#me obsessed with loneliness as a theme? never

[allbuthuman]

BSD and loneliness

Loneliness and what it does to a person, as well as how far the attempts to counteract it can go, what they can and can't do, is an overarching theme in Asagiri's writing, and many of the stories portrayed can basically boil down to "this person is suffering because they are really, really lonely", which I love. Here I want to focus more on loneliness of the "existential" type, the one that's almost intrinsic to someone and stems from who they are rather than whom they do or don't have around them, because, in my mind, it makes for great tragic stories.

Dazai

He is the most obvious example, and probably one of the loneliest characters I've ever come across. Able to comprehend everything, yet unable and from a point onward unwilling to be comprehended, no one can understand his mind, and even those "like him" who might, like Fyodor, won't understand his emotions. First of all, of course, he controls them too well. Secondly, although I do think there are moments he shows a need for connection, he does that from the safety of his usual persona (for example, hiding behind his usual teasing), so that, in the mind of others, there is no clear distinction between the two. Thirdly, the awareness he has of his own emotions is probably very low, since he's learned that the only way to survive and make sense of himself and the world is to rationalise. There are meagre chances for Dazai the human being with emotions to be less lonely, until he chooses to let himself be seen and be vulnerable, and, at this point, it would probably be extremely hard for him to actually practice that, even if he did make the decision.

Dazai does understand that it's better for people to be with one another rather than alone. It's clear even in Stormbringer, when his mental health is arguably at its lowest. It's clear in Dark Era, when he says that if everyone around him died, it would be a form of suicide (I'm using these examples even though there are clearer ones because these are probably the times he was doing the worst). But he doesn't believe that he can have true companionship, and is also being taught to believe that attachment is a weakness, that loneliness is where he belongs.

And then there's Oda, who, while admittedly unable to understand his mind, comprehended exactly this loneliness of his. He and Ango both did, and, as per the light novel, they could not manage to interfere, but were by him as he experienced it. And yet he barely knew that was the case, until Oda made it clear, and then the one person who he now knew could see him died.

But what people rarely comment on is how much capacity to care for someone Dazai had. There was one person, the first person who saw beyond the unpredictable Demon Prodigy, the first person who acknowledged his loneliness - didn't even manage to break through it, just acknowledged it and treated him with care, and that was enough for Dazai to care about him as much as he did, and that is heartbreaking in itself.

Lastly, but perhaps the most telling point of all is Asagiri himself admitting that he never knows what Dazai is thinking. I don't want to get too into meta, but being the creation of someone, and still not being understood by your own creator is possibly the loneliest position I can think of.

Verlaine

My second favourite example, because here we have someone who was loved, and he knew that he was loved, but it wasn't enough to change things.

Verlaine's loneliness is objective, in the sense that he really is fundamentally different than those around him, he really is not biologically human. That loneliness of his, combined with the hatred that it fostered, was what led him to seek Chuuya - he thought that the only person who could understand him was one who shared that nature, and incorrectly believed that Chuuya would think so as well. He needed Chuuya, and thought that Chuuya would need him in he same way. He was, however, wrong, because Chuuya, being uncertain of his humanity instead of certain of his inhumanity, put great effort into being among other people instead of discarding them.

Rimbaud knew Verlaine's nature since the beginning. He accepted it, he cared for him and loved him regardless. He knew that it made him suffer and was there for him, and he did try to empathise with him, while knowing that it was impossible, because the gap was not one that could be mended. In Verlaine's case, no love could be enough to change his nature, a nature that made him look at the world with hate, including the person who loved him. To a person who feels like they should never have been born, even the sincerest "I'm glad you were born" would only cause pain, until it was too late.

Of course, that's not to say that he actually hated Rimbaud - it's very apparent from the ending of Stormbringer that he cared about him, and that he did appreciate all the efforts he made for him. I don't know if you want to call it love, but it's the closest thing he had the capacity for. But, at the end of the day, nothing that Rimbaud would do could change the fact that Verlaine perceived the gap between himself and the world as unbridgeable. Yet still, he was affected. Nothing could really change, but Rimbaud reached him somehow, although the ending couldn't have been different.

Shibusawa

Here we have an example of someone who shared a similar kind of loneliness, but never had anything to counteract it. He's portrayed as comparable to Dazai and Fyodor: smarter than everyone around him, detached and bored. But, in contrary to Dazai, he isn't shown having any meaningful relationship that could challenge that. This difference is recognised by Dazai, who tells him to his face that he wouldn't think like that if he had any friends. This is a "playful" way to put it, but in reality Dazai simultaneously empathises with his point of view and discards it, because he now knows better than to view people the way Shibusawa does.

I haven't read the light novel, I'm just basing this on the movie, so I can't say much more, but I think his character works as a good point of contrast between people who still try to find "meaning" and those like him, who have decided it's not worth it.

Curious to see where Fyodor, the other so-called superhuman, will fall in regards to this loneliness, but I think we don't know enough about him and how he actually feels in order not to grasp in the dark.

(part 2 about the less existential type of loneliness if i gather enough coherent thoughts)

[chococolte]

Your sagau zhongli is my fave! Devotion is soooo good he's so good!! If he were offered a reward, what would he ask for? He definitely deserves good things for being such a dedicated worshipper

word count. 1.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. hi guys......... sorry i took so long to write this, and im so happy you like my characterization of him!!!! it means so much to me!!!

Your praise.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted. 

When he was young, still arrogant and born of war, Zhongli didn't want— he took. He had no need of envy or desire. What he could not have, he would get in time. Immortality comes with an infinite patience. 

If he was still that god, flippant and self-important, maybe he would demand some sort of compensation. Some sort of recompense for past agony.

For as long as Zhongli's lived, he has never wanted; not in the way a mortal yearns for their lover, or the way a dog longs for its owner until it whines. Never in any way that mattered, never before he met you.

Zhongli has had eons to become used to the loneliness that so often encompasses him. And now, knowing that you breathe the same air as him, he's become rather acquainted with the ever consuming desire to nestle close to you, like ink caressing every pore of canvas. 

His desire runs through him— barking and loud, rapid and frantic— but when faced with you, a whisper, whimpering in the dark crevices of his ribs. At times, he comes close to asking you to hold him, but decorum and propriety keep him in place, tight and tense.

Liyue was built knowing your gaze followed him. Its foundations set, earth molded, and its rivers bent, hoping they would be fit to your liking. His every breath spent chasing after your favor, desiring to be remade in your image, to be exactly what you want him to be. Afraid that, when finally met with you, you will not like what you see.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted, and rarer still, has he ever feared.

It's a mortal's fear. The fear of their lord displeased with their harvest. A boyish fear, made up of desperation and the fear of disapproval; one he shouldn't feel, one he should feel no familiarity with. One he suspects many have felt when within his own presence.

When you ask him what he would like in return for all of his efforts— a reward, you say— Zhongli feels his breath seized from him.

Zhongli lived much of his early life against you. At every opportunity, he rebelled at what he thought was a cruel god. Imperious and charged with Guizhong’s death, he would have demanded answers. 

For him to have lived while those he cared for perished without a moment's repose, for him to have survived every moment of cruel war when each breath was like a whip against his lungs— he deserved to know, if you were as real as Guizhong so staunchly believed, why he had lived in her place.

Yet, despite centuries of tempered rage, Zhongli has become content to live as nothing more than your servant. 

He tells you he wants for nothing. That all he desires now is the simplicity of being beside you; the escape of your laughter, where there's no need to concern himself with anything other than you. He tells you he only wishes to know how to take care of you better, how to align himself with your tastes and desires.

"I insist," you say, and Zhongli realizes it's a command. His mouth turns dry, and every word settles on his tongue like heavy weights, dead and still.

You stare, and his breath hitches, his heart a swell in his chest. Zhongli thinks of every answer, how your reaction to any could either breathe life into him, or leave him broken. How, for a moment, he amuses himself with the idea of asking for your touch— the cusp of your palm on his cheek, your fingers against his spine; how he could ask, and how you might favor him enough to do so. 

He then thinks of asking you for reassurance. For affirmation of forgiveness for the actions in his youth. To finally have the certainty that he hasn’t failed you, and maybe, the confirmation that you may care for him.

“Forgive me for my impropriety, Your Grace,” Zhongli begins, voice light and breathy. His hand rests on his chest, fighting the urge to dig into his skin, hoping to calm the pounding of his heart. “But… if I may, I was wondering if I had done right by you?”

You sit inertly in silence for a moment, and Zhongli wonders if it’s on purpose, some sort of punishment for daring to ask such a thing. You had no reason to reward him, and he had been blessed enough to hold your attention for longer than a moment. He had no right to ask for your thoughts, not so directly.

He thought he knew that. It was why he followed you, why he made sure your every request was completed to the highest standard. If you mentioned the taste of your tea being too bitter, or sweet, or that you’d rather he prepare something else for you entirely, he would rush to follow your word. Even if he had been the one to brew it, even if it was him who cultivated the leaves, even if he thought it would be to your liking.

All he needed was to be helpful. All he needed was you. Within you, was his salvation— within you, was love itself. Without you, the once great Lord of Geo was but a fragmented elemental wisp of energy, only ever calling your name.

A spike of adrenaline rushes through him, fear and anxiety denying any sense of hope. All he hears is the solitary sound of his heart in his ears. 

“You have only ever done good by me.”

Zhongli’s heart lurches, heat rippling through his body. You say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and his mind feels dizzy at the implication. The ground sways, and his feet feel light. 

“You deserve more than that, I think.” You step forward, and Zhongli is so lost within his own thoughts, he takes no notice of your sudden increase in proximity— but his breath still quickens, and red still coats the apples of his cheeks. 

“Kneel,” you whisper, and though you say it so softly, it's as though the sky had been torn asunder with the speed he responds. Zhongli’s mind still feels far away, but he hears your orders as if spoken directly into his ear.

He drops to his knees, no care for whether he does so elegantly enough. All he can focus on is the weight of your gaze, and the way he's the only thing under it.

“Do you want me to praise you?” You trace his jawline with your finger, still speaking in a soft, unhurried tone. “Do you want me to tell you how much of a good boy you are?”

Zhongli inhales sharply, fighting every thought that screams at him to eagerly lean into your hand. He stares up at you, russet lashes fluttering and amber eyes swallowed by adoration and worship. 

“Yes, Your Grace,” he whispers hoarsely. 

Your thumb swipes over his lower lip, and a whine rises to the back of his throat. 

“My good boy.” Zhongli’s entire body shudders, his chest heaving. A shaky breath escapes him. “You've been waiting to hear that for so long, haven't you?”

He whimpers, then nods in a way he hopes doesn’t come across as overeager— quickly bereft of any sense of propriety, or care for whether or not he’s making a fool of himself. All he can concern himself with is how close you are, how easily your scent renders him still, how quickly he borders on senseless. 

You smile at that, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from whimpering. 

“Do you want me to tell you how grateful I am?” Your fingers move across his neck, brushing against his Adam’s Apple, watching it bob as he gulps, trying to keep himself steady and not fall against you. “How you're my favorite?”

An ugly sound rips from Zhongli’s throat, and it's one he's instantly ashamed of. Every part of him feels bare in front of you, laid out messy and without decorum. The mask he’s worn for eons steadily breaks, and every one of his veins and bones scream out for your warmth. 

The Lord of Geo wouldn’t have ever allowed himself to be so vulnerable. He never would have amused himself with the thought of pleading for anything, or kneeling and falling apart because he was treated softly— least of all, of being so desperate to know that you love him; that you favor him. 

Zhongli, now without his Gnosis, is as mortal as the men he used to lord over. And perhaps it’s his newfound mortality that moves him to lean into your hand, frantically trying to meld your fingers against his skin until his flesh is like clay inlaid with your fingertips; hoping that you’ll rebuild him until he fits your desires, and tell him again that he’s proven to have done good by you. 

Every thought is a prayer, another hymn, another psalm.

“Am I? Your favorite?” 

His voice trembles, and breathes into a soft whisper. Zhongli doesn’t mean to sound so desperate— he doesn’t mean to be so greedy— but his soul has never felt so full before. His mind is so mired by your touch and voice that he doesn’t realize his lack of formality, or how he might come across as arrogant. 

He wants only to think of you, and so he does. Nothing else matters.

“Yes.” You chuckle, and his heart speeds up at the sound, fervent. “Why would I want anyone else?”

Zhongli whines, and faintly, through the blur of fanaticism and worship, thinks that no matter what you asked of him, he would do it without hesitation. 

[prahacat]

#fml#i can't think about him too much lest i go insane#him and his big stupid castle and no-one to share it with#imagine your social life reduced to nothing but horrid powerful people‚ your psychpathic boss‚ your old family who now hates you and your -#- various apprentices that you occasionally fling lightning at but end up caring for anyway#i think that just does things to your brain.#you build up layers upon layers of awfulness with all sorts of fossils inside them#and in the process you get farther and farther away from your core while also putting more and more pressure on it until it boils#which is why i really like the “he'd rather burn them down than allow them to continue to fester“ part#it's so on point#at his core he's a teacher and someone who cares so much but his circumstances compress those traits into something kinda twisted#and boy you're gonna need a BIG excavator to take some of that pressure off#anyway sorry for the ramble and the sediment metaphor but. ughh this guy#he really gets my little brain gears grinding#meta#count dooku#rael averross#qui-gon#UGHHH (prev tags by @rochenn)

May I ask about your Star Wars fanfics? I wanted you to know I really enjoy them to read on my off time!

May we know your opinions/ headcannons on Dooku and Qui gon's relationship?

How was there dynamic during there early years?

Do you think deep down in when dooku is alone in Sereno, asleep he dreams of seeing his old padawan one last time?

This lyric comes to mind I added on to it.

"Alone and forgotten, i never thought he'd look at me again, but he smiled at me, and I held him.. just like I used to do. Like I used to when he was scarred as a child. Or maybe he was holding me?

Holding me to the light as he used to hold me and look at me, those eyes so full of hope and admiration"

You may absolutely ask me about my Star Wars fics! Thank you for reading my stories! (I swear one day I'm going to finish off those WIPs, aaaaaaaaaa).

Caveat that I'm not as active in the fandom these days (on a bit of Star Wars sabbatical), but I do feel (and I'm someone who melds Master & Apprentice, Jedi Lost, and Dark Rendezvous into canon as I see fit) that in contrast to Dooku's relationship with Rael (which was surprisingly casual, especially as Rael aged. This, if I may be allowed a small tangent, is probably a combination of Rael's aggressive form of charm and Dooku's inexperience and youth)

...but anyway, in comparison to Dooku and Rael, there's this...distance, on the surface, that Dooku keeps from Qui-gon. Their relationship, at least the trappings of it, is more formal, their roles more defined. (This being said, anytime Rael pops by and the three of them are together, those neatly constructed walls start to crumble). This doesn't mean Dooku doesn't care about Qui-gon. He cares, deeply. But as we see in Tales of the Jedi, Qui-gon's apprenticeship years mark the true beginnings of Dooku's disillusionment with the Jedi Order and his slow fall to the Dark Side. And I think part of this detachment from Qui-gon (even as he shows a ferocious protectiveness over him) is, in part, Dooku trying to shield Qui-gon from his more insidious desires and actions. (This backfires, on more than one occasion, when Dooku chokes the crap/lightening attacks/otherwise manhandles out of various enemies who were either threatening his Padawan or were obviously part of the bloating corruption that was metastasizing across the entire Republic).

And to get back to their relationship, we have Dooku being a little more standoff-ish. A little older, a bit more bitter, in general. And young Qui-gon is less outwardly brash than Dooku (at least when he was younger) and Qui-gon is definitely intimidated his new Master. (Although he respects him as a teacher and while Dooku is an exacting, demanding instructor he is also always fair. Whatever his personal troubles are, Dooku is never anything less than a damn fine teacher).

So yes, Dooku cares. Qui-gon's death had no small part in his eventual choice to join the Sith and I have no doubts whatsoever that he dreams both of Qui-gon and Rael regularly as he lies alone in that gigantic, empty bed on Serenno. (I think Dooku, as much as he was trying to manipulate Obi-wan in AotC by bringing up Qui-gon's name, was also being completely honest with Obi-wan in that moment. Actually, he was wholly honest with Obi-wan that entire scene and got shot down due to - at least as Dooku would have seen it - Jedi indoctrination).

And it's this caring that helps to bury Dooku in the end. Caring about his Padawans. Caring about the Republic. About Serenno. About the Jedi. For a man that is so stoic and proper, he is passionate and invested in the future of all the different organizations and governments and societies he's tasked with defending (to the point he'd rather burn them down than allow them to continue to fester). But more than any of that - the Jedi, the Republic, Serenno - Dooku is a teacher. A teacher who is instructing in an intense, one-on-one relationship that puts him in the position of half-mentor/half-parent. We see it when he and Rael embrace after meeting again years later; we see it when Dooku asks an adult Qui-gon for information about this Sith, to protect Qui-gon; we see it when Dooku is forced to turn on Ventress; we see it when he tries to recruit Obi-wan again and again (and, for the record, does not kill him in the bridge scene in RotS when he easily could have crushed Obi-wan with that platform).

This is all to say Dooku cares. And that, to some degree, was exactly the problem.

[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

Made by me

The Masterlist

CRAZY OVER YOU

[HYBRID AU]

[FINISHED]✅

Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, sharp objects, rut, beast behavior.

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

INTRO - In the books they say

ONE - Love at first bite

TWO - Bath me with your love

THREE - Hungry for your love I

FOUR - The truth untold II

FIVE - Bitter taste, Jealousy and bites

SIX - Take Me Home

SEVEN - The last bite

SET ME FREE

[MAFIA AU]

On Going

Side Characters: Min Yoongi as Agust D/Mafia boss, Jung Hoseok as Jack/Concierge, Namjoon/Police detective, Jungkook/Police detective, Park Jimin/thief and gang leader, Taehyung/Mafia member FBI Mole, Paradise owner. Jin/unknown, Busan/Mafia boss.

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, consumption of alcohol, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, description of injuries, themes of major horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, toxic yandere men, violence, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships.

SUMMARY: You made it. Now a police intern as you always promised to your father before he died, you were more than happy to finally be able to help people like he did. But the law was not what you expected to be like. You did not know how lonely it would be for a young woman to grow her career in this kingdom. Having to take care of your 18 year old brother wasn't easy too and things just got a lot worse when you've met Agust D. The king of the mafia Min. He sure knew how to make a life turn into a hell hole.

INTRO

ONE - Red Chopsticks

TWO - I’ll find you in a dark Paradise

THREE - A deal with the devil

FOUR - Welcome to my world

FIVE - Good girl gone bad COMING SOON

SIX - Dance with the devil COMING SOON

FINAL DESTINATION - LILITH COMING SOON

BREATH OF FIRE

[HYBRID GODS AU]

On Going

Side characters: Park Jimin/White fox hybrid.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, violence, sharp objects, suggestive words, smut, alcohol, killing.

Genre: Fantasy, romance, strangers to lovers, R +18.

SUMMARY: Did you know a fox only mates once in their life? For almost 400 years Min Yoongi never mated before, all theses years of emptiness and loneliness. He had tried so many times to end with his own hands. Until one night a hint of sweet and fire blows towards his nose, the smell was something he never felt before. And blood. Running for your life you felt hopeless in front of a lake, two man following you behind. Their disgusting smiles and eyes savoring your female body, you knew what they would do but you'd rather die. It all started with fire.

INTRO - Run little girl

ONE - Wood, cinnamon and honey.

TWO - Please wash away this blood on my skin

THREE - A taste of honey and dreams

FOUR - A Rise From The Shadows (coming soon)

…

FINAL BREATH (coming soon)

BUNNY BUNS

[HYBRID AU]

COMING SOON

Side Characters: Yoongi/black cat hybrid, Hoseok/human, Taehyung/golden hybrid.

Warnings: Smut, violence, mentions of blood. And finally some fluff.

SUMMARY: Jungkook needed to hide. He was on the run. And what better place for a bunny hybrid to hide then a Bunny coffee shop? How could he resist? You smelled sweet and looked nice. All it took was one smile of yours and a bunny bread and he was on all fours for you.

INTRO - Bunny on the run

ONE - Bunnies don’t like water (coming out soon)

TWO - Carrot Cake 🥕: Bunny in the kitchen (coming soon)

THREE - Muscle Bunny to the rescue (coming soon)

FOUR - Bunny Fever (coming soon)

THE LAST BUN (Coming soon)

ONE SHOTS

Coming soon

YOONGI

My Best Friends Crush

Characters: Min Yoongi/music theory Teacher, Jung Hoseok/dance teacher, Jungkook/art and design student, Jimin/danc student, reader/art student.

Genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden love?

Warnings: mentions of explicit language, sexual references(smutty material), consumption of alcohol, age difference.

Summary: “my whole life I always hated rules and protocols, growing to fin comfort on art as I could express myself unapologetically and freely. But there was one rule I made with myself; never fall in love with your friend crush.

With my rebellious nature, it was bound to be broken but I just never meet someone who would take that seriously.”

HOSEOK

JIMIN

JUNGKOOK

JIN

NAMJOON

TAEHYUNG

[the-midnight-blooms]

till death do us park | psh

pairing: yandere!park seonghwa x wife!reader AU: modern au word count: 7.9k warnings: yandere themes, mentions of a miscarriage

masterlist

Obsession (n) : the domination of one's thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire. Obsessive (adj) : being, pertaining to, or resembling an obsession.

Her fingers ran down the brown page of the old dictionary, reeling in the words typed in classic typefaces of the past, the primitive vanilla scent reaching out to her. Gently she leaned her forehead against the window; the sway of the leaves, billowing, with the howl of the wind. The thin branches always reached out for her, and she wanted to grab onto them, allow it to ensnare its coarse body around her frame. To transgress from one form of entrapment to another. Moving between one space to another was to honour the mere notion of liberation. Freedom was her ecstasy, to get intoxicated on the thought had her stumbling down the hallways hands gripping onto the walls as the doors flung open. The void beckoned her, called for her, summoned her. She'd heed its call if only it wasn't for the shackles tied to her feet. Or for the demon that could penetrate his hand through her skin and ensnare his slender fingers around her spine; staggering her movements through the room he called his home. Under the guise of what he deemed: love.

"All you have to do is feel my love for you. Then you'll love me back all the same." Those words from the night after she married him, echoing within the pits of a dark chasm beneath her soul. Loving was a difficult emotion when she never had the privilege of experiencing it before. All this pent up sentiment and with nowhere to put it, loneliness was something she had to get used to.

Then there came Park Seonghwa.

He took that conviction without asking.

Seonghwa first saw her in a park, sat on a red and white checked blanket sketchbook on her laps, pencils scattered around her. One behind her ears, one between her puckered lips as she nimbly rubbed away at whatever mistake she had made. Alone, she came. Nothing but the comfort of herself to entertain her with no friends to listen to her, no husband to ease the persisting empty ache in her heart, not even a child to make her laugh with their extraordinary antics. Nothing but a vast emptiness contempt to haunt her. Thus she had the park with the rustle of the bushes, the laughter of children to cease the war roaming within her soul. Even the saccharine scent of the flowers eased the loneliness gnawing away at her. Seonghwa, too, was sat alone with a book spread across his laps enjoying the cool wind tousle his long hair. His wide eyes latched onto the shape of her perfect eyes, the smooth round of her cheeks, the curvature of her pink lips- her head snapped up feeling a pair of eyes burning into her. Searching the grass, high on some delusion that someone would willingly want to look at her, they finally bored into another's. Her muse. The man drawn on her sketchbook. Unbeknownst to Seonghwa, she had been hypnotised by his presence ever since she saw him. The face to the blurry man of her dreams, his sweet demeanour was enough to keep her intoxicated. She was an idiot for thinking that a man as gorgeous as himself would want anything to do with her.

To an extent it was concerning for herself to have a drawing of a stranger sitting in her notebook. Peering over at him through her lashes, he looked as if he wasn't going to leave anytime soon. Packing up her utensils and throwing them into her bag, she slung it over her shoulders sketchbook in hand. The beat of her heart quickened, as she approached him. Clearing her throat, his wide brown eyes piqued up. A pleasant smile rested upon his features as she timidly plucked up the courage to piece her words together.

"Hi, I actually drew you." Great start, that's not weird at all. Hastily, she handed over the piece of cartridge paper. Gently, he took it from her hands a small gasp escaping from his lips.

"It's great, thank you so much." Nodding, gratefully. “I- it’s very accurate.” He complimented, his beam so adorable it swayed her heart.

That’s all it took, didn’t it? He was a dream; eyes studded with stars scintillating in their wake. His name itself: “to be a star”. His soul, an unmapped constellation. There was something particular about him, like a magnet drawing her to his depths. Falling into his arms as if he was a safety net, enamouring her befallen entity. If only she knew not get trapped by a man’s insatiable beauty. Didn’t they say? A pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

Where she had adored Seonghwa, the man had become fully infatuated with her. After work, he found himself outside her home peering through her window as she carried out mundane chores: folding and ironing laundry, vacuuming and dusting the home after her own working hours. Then on the weekends, like clockwork, she woke up at 9am, and left the house by 9:30 to walk to the supermarket and collect groceries. Occasionally she’d meet up with her ‘friends’, people she’d agree to hang around in hopes of having someone to talk to even if it wasn’t allowed to be about the way her mind was collapsing in on itself. Sometimes Seonghwa was present himself- just at the back of the coffee shop, in another aisle of the grocery store staring between the space in the shelves, head down staring at a book as they exchanged whispers in a bookshop.

When he had finally plucked the courage to talk to her, he’d bumped into her in the convenience store after work-where she was rendered under contemplative thought over which drink she wanted. Through her peripheral vision she caught Seonghwa staring at her from where he was stood with a few snacks in hand. A friendly smile dawned on her, giving him a wave to which Seonghwa issued as a sign to engage in a conversation.

“Hi! How are you?” She asked, almost a little too enthusiastically for her own liking.

“I’m great, how have you been?”

“I’m good. How is the drawing?” She teased, almost a failed attempt at a joke.

“I actually got it framed, it’s on my wall.” She laughed at him, but god knew Seonghwa was not joking. He indeed did get it framed, and it was proudly sitting on the wall of his study. Her arms outstretched from the door of the fridge, pulling it open to release a massive gust of cold air. Reaching for the coffee, Seonghwa subtly shook his head in dismay. He was concerned about her coffee consumption, she averaged about four to five cups of strong coffee a day. He’d change that. “Listen, I- I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me?”

Her first biggest mistake was agreeing to the date. So destitute of attention she latched onto the idea of being with a handsome man at that-whose unfathomable beauty was what other's may have labelled as 'way out their league'. But how was she to know how insane the man was for her? On their first date, Seonghwa took her to an art museum.

"Who's your favourite artist?" she asked. It came as a surprise to her when he proposed the idea of going to an art museum. Out of all places, she didn't think art was Seonghwa's forte but his extensive knowledge of art movements had astounded her. His sweet honey voice was delightful, when he spoke it was almost as if flowers were falling from his lips.

"Michelangelo Buonarroti." The infamous obsessed artist himself. She gasped in surprise.

"He's my favourite too!" she chirped. But Seonghwa already knew, because he saw the art books aligned next to her anatomy books and pieces of Buonarroti's work on her messy worktop, littered with unscrewed paint bottles, pencils, paintbrushes and charcoal. At first he felt repulsed at her untidiness, but when he watched her clean up after herself afterwards he felt a swell of pride in his heart.

That’s my girl. She is so much like me and me, her.

“Do you draw?” She quizzed.

“Not really. I’d love to be your muse, I can sit perfectly still.” She giggled at him, shaking her head as she strolled further into the museum. At the end of their date, Seonghwa offered to walk her home as darkness befell among them.

“Will I see you again?” He questioned, as they stood outside her front porch.

“I think you will, as my muse.”

That was her second biggest mistake. Meeting up in cafe’s, parks, each other’s homes with hours filled with silence as she drew him. He learnt to draw from her, translating some of her tips and tricks for a true likeness. Instantly, she had become his muse. Gradually, the art dates had blossomed into something more. She’d come to terms with her feelings for him.

At this point, having her as his girlfriend wasn’t enough for him. He wanted all of her, every last part that existed. He wanted to come home to her every evening, her arms outstretched for him and only him. He wanted her to bear his children, to begin a family with him. He became so fanatic with this domestic fantasy, he began to start plotting ways to plaster her at his side. Especially when he came home one evening, and she was baking in his kitchen. Her hands, dusted with flour reached towards the Windsor knot. Pulling his tie, she leaned in pressing her lips to his to which he reciprocated. He smiled, placing his hand on her lower back, deepening the kiss.

“Welcome home, husband.” She joked, before shooing him out, to get changed for dinner. Slightly dazed, from the deep kiss, Seonghwa smiled to himself in the bathroom.

She wants me too.

“Here.” He placed a cup of tea in front of her, a frown complacent. “No, no coffee for you madam. Too much coffee is not healthy, then you complain about not being able to sleep.” He nagged, repressing a smile she rolled her eyes playfully raising the hot beverage to her lips.

“Hold on, I need the bathroom. I’ll be back.” He nodded, occupying himself with the cookies. She skipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs of his home. Before she ambled down the steps, a door creaked open swaying back and forth; parrying against the push of the wind. Sauntering to the door, it hauled itself open the light from the hallway spilling into the room.

The sheets of paper littered upon the desks grabbed at her attention, allowing curiosity to get the best of her she inched forward. They were pictures of her. Pictures of her going to the grocery store, coming home from work, doing the laundry. Pictures of her bedroom, her sketchbooks, her work. Frantically, her hands gathered through every page dissolving the sight of every little thing about her sprawled across the pages. Copies of her birth certificate, her passport, bank details. Where had he obtained these? Tears rushed to the brim of her eyes, her mouth slapping her lips shut to prevent any sounds from escaping.

“Nae sarang! Are you ok?” He called from the bottom of the stairs. Holding back her tears, she left the sheets as they were rushing out of the room- closing the door, but not fully shut to raise suspicion. She descended down the stairs, her pale face raised Seonghwa’s attention. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I feel a bit unwell. My head is pounding.” She proclaimed, the truth nonetheless. She could barely even look into his eyes now, feeling vulnerable and stripped bare. He knew everything possible about her that there was to know. And for what reason?

“Have you started your period? You’re not due yet, you always start at the end of the month.” Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, god he knew that too? “Ach, don’t be shy you told me.” She didn’t remember telling him, ever.

“You know I keep sanitary towels in the cupboard if you need-,”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just exhausted.” He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. She was full of energy when she first arrived at his home. What had happened that all of it had dissipated within a few minutes?

“Take some rest-,” she’d interrupted him once more, a sense of irritation fulfilling him.

“I’m going home.” Without a word more, she grabbed her bag from the kitchen and fled from the door as fast as she could. Seonghwa’s heart sunk in his chest, a pang settling deep as she left without kissing him- like she always did.

She didn’t call him once, after that night. Not even a message to ask him how he was. Sitting on her bed, with her knees tucked up and pressed against her chest, she pondered on what to do next. What was there even left to do? He knew everything about her, what were the chances he was still watching her in this very moment? She couldn’t go back to her hometown, he’d know where to look first. She didn’t have a friend’s house she could go to. She could move, but to where? There was the matter of her job, moving all of her personal belongings, then having to change her billing address on all legal documentation. That was fine, she could suppose, the real problem lay in how she was going to execute all of this without him knowing.

A ferocious knock on her door snapped her out of her thoughts. Darting to the window, her eyes carefully peered outside to find the devil himself on her front step. As if he could sense her fixation, he looked up sending a patronising wave. Dear god, help me. Tentatively, the door unlocked Seonghwa teared through the open space; stumbling backwards as he strode to her. His pale hand settled on her cheek, bringing her closer to him.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why have you been ignoring me?” Words lodged in her front, pathetic stutters escaped her- unable to construct together a rational sentence.

“I’ve not been well, and I’ve been wanting to be alone.” Her reasoning was good enough, yet he knew that there was something brewing beneath the surface. After all, he found that the pictures in his office were not in the exact order that he’d had them in. He was particularly meticulous about that sort of thing.

“You could at least return my calls, no? What’s on your mind?” His soft voice no longer soothed the pervasive yearning that existed for centuries.

“I think we should break up, Seonghwa.” She stated, attempting the control her quivering voice. Balling up her palms into tights fists at her side, she avoided gazing into his eyes for they were wrought with such brutality.

“Why? What did I do wrong? What did you see?” Squeezing her eyes shut, her bottom lip began to tremble as he bombarded her with those treacherous questions. What did I do wrong? Everything and anything that was humanely possible for a man to do wrong. “WHY? WHY DO YOU WANT TO LEAVE ME?” He roared, tears burst through the banks, pitiful cries echoed into the home.

“The pictures!” She shouted, “The pictures, the birth certificate, the passport, everything. The way that you know things about me that I haven’t even told you, the way that you’ve thrown yourself into every aspect of my life and have left nothing for myself. The way that you attach yourself to me, its suffocating.” Heaving breaths infiltrated the empty space, pearl drops slid down her cheeks, the tears tickling her jawline as they gracefully blessed the floorboards beneath them. The objects in her line of sight all began to bleed together, her head pounding with an incessant pain.

“I need you to leave, Seonghwa. Before I file for a restraining order.” It was sheer stupidity that she had not gone and done that first, yet with the persisting fear and delusional hope that it had all just been some sick dream- she refused to go to the police station. Beads of sweat lined upon her brow, her body convulsing under his despotism.

“I’m not leaving.” He ordered, a cunning smirk falling on his perfect features. "You don't understand, my dear, how long I have wanted you. Do you think that now that I have you in the palm of my hand, I'm going to let you go?" Her heart began to palpitate, as the shaking of her body cultivated a booming agony that seemed to exponentialise.

"Took you long enough, do you feel it now?" He tutted, the dissonance jarring in her ears. "Poison takes too long but I am a patient man." Black dots clouded her vision, the walls were caving in on her. Stumbling backwards her, the ground slipped from beneath her feet-meeting the floor with a distasteful grunt she glissaded into unconsciousness.

The throbbing at her temples persisted, as her eyes fluttered open finding herself in a dark room with the curtains drawn. The room was particularly large, painted in a navy blue yet adorned with light coloured furniture, including the soft, white blanket that was thrown over her. With a heavy grunt, she sat up blinking rapidly so her eyes could accustom to the surroundings. Getting out of the bed, she staggered out of the room and out of the steps, the surroundings completely different than what she knew. This wasn't Seonghwa's home, but a completely different one at that. To begin, she remembered the stairs being on the right of his room in his home. Here, the were built on the left. The kitchen was still across from the stairs, his slender figure was fixed by the kettle. Upon seeing her, he rushed to her side helping her settle at the table in the kitchen.

"How are you feeling?" He brushed the hairs from her face, paying no attention to her disorientation.

"Seonghwa, what am I doing here? Where are we?"

"This is our home now, just you and me and nobody else for miles." He spoke with a dreamy face, oblivious to her apprehension. "Never mind that. Here, sign this." He placed a sheet of paper in front of her to which her eyes reeled over the page sinking in the words. A marriage certificate. Snickering, she gritted her teeth in resentment.

"A marriage certificate? Have you gone mad?"

"What do you mean? We both love each other, what more do you want? We should just get married."

"Seonghwa, I used to love you. Until you decided to be a creep and fucking steal my personal documents. I used to love you until, you poisoned and kidnapped me to a house, god-knows-where." Her chest suspired furiously, he looked back at her as if she had just said something cursed. "This isn't love, this is obsession, and you need help." Grabbing the neck of her dress, her body gravitated towards his.

"Sign. The. Sheet." He ordered. A consternation stormed within her, his face like an angel, heart of a devil. Her hands trembled as the ink pierced through the paper, indenting the sheet. With a smirk on his face, Seonghwa looked over her shoulder only to cock his face head to the side as his tongue poked the inside of his mouth in annoyance.

‘F U C K Y O U’

Roughly, he grabbed her wrist her body falling over the chair bare feet slapping against the floor. She wrestled for hand back, as he dragged her up the steps but his strength overpowered hers. He shoved her into a bedroom, scrambling backwards until her spine hit against the foot of the bed, convulsing as he edged closer.

“Maybe you’ll learn the hard way.” He whispered, “but a pretty face shouldn’t say such hideous words.” Storming out of the room, his arms grabbed for the door handle, door narrowing the space. Clambering to her feet, she darted to the door, twisting the handle only for it to be locked in place. Her fists pounded against the wood an panicked breaths escaped her.

"Seonghwa! Let me out!" Please.

He returned at evening around six o’clock, like clockwork, with a tray of food in hand. Ignoring the pathetic rumble of her stomach, the lethargy of her muscles, the tugs and pains all digging into her heart, she denied herself his food. Because Seonghwa was a madman and even the act of accepting his morsel would give him a glimmer of hope that she’d sign the wretched document. On some days he’d sit on the chair in the corner of the room, to see if she’d eat but she never did. With her body tucked up in the bed, her face sunk into the pillow-the dim of the dusk light spilling into the room. Suppressing a groan, her fist was buried into her stomach as if it would cease its cries for food.

“If you don’t eat, then I don’t eat. How does that sound?” He provoked, getting off the chair to sit on the edge of bed where she was aimlessly drawing patterns over the bedspread.

“Delightful.” She croaked out, her throat parched, begging for a sliver of water.

“You don’t want me to fall ill, do you? If I fall ill then I can’t go to work. If I can’t go to work, how am I going to provide for you and our children?” Thwack. Her hand collided with his cheek, sending a stinging jolt through his pale flesh. Weakly she grasped at his formal shirt collar, his body oscillating back and forth.

“How dare you? I am not your wife, Seonghwa.”

“But how could you not understand that I am so in love with you?” He pushed her hands away from his collar, locking her wrist within his tight grip to place them at his chest. “I’ll tolerate all of this, just for you. Know that it hurts me to see you like this.” Tears rushed to the front of her eyes. She could not bargain with him, she could not ask for help since he deprived her of any source; having locked her in this bedroom. Whether it was days or weeks she’d been isolated, her knowledge was indifferent with her perception of time being distorted. The only option was to sign that goddam marriage contract, but even then, self-annihilation seemed preferable. She was just waiting for her body to deteriorate and one day when Seonghwa would walk into her room, he’d find her stone cold dead. With an exhausted huff he got up from the bed, still clad in his work attire. Closing the curtains, he walked out of the room shutting the door behind him. But the lock did not click in place.

A sense of hope entered her as adrenaline flooded through her veins. Silently, she got up from the bed, resting her ear against the door. When she heard no sound, carefully the door swung open the vast hallways empty as the door to Seonghwa's bedroom was fixed shut. Hurriedly, she scuttled out of the room descending down the steps-darting straight to the kitchen; the emptiness catalysing a surge of disconcerting emotions within her. Twisting the lock on the kitchen door, she sped out feeling the soggy grass beneath her feet as she headed straight for the mass of trees.

It hadn't occurred to her that the house was isolated in the middle of the woods, with at least no other home for about three miles. But she knew that the nearest town could not be too far away as Seonghwa still made his way to work every morning and to the shops on the weekends. He heavily prioritised work being a commutable distance from where he lived. She fled down the woodlands-the abrasive bark lacerating her bare feet the cold mud clenched around her toes manifesting feelings of disgust. Whilst her body ached, with no fuel but adrenaline to keep going she spared a look behind to find the dark obscuring her view of the home in the distance. Nevertheless she dashed through the woodlands.

Seonghwa realised that he hadn't actually locked the door to her room. Shit. Stalking out of his room, he twisted the handle to her room swinging it open to find it completely desolate. Releasing a tired sigh, he shook his head casually wandering out of his home to find his lover.

Sinking to the floor, the sizzling of her throat sent an abiding anguish through her the leaves crackling under her weight. Her name echoed through the trees, being carried through the wind, its entrails infiltrating her ear. Every octave raising like the pulse of her agitated heart. Picking herself up again, heavy pants penetrated the woods as panic flooded through veins- the night carrying her through. Weighty footsteps had caught up behind her, breaths quickened as her pace accelerated tiredness tugging at her aching muscles. Her throat burned as blood hammered through the arteries, ventricles contracting. A biting grip wrapped itself around her wrist her body jerking backwards towards the perpetrator, a small weight settled on her waist as he manoeuvred her body to face his.

"Where do you think you're going?" His husky voice whispered into her ear. Exhaustion domineered her, with her legs giving out she collapsed to the earth defeated tears rushing down her face. Squatting down to her level, he grabbed the bottom of her cheek, her neck snapped back, cheeks paining from the intensity of his brutish grip- as if she wasn't subdued to enough pain already. "I asked you a question." His patience was wearing thin.

"Let me go, Seonghwa. I won't tell anyone what you did. Please-." His palm connected violently against her cheek.

"How dare you even suggest that. Get up. We're going home." Remaining settled on the ground, she wrapped her arms around herself to generate a sense of warmth to parry against the biting winds burning her supple skin. "Fine, I'll drag you there." Balling up her hair in his fist, he turbulently hauled her body in the direction of the home; her hands flinging to his to push away his tight grip.

"Seonghwa, please stop." Her cries were futile, he paid no attention to her. Upon entering the home, he lugged her up to her bedroom; her ankles hitting harshly against the edge of the stairs. Throwing her into the room, as if she was a doll, her body fell against the floor, incessant cries persisted in the haunting atmosphere.

With no option left for her, she tiredly picked her body up from the floor crawling towards the nightstand. Her hands shook as she picked up the pen, resting her cheek against the cold surface of the tabletop. The nib scratched against the crisp, clean sheet forming the outline of her signature.

“I knew you’d sign it. Thank you, jagi.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, tucking the stray strands of hair behind her ear. He had sewn the strings to her back, the day that he met her. Every limb of hers beckoned to his command.

The car parked in the parking lot of the supermarket store, her face pressed up against the glass almost repelled against the sight of so many people present at this time of day. How long had she gone without seeing so many people in one space? She was just used to herself and her husband at home. Opening up the door, a gust of wind followed them through the automatic doors, her eyes travelled up to the tall ceilings of the store gratified by large shelves packed with all sorts of comestibles. He grabbed a basket from the entrance, looping his arm through the handles-strictly adhering to his list whilst his wife reeled in the endless sight of jars which seemed to stretch out for miles.

“Do you remember what else we needed? I’ve got all the vegetables, the pasta, the jam you wanted. Need anything else for the cake?” He quizzed. Her lips pursed in deep thought.

“Ah yes! I need double cream and…light brown sugar. I’ll go get it.”

“It’s just here, I’ll go with you.” He offered. Oh, there goes my freedom. They moved to the following aisle drifting their eyes over the reams of sugar packets. “If you see the 1.5 kilo pack get that, it’s cheaper.” Humming in agreement, she inched away from him grabbing the pack of sugar from the shelf.

“KCN followed by dilute acid, it’s the reagent needed for the reaction.” She smiled, as flashbacks from chemistry lessons in college flooded back to her.

“CN?”

“Yes, you know C triple bond N. Cyanide.” The girl rolled her eyes as if her brother should have known the answer. It gave her a sense of nostalgia, knowing it was the exact same way she used to react with her own brother.

“Is there anything else we need? I got the double cream.” Seonghwa’s voice snapped her engrossment away from the siblings’ conversation.

“Can we get cherries?” He nodded, a loving smile gracing his lips. Their hands entwined moving back in the direction of the fruit aisle.

Hand rested meekly upon her belly, he urged himself closer in her direction- pressing a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder. They laid on their shared bed; the afternoon light swallowing them whole, nothing but the comfort of each other. Rubbing it softly, a small warmth generated from the friction easing the cramps in her stomach. He didn’t know yet. He still very much thought that there was a child, his child, growing in her womb. How did she submit under his despotism?

He was so excited, jumping all over the place when she revealed the news of her pregnancy to him. So much so, he spared her his anger for slipping out of the house to see the doctors without telling him. One evening he came home to her lying in bed, wracked with exhaustion. Her head picked up at the sight of him, hiding something under his coat. Raising a questioning eyebrow, he sat himself next to her-the head and arm of a bunny peeking out of his coat. Moving the arm of a bunny as if it was waving at her, she snorted nudging him with her knee.

“I got it for the baby.” Her fingers ran down the white fur, the softness relaxing the tension in her muscles. “What should we name it?” He asked.

“That’s not for us to decide. Our baby can name it.” Our baby. Our, the pronoun shocking them both. There was a prescience of acceptance that lay beneath that word; a notion that the crazed obsession he had with her was worthy of her forgiveness. Perhaps she had gone mad, tipped over the edge- her hands kicked over the precipice.

When she had asked her mother, “Why do some married couples still have children even though they don’t love each other?” Her mother laughed in her face, more mocking than it was endearing.

“You think if I didn’t love your father, I would let him get close to me?” She shrugged, was it lust that they were drawn by? Was she drawn by lust, the temptation to have her husband in all the ways no woman had ever had him before? To feel the heat of his bare skin pressed against hers, body moving in swift rhythm pumping her desire. His passion cut deeper than a knife cut through skin, bestowing his wild emotions through littering kisses as if it would seal the rupture of her soul. Mine. Mine. Mine. “I loved your father when I was having your brother, when we had you? Not so much. We just had another child, so I could separate myself from the fact that I may have been falling out of in love with him.” She often thought where her mother was now. Her brother had moved out with his wife a long time ago, severing any forms of contact. She thought they loved each other, as siblings did. They spent their nights sneaking into the kitchen, raiding their pantry, comparing each other to the ugliest, fattest people they’d seen on the internet. Perhaps it was their mother. When she had moved out for university, her mother told her not to speak to her again. At the time she thought her mother was just upset over her leaving, refusing to talk to her- barely engaging in a conversation when she came back home for the holidays.

It wasn’t until, the last year of her degree- perhaps the most stressful time of her life she had ever faced; trying her hardest to balance academia and job interviews. Eventually, she tore through the burden completing her final exams, leaving her shared dorms for the last time to go back to her home.

Except it wasn’t. For when she knocked on the door, confused as to why the key wouldn’t fit through the lock, the door opened to reveal a man she had never seen before. Toddlers were scuttling up and down the stairs behind him, a woman (who she could only assume to be his wife) worked diligently in the kitchen taking the dishes out of the cupboard. Who was this man and what was he doing in her home?

It only seemed he could ask her the same question.

“I live here, this is my property.” He demanded.

“I’m really sorry Sir, but I’m the daughter of the woman who previously owned this home. I wasn’t aware that she was selling this property.” A look of pity fulfilled his features, his once stern face softened under her statement. “If you could just let me know, if you do by any chance, where I can reach her, where she might possibly be now?” It was a desperate attempt, but here she was looking like a fool with a suitcase in hand, her small car parked behind her loaded with boxes of her University material. Hungry, exhausted and just wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed; she was deprived of that now, refused that.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I can contact the estate agents and ask for you.”

“That’s fine, I’ll give you my number. Please reach out to me if you have any news.” Taking a scrap piece of paper and a pen from her bag, she scrawled her number across the page; handing it over to him. Bidding him goodbye, she displaced her luggage back into the car; driving off and away from her childhood home, knowing it was the last time she’d ever see that street again.

It was safe to say that the subsequent years had been the most difficult years of her life. Living alone was never the problem, but she was already wrought with so much university debt and finding apartments with reasonable rent was difficult. She wasn’t proud to admit that for two weeks she had to live with a friend who was beginning to despise her, work a few jobs during the summer where she was supposed to relax in order to cultivate enough money to rent an apartment. Even after she managed to land a good job at a revered company, the struggle persisted with wanting to maintain a good image in front of her superiors. There was no money to spare for herself, a majority had been lost to rent, the remainder for food and basic necessities.

It was a punishment from her mother, she was so sure of it. A punishment for being born, a punishment for unknowingly making her life the misery that it was. She wasn’t struggling as much, especially now that Seonghwa was the primary breadwinner. He earned good money from his corporate job, enough so that he stopped her from going to work.

At the end of the day, Seonghwa was right. Nobody in her life cared about her as much as he did.

“I’m so sorry for the way that I hurt you, Hwa. You don’t deserve that.” She choked out as her body wracked with sobs. An endless stream of tears ran down her face, her husband encircling her in his arms peppering gentle kisses over her face. He wiped away her tears, before lifting her face up with a single finger to stare deeply into her eyes.

“It’s ok my love, I know why you did it.”

“No, you don’t understand. I am not a good wife to you, I lost our baby.” His face had dropped, bottom lip culminating into a quiver that ached her heart more than it should have. “I’m such a failure.” She sunk her head further into the pillow, letting her tears consume her. Slipping his hands around her waist, he brought her closer to him, her entire figure almost dissolving into him. With gentle hushes, he wiped away her tears, again, easing her wails.

“You are not a failure, these things just happen.”

Things like being poisoned and kidnapped by your ex boyfriend just didn’t happen. Things like being forced to marry him just didn’t happen. Being pressured to have his child just didn’t happen. Yet here she was, in the same situation her mother had been prior to her birth thinking that a child could be an escape from this hell hole, and the universe snatched it from her hands, mocking her desperation for emancipation.

If she went any further, she knew she’d feel obliged to slit her own throat in front of him. It was either his life or hers. Wasn’t the number one rule to prioritise your life over anybody else’s?

"Honey, I'm home!" He called out into the foyer. Ambling into the kitchen, he sought his wife pulling a cake tin from the oven. Leaning against the fridge door, he drunk in her impalpable beauty. Her hands reached for his tie, pulling his fabric, she pressed her lips to his to as she did once ago.

"Are you thirsty?" She pondered. Handing him the glass of cold squash perched on the countertop, he gratefully took it from her hands. He shot her smile, gulping the drink. Resting her head on his shoulder, he draped his hand around her pulling her closer to his body. Her eyes darted to kitchen clock, the hand circulating dreadfully slow as it usually did. Finishing the rest of the drink, he settled the glass in the sink.

Hoarse coughs had disrupted her from her slumber, her bleary eyes shot open twisting to find Seonghwa's body shaking as he violently coughed into a tissue. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, skin paling significantly. With squinted eyes, she sat up-he jumped out of the bed swinging the door open. Hastily, she followed after him. Light from the bathroom illuminated the dim hallway, treading closer she sought him hunched over the toilet, vomiting. When his sickness ceased, a painful gasp released from his lips- he began to wheeze slumped against the bathtub as his body continued to convulse.

"Hwa?" Lingering in the doorway of the bathroom, she questioned his dishevelled state. It was perhaps the first time she had ever seen him so ill and vulnerable. "Can you get up?" He sat up wearily, shaking his head no. His entire body wrought with agony, limbs limp as if they were tied down by shackles.

"Get me some water, please." His weak voice had barely travelled to her.

"Do you know what it feels like to be tied down, now?" With creased eyebrows, he stared at her bewildered. The objects in his line of sight were bleeding together, her figure wavering. Head pounding, he attempted to crawl to her but his arms felt heavy. Was this her doing? What had she done to him? At first, he thought it was food poisoning but he hadn't eaten anything from outside of this home. He had made sure to overlook all of the dates on the food packages, after all he could not have him or his wife eating expired food. "How long were you going to keep me here, trapped like a bird in a cage?"

It was her. His mind ran at a million miles a minute, barging through the barriers that blocked his rationality. Each thought was strained, as if a metal rod had pierced straight his head severing the nerves in his brain. It was the drink. She had poisoned him. His breaths quickened, as panic coursed through his veins.

"You deserve to suffer, Park Seonghwa." Malice present in her tongue, a humourless chuckle left her-she moved away from the door frame speeding back to her room.

"Help me, jagiya!" he shouted. The nerve of that man. To be in such pain and still dare to address her as if she was his. Grabbing the packed bag from her wardrobe, slipping her phone into her pocket she raced down the stairs. Slinging the jacket over her, she rushed out of the home shutting the door behind her. The slam of the door, silenced the voices in her head. Was that all it took? A low, soft hum propelled her away from the home, the light of the bathroom blaring into the woodlands. Birds chirping in the warmth of the morning air, lotus flowers blooming from the grass of his front lawn. Wind blew at the loose hair that sprung from the loose knot. The scent of liberation was as rousing as it could get.

It had taken over a year for her to not jump every time someone had approached her. She was so sure that Seonghwa was dead now, when she laced the cup with poison, she didn't expect the effects to kick in so quickly. Poison, usually took its effects several days after consumption. It was the cyanide inside the cherry seeds that had inspired her, the most deadly chemical compound capable of causing death within a few minutes or hours. She wasn't sure if she had extracted it carefully, having crushed the cherry pits or stored it since Seonghwa had the habit of rummaging through every cupboard in the house as if she was hiding things from him. Regardless, she prepared herself: packing a bag of essentials with rolls of cash and ID, and completely moved into a new city far away from Sacheon. Though her hand would freeze when filling out forms. Was she still a 'Mrs'? Were you still bound to your spouse in holy matrimony if they were dead? Is that why they said, 'Till death do us part'. Staying hidden in a city fearing that Seonghwa’s ghost would haunt her through the streets, was not enough to keep her alive and paying the bills. So, she took up a job at a college lecturing in Chemistry, it was more than enough to stop her from going insane. Despite the impartial pupils, the overachievers, and the lesson planning and marking that had accumulated, she enjoyed her job nevertheless. For a while it felt like she had freshly graduated University again, struggling to make ends meet. When the load lightened, it was as if mercy had finally been bestowed upon her.

Why did the grocery store never have anything when she needed it the most? No cocoa powder. No demerara sugar. Lemon juice? No, it seemed that they had run out of them too. Drifting down the aisle of supermarket, she huffed throwing the apples into her basket before drifting into the second aisle for jars of pasta sauce. With her mind elsewhere, her body collided with another's the poor shopper dropping the things from their hands. Apologising profusely, she knelt to pick up their items. Raising to lock her eyes with another familiar set.

"Mum?" She blinked, the cans plastered to her palms as her heart began to palpitate. Her mother's mouth was agape, an unreadable expression tightened across her features. "How are you?" Wasn't this the question that you'd ask over the phone, after a long day at work-followed by promise to see her when you had a day off. Not a question to be asked, as if you had bumped into an old friend from high school.

"I'm great. I saw you, a few years ago. In Sacheon, with a man."

"Yes, he was my husband."

"Was? I knew a handsome man like that wouldn't stick around with a woman like you." She bit her tongue in annoyance. Of course her mother never changed with the snide remarks. There didn't seem to a scent of an emotion on her face even having seen her daughter after a long time.

"He passed away, Mum." The remark faltered the smirk on her mother's face. Then when her mother asked if she had any children, she shook her head in dismay. "I miscarried. I lost my baby, the same way you lost yours."

“You’re still my baby.” The nerve of that woman to make that preposterous claim. Had she even felt the maternal bond each woman had felt to their child?

“Am I? Am I really? Because I wasn’t your baby when you left me abandoned outside my childhood home, leaving me to question if you were dead or alive. I wasn’t your baby when you told me you never wanted me. I was never your baby. But you were always my Mum. And that means more to me than me being your child does.” A tear slid down her mother’s face, under the dim lights in the empty aisle of the grocery store where she poured out her soul. “I never had, and perhaps never will, have the privilege of being a mother. Regardless, I swear that if I ever neglect my child the way you neglected me, I would let them kill me in cold-blood. Such is a death that is deserved for a woman like me.” Dropping the cans into her mother's basket, she looked down at her feet.

"I don't even want to know why you became estranged from me. I just want to know if you regretted it." An uncomfortable solicitude hung in the suffocating air. Tragic. Refusing to let the tears escape from her own eyes, she stalked off in the opposite direction ignoring her mother's melancholic call for her name.

When she entered her home again, she dropped the bags onto the kitchen worktop-walking to her bedroom to tear the jacket and scarf off her body. A bunny was perched on the bed, encrusted between the two pillows encased in a cotton light blue cases. She froze. Her breaths accelerated, fear pulping through her.

It couldn't be.

It wasn't possible.

"I've missed you, jagiya." A single tear slipped down from her eyes, her sobs lodged in her throat. His warm breath tickled her ears from behind her, he pressed his lips to the nape of her exposed neck.

“How?” She whispered, refusing to look around and stare him in the eye. As if that would take back the fact that he wasn’t dead, stood behind her in a home she’d built far away from him.

“I knew what the cherries were for. I saw the poison, I just replaced it with something less toxic.” He whipped her body around, her body hitting roughly against his chest. “You’re mine, and you belong to me.” He sang, sliding his hands down to her waist, he swayed their bodies to the rhythm of his saccharine hums which serenaded the air, tantalising her ears. Once again, he attached the strings to her back, controlled the movements of her body. Resting his face in the crook of her neck, he fluttered his eyes close in the night. “You’re mine, until death do us part.”

•••

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: yes, I am inherently deranged for using such a cutie pop banner for this fic. BIG thank you to the loml @n0v4t33z for helping me decide on the name of this fic!

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

[animeyanderelover]

Chrollo and avatar!fem!reader, please 😭😭

Fun fact: I have never watched Avatar The Last Airbender before. I only watched some episodes during my childhood when the show aired on TV so do forgive me if I got something wrong.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, manipulation, stalking, blackmailing, isolation, abduction, murder, fem! s/o

Taglist: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @cynniical @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59

Avatar reader

📖​The Avatar, the embodiment of peace and light. And you, chosen as the next reincarnation who will master all four elements to eventually surpass all other bender and bring with you balance and harmony. Yet when the world needed the Avatar the most, she disappeared. This is the tale passed down through generations, a tale reminiscent of the contents you would find inside a children's book. The world offers much that is still left to be discovered and every tale always has a grain of truth in it. It's through the words of a dying monk who used to be your teacher that Chrollo receives a taste of the fascination that will one day bring with it an obsession. Fickle candlelight symbolising the life about to extinct, half of his face dipped into darkness as apathetic eyes watch with a strange sense of curiosity the skinny man. Bedridden and blind yet with a soul far wiser than many people Chrollo has ever met, milky eyes unable to see yet still able to perceive the harbinger of chaos and death sitting right next to him in the last minutes of his life. Chrollo only slightly bemoans that he is not able to steal the Nen of the wise monk yet he leaves with a treasure much more precious in the end.

📖​Fools have been chasing after legends and its promised treasures for millenia and perhaps from the outside it may appear as if Chrollo is faring no better yet he doesn't wish for the truth to be handed out to him on a silver plate. There is enjoyance he finds within the hunt, each little hint he discovers only adding to the anticipation. Other treasure, whilst satisfying him for brief moments, do not fulfill him. It is you who he desires most to find and to claim for you hold secrets and powers that he wishes to have for himself. Dedication and patience are virtues Chrollo practices each and every day as time passes in leaps, days turning into weeks and weeks into months. Until one day he finally finds what he has been seeking for such a long time. A short hint of melancholy is on his face as she strides over to the wall of ice you are frozen into, tiny needles of coldness stabbing into his skin as he lays his palm against the frozen material separating him from you. It's strange. Both of you have never met before yet finally seeing you feels almost like meeting an old friend he hasn't seen in years. If only you would know how long he has searched and waited for you.

📖​Asleep for an entire century only to be thrown into a world who is in many aspects still the same yet simultanously so different. You are unprepared when you are woken up from the slumber you accidentally put yourself into, the only companion from old times still left being your flying bison. There are many unfamiliar faces that surround you as soon as you open your eyes and with no living peers left and awake in a world you fail to understand you find yourself attempting to befriend those new people with an underlying sense of desperation and loneliness. It's those emotions that Chrollo intends to use against you, luring you innocent butterfly in his spider's net to trap you and devour you. You're alone, you're scared and you're vulnerable even if you may hide it under your reckless and humorous facade. There is none of the wise intuition in you that your deceased teacher possessed which would have made everything more difficult for Chrollo. Animals have always had a keen intuition though so it is your flying bison that greatly distrusts him, sensing the demon's hands trying to touch it. Truly a shame for it is such a majestic creature. He wonders just what price he'd get for this species.

📖​It is like watching a child discover the world around it, only that he is dealing with a grown adult. You have an adventurous and free spirit much like the wind, frequently taking detours much to the annoyance for some of the other members of the troupe. Chrollo asks them all for patience though for you are much too precious and interesting to be thrown away right away. Years he has searched for you so he does not intent to steal your abilities right away. No, he intends to get to know the real you and not the you in all the old books and stories that he has sought out over time. He's fascinated with your soul, so young and yet so old and the connection with your previous lives that slumber somewhere within you. So he allows your shenanigans for he needs to gain your full trust, listens intently whenever you're willing to share your stories from your childhood and your time spent with the monks who raised you and trained you. Hide it as much as you may, he spots that hint of guilt and sadness as the knowledge that all the people that you treasured have been dead for years is a weight heavy to carry. Your pain is the path he needs to get closer to you though so he wishes for you to dwell in your sorrow.

📖​Your mindset is one that he is not able to understand and it only draws him closer to his nearing obsession. Raised by monks you were taught that all life is precious, a lesson he has never heard before. After all he grew up in Meteor City where humans were equal to trash. To be abandoned, neglected and forever forgotten about. Yet here you are, telling him that all life is equally worth? It is amusing yet Chrollo knows that reality is rarely as pretty as the ideals you believe in. A part of him wishes to drag you down that corrupted path, to destroy your beliefs and see your conviction shatter under the weight of reality. Another part of him almost wishes to shelter such purity so you may always remain naive and believe in your lessons passed down by your teachers. Such power as you possess is truly not fit for one unwilling to yield it. There is no conflict won through words and hopes as corruption and violence will always follow. Chrollo has observed humans long enough to realise that only few are as foolish as you are. The foolish ones are usually always the first ones to die as they are the ones who are trampled on, nothing more as a stepping stones for others.

📖​He's been the hand holding you and guiding you ever since you awoke from your sleep and now this very hand is unwilling to let go, clutching tightly to you as it drags you with it. You will not leave his side. Years he has invested and dedicated to find you and now that Chrollo finally has you he finds himself unable to get rid of you. You are the missing piece of his puzzle, the air he needs to breathe, the fire that warms him, the water that sustains his life, the earth that stabilises him. It is no longer a want but a need that is now driving him. He needs you with him. Now. Tomorrow. Forever. Whilst he is no fervent believer in God or the holy faith even Chrollo can't deny how truly ironic it is that the person who is the answer to so many of his questions was frozen in time only for him to find her. Actions need to be made fast for you progress much too fast with your bending abilities. Whilst you lack experience still and haven't yet mastered your entire powers Chrollo does not wish to risk a confrontation with you though he knows that you could never harm him or any of the other members. After all the Phantom Troupe are the first friends you made after being freed from the ice you were kept in.

📖​Haven't you always been secretly burdened by the fate chosen for you without you ever having been able to decide for yourself? Haven't you always secretly wished to be normal like everyone else? You've shared your insecurities and wishes with Chrollo, revealed bits of your heart to him which he greedily clutches to his own empty chest as every secret of yours fulfills him a bit more. You've shared your pain and your guilt with him and now he offers you to free you from all those chains tying you up. His Nen ability should be able to remove the Avatar spirit from you. He can give you the freedom you have always wished for secretly. To your own lament you recognise his true colours much too late, your heart weeping as you see the Phantom Troupe in their full capabilities. The kindness they have shown you and the love that Chrollo has fed you with have all been real yet were only parts of their true selves you find yourself now confronted with. You see them as no monsters though as most people would deem them, your eyes instead only seeing lost souls who have wandered on the wrong path. You wish to save them somehow yet deep down you know that they have all already chosen their paths.

📖​Only then does Chrollo reveal his true self to you, a merciless and apathetic man who sees humans no different to puppets. You will not escape him. Not now after he has finally found the heart he has been missing all along in you. He blackmails you, tugs at your heartstrings as he knows how deeply you care for him and his troupe yet he also frightens you as he threatens to involve innocent people and even dares to threaten Appa, your treasured friend. He truly doesn't wish to fight you and he already knows that you are no fighter yourself, prefering a pacifistic solution. Even if you should narrowly escape the net of the spider though as you flee with Appa know that you will never be truly free. Chrollo will hunt you down, follow every trace of you and burn down entire cities until he has you once more. You can run but you can't hide forever. Not from him. Even if he shouldn't find you in this life he is willing to step into truly forbidden territory. If the soul of the first Avatar has been able to be reincarnated then there is a chance that he might be able to reincarnate his soul with yours as well. Little spider, he will chase after you even after death, his soul always chasing after yours.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Epilogue

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: This contains a lot of unaliving, hence the chosen GIF. Proceed with caution. Also bb will take a break from latibule after this. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist, Latibule IX

Suga looked at Jackson junior with a fond smile on his face as the little child stabbed the cake with his little fork, the redness of the cake in perfect contrast to the white frosting of the red velvet. He ate it with such gusto, uncaring of the red crumbs coating his mouth.

“You kept your promise, ahjussi,” he mumbled with his mouth full that Suga couldn’t resist pinching his chubby cheek.

“Of course, I did,” he scoffed as he helped him sliced the cake. “I always keep my promises.”

Jackson looked up at him with his innocent eyes, his little legs swinging back and forth from the bench they were sitting on. “Then, do you promise to love my noona forever?”

“I promise.” It was the easiest promise he ever did.

“And do you also promise to marry her? She shouldn’t be alone, ahjussi. No one should be,” he stated with seriousness. Despite him being so young, he was so perceptive. He saw what loneliness could do to someone, and how it was slowly destroying his father. He didn’t want that for his favorite noona.

“I’ll marry her. Don’t worry,” he agreed with faux annoyance in his voice as though what he was requesting was such an imposition to him. It wasn’t. It was his most pertinent goal.

“Make sure you do! Or I’ll make my dad marry her!”

He was late, Suga thought. It had taken him longer than he would have wanted to. Jackson Junior sure did have a lot of energy for someone with such small body. He was smiling as he walked home.

Home.

When he thought of that word before, it never meant anything to him. It was just a noun, something that existed for everybody else but him. It was a place you returned to at the end of the day, someplace that brought you comfort. It was a place where you were safe, and warm, and loved.

Suga never did have that.

But then, you came. And now when he thought of home, he thought of you. You were his latibule. You were more than just a place, more than just a mere place to rest his weary body to. No, you were his hiding place. You were the one that saved him. You were his safe place.

And he would never leave you, nor would you leave him. He didn’t want to know what would become of him should he ever lost you.

Bitterly, though, his house was now on fucking attack and someone had the fucking audacity to ruin it.

He knew as soon as he walked near your house that something was fucking amiss. The hair on the back of his neck stood as though in warning about something. He never not believed his instincts, after all, it was what kept him still alive to this day.

His eyes roamed the area around your house, looking for the impending danger. He hated how he didn’t even have a fucking gun. He badly needed it now, he thought. The sun had now long set, surrounding his fucking house with darkness he didn’t need at the moment. He didn’t hear a thing inside your house, no movements could be heard nor seen. And he would bet his fucking life that something bad was happening.

Instead of entering the house through the front door, he automatically went to the back. His pace was brisk and determined, his steps light. He had memorized the whole layout and could avoid any steps that would give away his position. As soon as he reached the garden, he picked up the small hand trowel and tucked it behind his jeans. As quietly as would be allowed, he opened the back door, his eyes assessing the area with precision.

He knew you were in danger, yet what he never expected was from whom.

Sitting beside your trembling form on the sofa was his own fucking brother, Jung Hoseok.

He was smiling as though nothing was amiss, as though this was a fucking good visit.

He was smiling as though no one would die tonight.

“Brother, long time no see,” he greeted lightly. His other hand rested on the back of the sofa, his hand timidly holding his gun. “I have missed you so.”

Suga turned to look at your eyes, and he fucking hated how terrified you looked. This was what he was attempting so hard to avoid. This was his fucking nightmare. “Are you okay?”

You jumped when Hoseok touched your shoulder lightly with his gun, your lips quivering from the situation you found yourself in. “Of course, she is! You wound me, brother. I could never hurt a woman…unlike you.”

Suga’s jaw clenched, his dark eyes going to Hoseok’s amused ones. He scoffed, calmly walking around the house to get closer to the pair. “I do have to assume that this is your admission of being the Judas.”

“Hmm,” Hoseok thought, his fucking smile still on his face. “I guess that makes the two of us, right?” He turned to you, his tone friendly as though the two of you friends, as though he wasn’t holding a gun right now, “Did you know that this guy is the personification of Lucifer, himself? He’s the worst man out there. In fact, you should be more scared of him than me. I have never killed a woman before,” he smirked back at him, “cannot say the same thing for Yoongi.”

“Y-Yoongi?” you repeated, looking at Suga, your Suga with questions and a betrayal in your eyes.

A booming laughter from beside you erupted, making you jump lightly from your seat. Hoseok was laughing as though this was all funny, like your life wasn’t on the brink of collapsing. “You didn’t even tell her your real name? That’s so fucking funny, Yoongi-ah,” he chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes from laughing too hard. But then, in a somber tone he said, “That’s fucking low of you, Agustd.”

At your stupefied expression, Hoseok turned to you in faux pity, “Oh no…you didn’t know you were housing the fucking mafia lord. Poor you, sweetheart.”

And betrayal turned into anger. The dark emotions seeped through your eyes, tears blurring your sight. But through it all, his face remained impassive.

“I-is that true?”

“Don’t listen to him. You know me the best, Angel-”

“Do I?”

“You do. You love me, right? You said so yourself. You need to trust me-“

“That’s so fucking sweet. Sickeningly sweet. I’m over it,” Hoseok cut him off. He nodded at someone from behind him. And then he felt it. The cold barrel of the gun pointed at the back of his head. Yoongi glared at the man stupid enough to point a gun at him, and he recognized him as someone from the organization.

Fucking traitors.

“As if you know anything about love, Agustd. You’re fucking incapable of it.” Hoseok sighed before calmly standing and pulling you up with him. “You killed the only person I love. Don’t you think it’s only fair that I kill yours? An eye for an eye and all that shit?”

Yoongi stared at Hoseok and then at the trembling form of yours. “You’re making a mistake,” he stated, his demeanor cold as he stared back at the eyes of the man he once considered his brother. “Stop and all of this will be forgiven, Hoseok.”

The man merely scoffed, his head tilted, “You still don’t realize you are in the losing position, do you?” he inquired curiously, chuckling under his breath before losing all his emotions completely. “Take him away from here. And if you as so much make a fucking move, I will blow your angel’s head off. Do not test me, Yoongi. Or do. Let’s see.”

Yoongi knew he was saying the truth. And against all his instincts that were screaming at him to go to you, to save you, to pull you in his arms, he went with the other traitor outside the house. His eyes never left yours, not until he could no longer see you, and not until the man punched him with the end of the gun in the head.

You couldn’t see from the onslaught of tears flooding your eyes. Was this how everything was going to end? After you found a taste of happiness? Were you brought to this earth just to suffer?

The man called Hoseok let you go gently, and you were no fool to think that you were safe. No. Not with the barrel of gun pointed behind your back.

“I’m sorry you were dragged to this mess,” he murmured honestly, his arm was firm as he adjusted his gun. “Had you not saved him that night, none of this would happen.”

“P-please. Let m-me go,” you cried, your hands shaking from all of this. This was straight out of your nightmare. You had lived a fairly calm and peaceful life, until that tragedy. And even then, you were never at the end point of a gun. Even then, you were spared.

But alas, maybe your luck had ran out.

“You did nothing wrong. But this has to happen. I hope you forgive me.”

You nodded, slowly facing him. And when you looked up at his mad eyes, your stepped closer and pushed the gun on your head. If this was to happen, then he had to look into your eyes. You may be trembling with terror, but you were no pawn. You would take control of your life until the very end.

You saw him faltered, saw him gulping once. He didn’t want this, you thought. But his judgement was too clouded, and Hoseok was too far gone in his scheme. He had no way but to see this through. And just when he was about to pull the trigger, a knife was plunged to his arm, effectively making him dropped the gun.

A hand pulled you behind, shielding you from the bloodshed that was happening.

“Still a good aim, Namjoon hyung,” the man in front of you praised the other man who threw the knife, his deep, baritone voice almost familiar. “Good to know all your time spent in the courtroom didn’t make you soft.”

“Shut up. Take her away to safety, Taehyung.” The other man, Namjoon, ordered lowly as he wrestled with Hoseok who was grinning despite the blood seeping from his wound.

“Namjoon, came to join the party?”

“You need to stop, hyung!” Namjoon growled, willing the him to understand the gravity of the situation. “We can still fix this-“

“I don’t want to. You should have never saved me that night. You should have left me to die!” he grunted before punching him. Everything was fast, and before you could blink, the booming sound of gunshot resounded. You felt Taehyung’s hand pushing you, ordering you to run.

And you did.

You ran. But the outside was just the same as the inside. You saw Suga kneeling on the ground, behind him was the man who was grinning as he twisted his arms behind him. But when he saw you, he pointed the gun at you.

Suga watched as though it was a fucking movie. He watched it all in unhidden horrification as you fell the moment the bullet pierced into your fragile skin. He watched helplessly as your precious blood drenched the clothes you had carefully chosen just this evening.

He stood there frozen as the love of his life fell to the ground, your head hitting the cold, hard step with a deafening thud. He could have sworn his heart stopped in disbelief at someone’s audacity to hurt the woman he had only ever loved.

And the moment your eyes closed was the exact moment Agustd came back to life with a bloody vengeance.

A curtain drew closed on his mind, effectively clouding his self-survival. Yoongi had always been a one-track mind. Nothing else mattered but to you, he didn’t find it in himself to care whether he would have to break or even cut his own arm just to get to you. There was no doubt in his mind that he would get to you, that he would be able to save you.

No, it was a given fact. It was the most certain thing in his mind at the very moment. You had to live, otherwise he would need to burn this whole world down.

You simply had to survive if you didn’t want other people to suffer his wrath. There was no living without you, he thought. With a practiced movement he twisted his own arm away from the asshole that would soon leave in a body bag. The man looked at him in horror as Yoongi snarled at him, uncaring of the arm now hanging limply on his side. Hell, he couldn’t even feel it. He stepped back unconsciously as his former boss marched to him, his hands holding the firearm faltered for a moment. That small window of opportunity was all Yoongi needed, and before he knew it, the cold barrel of gun was pointed on his sweaty forehead. Yoongi didn’t even blink as he fired the gun, and horrifyingly, he didn’t even flinch when his blood splattered all over his face. It wasn’t enough. With the weapon he hid behind him, he stabbed the deceased man in the neck, blood sputtering in his face.

Yoongi immediately turned to you, but before he could get to you, a swarm of men dressed in black walked in with guns pointed at him. Of fucking course, Hoseok wouldn’t go to him with only a man in tow, Yoongi thought. And he was fucking outnumbered.

But nothing could deter him from reaching you, not before when you were alive, not now when you were bleeding on the ground. He didn’t even blink as he shot the gun at the man on his right. Surprise was his edge, but he needed to be smart about this.

It was him that they wanted, not you.

He stepped back, grinning at the audacity of these assholes. And just like he knew, they all followed him. He was running when four of his brothers stepped in with danger and madness in their eyes.

All of them were as deranged as Yoongi, they all just hid it better.

“Long time no see, hyung!” Jungkook greeted him, showing him his signature bunny smile before shooting the first man he saw.

Seokjin only looked at him, seriousness in his eyes as he assessed his bleeding head with clinical aura. He didn’t even blink as he stabbed the man in the neck stealthily. He was annoyed. He was mad. And most of all, he hated how they were almost too late. He had almost failed to protect the family he claimed as his own.

Jimin was uncharacteristically quiet, only going to work. Yoongi felt a little hopeful that this was not going to end badly. Not now that he had his brothers with him. He saw Taehyung and Namjoon joining the fight, their moves as precise as the other brothers. Their fight was away from you, just as Yoongi wanted.

He swore that once this was all over, that you would never be hurt again. This would be the last time you would be hurt. So, you had to fucking survive, lest he ruined this whole fucking world.

Yet, just when it was about to end, just when they eliminated the last traitor, your house exploded and a bullet pierced Yoongi’s chest.

After the ashes had settled and the fire was contained, after they cleaned the crime scene, after they brought Yoongi to the hospital, after desperately looking for you- all they found was your necklace.

They never did find you that night, nor did they find Hoseok’s body. The police they bribed said that it was possible your bodies melted from the intense fire, that you couldn’t possibly survive that.

That you were dead.

And you were declared dead.

When Min Yoongi woke up from his week-long coma, he unleashed hell.

Agustd was fucking back.

Season 2: Prologue

[inkedtae]

chantober 2024

Welcome to Chantober!

I have a problem.

I am in love with Christopher Chan Bahng. As I am sure you might be too if you are reading this. Or perhaps you are just a fan of my writing and want to know more about when I will post and what is to come. Either way, I want to welcome you to another year of Chantober!

I had wanted to continue this bias month tradition last year, however with the ending of Chan's Room and some other personal events occuring, I did not have the time, energy or motivation to write 1 fic, let alone 3 or 4.

But in the time I took to heal and self-reflect, I have found that no matter how hard I try, I cannot stop conjuring ideas, characters, settings and stories. Chan centred around a lot of them since his comforting character prevents me from literally losing my mind between having a shitty job and navigating some family issues.

I used to think he and I were very much alike- and perhaps a lot of it was due to delusions of my own making (though his bubble messages are very misleading). But I think I have started to notice how different we are, and that perhaps the only thing that really connects us, besides the music, is the loneliness of never feeling enough. Maybe that's what connects Stays to Stray Kids as a whole. This hovering feeling of inadequacy looming over us, adamant on prevent us from reaching our full potential.

However, Stray Kids have time and again proven their talent and passion. Determined to be something more, to make something more of themselves, they work hard and reach far, even if they don't think they will make it. They try.

I needed someone like Chan to lead me back into myself. It took a while. But, I am here.

SO! Whatever brought you here too, may it be curiosity, fate, obsession (i literally never stop thinking about him/skz either), or you clicked on this by accident, I hope that you stick around for another month of everything CHAN.

As per Chantober ritual, I will only be posting Chan content (though there will be one day of exception when Hobi finally comes back from military service!). I will be posting a fanfic every Thursday and dedicating my posts from texts to pics all to Chan. If you have any Chan content or would like to participate beyond just reading fics, please send it my way here! I will also be tracking the tag #chantober 2024.

Happy Chantober! 

❥ the underground ⟶ october 3rd     ↳ dark themes, boxing au, s2l

❥ howlin' ⟶ october 10th     ↳ werewolf au, soulmates, f2l

❥ between roar and whisper ⟶ october 17th     ↳ hogwarts au, slytherin x gryffindor, e2l,

❥ elixir of the damned ⟶ october 31st     ↳ vampire au, witch au, s2l

updated : october 31st

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

you should make a donna x reader where donna has a dream about y/n and becomes obsessed with her, thank you!!!

Yess!!!! Thank you for your request!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))

Dreams

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, slightly dark themes, Donna's POV, Donna being Donna, happy ending

Word count: 7,782

Summary: Were you real?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Dreaming is a third part of our life”

It was a phrase that always seemed curious to me. I had been alive for a long time, and a number of days, months, and years were insignificant to me. I was no longer a woman, a person, a human being. I couldn’t count the time passing around me. I had lost count for years.

Sometimes I remembered those more difficult, but different times, when time mattered, when days had a meaning, when dreaming was nothing but a waste of time, a silent theft from the countdown of my existence.

But that was no longer the case, my existence had no end, it was like an eternal sentence, like an unlimited time that was granted to me by the grace of the Black Gods. I couldn’t blame Mother Miranda for turning my life into a succession of days and nights, into a constant reminder of better times. What nonsense, there were never better times.

Stripped of the only thing that made me human, my mortality, the limits my life would have, I became a ghost, an erratic soul that stopped looking for its place, it already had it.

Being a Lord was just a nickname, a nickname that served just for the purposes of the same witch who turned me into what I am now, a monster. A monster they said had no feelings, a wounded, sick monster, one more doll of my creations, a puppet that dances to the tune of this horrible village.

Donna Beneviento, a feared woman, repudiated and turned into a terrorizing machine, making people feel the real fear, that was me. I couldn't say that I didn't like having that power over the people who one day laughed at me, who forced me to isolate myself from the world, who believed themselves better for not having scars.

I had gotten my revenge a long time ago, and I liked doing it. Loneliness was a common thing, another companion, like Angie, like my dolls, a dark shadow that surrounded me, that crossed my body day after day, that reminded me of who I was and how I had gotten there. However, there was something that Mother Miranda had not managed to take away from me, something that the Black Gods could not prevent: I continued dreaming.

I wonder if my siblings also dream, if they are capable of traveling to a different world, if they are happy dreams or horrible nightmares. I suppose their personality has something to do with it, that mine forces my subconscious to torture me when darkness is not just a metaphor, when I want to sleep, to make time pass more quickly, even knowing that the next day, nothing would change.

The nightmares were just another routine, the crises, the tremors… Everything imprisoned me even more in myself.

 Why, Mother Miranda? Why save a sick woman like me? No matter how many times I asked myself, I was never able to get an answer.

If I look back, I even dare to miss those horrible dreams, those memories that torment my disturbed mind; screams, terrors, helplessness, all of that was replaced in a moment by something else, something that made me want to keep dreaming, and at the same time stop doing it.

“If you could choose, what would you do? Where would you like to go?” you asked, playing with my hand, looking into my eyes, looking at my face that was not deformed, at what I never was, nor will I be.

“I don't know,” I answered with a smile, letting myself be carried away by those soft caresses, by the sensation of your skin on mine, by the subtle touch of our naked bodies like every night. “Anywhere, as long as it were with you.”

Your laughter lit up my face, your soft voice, your sighs made my heart want to jump out of my chest, it wanted to feel, just like me, the warmth and softness of your body.

“Are you always that romantic?” you asked, snuggling into my chest, sighing again, making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world, in this dark world.

“Only with you,” I said, leaning down to kiss you, to caress your lips with mine. I don't know why I kept trying…

“Hey, hey, Donna, wake up, wake up!” you said in a gruff tone, shaking me by the shoulders. It was another ending.

“Hey, hey, move your lazy ass and wake up!” an irritating voice pulled me out of that scene, out of that feeling of having you near me. Of course, Angie always took care of ending my dreams, forcing me to return to my horrible reality.

“Angie…” I murmured in a sleepy, angry voice, annoyed by the light that illuminated my room, with my faithful doll, my only friend, jumping on my body in a comical, but annoying way.

I pushed her away with a slap as I sat up, glancing sideways at the other side of the bed, where an empty, cold space reminded me that I had dreamed again, dreamed of you.

Sighing, I rubbed my only eye, wishing to return to that alternative world, one in which you were with me, in which I was not completely alone.

“Wake up, wake up!” the doll shrieked, with a mocking laugh, which disappeared with my furious look, with my furious growl at her attitude.

“Oh, Angie…” I sighed, uncovering myself and approaching the dressing table, where the reflection of that cruel mirror revealed my deformed face, revealed my true nature, my true appearance, the appearance of a monster.

I combed my hair slowly, avoiding looking at myself in the reflection more than necessary, remembering that pleasant dream before my mind forgot it. Well, forgot part of it. There was something I couldn't forget, that my head still kept intact: You.

“Buongiorno…” the doll sang, irritating me even more.

“Angie, I dreamed about her again,” I whispered, closing my eye, hoping that, when I opened it, I could return to your arms. I couldn't, I never could. It would never be real.

“Oh, the mysterious girl,” the puppet commented, with a mocking but understanding voice. “Was it a nice dream?”

“Yes, it was,” I whispered, leaving the comb on that horrible dressing table, getting up to start another day, another day of terrible and anguishing loneliness.

It hadn't been long since I started dreaming about you, since your figure appeared in the middle of the fog, dissipating it, making way for you with the light of your beauty.

I didn't know who you were, what you were, I didn't know if you existed, but I wanted you to. There were many possibilities. It could be that my head had created you just to relieve me, so my madness wouldn't get worse, at least during those hours of sleep.

A warm smile, silky and shiny hair, the perfection that I could never have. At first I thought that maybe it was a coincidence, that the nightmares had managed to give a break to my tormented soul, but it wasn't like that; you kept appearing in my dreams, you kept talking to me, telling me that I was beautiful, caressing me...

If you didn't exist, why did I feel you? If you were just a creation, why did you always look the same? Why did my heart beat the same way when I saw you? I never knew how to answer, I never wanted to answer. If you could live in my dreams, at least you would live. If you didn't exist, at least you would do it in my mind.

But the passage of time worsened that desire, that desire to dream, that desire to be more and more disconnected from reality, where you didn't exist, to live in an unreal world where you did. The first few times I took it as a relief, like a balm, a warm bath in the coldness of my dark life.

Little by little, it became an obsession, and I knew it, but... How could I become obsessed with someone who didn't exist? Did you really exist, or were you just like another one of my dolls?

“Have you tried asking her name?” Angie asked, after I got dressed, preparing to live another day without you, a vigil that was torture, just because you weren't there.

“No,” I said dryly, reading a book while eating breakfast, desperately searching for an explanation for your presence.

“I think that's important, don't you?” the doll said, looking at me over that old essay on dreams.

“Get off the table, you know I hate when you get on while I'm eating,” I ordered the puppet, who grumbled, changing the table for my lap. “Angie…”

“Let's see, let's see…” she murmured, turning the pages in an unpleasant way. “Look, Donna, it says here that it can be a recurring dream.”

“Of course it's recurring,” I said, laughing nervously, impatiently, frustrated for not getting answers to all the questions in my mind. “I don't dream about anything else.”

“Okay… Look, it says that it can also be due to sexual dissatisfaction,” the doll joked, making my cheeks turn red-

“Don't talk nonsense,” I whispered, turning that horrible page.

“Nonsense? Tell me, Donna, tell me, tell me… What do you think about when you kick me out of your room at night?” the doll mocked, which made me push her angrily off my knees, terribly embarrassed.

“What do you care? That's private,” I said furiously, pretending to read, pretending not to have your image in my mind.

“Bah,” the doll sighed, with an amused gesture. “You think about her, huh?”

I stopped reading, closing my eye and the book at the same time.

“I can't stop thinking about her,” I admitted, passing a hand over my forehead, holding my coffee cup with a trembling hand. “I think… I think I'm going crazy.”

“Well, that’s not new,” the doll mocked, with an unpleasant tone, with that independence that I gave her and that I sometimes regretted.

“You don't understand... I... I...” I said, gritting my teeth, hitting the table with my fist. “I can't be like this... I... I don't even, I don't even know if... If she's real.”

“In your dreams she is,” Angie said, with a more serious tone.

“That doesn't mean anything,” I murmured, trying to relax, trying not to let my demons force me to break everything, to hurt myself again. “Maybe, maybe I can, I can ask someone for advice.”

“Who?” she asked curiously, with a tone that I didn't like at all.

“I, I don't know... Alcina, maybe,” I said, shaking my head, crossing my arms, scratching the fabric of my dress with my nails.

“Do you know what Alcina is going to tell you?” Angie said, with an ironic tone.

“She'll offer me a poor girl to play with,” I sighed, head down, knowing that Angie was right, that no one could help me.

“Maybe that will help you,” the doll commented, giving me a shiver. No, I could never do that.

“I've already told you…” I hissed, denying to myself that it was one of the reasons for your presence, that I needed a body to have fun with, that then, you would go away, you would leave me alone again “… That it's not about sex. Cazzo, Angie, I haven't even been able to kiss her…”

“But you can talk to her, right?” the puppet asked. I nodded.

“More or less,” I said thoughtfully, letting myself be carried away by my obsessions again, thinking about you, always about you, always about your look, about your smile, about one that I couldn't, didn't want to know if it was real.

“Then ask her name,” she said finally, just as she had advised me at the beginning.

It seemed like absurd advice, stupid, but little by little I began to consider it.

In one of those books something that made my hopes suffer appeared, something that perhaps explained my obsession, the games my subconscious played while I slept. Apparently, a person could dream about someone they had seen once in their life, or had just passed by. The brain, the human mind is incredible. It was designed to torture me with an unknown girl.

Thinking that maybe you were that, a ghost from the past, a random village girl I saw once and whose image stayed inside of me forever was not good news. I wanted to think, to believe, to know that you were real, that somewhere there was someone… Someone who could love me.

There was only one way to get out of doubt, to know if I already knew you: by listening to Angie, by knowing your name.

“It's a beautiful day…” you said, walking hand in hand with me, with that smile so real and so ephemeral, so… You.

“With you every day is wonderful,” I said blushing, enjoying your caresses, your hand in mine, the feeling that could disappear at any moment. “W, wait…”

“Mm?” you murmured, leaning on me, without losing that smile.

“I want, I want to know your name,” I said unsure, not knowing what was going to happen, if I was going to wake up, if I would lose you again.

“(Y/N)” you whispered with an almost imperceptible voice.

(Y/N)…

“(Y/N)? No, it doesn't ring a bell,” Angie said when I told her your name, when I was finally able to name your presence, when you were more than just a beautiful girl, when you seemed more real…

I frowned as I worked on my dolls, an increasingly insignificant hobby, one that I thought would make me forget you for at least a moment. I couldn't do it, once I knew your name my mind only repeated it over and over again, only projected your smile, I could only see your eyes in those porcelain dolls.

“Doesn’t it?” I asked, delicately painting a head, a head with your eyes, (Y/N). “It's not a very common name.”

“Did you know it?” Angie asked, taking me out of my thoughts and ramblings again, making me concentrate unintentionally, not wanting to know if you were just part of my past, if you were someone who really existed but were unreachable for me.

“No, I don't think I've ever heard it before,” I said with a nervous voice, with the trembling of my hands ruining your porcelain face, once again.

“Curious,” the doll said, holding my hand so I would stop ruining her companion, something she hated. “How can you dream about someone you don't know? I mean, you can't know her name if you've never even heard it before...”

She was right, and her question had a possible and horrible answer.

“I think it's pretty obvious,” I whispered, leaving that head in a safe place so my messy strokes wouldn't deform her face, your eyes, your smile... “That's because (Y/N)... doesn't exist!” I said furiously, feeling how the darkness loomed over me, how it forced me to kick the floor when hitting the table, losing control.

“Hey, hey, Donna, no, no!” Angie interrupted, trying to stop my outburst of anger, trying to uncurl my fingers clenched in a glass jar before the rage of knowing that I could never have you shattered it into a thousand pieces. “Don’t do that! Silly Donna!”

“Non ne posso più!” I yelled furiously, losing control, losing my mind, not bearing the true reality of my discoveries, knowing that your name, that you, were just an invention of my mind, that I could never have you, never. “I can’t take it anymore…”

“Donna, Donna, basta, basta!” Angie said, trying to calm me down, fighting my attempts to scratch my ugly face, to pull my hair, to hurt myself for being so stupid, to want to stop existing in a world without you.

Surrendered, unable to even hurt myself, I buried my head in my arms, crying inconsolably, crying for having lost something I never had, and will never have.

“Angie, I… I… L’amo…” I confessed, I confessed a shameful truth, a truth that shouldn't exist, a truth that couldn't be, that didn't make sense, that my mind forced my heart to feel. I couldn't love you, I couldn't, but I did.

“What?” the doll said in an exaggerated tone, patting my back to try to comfort me, stopping as soon as she heard that terrible and delirious declaration. “You can't, you can't love her,  Donna.”

“I do… I… I’m, I’m in love with her…” I said again, sobbing, noticing the absence of Angie, who had retreated with a furious sigh.

“No, no, no, you can't, Donna,” she said with an unsure tone, knowing that what she was going to say would hurt me. She was not wrong. “Come on, come on, you can't love someone who…”

“Say it,” I said raising my head slowly, stopping crying, changing the sadness, the crying for pure anger, for rage, for the pain that such a horrible truth produced, for the dagger that common sense slowly sank into my chest.

“Um, Donna, I…” the doll said with a different attitude, surely due to my cold, dark and dangerous gaze.

“Say it!” I shouted, getting up from the chair, making Angie run away from me, making my madness terrify her again. “Say that I can't love her because she doesn't exist! Say that (Y/N) is nothing but a name I read in some book and she's not real! Say that I'm so disturbed and lonely that even a dream can make me fall in love! Say that I can't love a dream!”

Angie fled under a table, looking at me terrified, unable to say that truth, which I knew and didn't want to see, which tortured my mind, the love I felt for you, the love I felt for something unreal, for a dream.

“Porca puttana!” I screamed, kicking the chair, clenching my fists tightly, hurting myself, injuring my body as well as my mind.

Angie was right, I was disturbed and nothing could cure me, nothing but you, nothing but that non-existent presence I could only enjoy while sleeping.

“Of course… Of course… That's it, right?” I rambled, passing a hand over my forehead, my body shaking, my hands moving erratically. I had lost control and you could never help me. “Donna is a stupid crazy woman, a disturbed woman who will never have someone who loves her, who is so lonely that she can only love in dreams, she can only be loved by women who don’t exist, because, because she is a monster, right?”

“Do, Donna, calm down,” Angie said, hiding behind a table, shaking from my anger, from my nerves, from me. “Nobody, nobody said that…”

“But they think so,” I said, mad, pointing at the doll with my finger, starting to walk aimlessly through the old workshop. “Yes, it's surely their fault. They're the ones to blame! They’re always so elegant, right? With a perfect face, with maids who would do anything for them, with charisma, with… With possibilities of being loved… Donna can't be loved, she can only dream, right? Well, fuck you all! Fanculo a tutti!”

“Come on, come on, calm down,” Angie said, coming out of her hiding place with her hands out in front of her, fearing my reaction, that my madness would hurt her. I couldn't blame her.

“Lasciami!” I protested when her wooden arm reached my leg, shaking her to get her to move away.

“Donna…” Angie said in a sad voice, getting up from the floor because of my push. At that moment I collapsed again.

“Angie…” I whispered, sorry for my attitude, for taking out my frustrations on the doll, on my only friend, a real one. “Gods, I'm, I'm so sorry…” I said, helping her up. She shook her head, understanding as always, too understanding.

“You should calm down, Donna, nobody hates you, I'm sick of telling you that,” the doll said, with a cocky pose. I shook my head, sitting on the floor, leaning my back against a wall.

“I can't stand it,” I murmured, crying again, calming my heart, my breathing, my madness. “I can't stand the idea that (Y/N) doesn't exist… “

“She exists in your dreams,” Angie said, in a more casual tone, sitting next to me, as always. I don't know what I would have done without her.

“I can't live on dreams... I, I can't... But I can't forget her either, she appears every night, every time I fall asleep she's by my side, she hugs me and... She, she loves me and... I... It doesn't matter if it's crazy or if I can't do it, I know what I feel and, I, I love her...”

Angie sighed comically, resting her hands on my knee, letting the silence flood the workshop, the thoughts echo in my head, recognizing my irrational obsession, my stupid love, my heart's inability to stop getting upset just by thinking about you.

“Phone!” Angie shouted, when the screeching sound interrupted my silent crying, my lament.

I nodded, returning to the reality of my sadness, to my duties, to my only purpose in life: to serve the Black Gods, and Mother Miranda.

“Donna, is everything okay?” a soft voice on the other end of the phone asked, my sister, Alcina.

“Y-Yes…” I lied, stifling my sobs, not wanting pity, compassion. No, it wasn't for pity, a crazy woman did crazy things, felt crazy things, it couldn't be understood, it couldn't be helped. I could never change.

“I've been calling you for a while, dear…” Lady Dimitrescu murmured.

Yes, probably the thoughts of you had silenced my hearing, my senses. I could only feel, see, hear you, (Y/N), even if it was only in dreams, in memories…

“I'm sorry, I was… Busy…” I apologized, with Angie tugging at my dress, offering herself as an interlocutor. No, it wasn't necessary. My sadness overshadowed even my fear of communicating with others.

“Mm,” my sister murmured with disinterest, snorting. “Mother Miranda has summoned us for the monthly sermon to the Black Gods. I know it's a hassle for you, but I'm afraid that...”

I sighed. No, being surrounded by the villagers and the rest of my siblings was definitely not what I wanted at the moment.

“I know,” I whispered with a broken voice.

“If you're not feeling well, I can tell Miranda that...” she said, feeling sorry for me, like everyone else.

Poor Donna, she's so crazy...

“No, I... I'll go,” I said abruptly. “I need some fresh air.”

After that, I hung up the phone, telling Angie to bring my black veil, my curtain, my wall that blocked me from the world, that prevented me from being seen, that allowed me to hide that... I was a monster.

The church was too crowded. The whole village was there, everyone was looking at me, judging me. I could hear their criticisms, their thoughts. It was a simple paranoia, but a torture nonetheless, one almost as horrible as the idea of ​​not being able to have you.

“Is everything okay?” Mother Miranda, my creator, my savior and my executioner asked. She was the woman who put an eternal sentence on my existence, an eternity without having you…

“Yes,” I answered dryly, with a voice so low that I doubt the rest of my siblings heard it. Besides, as always, they fought among themselves.

“You don't look well, Donna,” the witch repeated to, putting her golden claws on my shoulders. I moved so she moved away. I didn't want pity, I only wanted you.

“I'm fine,” I said abruptly, clenching my fists tightly, causing the priestess to frown and Angie to squeeze one of my hands, reassuring me.

If Miranda got angry and finished me off, I wouldn't be able to dream of you again. That was a punishment worse than death, than the condemnation of immortality.

“Mm,” the priestess murmured, distrustful, sighing, possibly tired of putting up with a fool like me, disgusted by having such a stupid daughter, a daughter who had fallen in love with a ghost, with a dream…

Then there was silence.

“Children of the Black Gods,” Miranda began, spreading her wings elegantly, moving away from me, standing in front. “I welcome you.”

“In life, and in death, we give glory…” the faithful crowd repeated, like an obedient and sinister flock. I sighed tiredly, wishing that this torture would end, that I could dream of you again.

My ears didn’t hear her words, her untouchable mantras, her prayers and proclamations of salvation and glory. Nonsense, no one could be saved, I could never be saved. My eye wandered absentmindedly through the crowd, watching those perfect faces, imagining them disappearing, those pews empty.

My heart stopped when I looked at the back of the chapel, when I saw a figure that my mind recognized before my gaze did. A young girl leaning disinterestedly against a wall, arms crossed, bright eyes, silky hair, you.

It couldn't be possible, I even blinked several times, shifted in my chair, closed my eye, opened it again. No, I wasn't imagining it, my obsession hadn't overcome my madness. It was you, (Y/N).

The same clothes, the same face, a different expression but with the same affectionate touch, with a tender but tired look, those same hands, those playful fingers tapping your arm impatiently. I wasn't crazy, you were there. You existed. It wasn't a dream.

But the little rationality I had left screamed to be heard, to make me understand that, even if you were real, it wasn't you. Yes, it could be a coincidence, it could be someone who looked a lot like you, too much. I got nervous, I wanted to believe it was you, I needed to believe it.

The sermon ended before I could make sure of the reality of what I saw, before I could know who you were, if you were the girl of my dreams, the girl I had fallen in love with. It seemed crazy, it surely was.

Without saying goodbye to my siblings, I walked away from the altar, pretending to want to leave, to want to go home. Of course my steps weren't as hurried as other times. My walk was slow, opening a corridor of people who lowered their heads when they saw me. They feared me and... I liked that, deep down I liked it.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” a voice caught my attention, a voice addressing that mysterious girl, you, a voice that called you by your name.

(Y/N), that was your name, it was you, there was no doubt.

“We are going to go to Luiza's house to have tea, it's Irina's birthday and we have bought a lot of food, are you in?” that annoying villager asked, talking to you, talking to the owner of my dreams and my broken and disturbed heart.

I stopped without wanting to. I turned my head towards your perfect figure. You smiled, so did I. Your smile was the same, it was you, there was no doubt. I had found you.

“Of course,” you answered with a kind tone. Your voice, (Y/N) the voice that sounded in my dreams filled my ears, calmed my heartbeat, made me sigh. You were real. “But first I have to do some chores at home, I will meet you later.”

“Oh, perfect, perfect,” the boy said, turning slowly, paling when he saw my dark figure looking at him. I wasn't looking at you, stupid. “Oh, Lady Beneviento…” he said, bowing in respect.

Then it happened, your eyes looked at me, your expression relaxed, changed to one different from my dreams, to a worried, thoughtful and nervous one.

I ignored him, I could only look at you, you could only look at me. It was a strange moment, perhaps too strange. I dreamed of you, but you… You couldn't know.

Scared by my own behavior, I turned around, looking at you one last time before leaving the chapel. I could feel it, I could feel your eyes fixed on the back of my neck, that shiver you always gave me when you came close in my dreams.

“Angie…” I whispered, walking slowly, discreetly separating myself from the crowd. The doll, which rested peacefully in my arms, nodded.

“Yes, yes, it's her, it's her,” she said with a slightly lower voice, jumping comically in my arms.

“Yes…” I sighed, not being able to help but smile, to feel happy. I had found you. “Wait, this isn't a dream, right?” I asked, scared, thinking that I would wake up again with the emptiness of your absence at my side. “Ow!” I screamed when the doll hit me hard in the stomach. “Angie!”

“It was just for you to check that it wasn't a dream,” the doll joked, getting off of me and peeking through a nearby bush. “Look, look, Donna, she's there!” she said excitedly, pointing at you.

I approached nervously, watching you from afar, seeing how you chatted with what seemed to be your friends, how you gave them that beautiful smile. I felt jealousy invading me, absorbing the joy of having found you.

“Donna, Donna,” Angie called me again, waking me from those horrible images of me not being your company under the sheets. “What are you going to do?”

It was a good question, the best one, in fact. Now that I had found you, that I knew you were real… What should I do? You were you, but you weren't the same as in my dreams, you didn't recognize me, you didn't know you were part of my life.

But you had to be. I had been dreaming of you for so long, of having you by my side. What you thought didn't matter. All I could see was you, all I could think was that fate made you mine even if you were incapable of knowing it.

I couldn't let you go, let you get away from me, let me stay dreaming of you again, conforming to your distant image in a mass, with your smile that wasn't directed at me. No, my rage increased, darkness loomed over my skin, over my hidden gaze. You had been in my mind for a long time, I couldn't, I didn't want you to disappear again.

“Come,” I whispered to the doll, with a sinister voice, camouflaging myself among the bushes, following your steps, waiting for the moment, the moment when you were alone, defenseless. I don't regret thinking like that, you had to be mine, you already were.

“Are you going to be bad, Donna?” Angie asked, making me rethink my intentions. She didn't succeed, the darkness dominated me. Your body was the only thing I was looking at.

“I need her,” I whispered as I walked slowly, chasing you without you knowing. You, who seemed as intelligent as in my dreams, turned around several times.

Could you do it, (Y/N)? Could you feel me stalking you? Could you feel my gaze following you? Sure you could.

You turned around, frowning, blinking in confusion. You didn't see anything, I wasn't behind you, but you could certainly feel me. As expected, given my subtle harassment, you walked faster, towards the part of the village where you seemed to live, a lonely path, perfect for me, unfortunate for you.

“Who's there?” you asked nervously, scared by my presence, by one that you could only sense. Nothing, I didn't answer, I didn't reveal myself. I simply went a little closer, just a little closer. “Shit, shit...” you whispered, running, scared by something you couldn't see.

I followed you, I ran after you, without worrying that you could see me. I didn't care anymore, you were mine.

“Shit!” you shouted again, turning around, watching how I chased you slowly, without running, knowing who I was, but not what I wanted. I wanted you.

You screamed again, as Angie ran after you, making you trip loudly in the snow. You turned on the ground, dragging away from my slow walk. I didn't want to scare you, but I wanted you, I needed you. I couldn't lose you now that I knew you were real, and not just another dream.

“Hey, hey... I... Let me go... Don’t, don't come closer...” you moaned in pain from the fall, looking at me with eyes of terror, with the fear that I was supposed to generate in the villagers.

You had the sight of a monster slowly approaching, crouching beside you, placing a hand on your forehead and closing my eye so I could concentrate.

“No, no, please…” you whispered, losing the strength of your voice, rolling your eyes as my powers acted on you, making you faint, making you collapse in my arms.

“KO, good job, Donna,” Angie said, while I held your unconscious body, taking some time to caress your hair, to check, once again, that your beauty was real. “Now what?”

“I'll take her home,” I whispered with a cold look, picking you up in my arms, lifting you off the ground, keeping you very close to my body.

“Home, home!” the doll sang, surrounding us, surrounding my dark figure, my figure carrying yours, hugging your body, holding you against me.

You were so beautiful… Even asleep, unconscious on a sofa, I could feel your warmth, your beauty, the one that lived only in my dreams. I, sitting next to you, played with your hair, caressed your forehead. I cried, laughed with joy. I had found you, and now you were mine, you had to be.

My caresses seemed to move you. You groaned confused, frowning, waking up little by little. I wonder what you were dreaming about.

You opened your eyes slowly, focusing on me, knowing who was next to you, moving back weakly, almost agonizingly, causing my hand to stop touching your perfect skin.

“No… No… What…?” you murmured, pressing your temples with your hands, confused, scared, trembling. I only laughed, I could only laugh, cry with love.

“Ciao, bellissima…” I said in a whisper, with a smile that you couldn't see, helping you to sit down.

Hearing my voice confused you and you shook your head, looking at me, as if something I had said had surprised you. It shouldn't have, I was used to adoring you in my dreams.

“That voice…” you whispered, almost without a voice, with that same expression, one that changed instantly, surely when you remembered what had happened. “Oh, my, my…” you said scared, pushing my hand away, trying to get up from the sofa, something that I prevented with a hand on your shoulder, forcing you, perhaps a bit roughly, to sit down again.

“Sit down,” I whispered in a tender voice. Your eyes were still terrified. I didn't see love, only fear in your gaze. It was too late to back down, to consider the terrible possibility that my love for you was not reciprocated.

“Lady Beneviento,” you sighed, shaking your head, blinking several times to situate yourself, to know where you were. Deep down, you knew. “What…?”

“I have finally found you…” I sighed, caressing your face, unable to reason, to do something to calm you down. No, I couldn't, I only wanted you. I wanted everything from you. You pulled away in an unpleasant way, which produced a knot in my stomach. Your gaze didn’t leave its fear.

“What? I, I don't... What am I doing here?” you asked, trembling from my innocent caresses. I sighed. I wasn't going to let you go, no matter what you said.

“You're with me, (Y/N), you have nothing to fear,” I said softly. You blinked again, shaking your head.

“What? Why do you know my name?” you asked, shifting nervously on the couch.

“I know more than your name, tesoro...”  I said with a tender, but terribly dark voice.

“Oh, shit...” you sighed, closing your eyes. “This, this is because of what my friends said about you, right? I, I promise you I didn't say anything. Besides, I've never sneaked onto your property on a dare or something like that and... Shit...” you stammered, more and more nervous.

I started to think that you really didn't know who I was. You didn't know you lived in my dreams.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I said in a serious tone, slowly losing my patience. I wanted to hear your sweet voice, not swear words, you never said them. You weren't like that.

“I don't know what I'm doing here either, I mean... Why?” you asked, gripping the fabric of the sofa tightly, shaking with fear. I didn't want you to shake.

“You know why,” I said simply, sighing at your passivity.

“No, I don't know, have I done something that could offend you? If, if so I apologize but please...Don’t, don't kill me...” you said, putting your hands together, lowering your head and squeezing your eyes tightly.

“I'm not going to kill you,” I said in a dark tone, nervous, more nervous than I would like. “I've spent so much time thinking about you...”

“About me?” you asked again, pointing at yourself, unable to stop me from caressing your cheek, from feeling the softness of your skin again. “I… I…”

“You are even more beautiful than in my dreams… I can’t believe you are with me,” I said in a delirious sigh, one that scared you even more.

“Dreams? No, I… Please, let me go, please,” you said, stabbing a dagger deep into my heart. You didn’t say that in dreams. I had found you, you were mine… You weren’t going anywhere.

“You can’t go, (Y/N), not when I’ve spent so much time dreaming of having you,” I murmured. Your expression stopped being terrified, your eyes darkened. I could only see disgust in your gaze, disgust towards me.

“No, no…” you said, getting up slowly, scared but confident. “You, you're wrong...I, I don't know what's on your mind but...I , I have nothing to do with it, I'm just, I'm just a villager, I've never hurt anyone, I've never messed with you... Let me go home, please, I’m begging you.”

“Cazzo…” I hissed, moving away, frustrated, disappointed with the long-awaited meeting. “Stop denying the obvious! You are the girl of my dreams! You are going to stay here, with me!”

“You are, you are sick in the head…” you whispered with a pitiful voice, walking slowly, taking advantage of my loss of control. “I have nothing to do with you!”

“Do you think that by insulting me I would be able to stop loving you? I could never do it,” I said, frantic, unable to believe my own reality, that the dreams were casual, a projection of my desires, not yours. You didn't love me.

“Love me? No, no, this is not happening…” you murmured, moving nervously, looking around. “Help me!”

“Don't yell!” I screamed furiously, preventing your escape with a strong tug on your arm, one that made you hiss in pain. Still, you didn't give up, no matter how hard you tried, you wanted to get out, you wanted to leave me, to get away from me. You couldn't do it.

“Let me go, you crazy bitch!” you screamed, trying to offend me. Nothing you said could hurt me. Only losing you could.

“Shut up! Don’t, don't say those things to me...” I protested, pulling you tighter. “Don't insult me, amore mio...”

You growled furiously, pushing me, making me let you go, so you could run away.

“Get her, Donna, she's getting away!” Angie shrieked, pointing at you when you had already reached the hall.

Suddenly, you stopped, staring at my portrait, which hung on the stairs. You were confused and nervous, your gaze fixed on mine, one that you could see.

 I ignored your sudden stop. I just threw myself furiously at you, knocking you to the floor, with my legs on either side of your hips, fighting with your hands, which were struggling to defend themselves.

“Stop! Stop... Resisting!” I screamed, straining with my hands. “Why don't you love me?!”

“Leave me alone! Let me go!” you screamed.

“Fight, fight, fight!” Angie encouraged, among grunts and sounds of effort. You were strong, my love, but I was much stronger.

Without thinking about the damage you were doing to me, you moved your head forward, giving me a painful blow to the forehead, knocking me to the floor. Still, the pain of your blow, of your betrayal, was not enough to stop me.

I roared furiously, reaching out my hand to pull on your ankle, knocking you again as you kicked to get rid of me.

I dragged you across the floor, using all my strength to reason with you, to make you understand why you couldn't leave.

“You can't leave, you can't leave me alone... you can't!” I screamed, pulling you. You took advantage of my weakness again to pounce on me. Running away was no longer an option for you, you wanted to fight. I was falling more and more in love with you.

Your hands fought against mine, moving with me on the floor, with my back pinned to the wood. You were winning, and that only meant I would lose you.

“Damn it...” you hissed when you saw you couldn't do anything against me, that, even immobilized, I was much stronger than you. I always would be, you were my only weakness. “Fuck!”

With that last scream, you managed to free yourself from my grip, moving your hand furiously, managing to grab the black fabric of my veil, tearing it from my face, leaving me exposed. You shouldn't have seen me like that.

Far from continuing to be furious, from continuing to move, you stopped, open-mouthed, catching your breath, losing yourself in my face wet with tears in my eye that shone with rage and desperation.

You ran a hand over your forehead, shook your head and let me go, with a confused and strange look.

“No, it just can't be...” you murmured, also with tears in your eyes, covering your surprised mouth with your hands. “It's, it's you...”

I didn't answer. I limited myself to hating you for a moment, hating myself for living in dreams. I didn't even pay attention to your confused look.

“Gods…” you said in a calmer tone, getting off my body, dropping to the floor, not being able to stop looking at me. A strange smile formed on your face.

I sat on the wood, confused, sad, sobbing, wishing you wouldn't try to leave again. It seemed that, for some strange reason, you didn't want to.

“Oh, it's you…” you sighed again, crawling towards my position, putting an unexpected hand on my cheek, looking at me, then at the portrait. “I can't believe it…”

“It's you, it's you. What are you talking about, stupid?” Angie interrupted, helping me deal with that horribly confusing situation.

“Gods, I… I've been, I've been dreaming about you for months… I… Oh my Gods…” you said as if you had gone from hatred to euphoria. My crying stopped, and my gaze darkened once the voices in my head let me hear you.

“You…?” I asked in a weak, distrustful voice. It could be a trick. “Have you dreamed about me?”

“Yes, I…” you said with a smile, getting a little closer, with a happy glow in your eyes. “Well, I, I didn't know it was you, you know because…” you said, changing your mood completely, gesturing towards your face. “Because, because of that veil and… Well, because, because, you didn't have much clothing on so…”

“What? Are you kidding me?” I said nervously, incredulously, taking your hand away from my face. You cringed again.

“I, I… I don't know why but… I'm telling you the truth. There isn't a night in where I don't see you with me… In fact, when I've heard you talk I… I can't believe it, it's you…” you sighed with a sincere, surprising smile.

“I dream about you too,” I whispered more calmly, looking at the floor, not letting you see me, not letting those dreams you had be tarnished by my ugliness. “Every night. I, I didn't even know you were real and when I saw you, I…”

“You froze,” you finished my sentence, just like you did in my dreams. “I, I understand you, I… Me too.”

“I, I didn't want to hurt you, (Y/N)…” I sobbed again, regretting my attitude. “I just wanted, I wanted… For my dreams to, to come true…”

“I wanted mine,” you sighed, sitting next to me staring into space, like me. “What a coincidence, huh? I didn't even know what you looked like.”

“I'm sure you find me disgusting,” I murmured, pointing at the portrait. “You were expecting something like that, weren't you?”

“The truth is, no…” you said in a low, confused tone. You were nervous too, I could see you trembling. “I saw you just like right now.”

I laughed nervously, scratching the back of my neck, not knowing what to do with that information, with that cruel coincidence. I never believed in destiny, but it was never too late to start doing it.

“It's incredible... It was you,” you repeated, making me more nervous.

“Will you stop saying that?” I said nervously, confused and upset. “How the hell was I supposed to know that...? Cazzo...”

“How was I supposed to know that you existed? I thought I was going crazy,” you said amused, looking a little more like the (Y/N) of my dreams.

“Me too,” I whispered, looking into those beautiful, bright eyes, looking at the reality of your beauty.

“Donna, um… Can I call you Donna?” you asked, touching my hand, grabbing it, interlacing our fingers like in my dreams, like in yours. I nodded. “There's something I've never been able to do in my dreams...”

I looked at you as you approached, fearlessly overstepping my personal space, grabbing my face, looking at me before closing your eyes. Then you did it, you kissed me, your sweet and soft lips landed on mine.

You sighed, I sighed, we kissed slowly, enjoying that unattainable, pleasurable feeling. I cried again, grabbing your body, kissing you deeper, not wanting our bodies to separate.

“(Y/N)…” I sighed, pulling away against my will, overcome by emotions. You looked at me confused, caressing my skin, as if you were feeling the same, something that seemed impossible. “You are definitely the girl of my dreams…”

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

What I think each Yellowjackets character’s Letterboxd top 4 would be

*I’m including movies past the 90s even though some of these characters didn’t live long enough to see them*

Natalie

I think Nat is a huge horror movie fan (specifically 80s slasher and demonic possession) and loves edgy gothic vibes. I also think she would love some artsy indie movies about sex and challenging gender roles (and just some cool action movies with hot badass women).

Honorable mentions go to The Craft and Kill Bill

Misty

We all know Misty is a theater kid. She loves musicals and I think girlie is definitely singing Sweeney Todd and Phantom of the Opera songs to herself 24/7. And I feel like I don’t even need to explain the Steel Magnolias inclusion, she had that monologue memorized like it was imprinted on her soul.

Honorable mentions go to Hairspray and Hamilton

Jackie

I know Jackie loves a good chick flick, particularly those with homoerotic subtexts. I think, if she had gotten to live long enough to start coming to terms with her sexuality, But I’m a Cheerleader would definitely be her gay awakening. And then Bottoms once she’s tip-toed out of the closet a little bit more (RIP Jackie Taylor you would have LOVED Bottoms). And of course, I had to add Beaches because of the “Are you quoting Beaches at me right now?” line, and also because I think Jackie would watch it and shed a secret tear because it makes her think of her and Shauna.

Honorable mentions go to Uptown Girls and Heathers

Van

Van would definitely refuse to watch anything past the 90s. She loves comedy classics and queer staples. I know Van quotes The Godfather in the full Italian accent constantly (especially around Nat to piss her off) and she’s watched The Princess Bride an ungodly amount of times and knows pretty much every line (Buttercup was her queer awakening).

Shauna

Like Jackie, Shauna love movies about intense (homoerotic) friendships. I know she relates to Needy in Jennifer’s Body living in Jennifer’s (Jackie’s) shadow and resenting her for it but also being so obsessed and intertwined with her; and she also just loves the visuals and its satire on female exploitation. Shauna maybe relates to and roots for Pearl a little too much, she loves a movie about a woman desperate for recognition and teetering on the edge of insanity while maintaining a sweet and innocent facade. Also I can see adult Shauna in particular just being charmed by Little Women (partly because of the love triangle but mostly because of the womanhood and female friendship themes).

Honorable mentions go to Juno and Scream

Also side note: I feel like Shauna would love Daria, but it’s a TV show so I didn’t include it.

Laura Lee

Laura Lee loves uplifting and wholesome movies. I can see her shamelessly liking kid’s movies well into adulthood. She likes movies centered around helping people in need like The Rescuers or going through hardship and discovering faith like Soul Surfer. Girl is religious-religious so her favorites are definitely going to be centered around faith and Christianity. But she also just likes a simple feel-good film; the cheesiest, sappiest movies you can imagine.

Lottie

Okay Lottie was hard to pinpoint but I’m pretty sure she would like angsty, artsy shit. Like, in high school, she would pretend to love chick flicks like the rest of her classmates but when she gets home she’s putting on the darkest and most depressing weird girl movie you’ve ever seen. I think she likes Suspiria for the occult themes, the otherworldly feeling of it, and eccentricities of the main character who never knows what’s real and what’s not, which she relates to. I think she likes some mental illness movies like Donnie Darko because of her diagnosis and upbringing and The Virgin Suicides because she’s lonely and feels overly-controlled by her parents. And Amelie because she once again relates to the loneliness and likes that the main character discovers her gift for helping people. I think Lottie would prioritize good cinematography and visuals in movies, too.

I don’t think Lottie would really watch movies as an adult because she would be too busy running a cult and disconnecting from society, which is why these picks are centered around Teen Lottie.

-

I couldn’t think of what Tai would like! She is a mystery to me. I can see her maybe liking something like Whiplash because she is super driven and ambitious and kind of tortures herself for success? But idk. Please comment or repost with what you think her’s would be!

[mayatheserpent]

Jyestha-the nakshatra of jealousy🧿🔥

On a recent study done regarding themes of jealous friends, obsessive enemies and psychosexual attraction (where your enemy literally tries to be you and remove your existence- to exist as uni), the name of Jyestha kept coming up. This research was done by Claire Nakti (check out her YouTube) and I wanted to summarize the points she made. I hope you like it 💖 (my instagram: keyakks)

Jyestha nakshatra (Indra- the king of heaven)✨

1. constant mode in life: attack, win and defend.

2. high material success, never in a peaceful state of mind.

3. as they grow to be more successful, they also become lonelier.

4. ability to separate from the mass, be distinct. this will attract copycats who want to become exactly the Jyestha native.

5. same sex relationships - the copycat (or Jyestha's enemy that often pretends being a friend) has intense sexual desires for the Jyestha native, and also wanting to become a twin of the Jyestha native. this fuels competition to be the "one". 👯‍♀️

6.The Jyestha native pushes away the obsessed copycat- provoking them to become more sinister. The creepy copycat tries to remove everyone from the Jyestha's life to become the only remaining person. Thus, the Jyestha native has no option but to rely on the copycat.

7. The other option the copycat may take is to steal the Jyeshta native's social position, friends, family and/or love interest to have a constant presence in their life.

8. Jyestha's ability to dwell in solitude and individuality attracts people who are unstable. The admiration turns into the evil eye.

9. Trusted friends may betray the Jyestha native which arises from envy.

10. Every extremely famous person has a prominent Jyestha placement. (Taylor swift, Elvis Presley, Donald trump, Kim Kardashian, etc. in their top 3 placements)

17. Jyestha- dry, empty, angry and mentally irritated. (These natives claim that jealousy and anger is what fueled them to achieve their goals completely)

18. Jyestha ends STAGE 2 of the nakshatra list, which signifies the height of material power and success. They realize their purpose in this incarnation is to conquer the physical realm. 🤑

19. This desire for power may result in two faiths; one being successful in this lifetime or two, obsessing over someone else's achievements and becoming mentally unstable.

20. When the Jyestha native fails to garner attention or wealth, they fall into delusions of the evil eye where they believe that everyone else is jealous of them.

21. Jyeshta is the epitome of conquest, life being a battlefield instead of being sucked into the collective mass.

22. Jyestha naturally brings an obsession over their own achievements; self-proclaims and talents. (Andrew Tate and Donald trump claiming that they have mastered their realms) .

23. When Jyestha fails to evolve through self-discipline, they try to tear others down being consumed by jealousy and instability.

24. Jyestha (Alakshmi) has an inseparable connection to Rohini nakshatra (Lakshmi), who are sisters. Jyestha being the eldest, lacking juices and containing loneliness, Rohini represents being the youngest, in a state of plumpness.

25. Rohini, which is so internally and energetically abundant and satisfied, is only fixated on union with others. Distracting and teasing others to pour their energy into energetic exchange, is what they truly enjoy. This may be harmful to Jyestha since Rohini will tempt Jyestha to lose energy through interactions and stop the Jyestha native from seperation and self improvement.

If you enjoyed my post/s and want me to discuss CERTAIN topics Ur interested in (suggestions for my next post) feel free to say so! I'm accepting offers to research on for like 5 dollars 🤪❤️

[savingsallow]

— (5) Sad Facts About Val

Things about my MC— Valentine Black —that make me question why I let my child suffer.

content warning: contains themes of trauma, grief, mention of loss of loved ones, nightmares, mental health struggles, isolation and emotional distress. please proceed with caution.

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1.) Recurring Nightmares

Val enjoyed a happy and healthy relationship with her parents despite their identities as dark wizards. The first four years of her life were filled with laughter and joy. In fact, many of her fondest memories are vivid, tracing back to her early childhood.

But that joy was short-lived.

Tragically, Val witnessed her parents' deaths while hiding in a cabinet, peering through a small hole. This traumatic event became one of her most haunting recurring nightmares, alongside the vivid memory of her best friend's lifeless body from her time at the Muggle boarding school.

These nightmares drive Val to avoid sleep whenever possible; short naps are the worst, bringing her the most haunting visions of her past. At night, she bravely travels into her dreams, seeking patterns and lessons, yet she always awakens in terror. To distract herself, she immerses herself in her projects and ideas.

Though her erratic sleep schedule takes a toll on her health, it has unexpectedly allowed her to excel in her studies—particularly in her favorite subjects like potions. She even created a potion fitting for her situation called the "Vitality Veil." As the name suggests, it restores natural vigor and creates a subtle aura of vitality that enhances one’s appearance and can last up to 12 hours.

Essentially, it’s a potion that makes Val seem put together, while in truth, she feels like a chaotic mess.

2.) Stealth Mastery

After being reluctantly adopted by her uncle, Val realized her freedom had limits. She has always resisted authority, never one to follow rules blindly. By day, she mastered the art of compliance, driven by a desperate need for her new family's approval; by night, however, she let herself roam free.

Val knows all the creaky floorboards to avoid, as well as the hidden passages where she can escape. She scours the house for a safe haven to dive into her latest obsession—be it a book about the universe or potion experiments.

House-elves often assisted her in sneaking around unnoticed. The house-elves of the House of Black, including Kreacher and Scrope, became her friends. Sometimes they'd play wizard’s chess together or cook meals for her as she immersed herself in her books and potions.

3.) Isolation

Val has never felt a true sense of belonging. Growing up in London, her extended family made it clear—especially during family gatherings—that she was a burden. Desperate for their affection, she felt the need to don a deranged mask, something she hated but believed was necessary for survival.

Feeling like an outsider in her family was compounded by her alienation in the Muggle world, where her peers considered her an oddball. This constant rejection cultivated a friendship with solitude. It spurred her obsession with researching topics of interest and experimenting with potions in her own unique way.

The closest companions she had were the house-elves, her stuffed animals (which Aunt Ursula eventually disposed of), and her best friend from the Muggle boarding school—who tragically passed away too soon. In the depths of isolation, Val found a friend in solitude, and beneath her facade of preoccupations lies a profound sense of loneliness.

4.) Silent Cries

Though Val has grown more comfortable expressing her emotions, especially at Hogwarts, she struggles to cry in public. It’s not that she doesn’t want to; it’s that she can’t bring herself to do so. Raised in an environment that viewed emotions as weaknesses, she grappled with her naturally expressive nature.

Her Aunt Ursula would lock her in her room for showing strong feelings, teaching Val to control her emotions too well—so well, in fact, that she finds it difficult to cry, even when the urge washes over her. Instead, she has learned to cry silently, in the quiet of night when no one can see.

Even after making friends in her fifth year and gradually opening up to them, Val has never shed tears in their presence.

One of the few times Val almost cried in front of her friends was when she witnessed Sebastian spiraling down a darker path in a misguided attempt to "save his sister," all while seeing Ominis worry for him as he used Unforgivable curses, a path he had vowed to abandon.

Conflicted and terrified, Val struggled to think of the next right steps to take to help her friends, all while handling her growing yet destructive fire magic and Ancient Magic, both of which were becoming unstable due to her involvement with the Dark Arts, especially the Unforgivables.

5.) Layers

Having endured so much, Val has constructed walls around her heart, protecting whatever happiness remains.

At first glance, one might assume she leads a lighthearted and comfortable life; many perceive her as a spoiled brat from the House of Black, underestimating her bubbly personality.

But beneath this facade lies a heart marred by trauma. Though she may seem like an open book, with her genuine remarks and emotional transparency, don’t be deceived. Beneath that cheerful exterior lies a guarded, wounded soul.

Her trust issues run deep; as a child, she invented her own alphabet so no one could decipher her journal entries. Later, at Hogwarts, she enchanted her journal, rendering her words invisible to others—only her whimsical doodles visible to the untrained eye.

Once she begins to share her secrets—like her treasured niffler stuffed toy—freely divulges her quirky ideas, lets you hug her, and miraculously allows you to witness her tears, then you have truly earned her trust.

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🥞 thanks for reading this rather angsty facts! ❤️‍🔥

🥞 non native english speaker, so teeny tiny grammatical errors are very much possible XD

🥞 casually lore dropping bc why not

🥞 leaving here more links about val in case you're a newbie to her lore:

✨ 10 Facts About Val

✨ Val & Hairstyle

✨ Val's Character Introduction

[sarejima]

i am a starving child and am requesting kyman fanfics to soothe my hunger (PLS recommend ME SOME)

OMG YAY SOMEBODY ASKED ME SMTH IM SO HAPPY AMSBSDB

Unfortunately I'm a green and inexperienced mother but I'll do my best!! (thisll be long as i cant keep from waxing poetic about fics i like)-

The love of my life and one of the best things I've had the pleasure of reading period is “Know your Enemy” by Elsen. It's beyond perfect to me enough so that even though it may never be finished I'm sort of satisfied. Eric's characterisation is beautiful and literally just as hilarious as in the show itself with the way he schemes and jumps over nonsensical hoops in his head in order to satisfy his self image in processing his feelings for Kyle and unwitting desires to submit to him. The plot and setting in and of themselves also somehow complement his absurdity. Also has just the right amount of perversion. (Okay I'm done sorry)

Another genius Cartman channelfic that I was audibly giggling at due to the insanity of his mental gymnastics is "I crush everything" by Rainbow_Convection which is quite short and mainly deals with him "processing" his feelings

(The above person is really good at writing compellingly about manic impulses and emotions so check out their other fics too)

On a similar note and also exploring implications of Cartmans outright deluded conscious, this time through Kyle's perspective, is 'Imaginationland 4: a tale of two Kyles' by Sinshipsahoy where it's revealed to Kyle (in increasingly horrifying ways) that Cartman's mind is (literally) swarming with him.

(This guy also has a worryingly well written corpse desecration fic so if that's your cup of tea)

In the 'I'm with Stupid' series by numbknee Eric gets together with Kyle and is annoying and fiercely loveable and everything's great until Kyle realises that sadly Cartman's views on relationships/love in general- but especially with Kyle, his 'enemy'- had been significantly skewed from the start due to an aversion to vulnerability, stunting their progress. I especially like the fourth and last fic/chapter.

Kinda depressing but in 'Sharing Last Names' by serpenrzbreath an adult Cartman's Kyle obsession is partly due to lamenting, while in the depths of denial, his own collosal wasted potential as over the years wasted rotting and room-bound due to severe mental instability but also just lack of trying, one of the only things grounding his shame is Kyle's comparative success, and when a time of reckoning comes an unwilling(?) Kyle is all he feels like turning to. However he soon learns that pity and concern is much more confusing and enraging than ire.

Some more Kyle focused fics are

'Love and the other thing' by Gumdroppy where we get an equal amount of Kyle and Eric perspective- Kyle who revealed his love for Eric as a kid first and loves Eric WAY too much for his own good(to the point where his friends feel the need to take measures to ensure his best interests) and Eric who perhaps fell harder- worships the ground Kyle walks on- but can't seem to help the kneejerk hurt and abuse that flows from his hands. Bonus points for jealous Stan and Kenny being an angel.

Ans also by Elsen 'How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let My Mortal Enemy Eat My Ass' which is really hot with a compelling theme of overcoming Kyle's past trama what can I say

'It's basically a weird cat, right?' By Verimakea is a adorable fic about adult Kyle who by chance meets Eric in raccoon form(and then not-so-raccoon form) in which Cartman has separation issues and Kyle is forced to battle loneliness and incteasing mildly worrying feelings for this addition to his life.

Some other concepts:

'Baby, Just Say Yes' by shortstackedcheesecake96- a beautiful wonderful fic where the palpable chemistry between a (surprisingly earnest about the subject and a talented actor) Cartman and (quite good novice) Kyle get cast as Juliet and Romeo respectively. There's so much compelling teenage awkwardness where they both appear to be unwillingly drawn to each other despite everything in ways they feel they really shouldn't- Kyle especially is almost embarrassingly captivated by an Eric in his element- and it's such a pleasure to read; just thinking about some scenes has me wanting to reread it lmao.

(This writer also has a lot of enticing and well-written smut too)

'Fake it 'till you make it' by mewtwos is another fic I hold so so close to my heart in which Kyle and Eric have to fake date for a bit, until they realise that these fake displays of affection draw them in a little bit too hard; make them a bit too lightheaded, and by that point the reel has already been cast. It's insanely well written.

'Expertise' by Mewtwos where Eric is a little too eager to practice kissing with kyle and they have a little awakening

'To Be Wanted' by Verimakea- a Cowboy au where Kyle takes it upon himself to capture Wanted Sheriff Cartman, but things quickly gp array and they and up stuck together in one place for an indeterminate amount of time, with Kyle put in a position where he often has bo choice but to rely on the other. This writer is seriously skilled at painting subtly erotic/suggestive imagery, and writing complex emotions into characters through their actions so its quite the fun leg-kicking read lol.

'Copacabana' by Senkenwoo is a bittersweet fic about jaded middle aged retired performer Kyle recalling how he lost his charming and endearingly annoying bartender lover

Some unconventional smut cus y not:

'Laid To Rest' by gosh_zillah in which Kyle has a deep seated desire to be a cocksleeve and subsequently gets watched in his sleep by an enthralled little audience for a bit(among other things as he proves to be quite perceptive lol)

"You're in his DMs? i'm in his walls, we are not the same" by ratherblue - Eric watches Kyle have smexy times thru a hidden camera; implied mutual pining. Also Kyle's trans

'Cause I'm a free bitch, baby' by knumbknee where Kyle sees an Eric in proper drag for the first time and is transfixed

'sleep tight' by bloodylamb is a quirky little sleepover somnophillia fic where Kyle's mildly vocal about his Eric-disposition in his sleep if you're good with dubcon.

I'm sure you weren't expecting to be waterboarded by text and for this I apologise

[writingforatwistedworld]

I'm so eager to see more from your amazing Otome AU. How about Riddle, Azul and Vil with a player that chooses to ignore the plot and choose them instead?

Otome au

I do not take any responsebility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsession, kidnapping, possessiveness, murder

Riddle Rosehearts/Azul Ashengrotto/Vil Schoenheit-Player ignores the plot and chooses them instead

FINALLY!!! THE DAY HAS COME!

With how excited he is he might as well just say that you two are egaged (we al know how much he values a married life)

Riddle’s thought process behind all of this is that he was born for loving you so… mhm you are not going to leave his side ever

But hey, maybe you can bring his tyranny to an end?

One day you were just playing the game, being dissatisfied with how cliche the thypical “good” and “bad” was being portrayed

And then you started a new chapter but… it looked different…

“Hidden route, chapter 1-Welcome to the villains world”

And suddenly you are thrown into a world full of betrayal, murder and obsessive villains that are all after your hand

Congrats! Now try to survive

But once you have reached the end of the now unlocked route of Riddle, the red “Queen”, the tyrant, you have experienced a long journey far more interesting than the normal route which is filled with the typical magical girl saviour complex

But damn was there a lot to unpack

But now everything is fine! The ending CG was so beautifull and… and… godness is it just me or are you getting sleepy?

If you thought that Riddles reign of terror would be ended just with that then I’m sorry but nope

He is determined to get you into his world, to play crocket with flamings and behead soliders who planted the wrong roses

Riddle won’t just turn into a good “Queen” who is a pacifist, no

He just wants you beside him now, and who is there to stop him? Defenitely not the Fairy of thorns

Say goodbye to everyone that matters because soon he will be the only one you will have real human contact with, believe me, silent servants aren’t a good thing for loneliness

I mean, it is already hard enough to even unloc the normal underwater routes but now you even want the hidden one?

Well congrats because you just did! Please enjoy “The merchant from the depths”

And look at that! It’s the two eels you shish kebabed in the normal route… thank goodness they can’t remember that… haha… ha… O_O

And that cave is also a lot more friendlier than shown before! Maybe you always just had a wrong image of the mersorcerer…

Azul is very kind as well. Before you know it you are one fourth done with his route because it is just so much fun

What you don’t know though is that behind the screen Azul is more than just happy that you finally found your way here

Finally he was able to break through the fate that was bestowed upon this world!

It is also such a sad and also beautifull route as well! Who would have thought he had such a connection to a certain ruler that was never mentioned before in the normal routes?

When you finally were able to bring to light that the supposedly royal family had in truth stolen their seat from Azuls family everything finally became better

The octopus was no longer shunned and hey, he looked geniunely happy! What else do you want?

Now back to that chapter with the hidden missions with which you could unlock the other hidden routes… why are you automatically back to his?

You really shouldn’t be that surprised. He finally got a taste of how true affection really tastes and you think he would just let go? Let you continue to the others?

I would recommend forgetting those cute CG in which he hugged you shyly. They are of the past

Now that you think about it… that trident would probably not something good in his hands…

But no need to worry! He will take good care of it. There is just one thing he will do with it for himself

I don’t know why you are suddenly getting sleepy. But maybe you should be more concerned about the… arms (?) closing around you…

Will say that he expected this to happen sooner or later (he didn’t)

Imagine, one day he was asking his most trusted reflecting surface what you were doing and the thing says you are right now nlocking his route

The poor thing expected for his king to do something damaging to it out of shock

And then suddenly Vil was thanking it with a singsong voice, dusting it’s frame free of nonexistent dust

Finally he finally had you! Almost… But still!

Whilst Vil is celebrating you are more in a “What the heck!!!” mood

Who would have thought that the man ruling this place had been an outcast shunned by the other Nobles who only looked at his brother, only his father looking after him

And what happened in the normal route made so much more sense now! Neige had always been pampered, skill and talent coming to him wiithout any effort

No wonder Vil had such a vandetta against him

It was also such a relief for Vil when he didn’t end like he was supposed to in the normal route, remembering how he felt the burn and how the world slowly turned black

Not only that, it was also nice for him to know that he wasn’t seen by you as some powerfull person but rather the ordinary person that he was deep down

And his after story was also one that was so heartwarming! Him talking to his raven about you, saying that he was happier than ever…

This is where I end the fluff and start to recommend tossing the game out of the window

You see, him talking to his raven was one of the red flags that wouldn’t be red flags in a normal relationship but are in the one you have

Did he just look at you instead at your avatar in the game??! Why was he so pricky? He was softer in his route…

Just at least try to stay away from the Shaftlands. There has been talk about their king looking into arts that are able to influence other worlds…

[bcynumbertwo]

A queer introspect into American Psycho.

Hi! What you are about to read is an essay regarding how Patrick Bateman could be interpreted as queer. I discuss my opinion and try my best to provide sources in support of my interpretation. This essay is not meant to be one that is regarded highly, I just wanted to share my thoughts.

If you are NOT interested in reading this, please scroll away. I don't want to have a discussion if you aren't willing to hear me out in the first place. For those interested, you can keep reading below.

For the following essay I will be analysing the book as that is what I am most familiar with, although I will be commenting on the movie directed by Mary Hurron throughout as that is what the general media is much more familiar with.

American Psycho is told through the perspective of Patrick Bateman, a heavily unreliable narrator, as we follow him through his daily life in New York City. The book emphasises the material goods in Bateman's life, such as referencing luxury clothing brands such as "Armani" and "Valentino Couture" to name a few. We are given much more detailed descriptions of the brands Bateman and his peers use and wear rather than the man himself. This ties into the theme of alienation throughout the book, how men like Bateman live a lifestyle rather than a life. They're out of touch with the rest of the world, and Bateman himself is out of touch with his life. He loathes the people around him. He's only defined by his material goods because he has no substance without them. Maxmunich states in their essay, 'American Psycho: The Corpse of Masculinity', that "Bateman is no one, therefore Bateman is everyone", which comments on how everyone around Bateman is just the same as him to a certain extent. If Patrick Bateman is no one without his luxury brands and expensive purchases, then so is everyone else.

So, what does any of this have to do with being gay?

American Psycho's core themes are loneliness and isolation. The 'perfect' lifestyle sold to you by magazines, television and other media will not cure you. Ellis' claims in the novel's afterword "I was also writing about my life and how empty it was", meaning that there's a relatable aspect that the author experienced with the novel. The lack of backstory and other personal details Bateman provides in the novel makes me believe that Ellis' intention was to make Bateman somewhat relatable to the reader as well.

I, as a queer, mentally ill, young man, saw a lot of myself in Patrick Bateman. Someone who became a mere husk of themselves just to fit a mold, who loathed everything as a consequence of this lifestyle I believed was perfect for me. One of the things I denied to accept to fit this mold was my queer identity. Many readers, including myself, believe that Bateman denied the same thing. With the fact that Bret Easton Ellis himself is a homosexual, and has had canonically/implied queer characters in his other works such as "Rules of Attraction" and "Less than Zero", as well as in American Psycho, it is not bizarre to assume Patrick Bateman could be queer-coded.

Throughout both the book and the movie, Patrick Bateman is very concerned with affairs involving Paul Owen/Paul Allen (For simplicity sake, I will be referring to him as Paul Owen), a coworker of his who holds the "Fisher account", an account Bateman seems to want his hands on for reasons never specified. Paul Owen is someone Bateman is implied to be envious of, although the movie makes this a reality with Bateman envying Owen's ownership of a home tanning bed, ability to get a reservation at Dorsia and supposedly having a better business card than him. This obsession with Paul Owen highlights Bateman's hypocrisy, as Melanie Jones (2014) writes "his hatred of women and gay men is contrasted with his obsession over the very thing he mocks these groups for desiring: status". Bateman believes that Paul Owen is in the way of leveraging his own status, thus wanting to kill him off. It is also ironic that a man so insistent on his hypermasculine lifestyle is obsessed with other men. To diminish Paul Owen's status, Bateman claims that Owen is a "closeted homosexual" and was "involved in that whole Yale thing" when interrogated about him after his disappearance. It is off-topic to what Detective Kimball was asking and is a claim that comes out of nowhere, which can read as Bateman projecting onto Owen. Homophobia became rampant in the late 1980s due to the rising of the AIDS epidemic, meaning that not only would Bateman deny his homosexuality due to the alienation he will experience if he admits it but also due to the paranoia surrounding AIDS. Because of this, people like Bateman being homophobic at this time period wasn't uncommon.

However, many people believe that just because Bateman is homophobic, it means that he can't be homosexual, which is not true.

Many queer people do not identify themselves as such due to limiting, conservative views they had in their past. Bateman is obviously quite conservative in his views, with his idolization of Donald Trump and having misogynistic, racist views on the world. His one-off left-leaning commentary is only said due to wanting to embarrass his peers and make himself look good. His peers, such as Tim Price, are very misinformed on things such as AIDS, as seen in the April Fool's chapter where he believes the theory that "if you can catch the AIDS virus [...] then you can also catch anything whether it's a virus per se or not", and clearly don't fact-check what they read on magazines. Bateman does not actively seek out knowledge, only knowing things due to television and magazines. Much of his infodump chapters are of music relevant in pop culture and are copies of Rolling Stones' reviews. He does not have his own opinion on things because no one else around him does. Why would he acknowledge his homosexuality if he does not actively seek knowledge about queerness? If it doesn't matter to his peers, it doesn't matter to him.

Luis Carruthers is a character in American Psycho who is canonically queer as he has romantic feelings for Patrick Bateman. Bateman has, on multiple occasions, tried to murder Carruthers but it is never successful. The moment Carruthers acknowledges Bateman, he freezes up, unable to go through with the killing. Carruthers outright admits he'd rather die than be without Bateman, meaning he has permission to kill Carruthers, yet never does. If Bateman was so disgusted with homosexuality, wouldn't that disgust triumph over his ego? The only other character that Bateman has failed to kill is Jean, and what both Luis and Jean have in common is that they both regard Bateman with genuine love.

Carruthers serves as a contrast to Bateman, as by their final encounter Carruthers is comfortable in being outwardly extravagant, as seen by his clothing: "Jaguar-print silk evening jacket, deerskin gloves. a felt hat, aviator glass". While Bateman may not even be homosexual, Carruthers still contrasts him as while he is comfortable with his sexuality, at least enough to overtly display himself in a more lavish, stereotypically 'gay' manner, Bateman is not. Homosexual or not, Bateman is extremely insecure about his sexuality and never becomes secure.

The Concert chapter consists of Bateman going to a U2 concert with his peers. Bateman describes his encounter with Bono, the band's lead singer, like so: "I get this tremendous surge of feeling, this rush of knowledge and my own heart beats faster because of this and it's not impossible to believe that an invisible cord attached to Bono has now encircled me and now the audience disappears and the music slows down, gets softer, and it's just Bono onstage", "I'm left tingling, my face flushed, an aching erection pulsing against my thigh,". This is possibly the most charming description in the entire book, as if Bateman has discovered something new, and almost exciting, as implied by the fact he got an erection from that encounter. The reader, much like Bateman, feels enchanted as they read. Most descriptions in the book are empty, almost gross, because Bateman doesn't bother with the finer details or emphasises his feelings. It lacks the materialism present throughout the entire book, and it is one of the few moments we, the reader, really get into Bateman's true psyche. He never describes any other encounter he has with people in such a way.

To conclude, there are reasons as to why Patrick Bateman could be interpreted as a queer man. This essay was made because I personally interpret him as such, although only partially. I've seen a lot of people online disregard discussions about Bateman being homosexual because they believe their take on his character to be factual. While yes, Patrick Bateman may canonically be a heterosexual man, is it wrong to explore different interpretations of his character? Of course Bateman would never admit he was a homosexual, he's dismissive of the world and thus dismissive of himself, but the possibility that he could is exciting. The beauty of literature is the exploration of different themes, even ones you were not open to initially, because it's an art. American Psycho is one of my favourite novels of all time because of how much you can pick it apart and analyse tediously, which is what the beauty of art is.

If you have actually read all the way through this long essay, thank you so much. Literature is an interest that is very special to me and to know that people are willing to read and discuss my thoughts on works I like makes me feel happy. Have a lovely day. <3

[lungfishpoem]

Woah huge IMSCARED text/analysis I made...

Tbh this is like, a mix of many many texts and analyses I made. Because Eh. Have fun!

I feel like people have a tendency, when it comes to indie horror games, to be really interested in a story, in a narrative. When you search for videos about these games, you may sometimes see something different, but they are mostly "what happened". This obsession with a narrative, with a prose, isn't necessarily bad.

IMSCARED is a game that doesn't fit in a proper narrative. It has themes, and ideas, and traces of a small sequence of events. But is it like prose? No. It isn’t even a narrative poem. IMSCARED is a free verse, non-narrative piece of poetry made out of mixed media.

It may seem odd, to call a videogame poetry. And it is! It doesn’t have the structure of a poem... And it does seem a little bit exaggerated, pretentious to call it that. And it is! But isn’t a little bit of pretentiousness-filled analyses good for your mind? I think it is.

The text files, the little bits of dialogue. They're all compressed in small, cut, separated phrases.

Take the first parts of White Face's breakdown in consideration:

"I begged You and You ignored my request

What do You think will happen next?

You made this game unplayable

I made this game unplayable

I don't want You to kill me

I will live here forever

I will look at You forever

I don't want to die

I'm scared"

This specific little quirk of short spasms of text present in IMSCARED only helps in the classification of it as poetry, like, at the very least in some bits of it. And isn’t that cool?

It isn’t a narrative (although, as I mentioned, poetry can, well, narrate things)... so, well, of course IMSCARED videos and such tend to be... poor.

There isn’t much to talk about in the sense of story. And people want stories. So they tell, well, stories. But IMSCARED isn’t a story, it's, as the complete name suggests, "a pixelated nightmare".

And, a pixelated nightmare. But whose? It definitely is the player's, and it is not groundbreaking to say it is White Face's too. But what is it so scared about?

White Face has nothing. Not its room, not its own program. It, itself, is all there is. Everything is White Face and nothing is outside of it. This is the absolute state of loneliness. The infinite "I". Even the player, who has a consciousness of their own, used the entity's digital body. However, even if You possesses a fragment of White Face's (un)body, the situation is too new. It has never seen that, the "other" with a consciousness of their own, and if it has, it has been a long time since that happened, a long, long, digital and uncontable time. White Face is NOT used to this. It doesn't know how to interact with this "other". So, You becomes everything to it. It doesn't NEED to feel LOVE. It isn't NECESSARILY love. It's a mixture of obsession, curiosity, surprise and happiness, but most important of all: fear. I can't see love in White Face's relationship with You, it's strong, strong fear. Horror. It's a nightmare. It is so scared. So scared.

It's not only the strangeness of interaction, but the fear of abandonment. The game is filled of desperate attempts to catch You's attention. The fear is so great that White Face morphs itself into something else, Her, trying to hook You with a story, a beautiful figure, a different personality. Her is an attempt to be stronger, she is stronger, she is bolder (chases You and feels no fear in telling You to kill her). But this act of morphing is agonizing, because the lack of fear creates agony in the fear entity's heart. So it screams. It screams so loudly you can't tell if it's laughing, crying, happy, sad... angry? It's full of anger. Having a body it deems ideal and real (flesh, bleeding. Closer to You) is too much. So she wants to die. And White Face has no word in it, because it created too much, and so it became (almost) completely separated from it. But how?

White Face divides itself to fill the void of the cold, lonely digital world. Everything is White Face and White Face is everything. Because... well... IMSCARED is a program that holds White Face. It's an entity turned into data, and the data is the game and the game is the data. That's why when You kill it... the world is different. The world becomes a cadaver, a huge, huge cadaver. It doesn't hold fear anymore, it holds nothing, which is why it is brighter (fearless) but empty (nothingness). But White Face doesn't have that much control over the world, the things it creates. They become organs that you can't really control, but they are a part of you, they're still there, still in you. This is Her. She was created and then slowly split herself from White Face, although she was still it and it was still her. She couldn't handle the agony as an immitation of flesh and blood, and begged to die (but not without a fight). But then... the gun which (who) killed her... is also White Face (exemplified by the player having White Face's face)...

This is very scary, to be holding the gun but not the (Your) nerve of the finger that pulls the trigger. But this other... the "other" is great! White Face has never been happier! But it has never been more scared. It is, again, a horrifying mixture of feelings.

"Play with me forever. I love you" doesn't contradict White Face's fear. It proves its confusion and need to stay with You. Stay with it. Please don't make the fear stop, being scared seems so much better than being lonely.