#ran answers

[ant1quarian]

Welp, I've approached my minecraft phase again. If you need me, I'll be grinding for that blue axolotl/silly

Me when the minecraft is so strong it grabs onto you

As you should! I hope you enjoy your time!

[ranans-art]

do u plan to make decaying stone into a webcomic? i really like the concept

Ideally yes! I once tried to make pages for it, but stopped due to getting fed up

But I think nowadays I've gained enough technical skill to actually be able to draw the pages

The bigger issue is the writing since writing isn't my strong point, at least when it comes to actually figuring out the structure of the story

For that I'm really glad I got Dallas at my side with Immortalized JDIOFJSOIDFJ

[ranan-culus]

meowwwww

Meow meow!!

[angryonabus]

The Killer

So I was hanging out with some friends last night, and for whatever reason, we got onto the subject of whether or not we sleep with the bedroom door closed. Apparently it's safer in case of fires? But it turns out that most of my friends keep their bedroom door closed because of concerns about The Killer, aka, a person breaking into their house at night with the express intention of murdering them.

For the purposes of this poll, "I share a house/apartment" is for situations where you have your own bedroom, but there are other people living with you; "I share a bedroom" is for situations where there is another person sleeping in the same room.

[bakudadadan]

Umm... how about Kayn smothering Ezreal with his huge pecs?

you've got yourself a deal my dude

[acrid-wondrland]

"Would you still love me if I turned into a worm 🥺?"

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

I see asks are open , I'm still kind of new to this app , hope this is within the rules ...

(is Tokyo revengers still open ? )

I want to ask if you can do a Tokyo revengers with that tiktok - you know the one where that guy comes into the kitchen and shouted at his s/o "*bitch what's for dinner*" ...

Specifically with > ran

Hope I was specific enough

: 💐

( xmreader )

Bonten Haitani Ran - Bitch What's For Dinner TikTok With Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

I went with the Bonten version of Ran since you didn't specify, I hope that's okay. I couldn't decide how I wanted the reader to react to Ran's dumbassery, so I ended up making three different scenes that go three different ways. As for my reaction, if my nonexistent boyfriend were to do this, I would cry; I'm a very sensitive soul, you know. —Benny🐰 @acabis

                                                                                                   

🥘•♡•🍛•♡•🥘•♡•🍛•♡•🥘•♡•🍛•♡•🥘•♡•🍛

Ran grinned mischievously as he prepared to record; sending a glance over his shoulder to see [Name] cooking on the stovetop from the kitchen doorway. Pressing Record, he quietly cleared his throat and positioned his phone to where he and they were both in the frame.

"Hey Bitch, what's for dinner?"  

He raised his voice; calling out to them from his place on the sofa.

Scene 1: 

[Name] immediately pauses in his movements; brows raising and eyes blinking rapidly. Slowly he turns his head towards the doorway and stares into the back of Ran's head.

"We WERE having Hawaiian chicken and grilled pineapple on buttery white rice with a side of sweet potato fries and a homemade dipping sauce. And I WAS going to pack the leftovers for your lunch tomorrow."  

He softly says as he continues to stare a hole into his lover's skull.

The Bonten executive raises a brow, smirking a bit at the h/c-ette's somewhat lacking reaction.

"What's with the past tense?"  

He inquired; finally turning his head around to look at the other.

[Name] smiled softly; eyes turning up into crescents. His expression would've been gentle and inviting if it weren't for the rancid aura that seemed to hover around him. Ran let out a nervous chuckle; quickly developing a thin sheen of sweat.

"Ran. Honey. Sweetie. Darling. Do you REALLY think that I'm going to feed you after that?"  

The e/c-eyed man speaks in a honeyed voice; the underlying venom incredibly clear.

The purple-haired man lets out a scoff in exasperation; the still recording phone now limply held in his hand.

"Baby, C'mon, I wasn't being serious. It's just a TikTok trend, that's it. I swear. I can even show it to you."  

Ran explained, gesturing to the phone in his hands.

The smile previously spread on [Name]'s face immediately fades into a blank expression upon hearing his lover's words. He stares a the violet-eyed man in silence for a few seconds.

"You called me a bitch... for TikTok?" 

He pauses for a bit before continuing,

"You know, I WAS only going to make you sleep on the sofa, but now I think you should go to your brother's place instead lest you want to get smothered in your sleep tonight."  

Ran sighed in defeat; ending the recording and tossing his phone onto the cushion beside him. He stood from the sofa and made his way into the kitchen gently wrapping his arms around [Name]'s waist and pressing a sweet kiss to his shoulder. The Bonten executive swayed the two of them back and forth as his presence was ignored by the other.

"Baby... I'm sorry, I should've told you beforehand. Forgive me?"  

Ran purred into his lover's shoulder; rubbing gentle circles into their hips with his thumbs.

[Name] humphed but leaned back into the violet-eyed man's chest in silent forgiveness.

Scene 2: 

[Name] takes a deep breath in and looks into the living room from his place in front of the stove. He spots the phone in Ran's hand almost immediately and understands what's happening. The h/c-ette walks into the living room and stands behind the sofa; leaning on the back of it and resting his forearm on the top of the backrest.

"You recording a video for TikTok, Baby?"  

[Name] asks; running his fingers through the violet-eyed man's parted fringe.

Ran gives him an affirmative hum; readjusting the camera on the other's face. The h/c-ette nods and presses a kiss to his cheek before walking back into the kitchen to continue cooking.

"Oh, by the way, honey; when you're done with that, you can order yourself some take-out; I'm inviting Rindou over to eat your portion."  

[Name] absentmindedly calls from the kitchen; hands preoccupied with folding butter into a bowl of white rice.

"Wha-! Why does HE get MY portion!? That's not fair!"  

Ran whines from the sofa; turning his upper body around to look at his lover and slinging his arm over the backrest.

"Rin gets it because he's not a grown man trying to get attention from strangers by calling me a bitch and on TikTok no less."  

[Name] hums as he turns on the small countertop grill with one hand and dials Rindou's number with the other.

Ran groans and ends the recording; already knowing well that his lover is being serious about giving away his portion. He lets out a resigned sigh and sulkily dials the number for his favorite restaurant.

Scene 3: 

BONK!

"OW! WHAT THE FUCK!?"  

Ran screeches; clutching his head after a pot was hurled at him and smacked into the back of it.

His phone, which he was previously holding, was now across the room as it slid across the floor when he dropped it from the impact. The Bonten executive turns around and looks at a seething [Name] who lifted another pot, ready to beam it off his skull as he did with the first.

"WAIT! WAIT! I'm sorry! Don't throw it!"  

The purple-haired man pleads, only to quickly duck in front of the sofa to avoid the second flying pot.

🍛•♡•🥘•♡•🍛•♡•🥘•♡•🍛•♡•🥘•♡•🍛•♡•🥘

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[whats-mine-is-hers]

Hiya there! Do you...are we... going to be blessed with the other versions of Izzy pestering more people? Thank you!!

Oh, most definitely. Here's a quick one w/ Frenchie for a start. (Ty for asking!! ^^)

[mollyyancey]

...is ran actually licensed to drive a car?

she keeps failing the driver's test because she's having trouble with parallel parking

[forgettable-au]

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS!

Hii! This is the frequently asked questions post!

This is it for now but I might add more stuff if I keep getting more questions that I feel the need to include :D!!

Before everything, I recommend reading this post if you haven't already! I explain the basics of this AU there and that might have already answered some stuff :>!

This post is for both common questions I keep getting AND things I consider important that all of you know :D

PLS if you have any suggestions for things I should add to this post, tell me!

NOW FOR THE QUESTIONS:

Leaving the link to the theory I'm talking about here! I think this is where I first saw it????but I can't be sure,,,,,

(I really liked it when I saw it, I thought it would be fun to experiment with it in this comic hehe)

[orphiclovers]

Rereading early ORV and I have some THOUGHTS on Kim Dokja. In typical me fashion, they are unpopular. So if he's your absolute favourite character and seeing him be criticized will ruin your day, maybe skip this post, ok? Peace.

-

What is so novel and interesting about Kim Dokja is that he GENUINELY doesn't really have a knee jerk emotional reaction of outrage and empathy when seeing injustice happen. He sees something immoral and bad, but doesn't FEEL horrified and disgusted. Emotions don't drive him to attempt to fix the situation or save anyone.

Instead his moral compass is based on the simple logic that 'bad things happening should be prevented if there is an opportunity to prevent them.'

This philosophy is the most apparent in his actions in Chungmuro on the WHOLE, with the food and marginalized group and etc. But I will point out this moment in particular as an example of what I mean.

They see women be driven to prostitution to survive. Jung Heewon has an instinctive, human reaction of outrage and disgust, wants to rush in and save them and damn the consequences, while Kim Dokja is calm and rational, holding her back and saying those woman will starve if they try to help right now.

This lack of empathy (feeling strong emotions) is definitely due to childhood trauma stunting his emotional development but... that doesn't change the fact this is a legitimate part of his personality now.

Usually, when a character is 'cold and ruthless', it's because they are repressing their true feelings and forcing themselves to be unfeeling for some goal. Like Yoo Joonghyuk, for example.

But we are IN Kim Dokja's head and get to see the way he thinks, and being 'unfeelingly rational' IS what comes naturally to him.

Before you say anything, I know the Fourth Wall represses some of his emotions in certain situations and certainly helps him deal with pain and horror. But we are ALWAYS TOLD when it's active, and it isn't in these moments.

Blaming all of Kim Dokja's less than moral thoughts and behavior on the 4th wall even when there's no indication that it's influencing him at that particular moment, is not something I want to do as it feels like an attempt to scrub away his moral greyness. I choose to believe that his narration, in moments when he's not wrong or biased or 4th wall-ed, is a basically accurate representation of his character. I think the authors didn't make his narration totally 100% unreliable all the time, with no possible indication of where he's wrong or right. Because that would mean there is nothing a reader can latch onto and draw conclusions about KDJ from.

If they wanted to write about a faceless self insert with no concrete personality traits and flaws, a person you can headcanon to be anything, they wouldn't have written ORV.

I think it's okay to acknowledge Kim Dokja's first reaction to seeing a woman about to be raped is not 'oh my god...those bastards...! I have to stop this...!' but '...she might be dangerous or a hinderence in a future...'

We don't need to make excuses here and try to justify this. A moment later he catches himself thinking like this and 'shudders with disgust at himself.'

His first, instinctive thoughts that he can't control don't necessarily make him a bad person. What matters is his second thoughts and what he actually chooses to do, which he CAN control. I ALSO don't think he's wrong to feel disgusted at himself for having low empathy. His guilt is justified.

I genuinely like him even more for always picking the 'moral option' in every scenario now, than if he did it immediately with no hesitation. Because it makes empathy and compassion a constant choice he's making, and putting in the effort reflects well on what his values are.

Kim Dokja legitimately can't help but weigh everyone he meets on a scale of how 'useful they potenially are' first and foremost. He does this with strangers and also with all of kimcom too.

"Who should I save because they would be useful in the future? I wasn't Yoo Joonghyuk to be thinking about these things." At this point, chap 74, he thinks Yoo Joonghyuk is wrong and doesn't want to be like him at all and mostly calls him a psychopath. He thinks 'acting like him' is wrong and undesirable.

He has a mini arc about Yoo Joonghyuk later, goes from 'he's a bad person, I know it because I know everything about him' in chap 81 to 'maybe I don't know him at all' in chap 82 but this is before that.

Seeing people as tools and deciding who to save based on future knowledge is a thing BOTH of them do. Yet Kim Dokja critisizes Yoo Joonghyuk for it, it's his least favourite character trait that YJH of TWSA has.

And in typical Kim Dokja fashion, this similarity between them is exactly what he despises in Yoo Joonghyuk - but now we find out it's not because he finds it amoral ("I'm not a humanist" - he doesn't care about that part) but because he sees it as a mirror reflection of himself. He's projecting, as always!

In early ORV, he hates the part of Yoo Joonghyuk that is the most similar to himself. (even tho they're sort of the polar opposites too. Yoo Joonghyuk is a deeply emotionally driven person, he feels empathy and the desire to save everyone but chooses to repress and ignore this and act like a ruthless 'psychopath'. KDJ disagrees with this choice, as Kim Dokja IS an unfeeling psychopath (low empathy) but does his best to act like a decent person and not an edgelord.)

[ranans-art]

Looks so sweetly at you. Ran art? Art from Ran? Soon? In the queue?

There actually is stuff in my queue! Though I don't think you were awake when the first dropped...

[ranan-culus]

can i forcefem porce

Yeah sure, why the hell not

[achenetype]

Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” 

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment. 

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod. 

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out. 

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold. 

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off. 

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says. 

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly. 

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?” 

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil. 

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded. 

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed. 

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.” 

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said. 

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.” 

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this. 

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday. 

You think you’re going to die. 

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it. 

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all. 

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—” 

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

[pseudophan]

do you think philslion was Dan?

ok so i've always gone very back and forth on this, like any time i've read through the account i've been convinced it's dan but then as time passes i'm like ehh. probably not. and then i read the tweets again and am like hm.. no it is though...

@dnpbeats' masterdoc is a great read, if anyone's missed that somehow i recommend it, but i think for me there's only really one piece of evidence that usually has me leaning towards yes it was dan

without this one tweet, there's still a lot of interesting tidbits that suggest it could be, and all grouped together you get a picture that's like... well it would make sense! but it's kinda 50/50 cause i can pretty easily explain away most of it. some of it would be pretty big coincidences but not at all unheard of.

but obviously the kicker is

like, literally just disregard everything else actually. this is the one i can never get past because i just can't wrap my head around any explanation that would make sense because? lol? i month you? on nov 19th? come on.

also one thing i actually never realised until i read emma's doc is that phil retweeted that as well. which.... yeah.....

so i guess ultimately i do think it was dan. but i also think he's more likely to show full hole on the internet than he is to admit to this because that is so embarrassing LMAO. he can have his jokes about how he's a phil stan account but i just can't see him actually admit he ran a genuine honest to god amazingphil lion roleplay twitter, before they even talked to each other once. like he will take that to the grave. this is a challenge howell i dare you to admit it you loser