but also things like say a lupus butterfly rash or weight gain/loss), having to lay down in public (ex: with POTS), inability to keep up with hygiene, etc.

Lacking boundaries and acting as if they are entitled to information or intrusion of your space/belongings due to the power they hold over you and assistance they may provide.

Implying/saying you're living an extended vacation. Maybe one they say they wish they had because they have to do x y z while you "sit around"

Abandoning you solely for your disability (ex: because you can't hang out, they don't want a disabled partner, think you're faking, etc)

Note that someone doing one or two of these things a few times doesn't always mean they're abusing you (also depends on which). It's about the patterns and frequency of this behavior as well as refusal to improve once aware that they're hurting you. People who care about you don't want to hurt you and the normal response is to do their best not to repeat the action that negatively affected you

There are more examples and you can feel free to list some

✨This is about physical illnesses and disabilities, please don't derail✨

[felixora]

Anders discource

I forgot to post this here as well, lol

This kinda turned into a small essay…. Which is to be expected, it is Anders’ discourse after all.

This text is a personal view of the DA discourse, that is often summarized in fandom circles as “Was Anders right?”.

So let's start with this question: which is better, a peaceful or violent revolution? The answer is: both, depending on the severity of the situation.

I'm sorry to break your sweet dreams about “peace and love”, and “only peaceful revolution are justified” — but that's just delusional.

While I do believe that peaceful revolutions are the best outcome for both sides of conflict, more often than not they are impossible specifically due to unwillingness of the oppressors to seek true compromise. Because where the marginalized might achieve something slightly better for themselves, the oppressors lose the most important thing for them — they lose control.

And then the only thing that's left is a violent revolution. Or, well, death.

The rule of “turning the other cheek” does nothing but perpetuates further violence, when you're dealing with an oppressive regime. Because while the marginalized side often considers the middle ground with their oppressors (just for the sake of “making things better than before, while not risking the full annihilation by a stronger force”) the oppressors have only one in mind: “We want you fully gone, because you oppose our rule. You are a danger to us”.

The thing that I learned in past 10 years is that — ”Pacifism is a privilege”. And those who are oppressed don't have said privilege. They either fight or they die. Sometimes slowly (for ex. by assimilation), sometimes rapidly (in a massacre).

The thing that genuinely baffles me in the whole Anders' discourse, is the fact, that people forget or ignore that he for years tried to do the peaceful revolution. The Mage Underground was a way to get the mages from the dangerous environment, without engaging in the direct confrontation with the Templars. The manifestos on why mages should be free and letters to the Divine herself regarding the same issues that Circles pose — all of these are methods of peaceful resistance. 

Now, remind me again, did these actions have any effect on how Templars or the Chantry treated mages? Maybe they revaluated their stances, did a thorough investigation of the possible mistreatment of their charges?

Oh, yeah — IT DID NOTHING.

No, not even that — the things started to get worse and worse, actually. 

Any time the Grand Cleric “calmed things down” — the status quo remained. They didn't try to investigate the concerning situation in the Kirkwall Circle or any sort of rumours of abuses by the Templars. No, the Chantry for the most part closed their eyes to these rumours, and when the number of rebellious mages went up, the only thing they considered — was to organise a crusade (an Exalted March) against the Kirkwall. Nevermind, that most of the mages from the Circle and as fugitives were a faithful Andrastians, despite the conditions they were put through by the Chantry.

But of course, “the Chantry is just a religious organisation, it shouldn’t be targeted in such situations”...

So, back to the Templars — they didn't get their wish of cutting down all the mages under their care right there and then. But they sure as hell were allowed to continue to physically and psychologically torture, push mages to their breaking point, and commit any abuses they felt like doing to their charges.

In all of this, the Chantry poses as an enabler and the cause of the laws against mages in the first place. Not to mention that Chantry was responsible for the creation of the Templar Order, and they are subservient to the Divine.

By the 3rd act of the game we have a conformation, almost right away, that Meredith send a letter to the Divine requesting a Right of Annulment.

It's not anymore a question of “if the Divine will approve of this” — she might have said no, it's true. But our characters don't know that. They see the situation, where every peaceful attempt to reach a resolution was met with silence or threats of violence. With all due respect — only a fool hopes for the better and does nothing in such a situation.

This becomes a question of “when will it happen”.

When the oppressors say “I will murder you” you don't go “How about we talk”.

When you propose a dialogue and the opposing side says "No" over and over again, while continuing to tighten up the leash around your neck, the only right action is to fight back. If you fight — at least you have a chance of surviving. Otherwise, — it's death. Slow or quick, depends on the choice of the oppressors.

Another important thing, is that revolution doesn't happen on the shoulders of one person. It needs people. And those people need to believe that the idea has at least some chance to come true, they need to be inspired.

Inspiration not always comes through well-put speeches preaching kindness and unity.

It also can come through acts of violence, if said violence is turned against the oppressors. It shows, that they CAN BE BEATEN.

And Anders’ actions inspired people.

Anders tried his voice, he tried to reach the society in general with his arguments. That didn't work.

He tried to bring change with the Mage Underground, to recruit his friends (Hawke and the party) to join his active efforts of fundamentally changing things — that didn’t work as well. (while the friend group acts uninterested and uninvested in Anders’ righteous cause, Hawke might constantly and only suggest diplomatic solutions, which at the time were already useless and only maintained the status quo)

So the next closest thing is an act of violence against the Chantry — to show all those mages, who are still doubtful, who are scared, who think there is no hope — you can fight back and make it hurt.

What was called “compromise” from the Grand Cleric was maintaining the status quo, where mages in the Circle were still suffering the abuses, while the Templars simply weren't allowed to make them all Tranquil. 

How the fck is that a compromise?

If you didn’t get it already — I am a big supporter of action, when it comes to revolutions and fight against oppression. 

While acting is always a wild card (you have no idea, what reaction you might get from your oppressors, if you'll receive any support from “external forces”, if the luck will be on your side) — it always brings change. 

On the contrary, inaction — leaves your fate in the hands of the oppressor. They might be merciful, they might be cruel — what happens to you and your people in such situation depends solely on their wimps. In many cases — the status quo remains, nothing changes.

The Chantry personnel was part of the problem. For years, they did nothing to investigate possible misuse of power within the Circle, that obviously perpetuated further and further rise of temper among mages. 

They stayed silent on the issues of Ferelden refugees, leaving them to fend for themselves in the slums (while obviously holding significant part of the influence in the city). 

They obviously took part in less than peaceful instalment and fight against neighbouring religions (see Mother Petrice and the Qun). 

And, returning to the topic of mages, they perpetuated as part of their official teachings demonisation of mages as a whole, purposely ostracizing them from society and creating an impossible conditions to fight against. Their word was the law. And even if the mage had a compelling argument for their case — without even a bit of approval from the Chantry, they wouldn't have a chance of bending the society to their side.

So, the Chantry is just as guilty.

Another thing that needs to be considered in this topic are the casualties among civilians as a result of Anders’ violent protest. Because in the aftermath of the explosion there was 100% injured or dead among civilians. One might argue that they are just as gullible, turning a blind eye to the obvious misdeeds by the Templars and apathetic response by the Chantry (all it takes for evil to fester, is for good man to stay silent, after all) — but that still doesn't make their deaths rightful or expendable. 

Anders had to make a choice — either them, or the mages. 

They are the collateral damage of this conflict. One, that could have been prevented, if the oppressive side agreed to at least a compromise with the oppressed. But they didn’t.

And as a result, Anders had to take actions to unsure at least some fighting chance for his people, for the mages. The sad thing for me, personally, is that he will be the one to live with the burden of this choice, and not the personnel of the Chantry or the Templars, as they didn’t consider themselves guilty. 

The other side of this story could have ended with Anders staying silent, Meredith putting into motion the Right of Annulment and then the Chantry sweeping what happened under the rug (which had a high chance of turning the story to the path, where revolution among mages happened decades later or even didn’t happen at all). 

And that would have been the consequences of his choice as well, though a much worse option if we're considering that Anders made it the purpose of his life to bring change to the system and protect his fellow mages.

Another thing that is often brought in discussion is that Anders should have chose the Gallows as his target. In this scenario, there would have still been casualties among the civilians (consider the debris falling from the sky), as well as guaranteed deaths among the mages and tranquil (all were located in the Gallows). Anders wanted to give them a fighting chance, not kill them right away.

So selecting the Chantry as his target to shift the general power balance in the conflict and send a message to both the institution and mages across Thedas — is absolutely logical.

Other thing that makes no sense — is the lack of mages who actively sided with Anders' actions while remaining on the defence against Templars (not that weird shit about creating 2nd Tevinter in the Hinterlands)

Because that's how it went with revolution in my country. We have some people who regret the revolution (even now), we have those who are apathetic to it, and we have those who believe in it wholeheartedly.

People died for their beliefs in this revolution, and both them and those who advocated for a more proactive approach and survived were idolised by numerous people afterwards. 

Some rightfully so, some less. But it still happened. 

They are considered heroes, EVEN THOUGH we also had an invasion of part of our country from our neighbour as a result of this revolution. And in latter years, we are now defending ourselves from a full-scale invasion from the same oppressive force that was largely responsible for the reasons we had a revolution all those years ago.

The majority of people in my country would still, without a doubt tell you, that the revolution and the subsequent violent fight for our future was the right course of action. Even now, knowing how things turned out for us.

Because it brought change. It gave us hope that we can be that force of change.

So when the DA tells us, that there were barely any mages, or relatives of mages who were taken from their families, who considered Anders' actions justified and idolised him into this heroic persona — I call bullshit on that. 

That's simply not how things turn out in these sorts of situations.

Many held grudges not only against Templars, but the Chantry as a whole. Many spend their lives in hiding or locked away from their loved ones. The voices of many were never heard, no matter who they appealed to — and then comes this mage, who dealt an irreparable blow against the authority of the Chantry, who challenged their rule and told everyone “the time for compromise has passed, it is time to fight”.

Are you telling me people won't idolise that?  Span a ton of rumours and legends around his figure? 

I highly doubt that.

I have genuine criticism of Anders as a character — his racist towards elves views are hard to miss. The occasional misogyny (if we're taking Awakening into consideration as well) is also present. All of that can be explained by the upbringing in the Circle and under the Chantry, but it is NOT an excuse, and these are genuine flaws of his personality.

That being said, you don't have to be a perfect victim for your suffering to be acknowledged, related to and your fight against oppression to be supported.

“Oppression” is not an achievement, that you unlock only after reaching certain standards. 

It simply exists.And not only you can fight it, but you must.

[aghostwithnoname]

Okay it's been about two weeks to cook on my initial reaction to finishing DATV, and I feel like, for the most part, it still stands?

Like smooches to all the companions - you're not really the problem in this. I also love my Rook. Adore you, Taash and Davrin extra special. Assan, my son, my beloved, you are perfect.

But aside from diehard DA fans either defending or detracting Veilguard within an inch of their lives, imo the defining problem of the game is sets up these interesting, compelling, and tasty conflicts we've come to expect with the franchise but instead of like, you know, delivering on that, playing out that tension, eking it out for angst, lols, rage, and tears, asking serious moral quandaries of the player... they just… resolve them? create false equivalencies? say "here is your choice - it will have consequences!" but really the outcome is mostly the same?

So yeah, it's really just a lack of stakes on anything and everything important. And I think that's a missed opportunity as a writer myself - bc while some people may see the removal of real world social ills in a fantasy setting as being more "inclusive" (a take I as a person with multiple marginalized identities don't really understand and frankly sounds to me like some corporate BS), what BioWare really is doing is attempting to rebrand its signature series into something it isn't : a world without complication or friction or messy realities.

The Bad Guys are literally straight up Evil - the Good Guys are So Good. Whether you choose to doom Treviso or Minrathous, the idea that the Crows are no longer being child-enslaving assassin mafia houses (Rip Zevran and your revenge), the fact BioWare completely avoided any depictions or barely mentioned the horrible mistreatment and enslavement of the elves in Tevinter, even going so far as to paint the elves as partially at fault for that bc of their shitty gods??? (good lord, there's too much to unpack there), nothing truly matters.

DA was never just simplistic, good vs evil fantasy, so why start now?

Like any good storyteller knows that stories are fundamentally about change whether that's changing a society or your own personal mindset. And more often than not, conflict is a result of that! Change is hard! Some people don't like change! That's not to say conflict must be physical or violent - sometimes the most interesting stories are ones where the hero is a different person that the one they started out as.

DATV literally changed so much about the lore and mechanics of the world (which okay fine), but everybody just rolled with the punches like it was nothing. Like, for ex, "The Maker doesn't exist and Andraste is Mythal"??? Damn son, you just got proof that literally thousands of years of abusive religious dogma that has been used to terrifying discriminatory ends in both the North and South of Thedas is a lie. And everyone just accepts that????

And for some of us who experience and live with discrimination every day, who come from abusive families, and are religious trauma survivors, part of the appeal of previous Dragon Age games, for me, is that it didn't run away from those issues. It made characters like me human and fallible where at the end of the day, yeah you can end the Fifth Blight but there is no right answer to who should rule Ferelden bc monarchy is a fucked up system that ruins everyone's lives - here is the quintessential "Chosen One" archetype who doesn't fucking want to be chosen (DAO); no you can't always save the world (re: Kirkwall) and those you love, and violent change of an abusive system can also blow up in your face (DA2), and no you're not in control of how other people perceive you, especially in how celebrity and status can dehumanize you to a point where you don't even recognize yourself (DAI). Like you could still be a hero in these games without being perfect. Whereas with DATV, I just felt... nothing. Like, it was a fun way (sometimes, not Weisshaupt jfc) to spend 80 hours. I learned that Solas and Mythal are even more horrible that I could possibly imagine.

but I didn't feel like Veilguard left me with anything like catharsis so I could go back and face the Merediths and Venatori and Loghains of the real world. it was just that - you defeated the Bad Guys! Game Over. Here's Varric Mufasa'ed in the sky (so very sad). Talk about a totally ridiculous misuse of the One Guy whose whole shtick is how you can use narrative as a weapon.

These are just my thoughts, and ofc everyone's allowed to like or dislike the game as they please, but I don't feel like it's appropriate to give Bioware (and their shitty treatment of their creative team) a free pass on a frankly subpar narrative ten years in the making that did not deliver the emotional beats it was meant to.

[heretyc]

think ya could write being married to coyle

You got it! 👉😎👉

Coyle is, obviously, obsessed with American values. If you're an all American spouse, he will brag about you to high heaven, I swear it. Only a man as great as him can have someone as great as you. Your wedding, obviously, had an American flag, and he wore his uniform, because that's Coyle for you.

This man is incredibly possessive; he won't let disgusting commies go near you. Expect to have him near you at all times, and if he has to be away for some reason, he'll give you a baton like his.

He believes that men should be the dominant one of the relationship, so he will be the one providing. He makes sure you don't lift a single finger, what kind of husband would he be if he made you do dirty work??

During trials he's a guard dog, through and through. No ex-cop should think about going near his spouse if they want to live and remain electrocuted. This is especially the case with Barbi; he gets real pissed if that little shit thinks about you in ways Coyle doesn't like.

He loves to call you honey and darlin'. Your name is never used unless he's angry.

Submitting to him is all he wants, but if you manage to dom him, he swears he'll get back at you. Your neck will pretty much be swollen and purple afterwards, and the other ex-cops question why you can't walk properly...

He's a shoulder to cry on when you need it, but he believes that you should be strong in the face of issues. He'll quote something deep. And if you really need his help, he won't deny you. If he can use his precious baton, even better.

He's religious to some extent, but he uses the Lord's name in vain fucking 24/7, so he doesn't care if you say "oh my god" or something. That'd be mighty contradictory.

While he likes to enforce "laws", he'll look the other way if you break one...for justice purposes. Killing a guy because he disrespected the American way of living is okay, hell, he does it all the time!

He'd hug you if not for the large ass Pontiac battery strapped to him lmfao. He takes it off first. You don't wanna fry, do you?

[letsgoletsgetit08]

fix off pt. 1

summary: Mingi turns to every coping mechanism besides a healthy one in the aftermath of Jongho's death, two years later.

warnings: MDNI!!, 18+, su*c*de attempt, implied/referenced su*c*de, major character death, overdose, recreational drug use, religious imagery & symbolism, catholicism, barebacking, strangers to lovers, bittersweet ending, angst, hurt/comfort

pairing: priest!soft dom!Jeong Yunho x hot fucking mess!Song Mingi

author's note: HEY! Read the tags! This fic has some very heavy content! Please DO NOT READ this if mentions/discussion of suicide/attemps or character deat (RIP Jongho, so glad you're alive IRL, king) are in any way triggering to you! Also, know that myself and Ateez would be very sad if any Atiny or anyone else took their own life. Don't do it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! !! !!! That said, this work is based on/influenced by/referencing - sometimes lightly, sometimes very directly because Phoebe Waller-Bridge is more of a genius than me - the show Fleabag. This show is personally very important to me, it both healed me in some ways and also hurt me very deeply. If you have seen the show, you know how this ends. Again, read the tags. Phoebe, if you happen to read this for whatever reason, I just hope you're flattered because of imitation and all that.

OKAY! Disclaimers disclaimed, please let me know if I missed anything. And with that, please enjoy. This one is kind of my baby. I hesitated to even post it here because I'm a little scared of how it will be received but you never know until you try, right? Comments, likes, & re-blogs are always welcome, but please be civil.

word count: 23,480

ao3 link: fix off

fix off

It's hard not to spiral. 

Chest constricting, breath becoming shallow. 

Mingi tossed the bar rag onto the counter and dismissed himself to the bathroom. 

Cold water splashed on his face. 

Not cold enough. Need some ice. 

He thought he had seen Jongho. Which was impossible. 

His friend had died nearly two years ago now. 

He died two years ago.

Mingi composed himself enough to go back and sling espresso martinis to faceless patrons. Turning on his disarming charm enough to make decent tips. 

Coping.

Back home, laying in bed, Mingi got off while watching the news. Contemplated texting his ex. 

He was a little offended that she hadn't come back yet. 

She always came back.  

It was one of the only constants in his life, repeating the cycle of breaking up with Yuji when she became too overbearing, trying to be too serious. 

“It feels like you only want to be with me for the sex.” She had accused him of it a thousand times if she had done it once. 

“My friends really like you, too.” Mingi half-heartedly defended himself. She'll hate to hear that. 

“Do you like me, Mingi? Because I'm trying. I want to take care of you.” 

“I'm not a child.” Mingi pouted. 

“You're the only person who believes that.” Yuji turned to go, taking his lack of response to her question for what it was, “I'm not coming back, Mingi. Not again.” 

She'll be back. 

She wasn't. 

The next time he'd seen her, six months later, she had actually looked happy, something he honestly couldn't say during the times they had been together. Ring on her finger, hand around the bicep of a man Mingi vaguely recognized. 

Mingi saw her. Caught her eye. 

She's going to walk over. 

She walked over and introduced her fiancé, “This is jfodwjjfow.” 

He wouldn't remember the man’s name anyway, why bother to hear it when it was said the first time. 

“So good to meet you, Jeff.” Definitely not his name. “Wish I could stay but I really have to be going.”

He barely noticed the confused expression on her face as he dashed away.

Two Years Ago

"You know that guy who comes in on Tuesday nights and sits at the end of the bar?” Jongho asked, looking up at Mingi with a devious grin. 

"Tall guy who drinks red wine and looks like he wants to eat you?” Mingi teased him.

"Shut up, no way! He's probably looking at you. Everyone looks at you.” Jongho meant it as a compliment. 

"Well they should look at you because I will just chew them up and spit them out.” 

"Why else would God give you such big teeth?” Jongho skirted out of the way before Mingi could smack his ass with the bar towel. 

"Do I have big teeth?!” Mingi was hurt. 

"No!” Jongho stayed a few feet away, out of the line of fire, “No! I'm sorry, your teeth are fine!” 

"I'm hideous!” Mingi whined. 

“Hush, Mingi. You're perfect.” Jongho sighed, “Nevermind about that guy, anyway. I have my hands full with you already.”

“You love it.” Mingi shot him an innocent smile. 

“Of course I do.” Jongho poked his cheek, “Who else will?”

A Tuesday. Probably. 

“Mingi, promise me you won't be late tonight.” Seonghwa’s voice was stern, pleading over the phone. 

Mingi had taken the call while riding Soobin's dick. Or maybe it was Seungmin. He couldn't remember. He'd just been calling him “baby” since he came over. 

He was Hongjoong’s accountant. 

“I won't.” He would. “Promise.” He shouldn't. 

It was Seonghwa’s debut as Marius Pontmercy in an off-broadway production of Les Misérables. A big deal. He would finally be catching his big break.

“Okay, good because I really want everyone there.” Mingi faltered at the implication of the word. Like they were complete without Jongho. “It's very important to me. And I don't want to be embarrassed by you walking in late, I'm not even sure they will let you-”

“Yes, I know, Hwa.” He panted, Baby's hips bucking underneath him, “I'll be there.”

He’s noisy. Loves nipples.

“What are you doing? You sound out of breath?” Seonghwa’s voice was verging towards hysterical. 

“Just out for a run!” Baby let out a moan that Mingi knew carried through the phone. 

“Ew, Mingi! That is disgusting-”

“Fuck, yes, Soobin!” Mingi couldn't help but cry out, ending the call as the man nailed his prostate. 

Soobin filled the condom inside him, Mingi followed quickly behind, collapsing to his chest. 

“It's Seungmin, asshole.” The man pushed Mingi off of him and cleaned himself up, gathered his things to leave, shirt on inside out.

He’s probably going to realize he’s actually straight now.

Mingi got off to the memory of the scene again, later, in the shower. 

He was only twenty minutes late to Seonghwa's debut that night. Tears streaming down his face at the performance. His friend was beautiful. The musical was one of his favorites. 

I’m a total sap.

He wished Jongho were there to see it. 

Seonghwa let himself be hugged backstage after the show, a rare treat, even letting Mingi linger for a beat before pushing him off, accepting the flowers he held out to him. 

My bouquet looks pathetic next to the others. He’ll hate it.   

“Didn't want it to go to your head too much.” Mingi quipped, joking about his bouquet. 

“Thankfully, no one else had your same mindset.” Seonghwa was probably joking but his words stung. He studied Mingi’s face, not seeming to know how to help in the moment, instead, turning his attention to the rest of their friends, Hongjoong sidling up to his side as Mingi stepped away. “Let’s get everyone in for a picture.” 

Everyone. 

The word was repeated all night, at dinner afterwards, at the bar after that. Ringing in Mingi’s ears. 

Mingi coped in one of the only ways he knew how. 

Drink after drink, not knowing what was what, just that it had alcohol.

Everyone will be mad at me by the end of the night.

He had gotten too loud and apparently said something to upset Seonghwa. Not hard to do. Hongjoong scolded him, staying composed as he asked him to leave. 

Yeosang sweet Yeosang ended up under his arm, guiding him to the curb outside of the bar, waiting on the Uber. 

“What's wrong with me, Sangie?” Mingi slurred, ignoring how Yeosang’s body tensed when his head fell to the other's shoulder.

He's going to say nothing is wrong with me. They always do. 

“Nothing is wrong with you, Mingi.” His voice was sweet, deep, soothing. 

“Everyone hates me.” Mingi whined. 

“No one hates you, Ming.” Yeosang wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “You just feel your feelings out loud. And you have a lot of them. Wooyoung is similar, but he has a San to regulate him.” 

“I don't have anyone.” Mingi sobbed. 

“You do, Mingi. You just push us away. And I get it. No one can take Jongho's place. He was that for you, wasn't he?” Yeosang asked gently. 

Mingi didn't answer but sat up, looking at Yeosang. 

He is so pretty.  

Mingi leaned in for a kiss. 

Yeosang stopped him with a hand, “No, baby. You're drunk. You don't actually want to do this.”

What the hell did Yeosang know?  

He was right. Of course. 

“Sorry.” Mingi mumbled. 

The Uber pulled up and Yeosang helped him inside, instructing him to drink some water when he got home. 

He should have asked for Yeosang to help him. He would have done it. 

I should ask.

He should ask.

But he always pushed them away. 

Mingi hated riding in cars. He gripped the seat for dear life the entire drive. 

There was no one to make sure he didn't drown in a pool of his own vomit. The thought hit him somewhere on the ride home. 

He wouldn't drown in a pool of his own vomit.

He hadn't yet. 

I need a grilled cheese and a cigarette. 

Two Years Ago

The Tuesday man was leaning across the bar as far as it would allow, flirting with Jongho. Mingi felt pride swell in his chest. They were cute. He was sweet, making Jongho blush, calling him pretty.

Bastard.

He hated sharing Jonho. Yes, the seven of them were friends, but he and Jongho were close outside of that. If he were asked to trade the six others for Jongho, he would. Easy. No one got him like Jongho did. Mingi felt a little like he had raised the man, with him being a little over a year younger than himself. He knew it had to be hard being the youngest in a friend group. He wanted to make sure Jongho had someone. They were roommates in college. It stuck. Had worked at the same bar together ever since. 

In a lot of ways, though, Jongho had taken care of Mingi, too. Through heartbreaks and the general ups and downs of life. 

He loved him more than anything.

Naturally, he was a little possessive of his friend. But he also wanted him to be happy. 

He pushed down the acidic, curdling sensation in his chest. Let him be happy.  

Mingi would be there for him when he inevitably let him down.  

A Thursday? Maybe??

Wooyoung had talked him into hot yoga. 

“It will be good for you, I promise!” Wooyoung sing-songed as they walked into the studio. 

San probably loves the fact that he’s into yoga.

The studio was sweltering, they weren’t misadvertising, that’s for sure.

“I feel like I’m going to die.” Mingi complained. 

“Shut up and take your shoes off.” Wooyoung instructed. 

Not the first time he’s said that line.

“Buy me dinner first.” 

“You need therapy.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes. 

Tried that, didn’t work. 

His therapist said that he was projecting his grief for Jongho onto what really was daddy issues. Or something like that. He really hadn’t paid too close attention. He had fucked his therapist after a few sessions though. 

After sweating buckets and nearly pulling a muscle to keep from slipping and busting his face open, he thanked Wooyoung for inviting him and made him promise to never do it again. 

On the way out of the studio, a bus was unloading. 

Tuesday guy.  

Mingi locked eyes with him as he hopped off the bus. Time stood still.

The man nodded and Mingi darted in the other direction, Wooyoung chasing after him. 

He finally caught up, “Hey, what the fuck!”

“Sorry!” Mingi clawed his fingernails into his palms, “Forgot I liked the smoothie place on 7th better than the one on 9th.” 

A lie.

“Well damn, you could have just said something!” Wooyoung scolded him, mostly playfully but still seeming perturbed at Mingi’s odd behavior. 

Two Years Ago

Jongho was off that night. Tuesday guy sat in his same spot. 

Mingi tested him. 

Tuesday failed.

Took Mingi to his apartment after work.

Fucked Mingi senseless into his mattress. 

Fucking Tuesday. 

He never learned his real name. 

But he would never have called him by it anyway. 

Mingi’s dad had cheated on his mom. 

Any given day of the week, honestly, does it really matter?

The bar was dead that night and Mingi didn’t bother to fight to close with his new coworker. Let himself be cut early so that he could go home. 

He texted the group chat on his walk home. 

Me

Got cut early. Anyone wanna meet up?

He waited for replies. None came in. No one had even read the message.

Fine then. 

He walked aimlessly around the city, finally landing on a park bench, staring out over the lake. He didn’t know what to do with himself. 

The sun was setting and he watched it paint the sky pastel. 

He dialed Jongho’s number. 

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person. 

Again.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Interrupted.

“Anyone sitting here?” A feminine voice, light German accent. He looked up. 

She had stick-straight dyed red hair to her shoulders, microbangs, piercings, and was more tattoo than skin. 

“No, sorry. Just um.” He looked down at the phone in his hands, “On the phone.” 

“Why are you apologizing?” She raised a sharp eyebrow at him. He spotted a tongue ring when her mouth was open. 

“I don’t know. Sorry.” He blinked at her. Clocking that he had just done it again. 

She studied him, “Hm. You’re sweet, aren’t you?”

He shrugged.

“Pretty lips. I like you. If I take you to my place, you can’t murder me, okay?”

She looks more like she would be the one to murder me.

“Okay.” He agreed. 

Looks like I have plans tonight after all.

“Oh, you’re going to be fun.” She smiled, standing up and offering her hand to help him up. He followed her like a lost puppy to her apartment. 

The Germans are known for their open-mindedness in the bedroom. I should have remembered that.

He was tied to her bed from all four corners, wrists and ankles secured. Cock leaking pathetically onto his stomach. She walked around the bed, strutting in her elaborate black lace lingerie, pulled the blindfold down over his eyes. 

They had discussed it briefly on their way over. Limits, safe word (tiramisu), and the light system. 

Green light. Green light. Green light.

He felt the bed shift as she crawled between his legs, fingers dancing over his skin as she teased him everywhere except where he wanted it. 

“So desperate already for me, aren’t you, Mingki?” Her accent added an extra percussive affect to his name. 

“Yes, goddess.” He breathed. 

With no warning, she began licking his cock from base to tip, guiding it into her mouth without even touching it with her hands. The tip of it hitting the back of her throat immediately. 

I'm way too well hung for someone to be able to do that so easily.

She worked him expertly, slow at first, then picking up her pace until she estimated he was close to his peak, a faint pop as she pulled off of his dick. He squirmed, searching for any sort of touch, wanting to cum so badly. He heard her chuckle, “Oh, no, mein liebchen, it won't be that easy.” 

He whined and pouted, cut short as she positioned herself above him, rolling a condom on and applying lube before lining herself up and taking him in one go. 

I'm way too well hung for someone to be able to do THAT so easily.

She sat still, cockwarming him until he couldn't take it, sweat breaking out on his forehead, hips bucking, which earned him nothing besides sitting up so that only his tip was inside of her. He couldn't reach, no matter how hard he tried, to enter her any further. Eventually, she lowered herself ever so slightly, once he stilled his movements, proving he could be patient. She bounced up and down, tiny movements, only taking the first few inches of his length. Normally, he would be slamming his hips at breakneck speed by this point but he felt more turned on than ever before as he was brought to the edge again, only for her to pull off at the last second. 

She was straddling his face seconds later, “Me first, then we'll revisit you. If you can manage to get me off.” 

“Yes, godd-hmmmpph” she cut him off by placing her wet cunt on his face. The lube was strawberry flavored and he ate devotedly, like it was the last supper.

I'm not even religious!

He focused hard, listening for little moans and the involuntary twitch of her hips to guide him in knowing what she liked. It was so much harder to gauge with a blindfold on, but just as his jaw was aching so bad he thought he might have to give up, cock throbbing and leaking precum into the condom, she finally came, crying out at her release. 

“What a good pet.” She panted, moving back down to his cock again, taking him in one go and grinding her hips evilly, swiveling them but not letting him fuck into her still. “You can't cum until I come on your pretty cock, understood?”

“Yes, goddess, please let me make you come.” He begged, surprising himself.

She fell forward bracing her hands on his chest as she fucked herself on his dick. He almost lost it as he finally felt her clench around him, moaning at her second release, then surprising him by removing the blindfold. 

“Eyes on mine and beg me for it.” She demanded. 

“Please let me cum, goddess, please I'll do anything, please, please, goddess, I-” she stroked him with her pussy, as he begged until she was satisfied, tears streaming down his face.

“Okay, since you asked so nicely.” She stilled her hips, “Go ahead and use me, you filthy boy. So desperate.” 

He cried out as he tried to get a better range of motion to fuck her. She didn't help at all, but he was already on a razor wire, and soon he was cumming hard. She dismounted as soon as she felt his orgasm start, ruining it. He whimpered pathetically, not feeling satisfied, not enough cum leaving his body. 

She chuckled, “What's wrong, my little pet? You wanted to cum. I let you cum.”

He couldn’t answer, genuinely crying now. 

“Color, Mingi?” She asked, seeming concerned.

“Green!” He sobbed. 

“Good.” And she removed the condom, his dick still hard. She stroked up the underside with one steady finger until his hips were bucking pathetically again, then she gripped him genuinely, working him to a real release this time. The sound that escaped his chest was something he was sure had never left his body before, thick ribbons of cum hitting his stomach and chest, covering her hand. 

“Thank you! Fuck, thank you.” He cried as she worked him through it. 

She made sure he got proper aftercare when they were done. He stood in her doorway, staring at his shoes, voice barely above a whisper, “Can I… um. See you again?”

She smiled sympathetically, “No, so sorry, darling. I only ever do this once with someone.” She tapped his cheek, “Best of luck out there. I really did have a good time.” 

“Okay.” He sighed, “Thank you again.” And he turned to leave, feeling emptier than ever as he walked home. 

Two Years Ago

Jongho was a mess when he got to work that day, dark circles under his eyes. Mingi clocked it immediately, dragging him to the walk-in cooler to talk. 

“What's wrong?” He asked, trying not to panic, certain he was found out. 

Jongho never cried. It ripped Mingi’s heart in half. “He fucking-” Jongho choked on a sob, “I don’t know what I did wrong! I-” He buried his face into Mingi’s chest, “He told me he cheated on me and then-” A huge sniffle, struggling to catch his breath, “He said he couldn’t live with the guilt and he broke up with me! I don’t know what’s wrong with me-” Another wave of sobs racked his body.

“Shh, come on. You can’t work like this. Let’s get you home.” Mingi pulled him to his side, guilt spilling down his spine like ice water. 

Back at their apartment, Mingi spent all night taking care of Jongho, wrapping him in a blanket on the couch and letting him talk things through. Three bottles of wine between the two of them. He had no clue why Tuesday hadn’t told Jongho the full truth. He was too scared to do it himself. Instead, he let the gravity of his sin guide his actions, coddling his friend to try to make up for it. 

They ended the night curled up in Mingi’s bed together, Jongho still crying softly as he drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning, the bed beside Mingi was cold. 

He had thirty missed calls on his phone. None of them were from Jongho. 

He panicked, calling the last person who had called him back. 

“Mingi, thank god.” San’s voice was thick, clearly he had been crying.

“What happened?” Mingi’s voice was strained, anxiety eating him alive.

“Mingi… It’s Jongho.” San took a shuddering breath, “He’s- he’s gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone’? There’s no way. He was upset but I’m sure he just turned his phone off and he’ll be back here any time with a pack of cig-” Mingi refused to believe what he had just been told.

“No, Mingi.” San cut him off, “They found him. His car, it was-”

“No! You’re wrong!” Mingi was in denial, verging on hysterics, “They’re wrong, they need to check again! He’ll be back any minute!”

“Mingi…” San sobbed. He heard him mutter something about not being able to do this as the phone was passed to someone else. 

“Mingi. I need you to take some deep breaths and calm down.” Hongjoong’s voice was surprisingly gentle over the phone, but commanding enough to make Mingi stop sputtering nonsense that he knew, deep down, was all untrue. 

“I’m sorry.” Mingi felt tears begin to streak down his face, “I’m sorry. I’m listening.”

“Hwa is ordering you an Uber. We should all be together right now. You need to get dressed and be downstairs in ten minutes, okay?” Hongjoong’s voice only wavered slightly.

“Okay.” Mingi hung up the phone. 

Once he was at Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s apartment with the others, they filled him in on everything they knew, which truthfully, was very little.

Jongho indeed had alcohol in his system, according to the coroner, but having known him, he had a pretty high tolerance. It wasn’t certain he had been too drunk to drive. He had left no note, but the way the crash had happened, it almost looked intentional. 

There was no way of knowing now, of course. 

Mingi filled them in on why Jongho had been upset. Not the full story. He didn’t think he could ever admit that to anyone. Even with the added context, the friends all silently agreed that it had been an accident. The alternative was far too painful. 

The pit in Mingi’s stomach begged to differ. The doubt that lingered would never leave him. Not even for a moment. 

Seonghwa’s Bachelor Party

Mingi felt especially proud of himself, walking up to Seonghwa’s apartment - his fiance would be staying at a hotel that night - knowing what surprise he had planned for the night. 

He’s going to do backflips. 

The stripper he had hired was around Hongjoong’s height, pretty dark brown hair, wide, soulful eyes. Mingi had picked him out himself, wanting the surprise to be absolutely perfect. 

When he stepped inside the apartment, his stomach dropped.

I really shouldn’t have muted the group chat. 

He was under dressed in slacks and a sweater. Everyone else was in suits. More than just their close friend group was there, too. A memory niggled at the back of his mind, vaguely remembering reading a text saying Seonghwa’s more conservative cousins would be in town from Korea. They were staying for a few months before the wedding, through the holidays, since the wedding was on New Years Eve, treating the trip like a long vacation. 

Mingi tried to turn around to back out, wanting to call the booking agency immediately to cancel the stripper, but Wooyoung spotted him, looking relieved to have an excuse to leave the conversation he was having with a particularly dull looking family member, making his way to Mingi in just a few strides, pulling him into the living room. 

“Thank fuck!” Wooyoung whispered into his ear, “That guy was talking about the stock markets and I thought I was going to die.” 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Mingi couldn’t help but laugh at the situation.

“He got got, too!” Wooyoung jutted his chin out, gesturing towards the kitchen, where San was sequestered by three cousins, eyes pleading as he met Wooyoung’s gaze. 

Mingi cackled as he saw San mouth “Help!” 

A punch on his arm from Wooyoung startled him, “Why are you underdressed?”

“I muted the group chat! You guys talk so much.”

“Well some of it is important, dumbass!” Wooyoung scolded him, “You better not be planning anything stupid tonight.”

“What!” Mingi tried to look surprised, “I would never! I’m just here for Seonghwa.”

“Yes?” Seonghwa had heard his name and was headed towards them, “Mingi, why are you underdressed?”

“I’m sorry! I can’t read, you know that.” Mingi whined, trying to sound innocent. 

“Just, please, please don’t do anything stupid tonight. It’s already tense with my family here, I had to bribe them to even come to the wedding by promising we would get married by a Catholic priest. Neither of us wanted that, but no offense, I didn’t want my wedding to just have you guys and all of Hongjoong’s family.”

“We’ll be good, Hwa. Promise.” Wooyoung offered.

“It’s not you I’m worried about. I need the princess to survive the night without making it all about himself.” Seonghwa snipped, then his face fell, looking a little remorseful, “Sorry, that was harsh, I-”

“No, no.” Mingi pretended it hadn’t hurt him to hear, “You’re right. I promise I’ll be good, tonight is all about you and making your weird, boring cousins happy.” 

As it turned out, keeping his weird, boring cousins happy was a tall order. They didn’t want to play drinking games - they barely wanted to drink, they didn’t understand Mingi’s sense of humor, and when they weren’t talking his ear off, they seemed to be treating him practically as wait staff, asking for more of the snacks from the kitchen, or another beer, or what his beliefs on the afterlife were. The latter of which he dodged, making a lame excuse of needing to pee. 

Mingi had snuck off to the bathroom attached to the primary bedroom, searching through Hongjoong’s side of the cabinets, hoping that the man still had a bit of a fun side. Exclaiming in excitement when he found a little bag of weed gummies buried carelessly under other over-the-counter meds and random, clearly forgotten about toiletries. 

He figured they were probably old, so he popped two in his mouth before even reading what the label said. 25mg/piece. 

Fuck. Well. Too late now. 

He spotted an old bottle of Xanax, giving it a shake to see it was almost completely full. He pocketed it as well.

You never know. 

When he emerged, he was rudely reminded of what he had been so worried about when he had arrived. 

Yeosang was answering the door, letting a man dressed in a black, sparkly, see-through shirt, red, glittery, heart-shaped pasties covering his nipples clearly visible underneath, and loose black pants, the outline of his bulge making itself known as well. Yeosang, innocent and clueless as ever, let the man inside before Mingi could get over there to stop him.

The weed began to hit Mingi and he couldn’t make his feet move as the man turned on the bluetooth speaker in his hand and a loud, harsh techno beat took over the room, every single voice going quiet to stare. 

“Who’s the beautiful blushing groom?” The man surveyed the room noisily. 

Seonghwa’s cousins were stunned silent, but Yeosang still hadn’t caught on, pointing to Seonghwa, “That’s him!” 

The Hongjoong look-alike stripper ripped his shirt off as he approached Seonghwa, and only then did Mingi’s brain catch up to his feet, jogging over to stop the man. 

“I’m so sorry!” Mingi tried to cut him off, “There’s been a mistake, I messed up-” He let out a giggle, his weed-fuzzed brain finding the situation hilarious despite himself. 

“Is this your idea of a joke, Mingi?” Seonghwa looked mad, hurt, and very disappointed. 

The stripper was not tuned in to the conversation and had started trying to dance for Seonghwa. 

“No! I’m sorry! It’s not a joke, I didn’t read the group text and I was going to cancel-” Mingi touched the stripper’s shoulder, trying to pull him off, “Hey, can you please stop that, you need to go, I’ll pay-”

“HEY!” The stripper yelled, “No touching! That’s literally the first rule you agreed to when you booked me!”

“Mingi, get the fuck out of here.” Seonghwa scolded him. 

“Hwa, I’m so sorry! I’m going, I promise-” Mingi pleaded, hands coming up to try to show his innocence, but hit the stripper’s ass on their way up. 

“What the FUCK did I just say?!” The stripper wheeled on him, punching him straight in the right eye socket. 

San was there in an instant, putting the stripper in a hold and froggy walking him out the door, Mingi following dejectedly behind, trying to keep the tears from spilling out as the cold air hit his face again. 

“San, please, I’m sorry, he has to know it was an honest mistake.”

“Honestly, Mingi. Not right now. Just.” He huffed a long breath out of his nose, “Just save it. Okay? It’s not me you need to apologize to.” 

He turned his back on Mingi, heading back inside the house. 

The stripper glared up at him from his spot on the curb, holding his hand out for payment. 

“Are you insane? No one carries cash.” Mingi spat at him.

“Then Venmo me, dickhead.” Not-Hongjoong instructed him. 

“No! Fuck off. You ruined my night.” Mingi turned around, trying to start walking home, but was stopped when the stripper jumped on him from behind, struggling to put him in a headlock due to their height difference. It was enough to get Mingi to turn around, though, which earned him a knee to his crotch and a sickening crack of his jaw, followed by his left eye. Mingi doubled over and took off running the best he could given his current state, lip bleeding onto his sweater, ignoring the shouts from the angry stripper behind him, hating how high he was as he staggered home in the cold, the world around him not feeling real. 

Back at his apartment, he drew himself a bath, placing the bottle of Xanax and his phone on the edge of the bathtub before climbing in. 

His head still felt wrong from the weed. Off-kilter. Anxious. Like melting cotton candy. 

He lined up the pills on the lip of the bathtub, counted them. 

He read the label that time. 

He took three. 

Dialed Jongho’s number from memory on his phone. 

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Again.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

His brain went pleasantly fuzzy.

Head falling to the back of the tub a little clumsily. 

He took three more. 

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

He took three more. 

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

The words started to lose all meaning as his vision blurred and he sank further into the water.

His fingers dialed the only other number he had memorized.

“Mingi?” Hongjoong’s voice was sleepy, clearly worried.

“Everyone hates me.” Mingi sighed, slipping down further into the tub, water feeling like molasses on his skin. Everything felt warm. Sticky. Cottony. 

“Why aren’t you out with Seonghwa for his party, what’s wrong?” Hongjoong asked him, voice urgent. 

“I think I fucked up, Joongie.”  Mingi’s voice was slow, distant, tinny, metallic and childish sounding in his own ears, tongue too thick for his mouth. 

“Mingi, baby, tell me what you did.” He heard Hongjoong get up from bed, “Where are you?”

“‘M home. I love you guys.” Mingi sighed, his vision going spotty.

“No, Mingi, stay with me!” Hongjoong pleaded. 

But Mingi’s phone fell into the bathtub with a subdued splash as his vision went dark. 

H e y ,  i t ’ s  J o n g h o !  L e a v e  a  m e s s a g e .  O r  j u s t  t e x t  m e  l i k e  a  n o r m a l    p   e   r    s    o    n   .

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

Mingi blinked his eyes open slowly, head splitting as his pupils adjusted to the bright lights. 

The unmistakable smell of disinfected hospital hit his nose. He was equal parts relieved that he was alive and annoyed that he was so incompetent he couldn’t even kill himself properly. 

His muscles screamed as he turned to the left, finding an open-mouthed, haggard looking Hongjoong asleep on the rigid hospital chair next to him. 

Tears streamed down his face silently as he felt himself drift back asleep.

“I swear, he didn't seem that bad when he left!” Wooyoung's voice was hushed, urgent as he defended himself. 

Mingi didn't open his eyes yet, not wanting to give himself away, now very intrigued in the conversation.

“I guess the stripper must have beat him up when I kicked him out. I should have driven him home.” San's voice quivered at the end of the sentence. 

“Yes, someone should have stayed with him.” Hongjoong sounded incredibly exhausted and a little mad. 

“It's easy to see now, but I mean was he acting that abnormal leading up? I don't understand what set him off.” Yeosang sounded genuinely worried.

“You guys realize the anniversary of Jongho’s funeral was the day before yesterday, right?” Hongjoong asked reproachfully. 

The silence was deafening. 

“I knew it was soon…” San trailed off, clearly ashamed. 

“I know we were all friends with him. And I'm not saying whatever friendships all of us had with Jongho weren't important or as meaningful or anything like that. I would never minimize that.” Hongjoong took a deep breath, “But it was different for Mingi. I think we all know that, deep down. And I don't think any of us have acknowledged it. We've been pretty hard on him.”

“Who exactly is ‘we’?” Wooyoung asked, his tone biting, “From my point of view, we've been pretty normal with him. The only person he's fought with is your fiancé.”

There was a pregnant pause before Hongjoong spoke again, “I- I know. Seonghwa knows, too. He doesn't mean to be hard on him… I promise he's trying. You guys have no clue how hard he's beating himself up over this. He hasn't eaten since he heard. I'm really worried.”

“He has to know Mingi won't blame him for anything-” Yeosang started. 

“He needs to grow the fuck up and get here and be supportive.” Wooyoung huffed, his tone erring on petulant.

“Baby…” San tried to calm him down. 

“Sorry.” Wooyoung mumbled.

“He'll come by when he's ready.” Hongjoong said simply. 

“Well try to give me warning because I really don't want to see him right now.” Wooyoung spat. 

Mingi tried to stir to bring attention to the fact that he was awake, not wanting the conversation they were having to turn into a fight. 

“Wooyoung-” Hongjoong said at the same time San tried to soothe him, “Jagi-”

“Guys.” Yeosang made eye contact with Mingi as he sat up in bed. 

“Mingi!” Wooyoung nearly tripped over his feet to get to his bedside, San and Yeosang following behind, Hongjoong giving him a little more space. 

“Youngie.” Mingi croaked, his throat incredibly parched, mouth tasting too much like mouth for his comfort.

“We're so sorry, honey.” San’s face contorted, holding back tears.

“We didn't know how bad it was.” Yeosang offered. 

Hongjoong poured him a cup of water, which he took gladly, taking a sip before speaking again, “I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking stupid.” He felt tears build in his eyes again, looking over to Hongjoong, “I'm sorry you had to find me like that.”

“Mingi, no. I'm just glad I found you.” Hongjoong laid a hand on his shoulder, never being one to be very comfortable with physical affection. 

“I'm so sorry.” It seemed to be the only phrase Mingi could remember how to say. 

Luckily for him, the nurse came in then to check on him, taking his vitals and informing him that he had been accepted to an inpatient behavioral health hospital and that transport was being set up as they spoke. 

“You're sending me to the psych ward?” His stomach dropped. 

“Yes sir, we're required by law to have you admitted after a suicide attempted. You're considered very high risk right now.” She spoke as if she had delivered the same line a thousand times already that day. 

“I just failed to commit suicide and I feel like dog shit!” The effort from raising his voice made him dizzy, “There’s no amount of money you could pay me to convince me to try that shit again right now.”

His friends didn't seem to know what to say

“You will just have to take that up with your psychiatrist at the hospital. I'm sorry. If you don't go willingly, the doctor will have to put you on a 72 hour hold.” 

Mingi closed his eyes, seething, “Fucking… fine.” 

“Okay, good. I'll let the doctor know.” She walked out of the room and no one moved until she was out of ear shot. 

Wooyoung cocked an eyebrow at him, “You're really gonna-”

“Hell no. You guys have to help me get out of here. I'll stay with one of you, I promise, I just can't… please. Don't make me.” Mingi all but begged, feeling small and vulnerable like a child. 

Everyone turned to Hongjoong, the de-facto leader, often thought of by his friends as the dad of the group.

He looked between the men before finding Mingi’s eyes, sighing when he saw how desperate his friend looked, “San, trade clothes with him and go distract the nurse.” He never stopped looking at Mingi while he spoke, “We're getting him the hell out of here.”

Five minutes later, Hongjoong, Yeosang, and Wooyoung surrounded Mingi from four sides, trying to obscure him from the view of anyone who might try to stop them, though it was essentially futile, considering how Mingi towered over them, giggling to themselves as they heard the nurses gasp and squeal. San had evidently just taken off his paper scrubs shirt as a distraction. They made it into the elevator and all the way downstairs undetected, within only a few hundred feet of the front door when they heard San’s out of breath voice from the stairwell yelling, “Run!” 

They obeyed, taking off towards the parking lot, hopping into San's 4-Runner as he unlocked it to signal its location, though he himself was still a hundred or so yards behind, bare feet slapping on the pavement (Mingi had squeezed his feet into San's shoes) as the guards slowed their pace behind him, clearly accepting their defeat, out-paced easily by the athletic man. 

Mingi felt like death as he wheezed, exhausted from the effort in the middle back seat of San's car, wedged securely between Hongjoong and Yeosang, San hopping into the driver's seat. He felt like death, yes, but he also felt more alive than he had in a long time, being the first one to crack and start laughing in the car after a moment of unsure silence. Wooyoung followed second, his high pitched wild laughter making everyone else submit to a giggle fit as well. San rolled down the windows and stuck his head out as he drove out of the parking lot, hair blowing in the chill winter air, yelling, “Nice try, bitches!” as they made their escape. 

Two and a Half Years Ago

Mingi and Jongho had managed to sneak away from Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s engagement party, finding themselves in Hongjoong’s den, laying on the floor, rather cross-faded, skin still damp after coming inside from the balmy spring air that had enveloped them on the back porch. 

"I can’t believe they’re finally going to get married.” Mingi sighed staring up at the ceiling.

"San and Wooyoung must be thrilled. I bet San is scheming already.” Jongho chuckled. 

Mingi scoffed, “I think San has had a ring in his closet for a year at this point.”

"You’re probably right.” 

Mingi turned his head to look at his friend, studying his profile, the shape of which he had memorized years ago, “First those two, then Wooyoung and San. You think everyone will expect us to get married next?”

Jongho met his gaze, “Mingi, no offense, but I will only marry you at fifty if we’re both still single.”

"Promise?” Mingi was mostly joking. 

Jongho rolled his eyes, “Someday, someone will take care of us like we do each other.” He turned his head back away, “But just in case… yes. Promise.”

"Hell yeah.” Mingi pumped his arm in victory. 

"You left Yeosang out of all of that, by the way. What’s he going to do?” 

"I assumed he would move in with Youngie and San at some point.” Mingi deadpanned.

Jongho chuckled, “I’m honestly surprised they haven’t all moved in together yet.”

Footsteps had them craning their head to the back of the room.

Seonghwa’s arms were folded, “Did you guys plan on being antisocial all night?”

Mingi and Jongho shrugged, sitting up, Jongho helping Mingi to his feet. 

Seonghwa sighed dramatically, “Please come back and join us. Act normal for once.”

“Yes, mom!” Jongho mocked.  

They had to swallow their giggles as Seonghwa marched them back to the kitchen and living room, where everyone else was gathered.

The Present, October 15th

Mingi woke up, slightly disoriented, in Wooyoung and San’s guest bedroom, far too early in the morning. His face was throbbing, bruises and swelling finally going down, but still aching and tender nonetheless. He looked on the bedside table for painkillers before remembering that he hadn’t been left with any from the hospital, considering how he had chosen to depart. That, and he assumed, a cold pit in his stomach, Wooyoung wouldn’t allow him access to any meds without supervision. Really, Mingi felt zero desire to ever try to hurt himself again, but he understood that his friends were just doing their due diligence to protect him. 

Embarrassment and shame coursed over him.  

I'm a fucking mess.

He looked for his phone, finally finding it plugged in on the desk on the opposite side of the room. 

He scrolled through and replied to messages from Hongjoong and Yeosang, telling him he was feeling fine and thanking them again for their help. 

He knew it was too early for Wooyoung to get up, so he scrolled absentmindedly through his phone for a while before the pain from the wounds on his face, his split lip and bruised jaw and eye sockets, were too much to continue ignoring. He looked around in the room for any of his belongings, not finding anything except what he had worn of San’s home from the hospital. 

The dresser in the corner of the room stared at him and he walked over to take a peak. Some of Wooyoung and San’s off-season clothes were in there, shorts and swim trunks mostly. But in one drawer alone, was one of Jongho’s old hoodies. Faded dark green and perfectly worn. Mingi remembered it because he had borrowed it on more than one occasion after work, on their walk home, always having been one to forget a jacket. Jongho acted like he was put out to lend it to him, but Mingi knew as well as he had, he didn’t mind a bit. Now that he thought about it, it was totally possible that Jongho had always worn it just for his sake. The man ran very hot, constantly complaining about it, even in winter. 

Mingi brought the sweater up to his face, hoping it would still smell faintly of him, but knowing deep down it wouldn’t. He slipped it on, zipping it up, putting the hood on, and heading into the kitchen to try to find some coffee. After a few minutes of searching (much to his guilt, realizing that they had locked up their knives), Mingi found the necessary supplies to make coffee, rustling through the pantry for something to eat as it brewed. 

“You’re up early.” Wooyoung’s raspy morning voice startled him.

“Ah!” Mingi whipped around, “Sorry, yeah. My face fucking hurts.”

“I’ll get you something.” Wooyoung gave a small smile, “Sorry, you understand why I couldn’t just leave you some-”

“Nah, I know.” Mingi waved him off, “I would do the same thing. Don’t worry.”

Wooyoung nodded, “Okay, good. I’m glad. I’ll go grab it.”

Mingi poured two cups of coffee as Wooyoung returned, handing him a steaming mug in exchange for two ibuprofen tablets. 

“Thanks, man.” Mingi tossed them back, swallowing them dry, knowing the coffee was still too hot to sip on, “And thanks for letting me stay. I don’t want to put you guys out-”

Wooyoung placed his mug down on the kitchen island, his typically sharp, vulpine features turning soft, crossing over to hug Mingi out of the blue, “No way, Mingi. I’m just so glad you’re okay.” He pulled back, “I’m so mad at you, too. But it’s far outweighed by how glad I am that you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too.” Mingi confessed.

“Good.” Wooyoung blinked back tears, swallowing, “I couldn’t do another funeral, Mingi.”

“I know.” Mingi’s face flushed red, embarrassed at the idea of causing his friends so much grief, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“No more apologizing.” Wooyoung commanded, “You should keep it, by the way.” He nodded at the hoodie Mingi had donned.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take-”

“Mingi, I’m sure. He would have wanted you to have it. It just makes me fucking sad every time I see it. I want to remember him in different ways other than just being sad he’s gone. Please take it.” Wooyoung’s eyes were soft as they peered into Mingi’s soul. 

Mingi held his gaze for a moment, before finally nodding, “Okay. Yeah. Thank you, Wooyoung.”

“Of course, Ming.” Wooyoung sipped his coffee before turning around to retrieve a skillet from the cabinet under the island, “Let me make you some pancakes.” He stood up and cut Mingi off before he could protest, “No. I’m rephrasing that. I’m making us pancakes. And you’re going to eat them with me.”

“That sounds great, Youngie. Thank you.” 

Mingi watched as the younger began to gather ingredients, pouring them into a mixing bowl and starting to combine them. Something kept clawing at the back of his mind though. He didn’t know how to breach the subject so he just asked, “Have you um… heard from Hwa?”

Wooyoung stirred a little aggressively and Mingi nearly laughed at how his jaw clenched at the mention of their friend’s name, “No. Although to be fair, I think Hongjoong made it clear he shouldn’t talk to me right now. I’ll ask San when he wakes up, but I highly doubt it.”

“Ah.” Mingi couldn’t think of anything else to say. He understood why it might be hard for Seonghwa to see him at that very moment, but he wished he knew exactly why his friend didn’t want to see or speak to him. Was it because he was mad at Mingi? For the party, or for trying to kill himself? Or was he mad at himself? Or was it all just too much for him to face? Maybe a combination?

Wooyoung poured the pancake batter into the skillet, “I can hear you overthinking. This is partially why I’m so mad at him. He’s leaving you wondering why he won’t reach out.” He waited for the edges of the pancakes to bubble before flipping them, “You know, for someone who gave you so much grief for making things about yourself, he sure does have a nasty habit of doing it himself, doesn’t he?”

Mingi snorted, laughing at how true the statement was, “I’ve always said he and I were too similar in all the wrong ways.” 

Wooyoung couldn’t help but break a grin as he plated the first batch of pancakes, handing it to Mingi, “You might actually be right about that.”

Wooyoung joined him at the table a few minutes later, and it didn’t take long for them to defrost a bit as the man realized he didn’t have to handle Mingi with kid gloves. San joined them a bit later, and there for around an hour, everything felt almost normal. Like they were in college again, scarfing down breakfast at someone’s apartment after a night at the bars. It was so nice that Mingi found himself just staring, watching Wooyoung and San interact together. The two of them had become symbiotic practically immediately, nearly a decade ago at that point. He realized possibly for the first time ever, seeing how so painfully domestic and intimate the two of them were, that he wanted that with someone. 

He hadn’t noticed the tear slip down his cheek until San looked at him, concern falling over his delicate feline features, “What’s wrong, Song?”

Mingi laughed at the intentionally bad rhyme, “Nothing. You guys are just cute. I’ve missed you a lot. I’ve missed this.” 

Wooyoung kissed San on the cheek, “Hear that? He thinks we’re cute.”

Mingi crinkled his nose in fake disgust, “Okay less so now.”

San chuckled, “We missed you, too, Mingi.”

“We’ll make more of an effort. All of us. Promise. We all need each other and it’s time we stopped isolating.” Wooyoung looked at him a little pointedly.

“I agree.” He nodded, knowing that Wooyoung was also holding him culpable for that last part.

“Good.” Wooyoung smiled, before standing up to start clearing the table. Mingi and San helped, San explaining that he had taken the day off of work to hang out with Mingi. 

“Oh, um, I mean. You don’t have t-” Mingi started, feeling once again like a child.

“Yes. We do.” San said, a little stern, but there was no resentment in his voice. 

Mingi nodded, “Okay. Thank you. I’ll be glad to have your company.” 

San didn’t press or try to make him talk all day, which Mingi was grateful for. They watched movies and played video games for most of the day before Mingi felt like he needed a nap. They ate together like a family once again that night.

The next couple of weeks went on like that until they started to trust him again, leaving him alone during the day while they both returned to work. Mingi wondered absentmindedly if he still had a job. His boss hadn’t even called, but maybe his friends took care of it. He wondered if he even cared. Really, he didn’t know why he had even stayed after Jongho’s accident. He could bartend anywhere. If he really wanted to continue doing so was the real question. After graduating with an anthropology degree and no desire at the time to continue his education, he had just continued to do what had gotten him through college. No reason not to, he was handsome and very good at his job. Made great money. But weirdly enough, nearly dying had him taking the first look at his future that he had bothered to take in years. 

Maybe I should go back to school.

He had always liked the idea of teaching at a university level. 

Seven Years Ago

"Fuck, yes, baby. Just like that!” Mingi looked up in awe as the girl he’d had eyes on all semester from his Literature class was riding his dick, letting out pretty moans. He didn’t even care if they were fake, she felt incredible. 

Click-BANG!

The dorm door flew open, a completely distraught, clearly sleep deprived and hungover (possibly still drunk) Jongho barged in, only blinking as the girl covered herself and yelped, diving beneath Mingi’s navy comforter, laying herself flat to his chest. 

“Mingi, I fucked up. I thought my history test was next week, you’ve gotta help me.” Jongho begged him. 

“Right now?!” Mingi whined, hips still rocking under the girl whose pussy he was deliciously buried deep inside of. 

“Please?” Jongho begged him, “I’ll pay for your laundry for a month, hell, I’ll do your laundry for a month, man, but please help! You’re the only one who knows anything about history.”

Mingi’s pace picked up at the compliment, hearing the girl moan as he plunged deeper, “Okay, fine, I’ll meet you at the library in twenty, and you better get coffee for both of us.”

“Thank you so much, I owe you!” Jongho packed his backpack, moving at a tortoise’s pace in Mingi’s eyes, who was barely restraining himself from moving like a hare. 

“Jongho, get the fuck out of here!” He half-yelled, half-panted, grabbing the girl’s hips and beginning to slam her onto his cock, moaning as she moved her hips to match his movement. 

Jongho sped up, haphazardly tossing his history textbook into his backpack and darting out of the room, saluting Mingi as he turned his back and closed the door. 

"God, yes, Mingi!” The girl cried out while he rubbed her clit with his thumb, head falling back as she clenched around him. He followed moments later, spilling into the condom with a broken sigh. 

In his post-nut clarity, Mingi made a surprisingly good history tutor.

Jongho had gotten a nearly perfect score on his test.   

October 29th

Mingi was being given a chance to prove himself. He loved Wooyoung and San but he missed his apartment. He missed being alone, oddly enough feeling more alone around the couple than he did when he was by himself. 

It didn’t help that he had decided to swear off sex for the time being. He wanted to be sharp. Clear headed. 

He had decided to apply for graduate school. 

There was no reason he wouldn’t get in, truthfully, but it had been a while since undergrad and he would need to get letters of recommendation from his old professors, plus take the GRE, and write an essay for his application. All of it was due in March the following year, in order for him to start at the fall semester, but he wanted to get a head start, scared to leave anything to the last minute. 

He was being given a chance to prove himself by going out with his friends for Halloween. Promising to not take off, not do any drugs, and limit himself to a few drinks. Agree to go home with Wooyoung and San at the end of the night. 

He could do it. He felt it in his bones as he tied up his shaggy, grown out hair for his Geto costume. He could be good. 

I can be good. 

Wooyoung and San were getting ready and changing into their Gryffindor and Hufflepuff costumes in their bedroom, so the knock on their door in the living room confused Mingi. 

“I’ll get it!” He called towards his friends’ bedroom.

He opened the door to Seonghwa, dressed as Rey Skywalker. 

Mingi offered a small smile upon seeing the look of poorly disguised worry on Seonghwa’s face, “Hey, Hwa.” He moved out of the doorway, “Wanna come in?”

Seonghwa cleared his throat, stepping through the doorway, “Thanks.”

“Wooyoung and San are still getting ready but I can go get-”

“No!” Seonghwa cut him off, voice tense, “Sorry. No, thank you. I wanted to speak with you, actually. If you’re okay with that.”

Mingi led them over to the kitchen table, knowing it to be more out of earshot to his friends’ bedroom than the couch in the living room. 

Seonghwa sat down across from him, folding his hands in his lap, almost like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. 

Mingi waited for him to start. Maybe he was a little petty, but he really wanted Seonghwa to be the one to start. He felt that he was justified in being a little annoyed that it had taken the man two weeks to speak with him. 

“Mingi…” Seonghwa’s voice trembled immediately, “I owe you an apology.” 

“Hwa, you don’t have to, I understand-”

“No.” Seonghwa’s eyes snapped up to meet Mingi’s, “You don’t understand.”

Mingi leaned back into the chair, placing his clasped hands onto the table, “Okay. I’m listening.” 

“The night that Jongho…” Seonghwa swallowed, “No one knows this besides Hongjoong. But.” He breathed deep through his nose, “I had a missed call, Mingi.”

Mingi blinked as the realization hit. “You-”

“My phone was on silent. I had been on the phone with family all day, frustrated about wedding stuff. You know my parents don’t approve. It’s not an excuse… It’s been eating me alive. It’s a big reason we have postponed the wedding for so long. I’m seeing a therapist for it now but I think I was taking some of my anger at myself out on you, Mingi. Because you were with him that night. You’re a heavy sleeper and you’d been drinking. We all know that. Jongho certainly knew that. It’s not your fault you didn’t wake up when he left. I see that now. But I was deflecting my frustration with myself onto you and blaming it all on that.”

“Hwa…” Mingi wanted to tell him it’s okay. The guilt of his own secret making itself known by trying to steal the air from his lungs, stomach twisting. 

“No, please.” Seonghwa blinked back tears, “Let me finish.”

Mingi nodded, so Seonghwa continued, “When I got the call from Hongjoong. Well, Mingi, it hit me that I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I almost lost you, too. After yelling at you and kicking you out of my house.” A tear escaped his eye, making slow work through the makeup on his cheek, “I almost lost you, Mingi.” He sniffed, reaching for a paper towel to dab his eyes, “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. I’m so fucking glad that Hongjoong answered his phone. I should have been understanding. It never should have gotten that bad for you, Mingi, I’m so sorry.” His words started to rush out then, “I knew I should have been there at the hospital. I shouldn’t have stayed away, but honestly, Mingi, every time I thought about trying to talk to you, trying to face this, I nearly had a panic attack. Hongjoong was patient, of course, but he told me we weren’t going out tonight unless I talked to you. He was right. I’m so sorry it took this long.” He buried his head in his hands, “I understand if you can’t forgive me right away, Mingi. But I want you to know that I’m going to do better. I’m going to be there for you. I never want you to feel like you can’t come to me, or any of us. But please, please, Mingi, don’t let it get that bad again, I don’t know what I-”

“Hwa.” Mingi stood up, walking around the table, “Come here.” He opened his arms.

Seonghwa blinked at him from his chair until Mingi nodded, then his friend stood and let himself be hugged. “I’m so sorry.” Seonghwa mumbled into Mingi’s chest.

“I’m sorry, too. I never should have scared you guys like that.” Mingi admitted. 

“I’m just glad you’re here.” 

“Me, too.” Mingi squeezed him tighter, “And I forgive you, Hwa. If there’s one thing I’ve learned recently, it’s that we all process grief differently.” He released Seonghwa, moving back to his chair. 

Seonghwa sat back down, “You sound like my therapist now.” A smile worked its way up the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” Mingi laughed, “I don’t have the right degree for that. But I have decided to apply for grad school.”

“Mingi!” Seonghwa’s face lit up with pride, “That’s amazing, honey. I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, Hwa. I love you, you know?”

Seonghwa smiled, “I love you, too, Mingi. I promise I’ll do a better job of showing it.” 

“I’ll take it. Any extra love you have sitting around.” Mingi joked.

“Deal.”

“And then I’ll double it and give it back.” 

Seonghwa laughed, “I know you will. You try to hide it, Mingi, but I know you’re a loverboy. Soft. Hopeless romantic.”

Mingi’s head tipped back with his chuckle, acknowledging how right his friend was, “Just don’t tell anyone, okay? I have an image to protect.”

Seonghwa stuck out his pinky, “Your secret is safe with me. Pinky swear.”

“Pinky swear.” Mingi let his finger wrap around Seonghwa’s, sealing the deal. 

Hongjoong, dressed as Kylo Ren, called a few minutes later, having been waiting in the lobby of the apartment building for them. The four of them went downstairs to meet him, walking towards the subway station without being asked. Mingi was sure that they normally would have called an Uber, but they finally seemed to be acknowledging his aversion to riding in a car. 

They met Yeosang, dressed as a vampire, at the bar. 

Mingi did well for a while, but after a few hours out around so many people, noticing things he normally would have acted impulsively on - people discreetly exchanging small baggies of white powder, someone making eyes at him from across the bar, a woman trying to grind on him on the dance floor - added a sharp edge to the situation that he wasn’t accustomed to. He felt his heart rate begin to pick up, pounding in his ears, which had also started to ring. 

His instinct was to dart off out the front door alone, but he remembered his promises to ask for help if he needed it. He searched the room, finally spotting Yeosang leaving the bathrooms. 

He rushed over, grabbing his friend by the arm, “Sangie.” His grip was too tight, he knew.

His vision started darkening around the outer edges. Unable to take a full deep breath. 

“Mingi?” Yeosang studied him, seeing his chest heave, eyes looking like they were having trouble focusing, “Come on, let’s get you outside.”

Mingi’s brain couldn’t make sense of his words, “Am I in trouble again?” His voice sounded small.

“No, honey, you just need some air, I think.” Yeosang looked at him more seriously, trying to ensure his words got through, “Mingi-ssi. You’re not in trouble. You need fresh air. I’ve got you, come on.”

Mingi let himself be led outside, gulping the cold air down like water as fast as he could get it inside his lungs. 

“Just breathe through your nose, Mingi, you’re okay.” Yeosang instructed as he helped Mingi sit against the wall of the building.

Sobs racked his body unexpectedly, “I’m not trying to make everything about me, I swear!” Mingi looked at Yeosang, eyes pleading, desperate for his friend to understand.

“Mingi, no. No one thinks that. No one should have ever made you feel like that.” He grabbed one of Mingi’s hands, crouching in front of him, “You just got overwhelmed. It’s okay, really. I promise.” 

Wooyoung and San had noticed their absence, evidently, as Mingi could hear their voices, tight with worry, coming towards them.

“Oh, thank God.” San said, sitting down beside Mingi, “Hey, you’re okay, Mingi.”

“He got overwhelmed, I think he may have been having a panic attack. But he came and found me.” Yeosang explained. 

Wooyoung took Mingi’s other side, pulling his other large hand into his lap, “Good job finding Yeosang, honey.” Wooyoung squeezed his hand, “You did exactly the right thing.” 

Mingi still wasn’t back to reality, but his brain had started to clear somewhat, “No one is mad at me?”

San put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him over so his head fell to his broad shoulder, “No, Mingi, I promise. No one is mad. You did the right thing. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you guys leave early-”

He heard more footsteps approaching, “Of course we’re sure.” Hongjoong’s voice, “Come on. We’re all going to Wooyoung and San’s.”

“We’ll get takeout.” Seonghwa added.

“We can watch Avatar: The Last Airbender. I know you’ve been wanting us to watch it.” Wooyoung offered. 

Mingi finally sat up, tears tracking down his cheeks, “Okay, yeah. That sounds good.” 

Who knew letting your friends help you would be so nice. 

Back at Wooyoung and San’s place, they piled together on the couch and the floor in front, pizza slices in hand as they watched Aang and the gang fight the Fire Nation. Mingi was wedged between Seonghwa and Hongjoong and he let his head fall to Seonghwa’s shoulder as he started to get sleepy. 

He awoke a few hours later to find that everyone had stayed. He was in Seonghwa’s lap, everyone else snuggled together with blankets and pillows on the carpet or curled into armchairs. It felt like a sleepover they might have had in college. His heart ached with love for his friends. Jongho would have scoffed and acted opposed to it, but Mingi smiled as he pictured the man begrudgingly staying, probably ending up cuddling close with one of them on the floor. 

For once, the thought of his friend didn’t send him spiraling. 

He had agreed to stay another week at Wooyoung and San’s on their way back last night. He knew it was the right call. He laid his head back into Seonghwa’s lap and fell back asleep once more. 

Three Years Ago

The roof of the bar was crowded, but Mingi and Jongho had managed to carve a spot on the railing for it. 

“I’m confused why we’re drinking for this particular occasion!” Jongho had to practically shout over the music and voices.

“We’re celebrating for my mom!” Mingi said it like it was an explanation. It wasn’t.

“For her getting cheated on?” Jongho was still lost. 

“For my dad finally signing the divorce papers!” 

“Ohhh!” Jongho nodded, “Okay then why aren’t you drinking with your mom about it?”

“Because she’s not ready to celebrate it, but I am!” Mingi held his cup up, expecting Jongho to clink theirs together. 

Jongho shook his head, finally doing what was expected of him, “To cheaters! May they learn their lesson and never do it again!” 

“Cheers, I guess.” Mingi laughed, confused by what exactly his friend meant. “What’s worse, the cheater or the person they're cheating on with?”

Jongho considered, “The cheater. But it really depends on how close the other person is to the situation.”

“So you don’t think cheaters should be punished for cheating? Just learn their lesson and never do it again?”

“Their conscience will be punishment enough, I’m sure. Plus, I mean, I don’t think anyone is born a cheater. Or a mistress. Criminal. Everyone has things in their past that can explain their behavior, I think. It doesn’t mean they should never live a good life just because they do something bad.” 

Mingi thought about what had just been said, unable to come up with anything to rebut with. “I think you’re one of the most empathetic people out there, Choi Jongho. Good work keeping it so well hidden. I fear if anyone knew, they would just take advantage of it.”

Jongho chuckled, “Shut up.” He took a sip of his drink, “But thank you. Don’t tell anyone.” 

~part two~

[queer-ragnelle]

Hi! I really want to read the vulgate cycle but I have a hard time staying focused when reading it. Are there any sections of the vulgate that are not as important to the understanding or able to skip? Thank you so much for making all these stories accessible and thanks for your reply :))

Hello my friend! This is a great question and one I get a lot. The Vulgate Cycle is long and daunting, but I can help you navigate it!

Firstly, here is the full Vulgate Cycle PDF collection for everyone to read. Secondly, I'll summarize what you can do, and elaborate below a cut.

TL;DR

If reading a PDF, use CTRL+F to find your favorite character's name/stories.

If reading a physical copy, utilize the index (located at the very end of the Post Vulgate) to find them.

Discover chapters of interest from the summary page (also located at the very end of the Post Vulgate).

Skip The History of the Holy Grail and begin with The Story of Merlin or Lancelot I.

Now, let's break down the ways you can navigate the Vulgate Cycle step by step.

CTRL+F

This option will certainly be less effective if your favorite character is a prominent one such as Lancelot or Gawain as they appear a million times. However, if you want to learn more about someone else, say, the Lady of the Lake, you can search her up and find every instance of her appearance. Like so.

Index

In the very back of the final book of the Post Vulgate, there's an Index listing every named character [Ex: Gawain], location [Ex: Orkney Isles], entity [Ex: Holy Spirit], animal [Ex: Gringalet the horse], and language [Ex: Hebrew] mentioned in the entirety of the Vulgate Cycle. There you'll find a list of which book/chapter/page they appear in. Here are all the mentions of Gawain's horse in The Book of Merlin.

Chapter Summaries

Each book of the Vulgate Cycle has a Table of Contents with the chapter numbers and long, descriptive titles. That alone may give you an indication of what you want to read. However, at the back of the Post Vulgate, right before the Index, there's a list of every chapter in the Vulgate Cycle with a summary of events. That will give you more detail and may help you decide if you want to read in full.

Skip

If it sucks, hit da bricks. The beauty of the Vulgate Cycle is that you don't need The History of the Grail or The Book of Merlin to understand what comes later. I enjoy them because History gives a ton of background to the religious themes the Grail Quest will eventually explore and sets up all the motifs way in advance and Merlin has the Orkney Bros as well as Yvain and Sagramore as kids which is fun. But the fact is you can begin with Lancelot I and you won't be lost. Lancelot I was written first, Merlin is a prequel, so it's optional, and the motifs of the Grail Quest are going to be heavy handed when you get there anyway without the added stuff from History. That's hundreds of pages you can skip if you want to! Norris J. Lacy, the head editor, and his translation team did a phenomenal job with footnotes throughout, so if a character off-handedly refers back to something, you can rely on them to leave a little note at the bottom for you to refresh your memory with. It'll even give you a chapter/page number if you want to refer back yourself. Here's a footnote referring to Agravaine's unnamed amie [his ladylove] who helped wing woman her sister to romance Gawain. That was 4 chapters prior to this moment.

So there are plenty of ways to navigate the Vulgate Cycle and make it more digestible. That being said, it's translated so beautifully by Lacy and his team, that it reads like a modern novel. I have no doubt that once you get started, you'll become invested, and find it much easier to work through than you first thought. It's long-winded and character dense but it's fun. I do hope you're able to read it and understand why I love it so much! Thanks for this ask and I hope this helps. Have a great day!

[daniyummy]

PART TWO! I'm sorry this took so long, I've had no motivation. But here I am, anyways, this will have fluff, angst and a twinge of smut. CW: Unprotected sex. (Assume you're on the pill)

Part 1 | Part 2

Happy reading!

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You saw it. Of course you did. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of people tagged you. Did you feel bad? No, you were in the right. But, did you miss him? Yeah, really badly. You wanted to go to his apartment and tell him all the things you've been think since he posted that a few days ago.

You wanted an apology in person. Not on a Instagram post. Yet it took balls to do that. Post publicly that you were an asshole to your ex-girlfriend? Sure, you wanted an in person apology, but you were glad that he at least apologized for being an ass. You still loved him. But you didn't know if he moved on already. You didn't know what to do.

Or, did you know what to do?

Were you being a coward? 100%. Hell, you've been staring at the post religiously, it's become a part of your routine. So it was no surprise when you went to scroll you "accidentally" liked it. You quickly unliked it, praying Colby didn't get the notification. You knew he did, but hopefully he missed it. Little did you know, he's been staring at his inbox waiting for that one notification from you. His heart jumped out of his chest once he saw it. He sat up in his bed and nearly tripped well running downstairs to find Sam.

"Sam! She saw it!" Colby screamed, Sam flinched. "Lower your voice, dude." He mumbled, then looked confused. "Who saw what?" Sam looked at him with furrowed brows. "Y/N. Aka the love of my life." Colby held his phone out Sam looked and scrolled to find the notification, his eyes widening. "You think she's still into you? Also, that was cheesy as fuck." Sam cringed, Colby rolled his eyes. "Shut up, it's true. I don't know if she still feels that way.. " He sighed.

"If she liked it, it meant she saw it. She would've ignored it and blocked you if she didn't." Sam says, looking at his friend, a little concern behind his gaze. "Don't wait for her to come to you, one: she won't, two: it makes you seem like a dick who thinks you're above bring the first one to apologise first. But...if you apologise first, you seem desperate." Sam shrugs, Colby looks at him and furrows his eyebrows. "I am desperate.."

"Jesus Christ Colby.." Sam sighs, a slight smile on his face, Colby raised his hands on defense. "What? You told me you wanted me to be more honest with you!" Colby points to Sam, he chuckles softly. "Whatever. You gonna go see her..?" Sam asks, the concern returning. "I want to..I miss her. I'm an idiot for a losing girl like her." He replies, Sam nodded. Colby looked at him in faux shock. "You weren't supposed to agree, you dick!" Colby smacks the back of Sam's head. "They were your words!" Sam argues.

Colby rolled his eyes before grabbing his keys. "I'm going to see her.." He walks to the door before Sam calls out to him. "Use protection!" He teases, Colby grins. "She likes it raw." Colby counters, Sam makes a gagging noise. "Gross, man...I didn't need to know that.." Sam mumbles as Colby leaves to his car.

Colbys drive was quiet, his hands sweaty as he grips the steering wheel, his breath shaky as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment. He steps out, picking up the flowers he got at the store before driving to your apartment. Colby walks towards to elevator, clicking the button he had multiple times. Walking towards the door he has multiple times. Knocking three times. Preparing for you to open the door. The first thought that came to his mind when you did was

How he forgot how beautiful you are.

You stare at him in shock, and maybe a little pent up anger. "Colby? What the hell are you doing here?" Colby just stares, until he eventually gathering himself. "I-I wanted to apologise..in person. Not like a coward online." His voice is shaky, something you've never seen happen to Colby. He's usually so confident. Not nervous. Like he's confessing to his crush in middle school. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I realize now how much of a dick I was to you. You deserved better. You still deserve better. I never had a serious relationship, one I was monogamous in. That's not an excuse for how shitty I treated you. You don't have to forgive me, but I love you, and want to try again. I under-"

Colbys cut off by your lips pressed against his, his eyes widen before he kissed you back, this wasn't like your usually rough and sloppy kiss with him, he's gentle, loving. He sets the flowers down and pulls your body against his, you pull him in your apartment and he kicks the door closed. He picks you and carries you to your room. Something he's down multiple times, but this is different. Colby gently lays you on your bed, kissing and nipping at your neck.

You watch as he slowly removes your clothes, kissing every inch of your exposed skin. Colby runs his cold hands down your side, you shiver as you gets goosebumps, he chuckles and kissing your forehead softly. "Sorry, darling.." He looks at you, noticing how impatient you look, he smiles and settles between your legs, kitten licking your thighs, moving towards your heat, before, finally, he drags his tongue down your eager cunt.

You moan, Colbys eyes on yours as he continues licking at your pussy, sucking at your clit, lapping your juices like it's his favourite meal. His cock strains against his pants as he hears your moans and whimpers, he speeds up his movements. Colby notices your moans become needy and he smiles. "Cum on my tongue, love. Wan' to taste how good I make you feel." He mumbled into your cunt, and at his words, your body shudders with your orgasm, which he eagerly laps up. Colby slowly comes to a stop, he stands up and takes off his clothes before settling into missionary.

"You want this?" He looks at you, making sure you're okay. You nod quickly, he smiles, but wants to be sure. "I need words, baby." He kisses the corner of your mouth. "Please Colby...I need you.." Your voice barely above a whisper, he kisses you as he slowly pushes his cock into your cunt, you gasp, you forgot how big he was. Colby bottoms out, not moving until you tell him he can, once you nod, he slowly starts thrusting, the thrusts deep and deliberate, you look at him as you realize..

He's making love to you.

Colby Brock, who would usually fuck like a dog, thinking with just his dick, is thinking with his heart and head. He's not being rough. You like this. "So good, sweetheart. You feel so good." You felt that coil in your stomach at his words, you look at him, your eyes needy. "Colby I'm going to cum.." You moan, he kisses your neck and thrusts faster, his hands lazily playing with your tits. "Me too, darling." Colby groans and kisses you as he feels you clench around his cock, he's thrusts become a little sloppy as he fills your pussy with his cum, you finish just after he does.

He pulls out and stands up, throwing his boxers on before walking out of the room, you watch in shock, thinking he was just going to leave. Until he comes back with a damp cloth, a few snacks and some water, he cleans you up gently, like he's afraid he'll break you, he puts his shirt on you, finding a pair of his boxers you "accidentally" kept to slip them on you. before setting the snacks in front of you. "Thought you were tired, so we'll shower in the morning. But thought we could watch a show, eat snacks and sleep." Colby kisses your lips softly, cuddling you.

"Can we watch Brooklyn nine nine?" You ask, he smiles. "Of course we can. I'm still sorry for being a dick." Colby cuddle closer to you. "I'm not going to say its fine, cause it's not, but just work on it. I forgive you." You smile.

You two talk a little, watch the show and eat snacks, before you fall asleep on his chest, he smiles and takes a picture. He posts it on Instagram with the caption "My girl."

Which gets thousands, maybe millions of likes and comments saying how happy they are for him. Colby smiles and kisses your forehead before letting sleep take him.

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

Finally got part two done! Hope you enjoy it! Let me know if you have any feedback, and feel free to leave requests!

-★⋆Dani⋆★-

[dxmedstudent]

Forgive me if this is rough and messy, im down with a viral illness and this is something I've been thinking about after reading some stories on reddit but...

Can we just... not frame illness or disability (or infertility, which for many is a kind of disability) as some kind of karmic punishment?

Like, if you don't like someone because they were nasty or even evil to you, that's fine. We can agree they were a Grade A Butthole with added haemorrhoids.

If something bad happened to that person, you're not evil for not being sad about it, or even feeling schadenfreude. Feelings are complicated, and wanting someone who hurt you to feel hurt is something many of us can understand. That's not what I mean here and I'm not going to dissect that further. This is also not to defend the person for being a butthole - they deserve to be criticised for poor behaviour.

But I always feel deeply uncomfortable when people in comments roll out the "Yeah! your nasty cheating ex is now infertile / in a wheelchair/ a depressed alcoholic, that's karma! The universe has a way!"

...Because you're inadvertently framing physical or mental disability or infertility as a whole...as a punishment. And by extension implying that people who experience these things did something to deserve it.

I know it can feel good in that moment to imagine that this is some evil person's reckoning and that everyone gets their comeuppance. But it's such a dangerous way to look at things.

We need to get away from this frankly outdated and damaging belief that a healthy body is a reward for spiritual purity and that illness is a punishment for sin. That a body which doesn't work quite the same as most people's... must be due to moral failings. These beliefs have very real and damaging effects in terms if how we as a society treat the vulnerable - the mentally ill, the homeless, those with addiction issues, those with sexually acquired illness, for example.

It's disturbing how often even people who declare themselves to be ostensibly atheist will turn around and basically say something surprisingly religious, in the worst way. And not realise that they've not yet examined where these beliefs are coming from.

Hate the evil cheating ex, by all means. Be glad that they are unhappy, if you want. I won't tell you how to feel. You don't need to wish someone who was a horrible person well. You don't have to like them, forgive them or dismiss what they did (we should hold them accountable). We can absolutely unite and agree that someone is/was a nasty person.

But don't ridicule them FOR being unwell. Don't link illness with a perceived moral failing. No matter how evil you think they are.

Because most people who are suffering the exact same thing are not evil and didn't do anything to deserve it. And by framing it as such, how do you think it affects the many other disabled people reading your comment? Do you think they deserve everything that happened to them? What exactly do you think someone has to do to deserve good health? How perfect do they have to be?

Most of us are going to experience disability some degree, in our lives. We need to stop treating it as a rare or freakish event and see it as part of the spectrum of human experience. Struggles with adddiction are very common and are a cry for help and not a moral failing. 1 in 10 couples experience infertility. It's so fucking disrespectful to the many people with disabilities. To my patients. To my friends.

And to me.

As someone with infertility issues, it's pretty bloody triggering to read a whole bunch of strangers gleefully declare that "infertility is just nature's happy way of making sure awful people don't reproduce". That maybe people who have recurrent miscarriages "should just give up" because "nature's trying to tell them something".

Like...how very *eugenics* of you.

As if...plenty of awful people don't have children and aren't awful parents? All the bloody time. Are you advocating for all children to be appropriately supported and looked after, do you support children in care? Trans and intersex children? Children with complicated physical or mental needs? Or is this just a way for you to pat yourself on the back that your presumed or proven fertility is a sign of your own moral superiority?

Do those commenters eschew all medical care when they are ill? Obviously not. Nor should they - because misguided and petty though they are, they are also entitled to seek care if they need medical help. But they seem to think that when anyone they disapprove of experiences health problems they should, what? Just give up and suffer in silence?

Modern medicine exist to treat a myriad of illness and help people manage a plethora of disabilities. It exists FOR people. You don't have to earn adequate healthcare, it should belong to everyone. People are imperfect. Messy. They make mistakes. They don't always the the best care of themselves. That doesn't mean that they don't deserve healthcare or dignity. Or that they deserve judgement and scorn.

Illness. Doesn't. Discriminate.

By which I mean, it doesn't CARE if you're a nice person or a horrible one. I know that society likes to tell us that if we work out, eat healthily and are positive, that nothing bad will ever happen and we can "organic food" our way out of being ill. But that's just patently not true. And I say that as a doctor.

In medicine we have a saying, that the worst things happen to some of the best people. Because we see people who are lovely go through things nobody should experience.

All the time. It's heartbreaking, because we don't like seeing bad things happen to perfectly decent people. It makes all of us feel uncomfortable and vulnerable and sad. But it happens all the time.

We need to be very careful about how we think of, and frame, illness in all it's forms.