#saw this concept art this morning and died

[pizzazzgf]

this concept art of rio’s road entrance scene is actually killing me she really knew from the HANDS ALONE here

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

Yes Asoiaf horror concepts part two!! The way GRRM writes horror is so fascinating and interesting to me. What happened with Aerea, the magical experiments going on in Essos/Asshai, blood magic, the entire continent of Sothoryos, what happened to the Sun Chaser when it tried sailing west, the Boltons..yeah I could go on. I’ve always loved imagining the Targaryens as having a lot of gothic and even vampiric themes, and this ties well in with horror too. The concept of Valyria in it’s prime has always intrigued me as well, an incredibly advanced ancient empire full of magic, sorceries and dark arts? Sign me up.

With what you said about Dany encountering her ancestors on Dragonstone, I like to imagine her being so magical and powerful that she literally goes beyond the limits of time and space, her magic rippling through history and making contact with her ancestors. Them having dragon dreams and visions about her years before her time, the places where she currently is in in present time at Dragonstone becoming a pathway between past and present, her ancestors being able to catch fleeting glimpses of her walking down the same hallway as them or across the room from where they are, despite them having been alive years and years apart. And vice versa, her seeing and hearing her ancestors clearly too, like when she saw Rhaegar in HOTUD. Sometimes they can see her, sometimes they can not. Maybe some glass candles could help amplify this. Not really horror, though. But on the topic of Dragonstone, I could definitely imagine it being Haunted by those who have died there such as Rhaena’s friends. They can be seen from afar, wandering the misty shores early in the mornings, leaving behind bloody footprints in their wake.

I love the idea of ghosts representing people’s regrets or those they have wronged coming back to haunt them. There is so much to be done there with what we have in canon. Helaena driven to insanity by the ghost of Jaehaerys, looking exactly as he did, after the incident. How he’s always there, always behind her, speaking though he possesses no mouth to do so with, asking her why. He is her guilt personified and she can never escape him. Aemond being tormented by the ghosts of the Strongs that he put to the sword, the environment of Harrenhal and Alys presence only amplifying this. Jaehaerys being haunted by the ghost of Daenerys after her passing, always thinking that he sees her from the corner of his eye, but she’s never there whenever he turns his head. How he thinks he hears her calling for him, but there is no one there when he looks up. How he cannot help but regret how he took her for granted, not appreciating her enough when she was still there. How it wasn’t enough to keep him from repeating the same mistake. Alicent in her last years being continuously tormented by the ghosts of those she knew; her children, grandchildren, Otto. And that of those she wronged; Rhaenyra most of all, Rhaenyra’s children, Viserys, even Aemma, Laenor. She keeps seeing blood on her hands that nobody else can see, blood that won’t wash away no matter how hard she tries. Keep seeing herself dressed in green even though she is not, tearing her clothes to tatters as she keeps spiraling.

As for the Boltons, they’re a perfect representation of horror in Asoiaf. Their residence being called the Dreadfort is fitting for sure. I’ve always thought them to be inspired by vampires. Especially since the Starks have their wolf theme going on, and therefore it would be the classic Werewolf versus Vampire conflict seen in media. Since they kept the skinning tradition, why not go a step further have them consume their victims? The winters are harsh after all, and who are they to deny some extra meat for supper? Residents and visitors would definitely have visions of the walls bleeding and hear echoes of distant screams always ringing in their ears. Ramsay himself is something that’s stepped out of a nightmare…

With how superstitious the smallfolk are, I can definitely see them being terrified of the Red Keep, Harrenhall and other such places, many of them not even daring to venture near them after hearing such tales, especially if they were to be true. For example; Naerys, ghostly and pale, dressed in a white shroud and weeping blood. Forever wandering the halls and looking for her lost children. Her lost brother. Lost mother. Lost freedom. Life. Wandering and weeping. The smallfolk and servants swear that she only appears before something bad is going to happen and something important is going to get lost/taken. Most often they are right.

The North, being strongly connected to magic, must have things going on. The Starks seeing faraway figures wandering the misty plains, never being able to catch up to them somehow despite riding quickly. Cryptids living in the forests and on the old ancient grounds there. Sort of reminiscent of the folklore of the Appalachian Mountains. In contrast I also think Dorne has the potential to have some interesting stuff. And the Greyjoys definitely do too, sea/pirate related horror stuff has always been a favorite of mine.

Omgggg I love the idea of Dany stretching across the timeline!! I don't know if you've seen Haunting of Hill House, but I could totally see it as something like the Bent Neck Lady, except without the dying lmao. I'd love to see maybe how she is the one in all the Prince that was Promised visions, as well as her family seeing her in waking moments.

The glass candles as a concept are so fascinating to me. Like we know what they do, but we also have yet to see them in action, so there's still this air of mystery around them. We also don't know if they'll function differently for a Targaryen/Valyrian vs anyone else. Like do they still work properly?

Canon aside, there's so much potential for them to be used in a horror context! Like calling across time. The user witnessing events a past user has seen. Or someone becoming trapped in a constant loop within them, only being able to communicate with the outside when they're lit.

I'm a big fan of the whole ghosts as guilt thing, and it fits so well in ASOIAF! Like we already see a bit of that in Jaime, but I think it'd fit super well with other characters. Maybe Cersei being haunted by Joffrey after the Purple Wedding as her sanity deteriorates.

The Boltons are definitely a house I've associated with cannibalism a lot lmao. You're so right about the long winters, but I could totally see it being applied as a torture method. The Boltons are known for being exceptionally cruel to their prisoners and we know they're not above starving them. Once the prisoners reach a certain point, do the rally care what or who this meat came from?

I think the Boltons' seeming hereditary psychopathic tendencies could also be traced to that cannibalistic tradion. No one's ever the same after consuming human flesh, and maybe if you eat enough, your whole family changes with you.

Vampirism definitely fits really well with them, and I think it fits especially well with Theon's storyline. Like the violation of his body, his loss of autonomy and identity, a new and almost unrecognizable face, and a bond to his sire. It's all so reminiscent of a vampire story. Plus Theon at this point of the books is left unable to function the way "normal" humans do. The only one who could truly relate to him is the only other person to endure something similar to him: Jeyne Poole.

The Red Keep has a lot of potential for a good haunting. It was kind of hinted at, I think, in one of Arya's chapters in AGOT, the one where she finds the dragon skulls. Even if that was just her getting freaked out by the skeletons, what if the dragons remained in some way? Trapped underneath the Keep and the ruins of the Dragonpit. They roar and cry out still when KL or the Keep is under attack, still trying to escape or defend themselves.

The Targaryens were very connected to their dragons, so, if the dragons linger, so would they. In that vein, maybe when a new rider claims an old dragon, they can feel the dragon's past riders. Sometimes they feel like someone else is trying to guide their dragon.

Maybe Aerea tried to communicate with the past riders and followed Balerion's original one to Valyria then was guided home by another. Maybe as Aemond struggled with the chains binding him to Vhagar, he felt Laena and Baelon keeping him in place as Daemon's sword plunged toward him.

In Dorne, maybe they still feel the magic the Rhoynar used to have. Like in the rivers you could hear the cries of those who didn't survive the journey. Or maybe even spirits who wander the shores, looking for lost loved ones. The seas become more treacherous than usual when invaders attempt to sail across them. Maybe part of the reason Meraxes was felled was because the skies became strangely misty when she flew above Dorne.

The Greyjoys have always felt very Lovecraftian to me, though that's mostly because of Euron lmao. However, I think that could still be applied to the house as a whole. When I say Lovecraftian, I'm pretty much only thinking of Cthulhu.

The Drowned God definitely shares some characteristics with Cthulhu, however, so does the Storm God. Perhaps the two are more connected than the Iron Islanders realize. Euron may have discovered something on his travels that led to his apocalyptic desires. Maybe their God wishes to rise again and destroy the world as we know it, and Euron serves him.

The worship of the Drowned God is also pretty dependent on human sacrifice, some even believing mass drowning strengthens him. Obviously he's not just straight Cthulhu, maybe the Drowned God will preserve his servants and lead them to rape, pillage, and drown all the world.

In a different, much less overtly evil direction, maybe the Iron Islanders, particularly the Greyjoys are simply bound to the sea. Their souls remain in the depths, sometimes helping and sometimes interfering with those who sail on their waters. The Greyjoys could become krakens upon their deaths, forever kept in the sea they love. They're still holding onto old grudges, attacking the ships of their enemies in their new forms.

However, as the Iron Islands departed from the Old Way and their religion, the spirits and krakens weakened. Greyjoy krakens hibernating far from the surface, fading with old spirits as their hold on the sea weakens.

I really love doing this, so if you, anon, or anyone else has any other ASOIAF horror ideas, hmu!

[mirror-imaged]

idont think anybody understands sheffbrien the way I do (insane) I'm sorry they're literally so bad for each other (affectionate) I could go on and on forever. I will actually. sheffbrien post be upon ye. thanks to ashe for talking about this w me on discord. this is a kinda obrien centric post bc of that loll but I'm obvi getting into sheffields whole deal too

having reread tc22 again and done some literary analysis a few days ago on a plane at 2 in the morning (I'm out of the country rn helloo ^_^) I picked up on a lot of thematics for them I find very interesting. long post ahead!

1 - the dynamics in their relationship are so wildly interesting. I think their characterization in tc22 does wonders for them. firstly, there are a lot of false differences id say? they seem so different, but when you boil it down they have a lot in common. sheffield is affluent and intelligent but has a spiteful and hotheaded side, obrien is seen as angry or rude but is taken for granted with his intelligence quite often by others. he got into an ivy league school at 17. there's also how sheffield seems so charismatic while obrien is abrasive and lonely, but they both really have no other friends when you get down to it? and last example for now, sheffield sees himself as divine while obrien seems to have renounced religion, but he really hasn't done the work of removing his mindset from a catholic(?) framework. expanding on that,

2 - obrien has religious trauma and this is heavily established. he doesn't actually ever move past religion as a concept though, he just moves on from God. he replaces his concept of God with his concept of his sister. more on this later. sheffield also has a relationship with religion, but more in the sense that he inherently sees himself as something unlike humanity, something greater and to be revered. he refers to himself as an angel in a way that doesn't strike me as being ingenuine the way he does in other places. I need to draw art about this it makes me abnormal

3 - for obrien specifically, there are some insanely interesting threads left about his trauma creating a savior complex within him. obviously shown at the start of the story with professor harris, but there are also the times he mentions going into genetics due to his guilt and wanting to entirely eliminate the disease that disabled his sister and when he says he feels an involuntary sympathy for stella when he found out she didn't mean to kill harris. it also makes me wonder if that plays into his protectiveness of sera later on.

4 - obrien has some severe internalized ableism going on that I wish more people actually picked apart. I know tc22 is a small scale story and a lot of people haven't read it, but it's fascinating stuff. he obviously grew up with the mindset that his sister was somehow contagious and describes how he felt he would somehow fall ill because of this, and that sort of mindset does a lot to dehumanize somebody in a person's mind. after eventually passing on an illness to her that results in her death, he is driven entirely by guilt as a character. he becomes certain that if God were fair and true, he would have died instead of her. but, like I mentioned before, he never really renounces religion in any specific way aside from this. he even mentions how he now prays to his sister instead of God, which I think is so fascinating. he never saw his sister as a person, and by elevating her to this status of somebody he needs to grovel to or even just uses as a holy figure in his life, he continues to see her as inhuman. he recognizes his past ableism, but he never does anything to deconstruct and rebuild from it. much like with his relationship with religion!

5 - obrien is treated by dds2 as the morally virtuous character, but he's really not (if you get the context from tc22). my boyfriend put it as him being just on the right side of history, which I absolutely agree with. I know tc22 was probably written after dds2 and doesn't necessarily inform the writing decisions for the games, but it definitely adds juicy layers to me. obrien is seemingly not motivated by any true desire to help sera or the nameless sufferers of CATCH22, he is motivated by the guilt from his sisters death hanging over him like a shadow. not to say he doesn't care at all, but it seems more like a quest to make up for his sins in the eyes of his sister than a desire to do good, which seems awfully catholic to me. this is absolutely the most interesting part of his character presented by the narrative. God I wish they did this better in the games.

6 - moving on to sheffield, sheffield is actually one of the most interesting and real depictions of a character with NPD traits I've ever seen, hands down. I know I talk about this frequently, but it's especially strongly done in tc22 and one of my favorite parts of his character. to start, he's mostly presented with extremely minor and often-masked aspects of the disorder a lot of people don't really pick up on. vouching personally. he quickly becomes passive aggressive and seemingly personally offended when challenged, like by inspector Harvey for instance. he is a practiced and seemingly compulsive liar, able to make things up on the spot that nobody but obrien questions due to his confidence. he seems to get along swimmingly with people he doesn't know well, charismatic and understanding. he pays exceptionally close attention to other people's emotions, expressions, and demeanors to adjust and match theirs. he also is debatably depicted with real delusions of grandeur. he only seems to be able to let his guard down around obrien, actually. and my absolute favorite moment of his, really relatable for me, is that when he stops masking he does not become dangerous. he does not go into a rage, he just goes blank. entirely and visibly unable to express emotion "normally", and obrien is initially scared, but realizes he just doesn't understand sheffield as well as he thinks he does. this is incredibly accurate to real life for me. it's actually insanely well depicted. and what I really appreciate is that sheffield is never presented as truly malicious [IN THIS STORY]. with dds2 context, he can be seen that way for sure, but he isn't actually shown being morally reprehensible. he's dubious and seems to have trouble understanding where he crosses a line, but that's also very true to real life for me. he isn't necessarily trying to be evil, he's just nosy and invasive of boundaries on occasion. they also never actually label him as or call him a narcissist, which is so good?? props to tadashi for once?? I think he is one because I have the disorder and can more accurately assess this sort of thing, but labeling every character who's like Abusive as a narcissist is so tacky and distasteful to me. it diminishes the harm they inflict on other people as being something born of mental illness, which isn't necessarily true. he is definitely abusive to sera, but that is not related to his narcissism.

7 - sheffield is just such a good character in this. I raved already about his npd stuff but I want to get into other things a little too. firstly, he does seem to genuinely view himself as inhuman, which is something I also believe contrasts obrien a little. obrien has this deep internalized self hatred, while sheffield has this genuine belief he is on a different level from other people. despite this, he sees obrien as being his Equal in some way. as being worthy of his presence, his assistance, his friendship. the pizza scene really really drives this home for me. (that's another subtle npd ass trait but I've said enough). in addition, sheffield tries so desperately to present himself as worthy of something more, maybe backed by doubt, or maybe even just true belief. he tries to appear intimidating, has knowledge of how to get into people's heads, etc. maybe this is because he's young and people see him differently for being so ahead of his grade, but I also see it as a display of insecurity in an implicit way. his delusions of grandeur also play into this characterization, because delusions of grandeur are often born from extreme and severe self doubt (at least in those with mental health disorders, which I've already mentioned I believe he strongly aligns with). him coming from a wealthy background in Portland of all places would not help any of that kind of thing.

8 - i don't even know what else I could say about them. they make me so abnormal. not even a toxic romantic relationship between them (which I do like think about but obviously post tc22 I don't like their age gap) but simply their dynamic as two characters. sera is a figurehead for their conflict, really. all the things we learn about both of these characters really makes me question how much BOTH of them care for sera, not just sheffield's two-faced lies. she is representative of their ideological dispute. she is a small child who has the potential to save the world, but obrien is too scared of letting another child die as a result of his inaction and sheffield is too focused on his end goal of getting what he believes he deserves, divinity and becoming a revered savior of the world, no matter who falls along the way. they are built to contrast each other. you even see this through heat and serph to a degree, with how sera mixed them up. heat declares he is on the same level as God during the jp text of the vritra fight, while serph inevitably sacrifices his own life for the sake of sera.

9 - what happened between tc22 and the dds2 flashbacks? I actually need to know what caused their relationship to split so heavily. I'm fucking obsessed with them. post over please join my sheffbrien Island there's like 2 other people here

[2pen2wildfire]

I saw a dead body for the first time in my life this morning. Sure I've seen it in the movies, in videogames, in art. Sure I've seen countless massacres of the small rodent population of my childhood home. I'm familiar with blood and gore.

But I'd never seen a dead human body. Not a real one. Not on tv, not in real life. I've never even been to an open-casket funeral. But this morning I scrolled through tumblr and came across a video of a Palestinian man saying goodbye to his dead children. I'm sure many of you have seen similar videos already, but it was the first one I'd come across. And suddenly everything felt real. Palestine was no longer some vague, far away concept. It was right there in front of me.

I work as a nanny. The little girl in the video couldn't have been older than the youngest girl I watch at work. And it finally hit me that a real little girl had died. I was watching her father hug her corpse. When the camera turned off she'd still be dead. And there are countless children just like her. Countless children, countless people who's violent deaths are being justified, celebrated even. And the governments are aiding in this. The corporations are aiding in this. And anyone who doesn't at least speak up and show their support for Palestine is complicit in genocide.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Director's Commentary

I'm going to need you to tell me how Number Ten came to be. That was the first fic of yours that I ever read and I knew you were going to be my cup of tea!

When did you first realize that angst was something you enjoyed exploring? What is it about whump, specifically, that you gets your blood pumping? Does writing the happy ending ever feel like the wrong thing to do?

Trust you to come in with the big gun questions 😘 I expect nothing less. Hoo boy, okay. Number Ten. I am fascinated by the concept of 'Viscount Benedict'. Because it's a reality in the Bton world that is close enough to almost taste, but is never explored. We are always one breath away from this bizarre timeline that is depressing for everyone - especially him - and I simply had to get inside his head and see how he would react if that turned out to be his fate (because I love him and would happily write a fictional diary that documented his actions and emotions every day of his life birth to death because I have a problem. Anyway....)

Yes, Benedict was born out of the love of his parents, but as the second son, it is the functional purpose of his life to be the 'spare' and take on the title if the unthinkable should happen to Anthony. And in the duel of book/season one, we are faced with the very real possibility that Anthony could die. I feel the immensity of this risk definitely gets lost in the shuffle of the show episode, with so much focus on Simon and Daphne and Benedict being an underdeveloped character at that point. There is the great scene in the study beforehand where Anthony says "hey bro, your life as you know it is over tonight. Hope you enjoyed your little druggy art party. You'll be the Viscount in the morning no matter how his goes" and all we got out of Benedict was a pained glance (exceptional acting by LT of course, but there is SOOOOOOO much that went unexplored here).

LadyJenevia is a media critic and Benedict stan and she is desperate to get on the Bton press junket to interview LT and ask him the very pertinent question of how much weight he carried into the duel scenes of Benedict thinking he would walk off that field either as functional Viscount with a fugitive brother, or literal Viscount with a dead brother, and how that informed his acting choices. It's an incredible question and deserves to be asked. I think I was chewing on this when one weekday morning I let my mind stray to the darkest timeline and saw Benedict screaming as he shook Anthony's lifeless body. Because we were thhhiiiiisssss close to that, but I don't think any audience attention was drawn to that potential reality, or how that would impact Benedict or his siblings. Anthony was seen as a hotheaded asshole at this point and attention was largely on Simon. (Even I walked away from S1 not knowing Benedict's name, so I get it.)

So the scenes started to play out in my head (I checked AO3, this was a Tuesday, I should have been working), and I felt his desperation and terror in those moments, heard his screams, saw his panic as his brother and his life and his dreams died in his arms. I saw Anthony fall (an accident of course, Simon was not intending to shoot him, but Daphne fked it up), I saw everyone in denial, Daphne screaming, Anthony fading, Benedict showing up back home covered in blood and having to explain to his mother what happened. I even saw scenes of him losing it on Daphne and blaming her, and also opening up and crying to Eloise about it all (but these weren't written/maybe I'm saving stuff for another WIP). This alternate timeline had to be explored, because we were so damn close to it and it would be an entirely different Bton universe, balanced on Benedict's shoulders, if just a couple factors were changed. So it just poured out of me in a couple hours and I posted it immediately. This was one of those brain-movies and it felt like unburdening myself to get it down on the page for others to see 😛 And of course at the end of the day, this is an act of love for Benedict. Because as crushed and miserable as he would be by it all, he wouldn't run away or fail his family. He would rise to the occasion and do his best, but he would be a very different head of family than Anthony was. I wanted to champion his fortitude, and Anthony's single-minded focus as he died, that Ben continue the protection of the family. Because they are both amazing men aggghhhhhhh 😭

When did I realize angst and whump were my thing? Honestly, I don't think I did until just recently joining tumblr. I've been writing since summer of last year under the (perhaps misguided) assumption that the purpose of fanfic was to grind characters through bizarre scenarios of heightened emotion (be that angst, whump, smut, etc.) for gleeful wish fulfillment. Then when I saw folks calling Love to Spare 'angsty' because it had lightly conflicted romantic emotions I had a lightbulb moment of 'oh, wait til they see all the pain, grief, gore and death I've put characters through in my WIPs' 😅 My angst barometer is clearly higher than others. It definitely aligns with my taste in media, that I tend to only consume dark, angsty shows and films because the intensity/urgency of those scenarios grabs me by the gut and causes a visceral reaction. I want to feel something really hard when consuming media. It's more satisfying than letting happy fluff wash over me (though of course there are rare times for that too) because it feels like I have learned/grown through the pain and insight. Now that I have been/attempted to write a variety of fics, I see clearly that I am more motivated to write angsty and whumpy scenes and stories, than I am to write fluffy or even smutty ones, and I'm glad to have learned that about myself.

Whump, IMO, is the perfect recipe for character exploration and reader engagement. You've said it yourself - when characters are suffering and/or facing mortality, everything else is stripped away and you get justification for really raw and intense emotional interactions and personality revelations. Readers can feel the stress of the situation and wonder how it's all going to pan out, and you can deliver that joyous happy ending or devastating tragedy which forces them to examine new perspectives of the characters and world. And to answer your final question, I do think there are scenarios where happy endings are the wrong conclusion. As we all likely know and have experienced by now, that is not how the real world operates, and I think its healthy and cathartic to examine that in our media sometimes. Art imitates life, so it should imitate the times when the bad guys win, or people die, or you don't always get what you want. Not only does that make it more realistic and relatable, it creates a safe, fictional space to examine how you would respond to that scenario, and contemplate it as a potential reality you may need to prepare for. Thus, it was worth seeing how Benedict would have reacted if things had played out just an inch differently, and his whole world was transformed in an instant.

Thank you for the ask my dear 💙

[princeofgod-2021]

LIGHT OF LIFE 608

John 1:4

DIVINE ORDER 173: WORKING ORDER 68

2Ti 4:5 But watch thou in all things, endure afflictions, DO THE WORK OF AN EVANGELIST, make FULL PROOF of thy ministry. KJV

MAN MUST WORK 19: UNDERSTANDING JOB SPECIFICATION 4

Before we move to the next point, someone might wonder if it’s fair to use our [perfect] Lord Jesus as example to follow. Well, we should ask ourselves: is there record of any man who bore so many functions with his one-life and who was so committed to it like Jesus? The scripture below shows us how Jesus’ functions are in Volumes.

Heb 10:5-7 Wherefore when he cometh into the world, he saith, Sacrifice and offering thou wouldest not, but a body hast thou prepared me: In burnt offerings and sacrifices for sin thou hast had no pleasure. Then said I, Lo, I COME (IN THE VOLUME OF THE BOOK IT IS WRITTEN OF ME,) TO DO THY WILL, O GOD. KJV

Jesus, like little Samuel, was born into Ministry and grew into it, spending just 3.5yrs in active deliberate practice of His calling(s). But consider Moses, who was called at 80yrs old, who wrote the books of Genesis to Deuteronomy (Torah), sat to judge the people all day and many times, received and wrote Laws and ordinances, gave the design and supervised the building of the Terbanacle, defined the Levitical order, climbed mountains many times over, fasted too often to count, taught the people the Law etc. He did all these in 40yrs and would have done more, had God not decided to end his journey along the way.

Exo 18:14-15 And when Moses' father-in-law saw all he was doing, he said, What is this you are doing for the people? why are you seated here by yourself, with all the people waiting before you from morning till evening? And Moses said to his father-in-law, Because the people come to me to get directions from God: BBE

Maybe because Moses was well anointed, he rarely tired with work. As soon as you engage him, he is ready to go all day and without food and water, because he was used to it. This is the benefit of spiritually augmenting your capacity; you rarely get tired. However, with poor management of such Grace, you could become too focused on yourself alone.

Exo 18:17-18 And Moses' father in law said unto him, The thing that thou doest is not good. THOU WILT SURELY WEAR AWAY, BOTH THOU, AND THIS PEOPLE THAT IS WITH THEE: for this thing is too heavy for thee; THOU ART NOT ABLE TO PERFORM IT THYSELF ALONE. KJV

Well, Moses was too anointed to be deflated with fatigue. He was always “good-to-go”.

Deu 34:7 Moses was a hundred and twenty years old when he died; he was as strong as ever, and his eyesight was still good. GNB

“Wisdom is profitable to direct” and not all men can sustain such level or depth of stamina. Epaphroditus was trying to do everybody’s work at once, and almost died from exhaustion. This teaches us to keep with [only] our own mandates, which is more than enough already.

Php 2:25,30 But for now I have considered it necessary to send Epaphroditus to you. For he is my brother, coworker and fellow soldier, and your messenger and minister to me in my need…since it was because of the work of Christ that he almost died. HE RISKED HIS LIFE SO THAT HE COULD MAKE UP FOR YOUR INABILITY TO SERVE ME. NET

So beloved, you are a bundle of “workmanship”, loaded with versatility and acumen, if only you know how to look inwards. don’t get oppressed with those “IQ” concepts; they can be confusing. A system may find you with very low IQ, but you later fair better than the best. But we have only just viewed Jesus based on JOB COMPILATION. There are other scales.

2. Job Prioritization - What To Do At The Appropriate Time

Note that our Lord Jesus is still our Standard of Focus in these studies, so lets look again. As you discover all your responsibilities in life, you have to agree that you can rarely do everything together at the same time. Hence, you have to work out how to appropriate.

Joh 18:37 Then Pilate said to him, ARE YOU THEN A KING? Jesus made answer, YOU SAY THAT I AM A KING. For this purpose was I given birth, and FOR THIS PURPOSE I CAME INTO THE WORLD, THAT I MIGHT GIVE WITNESS TO WHAT IS TRUE. Every lover of what is true gives ear to my voice. BBE

If you kept in mind all the functions of Jesus we’ve reviewed, you will understand why the Pilate asked that question. He perceived that there was something KINGLY about Jesus and wondered why a king should suffer like this. So he asked, and Jesus told him that His predominant function was to project TRUTH and even die projecting it. Hence His Kingly Position has to be undermined for NOW. We will deal with these further next lesson.

May God help us all in appropriating our Implicit and Explicit Functions, IN JESUS NAME.

See you on Wednesday, as we proceed with this interesting Subtopic.

Brother Prince

Monday, December 30, 2024

+234-8055125517; +234-8023904307

[spaziodisplay]

Mohammed Alani

Map of the Space

01.04.2023 - 14.05.2023

(a cura di Ilaria Monti)

Hi Mohammed! How are you doing? Yesterday I saw the last pictures you sent. I was wondering if you want to discuss again the works for the show. I think it’s about time for us to start setting the exhibition, at least to work on texts. OK. For me it's hard to choose, because I really love your works. I think we have a similar taste and idea of art.  As I told you, Ilaria and I have this idea of reasoning about imperfection.  You have a lot of great works, but in order to do an organic exhibition I think we need to have a fil rouge. I spent the morning working with Massimo on your exhibition and we came up with a proposal.  No Problem. We want to focus on the power of artworks to communicate something or nothing at all, and your work suggests analogical explorations from visual to verbal communication, which is interesting given that DISPLAY is inspired by the digital realm. OK. I don't know if you agree with our selection, it's just to clear our mind and to imagine a concept. We have been invited to present our past and current exhibitions (included yours) for a contemporary art course at the University of Parma. Sorry if my message is not that clear, our idea is newborn! I’m sending over an exhibition view rendering so that you can see which works we have chosen. OK.

As soon as we have the selected works, maybe we could arrange another call to better talk about your practice, and then I'll start writing. I’m a little bit late, 10 minutes. I think we need a deadline, considering we will have to launch the Newsletter and press release no later than March 24th.  Can we send you some other works we totally fell in love with? Ok I will see what I have…No problem. I am free tomorrow, like 2.30 pm or after 9 pm, or Tuesday morning at 10. Tomorrow better for me.

Map of the space is nice.

Perfect.

P.S.

Il testo è tratto dalla conversazione WhatsApp tra il co-fondatore di DISPLAY Massimo Allevato, la curatrice Ilaria Monti e l’artista Mohammed Alani, ed è concepito come un semplice allegato che, insieme alla planimetria dello spazio, accompagna la mostra. Le tre voci in dialogo si sovrappongono e si intrecciano alterando i nessi temporali del discorso. La conversazione, infatti, manipolata, tagliata e ricucita, diventa un unico flusso di coscienza, un pastiche di incertezze, idee campate in aria, ansia da deadline, risposte monosillabiche, pollici in alto e cuori pulsanti. Il testo volutamente non curatoriale intende assecondare la pratica artistica di Mohammed Alani, che dopo aver recuperato e accumulato centinaia di oggetti, li trasforma e contamina e decontestualizza giocando, come un bambino, con le forme, i materiali e i colori. Nel sottoporre ogni cosa al rinnovamento estetico e alla defunzionalizzazione, Mohammed costruisce una personale poetica intrisa della polvere che nel tempo si è depositata sugli oggetti da lui selezionati: la cornetta di un vecchio telefono a filo, i pulsanti di un mangianastri portatile, francobolli e cartoline dei viaggi degli altri, libri usati, penne e matite, emblematiche immagini e ritratti d’epoca. Da qui, il titolo Map of the Space: la mostra non è altro che l’approdo di queste opere in questo spazio, come alla fine di un viaggio; è il risultato di un’esplorazione nel tempo e nei luoghi di cui l’artista si appropria; è un piccolo bazar di oggetti surreali realizzati a partire da un’improvvisa intuizione estetica, tra incongruenze e contraddizioni.

BIO

Mohammed Alani (1971 Baghdad, Iraq) vive e lavora a Bruxelles. La sua pratica artistica si configura come una ricerca del passato, della storia, di testimonianze d’uso nella vita di oggetti a cui l’artista dona una seconda vita, un nuovo futuro. Gli oggetti vengono manipolati, assemblati, distorti e riposizionati fino ad acquisire un nuovo significato, lontano dalla funzione originaria. Tra le mostre collettive più recenti: Fragments of Life,  Noir de Noir Concept Gallery, Ostenda, Belgio, 2022; Between the Folds of Reality, Black Swan Gallery, Bruges, Belgio, 2022; Fertile crescent!, Pedrami Gallery, Anversa, Belgio, 2021.

https://mohammedalani.be

____________________

ENGLISH

(curated by Ilaria Monti)

Hi Mohammed! How are you doing? Yesterday I saw the last pictures you sent. I was wondering if you want to discuss again the works for the show. I think it’s about time for us to start setting the exhibition, at least to work on texts. OK. For me it's hard to choose, because I really love your works. I think we have a similar taste and idea of art.  As I told you, Ilaria and I have this idea of reasoning about imperfection.  You have a lot of great works, but in order to do an organic exhibition I think we need to have a fil rouge. I spent the morning working with Massimo on your exhibition and we came up with a proposal.  No Problem. We want to focus on the power of artworks to communicate something or nothing at all, and your work suggests analogical explorations from visual to verbal communication, which is interesting given that DISPLAY is inspired by the digital realm. OK. I don't know if you agree with our selection, it's just to clear our mind and to imagine a concept. We have been invited to present our past and current exhibitions (included yours) for a contemporary art course at the University of Parma. Sorry if my message is not that clear, our idea is newborn! I’m sending over an exhibition view rendering so that you  can see which works we have chosen. OK.

As soon as we have the selected works, maybe we could arrange another call to better talk about your practice, and then I'll start writing. I’m a little bit late, 10 minutes. I think we need a deadline, considering we will have to launch the Newsletter and press release no later than March 24th.  Can we send you some other works we totally fell in love with? Ok I will see what I have…No problem. I am free tomorrow, like 2.30 pm or after 9 pm, or Tuesday morning at 10. Tomorrow better for me.

Map of the space is nice.

Perfect.

P.S.

This text is taken from a WhatsApp conversation between the co-founder of DISPLAY, Massimo Allevato, curator Ilaria Monti and artist Mohammed Alani and, together with the floorplan of the space, it is conceived as a mere attachment.  The three voices in dialogue overlap and intertwine disrupting the time and the thread of the conversation, whose phrases has been manipulated, cut and then stitched together. The result is a stream of consciousness, a pastiche of doubts, far-fetched ideas, deadline anxiety, monosyllabic answers, thumbs up and hearts beating. The intentionally non curatorial text aims to reflect the artistic practice of Mohammed Alani, who reshapes, reframes and contaminates the hundreds of found-objects he has been accumulating over many years, playing with shapes, materials and colors like a child. By subjecting each object to aesthetic renewal and de-functionalization, Mohammed builds a personal poetics imbued with the dust which settled in time on the pieces he chose: the handset of an old corded telephone, the buttons of a portable tape player, stamps and postcards of someone's travel, old books, pencils and pens, emblematic pictures and portraits from the past. Hence, the title Map of the Space: the exhibition is nothing more than the arrival of these works in this space, as at the end of a journey; it is the result of an exploration in time and places which the artist appropriates; it is a small bazaar of surrealistic objects created from a sudden aesthetic intuition, between incongruencies and contradictions.

BIO

Mohammed Alani (b.1971 Baghdad, Iraq) lives and works in Brussels. His practice involves a search of the past, of history, of testimonies of a use in the life of objects to which he gives a new life and future. He manipulates them, brings them together, distorts and arranges them until they acquire a new meaning far from the original function.  Recent group exhibitions include: Fragments of Life, Noir de Noir Concept Gallery, Ostend, Belgium, 2022; Between the Folds of Reality Black Swan Gallery, Bruges, Belgium, 2022; Fertile crescent!, Pedrami Gallery, Antwerp, Belgium, 2021.

https://mohammedalani.be

PRESS KIT

ph credit: DISPLAY

[killian-spey]

Death Would be Kinder [ch.1]

[Drusilla/Spike/Calendar!Reader]

Words: 2626

Fic Concept: Jenny Calendar’s sister spends some “quality time” with the Season 2 Vampire Squad. [Ch.1 takes place in BtVS S2 Ep14]

TW/CW: Kidnapping, Violence, Nightmares.

AN: Check out the [Prologue] first if you haven’t already! :D

Tags: @prose-for-hire , (Comment below or send an ask to be added!)

You had run through the sewers for hours before you pulled yourself out of a manhole halfway across town. Escaping from the factory had worn you out completely, and you made your way home, hoping that Angel and Buffy had done the same.

When you got home, Jenny was asleep on the couch. It looked as though she'd been waiting up all night for you. You tucked a blanket over her and took her empty tea mug to the kitchen before going upstairs, where you flopped into bed and immediately found sleep.

You opened your eyes in the dark and two stormy grey eyes were staring into yours. You sat up confused as your eyes adjusted to the dark. A moment passed, then a new pair blinked into existence; they were blue, cold and unmoving. Their faces grew recognizable and a pit of anxiety grew in your stomach. Spike was leaning against your window sill. Drusilla was laying on your bed, reaching for you with one hand. You stumbled backwards with a yelp, falling onto your floor. Yellow eyes flashed once in your peripheral and then everyone was gone, just as quickly as they'd all appeared.

As you stood up, you found yourself in the factory. It was brighter here, but cold and empty. You spun, looking for an exit. Flashes of images knocked you off balance like punches. A red dress, flowing ribbon, blonde hair, black hair, crooked smiles, pointed teeth. Bells rang in your head, you saw a wheelchair, then painted red nails, then a ridged face. Your head was spinning. You were spinning. Faster and faster until you felt nauseous.

It stopped suddenly. A single thought pierced your adrenaline-rushing head. Soon-

You opened your eyes with a gasp, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom. It was morning and your alarm was going off. You stayed there a few minutes, snoozing the alarm so you could let your heart catch up with reality -or rather slow down to reality- before you got ready for the day and hopped in the car with your sister. Seems Buffy wasn’t the only one having bad dreams about vampires that should've been dead. Lucky you...

As it turns out, Buffy and Angel didn’t check in after last night’s screw up at the factory; thankfully Buffy came into school a couple minutes later to confirm she was still alive. The same couldn’t be said for Angel though, so tensions were high among the Scoobies while researching the Judge.

You were asked to use your artistic skills to draw the Judge to the best of your memory while the others looked into tomes with written references. The world tended to pass you by when you were drawing, so you almost didn’t notice when your sister left the library. She had been summoned by your Uncle, but for what you didn’t know. Not long after, the lights went out.

You stalked out of the library, seeing Xander, Willow, and Angel in the lobby of the school just down the hall. Willow was making her way towards Angel when-

“Willow, get away from him.” Jenny came from the left, holding up a cross as she stepped towards Angel. Oh. Oh no. You pulled a stake from your belt and called out to Willow as calmly as you could muster.

“Willow, walk back towards me.”

“What are you two talking about? It’s just A-”

Angel lunged forward and grabbed Willow by the neck. Familiar yellow eyes peered out of the darkness of the hallway as Willow yelped, struggling against the choke hold.

“You’re not Angel anymore, are you?” Jenny walked closer to Angel.

“Wrong. I am Angel, at last.” He pulled Willow back away from Jenny, “I’ve got a message for Buffy.”

“Why don’t you give it to me yourself?”

The two of them exchanged words and fought, allowing Willow the opportunity to escape Angel’s clutches and join your huddled group on the outskirts of the fight. Buffy got shoved into the water fountain, dumbfounded as Angel walked out the door laughing. The fight was over as quickly as it started, and a blanket of stunned silence covered the whole group. After what felt like an eternity of numb, unmoving shock, you and Jenny gave each other a knowing look. You’d failed. Angel was gone.

You don’t remember how long you’d been sitting in the library, vaguely listening to the group tell Giles about the confrontation with Angelus. Jenny was trying to keep Giles from panicking, and you sat numbly with your guilt. You only looked up when Buffy fled the room, Giles calling after her. You wanted so badly to apologize, but if Buffy ever found out what you’d known, she might kill you herself. You excused yourself from the library, mumbling to Jenny that you’d be in the studio back home.

-----

The garage door creaked as you lifted it. Jenny had given you one of the car bays to use as an art studio while you lived in Sunnydale. Your studio was one of the only places you knew where you could truly be alone with yourself. Jenny had never judged you or your art. Ever since your parents died, she’d stepped up and been supportive of you. You brushed your hand along the top of your canvas stash, picking a large, almost square canvas and setting it on your easel.

Painting had been a way for you to cope with strong emotions for as long as you could remember, but with the events of today you felt lost. You sat on your stool in front of that blank white canvas for what must have been hours. You eventually decided that nothing could convey what you were feeling in the moment, so you decided to paint something the opposite.

You used cream-white, gold and rust to block out a background; it was light, idyllic, and serene. It would be a white-stone conservatory, full of hanging candles and lanterns with a mezzanine balcony covered in ivy. Over that you dropped bright, vibrant tones of yellows and reds and greens. You blocked them into the spaces you would put dancers in flowing gowns and painted blues where you would place their partners. It would be full of life. You stood back a moment, studying. The scene was missing something; joy and innocence, maybe. You place a few, short splotches of pinks and light yellows for younger girls. They were running in a small stampede, weaving through the forest of colorful silks on the dance floor- chasing after fairies or some magic that existed only in their imaginations. There it was. You had vague shapes and a vision, and you were intent on chasing it.

You painted all through the night, and well into the morning. Jenny had left for the school hours ago, but hadn’t said anything. The painting was finally done. You sat in your stool and wiped your hands on your jeans. It was done, you had worked for hours, you had cried for Angel, you had smiled for the imaginary children, and for a moment you were satisfied... Then you noticed it.

In the center of your painting was a lone dancer. She wore a red gown with dark lace over the bodice and had equally dark hair. Your painting was somewhat post-impressionist, preferring interesting shapes over pinpoint detail, but it was unmistakable. In a ballroom of strangers, you’d painted her. Drusilla. You didn’t know what to think about that.

You stared at Drusilla in the painting, stuck in an introspective daze until a creaking sound pulled you back to reality. Your uncle had opened the garage door and stepped into the studio bay with two cups of coffee. You pulled up a stool for him and he handed you one, sitting beside you in front of the painting.

“Janna called,” he began cautiously. “She is on her way home with your friend, Buffy. I don’t know how, but she knows.”

“She’s going to hate me for this,” You scanned the sweeping lines of a yellow skirt somewhere else on your painting, trying not to let the tears prickle at the corners of your eyes.

The door to the garage opened behind you both and you looked down into your mug, anxiously tapping your nail against the ceramic. You couldn’t bear to look Buffy in the eyes, your guilt returning in full force.

Your uncle lit a pipe and stood up as he spoke,

“She told me you would be coming. I suppose you want answers,”

“Not really.” The voice wasn’t Buffy’s.

You snapped your head towards the door to find Angelus leaning against the door frame, blocking your exit. You scrambled, picking up a fistful of wooden paint brushes off your work table in a desperate search for weapons. You spun back towards Angelus just in time to watch him snap your uncle’s neck. An arm smacked against your leg as he dropped onto the concrete floor- a sensation you would no doubt remember the rest of your life. You snapped a large paintbrush in half to give it a pointier edge, but Angelus grabbed your wrist before you could even make a move on him. This was the sickening moment you realized just exactly how tall Angelus was. Exactly how far above he loomed over you.

“Ah, ah.” He tutted at you with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want to go angering the guy who holds your life in his hands, now would you?” He twisted your wrist until you let go of the brush, then wrapped his other hand around your throat and pushed you onto the worktable.

“You know, it really is embarrassing that you’re so darn fragile!”

He was laughing, but he was right. In comparison you were a mouse fighting a lion, you had no chance against him. You clawed fruitlessly at his hand, but he just squeezed harder. Your vision was already fuzzing out, and it was getting difficult to even see Angelus’ face clearly as he taunted you.

“Oh, stop squirming, you’ll be unconscious in a minute, kid. Lucky for you, I need some bait. So you get to live for a while, isn’t that exciting?!” His voice was giving you something tangible to focus on, but it was no use. Another moment and you were unconscious.

-----

Your head pounded like a drum when you woke up. You opened your eyes, but it took a while for them to adjust to the dim light. You tried to rub your eyes, but your hands were tied down to the armrests of the chair you were sat in. Your eyes darted around for any sign of Angelus, but found none. Everything was empty. Silent. Against your better judgement, you called out into the empty factory.

“Hello?”

You waited. No one responded, but you felt you were being watched.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you heard a small, soft melody coming from behind you. Humming. Your heartbeat kicked up a notch as you scanned the room.

“I can hear you going pitter-patter from here,” Drusilla had spoken from a place you couldn’t see. You heard each of her footsteps click closer and closer behind you until you could feel her standing just inches away. You let out a shaky breath and she shushed you quietly.

She ran her hands through your hair, dragging long red fingernails across your scalp. She began detangling your hair with her fingers, idly humming once again. You let your head tip back as she picked lightly at a particularly bad snag, dismantling it and continuing her exploration of your hair. By now you’d noticed you were crying, silently terrified and unnerved by the ministrations of the vampire behind you. She yanked a new snag in your hair and you couldn’t help the small yelp that escaped you.

“Is the doll hurting?” She pulled her hands away when she realized you weren’t going to answer her. She walked agonizingly slowly around your chair, stopping directly in front of you. “It’s rude to ignore people.” You stared at the floor, avoiding her gaze. You did notice, however horrified, that she was wearing a new, yet familiar, red dress with black lace.

You could feel her staring down at you, almost willing you to look at her. When you didn’t, she dropped to her knees to meet your eye line, resting her cheek on your knee. You studied her face as she ghosted her hand up and down your left thigh, occasionally picking at the smatterings of paint that were still all over your jeans.

“You’re an artist. I like artists,” She picked up her head and you chuckled nervously as she looked at you. In a morbid way, you were glad she liked you, whatever that meant. It might mean I live a little longer.

You looked up at the ceiling uncomfortably, then scanned the room for an escape, for something, anything you could do. She dragged her finger from your thigh up to your neck as she looked up at you. For a moment, you were scared she’d slice your throat, but she wrapped her hand around your jaw and pulled your face down gently to look at her.

“You’ll be my little pet Artist. We’ll have lots of fun together,” She stared into your eyes with a dangerous smile. She rubbed her thumb against your jawline -her hand still holding your face as she stood up- until she burst into a fit of giggles. She dropped your face and pulled her hands together, close to her chest, as she walked backwards a few paces.

As if she’d sensed him coming, Spike rolled into the room and stopped his chair just next to you. Drusilla gracefully perched herself on Spike’s lap and after a few minutes of flirting, Angelus came down the spiral staircase with the Judge, who voiced that he was ready to leave.

“About time.” Spike gave Drusilla a kiss and told her to have fun.

“Too bad you can’t come with, huh?” Angelus was taunting Spike and -despite your fear- you were studying the interactions for a better understanding of the relationships at play. Spike was staying behind under the pretense of watching you, but it was a thinly veiled jab at his current handicap. You watched silently as Angelus practically stole Drusilla off Spike’s lap before they left the factory. Spike stared at the doorway they'd left from for a while before he glanced back at you, staring at him. You dropped your eyes immediately, but it was too late.

“What are you lookin’ at?” He wheeled himself to the other side of the table.

“I won’t be in this chair forever. I’ll get back at him.”

“Of course you will.”

He squinted at you, probably just as surprised as you that’d you’d actually spoken back at him. He turned his chair and got up close to you again, murder glinting behind his eyes.

“Are you being funny? ‘Cause I could kill you in half a second, you know.”

“No, no jokes,” You shook your head at him, weakly lifting your hands within your restraints in surrender. The last thing you wanted was for him to prove just how tough he still is.

“Good, cause I would,” he pointed his finger at you as he continued on, “...kill you, I mean.”

“Right.” You squinted, processing.

“You’d do well to remember that.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded awkwardly. He stared at you about 7 seconds longer than he needed to before huffing and rolling off to another room. As soon as you were alone, you sighed in relief and stared up at the ceiling; only one thought in your mind.

Oh. My. God.

[nafeary]

Napoleon, Theo, Dazai, and Jean reacting to College Student!MC Stressed by Deadlines

Requested by @hqissodelicate:

hey toni boo, sara/delicateikemenmemes here ❤ i've been Going Through It with school 😔 so i was thinking of how my boos napoleon, theo, dazai & jean would react to MC who's a (stressed, exhausted) student who got yeeted to the mansion in the midst of a bunch of deadlines? thank you boo & i hope you're drinking your water 💙😤

✧✎ A/N: I’m sorry it took me this long to finish... but this was super fun to write and it helped me get back into writing after such a long break due to school bs. I’m not too satisfied with Dazai’a and the haphazard scenario/headcanons mush, but I still quite like this I think. Thank you for the request dear! Take care and drink water, everyone!

Warnings: Stress and mild mentions of anxiety, and like one mention of sexual intercourse

Napoleon Bonaparte

“You’re just a chore, after all.”

You whirled around. “Don’t act like your job is going to be that hard,” you could only scoff in annoyance, “I’m going to be inside my room all day, anyway.”

At first, Napoleon was slightly confused by your statement. Wouldn’t you want to explore this new world at all? But according to code, he’d just smirk and go (sleep) do smth

And true to your statement, you did stay inside your room for the most part

It’s not like your quadrillion essays would write themselves

It’s not like your college would just excuse your tardiness

It’s not like—

“Nunuche, you sure you don’t need a break from... whatever you’re doing?”

Napoleon was quite suddenly standing besides you, trying to read the mess that you’ve created.

“And who gave you permission to enter?”

“Me, obviously. I did have the impression that you were in danger, judging from the amount of curses I perceived.”

You could have died from embarrassment. Of course he had to hear your yells of frustration, stemming from the fact that your laptop was out of order, that you had no idea how to use ink properly, and—

“Have you realised that you regularly zone out?”

“I suppose? But if you wouldn’t mind, I really need to finish...” you trailed off, gesturing to the papers in front of you.

However, at his inquisitive gaze, you decided to explain that these were essays that could very well decide how you’d pass university, and, upon further inquiry, elaborated how a modern student’s life looked like

He never interrupted you unnecessarily, only to ask questions when a concept was too modern for him to comprehend

Your cursed assignments certainly made your life in the past harder to enjoy, but it also brought you and the emperor closer than ever

Unable to access the internet—or visit the college library—you had no proper sources for you references (considering that Comte’s library had no modern content, naturally)

You also didn’t want to bother Sebastian, especially since him and Comte had shown so much understanding for your peril that they practically forbid you from helping him out around the mansion

Their reasoning didn’t make you feel less bad though

Hence, you only had one option left that could complete your last essay

Which oh-so conveniently encompasses the Napoleonic Wars, something you truly did not want to burden him with

“Napoleon? Remember those essays that I have to finish for my university courses?”

“Of course.”

You were twiddling your thumbs, contemplating whether your grades are worth revisiting unpleasant memories, aka the taboo of the mansion

Abruptly, he grabbed your cheeks with just enough force to turn you away from looking at your feet, but not enough to inflict pain. “If there is anything I can help you with, I’d never shy away from it.”

Begrudgingly, you inquired him about his reign with as little focus on the gruesome details as possible your professor be damned

And holy shit, he’s amazing at writing? And Not just cringey love letters? Panty Sniffer Napoleon brrrrr

As you grew closer, he’s spoil you with vitamin-rich snacks (going as far as asking Arthur and Sebastian for medical advice)

He enjoys carving cute shapes out of fruits and eggs because he knows that their and his adorable presence will prompt the perfect amount of distraction to allow a small moment of rest

Says that it’s his duty as your guard and boyfriend to take care of your overworking habits

Expect frequent complaints from your beau, ranging from “how could they assign so many essays? Aren’t students just humans, too?” to “‘Reasons Why Edison Is Better Than Newton’? Do they even know what they’re talking about? Tch!”

Theodorus Van Gogh

You gleefully indulged in his charades for the first few days. They were a welcome distraction from your college work, after all

But the procrastination was accompanied by guilt, your anxiety building up every second you spent helping Sebastian with the chores, and gallivanting around town with Theo

A week passed before your sense of responsibility finally kicked in. So when Sebas came to wake you up just as the sun peaked past the horizon, you were already scribbling away on some sheets you’d found in your drawers

“Ah, good morning, Sebastian-san.”

“Good morning... what are you writing, if I may ask?”

“Just some essays for my college courses...” you said, glancing dejectedly at your notes.

Now that you didn’t have access to the internet, and your laptop’s battery was all used up, it made your work all the more tedious, but you had to set your teeth and do this.

“Give me 10 minutes, and I’ll join you in the kitchen.”

He had wanted to argue, but you didn’t let him. And when he saw you leaving the house with Theo later in the afternoon, he could only shake his head.

You felt like you owed the art dealer, especially since you blurted out his secret the literal next moment, so you committed to helping him while also keeping up with your work

Although, him calling you dog wasn’t nice either—even though, according to Sebas’ explanation, Hondje wasn’t exactly the equivalent to mutt

That cycle continued for days. Helping out around the mansion, getting pulled around by Theo, and writing your essays deep into the night

Not to mention all the worries that pressured your shoulders further and further into the ground

You were missing so many group project deadlines, disappointing people that relied on you... it was safe to say that sleep did not come easy, if barely

Just before you arrived at your room after a late night art exhibit did your body decide to fail you, tripping over nothing multiple times.

It prompted Theo to call you out before you could even think of rushing past the door, steadying you with a hand more gentle than you had ever experienced it to be.

“Sebas informed me that you’ve been working yourself to death.”

You silently cursed the butler. “I haven’t—“

“Give me your laptop.”

Perplexion ran across your mien, wondering how he could possibly have remembered such a modern detail from your countless rambles. “It’s batt— it doesn’t work right now, so it’s not like it would stop me from working.”

Arguing with the devil was a mistake.

He snaked his arms around you, holding the door handle in place with one hand while the other still kept you upright. “I don’t care whether you work or not, I’m not your mother. And regardless of its abilities, hand it over, knabbletje.”

What other choice did you have but to comply?

He ordered—yes, ordered—you to go to bed right that instant

If you hesistanly ask him to do the same (we all know what a hard worker he is), he’ll just press a guileless kiss to your forehand, telling you not to worry about him

The next morning, you were already worrying for your baby’s safety within the sadist’s hands when the devil invited himself into your room

“Ever heard of knocking?”

“Morning to you, too, Hondje.” He sent you an overly handsome smirk, handing you the laptop tucked underneath his arms. “You won’t be able to use that spider web Sebas told me about, but writing should work.”

You stared at Theo in disbelief, all the while internally laughing at him misinterpreting the World Wide Web. Deciding to trust in him, you clicked the power button. And sure enough, it sprang to life. “What... how in the world did you...”

Leo overheard you and Sebas talking about solar energy sometime… hush, just run with it

He fell into the seat next to you, propping his chin upon his fist. “I didn’t do anything. Just asked Sebas whether there was a way for you to use this. Leonardo took notice and tinkered around with it. Don’t ask—ah!”

You threw your arms around his shoulders, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Thank you for taking care of me, Theo.”

Would you have lifted your face, then you’d have caught a glimpse of the vermillion shading his cheeks. “I didn’t do it to help you. I simply can’t risk having you become a liability at work. That’s all.”

Anyway, tsundere tendencies aside, you know what another big factor of dating Theo is?

King if you’re not allergic, understandably, if so, he’ll change his clothes before even thinking of visiting you

On days that you decide to be especially stubborn, he pulls you outside, all the whilst whistling for the jolly golden retriever

And as soon as he comes running, your mind goes brrrrr cute dog

Although, he’ll try his best not to distract you from work. He knows from personal experience that it’s a much bigger annoyance than help

Thus, he’ll certainly use his connections and amiable rip Shakes relationships with the residents to help you out with the research process

Also, with his superior memory, he knows what generally makes you happy and relaxed, so he’ll be his usual observant self to decipher just what would help you perfectly relax/finish your work

Hardworking boi, please love him

Dazai Osamu

Dazai is the type of person that doesn’t mind upsetting people and risking someone’s disdain if it supports that person in the long run

And he’s able to read people like books, so it shouldn’t be surprising that he knows you’re overwhelmed before you even realize it

You’ve been going to sleep too late and waking up too early? He’ll gently force you (if you’re 100% against it, he won’t do it ofc) to sleep beside him, making sure that you won’t rise with the sun for once

You’ve been exposing your wrist to heavy sprain? He’ll teach you some handy-dandy 5 Min Crafts techniques that are guaranteed to send your hands on a vacation

You've been suffering from writer’s block? Time to go on a lovely stroll through nature with your boo

Your shoulders and neck are hurting beyond sanity? He swears by hot springs, so the thermae is his go-to for when you need to relive some muscle kinks

He never fails to procure the perfect amount of bubbles and temperature. And depending on how comfortable you are with it, he’ll offer to wash your hair.

And since dude got Disney princess hands, you most probably fall asleep, but our man is there to hold you above the water

His bare thighs are an added bonus, sending your mind into spirals faaaar away from college work

After you’re done bathing, he’ll ask you whether you’d like him to braid your hair (if it’s long enough), and his Disney princess hands will not disappoint

In the beginning, it was incredibly vexing to have a security cam in the form of a handsome man always on the qui vive

But at some point, you started embracing Dazai’s overwhelmingly passive—you knew exactly what he was doing whenever he’d do something random—protectiveness

Especially since it didn’t only help you complete your work; on the contrary, you were always excited to spend time with the Japanese writer

But that didn’t curb your confusion at the whole debacle. Why was he this focused on your well-being?

So, you decided to confront him

“Dazai?” Once again, you were relaxing in his arms, his fingers threading through your hair lulling you into a dreamlike state.

He ticked his head to the side, pulling your entwined hands closer towards his heart. The sun streamed into the run at just the right angle, yet the golden light was not as bright as his vivid citrine orbs.

You sighed, unable to look at his stupid handsome face for too long. ”Why is it that you insist on taking care of me?”

“Someone has to, Toshiko-san.”

You’d have blurted out your feelings if it wasn’t for the sudden embrace you found yourself in. As guileless as it appeared, you knew he was trying to stop you from acting on your thoughts.

Deciding that you didn’t want to pressure him further (after all, you knew that he had a hellish first life), you accepted the unclarity of his feelings—even though his actions spoke loud enough for you to understand.

It was that day that you decided to repay him for all he’s done for you

And you wouldn’t let him yeet himself through a window in an attempt to evade the love sent his way this time

Even if it took decades, you wanted him to feel just as safe and loved as you did in his company

You were glad to have such a caring man by your side who helps you with managing you self care

You could only hope that he’d allow himself to be treated the same way

Please just take our love, boo. We love you

Jean d’Arc

Well fuck, how could he possibly help someone who’s stressed when he himself is a 24/7 McDonalds that only sells Chicken McStress?

Anywho, I feel like he’d be the complete opposite of Dazai when confronted with a stressed MC

He’d care just as much, of course, but he thinks that it would be better to give her space, since he himself understands the desire for solitude well

So yeah, I can see him not going out of his way to check up on you if you weren’t super duper close friends/lovers IF it wasn’t for his friend Napoleon

After all, it was him who gave your boyfriend a lil talk, convincing him that, perhaps even if someone needs space, they probably still need someone to look after them

Living with Jean is basically Ted Talks everyday

Anyway, he embarked on his journey to hopefully help you and and to relieve some stress that was wearing you down (according to the statement of several residents)

And, finding himself halting abruptly, our pessimistic little bean realised that he’s got zero idea what did help you attain bliss

So he opted for the next best option���things he knew that made his friends relax

Plan A

Hearing a few oddly reluctant raps on your door, you went to open it. As soon as you did, the beautiful man who’d captured your heart entered your vision, your eyes finding his amethyst ones immediately.

You two stayed like that for a moments, only breaking eye contact when he sighed and simultaneously thrusted a mug into your hand, already in the process striding back to his own room.

“Uhm… Jean? I’m a bit busy right now, but would you like to come in?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t you find it inappropriate for a man to enter your room, mademoiselle?”

“Jean,” you giggled at his archaic mindset, gently rubbing your thumb between his brows to even out the crease. “We’ve had sex before, you know. Of course you ca—“

Wrong thing to say. He stormed past you, vermillion cheeks practically leaving a trail.

Chuckling to yourself, you turned to the mug’s contents. “Hm? Hot chocolate?”

Plan B:

“If this doesn’t harbor your discomfort…” Your boyfriend reluctantly stood in your room’s corner, standing straighter than a rod.

Frankly, your essays have kept you entirely too busy, and you longed for the warmth of the French man’s feather-like embrace.

“On the contrary, I enjoy your presence.” And you went right back to scribbling away.

Jean frowned. “Haven’t you been writing stories since this morning?”

“They’re not stories… and, yeah? I believe so.”

Stepping towards your seated form, he extended his hand; you grabbed it without thinking twice. “Is everything alrig—whoa!”

With the ease of a seasoned soldier, he picked you up before haphazardly tugging you into bed with bewilderment maring your features. “You should sleep.”

“—what?”

He stared at you blankly, as if expecting you to fall into the land of dreams right that instant.

“Did something prompt,” you slipped your arms out from underneath the duvets, gesturing wildly, “this?”

It was hard to be upset with Jean, his clueless but genuine persona the reason why you fell for him, yet you couldn’t disguise the irritation coursing through your veins—you had work to return to, after all.

“I think you need to rest, mademoiselle.”

Your blinking made him avert his eyes, explaining quietly, “I am uncertain what supports your release of tension, so I thought that perhaps sleeping could help since it certainly does show affect with Napoleon.”

“Ah, and you made me hot chocolate since that’s what calms Mozart.”

After internally simping for his soft and wholesome dumbass energy, you pulled him to bed beside you, claiming that it would help you relax (but only after telling him that it was okay for him to ask for your preferences)

And falling asleep to the heartbeat underneath his broad chest is definitely a 5-star-resort vacation

He’d eventually ask his relationship advisor Napoleon whether it is okay to have you help them out with his reading/writing lessons (you

You, alongside Napoleon, steadily agreed, despite knowing that it was a ploy to keep you away from overworking

Please also love this boy, thanks

Tag List of the most wonderful sweethearts (just message me if you’d like to be added <3): @juminly @kisara-16 @sweetlittlemouse @thesirenwashere @nad-zeta @delicateikemenmemes

[moonboohoo]

TITLE: BEAUTY IN DEATH (Painter Yuuji x fem!reader)

CHARACTER: itadori yuuji 

SUMMARY: He wants to see her again (in heaven). 

GENRE: fluff + angst (?) 

WORD COUNT: 356 words 

(inspired by siren of the formless by city girl & john william waterhouse’s painting - listen to my sweet pipings)

ART IN HEAVEN FORM  —— Yuuji’s concept of art: imagination and creativity were the gate keys to produce a beautiful, heavenly artwork. His fingers were full of watercolors, one of them was completely pink, like the soft pink sunset that he had seen during the summer days, another one was half beige and half purple; similar to the flowers that he had seen during the love season. Yuuji scratched fingernails into the yellow paint, hoping that the pigment would flow through his veins and bringing back nostalgic memories of him lying beside a purple lilac. Or, he could use his brush and paint directly in the eye (because colors were meant to bring objects to life, right?)

ART: THE IDEAL HEAVEN —— Yuuji painted his own heaven. There were only flowers, flowers, flowers (mostly strelitzia) and a small cottage beside a lake. He could dance with her in the woods, playing classical music when they were drinking chamomile tea, writing poems on each other's hands and stargazing every night, when the sun rises in the morning, she would braid her hair and wear a pink flowy dress, going outside to pick strawberries and wildflowers, sitting down on a squeaky rocking chair and watched the skies turned pastel orange, looking at each other until their eyes bleed yellow and blue (for eternity).

MAGIC IN HIS BONES —— He blinked his eyes once, then twice. A warm presence surrounded him and he smelled faintly of jasmine tinged with lavender. He could only see flowers, flowers, flowers (mostly strelitzia) and one purple lilac blooming in front of him. Yuuji stood up, the poppies in his mouth turned into dust when he saw a woman waving at him enthusiastically with a halo above her head (when he thinks of awestruck, he means her). Yuuji soon realised that he was living in his own heaven.

1910; HIS FIRST LOVE —— He remembered everything. He finally remembered everything. His lovely girl was wearing beige and purple, which means he died in the spring of 1913.

She went to him, took his arm, and pulled him into a tight embrace, “Welcome back, love”.

A/N: phew! it’s been a while! I’ve always wanted to write something like this - it’s fun to incorporate some aesthetic elements and twist it around to make it more interesting :P i know it’s kinda confusing so read the explanation below! 

[wastelandcth]

Better Love - cth

part three: the longing

summary: Calum and Maeve get to know one another, in more ways than one. 

author’s notes: I’m nervous about this one. Enjoy!

warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of food, oh and smut. 

masterlist || request || join my taglist!

part one || part two

I confessed the longing I was dreaming of Some better love, but there's no better love Beckons above me and there's no better love That ever has loved me, there's no better love

In her dreams, Maeve always saw a future that made her warm. She saw hills of green and trees that swayed with the wind. She'd always go there, sometimes it'd be a few weeks before she'd show back up in her dreamland, but it was always the same place, a house surrounded in green and blue. She'd felt someone's presence, never enough to see them or recognize who they were, but she knew she wasn't alone in her dreams. She felt safe there with the strange presence, felt the warmth of them and the love they had for her. When she was young, she had thought it was her parents, but as time went on and Maeve's dreams stayed the same, she knew it was someone she was yet to meet.

Even now, as she slept, she felt that same warmth enveloping her.

Maeve’s eyes snapped open as she heard a snore behind her. The light from outside had blinded her for a second and she’d let out a groan. Usually, in her dreams, the warmth would leave her as her brain woke her up and her eyes slowly opened. This time, however, the warmth was still there. She felt it in her stomach and all down her spine, the familiar presence of it making her think for a second she was still in her dreams and that she’d wake up any minute to feel it leave her. As the bedroom came into focus, the large window next to her letting in soft daylight, that warmth remained and it wasn’t until she felt an arm around her pulling her closer that she remembered the events of the night her trip changed forever.

“The bridge collapsed?” Calum asked confused and walked over to stand next to her, his bra ahh hitching as he looked out at the stone bridge, “Holy shit.”

“What’re we going to do?” Maeve asked shakily, her eyes staring out in awe, “That’s the only way back. W-we’re stranded here with no power and no way to contact anyone about what’s happened!”

“Maeve, deep breathes,” Calum said as he reached out and slowly placed his hands on the sides of her arms, “Hey, look at me, I promise, it’ll be okay.”

With a deep breath, Maeve relished in the warms of Calum’s touch, leaning into it as she tried to calm her racing mind. He was right, it would be okay, the power would eventually come on once the storm passed, and then they would be able to call someone for help. All they had to do was wait for the storm to pass and then they’d get help.

All Maeve had to do was survive a night with an incredibly handsome art history professor, a looming interview that could change her life, and a storm that seemed to have destruction on its mind. Calum's hands were still on her arms, squeezing them gently as he tried to ground her back into the moment at hand. If it had been any other situation, one in which Calum was more than a stranger and Maeve wasn't stuck in a cabin with him, she would have been flustered. But the view of the bridge outside of the window, looming in the distance as if mocking how her brain felt, kept her unannounced attraction towards the stranger attempting to calm her at bay.

“Okay, I…it’s going to be okay,” she breathed out after taking a couple more deep breathes, “I guess we just unofficially became roommates.”

The next two days had been spent in one another's company. Once the storm had settled and the drizzle had lulled the forest into a peaceful sleep, Calum and Maeve had spent most of the night huddled up in the living room, finding out more and more about one another. They talked about a lot that first night, both of them wanting to be absolutely positive that the other was not a serial killer with extreme patience. But there seemed to be something they were both hiding, a small snippet of the truth that both were too scared to share. It wasn't until the inevitable concept of having to sleep crept closer and closer that they both glanced back at the only bed around for miles.

"I'll take the couch," Calum nodded, "You were here first so it's only fair."

"But you'll be cold," Maeve mumbled, "The fireplace will only give you so much heat before it dies out in the middle of the night and you wake up frozen."

"Another good reason why you should take the bedroom then," Calum chuckled and shook his head, "I don't mind, really."

"We could just share." Maeve said, surprising herself with the forwardness of her voice, "Body heat and all, you know?"

"Are you sure?" Calum asked, his eyebrow raising as he watched the flush on Maeve's cheeks grow.

"Positive, now come on, I'm exhausted."

They'd each picked their side of the bed, opting to stay as far away from the middle of the mattress as they both could. The sound of a drizzle hitting the roof and windows around them made the quietness of the bedroom a little calmer, both of them too aware of the other in bed to really drift off. But eventually, the drizzle lulled them both, into a warm and quiet sleep. A sleep where Maeve felt the warmth from her dreams and Calum felt the ache of his hike. 

The following morning, when both of them woke up in each other’s arms was…awkward to say the least. Calum had woken up first, his arm numb and his brain having trouble catching up to where he was and why he had another body on top of him. The early morning sunlight filtered in through the large window next to the bed, shining a soft light over the entire room. The morning air was still chilly, leaving an ache in Calum’s joints and instinctively making him pull Maeve closer to him. It wasn’t until he heard Maeve stir that he realized exactly what they’d done. As the storm passed, the rain leaving the ground soft and muddy, Maeve and Calum and drifted closer and closer. Acting as the full moon and ocean tide, they ended up in one another’s warmth, starring far apart and gravitating towards each other. 

That morning, they’d both spent time apart, walking around the small property where the bridge had left them isolated from everyone else. Calum had spent most of that day outside, his journal tucked safely in the pocket of his rain jacket, walking through the woods and hoping that the next couple of days before their host, whatever her name was, could find a way for them to get back. The first few days were spent like that, both of them stealing glances at the other while trying to distract themselves from the view of the broken bridge, the view of their separation, and the fact that they were both stuck with one another. Mornings were usually spent in silence, both too afraid to move from one another’s arms, trying not to wake the other up. They were spent looking out the window, watching the trees sway and the colored leaves flicker off the branches and onto the river below. Maeve, who had become used to the warmth of Calum’s body next to hers every morning, had spent mornings pretending to be asleep in the hope that Calum wouldn’t pull away from her and leave her cold. Calum, who knew Maeve had woken up minutes before, spent his mornings hoping that she wouldn’t move out of his arms, his face finding comfort in the crook of her neck. Mornings were quiet and hesitant, soft touches that both of them thought about during the rest of the day, hoping to wake up in one another’s arms once again. The nights were a different story. As the sun lowered into the sky, leaving streaks of gold, pink, orange, and red; Calum and Maeve found themselves huddled together. Sometimes Maeve would read out loud, her book telling the history of the clans that used to call the Highlands their home, and sometimes Calum would put on one of the old records that had been left behind in the cabin. Those were Maeve’s favorite nights, Calum’s too, when the music echoed from the walls and the both of them laid under the shared fur blanket, watching the darkness of the sky from their favorite window. It was when the sun went down and the cold settled in that Maeve and Calum got to really know one another. 

One night, when dinner had been quiet, both too lost in their own heads to really say much. Their conversation changed, from the usual small talk that had been shared during the day, to something more. The world was teasing them both, the candle-lit dinner they shared one of the first either of them had ever had a candle-lit dinner. Calum liked to think he was a romantic at heart, but he couldn't recall a time where he and his fiancé, well ex-fiancé, would've ever had a dinner like this. Maeve hadn't ever had a date with James like this, not that this was considered a date, but theirs had always ended up with cheap takeout and a studying session. This felt different, it felt calm and the quiet surrounding them never turned awkward or tense. It was comforting.

"So, what's your story?" Calum asked softly, "I mean, I know you said you have an interview with the university but...well, what're you running from?"

Maeve tensed at the question, her eyebrows furrowing as she studied the man in front of her and wondered if he truly could read her like that. Had she been that obvious about wanting to escape her crowded city life? Had everyone she'd encountered known she belonged in the countryside where she was born, never to be able to thrive in a bustling city? Or did Calum, who seemed very much like herself, run away to Scotland too.

"I...I guess I just needed to find myself and I thought that Scotland would be that place for me?" Maeve shrugged, her eyes looking down at the glass of whiskey in front of her, "My parents met in Edinburgh, they road tripped around the entire country together, and fell in love here."

She looked back up at Calum, who watched her intently, his eyes focused on her eyes, watching as Maeve tried to look everywhere but his. With a sigh, and another sip of the bitter whiskey that made her blood warm, Maeve continued on with the story. How her small town had been a bore to her but the second she had left she'd missed it like hell. That no matter how much fun she'd found in the big cities she'd traveled to, nothing made her feel like home. How this was supposed to be a way to get rid of the aching feeling in her chest and that maybe she would find something here in Scotland that the rest of the world hadn't shown her yet. She didn't miss the way Calum's shoulders tensed as she explained the situation with James and how she'd never truly felt love for him.

"And what about you? Why did the university professor run away?" Maeve asked quietly, her eyes finally meeting his across the table.

Maeve listened to Calum, listened as he spilled his heart out over a plate of potatoes and roasted veggies. She listened as his hands fidgeted with the loose string on his sweater and bit her lip as she realized just how alike they were. Soon enough, the rainstorm had slowed into a drizzle and the kitchen was cleaned up. It wasn't too long after that Maeve found herself plopping down on the couch next to Calum, pulling the warm fur blanket over both of their laps as the chill of the autumn night settled in around the house. The unwanted guest had forced both Maeve and Calum into warmer clothes, socks and hoodies peeking out over the edges of the blanket as they watched the flicker of the candlelight bounce on the walls.

"I tried, you know? To make myself love her and to make her love me," Calum sighed and shrugged as he took another sip of the whiskey, "I thought that if I proposed to her, our hearts would figure it out and everything would be fixed."

"And did it?" Maeve asked, her soft eyes finding him in the candlelight, "Did she fall in love with you?"

"Deep down, I knew it would never work." he sighed and frowned as he looked down at his fingers that had been playing with a loose thread on the blanket covering them both, "I'm surprised she hadn't left earlier."

"She's a fool," she mumbled, her knee nudging against Calum's causing both of them to lean into the warmth of it, "You're a great guy."

"You've only known me for three days, you can't possibly know that about me," Calum laughed and shook his head, his eyes gazing out the large window, watching the waves in the river splash against the bedrock.

"And from that, I already know that you're a great guy," she chuckled and shrugged, "You made me breakfast even after I made you get more wood late last night. Which by the way, is totally happening again."

"Yeah? You’re coming with me this time, okay?" Calum teased, knowing that there was no way she'd be stepping out after dark to walk to the shed where all the firewood had been stored.

"In your dreams, Hood."

That night, when the candles had been blown out and the fireplace in the bedroom crackled to keep them both warm, Calum had still been awake when Maeve had scooted back against him. Calum had been up for a while, his brain too awake to even think about sleeping, Maeve’s soft breaths keeping him grounded in the bed. He knew it was a mistake, to even consider that his heart raced a little faster when she was near him, but the past couple of days had taught him a lot. He’d never really believed in coincidences, but his mother had always told him that life had a funny way of showing him what he needed, even if it wasn’t what he’d expected. Maeve was like no one Calum had ever met before. She was so intelligent and well-spoken, she somehow always had something to say in response to Calum. She never seemed to get bored of all the reading or even of the random facts Calum would spew out whenever he remembered something. She was new and refreshing, like the air he’d breathe in every morning after he’d made it out of the cottage. 

But Calum was being foolish again, he couldn’t feel anything for the stranger, that’s all she was really, a stranger who’d been booked in the same room as him and now he was stuck with her until someone noticed they’d missed their checkout date. He was stuck feeling his palms sweat whenever she talked with him in that soft voice, the one that gave him goosebumps he was thankful were hidden under his sweaters. He couldn’t have feelings for her because in a few days she’d be in Edinburgh having a life-changing interview and Calum would be on a flight back home, hoping that when his flight landed, he’d stopped regretting walking into the empty house he’d left weeks ago. He’d been so stuck in his brain, trying to stop his feelings for the stranger next to him, that he hadn’t noticed her breath hitting his neck. The soft snores leaving Maeve had made Calum’s thumb on her hip stop it’s up and down stroking, one he hadn’t even noticed he’d been doing, and made him look down at her. 

In the darkness of the room, where the only source of light came from the embers of the fireplace gave him only so much to work with, Maeve looked ethereal. Calum’s chest stopped rising, his eyes wide as he watched the small twitches in her nose and eyes as Maeve dreamt. The curls she’d usually push away when she was asleep were falling down onto her eyes, Calum’s hand coming up to push them behind her ear. Maeve’s eyes fluttered open at the touch, leaving Calum frozen in place with his finger on the warmth of her cheek. 

“Hey,” she whispered, her sleep-induced haze making her lean into the touch, “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Calum breathed out, his lungs finally receiving a new life as the oxygen once again rushed into them, “Go back to sleep, I’ve got you.”

Maeve, whose brain was slowly waking up, blushed at his words. Her eyes moved up to meet his in the darkness, the deep brown of his nearly replaced by his pupils which had dilated. In a moment of courage, where Maeve pushed away any of the warnings telling her to not move her head to the side, she cupped the hand that was on her cheek in hers and pressed a kiss onto the palm of it. Her eyes closed again as she felt the hitch in Calum’s breath, feeling him tense for just a second before he practically melted into her touch. They both laid there, staring at one another in the darkness they’d both used for lingering and greedy touches, their breathing matching as they leaned in closer and closer. The wind had picked up outside, whistling against the window panes, as if even nature outside knew the tension between the two bodies that were in the safety of the loneliness of the forest. 

There was a beat of silence, a beat where Calum and Maeve took each other in one last time before their lips connected. In the dark, they found one another, pulling each other closer and closer until Calum could feel the soft noises leaving both him and Maeve against his chest. Her lips were soft, leaving Calum chasing after them for more after she pulled away to catch her breath. He hadn’t waited too long, the electric feeling of her against him back after less than a second. Outside, the window had continued to howl, the forest seemingly cheering for the two as the darkness outside shielded them from the world. The river still flowed beside the house, the water crashing against the large rocks like their lips had moments before. They moved in a flow, much like a river, clothes thrown off and kisses crashing onto unseen skin. 

Calum’s hands were hesitant, almost as if he was afraid to touch Maeve, but the soft sigh that left her when his hand finally squeezed the thigh she’d rested over his hip was all he needed to keep going. His body pushed up against hers, his other arm coming up to push her down onto her back, the soft mattress pulling Maeve in like a hug. From where he was, kneeled at her side, Maeve’s breathless and flushed look made Calum want to wake up from such a cruel dream, his jaw going slack as Maeve’s knees dropped onto the bed and Calum slotted himself between her. Calum’s forehead rested against hers, their noses brushing up against one another in a silent plea for whatever it was they had started to be more, his breathing heavy as he felt her knees tighten around his waist and pull him closer. The friction between them had elicited soft groans from them, their lips once again finding each other in the dark as they found a rhythm, one so delicious Calum was sure he was seeing stars behind his closed eyelids. 

“Please,” Maeve breathed out, her hands running up and down his chest until she grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it up his body, throwing it somewhere into the darkness, “Calum.” 

Time slowed in those seconds where all they could focus on was the way their bodies moved together. Maeve was lost in Calum’s kisses, her hand sliding down between them and past the soft hair trailing down onto the boxers he’d been wearing. Calum’s mind was too far gone, his body tensing as he felt Maeve wrap her fingers around him, his hips jerking into the touch as his lips left a trail of kisses down her jaw and neck. Calum’s mind was running with all the things he would do to her, the fear of Maeve somehow knowing all that Calum was imagining overtaking his brain before he felt another wave of pleasure course through him as he felt the flick of Maeve’s wrist on him. Their bodies moved as one, moving through the darkness and racing for that crash that would leave them both seeing nothing but a blinding white behind their eyelids. That crash came eventually, their breathlessness hidden by the howling wind outside. Their bodies fell back onto the mattress as the stones from the very bridge that had forced them together had fallen days before. Through the pants and the mind-numbing pleasure, Maeve and Calum found their way back to one another, soft kisses shared in between whispers which wouldn’t have been distinguished between the sound of the rain falling outside. The droplets hitting the windows as Calum looked down at Maeve, who had been pressing soft kisses onto his chest, tracing over the ink splayed across it. She looked up at him, almost as if to ask what the ink said, the darkness hiding the design of it. 

“In the morning,” Calum whispered, kissing her forehead as he felt the softness of her sink into his touch. 

Both of them listened to the rain outside, wondering if the morning would bring more touches as the midnight had, or if they’d wake up in silence hoping that the other would speak up first. But Calum would explain the ink on his chest in the morning, would tell Maeve the story behind the words tattooed onto his body for the rest of his life. And Maeve would listen as she stroked the tan skin she’d run her fingernails down only hours before, leaving crescent shapes indented into his skin as a reminder that the pleasure and the ache in between her legs hadn’t been a dream. But that would come in the morning, for now, all they could do was doze off as the rain sang for them once more. 

taglist: @hoodhoran @finelliine​​ @moonlightcriess @mxgyver @calpops​ @karajaynetoday @notlukehemmo​ @calumrose @devilatmydoor @lowkeyflop @matchacal @hemmo1996-5sosvevo @myloverboyash @2fangirl4u @multistann

[imlovethomassanders]

Eyes are the Windows to the Soul(mates) - Chapter 1

You can also read on ao3

Huge thank you to @strongindependentcheesecake​ for beta reading this beast

This work is complete, and new chapters will be added everyday until completion:

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 (FINAL)

Summary: The lucky few who have a soulmate are born with heterochromia, with their left eye being the color of their soulmate's eyes and their right eye being their own color. Not only was Virgil one of the lucky few to have a soulmate, but he was given four. His left eye changed colors every time he blinked, rotating between his four soulmates' eye colors. His rotating eye colors caused him to be a bit of an outcast growing up, but when he finally leaves for college, things start to fall into place. This is the journey of five strangers finding each other.

Pairings: DLAMP with background Remile

Warnings: None I believe

Words: 3283

Taglist:  @touchstarvedvirgil @lamp-calm-sanders @ninjago2020 @confinesofpersonalknowledge @secret-novelisthost18 @phander-sides @sherlock-lives-on-bakerstreet @bookbingingproblem @viana-dascolli @sharktryingtofly

Virgil stared at himself in the mirror, watching his left eye. Right now it was a light brown so golden it was almost yellow. Virgil blink. His left eye was now a deep shade of blue. He blinked again. Light green. Blinked again. A deep, rich brown. Again. Back to light brown.

Virgil forced back the tears welling up in his eyes as he watched the pattern over and over and over again, all the while his right eye stayed a lighter shade of gray.

The lucky few who had soulmates had heterochromia. Their right eye is their own eye color while their left eye is the color of their soulmate's. Once you and your soulmate meet, your left eye changes into your own eye color.

Virgil was a special case. Soulmates themselves were a rare thing to have. More than one was almost unheard of.

When Virgil was young, his dad pulled out a chair and sat across from him. His dad explained that he had soulmates, and how most people who had soulmates just had one. But it appeared Virgil had four. Virgil stared at his dad.

"What's a soulmate?"

Once Virgil had finally grasped the concept he gasped and ran into the bathroom and blinked rapidly, watching the color of his left eye change.

A couple years later, Virgil noticed his dad would get embarrassed whenever someone brought up Virgil's left eye. He then noticed that other people talked about his eye as if it was abnormal.

Virgil didn't understand. People who had soulmates were usually seen as lucky and were celebrated. He couldn't understand what was wrong with him.

On the first day of school, his teacher gasped in surprise when she first saw Virgil blink. The other kids noticed her reaction, and as kids do as they see, followed in her footsteps and treated Virgil like he was a strange irregularity.

Very quickly Virgil himself grew embarrassed of his left eye. He felt guilty that he felt ashamed over his soulmates, but he couldn't help it. Every time someone noticed his eye color they all gave him the same weird stare. He couldn't stand being forced into the center of attention like that.

Starting in middle school, Virgil started to grow out his bangs to help hide his eyes more.

In high school, Virgil stopped interacting with people as much as to not risk more judgement.

He was an outcast, and all because the universe decided to give him four soulmates.

That's why Virgil so often found himself in the bathroom, watching his eye change color. It was reassuring to watch, knowing that there were actually four people out there that the world promised to him would love and accept him.

Their eyes were so beautiful. Virgil already loved them.

But as much as he yearned to meet his soulmates, he was scared. Virgil had persuaded himself that these four people were the most wonderful people in the world, and that he was nothing.

He couldn't help but think his four soulmates didn't deserve him. Streams of thoughts constantly played on loop through his head. What if they already met and were perfectly happy without him? What if when they meet him they decide they were better off without him? What if they didn't love him like he already loved them?

Virgil sighed before pulling his hair back over his forehead and going back into his bedroom. He fell onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.

What do his soulmates think of having four soulmates? What did they think whenever they saw his gray eye next to theirs?

Did they have to deal with as much judgement over multiple soulmates as he did?

Virgil was snapped out of his thoughts by his dad yelling at him. Virgil groaned before yelling back a response and dragging himself out of his bed.

*

College. The word made Virgil sick to his stomach. He pulled into the dorm parking lot and took out his car keys, but he didn't get out of the car.

He was here on an art scholarship, and he couldn't be more grateful, but the idea of college also scared the shit out of him. He took a shaky breath before opening the car door and dragging out his first bag.

As he walked into the dorm lobby, he kept an eye out for people with two eye colors. While he told himself not to get his hopes up, he couldn't help but watch for his possible soulmates.

He got his room key after an uncomfortable encounter with the dorm mom (why did she have to mention Virgil's eyes?) and starting lugging his suitcase up to the second floor.

His grip on his suitcase tightened as he thought about his new dorm mate. He prayed to god that his dorm mate wasn't a prick and that he wouldn't care that Virgil had four soulmates.

He unlocked the door and slowly opened it only to find his roommate hadn't arrived yet. He sighed in relief and dropped his suitcase on the nearest bed before turning around to go back and grab the last of his bags.

*

It was late afternoon and Virgil was in the middle of unpacking when he heard the lock on the doorknob turning. He turned around as the door opened to reveal his roommate. Virgil's eyes widened.

"Hi!" the boy exclaimed happily with a large grin on his face. Virgil almost died on the spot from the cuteness in front of him.

He was slightly shorter than Virgil, with curlier hair and freckles peppering his face, neck and shoulders. Virgil then looked at his eyes and his breath hitched.

His right eye was a light green and his left eye was a deep blue.

"It's so wonderful to meet you. I'm Patton!" he said happily as he came into the room and closed the door behind him. He hadn't noticed yet.

"I- I'm Virgil," he managed to stutter. This was the last thing he expected.

"Great to met ya, Virgil! I-" Patton turned to face more towards Virgil then stopped in his tracks and gasped. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Patton's face broke into a grin.

Virgil had to make sure.

Without a word Virgil went into the bathroom and stared at his left eye. Light brown. Blink. Blue. Blink. Dark brown.

It skipped green.

Virgil thought he was going to hyperventilate.

"Are you okay?" Virgil heard Patton ask in a soft voice. Without removing his gaze from the mirror, Virgil nodded slowly.

"I-" Virgil started before snapping his mouth shut. He had no idea what to say.

"Can... Can I hug you?" Patton asked. Virgil quickly turned his attention back towards Patton. He nodded.

Patton threw his arms around Virgil's shoulders and Virgil moved his arms around Patton's waist.

"I'm so happy to finally meet you," Patton whispered in Virgil's ear. Virgil shuddered.

"Me too."

*

Virgil helped Patton bring up the rest of his bags, and afterwards Patton was insistent on taking Virgil out for coffee. Virgil agreed, but his heart was racing in his chest as he walked toward the student union with Patton.

Once inside the union they talked about whatever random things they could think of. Virgil discovered that Patton was also an art major here on scholarship and lived in a town farther away than he did. His favorite color was yellow and he thought snickerdoodle cookies are the best things ever created.

"So, was your hometown small like mine?" Virgil asked. Patton nodded.

"Sorry if this is too personal, but... did you have a hard time growing up with four soulmates?"

This question had been burning in Virgil's mind for years, and now that one of his soulmates was in front of him he just had to ask.

"Did you?" was Patton's response. Virgil nodded. Patton smiled sadly.

"So did I," he admitted. "It was a very cookie-cutter conservative town. People must've thought there was something wrong with me. I could never make any close friends."

Patton just shrugged.

"But it's okay because now I have you," he said as he reached out and grabbed Virgil's hand.

Virgil felt the blush rise in his cheeks.

*

Patton and Virgil quickly discovered that both of them were touch-starved and craved attention, so they gave each other just that. Growing up so secluded and alone, such gentleness was almost foreign to them and they relished in the soft touches and tender glances they shared. They had a few more days until classes started and they spent almost the whole time together, either together in the dorm or exploring campus.

The two shared their first kiss the day they had met. They were sitting on the beanbag chair Patton had brought, Patton's legs over Virgil's lap as they talked and basked in each other's company. Their eyes met and for a moment the world was still. Virgil leaned forward slightly before hesitating, and Patton closed the gap.

The kiss was chaste and brief, as that was all the two could handle right now, but it was more than enough and smiles adorned the blushing faces of the two boys as Patton pulled himself closer to Virgil.

It had been three days since they both arrived on campus and classes were starting the next morning. Virgil found it too difficult to sleep, and after an hour of tossing and turning, Patton invited him to his own bed. As Virgil climbed out of his bed to Patton's, he thought that he would still be too nervous to sleep, but now for a different reason than classes. But once Patton's arms wrapped around Virgil and pulled him close to his chest, Virgil found he was able to sleep easily.

It had been only a couple of weeks since the two met, and they were sitting alone outside on a bench shrouded by bushes. It was growing darker, and the two knew they needed to head back to their dorm but neither could find the motivation to leave. Patton was humming something as Virgil had his head rested on Patton's shoulder.

"I'm so lucky," Patton whispered, interrupting his little song. Virgil looked up at him.

"Trust me, I'm the lucky one here," Virgil responded. Patton shook his head.

"You're so wonderful, Virgil. I-" Patton paused. "I... I think I'm falling in love with you."

The words were shaky, and Virgil could feel Patton tense up. He sat up so he could look at Patton, and frowned slightly as he saw Patton's terrified expression.

This was almost too fast for Virgil, but whenever he looked at Patton he felt this wave of emotion run over him, and he truly understood the power of soulbonds and just how lucky he was to be one of the few to have them.

"I'm falling in love with you, too."

*

"Virgil, honey, you gotta stop pressing snooze," Patton whispered. Patton just grunted and pulled himself closer to Patton. It was a few months into the school year and Virgil still wasn't used to waking up so early.

"I wanna stay with you," he mumbled into Patton's shirt. He heard Patton sigh, but he knew he was smiling.

"Do you promise to get up as soon as I get out of the shower?" Patton asked as he gently moved Virgil off his chest. Virgil nodded.

Before Patton could get out of bed, Virgil grabbed his arm and pulled him down so he could kiss him. Patton smiled and put his hands on Virgil's cheeks as he kissed back. Once apart, Patton smiled at Virgil with a look of such adoration that Virgil almost melted under the gaze. Patton blink, causing his eye to change from brown to blue. Virgil smiled and pulled Patton back to him, but Patton cut the kiss short.

"You're too good for me," Virgil sighed as he laid back down. He buried himself in more blankets to make up for the loss of warmth after Patton left.

Upon hearing that on Monday and Wednesdays Virgil had to get up earlier than him, Patton made it a habit to wake up early with Virgil even though he didn't have to. Virgil was incredibly grateful for that.

"I am not," Patton said as he grabbed a towel and closed the bathroom door.

*

Virgil held Patton's hand as they made their way to the cafeteria. They had grown used to the weird looks people gave them, since they were holding hands while their eyes were still two different colors. Most just assumed they were dating despite having soulmates, the thought of multiple soulmates never crossing their minds.

The air had that morning coolness to it and their shoes got slightly wet from the morning dew. The sun wasn't completely up so the light wasn't as bright as it made it's way through the tree branches. The early morning birds were still singing when Virgil opened the Union door for Patton. Even though Virgil hated waking up so early, he enjoyed the calm atmosphere of early mornings.

"How's your art project coming along?" Virgil asked as they sat down at their normal table by the window.

"Great!" Patton exclaimed as he opened his orange juice. How Patton could drink orange juice while eating waffles with syrup would always confuse Virgil.

"That's good to hear," Virgil said. "I'm struggling. Can't exactly figure out what I want to do next."

"Well, I can help you this afternoon," Patton offered as he drowned his waffles in syrup. Virgil couldn't help but snicker.

"What?"

"Nothing. And I'd appreciate that."

*

Virgil made it through college easier than he thought, and it was all because of Patton. Patton had been his rock, always supportive and always there to help Virgil.

Neither of them had any idea how hard summer would be.

They lived too far away from each other to see each other often. The two had grown used to having the other around, and they didn't look forward to going back to distant parents and lonely hometown.

"I'll call you, like, everyday. Unless you don't want me to and that would annoy you-"

"I'd love that," Virgil quickly reassured him. He tried to keep himself together as Patton was already on the verge of tears.

"Okay, well, we'll get together again as soon as possible, right?" Patton asked. His voice cracked at the end and it broke Virgil's heart.

"Yeah, of course."

Patton threw himself into Virgil's arms. Patton only let go so he could kiss Virgil, and Virgil kissed back, desperate. When they broke apart, Virgil saw that Patton had started crying, and that was the end for Virgil. A few tears escaped his eyes before he quickly wiped them away.

"I'll see you soon, babe. I promise," Virgil said before pulling Patton in for another quick kiss.

"See you soon," Patton said before they both walked away towards their cars.

*

That summer went by agonizingly slow. They were only able to see each other a couple of times. And Virgil couldn't believe he was saying this, but he couldn't wait for school to start back up.

They both requested to share a dorm again and were relieved when the college gave them the same room. They agreed to both get there as early in the morning as they could so they could see each other as soon as possible.

Virgil, as expected, got there sooner than Patton as he lived closer. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he unpacked and waited.

He heard the door unlock and he froze. The door quickly swung open and there was Patton.

He ran into the room and threw the door closed before jumping into Virgil's arms. His legs wrapped around Virgil's waist and Virgil held him as tightly as he could.

"Oh my god, I missed you," Virgil whispered. He heard Patton take a shaky breath and felt tears fall onto his neck.

"I missed you, too. I missed you I missed you I missed you," Patton whispered.

The phone calls and skype calls could never equate to seeing Patton in person, to being able to hold him and feel him.

Virgil put Patton down and smiled down at him before finally leaning to kiss him. It started off slow and gentle, before being replaced with a sense of urgency and eagerness. Patton's hands tangled themselves in Virgil's hair as he pulled him closer. Virgil's hands found themselves on Patton's back as he pushed their bodies together. Soft gasps escaped both of them as their bodies pressed together and the kiss became needier. Though they briefly discussed taking things further, they both agreed they would prefer to wait until the met the three others. So the two separated and placed their foreheads together. They breathed heavily for a moment before Patton smiled and started giggling. Virgil couldn't help but smirk back.

"I love you," Virgil said.

"I love you, too," Patton responded before pulling Virgil back into another kiss.

*

Their sophomore year went smoothly, and before they knew it, summer was back. This goodbye was easier, knowing what they were going into.

It was about a month into the summer and Virgil was just laying in bed, scrolling through Tumblr on his laptop. It was only a couple of days until Virgil could go drive up to see Patton and stay with him for a couple of weeks, and he was really excited.

Virgil heard his text notification go off and reached over for his phone.

Patton <3: Get on skype!!!

Virgil sat up straight and fixed his hair a bit before opening the app. As soon as the window loaded he got a video call request from Patton.

"Hey, babe," Virgil said, voice a bit raspy from lack of use throughout the day.

"Hey, honey!! I got really big news!"

"What's up!"

"Look at my eye!" Patton leaned in a bit closer and blinked. His left eye changed from the dark brown to the light brown. Patton blinked again and it went straight back to dark brown, skipping blue. Virgil gasped.

"You met them??"

"Yeah! Oh, Virgil, he's incredible. I can't wait for you to meet him on Saturday.

Virgil's heart rate increased.

"He asked me to go with him to a museum tomorrow and of course I wanted to say yes but then I told him that I had already met you and that I wanted to wait for you to come to town as you were coming in two days and oh, Virgil, you should've seen the look on his face at the idea getting to meet you so soon-"

"Slow down, babe," Virgil said. Patton took a deep breath.

"Anyways, you're going to love him. I-"

"Patton!" Virgil heard Patton's mother yell offscreen. Patton winced slightly before continuing.

"Sorry, I gotta go. I'll call you later tonight though, promise!"

"Yeah, okay."

"I love you, Virgil," Patton said softly.

"I love you, too, Pat."

Patton smiled and ended the call.

Virgil fell back against his pillow again.

Patton had met another one.

His mind immediately fell into a hole of self-doubt. What if Patton loved this new guy more than him? What if the new guy doesn't like him? What if Patton and his other soulmate like each other more than him? What if he doesn't have a place in this relationship anymore??

He took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. Patton loved him. From what he knew of soulbonds from his time with Patton, he knew he should be able to click with his other soulmate immediately.

He couldn't get himself to believe that.

[inkedtae]

bring the pain ⇾ jjk. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ON!jungkook x dancer!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒 ⇾ requested, s2l, secret lovers, fluff, smut, a dash of angst for good measure

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  innocent glances and sweet smiles turned into secret meet-ups and dirty desires. you’re in love with the man, not his fame. is this love really worth the hate? 

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 10.3k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), slight degradation, dirty talk, bondage, oral (f. receiving), bodyworshipping kink, daddy kink, hair pulling, spanking, pussy slapping, begging, lowkey filth, mentions of threats near the end

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ thank you to the kind anon that requested this; never knew i needed to write ON!jungkook until your ask. i might have gotten carried away with the the smut part… oh well. i might have rewritten the entire plot at the last second.  if you have any requests, please send’em my way. enjoy!

It was the way you pushed yourself, he had told you. The way you didn’t quit when the others thought that you couldn’t keep up. The way that you became the lead dancer within three days despite the otherwise badgering doubts that surrounded you. That’s what drew him to you, what made him curious for more. 

Doubt and hate were two different levels of insecurity, within and without alike. Doubt was a little voice. That voice’s impact was only as effective as your mind would let it be. Hate was different. It was not a nagging of the mind, but a breaking of the heart, reaching for your soul next. Hate consumed and used, battered and beat all affection from an already wounded heart. Hate didn’t smell blood; it drew it. He did not see that yet. But, then again, neither did you. 

The day you met him was the morning of a full dance rehearsal. Management needed to see the full moving picture. They needed proof of progress and what better way to retrieve it than by organizing it themselves. It was a busy morning, filled with three different kinds of production crews: concept creators, filming directors and assistants, and video and sound recorders. The members of Bangtan were said to arrive later, once they had gone through hair and makeup and the rehearsal room was prepped for filming. 

You weren’t very sure why management needed to do a full rehearsal so soon. Usually, these kinds of rehearsals were scheduled three months before scheduled performances. This one had been pushed up to six months. And you knew that management already had a good grasp on how all the background dancers were progressing throughout practises. You had caught one or two managers, who you didn’t really recognize, sitting in one on your early morning or late night practises many times before. They always had masks on and hoods up. They wore clothes that were all too baggy to make out a proper frame and their faces remained too covered to make out proper features of any kind. When you had asked one of the choreographers about it, they just said that it was management’s way of being discreet. You thought it only made them that much more painstakingly obvious, but you didn’t push the topic any further and returned to your place to practise the motions once more. 

“Ow,” Harin muttered under her breath. She scooted closer to you, pulling her legs into her chest as the camera crew got their wires in order. 

You turned to her, assessing the damage on her fingers as she rubbed them. “You alright?” 

She nodded. “That’s the fourth time,” she huffed, glaring at one of the men holding a camera. 

You bit the inside of your cheeks, resisting the urge to tell her that if she had followed the rules the moment they were given, then she wouldn’t have been stepped on at all. Everyone was told to remain around the centre of the room, letting the crews do what they had to on the sidelines. Her failure to comply couldn’t have led to anything less.

“I’m sorry about that,” you mumbled, avoiding her eye. The statement wasn’t a complete lie. You really didn’t want to see her, or anyone for that matter, hurt at all. But all you could hear when you saw her were those backhanded compliments she gave you when you first started rehearsing about three months ago. 

That’s pretty good for a beginner, she told you. Skilled footwork would have played that slip-up off without anyone even noticing, she said as she stared down at you when you had tripped over her slip-up. She helped you up that day, only to push you back down again. 

A loud clap drew you out of your thoughts. You redirected your attention to the front. Mijin stood before all the dancers, gesturing them to stand up. You smiled at her and she returned it while others wrapped up their conversations. You were really for Mijin. Had she not believed in you, you probably would’ve been cut a while ago and replaced. She was the only choreographer that stood up for you when you first started.

“Remember,” Mijin repeated for what felt like the thousandth. “Do not speak unless spoken to. This is not an opportunity to ask for photos or autographs. Please maintain professional conduct at all times.” She’d been telling everyone this for the past week, urging everyone to adhere to the NDA contracts they signed. 

You could feel Harin shiver with excitement beside you. She fixed her hair one last time in the mirror before for trying to calm herself down. You couldn’t really blame her. You were really excited too. You’ve been following Bangtan’s journey for a while, their struggle to be heard and taken seriously resonating with you on levels you couldn’t bear to recall. But, your nerves took over your excitement by a long shot. You were too nervous to expel your excitement like Harin did, or any other dancer for that matter. While they whispered to themselves about the member’s arrival and shifted about in their places, you stood perfectly still. Your entire body stiffened, out of fear or panic, you weren’t really sure. All you knew was that you were probably going to have to stretch again to not risk pulling any muscles during practise. 

The chatter amongst the dancers died out as the members entered. Your breath hitched at their tall, perfectly sculpted figures. You knew they were beautiful, but this was simply another degree of beauty you had ever witnessed. You realized in that moment that not a single camera could properly capture the beauty that was them. Those pictures you had seen, gifs you’ve stared at and videos you’ve replayed so many times you couldn’t count, only held a fraction of them. Looking into their eyes in person was enough to tell you that they were not entirely the same people they advertised themselves to be as well. They were more. They were flawed and flawless all at once, smiles hiding the exhaustion of the industry. You supposed that was the price for reinventing art. 

As you scanned down the line, your eyes caught a doe-like gaze. Jungkook flashed you half a smile that only just met the dazed look in his eye. You felt your cheek heat up a bit as you returned it. You never really had a distinctive bais; they all kind of stuck out to you in their own way. You knew that if you had met them under different circumstances than you might have all been friends. However, that was a fantasy you didn’t dwell on too much. The reality was before you. They are famous; you were not. This was their show; not yours. You were only a moving piece of the puzzle that was this very concept; nothing more, nothing less. 

But Jungkook’s eyes told you a different story. You didn’t regret listening to them, getting lost in the wonders that they were. You didn’t regret anything, besides the consequences of your colliding worlds. 

“Two, three,” Namjoon started before they all joined in, “Hello! We are BTS!”

They bowed and you returned it, just as you were instructed. Mijin wasted no time ushering everyone to their places. She told the members to do as they practised themselves and move around us as they had done without us in their private sessions. 

You took your place in the front, practically centred. From your position, you could still feel Jungkook’s eyes on you. No other member had spared you another glance, here to do their work and carry on with their day. Jungkook, however, hadn’t let himself break away from your figure once. You dared a look over at him through your lashes. He must have interpreted your stolen glance as something more than it was. Maybe he was right and you just didn’t fully process your actions before doing them. Whatever the case may be, he still raised a brow at you and you still blushed. 

The music began and you moved with it, following the beat, remaining in sync, nailing every sharp turn or bang of drum. You were able to ignore his eyes until you looked up, the drum you were holding hovering above your head and Jungkook staring down at you as he danced. And fuck, did he dance well. You already knew this about him, but seeing it in person only further proved his talent. He smiled, not missing a single beat then handed you back the sticks, rough fingers brushing yours.

You had to practise for three hours, going through the same motions over and over again. He would always smile when he caught your eye, brush his hands against yours, and stare at you when he thought you weren’t looking. By the time everyone was allowed a break, you were exhausted. You sat on the floor, chugging down your water and trying to catch your breath. You knew that sitting down after such an intense workout would only stiffen your muscles and make you have to stretch all over again, but you just really felt like you couldn’t stay standing for the life of you. 

Jungkook still had his attention on you, you could tell from his reflection in the mirror. You blushed a bit, growing embarrassed by the fact that you were extremely sweaty to the point that any hair that had fallen on your face, clung to your forehead. In an attempt to fix it, you took your hair out of the high ponytail it was in and began to pull it all back once more. You were so focused on your task that you didn’t notice Jungkook’s reflection make its way to yours.  

“Hi,” he smiled, and bowed. 

You tightened your hair as you looked up at him. Somehow, within the panic coursing through you, you managed a small smile and nodded your head at him. “Hello,” you whispered, dropping your hands down to your lap. 

Jungkook gestured to the floor asking, “can I?” 

His request shocked you a bit. You had thought all this staring was in your head, that maybe he was just zoning out or looking at the cameras behind you. The thought that he actually might be interested in getting to know you at all was flattering, but still extremely confusing. You were simply  some back-up dancer, a common face lost between others in the background. 

His eyes searched yours as you stared up at him. You hadn’t realized you didn’t reply yet until one of his brows shot up. Blinking repeatedly, you pulled yourself back to reality and you nodded. A little blush tinted your cheeks as he beamed at you again. He had the cutest smile, the kind of cute that melted and filled your heart all at once. 

���You’re a great dancer,” he started after seating himself across from you. You opened your mouth to mumble a quiet thank you, but he continued, “I was just talking to some of the guys about it.” The tips of his ears reddened as your brows shot up at him. He opened his lips to speak, but his words seemed to fall short. 

You weren’t really sure what to say. Was he flustered, or hurt? The panicked look in his eyes could be applied to either, only confusing you even more. Why would he be flustered around you though? Yes, you had been exchanging glances the entire time, but that could hold countless meaning. You felt your stomach recoil with disappointment at the thought that he might not be as into you as you were into him. But, you needed to ground yourself, to remind yourself of the reality of the situation; you were just another face in the crowd.

He gaped at you, trying to find his words, as you slightly tilted your head at him. “You okay?” you asked. You tugged your bottom lip with your teeth, nervously chewing on it as his face suddenly lost all readable expressions. You could only assume, based on his relaxed jaw and wide eyes, that he was lost in some sort of trance. 

“Jungkook?” you asked, searching his eyes for an answer. 

A quiet sigh escaped him and he suddenly stood up. “Uh,” he started, glancing back at his friends. 

You leaned over a bit, sneaking a look at Jin and Jimin silently giggling to themselves while looking over at the two of you. Was all this just some sort of joke? Heart slightly shattering, you scolded yourself for indulging in your delusional thoughts about his actions. You looked back up at him, eyes reflecting a disappointment you didn’t have the strength to hide.  

Jungkook must’ve picked up on your thoughts because he suddenly squatted back down to your eye level. You watched him carefully. You wanted to be sure that whatever conclusions you drew from his next words were accurate and not just wishing thinking on your part. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. The sudden urge to lean over and pepper his neck with kisses hit you and you had to remind yourself that you were in a huge room filled with lots of people and that you needed to pull yourself together. 

“I’m sorry. I just- I um, the thing is that I-,”

You never got to hear the rest of that sentence as he was cut off by Mijin. She towered over both your frames, glaring down at you in particular. Fear overtook your mind, your heart beating so loud in your chest, you could hear the pounding in your ears. One look at her was enough to tell you that she won’t believe a thing you have to say about him talking to you first. 

Slowly tearing her warning stare from you, she looked to Jungkook and began to apologize. “I promise you we spoke to all the dancers about not bothering you. I thoroughly apologize for her behaviour.”  

“No, no,” he quickly replied, standing back up to his full height. “I was the one that approached her.”

Mijin raised her brow at you, confirming your thoughts. You weren’t really sure what the consequences were exactly, but knew that they weren’t going to be the best. “Thank you for understanding,” she smiled at Jungkook, all but dismissing him from the conversation. 

You stood up, clasping your hands behind you as Jungkook stared between you and Mijin. He seemed to finally get the hint that he was not needed in this conversation anymore and muttered one last apology to each of you, eyes lingering on you as he backpedaled back to his members. 

Mijin muttered for you to follow her and led you out of the rehearsal space. You walked behind her like the guiltless person you were. You did not technically break any of her rules. She told you not to speak unless spoken to and that was exactly what you did.

She didn’t seem very happy with your attitude when you finally reached the hall. “I didn’t expect this from you, (Y/N),” Mijin whispered, the disappointment clear in her voice. 

You lowered your head down as she spoke, accepting the scolding without a word. You weren’t going to challenge her or correct her knowing how well that attempt worked for Jungkook. You knew the best thing for you to do was silently receive this lecture and promise not to let it happen again.

“You are the last person I thought I’d have this conversation with. Their team is very adamant on not having them be distrubed. I really do not want to have this conversation with you again.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, “look at me.”

You silently met her unimpressed gaze. 

“You’re a valued dancer so I can’t reposition to the back like I’ve done to the others who tried to pull the same thing you did. But, I need to make sure you don’t do this again so you’re in charge of cleaning up the rehearsal room after practise tonight. I’ll have one of the janitors leave you everything you need. The moment everyone is out of there and you’re done changing, I want that room cleaned.”

You supposed she was being as lenient as she could. It wasn't exactly the best outcome, knowing how gross that room gets after a hard rehearsal, but you were thankful that you didn’t get pushed to the back. You had really worked hard and to have it all be taken away from you like that would’ve really been a big blow to your ego. 

“I understand. I’m sorry about it all and I promise it won’t happen again,” you reassured. 

She gave you a close-lipped smile, the same kind your mother gives you when she can’t help but forgive whatever stupid thing you did that set her off. After patting your shoulder, she nodded for you to return back into the room. 

Jungkook continued to watch you all through rehearsal and, though you promised not to interact with him or any of the guys, you still met his eye and shared a smile. Your heart simply couldn’t deny him whatever attention he wanted. 

The practise fully ended three and a half hours later. Your body was completely torn with exhaustion and all you really wanted was to go home and take a long, hot bath to soothe your aching muscles. Your punishment still hung over your head though. Mijin reminded you about getting it done while you were leaving to change. She said that a list of what to clean will be left for you as well. 

You didn’t really take your time changing. You just wanted to go back in there and finish everything you needed to quickly so you could go home and shower the entire practise off. You swapped your sweaty t-shirt and sweatpants for a lavender patterned dress that ended just around your mid-thigh. It hugged your waist nicely, but flowed out beneath it. You found it very breathable and it was one of your favourites. 

The reek of the practise room didn’t really hit you until you reentered it. It was the hearty proof of a whole team’s hard work but it still overwhelmed you. You made your way to the windows position high up on the wall to crack it open and air out the room a bit. Standing on your toes, you reached and reached for the handle to turn it open but continuously fell short. A frustrated sigh escaped you as you began to look around the room for some leverage to stand on. 

“Need some help?” 

Your entire body froze as his sweet voice met your ears. He wouldn’t actually come back, would he? You turned to find Jungkook leaning against the doorframe, wearing an oversized black shirt and some baggy black pants. The sight was nothing short of breathtaking. He seemed more collected now than he did before, smiling lazily at you. 

Your brows came together as you watched him carefully. “Yes, please,” you replied before stepping aside as he made his way over to you. 

Jungkook held your gaze, nodding at you like he was greeting you all over again. You gave him a nod back and resisted the urge to laugh. It was clear he was trying to play it cool, acting indifferent as to whether or not you even gave him your attention. It was only later in your relationship when he told you Jin had given him that advice and even walked him through it a couple of times while waiting for you to finish changing. 

His shirt rode up a bit, making you blush, as he reached for the handle, failing the first time as well. His face briefly tilted to the side as he realized how much of a challenge it really was. He reached up again, able to hold onto the windowsill and hoist himself up just enough that his toes only just brushed the floor. In the quickest motions you’d ever seen, he turned the window open, letting the cool spring breeze air the room out. 

“Thank you so much,” you smiled as he hopped back down. 

He offered only a little shrug as he tongued his cheek. His eyes then fell on the cleaning supplies and all previous nonchalant attitude left him, concern and guilt taking its place instead. “Is that because of me?” He questioned as he walked towards them. 

You followed him, having to somewhat jog just to keep up with his fast strides.“Uh, not exactly,” you said, not really wanting to lie to him but also not wanting him to feel bad about it either. He turned to raise a brow at you before picking up the list of things that need to be done. “It’s really not that big a deal,” you shrugged. 

Jungkook didn’t react to your words. He seemed all too immersed in the list that you questioned if he even heard you. You took a step forward, leaning a bit to meet his gaze but he didn’t acknowledge it, probably still not noticing you had moved at all. You took a quick step back when he suddenly looked up and began to grab a spray and cloth. “I’ll clean the mirrors and you could sweep the floor then we can mop it together later,” he said, making his way to the mirrors before you even had a chance to fully register his words. 

Your eyes followed his frame to the other end of the room as you froze in place. Confusion took over your features and you were slightly concerned by his behaviour. “Um, what are you doing?” You met his gaze in the mirror. 

He gave you a small smile and replied, “Cleaning the mirror like I told you I would.”

“Yes, but why?”

His hands dropped to his side and he turned to face you. “I got you into this mess. It’s only fair I help you out a bit. And I know you’re probably tired from practise anyway so the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go,” he explained then turned back to the mirror. 

It was clear that he had already made up his mind and, with the innocent look in his eyes, you really couldn’t find it in you to refuse him once more. A sigh escaped you as you took the broom and carried out your punishment. Every so often, you’d look over at him expecting to find him looking at you. His concentration latched onto the task he assigned himself, mouth slightly agape and brow furrowed as he rubbed the mirror clean. It was rather endearing, watching him give his full to such a normal task. It wasn’t like he was asked to build a mirror, yet he cleaned it with the same effort he probably would’ve applied to building it. 

Jungkook met your gaze and you snapped your head down to the ground, sweeping around you once more. A little chuckle echoed in the quiet room. You snuck a glance back up at him to find him still looking, a little smirk playing on his lips now. “You okay?” he asked, the cockiness in his voice not at all lost on you. 

You offered him a little nod, nothing more. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, knowing your voice would betray you. He was a very hard guy to read as he switched between demeanours easily. You weren’t used to that, used to having to figure out guys. Usually, you’d be able to tell if a guy was interested or not within the first two minutes of your interaction. But Jungkook confused you more than you wanted to admit. He’d stutter and fluster then stride with confidence and flash smug smiles only to revert back to his quiet, shy attitude as he simply stared at you. 

You thought that maybe finding out what exactly he wanted to talk to you about might help you figure him out. You had been thinking about his almost-words all day, wondering if he was sent there to mess with you or if he really had something he wanted to share. He squatted down to get the last of the mirror done as you cleared your throat. You wanted to make sure you didn’t sound all breathy and out of it when you spoke to him. His attention snapped back up at you, brows raised as if to ask you what it was you needed.

“Um,” you started, before leaning against the broom. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

His neck grew a bit pink as he ceased all actions and stared at you. After a moment of silence, he stood up and turned to you, but kept his gaze on the floor. “Oh, that,” he said as he scratched the nape of his neck. He walked towards the cleaning supplies and set the things he was using down as he continued, “well, I wanted to let you know that I think you’re really talented.” 

Your jaw went slack, eyes wide and brows rose in disbelief. “I- really?” you asked, searching for signs of possible lies. 

He nodded, walking back over to you with a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I’ve seen how you’ve improved since the first month and I gotta say that not a lot could really do that. You’re a natural.”

This was all too much at once. You knew you were a pretty good dancer, but coming from Jungkook it all seemed too good to be true. And when had he even seen you dance in the first month to know you had improved. You didn’t remember any cameras being there, documenting the group’s progress. The only people outside of the choreographers who have watched all practised were the few members of upper management. 

Your eyes fell back on his all black outfit, that shirt seeming all too familiar. The growing smile on his face only further confirmed your suspicions.

“You were pretending to be management?” you asked. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged as he smiled knowingly at you. “I- well, thank you, I guess,” you finally breathed, growing more and more flustered as he looked at you.

He nodded, reverting his gaze to the ground. “And, um, I kind uh, well, here’s the thing,” he restarted, looking back up at you. His eyes met yours but no words followed. He just stared at you with a slightly panicked look in his eye while his mouth remained open. You parted your lips to ask if he was alright when he finally found his voice again. “I was wondering if I could get your number,” he quickly asked. 

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

Jungkook looked around the room with a small smile playing on his lips as he nodded again. “Who else would I be talking to?”

You breathed a giggle, rolling your eyes at his words. He redirected his grin to the ground, pleased with himself no doubt. It brought a similiar smile to your lips and you held your hand out to him, silently asking for his phone. 

However, Jungkook completely misinterpreted the gesture. His smile widened and he slipped his large hand into your small one, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Your breath got caught in your throat by the action, but he didn’t seem to catch onto that either. He swung your joined hands a bit, an innocent grin on his face.

“This is very nice,” you started, “but, I was actually wanting your phone, so I could type in my number.” 

His cheeks redden as he immediately let go of your hand. You giggled a bit at his flustered state. He quickly patted his pockets for his phone. “I’m really sorry,” he laughed a bit with you, before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He fiddled around with it before handing it to you. 

Your hands brushed as you took it and he redirected his gaze to something behind you. You knew he was just trying to avoid your gaze so you didn’t bother to follow his line of sight. Your mind was way too absorbed by what he had written in the contacts name. He had your initials with a little pink heart beside it, making you blush. You spared him a glance, wondering how the hell he knew your last name when you remembered that he sat in for quite a lot of classes and most likely heard Mijin call on you by it. 

Jungkook met your gaze for a second, nervously shifting in place. It was then that you knew you could really fall for him. And that fact didn’t worry you in the slightest.

“You’re late,” you greeted as you opened the door.

Jungkook smiled widely, hoping it was enough to make up for the fact that he didn’t text or call to tell you so. It was working, but you didn’t want him know to that. You wanted to make him pay a little for making you wait so long. After casting him your best unimpressed expression, you turned around and walked back into the kitchen to check on your ramen. 

“We weren’t allowed to leave until we got the shot right,” he explained after shutting the door and kicking off his shoes. “And you know how the guys get when they’re tired.” He walked into the kitchen to find the spread you promised to make him this time all laid out. An excited smile graced his lips as he took it all in. “Is this a preview of what I’d be coming home to?” he asked. 

You hummed in response, keeping your back to him as you portioned out the noodles. Little kisses peppered the nape of your neck and moved up your jawline as muscular arms wrapped around your body. You blushed, turning your face away from him so he won’t see. It only made him tighten his grip, his body now pressed against yours. A giggle escaped you as you tried to fight off his hold. He laughed into the kisses, keeping you in place without much effort. 

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, finally turning to face him. 

A soft smile greeted you before you were pulled into a sweet kiss. You could never get tired of his kisses, not realizing how much you needed them in your life until you had them. A little whine left you when he pulled away. 

Jungkook leaned his forehead against yours, whispering, “I’m sorry; I should’ve let you know.”

You shrugged, fighting off a smile. “It’s fine, I knew you’d be late so the food’s not that cold anyway.” 

Jungkook tilted his head at you, tightening his grip once more. You laughed as he attacked your neck with kisses again. 

“If you wanted my attention, you should’ve just asked, babe,” he smirked against your jaw. His lips trailed up your chin, placing teasing little pecks around your lips too. 

You tried to fight off a smile and catch his lips with yours but he skillful dodged them, too keen on teasing you. “Jungkook,” you exclaimed in frustration. You parted your lips to tell him off when he finally gave into your request, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue gently nudged yours and you quietly moaned onto the kiss, feeling a blush spread across your chest. 

He pulled away with a smile, those cute teeth on full display. He didn’t say anything for a while, just stood and gazed back. “I love you,” he murmured, brushing the tip of his nose on yours. 

You’ve only been dating for about five months, spending every free second you had together and he’d already confessed his love for you multiple times. You’ve always returned it, mirroring his smile and shy eyes. You knew you loved him, and meant it every time you said it, but this time you felt it with every ounce of your being. Every part of you melted into his frame, drowning in everything that was him. Your lips sweetly latched onto his again, a softer take on the kiss you previously shared. “I love you too,” you smiled. 

“Good,” he smirked. He gave you one last peck before reaching behind you and grabbing the two bowls of noodles. “Now, let’s go eat before the food gets cold.”

You let out a little sigh as you watched him walk away, already missing his warmth. You knew that if you called him back, he’d gladly agree to heat the food up later and humour every one of your desires right now. But, you could tell from the tired look in his eyes, that he was trying hard to fight off, that he really needed to relax. You turned to the rest of the plates instead and took them to the table.

Jungkook had set your plates beside each other rather than across, making you furrow your brows. He usually liked his own space when he was eating to be able to move freely, and you never really took offence to that, knowing that sometimes you wanted that same courtesy. You searched around for him to find his broad back. He was hunched over the bluetooth speaker in the living room, looking between the speaker and his phone to probably try to connect them. You thought that maybe he was excited to put some music on, seeing as he usually always is, and didn’t think to set the plates properly. You took the liberty of doing that yourself, placing the kimchi and beef plates down in the middle and resetting the bowls of noodles across from each other. 

As you walked back into the kitchen, you heard Jungkook call over the music he chose, “Babe!” You grabbed the wine glasses and bottle before walking back to the table, humming your concern. “You don’t wanna sit next to me?” He asked with a playful smile, resetting all the plates so that they were easier to reach from one side of the table.

“You do?” You raised a brow at him as you set down the glasses. 

He took the bottle from you and nodded. “Maybe I missed you today,” he shrugged as he poured some into the glasses. You sat down, taking a sip of your drink as he continued. “Didn't you miss me?” The smug tone in his voice made you roll your eyes at him. 

You kissed his cheek when he sat down beside you, slightly staining his red from the wine. You brushed your thumb over the area, wiping the colour away. He took a bite of his food, groaning out his approval as you pushed his fringe back a bit. A blush coloured your cheeks at his reaction. 

“You’re not overreacting, are you?” you questioned with a smile playing on your lips. 

“Oh my god,” he mumbled around his food. “You can’t fake this,” he insisted, shoving another piece of meat in his mouth. 

You giggled and began digging in as well. “Who’s covering for you this time?” you asked before taking another bite. 

“Jin,” he replied before chugging the last bit of his wine. “I promised to buy him lunch tomorrow in exchange for his help,” he sat back, looking at the wine bottle as if wondering if he should have another glass. 

You chuckled at his spaced out expression, knowing he was serious debating how badly he wanted another glass. He looked at you, a small smile dancing on his lips. “Want another?” he asked, leaning his arm on the back of your chair. You took your last bite before shaking your head at him. He seemed to use that as his own deciding factor, nodding along. 

His hand slid from your chair to your thigh as he smiled fondly at you. “You look so cute with your cheeks filled with food like that,” he laughed, pulling out his phone to take a picture. 

You held your hand up at the camera, trying to chew on your food faster. His hand held yours down easily, repeated the action when you used your other hand to block your face. The way he was able to easily hold down both your hands in one of his own made you blush. You rolled your eyes as he took the phone, making his giggle into his screen. He let go of your hands and began fiddling around with the picture.

You finally finished eating before saying, “you better not be saying that to anyone.” 

He furrowed his brows at you, immediately shaking his head. “Nah, this gem is mine,” he winked at you. 

You nudged his shoulder, laughing at his cuteness. He barely moved, and didn’t make an effort to even fake the effects, all too busy gazing down at his phone. You playfully exaggerated a sigh and began picking up the plates in front of you. “So obsessed,” you said, feigning annoyance in your tone as you walked back to the kitchen. 

“Obsessed?” he questioned behind you. You jumped, dropping the plates in the sink. You hadn’t heard him even stand up, let alone follow you back into the kitchen. You turned around to face him to find his body towering yours. He took a step forward, closing whatever space was left between you as his hand caressed your cheek. “I think I’m just in love, babygirl,” he whispered as he hovered his lips over yours. 

You smiled, leaning up and pressing your lips against his tenderly. Your hands, previously clutching onto the counter’s edge behind you, moving up his sides to his shoulders. “I know you are, daddy,” you replied when he pulled away a bit, watching his smirk widen and eyes darken.

He ran a gentle hand through your hair only to roughly grip onto it. A tiny whine left you but he didn’t pay much mind to it. He pulled your head back, forcing your gaze to lower to get a better look at him. His head lowered a bit as his tongue darted out and swiped a lick over your lips, earning a quiet moan from you. “What did I say about being bratty, babygirl?” he asked, voice dropping an octave. 

You gulped, pressing your thighs together as you felt yourself getting wetter. “Are you saying I’m wrong, daddy? Are you not in lov- Ah!” you gasped as his strong hand came down on your ass. You opened your mouth to apologize but it only earned you another spank, jolting your body against his. 

“Did I or did I not ask a question?” He looked down at you, a smug smirk playing on his lips. He was definitely having too much fun with this and if you weren’t starting to get needy, you probably would’ve kept talking back. 

You bit your lip and nodded, easily complying. He raised a brow, silently ordering you to answer the first question he asked you. It was all part of his game, a lesson you learned the hard way when you two were still exploring the other’s likes and dislikes when it came to the other’s body. He liked seeing you so openly compliant, melting into his every word and touch, as if you didn’t do that already. But when he was in this role, he wanted to see the desperate plea of your eyes, and feel the way you quivered and whined for him. And from the hard bulge pressed against your abdomen, you could tell that he was getting exactly what he wanted. 

��You’ll punish me if I’m bratty, daddy,” you finally answered. He must’ve been satisfied because he released his hold on your hair, patting it down gently. 

He nudged his nose against yours, slightly leaning away from your lips when you’ve puckered them for a kiss. “I don’t think you’ve fully learned that lesson yet, baby,” he said as he curled a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. 

You hummed, the sound somewhere between a moan and chuckle. You were way too eager to see what he had in mind and it was all too clear to him. You could tell by the way his eyes flashed with amusement that he was enjoying seeing you so excited about it. However, he quickly recovered, eyes darkening once again as he gripped your ass with both hands. You gasped, giggling against his neck as your hands slid down to his chest. 

“You’re having way too much fun,” Jungkook laughed, leaning back to look at you. 

You raised a brow, trying to fight off a blush and asked, “And you’re not, daddy?” 

His lips quirked up in a mocking smile before he reached his hands to the back of your dress, tearing it apart in one swift motion. The thin straps fell off your shoulders, his chest against yours the only thing keeping it up. “Kookie,” you whined, reaching a hand back to feel the ripped seams. “This was one of my favourites.”

Jungkook chuckled, smirk widening as he rolled his eyes. Your skin prickled with goosebumps at the sight then from the cold as he moved back enough to let the dress fall. “I’ll buy you another, baby,” he promised, eyes shamelessly wandering down. 

“I don’t another,” you pouted as he gazed at your breasts. You weren’t wearing a bra, the dress not necessarily calling for one so your nipples instantly hardened from the sudden cold. 

He dragged his eyes back up to yours, looking less than impressed. “You walked around all day without a bra, baby?” he questioned before circling around your naked frame. 

You instantly felt small with him somewhere behind you. You could only just feel the faint fan of his breath over your shoulders. He placed both hands on your hips and gently guided you to the counter. You weren’t really sure what he had in mind. Usually, at this point, Jungkook would have carried you somewhere more comfortable, somewhere he could press your face into as he fucked you relentlessly. 

He stopped you the moment your hips were pressed against the edge of the counter. The clatter of his belt filled the room, making you wet with anticipation. He was really drawing this out more than he normally did. Before you could even think to question his actions, both your hands were pulled back behind you. His belt wrapped around them, tightening the restraint to ensure you couldn’t break the hold. 

“Daddy?” you asked, looking back at him over your shoulder. 

Jungkook froze at the tone of your voice. He pushed your hair out of your face, leaning towards you and placing a sweet kiss to your cheek. “You remember the safe word, baby?” he murmured, that loving tone of his returning as he stroked your hair. 

You nodded, replying, “gold.”

He softly smiled and nodded. “Do you wanna use it?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. 

The switch flicked back on, eyes darkening once again. “Then shut the fuck up, babygirl.” He pushed you down over the counter. 

You were on your toes, ass propped up as you whined at the coldness of the marble beneath your naked torso. You squirmed, trying to look over your shoulder at him. He was in the middle of stripping, taking his layers off starting with his plaid shirt then his white t-shirt. You drank in the sight of his chest, pressing your thighs together as a little moan left you. 

He must’ve noticed the action, looking up to meet your helpless gaze with his lust-filled one. He smirked and ran a hand down your spine, making your shiver and nervously giggle. “You’re too fucking sexy,” he sighed. He was most definitely horny, but the sincerity in his voice couldn’t be missed. You leaned your head back on the counter, blushing to yourself like you weren’t naked and bent over, ready for him to fuck and play with. 

His hands rested on your hips, pulling down your panties. He remained on his knees, spreading your cheeks to lick at your pussy. You helped him get better access, spreading your legs for him. His tongue flicked at your clit a few times before his lips latched onto it, sucking and licking all too erotically for you to handle. Your thighs began to tremble and he laughed.

“I barely started, babe. Don’t ruin all my fun,” he teased against your folds then lapped at them. He shook his head between your thighs, lips rubbing against your pussy. 

“Daddy,” you mewled, moving your hips against his face for more. You were so close, voice getting higher as your walls clenched around his tongue, making him laugh again. “Yes, fuck yes, daddy. Ye- fuck!” you cried out getting up to turn around only to have him push you back down. You huffed, pushing your ass back on him in defiance. How the hell did he even get back on his feet that fast? 

He kissed your back, trailing open mouth kisses up and down your spine and around your shoulders. “Were you about to cum without permission, babygirl?” he questioned, smacking your pussy this time. The wet slap echoed in your ears, pulling a pornographic gasp from your lips. He groaned in response, smacking your sensitive pussy again just to hear you whimper, “daddy please.”

“Please what, slut?” he chuckled, his cock now sliding between your pussy lips. When the fuck did he get his pants off? You hadn’t even heard the little thump of his pants hitting the floor. Did he even take them off or did he just pull his cock out, too eager to fuck you to properly undress like he preferred to do? When you felt the warmth of his legs against your thighs, you got your answer. 

You squirmed, rolling your hips to move his cock against your clit. He stood up straight, removing his lips from your back. One of his strong hands held your hips in place while the other slapped his cock up on your pussy. You squealed into the marble surface, moaning his name then correcting it to his role title when he’d smack your ass again. 

“Fuck, just ruin me already,” you begged. “Please daddy, please.” 

He leaned down to bite your shoulder and whispered, “Has my baby learned her lesson?” You nodded immediately, moaning quietly as he licked the shell of your ear. He stood back to his full height, pumping himself a bit before aligning himself to your entrance. He gave in all too quickly, but you figure he was getting pretty needy himself. He slowly pushed in, groaning with his whole chest as he gripped each asscheek of yours. “Shit, baby,” he hissed. 

Your eyes were already rolling to the back of your head. He was so big, like huge, as if he grew further while he was in you even though he was already rock hard. He was stretching your walls so delightfully, it made your mouth water for him to push his cock against the walls of your throat too. 

The moment he bottomed out, he didn’t even wait for you to adjust. He began his harsh thrusts, using the grip he had on your ass as leverage. Your moans stuttered with each snap of his hips, voice catching each time he hit or even brushed your g-spot. It always surprised you how easily he found it, like he already knew the way around your pussy. He really took the idea of ruining you to the next level, your mind already foggy with lust.

“Ah, fuck,” Jungkook whispered, groaning with you every time your moans would peak. “Is this what you wanted, babygirl?” he questioned. 

You didn’t have it in your to reply but he didn’t care, smacking your ass to ensure you’d answer. “Yes, daddy,” you mewled. Little sobs bubbled out of your throat and he bent over your frame while his hips still slammed against your ass. In this new position, you could fully feel his balls smack against your pussy. The weighty sack pounded as harshly against your clit as his cock did to your walls. 

It didn’t help your case at all that Jungkook began to kiss the nape of your neck and your head. “Shit, how the fuck are you this tight?” he whispered, his husky voice tickling your skin. 

Your tears began to surface at the conflicting rough and soft actions, your body unsure what to soak up first. Everything he did just hit you at once. “Look at you, baby,” he whispered. “Look at how good you take me. You know, I honestly believe this tight little hole of yours was made for me, babygirl, don’t you?”

You only cried out in response. He chuckled and stood back up, starting to feel your pussy tighten around him. “Ah, my babygirl wants to cum, hmm?” he moaned, sounding pretty close himself. 

“Y-yes please, da-ddy,” you whimpered through your tears. Fuck, he was way to good at this, ruining more than your pussy. Your heart would tremble every time he called on you as his babygirl or kissed you tenderly. He was fucking with more than just your pussy and knew it all too well, only making him that much more sexy and your mind that much more blown. 

“Fuck, Jungkook just let me cum!” you screamed, when he didn’t answer your pleads. You looked back at him, loose strands of your hair sticking to your tear-stained cheeks. 

Jungkook smiled, pushing your hair back. “Go on, baby,” he winked. You screamed, as you finally let yourself release your high, gushing all over him. Your legs were quaking now, along with your body and you tried to fight the hold of his belt around your wrist but he tightened all too well. The sounds of your pussy got drenched with wet slouches and sploshes of your orgasm. 

He felt himself about to unravel too but knew you still needed to ride out your orgasm, still having lots left to give him. He pulled out as one of his hands reached down to rub your clit. His other hand pumped his cock, aiming to shoot all over your ass. He underestimated the power of his shot, cum flying all over your back and arms instead, reaching as far as the nape of your neck and getting in your hair. “Fuck,” he hissed, hoping you wouldn’t be too mad about it. 

You were too consumed by the ongoing overstimulation as his fingers were still rubbing harshly at your clit. He hadn’t noticed you’ve been crying and squirming, pressing your legs together until he couldn’t move his hand anymore. “Okay, okay,” you sighed desperately. Even knowing his hand was still down there made your body tremble. 

Jungkook pulled his hand away, resting his hands on either side of you as you both tried to catch your breath. “There’s cum in your hair,” he muttered after a while. 

“I know,” you breathed. He fell silently, unclasping the belt around your wrist. You let out a sigh of relief, moving your hands to your sides to push yourself up. 

“Careful,” he whispered, watching his cum drip down your back and to your ass. He smirked to himself as he admired his work. Your pussy was all but throbbing, looking more precious than ever, and your body was covered in sweat, tears or his cum. You were a mess to say the least; a mess he made, his mess.

You turned back to him, face flushed as you reached out to hold onto him. “You okay, baby?” he murmured against your forehead. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he steadied you by placing his hands on your hips. 

“Just fine, kookie,” you smiled. “A bit fucked out, but I’m okay.” You giggled at your own words, making him smile down at you. 

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, walking your backwards towards the bathroom. “How about we clean you up, then fix the mess we made in there?” he suggested, nodding back to the kitchen. 

“You’re washing the dishes,” you said as you scratched the short hair at the nape of his neck. 

He hummed a half-hearted agreement, rolling his eyes a bit. “We’ll see,” he shrugged. 

“We will,” you insisted as you entered the backroom. “Hey!” you giggled after his hand came down on your ass again. This smack was lighter than the others, made to tease you and nothing more. 

“I love you,” he smiled, all annoyance in your face disappearing. You hated how easily he could fix everything with those three words.

“I love you too.”

The pictures surfaced a month or so after the release of the official music video. Someone had caught you too getting bubble tea late at night. Over fifty photos were taken, each one a different angle of every part of your conversation, capturing flattering and unflattering shots of you alike. 

The first wave of hate was mainly targeted to the way you looked, or didn’t look. “Nothing like his past crushes,” they’d note in multiple different languages, dragging everything you didn’t have through mud with your pride in tow. 

The second wave of hate was dedicated to how unfit you were for someone like Jungkook, as if they knew him like you did. He didn’t put much of a persona in front of the cameras, but there was a small part of him reserved for you, the guys, and his family. They talked about him like he belonged to them only and you simply didn’t fit the equation because you didn’t know him like they did. 

The first two waves were bearable. Hard to manage, but bearable. The third wave was the most nerve-wracking. You were too scared to leave your house, missing dance practises at other companies because of all the messages you’ve got sent to your address. You didn’t tell Jungkook about it at first, wanting to handle it on your own. Management told you this would be a risk, but you didn’t want to believe that anyone could hate a stranger that much. 

You spent the first month after receiving the letters not making any unnecessary trips out, like attending parties or lunch dates. You asked Jungkook to meet you at your house and would fake feeling sick to get him to agree to stay in. The next couple of months were all too scary to even think about leaving the house at all, even to go to work. You’d only leave every now and then to stock up on massive amounts of ramen. You talked to your agent for hours on end, explaining that you wanted to take a semi-hiatus from all practises and events as you weren’t feeling well. She pushed you on it for a while, asking if there was anything else going on behind the scenes that you weren’t sharing. You always denied it, regretting it now. 

“I just want to go out tonight,” Jungkook shrugged. “I thought you didn’t mind too much about going public after the photos.” He stroked your hair back as you rested your head on his chest. “I wanna treat you to the date you deserve.”

The smile on his face broke your heart. He looked so in love, entranced by whatever beauty he saw in you. It made him that much more ignorant to your pain and fear, to the erratic thumping of your heart at just the thought of going out. 

You avoided his gaze, nuzzling against his chest. “I rather just stay in,” you muttered. 

He huffed, ceasing all affectionate actions. His hand fell off your body, somewhere behind you as his other tucked under his head. You looked up to find him glaring at the ceiling, a scowl taking over his features. 

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with him or something?” he asked after a moment of you staring at him. He met your gaze, the hurt so evident in his eyes it was enough to swell tears in your own. He furrowed his brows, sitting up and pulling you with him. “What is it?”

You turned away from him, giving him your back as you wiped your tears away. “Nothing,” you squeaked, internally cursing at the tone of your voice. His hand rubbed up and down your back soothingly. You knew it was meant to calm you down, but it only made you want to cry even more. 

He shifted closer to you upon hearing your sniffles and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help,” you snapped, pushing yourself out of his grasp.

Jungkook held onto your wrist, pulling you back to him. You turned back, regretting meeting his gaze because the confusion and pain mixed within his doe-like eyes completely shattered you. You began sobbing uncontrollably. He gasped, crawling over to you and pulling you into a strong embrace. Your body shook as more sobs left you and he rubbed your back, whispering reassurances that you couldn’t quite fully register since his voice was much deeper in a whisper than his normal tone and volume. 

“You’re really scaring me, (Y/N),” he confessed, voice slightly breaking too. “Just please tell me what’s wrong, baby.” He was practically begging you for an answer, any answer would do just as long as you talked to him about it. 

After a few more minutes of crying and him lulling you back to stuttered hiccups and ragged breathing, you finally confessed everything. You pulled the letters out, showing them to him and explained all that you have done to keep yourself safe and why you felt like you never wanted to leave your house again. You even had to switch on your privacy settings for all your social media accounts a few months back. You hadn’t been on them in months though so you weren’t really sure how that was going over.

Jungkook read through each one silently, pausing every so often to sigh or run a hand through his hair. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?” he asked. He couldn’t even meet your gaze, too disappointed with himself for not noticing all this before. “I could’ve protected you.”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, leaning back against the headboard. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

He furrowed his brows. “You never bother me, you know that. I told you that I don’t care what they say. They’re not the real fans, (Y/N). You’ve been so focused on all the bullshit you haven’t once looked at any of the support.”

“What support? Do you not see what’s in your hand?” You questioned. “I’m being threatened daily, Jungkook.” 

He shook his head at you. You scoffed, tears pooling once more. You couldn’t believe he was brushing you off like this. 

Jungkook looked down at the notes again, muttering, “If you had told me sooner, none of this would’ve happened. We have the best guards. I would’ve personally paid for twenty-four hour surveillance.” He tossed the notes to the side, looking back at you. He wiped your tears as he continued, “If you had logged in like I've been telling you to do for weeks, you would’ve known that all your social media accounts have filtered out all the hate. You would’ve seen the overwhelming support that I do. You have no idea who the true fans even are anymore, do you?”

You sighed, pulling your legs into your chest. You couldn’t believe how fucking stupid you were being. Everything just happened so fast, the initial leak of one of your dates already feeling like a violation of privacy. You took every cruel word to heart, deeming it the epitome of a fandom you, yourself were a part of. Why you tried to seek comfort in the hate all the trolls offered was just as backwards to you as it was to Jungkook. 

“I’m so sorry,” you croaked, trying to blink back another round of tears. “I was just scared.” You let him pull you into his lap, crawling over his legs to seat yourself comfortable. 

Jungkook hugged you tightly, scattering tiny kisses on your head. “I’m sorry I didn’t see all this sooner. I’m gonna fix this, baby,” he promised, already going to reach for his phone. 

You looked up at him through the tears as he frantically texted his manager all the details of your last few months. Your hand covered his phone, pushing it out of his view. He shot you a confused gaze. You didn’t explain, only leaned up to press your lips against his. “You already did,” you whispered. 

 “I love you,” Jungkook smiled, “and so do they.”

You nodded. “I love you,” you pecked his lips once more, “and I’m starting to love them too.”

----

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[fruityutas]

strike to the heart

taglist ~ @puppywritings , @xiaojours , @svchengss , @prettyjaems​

part of @du0tine​ ‘s 21 ways to kill your lover collab

unstable!yangyang x psychologist!reader

not proofread

wc ~ 5k

genre ~ angst, ttiiinnnyyy fluff, thriller

warnings ~ the following writing is FICTION and has very heavy and unsettling themes like murder, suicide, and toxic relationships. if these themes are triggering or otherwise uncomfortable to you, do NOT read this story. there are also themes of religion.

synopsis ~ you were the best of the best, no one could bring an end to your golden career until he came along

note ~ i based yangyang’s personality in this off of his turn back time persona, making him very obviously mentally unstable. the plotline is based loosely off of harley quinn’s origin story, except of course, the reader dies. i also used the concept of purgatory in this story.

i realize that purgatory is apart of various religions, and i hope i made use of it in this story in the way it is intended to be portrayed as. i am not familiar with the subject, as i am non religious and have been for many years, so if i wrote anything that was disrespectful, please let me know and i will educate myself more on the topic. please note that if i do write something disrespectful, i will not be changing the writing in any way, unless necessary, because i feel that changing/erasing the mistake prevents anyone from seeing my growth as a person. 

here is the link to the website i used to read up on purgatory -> https://historylists.org/art/9-levels-of-purgatory-dantes-purgatorio.html

your parents always told you to aim for first. probably why you’re here now. you sit in the chair, watching your life play on what seems to be a screen. you can’t tell either way, everything is stark white and blends into one. the scenes are the only thing providing color to your eyes. are you dreaming? no, no that can’t be. the last thing you remember is…pain. and betrayal. how could he do this?

he was a fucking criminal. he had no true love for you, you were his final act. how could you have been so naive? every thought came too fast, it made your head hurt. a noise brought you out of your thoughts. a tall man stood off to the side of the screen. his features were sharp, and he looked angelic. “you must be y/n. you must also be wondering where you are.” you struggle to find your voice, so you nod at the man. he gives a sympathetic smile and strolls over to you. 

“you’re in purgatory. well, this is the judgment room. here your memories are played and the most influential ones are used to go to their corresponding terraces.”

“do i pick them out?” he shakes his head. 

“no, the council does that. you just sit and watch.” you shift in your chair, the hard material uncomfortable against your skin. “don’t worry, i’ll be here while it happens. you can call me sicheng.” his voice was hypnotizing, calming your mind. you turned back to the screen, and what you assumed to be the first memory started to play.

a burst of yelling snaps you from your thoughts. looks like we have a new patient. it was like this everytime a new patient arrived. yelling, taunting, sometimes as far as physical assault. it was like the right of passage for ‘newbies’ as the currents like to call them. you leave your office to peek downstairs. this one is surrounded by four guards. that’s unusual. two guards was standard, why does this patient need four? a danger to himself and others i assume. i should ask joy if i can take him. you hadn’t had a new patient in months, and all your others were making such progress they moved to a new unit. one of your patients, named chittaphon, had been released back into society. you were one of the best, even at such a young age. 

“joy! have you assigned the new patient to anyone yet? i’d like to have him.” you plopped yourself onto the couch in her office. her soft laugh brought you comfort. 

“of course you can have him, i was probably going to ask you anyway. you haven’t been busy with any others lately. yukhei is moving to a new unit next week you know. you did good with him, he asked me to tell you thank you.” your heart aches at the thought of yukhei missing you, the boy had become important to you. you would sit and let him talk about his family, his friends, and even his - what he called - soulmate. he would always gush about them and their relationship. you never suspected he could have killed them in such the way he did, or that his ill brain would rewire itself into thinking they were waiting for him to get better and be released from the hospital. the day he found that out was burned in your memory, chairs being thrown and yelling from the entire floor. it broke your heart to see him in such a state, even more when they had to lock him in isolation for a week.

but things change and he got better, and now he’s moving up a unit. more yelling snaps you out of your little thinking session. you and joy peek out her office door to see the new inmate arguing with the guards. you sigh and head down the stairs, as much as joy protests it. one of the guards notices you and tells you to stay back, and that this inmate is dangerous. you shake your head at him and push through to get closer. the inmate didn’t look much older than you, albeit a bit taller than you. he was still yelling at the guards when you came up to him and cleared your throat. he rolls his eyes and turns to you to start yelling, but you shut him down with a stern look at a shake of your head. 

“now, now, you don’t want to come in and be the hardass on the first day do you?” he says nothing, but the lack of arguing from him tells you he is agreeing. you tell one of the guards to follow you to his cell. it comes to no one’s surprise that his cell is in the lower level, it’s where all the worst patients stay. the guard that accompanied you stood directly outside the door of the cell, ready for any assistance. the inmate sat down on the cot provided but faced away from you. “are you going to speak to me?” he spares you a small glance, unwavering in intimidation, but it didn’t phase you. his face was young, yet it somehow seemed to be worn and exhausted. you wanted to open him up and see what his troubles came from, to fix him into a model member of society.

“wouldn’t you want me too huh?” his tone was annoyed and sarcastic. you stay collected and just nod at him. “why don’t we start with your name?” he stays silent. “if you don’t want to cooperate that’s perfectly fine but just know i’m the only one you can talk to if you want out of here.” you stand up and leave the cell, knowing that even though it didn’t look like it, progress was made. your last statement would sit with him until the next time you visit him, and he would talk eventually.

the screen fades away and into a new image. the only thing on the screen is the word ‘stubborn.’ you are confused as to what it means. sicheng makes his way over to you, his long legs making the distance short. “it corresponds to the first level of purgatory, stubbornness. although it wasn’t you who was being the most stubborn, it seems.” he snaps his fingers and a seat appears for him to sit. the screen lights up again and another memory begins to play.

“what do you mean he wants to see me? i just spoke to him this morning and he refused to say anything?” joy shrugs her shoulders exasperatedly. you sigh and make your way towards the lower level. the guard at the security door greets you with a nod of the head before letting you in. the inmate’s cell was at the end of the hall, dimly lit and dingey, with a slight smell of mildew. the underground location made for cold air and small windows, so there was never enough light in the place. as you made your way to your patient’s cell, a few of the other inmates down there whistled at you. they whooped and hollered to your dismay, bringing unwanted attention. you recognized one of them, guanheng was his name. he had been a patient of joy’s before she was promoted to her managerial position. no one else wanted to take him on, so they sent him down here to rot. you had expressed the idea of taking him, but joy wouldn’t have it. she simply said he was too unstable for anyone, and deserved to be down there. you disagree with her to this day, but she is still your superior and you can’t just go breaking rules just for your liking.

you knocked on the door to the cell, and a gruff “come in” came from the other side. entering the cell, you saw everything in disarray. “now, why is the cell in this condition?” he huffs and crosses his arms, almost in a cute way. you shake your head and continue in, shutting the door behind you. “are you going to tell me your name? i think it would help me connect better with you.” he looks at you with a blank stare. you don’t change your facial expression, remaining stoney faced. he sighs and starts muttering to himself, as if he was arguing with someone, before looking back up at you and finally speaking. “yangyang. at least thats what i’ve been told.” you hum lightly before asking him a few more questions.

“is it alright if i call you yangyang?” “yes” “alrightly then, do you remember anything from yesterday?” he ponders for a moment, his face going through a group of different expressions before he looks back to you. “i only know that i woke up and felt like hurting someone. but i can’t remember who or why. do you have any pens?” the last question catches you off guard. you hand him an extra pen from your coat pocket. he takes it eagerly and looks to your clipboard with expectant eyes. you tear a blank piece of paper from the back and hand it over. he immediately draws nonsense doodles, the paper quickly being filled. when he fills it, he flips it over to do the other side. “you can keep asking me things, you know. i like to draw, though i don’t know what. the other voice tells me to just make lines and things.” you’re jotting down notes when all of a sudden he throws the pen at you. it hits you square in the head, and you look up at him in surprise. he starts giggling and throws the crumpled paper at you. you remain calm as this can be a common occurrence among patients. his giggles become… unsettling very quickly, the tone and manner of them turning to a deeper octave. you slowly reach into your pocket to grab the help button, but you don’t press it just yet. yangyang stops his giggling and it becomes muttering. his words are difficult to make out, but you pick out a few, ‘kill’, ‘why’, and ‘forget’. you jot them down along with a note stating he was mumbling them in sentences that were not understood. “yangyang, are you hearing anything? do you know the other voice’s name if they have one?” he peeks out of his arms at you nodding. “they tell me that i shouldn’t have forgotten why i killed her.” you had notes on him that his previous institution gave to you, but you wanted to earn his trust by asking various questions. “who did you kill?” you knew he killed his mother, left her body hanging from the porch for everyone to see. the question cause him to tear up a bit. “i, i killed my mother. she just wouldn’t shut up, always nagging me about the house and bills, as if i could help it. she was a bitch.” “mmm, yes. but you loved her still, no?” he nods shakily as if he was unsure. “and did you forget why you killed her that morning?” another nod is sent to you. you keep taking notes on his behaviors.

you end the session on a positive note, telling yangyang that he did good today and that you’d be back tomorrow, but if he needed you to ask.

the screen once again went dark before the word ‘repentance’ appears. sicheng whips a pen-like object from nothing, grabbing your arm harshly to turn you towards him. “now, you might not like this next part but it has to be done. i have to carve five p’s into you somewhere. they aren’t permanent but it still hurts.” you panic slightly, trying to get away from his grasp.

“why?!” his face is stoic and cold, the seriousness setting in. you continue to struggle until he grips your face with vigor, causing you to stop moving. “stop. moving. it has to be done. now, where do you want me to do it?” you just point to your arm and look away as he does it. the pain is searing but bearable. “what is this for?” he makes the pen disappear before clearing his throat to speak. “for each of the sins that lead to your death, there is a ‘p’. the council shows a memory that corresponds to a sin, and you must figure out which one. if you get it right, you move one to the next one until the end, where you are allowed into heaven. if you get them wrong, you have another chance with a different memory. you only get two chances for each sin, though, and if you lose both of them a ‘p’ stays and it’s harder to get the next one correct. if you get more than two sins wrong, you spend 100 years here and then you are banished to hell. so please, be careful and choose wisely.” and with that he turns his attention back to the screen, as do you.

your appointments with yangyang were productive and you got to know him a lot better within the past few days. he hated dogs, they were too noisy and energetic for him. he really wanted to paint and draw all the time, so you gave him a few paint markers to decorate his cell with. when you had your next appointment, the walls were pretty full. he liked the texture of orange peels, he hated the taste. a lot of the things you learned intrigued you, why was his brain wired this way? you needed to dig deeper, and you knew you could. you had many awards and praises from seniors, your ego was swollen from it all. you took pride in your work, and you weren’t exactly humble about it. you would always brag to others about your accomplishments, and sometimes you made it a competition between you and your coworkers. joy was the only one that didn’t pay attention to it, she always let you go on rants about how you accomplished so many things this young.

the door to yangyang’s cell was the same grey color as usual, though on the inside, the room was filled with markings and random drawings the boy did. “yangie? what’s up?” he excitedly jumps from his spot on the bed over to the corner that the sessions took place in. two small chairs and a table were tucked in it, but it was cozy to you. a warm smile took place on your face as you sat in front of him. “well, today i really tried my best to not get angry with anyone like you said, and it worked! all i did was think about what you said to me and it helped so much. no one messed with me either.” there it is, the rush of pride in yourself. your ego is boosted, refilled for the day. you knew he could do it, with your help of course. you were the best in the field. “that is really good to hear, yangyang. i’m glad you remembered what i told you so you could control your emotions.” his hair bounced with each energized nod he gave you. you opened your clipboard and handed him a small stack of blank paper. “this is for you. now you have something clean to draw on again.” he took the papers excitedly. 

the rest of the session was yangyang rambling on about how you were the only one helping him and how he really liked seeing you. you observed him and from time to time you’d write notes down on his info sheet. every time he caught you staring, he’d blush and look back at his drawings. a smirk carved into your face, and a wink was all it took for him to turn into a stuttering mess. you left the session that day glowing in confidence and pride.

the screen fades away, and you feel a tingling on your arm where one of the Ps is. sicheng’s voice whispers into your ear, “figure out what sin you just witnessed.” it makes you jump a little, but you quickly regain your composure. all you could think about was yangyang. but deep inside your inner conscious, you knew the sin here wasn’t about him. it was about you. “i have my answer.” sicheng gives you a small nod and when you turn back around, a dark and windy figure stands in front of you. a voice not belonging to you enters your mind. “which sin is it, y/n?” with a shaky voice, and sweating palms, you manage to garble out your answer. “it’s pride. i was prideful in my ways, never backing down from challenges that weren’t meant for me.” the dark figure nods before wisping away. the tingling returns to your arm, and as you look down at it a P swiftly disappears. sicheng’s footsteps bring you back up to the screen, which begins to play a new memory.

 the continuous sessions with yangyang proved to be well. his condition was getting better, and he seemed to be taking well to the exercises you gave him. you were on your way to an appointment when joy came up beside you. “have you met with the new doctor yet?” you shake your head. “no, what’s their name? where are they located?” she tries to hide a mischievous smirk, grabbing your arm to stop your walking. “he is absolutely gorgeous! his name is kunhang and he’s actually gonna be on your unit, which means you’re training him since you are the best.” you chuckle at her enthusiasm, she’d always been trying to hook you up with people. she winks at you and runs off, probably to her next appointment. she’d conveniently stopped you in front of yangyang’s cell. you walk inside and see him on his bed pouting.

“what is wrong with you?” his eyes look up at you and shine with the beginnings of tears, worrying you. had the guards or an inmate said something to him? while you’re lost in thought he jumps up and pulls you on the bed with him, his arms wrapped tightly around you. you snap out of it and sit frozen in his arms. the feeling of butterflies in your stomach erupt and you know it’s because of the man in your arms. he lets you go and you stand up to fix your uniform. “what had gotten into you, yangs?” his pouting doesn’t go away and he speaks softly. “who is kunhang?” so that’s what he’s being clingy for. he’s jealous. “he’s a new psychiatrist here. i have to train him.” yangyang didn’t get rid of the pout on his face, and he didn’t let your hand go for the entire session. the jealousy he had even after you told him that nothing was going to happen between you and kunhang was noteworthy, though you didn’t specify why he was jealous on his chart. 

the surrounding air had become cold, and you shiver harshly. sicheng sits beside you, tapping impatiently on the table. the shadow figure returns, and before it can speak you do. “the sin was envy. but why did you show me a memory of someone else being envious? i thought this was about my sins.” the figure doesn’t move from its spot. sicheng sighs and throws a stick at the figure, causing it to grunt. “that was unnecessary, sicheng. you are the reason for this sin. you let yangyang get attached to you, causing him to become jealous and protective of you. you may not have committed this sin, but you had the first hand in causing it.” you nod in agreeance, you had let him get close with you. too close, in your opinion, because if you hadn’t you wouldn’t be in this whole situation. it’s a bit ironic, you always told your coworkers to be wary of patients, yet here you are, stuck in purgatory because of one.

in the days leading up to your death, yangyang requested to see you nonstop, and he would ask so many questions about the outside world. what was surrounding the building, how many people were in the city. in hindsight, you should have suspected him to be trying to escape, but your mind was apparently on other things.

the last day you were alive, yangyang requested you only once. it was around eight in the evening, and this was going to be your last trip to his cell, quite literally. “are you ok, yangyang?” he nods and makes his way over to you. he might be younger, but his height is not small. “i’m just fine. but i wanna ask you something.” you nod to let him continue. “i’m planning to leave, and i want you to come with me.” the words come out of him in a hurry, but you catch them. a pit forms in your chest after hearing them. what in the world was he thinking? your job was important, and he still needed the therapy sessions you were giving him. “no, absolutely not. yangyang you can’t leave without proper check out from me and my superior. you know this.” he sighs in annoyance, grabbing your hand and dragging you to sit. “that’s not the type of leaving i meant. i mean we sneak out and never look back. we leave here and head north to my good friend ten’s house. he has this bigass mansion in the middle of nowhere, and we can lie low there for a while before going somewhere else and starting new!” you can’t bring yourself to say anything, the shock of how much he’d thought out this plan sitting heavy on your shoulders. the courage to say something before he thinks you’re agreeing with him bubbles up. “yangyang, under all circumstances, you and i cannot do that. do you know how many force tasks they’d send out for us? how much trouble we’d be in when they caught us? plus, you still need these sessions that i’m doing. the real world is harsh, and doesn’t take kindly to you. i wouldn’t want you or anyone else getting hurt.” his face contorts into sadness at your statement. he pulls you in for a bone-crushing hug, not letting go. “but i thought you loved me, don’t you want us to be happy together?” your blood runs cold at his confession. love was never on the table, the flirting you’d been doing was just to open him up to make it easier to talk. you knew you were taking a risk doing that, but never had you anticipated him to fall in love with you and think it was mutual. you separate yourself from him and walk to the door. “yangyang, are you being serious? you- you don’t actually think i’m in love with you, right?” his face falls, going completely straight. no movement comes from either of you for a good minute, the situation at hand causing hesitance. “you’re not? i just thought… you were.” you scoff at the boy sitting in front of you. “y/n, i don’t think you realize that i’ve already planned for this. we’re gonna have to leave.” you start to argue with him but a flurry of gunshots and screams ring out from all around you. you turn and pull the door open to see patients and guards frantically running about, a breach in the facility causing this. “jesus fucking- yangyang why in the hell would you do this!?” you turn to see him getting up from the bed and gathering a few items. “yangyang!” he doesn’t respond, only grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him. you’re too much in shock to resist the boy, and on top of that he’s definitely stronger than you. the run towards whatever exit he’s taking you to seems surreal. the amount of trouble you’re going to be in for this is astronomical. you can hear the words “you’re fired” repeating in your mind. outside the door is an alleyway that connects the facility to a power plant. it seemed like they’d had a breach too. yangyang really wasn’t lying when he said you’d have to leave to someplace far away. he drags you into the plant and heads for the large vats of chemicals. “yangyang where the hell are you taking us? what are you doing?” he glances over his shoulder at you, a deathly look on his face. “this wouldn’t have been in the plan if you had just done what i needed you to do. now you have to pay the price.” what in the fuck did he mean. 

the vats were in sight, glowing and hot from the chemicals in them. your surroundings loud from combat, you’d assumed from runaway patients attacking. yangyang stopped in front of the largest one, looking down in it and smirking. he turns to a very shaken you, giggling like a madman. “i think you know what’s in store for you my love. you betrayed me! you gave me all the signs, and carelessly flirted, acting like you liked me.” tears were pouring down both of your faces, but for different reasons. the end of your life was staring at you, loud and proud, and you knew this. you had many goals in your life, and to see none of them get achieved hurt you. you take one last look at yangyang, who is inching closer. “i’m sorry for making you feel like that. i just hope that in the next life, you’ll be a normal person and get to experience life in a positive perspective.” he doesn’t seem to care, because as soon as he gets close enough to you, he grips your face and leans in. “and now, my love, you leave me with a kiss.” his lips lock with yours for a brief second before he shoves you hard, taking the breath out of you. you fall backwards into the vat, the acidic chemicals eating you. yangyang stares at you as you perish, the smile slowly dropping from his face.

one would think this whole tragedy could be easily resolved, but this was not a villain origin story, it was real life, and you were dead. yangyang knew what he had done was fatal, but make no mistake, you knew it was what he wanted. he did love you, but his brain was not the same as a normal person’s. the wiring was simply not supportive of any form of morals, no right or wrong could be detected. all he knew was that you were in the way of him getting out, and he needed you removed. so he did.

and as reality set in for him, yangyang realized that you were the only one who understood him. you were the one to listen to his problems and not look at him like he was crazy, to help him through the intrusive thoughts, and you did that all while loving him. 

he breaks down, dropping to his knees at the harsh reality that you were gone forever, and no longer able to make him happy. the salty tears running down his face provided a blunt sting to the cuts and scrapes adorning his face. his shoulders shook with sorrow and his sobs were melancholic. yangyang can’t even think straight, all his mind is screaming is you. your name, face, your soft hair, warm skin, and the way you laughed at all his stupid jokes. he wants an escape from the voices in his head. the grate walkways that line the perimeter of the vats are loud with yangyang’s manic running. all he wants is freedom from his personal hell, he’s had to deal with people looking down on him all his life, saying that he was never going to be able to be normal, berating him for all the fucked up things he’s done, but never helping him to be a better person, always leaving him to rot in different psych ward cells.

gun. there’s one somewhere.

the one voice in his head that wasn’t screaming made him worry no less than before, but he knew to heed his own advice. it was the only coherent thought at the moment so what’s the harm. yangyang finds himself lost, and begins to get angry until he sees a guard coming his way. attacking him, he easily finds a gun and wrings it from the man’s grip before shooting him dead. the body slumps over and yangyang decides that he’d rather not die next to it. he is far too lost to try and get back to where he pushed you to your timely death, so he just runs until he finds a room. unlocked and unoccupied, he slips in and locks the door behind him. 

the leather chair that he sits in is worn and comfortable. the desk has various papers scattered around, and the computer is off. yangyang takes one good look at himself in the reflection of the screen before pulling the trigger.

the judgement room is even colder than before. you sit in the uncomfortable chair, tears streaming down your face and sobs ripping through your chest. sicheng sits, unaffected by your pain. the shadowy figure appears in front of you, so close you can hear whispers of a large multitude floating out of it. “y/n, you must finish the trial. what was the last sin?” you try your damndest to compose yourself, wiping the tears and hiccuping. “i- he was…” “no, y/n. no excuses. what is the sin displayed here?” you didn’t need this figure up your ass about it, the answer was obvious. sighing, you look up at it, seeing it slightly resembles a man. “wrath.” the figure hums in response, moving over to show the screen again. in large font and bold letters, the word “repentance” is shown. “you have passed judgement, and you shall be going to heaven. are there any questions?” 

[catboycafe]

I Will Now Express Every Thought I Have About Pacific Rim: The Black 

⚠️ spoilers for the whole thing baby

I actually forgot Pacific Rim: The Black was premiering today until I saw it in an article this morning! When I first heard about it months ago, I was decidedly not sold on a Pacific Rim anime. Uprising burnt me the fuck out and I don’t have a lot of trust left in me for new entries to the franchise. But I had heard rumblings of Raleigh and Herc being referenced after going into #pacificrim and I decided I may as well check out to see what was up! I binged it in 4 hours and it sure was a whirlwind, I’ll tell ya

The Plot

I really enjoy the setting and initial concept! We’re so use to seeing Kaiju/Jaegar shenanigans play out within these major cities with helpless civilians everywhere that spending so much time in a lonesome desert and these destroyed civilizations was really cool and indicative of the changes Pacific Rim has undergone in the last few years. I also looooved the Desert Settlement from the beginning!! It seemed really homey and picturesque; I wish we’d spent more time with the other survivors and got to see more of their day to day aside from farming and sitting. 

I also found the first episode set up to be really tight and well written! I was hooked during the initial flashback, Hayley and Taylor’s fight was really poignant and well acted, and the reveal of Atlas Destroyer felt really huge and epic!!

But once we left the Desert Settlement and the plot started actually moving along, the pacing becomes suuuper rough. We spent way too long in Bogan with Shane and Mei; there’s only 7 episodes and we spent, like, 3? 4? within the confines of that camp and I felt it weighed the plot down. Boy is introduced in the 2nd episode and, because the narrative spends so much time on Shane’s evil machinations and Mei’s back story, we still don’t know anything concrete about his origins or purpose 3 episodes later! That felt frustrating to me

The story beats overall were very predictable. I was able to pick up on Mei’s backstory via her dynamic with Shane in their introductions, so her memories felt too built up and too hollow once they were revealed. The same with the reveal of Boy’s Kaiju form; he was in a big green test tube in a PPDC base - I assumed immediately he was a part-kaiju experiment and again his reveal felt hollow, especially after the glacial pace of it’s development. 

Even when events weren’t predictable, they lacked weight. The appearance of several Kaiju Breaches in “Boneyard” felt very cheap for some reason; I wasn’t scared and I didn’t feel tense about these odds mounting against the protagonists. This was just happening and I was just watching. 

The Art Direction and Animation

I’m very obsessed with all the new Kaiju we got from this; I love how Copperhead is rendered, they’re a joy to see on screen!! The Rippers are also very cute and deserve little plushies...i love these neat little dogs. Boy’s Kaiju Form is very intimidating with an interesting color palette and I loved seeing him next to Copperhead’s highly saturated design!

That’s unfortunately all that I liked however; All the human character design is unmemorable to me. Every character looks exactly like another easily identifiable anime character from a different property (Hayley looks exactly like Zero Suit Samus to me, for example. And Mei kept reminding me of both Bernadetta Fire Emblem and Motoko Kusanagi from GitS. The list goes on). 

I can sort of understand why they’re so bland? A franchise going from Live Action to something as heavily stylized as anime is probably a really difficult transition and these designs are probably meant to be more lowkey than more unique anime designs in order to help that transition. But realistically stylized designs can still be recognizable and unique! These feel uninspired and bare bones.

 I have no problem with the switch to CGI animation that modern anime is doing because I know it’s a lot cheaper to produce and it can still be really unique and striking! But The Black’s model animation felt very stilted and inconsistent. I don’t have a lot of knowledge about animating so I don’t think I can accurately describe what I disliked? Wooden is probably the best term. Character movements felt wooden and things like hair and clothes felt plastic. 

Impacts also had very little weight. The fight between Tayler/Mei and Copperhead reminded me of when you’re in a dream and trying to punch something, but you can’t punch hard. It was simply too floaty and too soft. The final showdown in “Showdown” was better, but not by much. It was very immersion breaking seeing these Giant Robots and Giant Monsters unable to throw a real solid hit!

Characters

My favorite character was unequivocally Joel Wyrick. We love Joel Wyrick in this house! Joel’s character has real charisma and charm. I love his flirtations with Loa, how his cocky disposition is juxtaposed with his drinking problem and later insecurities over his lost memories, and his genuine kindness shown to Mei, Taylor, and Boy. No one ever plays with Boy, they just run after him and drag him around...but Joel has this moment in “Escape from Bogan” where he kneels down to Boy and helps him collect rocks. It was sweet!

So of course, when Joel dies for absolutely no reason 5 minutes later - pissed! I was pissed! I yelled “COME ON” aloud in my studio apartment! I was genuinely so excited to see him interact more with the rest of cast then, poof. No More Joel.

His death felt like it was for shock value to me rather than actual narrative development. Why kill him when we still don’t fully understand his and Mei’s relationship? Why were they so close? Were they childhood friends, or just coworkers that happen to become friends? Why did he specifically know all the details of Shane’s abuse towards Mei before she did? 

What did his death accomplish? It made Mei sad...ok? She was already...very sad. Her running away from Shane already had consequences - the consequences of Shane coming after them for revenge in the future. Why did Joel have to become a causality? 

His death is ultimately tied to Mei’s character arc which is, unfortunately, my least favorite :c I find Mei to be a really one dimensional character with a personality, backstory, outlook, and motivation that I’ve seen done a million times before with a million other characters. She feels very out of place in the franchise as a whole - Pacific Rim is, at it’s core, a story about connecting with others. Her self-centric arc and lack of desire to connect outside of drifting really alienates her from the story at large and it frustrates me how long The Black’s narrative spends on her. 

Hayley and Taylor were otherwise very interesting in the pilot episode, but become similarly one dimensional at the story chugs on. Taylor’s unflinching (bordering on unhealthy) faith in their parents was really interesting next to Hayley’s complete acceptance of their parents’ death. But once the two of them make up their differences, they lack an interesting dynamic and become very passive protagonists.

 Taylor especially has no personality - how would you describe Taylor? He’s...brave. He’s the older brother. He’s a leader? He’s nice? There is nothing noteworthy about him at all, which is sad considering I think he has the potential to be a really interesting way to explore the original movie’s influence on The Black’s story.

Hayley’s grief and self-blame are more interesting than Taylor’s...nothingness, but she still falls into this one-note trope of being the naive, excitable little sister. I guess I feel abnormally frustrated about this flat character writing because Pacific Rim’s incredibly unique cast has always been an inspiration to me! It feels sad that this new iteration into the series is full of what feel like stock characters. 

Then we get to Boy. How come Boy can’t have a person name? It’s specifically written in a dialogue between Taylor and Hayley: “I’m not going to call him Chad or Barnaby or one of those names for a baby brother you wanted as a kid,”

Why?

He’s by all accounts a human child when they find him. Yes, he was found in a big green test tube - but he walks and acts just like a human child. The only difference, seemingly, is that he is non-verbal and engages in strange/annoying behavior (running off, eating bugs, etc). So he isn’t deserving of a name?? I don’t know why that makes me so mad, it just does. it’s like they refuse to treat him as a human even before they find out he’s a Kaiju  - it’s super weird! How can the story sell me on the three of them becoming found family (like they’re seemingly trying to do) if the protagonists won’t even treat this kid like a kid??

Misc. Thoughts

The callbacks to Stacker, Herc, and Raleigh were cool! I also like that Herc is a major plot point! We love Herc Hanson and it’s what he deserves. I also find Loa’s connection to Horizon Bravo very interesting...and the fact we’re getting Kaiju cultist lore! Love that! Love that!

Fucked up that the only two dark skinned characters were: 1) removed from the story 10 minutes in with no call back yet, 2) Killed after having 1 line of dialogue and fridged for the character development of the blonde white girl. I really need to know what the deal with those 4 characters leaving in the beginning was about - I absolutely thought we’d see them again by now, but no dice

I don’t know how to feel about Ajax and have no clue what their purpose in the story is. They’re cool, but whats the point? 

If Mei and Taylor are paired up together romantically, I’m putting Craig Kyle and Greg Johnson in the time out box. Very tired of seeing random hetero romance B plots in stories that can’t even get their A plots together

Overall, it’s kind of subpar! It has the foundations of a really interesting story, but the pacing and characters really took me out of it. I’m interested in Season 2! I know season 2 is already ordered and I’d love to see how things continue to develop, see if the character writing gets any better - but I’m not too hopeful unfortunately. I really really love Pacific Rim after all these years and I’m happy to still be getting content and world building! There’s just sooo much I would change about this however. At least fanfiction’s free! 

Thanks for reading all this, I have ADHD and just go on and on if u let me. hmu if You Too have thoughts about Pacific Rim: The Black and have no one to talk abt them with

[rinoomi]

hello hello fir i have art to share 💪

RES OMG no because this was the first thing that came up when I opened tiktok this morning and then I saw this again hfndjdjd I died twice wtf😭 okay but this concept😩 >>