#she only experiences extreme emotions when she shifts

[sideprince]

I resent getting dragged into the discourse but it's wild to me that there are people out there who read the HP books and laud Harry for being brave and having a big heart and redeeming the wizarding world with his unusually great ability to love, yet can't comprehend how he could learn to appreciate Snape's sacrifice.

I'm very specifically thinking of the fact that Harry watches Snape die. Snape, who is lying on the floor, gripping Harry's robes, and whose eyes Harry is looking into and seeing the life leave. I don't understand how people can humanize some fictional characters and treat them as if they were real and completely dehumanize another. Not even for Snape's sake, but for Harry's sake, do these people not understand what it is to watch someone die? What's the expectation, that the Capacity For Love Posterchild protagonist steps out of character and doesn't care about the guy he watches bleed out and die suffering because you, as a reader, don't like him?

Which is it? Does Harry have a huge capacity to love or not? Pick a lane. Either you value this character trait in Harry or you don't. But you have to take or leave everything it comes with, otherwise you're a hypocrite. Or maybe illiterate.

I just don't GET it.

[dixons-sunshine]

Hope | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl never would’ve expected that the universe would grant him you, the love of his life, much less a child of his own to love and care for. So when your daughter was born, Daryl felt truly overwhelmed. However, it happened to be one of the best days of his life.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria, post Saviour arc.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of childbirth, insecurities.

Word count: 1.2k.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble but it got longer than I expected lol. I hope y’all like this!

Daryl was in complete awe. His heart was pounding out of his chest. His palms were extremely sweaty. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say or do other than stand motionless and stare. Daryl was a quiet guy, but never before in his life had something rendered him completely speechless quite like this momentous occasion; the birth of his daughter.

It had been a good thirty, maybe forty minutes since the cries of his newborn baby flooded his ears, and he hadn’t been able to say or do anything except look at her and try to wrap his mind around the fact that he was a dad, that he had a daughter now. His baby girl. He was feeling overwhelmed by everything. He had read every pregnancy and parenting book he could get his hands on since you had told him you were pregnant, yet none of them could have ever prepared him for the actual experience. None of them could prepare him for the wave of emotions that flooded through his being when his daughter’s first cries filled the air. None of them could prepare him for the absolute certainty that filled him—he would kill anyone who’d dare hurt his baby girl.

“Dar? You still with me?”

The sound of your angelic voice snapped him from his train of thought. “Hm?” he hummed in acknowledgement, forcing himself to pay attention to his surroundings. He was sitting on a chair beside the bed in your home, courtesy of Carol’s kindness. She had taken one look at the archer during your labouring process and had cleverly noticed that he would faint if he didn’t sit down. Thankfully, the crossbow-wielding archer had stayed lucid during the birth, although he was certain that the bones in his hand were cracked from the force you had bestowed on them while you were pushing.

You chuckled fondly as you looked at him through tired, half lidded eyes. “You okay?” you asked him, wincing slightly when you shifted slightly to get more comfortable, the effects of the birth making themselves known to you. Your daughter was busy nursing, her adorable, eager, breathy suckles and gulps the only other sound that could be heard throughout the otherwise quiet room. Carol and Siddiq had left the room ten minutes prior, leaving you and Daryl alone to bond with your new baby.

Daryl cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair, giving you his full attention. “M’pretty sure I should be askin’ ya that. Yer the one that pushed a baby out, not me.”

You chuckled again and nodded. “Yeah, I was. And I’m okay. I’m sore, but that was a given. Nothing we could’ve done to prevent the pain.” Your smile dropped a little, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you looked at your husband. “But seriously, are you okay? You seem a little... out of it.”

Daryl let out a small sigh. “M’jus’ a touch overwhelmed, I s’pose, but it ain’t nothin’ I can’t get over. S’jus’... Hearin’ her cries, and seein’ her... I don’ know. It made me realize that it wasn’t a dream. That this is real. That we’re really doin’ this, startin’ a family. S’a bit surreal to me, I guess. ‘Fore all’a this, ‘fore I met ya, when I was jus’ bummin’ it out with my brother, I never would’ve thought that I’d be doin’ this.”

You intently listened to his words, a small, understanding smile gracing your tired features. “Are you scared?”

“Ya kiddin’? M’fuckin’ terrified. I don’ wanna screw it up. I don’ wanna fail either’a ya. If I do... I don’ know what I’d do with myself,” Daryl confessed in a low whisper, his voice cracking towards the end.

Your heart went out for your partner. You were well aware of his fears. You were also well aware of the fact that no amount of reassuring would make his fears go away overnight. However, what you did know was that there was something you could do that could potentially make him feel better at that moment.

“Do you wanna hold her?” you asked him softly, your eyes locking onto his cerulean eyes.

Yes. Daryl definitely wanted to hold her. However, as his eyes trailed down to the small, fragile being that had seemingly had enough to eat and instead opted to slightly wiggle around in your embrace, a new set of worry overcame him.

“Yer sure?” he asked unsurely. “I ain’t gon’ break her or nothin’?”

A light laugh escaped your chest. “I promise you’re not going to break her. You’ll be fine, I promise. Come here. And maybe unbutton your shirt, if you’re comfortable.” Daryl furrowed his eyebrows at that last part, but understood when you explained it to him. “Skin to skin contact helps with bonding. At least, that’s what Carol told me. You don’t have to unbutton your shirt all the way. Just a bit is fine.”

“What ‘bout...” Daryl trailed off, vaguely motioning to his chest. He didn’t need to specify what he was talking about. You instantly knew. His scars.

You sent him a reassuring smile. “She’ll love you regardless, Dar, just like me. Nothing’s gonna change that. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Daryl hesitated but ultimately stood up from the chair, slowly unbuttoning his shirt to a little over halfway, moving to sit next to you on the bed. “Remember to support her head.” Daryl nodded and slowly and gently accepted the baby into his embrace, heeding your advice and supporting her tiny head.

Daryl’s awe multiplied by one hundred when he held his baby girl in his arms for the first time. Her tiny head was practically the same size as his hand. Her tiny body lightly pressed against his scarred flesh as Daryl held her, and the archer couldn’t help the small laugh of wonder that escaped him. “She’s so small... She’s so damn small.” One of his fingers lightly traced over her tiny hand, and Daryl smiled when she lightly gripped his finger in her small fist. “She’s got quite the grip, too, and she ain’t even a day old yet. Real strong for her age, I reckon.”

“Definitely,” you agreed with a smile, slowly shifting your body to rest your chin on his shoulder, one of your hands coming up to softly trace over your daughter’s cheek. “She’s so perfect.”

“Jus’ like her mama.” Daryl turned his attention to you, placing a soft, tender kiss on your forehead.

You didn’t argue with his words, instead simply accepting the compliment with a small smile. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, simply observing your little girl as she slowly fell asleep in her father’s arms. However, Daryl soon broke the silence again.

“Hope.”

You lifted your chin from his shoulder to meet his gaze, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Her name,” he began to explain. “I think we should call her Hope. S’what I feel when I look at her. Jus’ feels right.”

You smiled at him, before turning your attention back to your daughter. “Welcome to the world, Hope Dixon. I love you so much,” you whispered to her softly, quietly acknowledging Daryl’s choice of a name. Hope. It was perfect.

Daryl sent you a small smile. “S’got a nice ring to it. Hope Dixon.”

“It’s perfect,” you agreed with a smile. “I love you, Daryl.”

“Nah, I definitely love ya more, Sunshine. I love ya so much.”

[russeliarat]

Im constantly putting out LU headcanons when I'm stupid tired at like 2am, so have a couple for funsies:

Four has seizures sometimes. The dissociative kind but also the kind that is epileptic because his brain needs to reset. Yes this is borne from people saying portals throw bricks at him in fics. I imagine that a lot of powerful magic overwhelming the brain can be a seizure trigger in the world of LoZ, as per the logic of seizures.

I also think Four's 4'4 (132cm) and does have proportionate dwarfism. Like it's specifically a random genetic mutation thing though, not a 'Minish Cap adventure kept him shrunk' thing.

Hyrule's fully fae to me. Idk I just think it's more interesting, especially if you go off of what fae are like in European folklore. The idea of a fae choosing to live like a hylian after thousands of years of witnessing how humanoid creatures live. Like they're natural shapeshifters idk, as long as their magic is powerful enough, they can become anything.

Hyrule's appearance comes from finding Legend's disguise ring after Legend died and Hyrule deciding to take on the appearance when he shape-shifts. Probably the start of getting his sisters to use masculine descriptors and pronouns for him.

People have suspicions that Hyrule is fae-inclined, touched by the fae, or straight up is a fae based on his behaviour but no one's got anything concrete and it's mostly based on their personal knowledge of fae and their era's perceptions of the fae. And Hyrule definitely has gotten them all to introduce themselves to him as Link so going by fae rules, Hyrule could basically claim ownership and power over them. He just doesn't coz he doesn't want to (yet.)

We all know Legend is a soggy bastard but he's the 'I miss my wife tails' gay edition sort of soggy. That prob made no sense icl but those who get it, get it.

Sky's got an undiagnosed form of narcolepsy. It severely got in the way of his studies in Skyloft but he barely managed to pass it off enough that it didn't raise alarm bells (coz he was trying not to raise alarm bells in his own brain). It gets worse during the course of this new adventure because he's going through so many extreme emotions and doing so much physical activity that he's exhausting himself into sleep attacks constantly. Yes the chain are worried, yes Sky is deep in denial that anything is wrong with him. Good ol' hiding your issues Link over here.

Legend is Fable's twin. He just got passed between caretakers a lot (whole lot of being given to his uncle and then being forced by the king (his grandfather) to pass Lege back to them and so on), but he remained quite attached to his sister. A telepathic link helps. The two calm each other down and lot and they take care of each other. The two are quite similar - stern, far too wise for their years with too much experience under their belts, and very very traumatised so they hide it behind a face of pure disdain.

My Zeldas are all topsy-turvy so Aurora is AoL Zelda and Dawn is LoZ 1 Zelda. Hyrule's got an amiable friendship with Dawn but his affections lie with Aurora. She's kinda insane and let herself break a shit ton of fae rules because girl is mad in love with that boy.

Athena (yes Athena fits her so much better than Artemis guys pls I've been saying this for years) is like a big sister to Time and Wind, and she has a dependable colleague-like-but-also-kinda-dependant relationship with Warriors. It's weird, she helped raise Mask and Tune in the war where she could so it stemmed from that. She also knows Twi but only in Wolfie form. Yes chat, HW really fucks up everything but you gotta roll with it, he was in the game and yes I do believe Athena met him in the game.

I've posted in the past about my hc that Legend's transformation into a rabbit leaves his skeletal and muscular structures very weak and it causes him to go limp for a short amount of time coz his body is running on fumes. Yeah so combined with his time in Holodrum as a traveling performer/acrobat, he's just insanely hypermobile and flexible, and he can basically dislocate every bones in his body that connects to a joint. Including his spine/neck he found out one day to terrifying news when he just couldn't move at all when he hit his back wrong. He can obviously relocate them too (his back he maybe needs more assistance with), but it really freaks people out.

One more coz you've gotten more than I thought I'd type. I'm spreading the Four is buff as shit propaganda. At least his upper body anyway. He's a trained blacksmith, he's gotta have a lot of strength in his arms to hammer away at melting metal all day. (Plus gotta give him some kind of advantage, that boy got the short (ha) end of the stick in life and got nerfed to all hell and back)

[adastra-rising]

I’ve been rewatching episodes of miraculous because I finally got the family Disney Plus Password (was too lazy to ask) and I’ve been struck with thoughts.

I desperately want to rewrite the season 3 episode “Felix” because OH DEAR GOD I HATE IT. You only get the good shit when you read between the lines, what’s actually shown is ass.

So here’s my ideas for a rewrite

- Adrien definitively knows Colt Fathom was abusive, and alludes to it vaguely. He switched identities with Felix as a kid and has a good idea of what he went through at home.

- Adrien is less condescending in his taunts during the battle and shows a little more empathy towards his cousin. Less “boohoo bozo you have no friends” and more like, “dear god what happened to you bud?” Like he’s genuinely concerned over his wellbeing. Angry over what he did but genuinely concerned. Angry that his cousin never got a therapist lol.

- Marinette doesn’t try to confess her love to Adrien on the anniversary of his mother’s death because that’s literally so stupid.

- Felix is a bit more straightforward in his goals here, in that the audience is not led to believe he’s straight up evil. His behavior and general demeanor are more in-line with how he’s portrayed in season 4. He’s less obsessed with the GDV rings and more focused on outing his uncle as Hawkmoth or catching him in the act.

- He specifically chooses to mess with the videos to not only lure out Hawkmoth but because he’s extremely lonely and jealous. And that’s shown via subtle facial expressions and visual cues.

- His attempts to get Hawkmoth’s attention are more clearly shown to be an attempt to double-cross him and not just for the lols. Like, there’s certain things he does in the OG that are literally pointless, like the shit with Plagg’s cheese. Why? just, why?

- He is shown to be super competent at physical things (beating people up lol) but his social ineptitude is more clearly alluded to.

- No more SA scene I will burn that scene.

- Amelie actually gets to do stuff. She’s more straightforward about needing the GDV rings and actually makes an attempt to steal them herself. Auntie on a mission,

Canon Divergence Territory (aka rewrite)

✨MLB S3 Episode 23: Zelus✨

- If I wanted to do a bit more canon divergence, I’d shift focus from Felix being a trouble maker for the lols and instead focus on his jealousy. The feeling of being left behind by your only friend.

- His attempts to sabotage Adrien’s relationships is not to bait Hawkmoth but instead because he’s overcome with jealousy that Adrien has all these friends supporting him through his mothers passing, when Felix has never had anyone, both when his dad was dead and when he was alive. Nobody came to save him when he needed it and he’s gonna make that everybody’s problem.

- He thinks it’s unfair that Adrien seems to be so much happier than him and gets all of the things Felix wants (companionship) all the while getting to avoid the abuse he went through.

- Bro is genuinely super bitter and emotionally broken but hides it under a facade of showing no emotion at all until he snaps and gets akumatized into Zelus.

- Zelus (more commonly known as Phthonus) is the Greek personification of Jealousy.

- Maybe the ending could parallel the ending of Perfection, where other characters make an attempt to reach out and say “ur not alone <3” and while it works to defeat him, the message does NOT reach Felix and he goes home outwardly seeming better (it’s an act. One that Adrien believes) but remains just lonely.

- Like Kagami his trust issues run deep and one single episode is not gonna fix them. (They’ll heal together though, trust me!)

- His experience getting Akumatized proves to him that his uncle is Hawkmoth, he swipes the GDV ring on his way out to please his mother, and season 4 proceeds as written.

Dialogue Changes

Adrien: Listen, Plagg. Félix lost his dad not so long ago, he's probably not himself.

Plagg: I'm sorry, but there's just no excuse! You never touch my cheese, and yet, you just lost your mother not so long ago, right?

Adrien: My mom and his dad were nothing alike. It’s totally different.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 2

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.1K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Morning did not come quickly. You kept the blankets tucked to your chin, desperate for a barrier between yourself and the outside world. Your eyes stayed locked on the window as the dark blues faded into lighter shades until finally, a soft pink glow filled the room. Throughout the night, the only sounds were the male in the room next door shifting in his bed, occasionally letting out soft sighs. It seemed he wasn’t sleeping much either, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your screaming had woken him enough to stir his mind awake for good.

When the first birds began their calls and the room was barely lit by the morning sun, you finally pulled back the blankets. Every bone in your body ached, and your head still pounded from the incessant headache, now mixed with lack of sleep. You ran your hands over your face, smoothing them over the back of your head before clasping them behind your neck. You took a deep breath in through your nose. Now what?

You sniffled slightly, wiping your nose before letting your feet finally hit the floor. The bed creaked softly. You made your way to the adjoining door, peering through the crack to see the male lying in his bed, facing the wall, his wings spread out behind him as his shoulders gently rose and fell. At least he was able to sleep. You pressed your hands against the door, willing it shut as silently as possible. How are you going to get through this? You can’t hide from sleep forever, and you certainly can’t keep going without rest. You shook your head. You’d figure it out, somehow.

You moved through your morning, treading lightly as the inn’s old floors creaked and groaned under your weight. You dressed, pulling the leather jacket back over your shoulders, your nose crinkling at the scent of spruce and sage. He was everywhere, even now.

You closed the door to your room, boots in hand, fearing the noise they might cause if you wore them inside. You tiptoed past the closed door of your strange companion from the night before. Sneaking down the steps, you threw a smile to the waitress, who nodded at you as she wiped down platters before her morning began.

The air outside was crisp, with dew still clinging to the grass. The morning sunlight cast a pale glow around the clearing where the tavern sat. You paused to slide your feet into your boots, lacing them as you looked at the purple hyacinths blooming in the fields. The dotted purples brought you back to when you were a child, wandering the streets of Velaris with your family. Your mother would buy a bouquet of flowers from a vendor and tuck one of the soft-stemmed flowers behind your ear. You always loved the purples the best. You smiled to yourself, shaking away the memory, as you did with all of them. But you let yourself stop as you crossed the clearing, plucking a single purple flower from the group, which stood slightly shorter than the rest. Given its stature, it wouldn’t be missed. You tucked it behind your ear. Silly, you thought, to take such precious time picking flowers, but you did it anyway as you entered the woods again, not looking back at the tavern where that strange male, who was so gentle, so attentive, still lay asleep in bed.

Your only plan was to head south, away from the mountains and deeper into the country. You weren’t sure how long it would take to cross the border into the neighboring court, or if you would even make it that far, but south was the only clear option to put as much distance as possible between you and him. You’d considered trying to make your way to Velaris, but it seemed too close, too obvious. You feared it would be the first place he would look for you, the place where you felt most at home, where he could easily come and take you back. If you cleared the Illyrian mountains, it would be farther than you had made it in past attempts just a decade ago, and perhaps that would be enough. 

You had planned this escape months ago, setting aside coins left out on tables and scattered on the floor during his moments of rage, when it seemed the blinding red overtook all his senses. You had packed and repacked your bag, changing out clothing and supplies for each season, hoping for the day when you might finally have had enough and decide to leave. You were always ready, waiting for the right moment.

It was foolish, you thought to yourself as you wandered through the dense woods, that just a few weeks ago you believed things were getting better. He had brought you fresh berries from a farm a few miles away, kissed you on the forehead, his hands still holding the berries as he wrapped himself around you, and you pressed your nose to his chest. He had promised things would get better after he shattered that window, where you ducked as he raged and threw a pan through the glass, leaving shards in your hair. He had promised he would stop. You were a fool to think that the nights you spent tucked into his side, his hands gently stroking your forearm as the night passed quietly, were a glimpse of a peaceful life that the Mother and the mating bond had promised you.

You couldn’t even recall what had shattered that illusion. He had come home from the forest in a rage, already flying off the handle as you stood, pressed into the corner counter while he slammed around the cabin searching for the absinthe you had poured out into the grass behind the house a few days before. He nearly tore the doors off their hinges as he screamed for it, his hair growing wilder with each yell, demanding to know where you had hidden it. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your knuckles bone white as you gripped the lip of the counter until he finally came over to you, pressing his body into yours as you whimpered and tried to shrink away. 

He grabbed your face, his large hands nearly covering the entirety of your chin, forcing you to look at him. His breath, already laced with alcohol, assaulted your nostrils as he leaned in close and through clenched teeth asked, “What the fuck did you do, you witch?” When you closed your eyes tightly, he squeezed your jaw, the pain forcing them back open. “Why do you fucking hate me?” he had asked, moving his hand to your throat, his large, callused fingers tightening around it. “I do everything for you. Every godsdamned thing, and you—” he stuttered as you wrapped your own hand around his fingers, begging for release or even a bit of air as your windpipe was squeezed shut. “You bitch, all you do is fuck with things. You fuck with my head, and you lead me on, and you do this shit.” As your eyes widened and you sputtered for breath, he finally released you. You hadn’t even realized he had lifted you off the floor until your feet hit the wood again. You grabbed at your own neck, gasping in ragged breaths as he continued to scream at you, calling you every possible wretched thing as you doubled over, still coughing life back into your lungs. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward from the corner cabinet, the jerk causing you to fall to your knees before he yanked you back up.

You cried out in pain as he hissed at you to shut your mouth. He led you to the counters, already ripped apart in his frantic search. “Find it. You better fucking find it.”

Hot tears filled your eyes, threatening to spill over. You began hopelessly searching for the bottle you knew wasn’t there. You cursed yourself for not just emptying the bottle and putting it back in the cabinet, claiming he had finished it during his last bender. Instead, you had buried it deep in the woods, foolishly hoping he would give it up completely. Panic rose in your chest as you rifled through the cabinets, trying to think of something to say to stop what you knew was coming. He stood next to you, arms crossed, a scowl plastered on his face. He knew there was no bottle. This was purely to torment you.

When you finally turned to him, you whispered, “I don’t know where it is.”

His hand rose, and he slapped you across the cheek, yelling, “Liar!”

The blow threw your head to the side. Instinctively, you brought your hand to your cheek, the sting radiating through your face. “You’re a liar and a fucking witch!” he raged. You took a step back, hand still pressed to your cheek, as he barreled toward you again. He ripped your hand away from your face, took both your wrists in his hands, and stared at you with hollow green eyes. “You better fucking find it, or you’re dead,” he howled, his voice echoing with a chilling finality.

“I don’t know where it is,” you pleaded, tears finally cascading down your cheeks.

His anger deepened as he gripped your wrists tighter, causing your fingers to curl into claws. He shook you violently, screaming, “What the fuck did you do with it?”

A sob escaped your lips as he slammed your body into the counter. Your hip screamed in pain, and your legs gave out from under you. Sliding down to the floor, his hands still grasped your wrists, holding you upright. You turned your face away from him as he continued to yell, spittle spraying your cheeks. When your body finally hit the floor, he released you from his grip. You curled into yourself as he reeled his leg back, sending a kick to your abdomen that knocked the air out of you. An unnatural gurgle erupted from your lips as he kicked again and again. Your head knocked against the sharp edge of the cabinet corner with each assault. The searing pain spread through your body as you curled in, trying to protect the soft parts of yourself.

You sobbed as he, with reckless abandon, continued his assault. His boot, splattered with your blood and spit, struck you repeatedly until you had nothing left and stopped making noise. Your vision blackened as your head hit the counter again, your body knowing nothing but the fire of pain as every part of you willed to let go. Your eyes shut, tears still streaming down your face.

Suddenly, without warning, the kicking stopped. You felt air rush back into your lungs, the taste of iron filling your mouth. You winced and recoiled from the pain, feeling the bones in your ribs cracking, already beginning to mend, but the spasms of your muscles fighting to stay intact caused you to wince. Above you, without looking, you heard his quiet sob. Too weak to lift your head, you felt him drop to his knees beside you, burying his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your broken body as he sobbed.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he cried between sobs, his voice breaking.

Your face remained expressionless, save for the pain etched in every feature. He pulled you into him, his tears dampening your hair and shoulders. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he kept repeating, the heat of his tears burning into you as he held you close. 

You had no words, and even if you did, the air had been forced out of your body, and your throat was raw from screaming. Anything that would come out would have been as broken as you felt. What felt like an hour passed, but you were sure it was only minutes before he stood up, muttering again how he wasn’t sure what was happening. He ran his hands frantically through his hair, pacing about the kitchen of the cabin. The tea kettle you had put on whistled a scream, echoing your own pain. 

He sniffled, his breathing ragged, before he finally stopped pacing and looked towards you, still curled into the corner of the counter, blood streaming from your eyebrow, eyes hollow and empty. He started to speak but paused, then turned and walked out of the cabin and back into the woods, muttering and yelling indistinctly.

When you finally managed to stand, you hoisted yourself up by the counter, your legs weak, almost giving out on you. You dragged yourself, one hand cupping your side where pain still shot pins and needles through you. You grabbed the kettle from the stove, barely registering that the hot metal handle burned your flesh, and threw it into the washbasin.

Somehow, you made it to the bedroom. Uncaring if the blood slowly drying on your forehead stained the sheets, you willed yourself into the bed, the pain of your body hitting the mattress causing you to cry out. The window above the bed, slightly open, let in the sounds of him yelling outside, muttering things you couldn’t make out as you heard him assaulting the forest with his fists, screaming out. The background noise of his torment was the last thing you remembered before blacking out into nothingness.

In those moments, which happened more frequently than you would like to admit, you sometimes wished one of his blows had caused an organ to split or your head to hit the floor with such force it would have knocked the life out of you, ending the hell you were living. You often questioned why you didn’t leave sooner, why you wouldn’t fight back to escape, or why, in moments of excruciating pain, you didn’t scream back at him. Why did you feel compelled to stay silent as blow after blow landed? You pushed those thoughts from your mind. They were of no use to you now. You would keep moving forward, away from that place.

You had lost all track of time as you continued through the forest. The familiarity of the woods around the mountain and cabin was lost as new trees and boulders surrounded you. The sun hit its peak overhead, and you allowed yourself a short moment of rest, unwrapping a roll you had packed in a linen napkin. You ate it greedily, hunger pangs gnawing at your stomach as you scarfed it down. Its slightly stale flavor and hardened exterior were no bother as you finally quelled the growling from your core. As you chewed, you took in your surroundings. The trees here were taller and fuller, as if summer had already arrived, and the leaves had fully regrown. The canopy above cast long shadows on the lush green forest floor, and the boulder you sat on was slightly damp.

You folded the napkin, carefully placing it back into your well-packed bag as you took stock of your remaining food: two more rolls, a few apples, two chicken drumsticks wrapped in beeswax paper, a small bag of granola, and a handful of dried fruits. Enough to get you through a week, though you silently prayed for a town or even a small village where you could rest overnight.

Continuing into the forest, you allowed yourself to breathe freely, even enjoying the light burn of the sun across your cheeks. You went as far as to take your boots off and walk down a stream that babbled happily through the woods. The freezing chill of the water sent a spark up your spine as you searched for brightly colored stones and salamanders. It was silly to waste time doing this, but you hadn’t let yourself explore the world in so long, and for such little joys, it was worth it.

The afternoon waned, and the shadows grew longer before you came to a clearing. A meadow of soft spring ephemerals bloomed, filling the grasses with splashes of white, pink, and orange. As the sun cast orange fire across the sky, you deemed this as good a spot as any for the night. You threw your pack down at the edge of the meadow, unfurled the blanket you had wrapped your food in, and laid it on the meadow floor. You allowed yourself the luxury of one piece of chicken, the skin still crisp from when you had cooked it a few nights before. 

You watched the sun dip behind the treeline, the oranges turning to evening purple, as a mother deer and her fawn approached from the opposite edge of the clearing, feasting on the meadow’s flowers. You watched them carefully, not daring to move an inch. The fawn stayed close to its mother, who ate without fear, while the young one occasionally pricked its ears at the snapping of a branch. The mother seemed content with safety as the fawn locked its eyes on you. You stayed still, the fawn scanning you before turning back to its mother and resuming its evening meal. The tranquility set your mind at ease as the family wandered back into the deep woods, disappearing as night fell.

Your eyelids grew heavy with sleep as you lean against a tree, using a small knife to peel bark away from a branch you had picked up, fighting the urge to lie down. Another day of uncertainty had passed, another day of finding who you were, and another day of tasting the tantalizing flavor of freedom and deciding you wouldn’t live without it.

______________________________________________________________

Your eyes shot open as you heard the nearby crunch of the forest floor. How long had you been asleep? The branch you had been working on lay in your lap, your neck sore from where your head had fallen forward, and the side of your mouth wet from drool. You scrunched your face, shaking your head slightly to wake yourself up more when you heard another crack of a branch and what sounded like calculating footsteps.

Your heartbeat picked up speed as you frantically tried to pack your things. You had gotten too comfortable and unpacked most of what you had. The footsteps, now sounding like multiple pairs, grew closer. Silently, you pushed your items under a nearby bush before getting to your feet. You whipped around in search of a hiding place, but your only options were to run across the meadow, where you would be seen from every side, or run deeper into the woods toward the approaching steps. Instead, you looked up the towering evergreen above you and started climbing, limb after limb, higher and higher, each branch slightly less thick than the last. The ground disappeared below you, and you were panting, perched on a branch at least thirty feet up. You tried to steady your breath, gasping air into burning lungs as you waited and listened.

You heard the beginnings of voices but couldn’t make out what was being said. The voices were deep, male, in an accent you couldn’t place. The footsteps grew louder, and you saw the soft light of a torch through the trees as the group approached. Three males, all in black attire, swords drawn at their waists, and no lack of knives strapped along their legs and torsos, trampled through the undergrowth.

Finally, they were close enough for you to make out some of their conversation. “No, no, he wouldn’t have done that,” one noted.

“You weren’t there,” replied the second, following the leader in front, holding the torch. “He said he gutted him, drove his knife into his stomach, and ripped up through his chest.” You gulped as they continued to approach.

One of the males let out a slight chuckle. “Malek doesn’t have the balls for that.”

“He had enough balls to land you on your ass the other day in the ring,” another chided, causing the initial storyteller to shove him hard in the shoulder. As they continued through, you noticed they, like the odd male from the tavern, had large wings that hung from their backs, though more proudly than the one you had met.

One of them, the shortest, with jet-black hair braided back, trailed behind his two companions, swinging his sword idly. Though he did it without much thought, you could tell he was trained to use it lethally. “Why did we get stuck doing this patrol?”

The other, a few paces ahead, turned his head back over his shoulder, his shorter-cropped black hair glinting in the torchlight. You could make out the slight scar across his cheek, slashed into his lips. “Maybe because you couldn’t keep your fat mouth shut.”

The smaller one groaned, dropping his sword to his side. “That was months ago. He can’t keep shitting on us just because of that.”

The one in front, the tallest, with long cascading black locks pulled into a half bun, responded without turning back, “Well, apparently he can.”

You held your breath as the males continued their approach, now just under the tree you were perched in. Suddenly, the leader stopped, holding his hand up to signal their immediate halt. “Shut up,” he said.

The male behind him quickly brought his hand to the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw it, while the short one behind raised his sword in a ready stance. The leader then whispered, “Someone’s here.”

Your heart sank as you pressed your hand to your mouth, hoping the sound of your heart trying to escape through your ribcage wasn’t audible from below. The leader glanced around in a slow circle, his ears pricked, trying to pick up any noises. The two others did the same, silently scanning the area.

Finally, the second male crouched down where your blanket had been laid. “The grass is pushed down,” he whispered, moving forward slightly to where your body had been. “And it’s warm.”

The smallest one took a few silent steps forward, crouching next to his companion and gazing around. He reached forward and from under the bush pulled out your pack. “They heard us coming.”

The leader, still scanning the surrounding area, said, “They can’t be far.”

“We would have seen them in the meadow,” one responded. The other chimed in, “And they would have had to come toward us if they ran into the woods.”

The leader slowly and carefully turned his head to scan the trees above. Your stomach dropped as he locked eyes on you. You begged it be dark enough that he couldn’t see you, but the smile that crept onto his lips told you otherwise. He pointed one long, tanned finger upwards. “Found it,” he whispered. His companions turned their heads skyward, and your eyes widened in fear.

With a grim laugh, the one with braided hair stood, cupping his hands around his eyes to look up at you.

The leader called out in a sing-song tone, “Come on down, we don’t bite.” But you didn’t believe that for a second.

The small one chimed in the same tone, “Just come down.”

The second then followed, “You’re trespassing. Get your ass down here.”

You weighed your options. The large wings on their backs and toned bodies made you believe they would outrun you and take you down the second you stepped foot on the ground. But the tightness of the branches made you consider if you could climb higher, hoping they couldn’t reach you. You barely had time to consider before they called out again, “Just come down.” You stifled a whimper. There were no good intentions within these three males, not like the one you had met just the night before. These males had smirks on their faces that made you recoil, your insides gurgling. You opted not to move.

The leader finally called out, “If you don’t come down, we will bring you down. It’s your choice.”

Your knees locked, sore from crouching and balancing. Your only chance was to stay here and hope they couldn’t get to you. When you didn’t respond, the little one let out a chilling laugh and rubbed his hands together. “May I?” he asked.

The two others looked at each other, nodding in agreement before the leader noted, “Go ahead.”

With that, the smallest one chuckled with excitement before shedding his harness with his sword and knives, giving you a better look at his lean, muscular body. He was toned and fit for battle. Placing a steadying boot on the trunk of the tree, he hoisted himself up onto the first branch and made his approach to you, moving fast. 

As he continued his ascent, you pressed yourself closer into the trunk of the tree, blending into the darkness. When he was about ten feet off the ground, he finally made out your general shape. Looking down to the other two, he called out in a voice like a hungry predator, “We got a fae female on our hands, boys.” He turned back to you, licking his lips before singing out, “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” Bile rose in your throat as you watched him inch closer. You looked up to see another twenty feet of branches, each getting smaller but tighter together. In this moment of life or death—or something worse—you decided you might have to climb higher. The male below continued his climb as his two companions hollered encouragement. When he was merely ten feet from you, you made your choice and scrambled to the next set of branches.

He called back down to his friends, “And she’s quick. And fit.” He let out a small growl of desire, and you didn’t dare look back to see how much he had gained on you. “A tight ass,” he called out again, prompting his companions to laugh and groan with lust.

Your hands were bleeding, cut by the tiny twigs, but it didn’t stop you from pulling yourself up through the branches, away from the approaching danger. When you finally turned your head back, the male was at the branch you had just left. He took a moment to inhale deeply, “And she smells delicious.” He continued after you, faster than you could climb. You must have been ten feet higher when the males below you disappeared from view, obscured by the tree branches. The one with the braid was hot on your trail, struggling as the branches grew closer together. He let out a frustrated huff as he pulled his wing through a particularly tight spot. “Bitch,” he grumbled, “just come here.” His voice sounded as if it were directly below you. When you dared to glance down, he was a mere arm’s length away. He moved faster than you thought possible, and you let out a slight yelp, which made him smile, his toothy grin lit by the moonlight.

He reached forward, his hand clasping around your booted ankle and yanking you down. A scream left your lips as you clung to the branch above you, your fingers screaming in pain. Without thinking, you used your other leg to stomp downwards, your boot making swift contact with his face. He cried out in pain, yelling, “Fucking bitch!”

The two below shouted, “What happened?”

“She fucking kicked me in the face,” he replied.

The two below laughed amongst themselves, and the one in the tree yelled down at them to shut their mouths. You scrambled higher, finally reaching the last row of branches that could hold your weight. You pulled yourself through three separate crisscrosses before steadying yourself, clinging to the trunk like a bear. The midsection was thin enough that you could almost wrap your arms around it. You looked down, and a few feet below, the male wiped the mud from his face and spat blood from his lips. He looked up at you with a new sense of anger bubbling. “You bitch,” he cried, continuing his ascent. “You’re going to pay for that,” he growled.

You whimpered, pulling yourself tighter as he continued up. Finally, when he reached the crisscrossed branches, he tried to push through, but his broad shoulders halted him. He groaned and grumbled, looking up at you with a sneer. “You bitch,” he whispered. He called back down to the two below, “She’s too high. I can’t get to her through the branches.”

The second called back, “You’re telling me your ass is too fat to fit through there to get her?”

The small one peered over his shoulder, “No,” he called back, “my dick is too big to make the clearing, dumbass.” He peered back up at you, considering his options.

The leader called up from below, “Just come back down, Darian. She has to get down at some point, or fall.”

Darian let out a growl, looking up at you. “I’ll be waiting down there when you’re ready. And when you come down, just know, I have big plans for you.” With that, he slunk back down, cat-like, almost sliding down the length of the tree. Below, you could hear them speaking. The second chided, “Your dick is not that big.”

Darian laughed back, pushing the other slightly, “My dick is huge, and you fucking know it.”

The second let out a noise of uncertainty. “I’ve seen it, and it’s nothing to get excited about.”

Darian jumped on the back of the second, his forearm wrapping around his neck as the second laughed, pushing himself back against the tree. The air in Darian’s lungs knocked out of him before the leader finally said, “Knock it the fuck off.”

That was enough for Darian to drop from the second’s back. “Thoren, head back to camp and tell them we found a trespasser who we’re going to wait out.”

The second let out a groan, “Why do I have to go back? Send the cock-master instead.”

The leader shot Thoren a glare, “That’s an order, Thoren.”

Thoren shook his head, taking a step back, arms raised. “Okay, okay, fuck.” With that, Thoren made his way into the meadow, his giant wings spreading before he took a bounding leap and jumped into the sky. He flew up past the tree you were perched in, peering in at you from the thick branches with a criminally vicious smile. “See you soon, little squirrel,” he said before flapping off into the night, back toward the woods.

The leader ordered Darian to build a fire as he rifled through your pack, pulling out the food and taking a hungry bite of a roll. Looking up at you, where you knew he couldn’t see you, he gave a slow wave. “Goodnight, sleep well” he called up, before a sinister laugh escaped his lips. You gulped once more.

_____________________________________________________________

Special thanks to the following readers of Part 1 who have encouraged me to continue writing this, it's truly wonderful to have such phenomenal support while I continue to craft these works!

Tagged accounts:

@annabethgranger123, @nickishadow139, @thatacotargirl, @depressedreader209

[kingofbodyrolls]

Learn to Love Again (m) | myg

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

People always leave. They become beautiful stars shining bright in the night sky. When life hands you lemons, you’ve been told to make lemonade, but that is hard when your soul and heart is breaking apart. When you rescue a tiny cat and meet a handsome stranger in the cafe, you finally feel yourself healing – but when they too leave, how are you going to learn to love again?

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: Hybrid!au (shapeshifter!yoongi) → Genre(s): slice of life, heavy angst, sadness and grief, dark vibes, smut, fluff and some humor → Trope(s): strangers to lovers → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 19.4k → warnings + triggers: Heavy angst, extreme heavy sadness and grief, death of minor characters, mention of previous character death (parents and siblings), mentions of su*cide, mention of m*rder, su*cidal thoughts. Mention of past car accident. Mention of past domestic abuse. Mirrors 👀👀 → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please stay safe!), choking, oral (female receiving), nipple and breasts play, one-time use of a degrading word (otherwise petname), hair pulling – I guess it’s pretty vanilla with a slight sprinkle of spice 🤭 → Author’s note:  I know it sounds hella sad (and it is), but it is also very sweet and heartwarming too 💜 I wanted to venture into the darker stuff again, and embrace all the feelings and sadness that I felt a few weeks ago (I’m fine, well I’m getting through it at least). If you are triggered by any of the warnings, I suggest that you skip this. It’s not that explicit though, but the heavy subjects are still there and they feature in it a lot. Also, the quote “people always leave” features a lot in this and I only now realize why I find it so familiar – it’s a famous quote from Peyton Sawyer from One Tree Hill. → Read on AO3? [link]

The heavens are weeping again, unleashing a torrential downpour that drums heavy on the windows. Just like the heavy beating of your heart and the tears that just won’t stop falling down your cheeks.

For days now, the world has languished in this disquiet, a foreboding atmosphere that has draped itself over every moment, casting a shadow even before the haunting ring of the call that echoed through the silence.

A searing, heart-wrenching call that etched itself into the fabric of your existence, standing out as one of the most agonizing moments life has ever dared to deliver.

Caught off guard by the unexpected twist of fate, it blindsided you, sending shockwaves through your core and leaving you utterly rattled, as if the very ground beneath your feet had shifted without warning.

Your conviction in her well-being crumbled as swiftly as a sandcastle against the tide.

In your last encounter, she radiated joy—her infectious happiness casting a brilliant glow over her words as she spoke about her new job, her blossoming romance, and her boundless love for life.

A tear, heavy with the weight of the contrast between then and now, traces a lonely path down your cheek.

The echo of her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, and the unbridled excitement that made her hands tremble with anticipation haunted your memories. 

It's a heart-wrenching juxtaposition between the happiness she projected and the sorrow now etched into the fabric of your own emotions.

She wasn't just a friend; she was your confidante, a steadfast companion through the labyrinth of years and experiences. Your best friend.

In the tapestry of your friendship, she emerged as the resplendent thread, the one who consistently outshone the rest. 

Even on her darkest days, she radiated a brilliance that surpassed the ordinary, a celestial glow that left an indelible mark on your heart. To you, she wasn't just a friend; she was a luminous star, a breathtaking celestial entity whose untimely descent felt like a cosmic supernova, casting a blinding light that left everyone in its wake awestruck and forever changed.

Like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, the day she chose to end her own life blindsided everyone. 

The abruptness of her decision, the finality of calling it quits, left a haunting question echoing in the hollow chambers of your soul—why? 

The puzzle remains unsolved, the enigma of her despair a perplexing maze you can't navigate. Outwardly, her life seemed like a canvas painted in hues of contentment, yet the invisible struggles eluded comprehension. 

Despite the deep conversations that usually wove through the tapestry of your friendship, the darkness she harbored never surfaced in her words. Her choice to shroud her pain in silence remains an unfathomable mystery, a tragic paradox that still elicits a profound sense of bewilderment.

The haunting ‘what if’ lingers, an elusive specter of regret—what if she had shared her struggles with you? 

The possibility that your words could have been a lifeline is an uncharted sea of sorrow. The uncertainty, the unfulfilled potential for intervention, claws at your conscience like a relentless tempest.

In the wake of this unanswered plea for connection, tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop bearing the weight of unspoken conversations. The dampness on your collarbone, where your shirt clings uncomfortably, is a tangible reminder of the storm within. 

A mere few days have crawled by since that fateful call, the kind that alters the very fabric of reality. 

The echo of your friend's voice reverberates through your memory—a seismic revelation that shattered your world. As the words unfolded, you crumpled to the floor, the phone nearly slipping from your trembling grasp.

A gasp caught in your throat, a palpable surge of emotion crashing over you like a tidal wave.

In that harrowing moment, your heartbeat quickened, each thud resonating with the weight of sorrow and anger. The air itself seemed to constrict, tainted with the bitter aftertaste of an impending storm. The onslaught of emotions clawed at your chest, a tumultuous dance between sadness and anger, each one vying for dominance in the chaotic symphony of your soul.

Powerlessness wraps around you like a suffocating shroud, the absence of your brightest star leaving a void that seems insurmountable. 

In this moment of staggering loss, the future unfolds as a vast expanse of uncertainty. How do you navigate a world without the radiant glow she once brought to your existence?

Yet, as the weight of grief presses down, a resilient ember flickers within. Acknowledging the inexorable march of time, you realize that her memory, like a cherished constellation, will be a guiding light in the night sky of your life. 

In the tapestry of your emotions, she, alongside your parents, becomes one of the celestial beacons you look up to during moments of sorrow or when life's burdens become too overwhelming.

You step out onto the balcony, enveloped by the velvety embrace of the dark blue sky. 

The resplendent moon takes center stage, surrounded by a constellation of bright companions that twinkle in the vast expanse of the night. The beauty of the cosmos is a bittersweet solace, a celestial dance that captivates your gaze.

The night sky has always held a captivating allure for you, but in the wake of the profound loss of your parents, it transcends mere beauty. 

It becomes a sanctuary, a cosmic tapestry where memories linger among the stars. Each celestial beacon now carries the weight of cherished moments, transforming the night into a sacred canvas where the brilliance of your loved ones continues to shine, casting a radiant glow that lingers in the quiet moments of contemplation.

The subtle hum of your phone reverberates in your hand, a clandestine messenger that disrupts the tranquility of your thoughts, setting loose a cascade of emotions. 

The screen lights up with a message from a friend, its arrival like a seismic tremor in the landscape of your contemplations, shaking loose the delicate balance you've tried so desperately to maintain.

Yuna [20.31]: Iseul’s funeral is on Saturday. We’re all going. U coming?🌹

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach like a heavy anchor – the thought of attending the funeral feels like navigating a tempest of emotions you're not sure you're prepared to weather. 

The prospect of confronting tears, raw emotion, and the grieving presence of her family looms before you, casting a shadow over the already somber occasion. 

Yet, duty intertwines with reluctance; you were her best friend, after all. 

The expectation to pay your respects becomes an unspoken mandate, tugging at the seams of your resolve despite the storm of discomfort that brews within.

Tears have become an unwelcome torrent on your phone, transforming the smooth surface into a slippery terrain that complicates every attempt to type. 

The screen blurs beneath a watery veil, mirroring the tumultuous cascade in your own eyes. Distraction clings to each droplet, making it not only challenging to navigate the phone but also to see through the emotional downpour that clouds your vision.

But against the deluge of sorrow and the weight of grief, you summon the strength for a brief reply, a fragile lifeline tossed into the turbulent sea of emotions.

You [20.46]: Yes🌹

With a heavy sigh, you gently lay your phone face-down on the nightstand, as if shielding the illuminated screen from the weight of the world you've just momentarily set aside.

How do you navigate this desolate landscape that life has become? 

The void feels more palpable now, a haunting echo of emptiness that had lingered even before.

It's as if the very essence of existence has been drained away, leaving you grappling with the profound question: What is the point when the world around you continues to crumble, and people around you just keep dying?

At Iseul's funeral, you navigated the somber scene alongside your friend group, bracing for the emotional maelstrom that awaited. 

The atmosphere unfolded exactly as you had anticipated — a tableau of tears, grief-stricken family members, and the embrace of mournful hugs. Conversations echoed with memories of Iseul's radiant spirit, each word a bittersweet tribute to the bright and bubbly soul that once graced your lives. 

Amidst the collective sorrow, the air hung heavy with the weight of loss, weaving a tapestry of emotions that spoke to the indelible impact Iseul had left behind.

It was agonizing, bidding farewell in the harsh reality of acceptance. The harsh truth of life unveiled itself – an unrelenting cycle of departures. 

Yet, amidst the crushing finality, you find solace in the enduring promise that even though everyone leaves, the stars above will forever bear witness to her presence, a cosmic constellation of memories that will continue to illuminate the canvas of your nights.

Work persists in its mundane rhythm, the monotony punctuated only by the forced smiles you offer customers as you brew their coffee or recommend delectable treats in the cafe. 

For you, work has forever remained a sterile landscape, devoid of passion or purpose. The unfulfilled yearning for a meaningful career tugs at the edges of your consciousness, a persistent ache exacerbated by life's unrelenting cruelty—your unfinished degree in astrophysics stands as a testament to dreams deferred. Maybe you’ll go back to school – you don’t know.

Your thoughts are abruptly shattered by a brash intrusion, a man’s voice slicing through the ambient noise with an unwarranted familiarity. “Hi, pretty,” he drawls, snapping your attention to the present, “can I get a black coffee, a muffin, and your number, please?” 

The audacious request hangs in the air, leaving a charged pause that crackles with a blend of amusement and annoyance.

You stifle a silent scoff, a careful veil to conceal the simmering irritation within, though the indignation is palpable. 

This flirtatious interlude is far from novel—far from the first time someone has attempted to weave charm into the fabric of your workday. Yet, a discomforting truth lingers beneath your composed exterior: you disdain these unwarranted advances, a sentiment you've carried with you each time such encounters stain the ordinary canvas of your work.

Forcing a smile that feels more like a fragile mask, you locate a muffin, navigating the familiar routine with practiced efficiency. 

As you approach the coffee machine to craft the requested brew, you gather both items and, with a subtle sigh, slide them across the counter. 

Your words, delivered with a polite cadence, carry a hint of firmness as you say, “Here you go. Apologies, but my number isn't on the menu.”

Turning men down has become a skill honed through the crucible of experience, a necessity etched into the fabric of your being, especially after the wreckage of your last relationship. 

It wasn't just a breakup; it was a tempest that left you bruised, not only on the surface but also in the recesses of your soul. 

To declare a dread of relationships, despite the quiet longing that flickers deep within, would be an understatement—the mere thought evokes the echoes of a tumultuous past, a cautionary tale etched in both physical and emotional hues of black and blue.

Despite the man's disapproving frown, he begrudgingly parts with his payment, snatching his coffee and muffin.

As he vacates the space, you extend a tight-lipped greeting to the next customer, the forced smile a delicate masquerade concealing the intricacies of emotion churning beneath the surface.

Day after day unfolds in this relentless routine, a relentless loop where, despite the suffocating weight of depression, you muster the strength to haul yourself into work. 

The struggle is an unspoken battle, fought in the silent recesses of your soul, and each morning becomes a victory against the persistent darkness that threatens to engulf your spirit.

You maintain a lifeline to your friends, weaving a narrative of your somber mood and emotional tumult, acutely aware of the significance of vocalizing your feelings rather than succumbing to the perilous grip of silent suffering.

Recent conversations with your friends have taken an unexpected turn, steering into the realm of your dating life or, more accurately, its conspicuous absence. 

Their fervent advocacy for you to reenter the world of romance echoes in your ears, their well-intentioned pleas urging you to cross paths with someone great and amazing. 

However, you find yourself standing at the crossroads of uncertainty, unsure if you're ready to navigate the labyrinth of love once more. 

Despite your reservations, you indulge them, allowing their words to wash over you like a waterfall of unsolicited advice, all the while steadfast in your understanding that a man is not a prerequisite for happiness or the completeness of your life—you've long recognized your ability to stand firm and flourish on your own terms.

An entire season has unfurled its tapestry, and while the vast void persists within the caverns of your heart, there's a subtle transformation underway. Amidst the lingering shadows, a sliver of the sun's warm rays threads its way through, gently illuminating the emptiness. 

The caress of warm weather and sunlight manages to coax a faint lift in your mood, a subtle thawing of the emotional frost. 

Yet, amidst the burgeoning warmth, there's a yearning for the crispness of cold, the kind that invites the comfort of wool sweaters and socks, beckoning a desire to cocoon on the couch and lose yourself in the embrace of solitude.

After withstanding the relentless onslaught of your friends' persistent prodding into the realm of your love life, you've yielded to the chorus of their well-meaning badgering. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, you've made the bold decision to reenter the intricate dance of the dating game.

The prospect of discovering 'the one' remains shrouded in uncertainty, a delicate balance between the promise of profound connection and the potential peril of heartache from those who might not treat you right. 

However, the ambiguity of the journey doesn't deter your resolve. To remain passive is to forfeit the chance at something extraordinary. 

The echoes of Iseul and the silent encouragement from your departed parents reverberate, urging you to embrace life with all its intricate hues. Their unwritten wish for your happiness becomes the compass guiding your path, compelling you to take the plunge and give it your all.

You yearn for a life where the pursuit of happiness isn't punctuated by the haunting inevitability of departures and loss. You grasp the harsh truth that people leaving or departing through death is an inescapable facet of existence, a relentless current in the river of life. 

Yet, the recurring tide of sorrow that washes over you each time someone departs feels burdensome, a weight that anchors your spirit. It would be a cherished reprieve if the ebb and flow of life's transitions didn't carry with it a relentless undertow that threatens to drag you down each time.

Your dating escapades have unfolded like a series of misadventures, each rendezvous more perplexing than the last. 

One suitor wielded an aggressive tone that eclipsed any potential connection, while another was so absorbed in self-interest that your voice seemed but an echo in the conversation. Then there was the one who sought solace in your company to mend a broken heart, an unwitting participant in their quest for emotional repair.

With every disappointing encounter, your hopes wane like the dying embers of a once-bright flame. Yet, undeterred, you persist in the pursuit of connection, a resilient soul navigating the unpredictable seas of dating with unwavering determination.

Amidst the tumultuous sea of advice from your friends, the suggestion of a night out clubbing emerges as a potential remedy to jumpstart your dating life—a one-night stand, a shortcut to reclaiming agency over your love life. 

However, the proposition fails to align with the essence of who you are. The neon-lit allure of the club scene doesn't resonate with your soul, and the idea of a fleeting encounter doesn't hold the promise you seek. 

Nonetheless, you find yourself engulfed in a pulsating sea of sound, the music in the club roaring, the bass reverberating through the floor and into your bones. 

The atmosphere is a maelstrom of heat and sweat, a suffocating embrace that intensifies your regret for being there. 

Yuna, exuding an air of confidence, takes charge and orders a round of drinks for the group. Meanwhile, Nari's eyes scan the lively chaos of the club, a vigilant matchmaker on a mission to uncover potential matches for you.

Her finger extends with a pointed certainty toward a mysterious figure—a dark-haired man sporting a sleeveless shirt, the canvas of his arm adorned with an intricate tattoo sleeve. His dark eyes, scanning the crowded expanse of the club, carry an enigmatic intensity, hinting at a captivating allure that goes beyond the surface.

Your laughter carries a blend of amusement and skepticism as you dismissively remark, “Nah, he's giving off major fuckboy vibes.”

Amidst the cacophony of pounding music in the club, Nari practically shouts in your face, her words punctuating the beat as she insists, “Maybe that's exactly what you need!” 

The intensity of her proclamation, a fervent plea for spontaneity, reverberates in the air, a challenge thrown into the whirlwind of the night's possibilities.

You shake your head, a firm yet polite rejection lingering on your lips, “No, thank you.” 

Just as the tension subsides, Yuna appears with a tray of drinks, a timely distraction. Gratefully, you accept your drink, savoring the sweet and sour concoction that dances across your palate, momentarily providing respite from the charged atmosphere of the club.

The night unfolds in a rhythm of measured indulgence—a few drinks to chase a gentle buzz, steering clear of the edge of intoxication. Your gaze scans the crowd in search of potential matches, but amidst the pulsating lights and swirling music, none captures the elusive spark that ignites a genuine interest.

As the night deepens and the rhythm of the club starts to fade, you bid farewell to your friends, the weight of the evening settling in your bones. 

Stepping out into the nocturnal air, you're greeted by the relentless cascade of rain, a torrential downpour that catches you off guard. Damn it, you realize, a surge of annoyance coursing through you, you didn't bring an umbrella.

Embracing a sudden burst of defiance, you make a split-second decision, a resolute ‘fuck it’ echoing in your mind. 

Stepping onto the sidewalk without the shelter of an umbrella, you surrender to the unrelenting rain. In mere moments, your hair clings to your skin, and your clothes succumb to the downpour.

As you navigate the labyrinth of alleys and pass by numerous apartments, a peculiar low noise infiltrates the ambient hum of the rain. What is that sound? 

It's a subtle yet persistent calling that arrests your movements, compelling you to strain your senses in an attempt to decipher its origin. 

It's not just your slightly tipsy mind, is it, playing tricks on you? 

The cadence of the noise feels like a desperate plea, an ethereal call for help that beckons you into a mysterious dance between reality and the unknown.

Undeterred by the absence of street lamps, you navigate a shadowy alleyway nestled between looming apartment complexes. The darkness cloaks the path ahead, but you press on, an intrepid explorer drawn to the mystery that lies beyond the veil of obscurity. 

As you draw nearer, the enigmatic noise crescendos in intensity, a haunting melody that pierces the quiet of the alley. 

Your steps quicken, and with each stride, the source becomes clearer. Could it be emanating from the depths of the dumpster?

A sense of déjà vu wraps around you, as if this eerie scene has been lifted from a cinematic reel. The dilemma tugs at your curiosity, tempting you to peer into the abyss of the dumpster, a choice that hangs in the balance. 

Yet, before you make a decision, a glimmer of relief washes over you. 

Nestled snugly beside the dumpster, a small ball of fur captivates your attention, its presence a stark contrast to the ominous shadows. 

A silhouette emerges from the darkness, and as you inch closer, the mystery unfolds into a shivering, meowing figure—a black cat. 

The frailness of the tiny creature tugs at your heartstrings, and you find yourself hunching down, extending a tentative invitation with soft calls, coaxing the small, ebony bundle to bridge the gap between its vulnerability and your outstretched hand.

The black cat fixes its gaze upon you, eyes mirroring a blend of uncertainty and wariness, as if it's attempting to decipher the intentions behind your outstretched hand. 

The black cat stirs from its initial hesitation, uttering plaintive meows that seem to echo its distress. As it rises, the stark reality becomes evident—malnourished and shrouded in fear, it moves tentatively towards you. Each step seems to echo a history of abandonment and struggle. With aching slowness, the feline inches closer, navigating the wet ground with trepidation. 

Softly, you beckon the malnourished feline closer, the words “Come here, you poor thing” carrying an invitation laced with compassion. 

As the tiny creature inches nearer, its pitch-black eyes become an intense focal point, a gaze that transcends the physical realm, peering into the depths of your soul. In that poignant exchange, a silent pact forms—an unspoken promise of comfort and understanding between two beings, each seeking solace in the other's company.

As the fragile black cat draws near, an echo from your past resurfaces—the cautionary words of your mother reverberating in your mind. ‘Black cats bring omen and death,’ her voice, etched in childhood memories, had warned. 

Yet, confronted with the stark vulnerability of this shivering, lost creature in the cold summer rain, you find your resolve tested. 

Against the weight of your mother's superstitions, compassion prevails, and you make a conscious decision to offer refuge. You haven’t got anything else to lose, but yourself.

The cat's purrs resonate in the quiet alley, a melodic response to the tentative connection forming between you. Meows become a symphony of trust as it finally caresses your hand, a delicate dance of vulnerability. 

With a newfound intimacy, it leans into your touch, climbing up your arm to find refuge in your lap. Despite your jacket's damp embrace, you pull the shivering creature closer, enfolding it tightly against your chest.

“I’ll take you home and get you some food.”

Rising from the damp alley, you cradle the tiny black cat in your arms, an intimate embrace that transcends the physicality of the moment. As you navigate the journey home, each step becomes a testament to the newfound connection—its fragile heartbeat resonating against your chest.

As you finally reach the sanctuary of your home, both you and the shivering cat are thoroughly drenched from the relentless rain. 

With a twist of the key, you unlock the door to your small apartment, ushering in a breath of warmth that contrasts sharply with the damp chill outside. 

In a choreography of relief, you kick off your sodden shoes, the cat nestled at your feet. Unburdened by the weight of the rain-soaked coat, you hang it on the rack, a visual symbol of the transition from the stormy world outside to the comforting refuge within the four walls of your home.

“I'll find you a towel and dry you off,” you promise to the cat, your words a tender reassurance before your feet. With a sense of urgency, you hasten to the bathroom, a quest for a towel becoming a mission to provide comfort to your newfound companion.

As you return, traces of wet footprints mark the path from the entryway to your living room, leading to the sight of the cat perched regally on your couch. 

The unexpected image elicits a sense of awe within you, a silent marvel at the fortuitous encounter that has unfolded. With the fluffy towel in hand, you join the tiny creature on the couch.

With gentle strokes, you tenderly dry the cat with the fluffy towel, the rhythmic purrs and meows resonating like a melody of gratitude. 

In this intimate act of care, a bond forms between you and the feline, its response a testament to the shared understanding that has quietly blossomed. 

The dampness of the storm may linger outside, but within the confines of your home, a warmth permeates, forged through the simple yet profound act of offering comfort to a fragile soul.

Persistently, the cat continues its chorus of meows, its nearly obsidian eyes fixed on you with an intensity that transcends mere feline curiosity. In the silent exchange, a profound question lingers in the air—what does it want? 

The gaze carries an almost pleading quality, an unspoken plea that invites you to unravel the mysteries hidden within those enigmatic eyes, and in doing so, embark on a journey of connection and understanding with this small, mysterious soul.

A revelation flickers in your mind like a sudden burst of light—food! 

The realization washes over you, and a spark of understanding illuminates the unspoken hunger behind those pleading eyes. “You're starving, ain't ya?” you murmur, the words a bridge between the two of you, an acknowledgment of shared needs and the beginning of a silent commitment to provide not just shelter but sustenance to this small, hungry soul.

In a hurried dance between care and necessity, you dart into the kitchen, swinging open the fridge door to unleash a blast of cold air. 

The realization that your wet clothes might lead to an impending cold nudges at you, urging a brief pause for self-care. As you contemplate changing into dry attire, the cat, now a nimble companion, weaves around your feet, a symphony of meows echoing its anticipation of the impending feast.

As your gaze sweeps across the contents of the fridge, a flurry of questions dance in your mind—what do cats like? 

In a moment of culinary improvisation, you spot the remnants of yesterday's fish. A hopeful assumption takes hold—cats like fish, right? 

Without a second thought, you snatch the container, crack it open, and ceremoniously place it on the floor. 

The cat descends upon the fish with a voracity that borders on desperation, consuming it in a whirlwind of seconds. 

You observe in silent fascination as the cat devours the fish with an almost primal fervor, each bite a testament to the depth of its hunger.

As the cat lifts its gaze, those dark, fond eyes fixate on you, a silent expression of gratitude that transcends words, forging a connection that lingers in the air like the sweet aftertaste of an unexpected bond.

You retrieve a bowl, fill it with water, and place it on the floor. The cat, having satisfied its hunger, wastes no time. It immediately dips its tongue into the water, each lap a testament to the thirst that had accompanied its hunger. 

In the quiet aftermath of the cat's meal, you find yourself engaged in a one-sided conversation. While it laps up the water, you speak to it with a hint of longing, as if expecting the feline to reveal its name with a mere glance. “I don't know what your name is…” you muse aloud, your words hanging in the air like a silent plea for connection. 

In the exchange, a profound yearning takes root—a desire not just to care for this creature but to unravel the mystery that shrouds it, beginning with the revelation of a name.

Hmm... A whimsical idea takes shape in your mind, and with a voice full of hope, you share your musings with the feline companion. “I don't know, maybe I'll give you one!” you exclaim, the words tinged with the excitement of a newfound connection.

Testing the waters, you propose a couple of names with a hopeful lilt in your voice. “Shadow?” you venture, eyes fixated on the cat, seeking any flicker of recognition. 

Yet, met with a stoic demeanor, you playfully offer another option, “Licorice?” 

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, but the cat remains unfazed, engrossed in its culinary pursuits. 

Embracing a sudden surge of inspiration, you think of a name that dances on the edges of whimsy and mischief. “You look like a 'Loki,' like a God of Mischief!” The words tumble out with a playful chuckle, a nod to the elusive charm that shrouds the feline. 

To your surprise, the cat interrupts its feast, casting what seems like a dumbfounded expression your way. 

A moment of shared acknowledgment hangs in the air before the cat resumes its meal, leaving you to wonder if, in that fleeting pause, you've glimpsed the spark of recognition in its enigmatic eyes.

An impromptu burst of enthusiasm seizes you, and with an abrupt yell, you christen the cat in a moment of whimsy. “Kitten!” 

The exclamation is so sudden that it startles the cat, prompting a small leap in surprise. “That's your name. You're so small, like a little kitten,” you playfully jest, mimicking the affectionate cooing one might give to a baby. 

In the imaginary realm where cats understand human whims, you half-expect a hypothetical eye-roll, as if the creature were a miniature human indulging in the theatrics of a quirky naming ceremony.

In the wake of your spontaneous naming ceremony, Kitten darts away, a streak of fur and energy leaving you in its playful wake. A fleeting attempt to follow its swift movements reveals the futility of keeping pace with this agile companion.

An earnest plea escapes your lips, “No, don't run away, Kitten!” A plea that halts not far from your bedroom, where a sudden idea takes root. “We're going to bed, and you can even sleep in my bed.” The promise hangs in the air, an invitation that sparks the cat's curiosity. 

Without hesitation, Kitten races back to you, weaving through your legs and darting into the bedroom. It watches itself in the mirror in front of your bed, before it in a graceful leap, lands on the bed, transforming this impromptu offer into a shared moment of warmth and companionship.

A soft chuckle escapes you as Kitten, with a graceful twirl, transforms into a snug, fluffy black ball. It settles onto the bed, a picture of contentment and trust, the rhythmic rise and fall of its breathing echoing in the room. 

In the sanctuary of your bathroom, the day's residue fades away as you delicately remove stained makeup and indulge in your nightly skincare rituals. 

With a sense of quiet reverence, you return to the bedroom, mindful not to disrupt Kitten's serene repose. Nestled in bed, you prop yourself up, the rhythmic routine a prelude to the tranquility that envelops the room. 

As you surrender to the embrace of sleep, the ethereal presence of the black cat becomes a silent companion in the journey between waking and dreams, a guardian of the night's secrets.

In the intimate company of Kitten, you find solace in the honesty of your own reflection. “He wasn't really for me, Kitten. I don't know why I keep going on these dates. They amount to nothing.” A sigh punctuates your admission, a subtle echo of the unspoken search for connection that seems elusive in the realm of human encounters. 

As you delve into a shared meal with your newfound family member – Kitten, you stuff your face with delicious food in an attempt to keep your minds off your failing romantic life.

Kitten responds to your words with a series of gentle meows, a seemingly agreeable chorus that resonates in the room. 

Over the past few days, he has transformed into an impeccable listener, absorbing the tapestry of your thoughts with silent grace. 

In the quiet moments of your soliloquies, a yearning surfaces—a desire for more than a feline confidant, for words that echo back with advice and wisdom. 

Yet, despite this unfulfilled wish, Kitten's silent companionship remains a source of profound comfort, his presence weaving seamlessly into the fabric of your daily life, a testament to the unexpected connections that emerge in the quiet interludes of solitude.

Consistent as the rhythm of a heartbeat, Kitten is there, a patient sentinel awaiting your return from the hustle of the day. 

His presence becomes a cherished routine, an embodiment of comfort that transcends the mundanity of the everyday. 

As you settle in front of the television, Kitten gracefully claims his place in your lap, his form snuggling into the contours of your warmth. 

The scene unfolds like a silent ballet, a dance between two beings finding solace in the quietude of shared moments—a testament to the profound bond that has blossomed in the intimate spaces of your daily life.

On a day marked by what you'd deem a successful date, you decide to bring the guy home to your apartment. 

Kitten welcomes you with joyous meows, but the moment his obsidian eyes lock onto the man, a palpable shift occurs. 

The cat's once-hospitable demeanor morphs into a display of territorial assertion—he hisses, claws unsheathed, a guardian of the sacred space that has become both haven and sanctuary.

Unfazed by Kitten's display of discontent, the man follows you into the bedroom, a trail of unresolved tension lingering in the air. However, as you attempt to navigate the fragile balance between human relationships and the silent protests of your feline confidant, Kitten stalks in with palpable anger. 

Kitten's claws assert their protest on the man's pants, a silent plea echoing through the room. “I'm so sorry about my cat. He's not usually like this,” you hastily apologize, attempting to navigate the tumultuous intersection of human connection and feline territoriality. 

In the midst of the uneasy dance, the guy gently guides you down onto the bed, a kiss bridging the gap between words left unsaid and the uncharted landscapes of desire.

In an unforeseen twist, Kitten catapults onto the bed, launching a surprise attack on the poor man's back with unbridled ferocity. 

The room erupts with a sudden commotion as the guy yells in pain, Kitten swiftly retreating to the shelter of your startled embrace.

Frustration and pain tinge the man's voice as he vehemently declares, “Fuck this. This isn't worth it! Your cat is a fucking psycho!” 

The words hang in the air, a bitter testament to the unexpected turbulence that has unraveled in the wake of Kitten's feline intervention. 

With an angry storm, the man storms out of your bedroom and through the front door, leaving behind a charged atmosphere and the unresolved echoes of a connection unraveling at the seams.

As the storm of emotions settles, Kitten finds solace in your lap, a contented purr resonating through the room—a feline sovereign basking in the aftermath of his territorial triumph. 

Meanwhile, you remain seated, mouth agape, an image of stunned disbelief etched across your face. 

You address Kitten with a scolding tone, attempting to impart a sense of reprimand into the air. “You can't do that, Kitten!” you assert, a firmness in your voice attempting to breach the language barrier between human and feline.

Amidst the aftermath, a hesitant chuckle escapes your lips, a soft attempt to diffuse the tension that lingers in the air. “Also, you're gonna leave me single forever if you do that,” you jest, the words bearing the weight of both humor and a subtle unease. 

In the ambiguous space between laughter and contemplation, you grapple with the conflicting emotions stirred by Kitten's unexpected display of protectiveness—a complex blend of gratitude, amusement, and the uncharted territories of understanding the intricate dynamics of companionship with a creature whose language transcends the boundaries of words.

A solitary figure with raven-black hair occupies a corner table in the cafe, his presence shrouded in an air of quiet mystery that tugs at the edges of your memory. 

Intrigued, you've stolen glances at him, an unspoken connection sparking curiosity within you. 

The man, seemingly lost in a world of words and sketches within the pages of his journal, emanates a strange familiarity that dances on the fringes of your consciousness. 

As he sips on his coffee, a poignant picture of solitude and anticipation, you can't help but wonder about the untold story woven into the fabric of his contemplative gaze. Perhaps he's a poet awaiting inspiration, or maybe, like you, he's caught in the delicate dance of anticipation, waiting for someone who may never arrive.

His long, pitch-black hair cascades in soft curls, framing a face adorned with dark, expressive eyes. The fair and creamy complexion of his skin, paired with lips tinged with the aftermath of fervent bites, adds an air of mystery to his features. His hands, adorned with prominent veins, move with purpose across the pages of his journal, translating the thoughts within his mind into tangible strokes. Clad in a black leather biker jacket and ripped jeans, he emanates a ‘bad boy’ allure that might not align with your usual preferences, yet there's an undeniable handsomeness that transcends the surface. As you observe, the truth unfolds—looks can be deceiving, you know.

As the hands of the clock inch towards the conclusion of your shift, you notice the enigmatic man with the pitch-black hair has vanished, leaving only the echo of his presence lingering in the now vacant corner. 

The air is charged with the unspoken allure of an encounter that slipped through the fingers of time. 

Packing up your belongings, you carry the weight of curiosity with you as you embark on the journey home, where the enigmatic enigma of Kitten awaits.

Kitten, sensing your return, greets you with a symphony of affectionate meows. Your hand instinctively reaches out, weaving a tapestry of gentle pats and strokes, an unspoken language shared between human and feline. With a contented sigh escaping your lips, you murmur, “Happy to be home.”

In the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, you find yourself recounting the day's enigmatic encounter to Kitten, the words lingering in the air like a shared secret between kindred spirits. “I saw the loneliest guy today, Kitten. It felt like he was waiting for someone, but destiny stood him up.” 

As the words escape your lips, Kitten's attentive gaze reflects an unspoken understanding, a silent pact shared between you and your feline confidant.

Your fingers delicately dance behind Kitten's ears, a gesture that elicits a symphony of contented purrs, resonating within the confines of your quiet haven. 

The next day unfolds like a familiar scene, the cafe's atmosphere steeped in the aroma of coffee and the rustle of pages turning. 

Once again, the mysterious black-haired man graces the corner with his presence, accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee and the enigmatic dance of his pen across the pages of his journal. 

Your curiosity, a flame flickering in the recesses of your thoughts, draws you to the edge of decision — to approach and unravel the mysteries that cloak him. Yet, an invisible barrier holds you back, a silent pact with yourself not to disturb the solitary poet whose verses remain unread. 

The elusive man, shrouded in the mystery of unread words, remains a realm unexplored, as each coffee order becomes a bridge guarded by your coworker.

As the day unfolds, the mysterious man persists in his corner, a captivating enigma that draws your attention like a moth to a flame. 

The rhythmic ballet of your daily routine continues, an intricate dance of serving customers while stealing glances in his direction. 

In the quiet recesses of your mind, a burning question simmers – who could possibly stand up this captivating soul, adorned with the allure of dark hair and an air of mystery that commands the room?

After days of observing the silent saga of the man and his solitude, a week of unbroken routine, your empathy swells like a rising tide. 

A magnetic force compels you to bridge the distance, and against the backdrop of the cafe's ambient hum, your feet, as if guided by an invisible hand, carry you to the table where he patiently awaits an absent companion. 

With a mix of curiosity and compassion, you settle into the chair opposite him, breaking the invisible barrier that held you apart.

As your presence disrupts the solitude he had grown accustomed to, his intense gaze, reminiscent of a predatory feline, lifts from the pages of his journal to meet your own. The sharpness in his eyes feels like a calculated assessment, causing a subtle tremor to course through you. You gulp.

“Hi,” you start, the uncertainty palpable in your voice. Attempting to mask your nervousness, your fingers run through your hair, a feeble defense against the anxious tide. 

“I’ve noticed you here alone for the past few days, and I just—” Your words stumble, caught in the rush, but before you can continue, he interjects with a voice sharp as a blade, his eyes piercing through you like he can unravel your deepest secrets. 

“Are you stalking me?” The question hangs in the air, and his gaze feels like an X-ray, laying bare your darkest thoughts. Your body seizes, frozen in the penetrating gaze that seems to pry into the very recesses of your soul.

Why does his voice carry a hint of familiarity, resonating through the air like an echo from another time?

His very presence, too, feels like a distant memory, even though you're certain you hadn't laid eyes on him before he entered the cafe a week ago. 

A subtle smirk plays on his lips, a realization dawning on you that he's asked a question. As you attempt to gather your thoughts, you find yourself choking on air, grappling to string together a coherent response.

“I'm kidding. I know you work here,” he chuckles, and you release a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Your shoulders ease, and in an instant, you respond with a soft smile, a subtle connection forming in that shared moment of relief.

“Are you waiting for someone?” you inquire, and a smile graces his face, revealing gleaming white teeth and pink gums. He looks cute. Dangerously so.

“Nah. She just arrived.” Your eyes light up. Finally, his date has shown up! You start to rise from your chair, eager to make space for his companion. He looks up at you, a curious expression on his face, and asks, “What are you doing?”

“Making room for your date?” you quip, utterly dumbfounded.

“Date?” he asks with a raised brow. You nod, adding, “The one you’ve been waiting for.”

“But I’m already looking at her.” Your mouth hangs wide open; did you just hear him right? Is this a pickup line? And why on earth is it working?

You chuckle nervously, the sound a stark contrast to his calm and cool demeanor.

You ease back into your chair, and the conversation flows so naturally that you feel like you've known him for years.

Upon returning home, you excitedly share the details of your day with Kitten, recounting the encounter with the handsome man with his curly hair and piercing eyes. While you stroke Kitten and he purrs contentedly, you express your perplexity about the strange sense of familiarity the man emanated, despite being certain you've never met him before.

Kitten twirls and purrs in your lap, savoring the gentle strokes as you recline on your couch.

“I can't help but wonder if he'll be there again tomorrow,” you muse, your voice a soft melody to the room, accompanied by Kitten's content purrs.

He returned to the cafe the next day, and the next and the next turned into weeks.

He dedicates every moment to his secluded corner, and during your breaks you find solace in the cadence of your conversations. His name, Yoongi, resonates with the soulful poems that he breathes life into with his well-worn guitar. You’ve never heard him play or sing, but you look forward to the day you might.

His question pierces through the hum of the café, abruptly pulling you from your reverie as you delicately nibble on your muffin. “Are you heading home for the summer break?” he inquires, the unexpected interruption leaving a sweet and curious taste lingering on your lips.

As his question hangs in the air, you lock eyes with him, realizing he might not grasp the gravity of his inquiry. 

There's a momentary sag in your shoulders, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lies beneath. Gathering the strength to respond, you share a piece of your past, “No. My parents died when I was young.”

Regret casts a shadow over his striking features in an instant, and you witness a profound apology escaping from his lips.

“I'm holding up okay. It's a tale from a while back. A car accident took my parents, leaving just my little sister and me as survivors,” you share, a poignant sadness threading through your words, your eyes misting with the memories.

He tenderly offers words of comfort, a soothing balm for your weary soul, and you allow him to lift the heaviness that clings to your spirit.

You beam at him, grateful for the warmth that radiates from his kind soul, a presence you've grown to cherish over the past few months. “And you, any exciting plans for the summer?”

“I might have to go home to my parents for a bit, but I’m not sure yet,” he shares, absentmindedly running his fingers through his soft black locks, a gesture that makes you yearn for the touch of your own hand in that sea of darkness.

“I'm telling you, bitch!” Nari slaps Yuna's thigh, a bit too enthusiastically, causing her to flinch in pain, as Nari adds with a sly grin, “She's head over heels in loooove.”

You roll your eyes at both of them, their playful banter fading into background noise as you savor the drink that Yuna ordered for you.

You've navigated downtown, finding refuge in a cozy establishment where the ambient tunes, board games, and drinks create the perfect backdrop for reconnecting with your friends.

“I swear, I'm not head over heels or anything,” you insist, batting away their teasing with a playful smirk, all the while sipping on the drink that Yuna ordered for you.

“He’s just nice,” you add with a soft smile.

“You sure do talk about him a lot,” Yuna adds in a chuckle as she rubs her thigh.

“Well, he's an interesting person, and the conversations just flow,” you reply with a grin, downplaying the significance, but your friends exchange knowing glances that hint at their suspicions.

Nari takes a sip of her drink, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Speaking of crushes, your little companion, what's his name again? Kitten?”

You passionately defend Kitten, your eyes sparkling with affection. “Don't bring Kitten into this! I adore him,” you gush, wearing your love for the little furball as a badge of honor.

Nari shares her romantic wisdom, her words dripping with affection. “Cats are fine companions, but you should find a man who can bring you warmth and happiness,” she says, her eyes practically turning into hearts if this were a cartoon. You can't help but chuckle at her earnest advice.

Yuna playfully nudges your shoulder and suggests, “You should totally ask out this Yoongi guy. I mean, come on, you practically light up every time you talk about him.”

You pause, a moment of uncertainty hanging in the air. “Maybe,” you finally reply, your words carrying the weight of contemplation.

Nari's enthusiasm rings in your ears, a bit too loud in the cozy ambiance. “You don't have anything to lose, only more to gain!” she almost shouts, her excitement reaching its peak. Her words, fueled by a touch of intoxication, linger in the air, leaving you to ponder as you consider whether it's time to call it a night.

“Okay. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

As you step into your apartment, Kitten greets you with an extra dose of affection, weaving himself between your legs and trailing you with heightened attention. Tonight, he appears more attuned to your every move, purring and twirling around your legs with an endearing neediness. Settling down, you can't resist his charms and find yourself seated, offering gentle strokes to his fur-covered frame.

As you wrap up your nightly routine and slip into your comfortable pajamas, you turn to Kitten with a question that has become a familiar part of your routine. 

“I'm heading to bed, Kitten. You joining?” Kitten promptly leaps onto the bed, taking his customary place by your side. 

However, tonight, there's a lingering sense of affection in his actions. He showers you with gentle licks, a gesture that brings a smile to your face. As sleep gradually claims you, your dreams are adorned with vivid images of obsidian eyes and a dark, star-studded sky.

As you awaken from a restful sleep, the absence of Kitten by your side strikes you like a sudden jolt. 

Your initial response is to sit up, calling out for him, yet there's only silence in return. 

The quietness, once comforting, now carries an eerie weight as you realize the profound impact Kitten has had on your daily life. 

The room feels emptier, and a sense of unease settles in, disrupting the peace you've grown accustomed to.

A wave of melancholy washes over you, creating a heavy ache in your chest as you scan the familiar corners of your apartment, desperately searching for any sign of Kitten. 

The unanswered questions pile up in your mind, a torrent of worries threatening to drown you. Did he, too, decide to leave, slipping away like others from your life? 

The uncertainty gnaws at you, pushing you to venture into the quiet streets, hoping against hope to uncover the fate of your feline companion. Each step is a mix of trepidation and determination, a journey into the unknown to retrieve the missing piece of your daily existence.

A sense of desperation tightens its grip as you scour every nook and cranny, but Kitten remains elusive, leaving you with the bitter taste of vanishing hope. 

The echoes of your unanswered calls hang in the air, blending with the growing unease that clings to you like a shadow. The once familiar spaces now feel like a maze, and you can't shake the sinking feeling that your luck is slipping away, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. The haunting question persists: where could he be, and what could have taken him from your side?

With a mixture of determination and trepidation, your feet instinctively carry you back to the cafe. 

The familiar chime announces your arrival, drawing the attention of your coworker, who casts a puzzled look your way. The early hour has caught them off guard, their raised eyebrow mirroring the questions that dance in your own mind.

As you scan the cozy confines of the cafe, a subtle panic begins to creep through your veins. The absence of Yoongi creates an uneasy knot in your stomach, but you reassure yourself, clinging to the hope that he might stroll in later, as he often does.

The hours drag on, each passing moment heightening the anticipation. As the door chimes with every newcomer, a flicker of hope dances in your chest, only to be extinguished when it's not Yoongi. 

The day becomes a symphony of disappointment, and the subtle hope you clung to begins to dissipate, slipping through your fingers like elusive grains of sand. The cafe, once a haven of warmth and comfort, now feels eerily empty without the presence of his familiar silhouette.

As your shift draws to a close, a heavy sadness settles over you like a thick fog. The absence of Yoongi, who always brought a touch of warmth to the cafe, leaves an emptiness that echoes through the familiar surroundings. The unanswered questions linger in your mind, and a nagging worry creeps in — what could have kept him away? 

The air is charged with uncertainty, and you can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him.

A sudden realization hits you like a wave, as you recall Yoongi mentioning the possibility of traveling to his parents for the summer break. 

The initial sting of disappointment transforms into a pang of concern. Questions swirl in your mind like a tempest – did he leave without saying goodbye? Why didn't he share his plans with you? 

The uncertainty gnaws at your thoughts, and you grapple with the unknown, desperately seeking solace in the memories of your time together.

A disquieting sensation twists in your stomach, an ominous premonition casting a shadow over your thoughts. The unease tightens its grip, leaving you with an unsettling sense that something may have befallen Yoongi. 

Your mind races through various scenarios, each more distressing than the last, as you grapple with the haunting uncertainty that looms over his absence.

Regret echoes through your thoughts like a haunting refrain. The absence of contact details with Yoongi leaves you grappling with the repercussions of a missed opportunity, a seemingly insignificant detail now carrying the weight of your uncertainty. 

A sense of loss and yearning wraps around you, intensifying the void created by the absence of a farewell. The realization dawns that in the midst of budding connection, you failed to secure a bridge to traverse the distance that now separates you.

Each step on the journey home feels like a weighted march, the heaviness of unspoken goodbyes sinking into your bones. 

Sorrow, like a relentless tide, floods your heart, consuming it with an ache that echoes through each footfall. Familiar pangs of longing claw at your chest, constricting breaths into fleeting gasps. 

It's as if the very air you breathe carries the weight of an unfinished story, leaving you to navigate the foggy terrain of uncertainty, the poignant residue of an incomplete connection lingering in the spaces between each step.

A tempest of thoughts unleashes in your mind, a whirlwind of self-doubt and abandonment. The notion that he, too, might have slipped away like others before him wraps around your heart, squeezing it in an unforgiving grip. The ache is palpable, resonating through every fiber of your being. It's an anguish that cuts deep, a symphony of hurt orchestrated by the haunting possibility that echoes in the chambers of your wounded heart.

In the intricate tapestry of your time knowing him, he wasn't just a passing figure; he had etched himself into the mosaic of your life, becoming a fragment that held the essence of friendship. 

You step into the sanctuary of your apartment, liberating your feet from the constraints of shoes, and collapse onto the couch, surrendering to its plush contours that cradle you in a cocoon of solace.

In the midst of trying to regain control of your racing breaths, a subtle vibration resonates from your pocket, drawing your attention like a lifeline. Retrieving your phone, you cast an intrigued glance at the illuminated screen, revealing an incoming call from Yuna.

With bated breath, you answer the call, the familiar cadence of Yuna's voice instantly arresting your senses. 

An unexpected wave of emotions surges through you, freezing you in the moment as her words weave a narrative you weren't prepared for.

The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air, a heartbreaking tremor in her voice as she struggles to regain composure. 

“Babe,” she utters, the tearful plea slicing through the silence like a dagger.

You can feel the gravity of the situation intensify as she reveals, “It's Nari,” the name echoing with a sense of foreboding that pierces through the air, leaving you breathless.

Dread hangs thick in the air as you muster the courage to ask, your voice trembling with fear and concern. “What about Nari?” 

The words escape your lips, each syllable a hesitant step into the unknown, and as you sit up on your couch, a sense of urgency grips you, rendering you more alert than ever before.

The weight of Yuna's words crashes over you like an unrelenting wave, drowning your senses.

“She's gone,” Yuna sobs, her cries echoing in your ears. 

A sudden chill grips your entire body, and the world around you blurs as your vision turns white. 

Tears well up, threatening to spill over, and an indescribable ache settles in the core of your being. It feels as if the ground beneath you has shifted, leaving you suspended in a surreal and devastating moment.

Your voice quivers as you manage to break through the numbness, the question escaping your lips like a fragile whisper. 

“How?” you repeat, the word catching in the tightness of your throat. Tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of an ocean, a torrential release of the overwhelming emotions within you. 

Your friend's voice wavers with sorrow as she delivers the painful revelation. “Apparently, she was sick and didn’t tell anybody…” 

Each word, heavy with the burden of the unspoken, echoes in the emptiness of your apartment.

The truth, a bitter pill to swallow, lingers in the air, and you find it hard to comprehend the reality of the situation. 

The walls of your sanctuary, once comforting, now press in on you, transforming your home into a claustrophobic cage of grief. The world outside seems to blur, and all that remains is the weight of disbelief settling on your shoulders.

The longing to share your grief with Yoongi intensifies, yet the barrier of not having his contact details becomes a painful obstacle. Your emotions, already tumultuous, now surge like a tempest within. 

Frustration and sorrow intermingle, a chaotic dance that you try to contain. 

As the weight of the news presses down on you, your nails unconsciously dig into your skin, seeking an outlet for the overwhelming emotions that threaten to consume you. The physical pain becomes a tangible manifestation of the emotional turmoil churning within.

The abruptness of Nari's illness and passing hits you like an unforeseen storm, leaving you grappling with disbelief. 

Memories of her last moments flash vividly, and you question the cruel twist of fate that snatched away someone seemingly healthy. The sounds of inconsolable sobbing echo in your ears, and only then do you realize that the mournful cries tearing through the air belong to you. 

“Are you alright?” Yuna asks you in sobs.

The weight of grief presses down on you, suffocating and relentless. 

As the tears stream down your face, each one carries a piece of the pain that now resides within you. 

“No,” you whisper, the word a feeble attempt to encapsulate the magnitude of your despair. 

Your body curls inwards, seeking solace in the fetal position, as if you could fold away the anguish. 

The phone lies beside you, a lifeline to Yuna's distant sobs, but it offers little comfort compared to the absent warmth of Kitten, whose presence could once bring solace to even the darkest moments.

The weight of Yuna's words hangs heavy in the air, a shroud of truth that you're forced to confront. “Babe, she had cancer and didn't want us to know… She wanted to live a happy life until the end,” 

Yuna sobs again, and though her intent is to offer solace, the revelation feels like a cascade of heavy stones on your already burdened heart. The bitter sweetness of her desire for a joyful life juxtaposed with the pain of her silent struggle adds another layer to the grief, leaving you to grapple with the complexities of Nari's hidden battles.

“Yuna…,” you cry, the anguish in your voice echoing the profound pain that seems to squeeze the very life out of your heart. 

“Why does everyone leave?” 

The question hangs in the air, more rhetorical than expectant, as if you're not seeking an answer from Yuna but grappling with the cruel patterns of departure that life has woven into the fabric of your existence. 

Each departure, like a thread pulled from the tapestry of your world, leaves an unraveled piece that never quite knits itself back together.

“I–, I don’t know,” she stammers through her tears, the weight of the unknown echoing in her voice, mirroring the uncertainty that now shrouds both of your lives.

“Promise we’ll be there for each other,” you declare, the weight of the words hanging in the air. It's a poignant plea, an acknowledgment of life's unpredictable twists. You understand that you can't ask for an eternity, but in this moment, you're determined to hold onto each other as tightly as time allows.

“Count on it,” she vows, her response flowing effortlessly, a testament to the unspoken bond between you two.

Despite the tightening in your throat, a glimmer of happiness sparks within you at the assurance she just gave.

Why must life be so fucking cruel, robbing you of everyone you hold dear?

An overwhelming urge to reconnect with your sister washes over you, a deep yearning fueled by the ache of prolonged silence between you.

“I want to call my sister,” you manage to say through your sobs, a desperate plea lacing your words. “Will you be alright, Yuna?” you ask, your concern breaking through the waves of grief that surround you both.

“Yeah. I mean, I'm fucking sad, but go ahead and call her. Can I come to your place tomorrow?” Yuna's voice carries a subtle plea, a shared understanding that neither of you wants to be alone in the midst of sorrow.

“Yeah, I'd love that,” you respond, your voice carrying the weight of grief and the faint glimmer of gratitude for the companionship that awaits tomorrow. As you attempt to dry your tears with a throw blanket on the couch, the room feels emptier than ever, and the ache in your heart persists.

“See you tomorrow,” she says before the call ends. 

The hollowness in the room deepens, and you draw in a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on your phone. The background image captures a moment frozen in time, featuring you, Nari, and Yuna. 

God, the ache of missing her intensifies, and you can't shake the heaviness in your chest.

You tighten your grip on the phone, each tear that escapes your eyes a silent testament to the pain in your heart. Determination wells up as you locate your sister's number, fingers tracing the familiar digits, ready to bridge the gap that time and distance have carved between you.

The rhythmic ringing echoes through the emptiness of your apartment, each tone a reminder of the solitude that now envelops you. 

Anxiety gnaws at the edges of your thoughts as you anticipate the warmth of your sister's voice, a comfort you desperately need. Yet, the unanswered calls amplify the distance that separates you. With a heavy heart, you decide against leaving a message, the weight of unspoken words settling as you slump back onto the couch.

The sudden vibration of your phone startles you, and as you glance at the screen, the sight of your sister's name sparks a mixture of relief and anticipation. With a soft sniffle, you muster the strength to answer, “Hey, sis,” your voice laced with a blend of vulnerability and longing, reaching out across the digital expanse to bridge the emotional gap that separates you.

A chill courses through your body, rendering you motionless, as a deep, resonant voice resonates through the phone, catching you off guard.

“Hey,” his voice echoes through the phone, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Your trembling hand clutches the device, and you find yourself holding your breath, caught in the sudden intensity of the moment.

“I'm Detective Kim,” he introduces himself, his voice echoing through the line. It carries a calm demeanor, yet beneath its surface, you detect a subtle undertone of sadness, adding a mysterious depth to his words.

This can't be good, you murmur to yourself, the words barely escaping your lips as a chill courses through your veins, turning your blood to ice once again.

“Are you Jiho's sister?” The detective's voice remains steady and calm, but beneath the surface, you sense an undercurrent of gravity and anticipation.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice catching in a sob as you struggle to contain your tears. The ominous feeling intensifies, and you can't shake the sinking realization that a detective is the one answering your sister's phone. 

The air becomes heavy with uncertainty and fear.

“I'm deeply sorry to be the bearer of this news,” he begins with a sympathetic tone. 

You inhale sharply, bracing yourself for the impact of the words that follow.

“Your sister has passed away.” 

The world seems to shatter around you as the weight of his message settles in, leaving you breathless and heartbroken.

In that devastating moment, it feels as if the very foundation of your existence crumbles. 

Your body and soul plummet through a void, each passing second an agonizing countdown to the inevitable impact that will shatter you into a million irreparable pieces. 

The weight of grief bears down on you, and you're suspended in a free fall of despair. 

You become acutely aware of your breath, or the lack thereof, as if the air itself has turned into a suffocating force, triggering a torrent of violent inhalations, each one a desperate attempt to grasp onto a reality that has just slipped through your fingers.

A heavy silence envelops the room as the detective imparts the devastating truth, each word landing with the weight of a sledgehammer on your fragile emotions. “She was killed,” he utters, the somber notes in his tone resonating like a funeral dirge, casting a pall over the already dim reality of your world.

A suffocating wave of panic crashes over you, rendering your extremities numb and your breath caught in the grip of invisible hands. 

The room seems to close in as the detective's voice on the phone becomes a distant echo, his words lost in the disorienting whirlwind of your own mental tempest. It's a struggle to comprehend the standard condolences and procedures he details, as if reality itself is slipping through your trembling fingers.

Fucking hell. Is this hell?

In the wake of your parents' departure, you believed you had tasted the bitterest sorrow, yet today eclipses that agony without a shadow of a doubt.

You cast your phone aside on the couch, retreating to your bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. The anguish within erupts into violent sobs, an unrelenting torrent of tears flooding from your eyes, your entire frame convulsing with the weight of your grief.

You bury your face into the softness of the pillow, muffling the guttural scream that tears from your lungs. 

The sound, a primal release of anguish, reverberates within the confines of your room. Screw the neighbors; right now, the universe needs to bear witness to the rawness of your pain.

What the fuck is up with this world? Everyone around you dies! Everyone leaves!

You can’t take it anymore.

As you surrender to the torrents of grief, you hope that tears might offer solace, a fleeting relief that could pave the way for much-needed sleep. Yet, despite your desperate attempts, the embrace of slumber eludes you, leaving you trapped in the clutches of your sorrow-soaked thoughts.

In an impulsive surge, you opt for a nocturnal stroll. Snatching your jacket, you step into the silent night, the residue of dried tears blending seamlessly with the ones that refuse to cease. 

The moon above, a silent witness to the turmoil within, as your footsteps echo the rhythm of a heart weighed down by grief.

As you traverse the familiar streets of town, a magnetic pull guiding you to a cherished park, your sanctuary. Swiftly, you arrive and gingerly settle your weary frame onto a weathered bench, the cool night air offering a gentle caress to your battered soul.

As your gaze ascends to the enchanting tapestry of the night, a celestial dance of stars unfolds above. Tonight, the cosmic expanse seems to cradle the spirits of your sister and Nari, their luminous presence illuminating the vast darkness, a celestial reunion among the constellations.

As your tears persist, you fix your eyes upon the star-lit canvas above. Each gleaming star appears like a radiant jewel, casting an ethereal glow across the night. The beauty is undeniable, yet a poignant sadness lingers in your heart. 

Compelled by an unspoken yearning, you embark on the solemn task of counting the stars, each one a celestial tribute to the cherished souls who now adorn the heavens. 

The question echoes in your mind: Why?

Why do they blaze with such brilliance, akin to a dying star igniting in a final, magnificent burst before consuming everything in its cosmic embrace?

Your heart pounds violently against your ribcage, each beat echoing through your chest, and the air feels elusive, slipping away as if you're caught in a suffocating grip.

Life reveals its cruel nature, leaving you to grapple with the relentless question: Why does everyone leave? Why does the world around you crumble, stealing away those you hold dear?

An emptiness envelopes you, a void so profound it swallows every ounce of light. Darkness creeps in, and an irresistible urge emerges, coaxing you to surrender to its consuming embrace.

Perhaps it's time to release your grip on reality and join the celestial dance of those who have departed before you?

As the tears flow, perhaps this haunting void within will dissipate, bringing an end to the relentless ache that permeates every fiber of your being.

As the weight of loneliness bears down on you, an insidious desire to surrender, to slip into an eternal slumber, creeps through your shattered heart. The yearning for an endless sleep, where the fractured pieces of your soul find solace, consumes you. It's as if the very essence of your being is crumbling into irreparable fragments.

The fragments of your soul lie scattered, and the daunting question echoes in the hollow chambers of your despair—can you summon the strength to mend them once more, to piece together the shattered remnants of your being?

In the depths of your despair, a resolute realization surfaces — a quiet but unwavering knowing that, despite the relentless cruelty, you're not ready to surrender to the void. Life, as brutal as it may be, still holds threads of resilience within its intricate tapestry, and you find an ember of strength glowing amidst the shadows.

You divert your gaze downward, focusing on your hands nestled in your lap, choosing the tangible reality of your own existence over the distant allure of the star-studded night.

You harbor too many aspirations to surrender to despair. Your desires paint a vivid canvas of dreams: to find solace in the embrace of a kind-hearted partner, secure a fulfilling career, and relish the simple joys that life offers. Nari's silent battle with illness inspires you to embrace life with the same gusto, celebrating its moments without the need for validation.

In the midst of your fragmented existence, amidst the shattering pain, you crave it all. Yearning for the entirety of life's tapestry, even when it feels like it's unraveling. 

Despite life's cruelty, there's an undeniable allure in its intricate beauty, compelling you to seek solace and embrace the stunning contradictions that define your life.

Amidst the tear-stained path, your resolve solidifies. 

The decision made, you tread back to your apartment, the silent witness to your inner turmoil. Each step echoes with the weight of your emotions, a symphony of sorrow playing in the background. 

The sanctuary of your home beckons, promising the respite that only sleep, albeit restless, can bring. Sleep, like a long-lost friend, embraces you swiftly this time. Grateful for the solace it brings, you sink into its comforting arms, the reprieve from the turmoil of the day unfolding like a gentle lullaby.

The chime of the doorbell resonates through your apartment, and you're roused from the depths of sleep. Yuna, true to her word, stands on the other side, a beacon of support in your time of need.

Embraced in a tight hug, tears stream down both your faces, the shared weight of grief transforming the silent embrace into a powerful testament of mutual understanding and shared sorrow.

Seated on the couch, you engage in a heartfelt conversation about the unpredictable journey of life—its highs and lows. 

As a comforting silence settles between you, you reach for the remote and, with a flicker of distraction, decide on a mindless show. Wrapped in the embrace of shared grief, you find solace in the soft glow of the television, its images casting a gentle veil over your weary souls.

That night, Yuna stays over, a comforting presence that feels like a blessing in the midst of your overwhelming grief.

In the vulnerable hours of the night, you pour your heart out to Yuna. 

Tears flow freely as you share the ache of losing your sister, the void left by Kitten's absence, and the fear that Yoongi might be gone forever. In the solace of shared sorrow, you find a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows.

In the tender embrace of Yuna, you find solace. Her comforting presence is a lifeline in the storm of grief, holding you close as tears cascade. Though she's often your pillar of strength, tonight you yearn to reciprocate, to be the support she's always been for you. It's a quiet understanding, an unspoken pact between friends navigating the unpredictable currents of life.

In the quiet depths of the night, as you share your pain with Yuna, a flicker of determination ignites within you. You yearn not just for solace but to become the architect of your own joy. The realization dawns that your happiness lies in the unwritten chapters of your own journey, waiting to be explored and embraced. It's a moment of self-discovery, a commitment to forge your path to happiness, independent and resilient.

With the dawn of a new day, you decide to embark on a journey of self-discovery. 

Despite the weight of sorrow lingering in your chest, you resolve to savor life in all its transient splendor—embracing its beauty, acknowledging its ugliness, and reveling in every nuanced shade in between. 

Each moment becomes a canvas, and you are determined to paint it with the vibrant strokes of resilience and newfound appreciation.

With unwavering determination, you approached your boss at the café, advocating for a shift in your work hours. The goal? To rekindle the pursuit of knowledge, to step back into the world of academia and reignite the spark of astrophysics that had once fueled your passion. 

As the prospect of returning to school looms on the horizon, you recognize that the journey ahead is both a challenge and an opportunity—a chance to sculpt a future that you can genuinely be proud of, with each completed course marking a triumph over self-doubt and a step closer to the constellations of your dreams.

In the wake of that poignant night where two cherished souls departed, a few months have quietly slipped away. 

In a tender gesture of support, Yuna encourages you to embrace the prospect of love once more. Unlike before, hesitation has no place in your heart this time. 

With newfound courage, you step into the realm of dating, a journey tinged with both vulnerability and hope, as you navigate through the tapestry of emotions woven by the threads of the past and the promises of the future.

Life, a relentless journey, doesn't yield to simplicity, yet within its intricate folds, a subtle transformation occurs. It doesn't unravel swiftly, but with each passing day, it stitches together a mosaic of improvement, a gradual emergence from the shadows into the dappled light of a better tomorrow.

With each sunrise, a symphony of healing orchestrates within you, crescendoing into a melody that resonates louder, and you find solace in the fact that every dawn gifts you a version of yourself stronger and more resilient than the preceding day.

As winter unfurls its icy embrace, you find solace in the familiar touch of your cherished wool coat, the cozy sanctuary of fluffy sweaters enveloping you like a hug from a dear friend, and the softness of warm socks cradling your every step. 

With a steaming cup of tea in hand, you dive into your studies, the brisk air outside contrasting with the warmth that courses through your veins.

Embarking on the journey to reclaim an unfinished chapter of your life, returning to the hallowed halls of academia, you revel in the triumphant echoes of resilience as you strive to complete the narrative you once set in motion.

As you tread homeward, the city draped in the melancholy hues of twilight, a fleeting silhouette dashes through the alleys, a phantom of darkness. 

For the briefest moment, memories of Kitten's playful escapades dance in your mind, a bittersweet symphony of nostalgia. 

A sigh, heavy with the weight of longing, escapes your lips, yet you trudge forward, navigating the shadows toward the warmth of your home.

In the intimate glow of your kitchen, you conjure a culinary masterpiece, a symphony of flavors orchestrated only for yourself. The sizzle of ingredients harmonizes with the rhythmic beat of your heart, a ritual of self-love that has become your refuge. 

Many a time, you've crafted these delectable creations, some shared in the company of fleeting dates whose presence, like autumn leaves, brushed briefly against the canvas of your life, but leaving no lasting imprint on your heart.

Midway through the mundane task of stowing away dishes, a subtle and mysterious hum reverberates through your abode, originating from the vicinity of your door.

The air is suddenly filled with a familiar, distant melody—a soft and rhythmic meowing that sends a jolt of excitement through you. 

Abandoning your chores, you rush to the door, fingers fumbling with the lock, and there, in all his glory, stands Kitten!

In a flurry of warmth and relief, you scoop up the cold, shivering Kitten into your embrace, quickly closing the door behind him. His meows echo gratitude, and a tender lick against your cheek seals the unspoken bond that time and distance failed to break.

In a million moments, you never fathomed seeing him again. Now, as he rests in your arms, elation courses through you like a celestial symphony, leaving you over the moon with sheer happiness.

His return is a testament to a bond beyond time, a friendship that defies the measure of days. It's not about the duration of his absence; it's about the joyous truth that he returned to you, stitching the fragments of your heart back together.

You rush to your cabinet, your heart pounding with both relief and excitement. Grabbing a can of cat food, you swiftly prepare a feast for Kitten, watching as he eagerly devours the meal, his hunger echoing the void his absence left in your life.

As you stroke Kitten's fur, you can't help but ponder on the mysteries that shroud his disappearance. His body, while not emaciated, carries the silent tales of his adventures. 

You yearn to unravel the chapters of his feline escapades, wishing you could converse with him, share the unspoken hardships, and assure him that he's found a forever home in the warmth of your embrace.

In a breathless whisper, you confess, “I've missed you so much,” the weight of your longing carried in the tenderness of your voice. 

A solitary tear, a testament to the emotions flooding your heart, escapes and dances down your cheek, mirroring the joy of a reunion long yearned for.

As the echoes of your affectionate words linger in the air, Kitten responds with a gentle purr, a harmonious melody that intertwines seamlessly with the sound of him relishing the meal.

Amidst the soft cadence of Kitten's purring, you find solace in the familiar presence of your feline companion. With a sigh, you decide to share the intricacies of the tumultuous journey you've undertaken since his absence. “So much has unfolded, Kitten,” you whisper, your voice a gentle reassurance, “a lot of shit, but also a lot of good.”

As Kitten finishes his meal, he responds with a symphony of content purrs, gracefully padding over to where you crouch. With a playful nudge against your legs, he seems to convey a silent acknowledgment, a shared moment of warmth and connection between old friends.

In the span of a few days, the void that Kitten's absence left has been filled with the comforting rhythm of his presence. You've poured out your heart to him, recounting the events and emotions that unfolded during his time away, as if catching him up on the chapters of your life. 

Kitten, with his attentive eyes and soothing purrs, seems to understand more than most, providing a silent anchor in the storm of your experiences.

As you sink into the soft embrace of your couch, a contented smile plays on your lips. With Kitten nestled beside you, you share a profound realization that has taken root in your heart: ‘I live, so I love.’ The words hang in the air, a testament to the resilience you've found in the face of life's unpredictable twists. The TV hums with background noise, but in that moment, the simple joy of companionship fills the room.

In the quiet solitude of your apartment, you confide in Kitten, the loyal companion who has witnessed both your joys and sorrows. “I don't think he's coming back,” you murmur, a tinge of sadness lingering in your voice. As if attuned to your emotions, Kitten responds with a gentle meow, a feline reassurance that transcends words. 

In the rhythmic cadence of your words, a sense of vulnerability emerges. “I know, I know. I don't need a man in my life. I get that,” you confess, your voice carrying the weight of self-awareness.

The clinking of utensils against pots and pans provides a subtle percussion to your thoughts as you continue, “But Yoongi was special, you know? Like he just got me... and I just wish for him to be happy doing whatever he's doing.” The aroma of dinner fills the air, mingling with the unspoken sentiments swirling in the room.

As you delicately feed Kitten some steamed broccoli, the notion of reuniting with Yoongi lingers in the air. “If he comes back, you should meet him – I'll introduce you!” The words spill from your lips, carrying a hopeful melody.

As you reminisce about Yoongi, a fond smile plays on your lips. “He's such a wonderful person. And handsome? Oh, his hands,” you begin, tracing the air with your fingers as if you can feel the texture of his presence. Memories flood back, each detail etched in your mind like a cherished photograph. “Long fingers, veiny hands,” you murmur, the words infused with a hint of admiration that even surprises you. The love for this man reverberates in your voice, a quiet confession to the depths of your feelings.

Kitten's melodic meow serenades the room as he gracefully weaves between your feet, his tail coiling affectionately around your calves like a comforting embrace.

“If you meet him, please don’t claw his back out like you did with that other guy. Yoongi is nice.”

With a heavy heart, you confide in Kitten, the weight of your worry evident in the rhythmic tapping of the spatula against the sizzling vegetables. “It's been nearly half a year, and I can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him,” you murmur, the crackling sounds of the kitchen offering a somber backdrop to your uncertainty.

As the warmth of the meal envelops you and Kitten, you sit together, a silent companionship settling over the room. The simplicity of this moment strikes you, and a quiet realization unfolds – you love your life just as it is. 

In the shared silence, you feel a sense of wholeness, a testimony to the goodness found in life's simplicity. Though your heart may still ache at times, you've come to accept that, too, as a part of the beautiful complexity that makes life what it is.

You're keenly aware that time is the remedy for healing, a gentle but persistent force that gradually eases the ache until one day, the pain will be a distant echo of what it once was.

Your weary limbs protest against the demands of a full-time class schedule and cafe shifts, revealing the hidden challenges of your daily grind. Fatigue clings to you like a shadow, and an involuntary yawn escapes.

With a wearied sigh, you address Kitten, your loyal companion in fatigue. “Ah, Kitten, today's been a battle. I'm going to bed early today,” you murmur, dragging your exhausted body to the bathroom in a nightly ritual. 

Upon returning to your sanctuary, you find Kitten, already nestled in his customary spot, a comforting presence in the silent embrace of the night.

Sinking beneath the cozy duvet, you surrender to its tender embrace, the fabric cocooning you in a haven of softness. With a gentle pat, you acknowledge Kitten, “Thank you for being here,” you murmur before succumbing to the enchantment of dreamland.

As consciousness tiptoes back into your awareness, the remnants of dreams linger like elusive whispers in your mind. Gently awakening, you open your eyes to find the absence of Kitten.

Your eyes widen in astonishment, and your body tenses as you absorb the scene unfolding before you—a man, peacefully lost in the realm of dreams. 

Your gaze follows the cascade of long, slightly curly, obsidian hair that drapes over his shoulders, tracing the contours of his creamy white skin. The play of morning light reveals a well-defined back, drawing your eyes down the elegant curve of his spine until they come to rest on a small, soft, plum-like ass. The realization hits you like a bolt— he's completely naked!

Why is your heart orchestrating a rapid symphony, each beat echoing in your ears like a thunderous drumroll? And what in the world is a naked stranger doing sprawled across your sheets as though he belongs there?

He slumbers in serene oblivion, emitting soft, melodic sighs that weave through the air, his chest gracefully ascending and descending in rhythmic dance with each tranquil breath.

Wait. 

He seems familiar.

A gasp escapes your lips as you take a closer look, and the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning – it's Yoongi! 

Shock and disbelief intertwine in your chest as you stare at his peaceful slumber.

Confusion and a hint of panic surge through you as your mind races with questions. 

Why is Yoongi in your bed, and why on earth is he naked?

How did Yoongi end up here, and where is Kitten?

A myriad of questions spins through your mind, a turbulent storm of curiosity. As you ponder the mysteries, you belatedly notice Yoongi stirring, gracefully shifting to lie on his back.

Your face burns with embarrassment as the realization dawns that he's still completely naked. Heat rises to your cheeks when his half-erect dick brushes against his stomach, prompting you to instinctively shield your eyes, flustered by the unexpected sight.

You wrestle with the dilemma of whether to disturb his serene slumber or let him continue resting peacefully. The soft innocence in his sleeping form makes the decision more challenging, and you lean towards allowing him to bask in the tranquility of his dreams undisturbed.

Gently, you drape the comforting warmth of your duvet over him, a shield against the chill of the room. With nimble movements, you extract yourself from the bed, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of his slumber.

Confusion seizes your thoughts as you grapple with the surreal scenario—Yoongi peacefully nestled in your bed. You wrack your brain, questioning every sober memory, desperately trying to unearth the missing pieces that would explain his presence.

You step into the kitchen, a fleeting sense of unease prickling at your skin as you scan the room for Kitten, but he remains elusive, leaving a trace of uncertainty in the air.

A twinge of melancholy washes over you as Kitten remains elusive, but you console yourself with the hope that he might return, his absence merely a temporary void in your otherwise comforting routine.

You embark on the simple yet intimate act of preparing two steaming cups of coffee—one for yourself and one for the unexpected visitor who occupies your bed.

You seize a handful of aromatic coffee beans from a vintage jar, letting the rich fragrance envelop you as you crush them under the steady hum of your machine. With precision, you measure out the perfect amount, combining it with hot water, allowing the concoction to brew into a comforting elixir.

While the coffee brews, your mind races with bewildering thoughts about Yoongi's unexpected presence in your bed. Puzzlement clouds your senses as you contemplate every conceivable scenario. 

Did he let himself in? Was there some mysterious way he could have gained access? 

With a touch of anxiety, you even venture to your front door, checking for any signs of unauthorized entry, only to find it securely locked, shrouded in an eerie silence.

You're grappling with the perplexing mystery of Yoongi's appearance in your bed, as if he materialized out of thin air, defying all logic and reason, leaving you spellbound by the inexplicable magic that seems to have woven its way into your ordinary reality.

In the quiet chaos of your thoughts, Yoongi's presence offers more questions than answers, an enigmatic puzzle that seems to defy the ordinary. The absence of Kitten only adds another layer of mystery to the unfolding scene. 

As the coffee machine dings, disrupting the contemplative silence, you're left grappling with the surreal conundrum before you, seeking clarity in the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

With the warmth of freshly brewed coffee in your hands, you reenter the bedroom to discover Yoongi, now alert, draped in your duvet, a captivating silhouette in the soft morning light.

Your greeting falters as you nervously stammer, “H–, Hi,” setting the two mugs of coffee on your nightstand. Yoongi's gaze, sharp and feline-like, traces your every move, creating a palpable tension in the air.

An unfamiliar nervousness grips you in his presence, an unusual sensation considering your usual ease around him. Perhaps it's the fact that he's naked, his gaze akin to a predator eyeing down its prey, intensifying the air with an unspoken tension.

“Hey,” finally breaking the silence, he greets you with a low grumble, scratching his head and letting out a lazy yawn.

His body exudes a captivating blend of softness and defined muscles, a captivating sight that—

His voice, laced with a teasing smirk, breaks the tension. “Can't stop staring at my dick, huh?”

Your throat tightens as you realize you've been caught in the act, silently observing him. Panic sets in – does he think you're a freak now? Fantastic.

You let out a nervous chuckle, deliberately shifting your gaze away from the obvious bulge in the duvet around his lap. “What are you doing here, Yoongi? And why are you naked?” you inquire, genuinely puzzled.

He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but feel a tinge of unease. “You haven't figured it out yet?” he teases, his words hanging in the air, leaving you in suspense.

You must resemble a walking question mark, because his chuckles only intensify. It's as if he finds your confusion amusing, and you're left standing there, desperate for answers in the midst of his enigmatic laughter.

In a soft tone laced with a smirk, he utters, “Kitten.”

Your gaze fixates on him, bewildered. Kitten? Is he referring to your cat?

Your jaw drops as he gracefully emerges from the bed, the duvet cascading off his frame. In his unabashed nudity, he strides toward you.

He inches closer, the proximity almost causing your lips to collide. A surge of warmth courses through you when he delicately tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” his revelation hangs in the air, the weight of it palpable, and as he locks eyes with you, searching for any flicker of discomfort, the truth settles. Before you can process it fully, he leans in, capturing your lips with an irresistible surge of passion.

His lips, soft and inviting, embark on a slow yet passionate dance, as if reuniting with a long-lost lover. Responding eagerly, you part your lips, allowing the kiss to deepen, and in that electrifying moment, your entire body succumbs to a sensation akin to melting butter.

You yield to his touch, molding your body to his as you sense the undeniable hardness of his arousal intimately pressing against your core.

Fuck.

In the midst of the heated moment, you draw back slightly to meet his gaze, the question hanging in the air, “So... you're Kitten?”

He offers no verbal response, just a low, affirmative hum, before plunging back into another intoxicating kiss.

You surrender to the sensation, feeling the firm grip of his hands on your waist as they journey upward beneath the fabric of your well-worn shirt.

His touch ignites a trail of sensations, tracing a path across your body, sending electric shivers as he lifts your shirt, gently grazing against the contours of your breasts.

Under the intensity of his gaze, your body responds, a flush of heat spreading through you, your nipples hardening in response. He emits a low, satisfied hum, as if relishing the effect he has on you.

Effortlessly, he works to level the playing field, swiftly undressing you as if in a race against time. With a purposeful tug, he eases your shorts down, a silent declaration of his desire.

Bare before him, clad only in a simple black panty adorned with delicate pink hearts, you can't shake the vulnerability coursing through you. A sudden urge to conceal yourself washes over, a reaction to the raw exposure in this intimate moment.

“Don't shy away, you're stunning,” Yoongi murmurs, his firm grip on your hips drawing you closer to his naked body. The undeniable heat of his arousal presses against your core, a tangible reminder of the desire smoldering between you.

Gratitude escapes your lips in a hushed tone, your cheeks tinged with a warm blush.

“Now, let’s get these off you, yeah?” with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he hooks his fingers inside the fabric of your panties, teasingly tugging them down. He pauses, seeking your consent, before sensually sliding them all the way down your legs.

As he slides your panties down, a sudden awareness of your arousal hits you, intensified by the cool rush of air against your heated core.

As they fall to the floor, Yoongi swiftly snatches up your panties, bringing them to his face to inhale the intoxicating essence of your arousal, his eyes darkening with desire.

Why does that look so utterly sinful, setting off a delicious rush of arousal coursing through your veins, leaving you breathless in its wake?

As the intoxicating scent of you envelops him, he murmurs, “Damn, you smell good,” his eyes dilating with an unmistakable hunger.

“I wonder if you taste as good as you smell.”

In the raw vulnerability of your shared nakedness, he guides your body back to the bed, gently laying you down, his presence a magnetic force, hovering above you.

He immerses himself in the expanse of your neck, a symphony of sensations unfolding – a delicate ballet of tender kisses, followed by the electrifying nip of his teeth grazing the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

You moan in unabashed pleasure, your hands instinctively seeking refuge on his chiseled pectorals, anchoring yourself amidst the rising waves of bliss.

Yoongi's gaze shifts to the mirror positioned strategically in front of your bed. “I've been meaning to ask,” he smirks, locking eyes with you, “why do you have a mirror in front of your bed?”

You squirm beneath him, breath catching.”'It's part of my wardrobe panels,” you admit, your voice a fragile melody.

He chuckles, a low and enticing sound, his smirk dancing on his lips. “I don't think that's why the whole panel is mirrors,” he says, sitting up slightly. His finger traces a slow, teasing path from your collarbones to your breasts, sending shivers of anticipation racing through your body.

He leans in, his breath sending a shiver down your spine, and in a deep, low voice, he murmurs into your ear, “You're a dirty one, aren't you?”

His degrading words make your breath hitch instantly, and you involuntarily clench your thighs together. As you shake your head in disagreement, he just smirks, unconvinced.

His chuckle resonates in the room as he asks, “Do you enjoy watching yourself in the mirrors?” Sitting up, he moves to the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark.

He gracefully steps out of the bed, casting a predatory gaze as he hovers over you, an aura of irresistible allure surrounding him.

With unwavering determination, he declares, “You're going to watch yourself in the mirror as I fuck your pussy with my tongue.” In a single, fluid motion, he seizes both of your thighs, pulling you to the foot of the bed, sending a thrilling jolt through your senses.

Despite the heat coursing through your entire being, a light chuckle escapes your lips. However, the mirth dissipates as you lock eyes with the intensity in Yoongi's dark gaze.

“Sit up,” his command echoes through the room, and as he gracefully lowers himself between your legs, a thrilling anticipation courses through the air.

From your elevated position, you admire the tousled chaos of his hair, a disheveled masterpiece that only enhances his captivating allure. His eyes gleam with a mischievous spark, a silent promise of the intensity that is about to unfold.

You seize his cheeks with urgency, your voice dripping with desire, a fervent plea escaping your lips, “Fuck. Yoongi, please eat me out.”

He moistens his lips with a teasing chuckle, descending eagerly towards your already soaked center.

He expertly widens the gap between your legs, creating a perfect haven for himself before delving into your pussy with fervent devotion.

With a tantalizing finesse, he starts with a subtle stroke of his tongue along your folds, gradually ascending to the apex of your clit, eliciting a fervent moan that echoes in the room.

As waves of pleasure cascade through you, your fingers instinctively entwine in his tousled locks, gently pulling as he skillfully devotes his attention to the exquisite dance of his tongue and lips on your pulsating core.

Gasping for breath, your anticipation mounts, every nerve tingling with pleasure, as Yoongi's rhythmic strokes across your intimate folds propel you toward a climax, your toes curling in ecstasy.

Pausing momentarily, he murmurs in appreciation, “You taste even better than you smell, Kitten,” his words sending a shiver down your spine.

You're on the verge of asking him about the nickname ‘Kitten,’ but his tongue explores your folds, leaving you breathless and unable to form words.

Your question dissolves in the heat of the moment, the building climax taking center stage as you lose yourself in the pursuit of pleasure.

Lost in the waves of ecstasy, you can't resist the urge to surrender, closing your eyes as Yoongi works his magic with undeniable expertise.

“No, no, no. Look at yourself in the mirror, Kitten.”

“Why do—” before you can finish your question, it fades away on your tongue as Yoongi plunges back into pleasuring your core with a renewed intensity, leaving your thoughts swallowed by the whirlwind of sensations.

As you glance at the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your own blissful expression, framed by Yoongi's tousled black hair nestled between your thighs. The sight is nothing short of breathtaking, a sight of pleasure that leaves you utterly captivated.

The provocative scene unfolding in the mirror intensifies your arousal, your breath hitching in tandem with the escalating desire pulsating through your veins.

“Yoongi, I’m—” your plea catches in your throat as Yoongi skillfully responds, his hand finding your pulsating clit, heightening the pleasure while he continues to ravish you with his insatiable tongue.

His fingers dance in rhythmic circles over your throbbing clit, coaxing the tension from your core. As the knot unravels, a wave of blissful release washes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in its wake.

Ecstasy courses through your veins, your toes curling, muscles tightening, and in that moment, an unexpected surge of pleasure hits you like a sneeze that never comes. You release a symphony of moans, surrendering to the intense climax that Yoongi skillfully orchestrates with his talented tongue.

He continues to suck, savoring every drop of your essence, an insatiable thirst in his eyes matching the fervor of the intimate dance between your bodies.

As the intensity peaks, you gently tap his shoulder, signaling him to withdraw. He complies with a sensual slurp, leaving you breathless and tingling with the echoes of pleasure.

A mischievous grin stretches across his face as he licks his lips, “You're incredible, Kitten.”

You arch an eyebrow, curiosity coloring your tone, “Why do you keep calling me ‘Kitten’? You’re Kitten.”

He erupts in laughter, a symphony that resonates through the room, his chest rising and falling with the melody of mirth, and in that moment, he's a captivating masterpiece.

“Do I really look like a Kitten to you?” he inquires, a playful glint in his eyes as he gently nudges you back onto the bed.

Your words stumble as you search for a response, “Not really,” you admit, offering him a small yet tender smile.

“But you look cute and sweet, like a good Kitten,” he murmurs, his hands exploring the curves of your breasts.

A low moan escapes your lips as he teases your nipples with a playful twist, igniting a fresh surge of desire that pools in the growing heat between your thighs.

As you ache for the feel of his throbbing length, you attempt to grab hold of him, but like a fleeting mirage, he skillfully eludes your touch, leaving you yearning for the intimate connection that inches away with each evasive movement.

“Nah. I just want to fuck you silly,” he rasps, eyes tracing every bead of sweat on your flushed skin, reveling in the primal rhythm of your hurried breaths.

“If you want to, that is?” he teases, his voice a sultry whisper, as he takes control, guiding himself between your legs with a confident hand that promises a morning full of pleasure.

As you feel the weight of his gaze, you gulp, wondering how, in that heated moment, he could question what you crave. It's undeniable – you want him, and the intensity of your desire hangs in the air between you, palpable and unspoken.

Your breath catches as you respond, the words tumbling from your lips in a heated rush, “Fuck, yes, Yoongi. I want you inside me, now,” the urgency in your voice betraying the intensity of your desire.

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he replies, “Please” with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“‘Please’ what?”

“Say ‘please’.”

You huff, incredulous at his audacity. The desire in his eyes is undeniable, and he seems to enjoy the game. Part of you rebels, tempted to be a brat just to irk him, but the need for his touch overrides any resistance. You crave his intimacy, aching for his dick despite the defiance lingering in the air.

“Fuck this,” you grumble, frustration evident in your voice. In that fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of Yoongi pulling back, as if reconsidering his stance.

“Please! Don’t leave,” you plead desperately, your sincerity laid bare. The smirk on his face deepens, as if savoring the intensity of your plea.

“Please fuck me, Yoongi.”

His satisfaction evident, he rewards you with a swift kiss before aligning himself with your eager entrance, anticipation humming in the air.

Your arousal has reached a point where there's no discomfort, just a perfect fit as he slides into you, your wetness welcoming and enveloping him seamlessly.

He hisses as he eases into your warm, tight walls, and you can feel him doing his best to restrain himself.

You release a breathy huff as he fully penetrates, his balls gently meeting the warmth of your folds.

He lets out a guttural groan as he steadies himself, withdrawing only to plunge back in with an intensity that sends shivers through your body.

In this intimate position, with him above you, every nuance of his pleasure is on full display—the way his nose scrunches in delight, his soft lips occasionally nibbling the bottom one in sheer ecstasy.

Between each thrust, he can't help but express his amazement, his voice low and husky, “Damn. You're so tight.”

You know. It’s been awhile. 

As he moves within you with an increased rhythm, his hands find your breasts, skillfully massaging them in sync with his fervent thrusts, creating a symphony of pleasure that courses through your entire body.

Ecstasy courses through you, and in the midst of your fervent pleasure, you can't help but release a breathless exclamation, “Fuck, Yoongi!”

Every skillful thrust seems to find its mark, synchronized with the enticing dance of his fingers on your hardened nipples. Pleasure envelops you, clouding your thoughts in a haze of ecstasy.

Your pleasure intensifies as Yoongi skillfully pinches your nipples, eliciting a symphony of moans that harmonize with the rhythmic dance of his passionate thrusts.

Sensations ripple through you, and the desire to reciprocate Yoongi's pleasure builds within you. You yearn to give him the same ecstasy he's generously bestowed upon you.

Amidst the rhythmic cadence of Yoongi's thrusts, a bold request escapes your lips. Your gaze, laced with desire, meets his, and with a subtle plea in your eyes, you softly murmur, “Yoongi—, I want to ride you. Please.”

With a devilish grin, Yoongi withdraws from your embrace, reclining on the bed, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

His voice, laced with desire, sends shivers down your spine as he commands, “Then you're gonna watch in the mirrors as you fuck yourself on my dick,” reclining with his head angled towards the mirrors.

Mounting him, you position yourself strategically, both of you reflected in the mirror—a tantalizing image of entangled limbs, the intensity of the moment etched in your heaving, sweat-glistened bodies.

Grasping his throbbing dick, he hisses in anticipation as you deftly align your eager entrance with his cock.

With a fluid motion, you descend onto his rigid cock, your velvet walls enveloping him in a tight, intoxicating embrace.

From below, Yoongi savors the view, his gaze lingering on the contours of your face, as if committing every detail to memory.

You guide the rhythm, your hands finding stability on his sculpted chest, setting the pace as you ride him with a mix of determination and desire.

Your movements cascade, a slow dance that gradually builds momentum, each rise and fall carrying a symphony of pleasure and anticipation.

As you gaze upon your reflection, the flush of arousal paints your cheeks, your disheveled hair framing your face like an unruly halo, and your breasts dance in perfect harmony with the rhythm of your passionate movements.

The person in the mirror seems like a stranger, a sensual revelation you never knew existed within you. The mirrors, always present but never before utilized for sex, now reflect a version of yourself that’s both thrilling and new.

Heat courses through your veins, an intoxicating blend of arousal and empowerment, as you observe your own uninhibited reflection. With newfound vigor, you escalate the rhythm, riding Yoongi more vigorously. His appreciative groans and tender gaze mirror the intensity of the moment.

Unbridled desire takes over as your hands instinctively find their way to Yoongi's neck. Without a conscious thought, your fingers glide over the warmth of his skin, gently encircling his throat.

An electrifying jolt courses through you as you sense Yoongi's involuntary twitch within you, and you catch the ragged rhythm of his breath.

Panic courses through you, and you hastily retract your hands, realizing with a shock that you had unintentionally exerted pressure on Yoongi's throat. “Oh my God! I'm so sorry!” you blurt out, your apology a mix of concern and embarrassment.

“It's fine, Kitten. I like it,” he reassures you with a devilish grin, seizing your hands and guiding them back around his neck, his eyes sparking with a hint of mischief.

You shoot him a concerned glance, pausing your movements to ensure he's okay. Once he reassures you with a nod, signaling his approval, you dive back into the rhythm you had before.

With a newfound boldness, you tighten your grip around his throat, drawing out another satisfying twitch from him. His reaction sends a surge of pleasure through you as he hits that sweet spot, causing a kaleidoscope of sensations that make you see stars.

Your unrestrained moans fill the room, a symphony of desire that intertwines with the rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding. The sight of Yoongi unraveling beneath your touch fuels a primal arousal, and you revel in the raw passion that courses through every fiber of your being.

“Fuck!” you pant.

“I’m gonna come,” you confess, the words escaping on a ragged breath, as you impale yourself on his dick. You’re body trembling as you hold the moment, savoring the anticipation before the inevitable plunge into ecstasy.

With a tender touch, you withdraw your hands from his throat, leaning down to kiss him. Your lips meet his in a dance of passion, tracing a path from his mouth to the very spots your fingers had claimed on his neck moments ago.

His low, guttural groan harmonizes with the rhythm as you ascend, reclaiming your perch on him. The dance begins anew, your body moving with purpose, riding the waves of pleasure set in motion by each calculated bounce on his throbbing length.

Yoongi's hands eagerly envelop your breasts, his fingers dancing with the rhythm of your fervent movements. With each descent onto him, you feel a surge of pleasure building, the shared pursuit of ecstasy driving you both towards the brink of blissful release.

His fingers deftly find your sensitive nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The sensation is so intense that a fractured, high-pitched man escapes your lips, your back arching involuntarily in the exquisite dance of pleasure and pain.

As your walls instinctively clench around his pulsating dick, you witness the pleasure etched across his face, a delightful scrunching of his features that mirrors the ecstasy coursing through both of you.

“Yoongi, I’m com—,” you gasp, a desperate plea laced in your voice. Your words are unnecessary; the vice-like grip of your walls and the erratic cadence of your breath already convey the impending release that hangs thick in the air.

“Come all over my dick,” he smirks through a groan, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Watch yourself fall apart in the mirror.”

How can this man ignite such an intense flame within you? The knot in your stomach tightens once more, and as you surrender to it, a primal, drawn-out moan escapes your lips, echoing the depths of your desire.

With unyielding eyes, you lock onto your own reflection in the mirror as ecstasy courses through you, marking the moment you climax on his d*ck. Your rhythmic bouncing falters, but Yoongi, sensing your need, seizes your hips and propels the pace, driving you deeper into the intoxicating whirlwind of pleasure.

Your mouth hangs open, breaths rapid and erratic, akin to the aftermath of a sprint, while every inch of your body throbs with the residual heat of a fervent blaze.

“So beautiful—FUCK!” he moans, powering into you with an astonishing velocity, sending shivers down your spine.

His hold on your hips tightens, your hands finding refuge on his sculpted chest for support. Your body teeters on the edge of weightlessness and grounding, as if you'd unravel if Yoongi's firm grasp on your hips faltered.

Despite the fatigue washing over you, a surge of determination courses through your veins. Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you entwine your fingers around his neck once more. You sense the impending release in Yoongi's every movement, and you're determined to be the catalyst that propels him over the edge.

The moment your grip tightens around his throat, a powerful surge reverberates through his dick within you, sending intoxicating waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It's an electrifying sensation, making every touch between you more intense and satisfying.

With an intense squeeze, you lock eyes with Yoongi, a plea in your gaze. “Fill me up, Yoongi.”

In a primal release, he surrenders to the moment, thrusting into you with an erratic rhythm, coating your walls with the warmth of his climax.

“Ahh,” he pants, the rush of air filling his lungs as you release your grip on his neck, both of you engulfed in the aftermath of shared release.

You watch him in amazement as his fervent thrusts subside, and he eases into the embrace of your bed, a portrait of passion painted across his beautiful face.

As he gradually softens within you, you take the initiative to lift yourself off him, both of your essences clinging to your skin, a residue of your shared passion that you welcome without reservation.

As you recline beside him, a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a shared breathlessness enveloping both of you. The air in the room is charged with the echo of passion, leaving a tangible energy that binds your entangled forms together.

Breathless and sporting a satisfied grin, he turns to you, his eyes filled with a post-passion glow. “Fuck that was incredible,”' he murmurs, capturing the shared intensity of the moment in the curve of his smile.

An undeniable contentment colors your voice as you respond, “Yeah,” savoring the echoes of pleasure that linger in the air.

Suddenly, a spark of realization ignites within you, propelling you to move with swift purpose. You crawl back on top of him, a burst of energy that startles him, like a surprise in the midst of shared afterglow.

“Why did you leave me?” you inquire, a tinge of accusation laced with the bitter notes in your voice. “Without a word or a farewell. Why did you disappear without a trace?”

His eyes widen momentarily before giving way to an expression of anguish and sadness. A tug at your heart intensifies, as his face alone tells a story you fear can't be good.

He begins with a heavy admission, meeting your eyes with earnest sincerity, “My brother died.”

Your words stumble out in a rush, “Oh, God! I'm so sorry!” The unexpected revelation leaves you fumbling for the right response.

His words flow, carrying a weight of anger and grief, “It's alright. ButI felt so much anger and grief, you know?” he explains, “so much so that I couldn't shapeshift and was stuck in my cat form.”

You exhale a soft ‘aha’ at his words, and the realization washes over you— he was grappling with his own demons, just as you were.

“When I'm consumed by intense emotions, I lose control of my ability to shapeshift, and, and—” You witness a tearful welling in his eyes, prompting you to gently cup his cheeks, reassuring him that it's okay.

“I just wanted to be alone and I didn’t want to burden you…” A few tears spill from his eyes, and you tenderly catch them with your gentle fingers.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, finding solace in the curve of his neck, where his soft minty scent envelops you like a comforting embrace.

“I am so fucking sorry you had to endure that. I understand, truly. But you would never be a burden to me,” you express, gazing into his eyes with a tenderness that echoes your sincerity.

“I want to be there for you,” you declare, your own tears mirroring the empathy in your eyes.

“Ah, shit. I didn’t mean to cry. But, you know, I understand,” you say, your words accompanied by a wry smile as tears trickle down your face and onto Yoongi’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Kitten. I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” 

He seizes your cheeks, tugging you into a tender and unhurried kiss. Time loses its grip, and you're oblivious to the remnants of his seed mingling with your essence, creating a slippery trail between your pussy and his still-slick pelvis.

Lost in the rhythm of your kisses with Yoongi, you surrender to the moment, where every touch feels like a missing puzzle piece seamlessly falling into place.

The two cups of coffee are long forgotten.

→ Authors endnote: Thank you so very much if you have made it this far 😭 I know this story is a lot – I’ve been dealing with a lot of different stuff for many years, and some of it just got to be too much a few weeks ago, and this story popped into my head. It was therapeutic to write. I don’t know if people will like it or not, but in the end, that’s not what it’s about. It will just exist here. If you struggle with any of these subjects or emotions, you’re always welcome in my inbox – I’m not a trained psychologist or anything, though! But sometimes it is better to voice your feelings, than struggling in silence. Everybody’s welcome 🫂 I hope you’re doing well. Thank you for you 💜

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2023 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[misscarolineno]

✋No, Your Wife is Not Vanilla:

🙌Understanding Her Untapped Dominance

Many submissive men mistakenly assume their partners are “vanilla” or disinterested in power dynamics simply because their wives don’t immediately embrace dominance. However, this misconception stems from societal conditioning and the inherent fear of exposing an unconventional sexual or relational need.

❤️The Attraction to Dominant Women

Submissive men rarely marry women who are genuinely submissive or “vanilla.” Instead, they are naturally drawn to women with strength, confidence, and subtle authority. Despite this, many women do not recognize their dominant potential due to societal expectations that prioritize male leadership and discourage female assertiveness in relationships . Women often internalize the idea that dominance in relationships is “unnatural” or “wrong,” leaving their own desires and power unexplored .

❤️The Impact of Kink-Shaming and Miscommunication

When a submissive husband expresses his desires for an FLR or D/s dynamic, it can be overwhelming for his partner. Society often labels such interests as perverted or deviant, causing women to shut down or reject the idea entirely . This response doesn’t stem from disinterest but rather a lack of understanding and cultural conditioning that dominance must align with extreme stereotypes—whips, leather, and rigid personas .

❤️Awaking Her Inner Dominance

Dominance is not about adopting a costume or performing an archetype; it is about embracing power and confidence in one’s natural personality. To cultivate this within your wife:

1.Stop Framing It as a Favor to You: Approach your desires not as something she needs to “do for you” but as an opportunity for her to explore her own needs and authority. This aligns with a service-oriented model that prioritizes her comfort and growth.

2.Shift the Focus to Her Desires: Introduce subtle acts of service without expectation. Fulfill her needs in daily life—be it cooking, cleaning, or massages—without framing it in explicitly submissive terms initially. This will show her the benefits of your submission as a lifestyle rather than a one-time indulgence.

3.Educate Without Overwhelming: Introduce resources gently. Suggest books or articles on female-led relationships that highlight mutual fulfillment and emotional connection. Avoid inundating her with fetish-heavy material that might reinforce stereotypes .

4.Encourage Confidence, Not Pressure: Building dominance takes time. Allow her to explore the dynamic at her own pace without expecting immediate results. Celebrate her moments of leadership, no matter how small, and reinforce her decisions with gratitude and admiration.

5.Offer Emotional Safety: Make her feel secure in experimenting with this lifestyle. Let her know that mistakes are okay and that you are committed to her, regardless of the outcome. Fear of failure or rejection can often hold women back from embracing their dominant side fully.

❤️Embracing the Transformation

When approached correctly, a “vanilla” wife can awaken to her inner dominance. With patience, understanding, and selfless dedication, you will likely find that she is not only capable of leadership but thrives in it. Society may have silenced her dominant voice, but with your support, she can uncover and celebrate her natural authority, transforming both her life and your relationship into one of mutual empowerment and deep satisfaction.

[dianneking]

The Affair - Chapter 2 (Larissa/Reader)

Hello everyone, here's the second installment to this little fic. Writing has been slow-going but the kind comments I got on chapter 1 both here and on AO3 were a great motivation to put in the work when I had the time and brainpower to do so. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Larissa Weems/You Rating: Mature Tags: Alcohol consumption, Morally Ambiguous Character, Swearing, Boss/Employee Relationship, Seduction, Second-person POV, Teacher Reader, Power Imbalance.

AO3 link in title below

< Previous Chapter - Next Chapter (tbc)

Chapter 2 - Private Booth

“I must admit this is highly unprofessional of me, but I cannot help but find you incredibly alluring, darling.” She murmured in your ear and you heard a breathy laugh exiting your mouth, feeling as if it came from miles away. 

You weren’t sure how the evening had evolved to this point, if you had to be perfectly honest. You were sure you both had been the picture of professionality at the start of your dinner together, sitting primly at the table in the private booth, ordering a light meal and talking about lesson plans and your previous work experiences.

You had been nervous, but except for the unusual setting, it hadn’t been that different from countless other meetings you’d had with principals. And, you mused as you took a bite of your salad, to be honest you appreciated having this conversation over food for once instead than in a stuffy office. 

Was it some sort of cultural difference that outcasts had? Or was it a peculiarity of the woman sitting in front of you? She seemed like someone who was more than able to disregard rules if she wanted to. 

You found yourself liking that, despite your usual aversion for rule breaking.

Then…then Larissa (she had asked you to call her Larissa at some point, you were sure of that) Larissa had offered to share a bottle of wine “to toast together at a fruitful collaboration” and you had had half a mind to turn the offer down, but found yourself agreeing. Why the hell not? It had been ages since you drank some good wine, and your principal looked like the kind of woman who’d only choose good alcohol. 

“You have great taste,” you had commented, sipping on your first glass, and it had been at that moment that you had felt the energy in the booth starting to shift. She had dabbed her mouth on her napkin, and let her eyes roam over your figure for a handful of seconds more than it was polite to do before replying, “Oh of course. I very rarely lose my time when it’s not worth it.” Her lips had curved up in a smirk and you had had to take another sip of that wine to give time to your suddenly galloping heart to slow down a bit. Surely she was still talking about the wine, wasn’t she?

But then the conversation had moved on and you thought you had imagined the flirty undertone. Surely she wouldn’t be the type to do something like that, would she? Even if you hadn’t actively sought out gossip, surely you would have heard if Nevermore’s principal was a serial seducer, right? 

Larissa had been an extremely pleasant conversationalist, and often you found yourself invested in the latest anecdote from one of her travels, or her opinion on one subject or another. You laughed at her recounting of the antics of her students, and were amazed at the lavish traditions of Nevermore that she insisted on educating you on. 

You could have listened to her talk all night long, looking at how her face danced with emotions, how the passion she had for her job and her loyalty to her school shone in her voice as well as her eyes. And the way she ran her tongue against her teeth every now and then had you completely mesmerized. You were hanging on her lips and had given up feeling self conscious about it. You wanted to know more about this mysterious lady. You wanted to know all that she’d be willing to tell you.

And you were acutely aware that you still hadn’t discovered what exactly had happened that had left her for several months on sick leave. The students talked of an attack of undead  to the school but you were sure those were exaggerations, and that there was a less…fanciful explanation. Teenagers are known for making a big deal out of small mundanities. Even taking that into account, it seemed like mysteries surrounded this woman, wrapping around her like the subtle yet lingering scent of her perfume. 

“You smell amazing.” You had blurted out, and almost clapped a hand over your own mouth, horrified at your sudden boldness. That was not something to say to your boss who apparently still had the power to fire you if she somehow found you lacking! 

But she hadn’t bristled, nor had she seemed in any way angry or offended. She had simply chuckled lightly, and busied herself with swirling wine inside her glass with slow, hypnotic movements.

“Thank you, dear. It’s Ambre Nuit, by Dior, obviously.”

“...Obviously.” You had parroted back, even though you knew nothing about perfumes and even less about Dior. Your eyes were glued to her hand, still cradling the bowl of the wine glass. You had not noticed until now just how long and tapered and beautiful her fingers were. How effortlessly they curled on the glass shoulder to loosely swirl its contents. A part of you wondered how those hands would feel on your body.

“You know? You could smell it even better if you came to sit beside me…there’s plenty of space on this bench…” her voice had trailed off, and it might have been the wine coursing in your system, but this time you felt like you could almost taste the promises in her voice. 

And that’s how you had found yourself squeezed besides her on the bench, your thigh pressed against hers, the fabric of her dress and of your trousers the only thing separating your skin from making contact with hers. You were acutely aware of how dimmed the lights had been in the private booth, and how the waiters had stopped coming around after they had delivered your desserts. 

A perfect setup, suggested the romantic part of your brain, a part that was often overlooked and laid dormant in the day to day routine.

A perfect trap, countered the more cynical part, who couldn't help but wonder how many times had the beautiful woman beside you put on this show for her latest prey. 

It just all seemed so effortless for her. She mixed her flirting (it had to be flirting by now, right?) with more easygoing topics, she kept topping your glass off with that lovely wine, as well as drinking just as much herself. One part red flag, one part irresistible temptation.  

And it was at that point that she had leaned over, and you had felt her breath hot on your ear, and you were sure you had drank way too much wine because just that little puff of air made your skin erupt in goosebumps and your head spin. 

“I must admit this is highly unprofessional of me, but I cannot help but find you incredibly alluring, darling.”

“I must be dreaming” you said before your common sense could stop you, the tingling of your giggle still in your throat.

But not even in your wildest dreams could you have imagined how her hand felt as it fell on your thigh, light as a feather, but making your skin burn white hot even through the fabric.. 

“Well I suppose I’ll have to pinch you then.”

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

Want more? Here's my fanfiction masterlist

Taglist: @barbarasstar @peggycarter3 @aemilia19

[eunseoksimp]

masterlist

"love can be the most exquisite form of agony"

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 riize

osaki shotaro

golden boy | nsfw

shotaro is everyone’s favourite person. extremely lovable and kind to those around him, but there’s only so much he can take, especially when you keep pushing his limits.

hopeless romantic | sfw

in the quiet corners of your heart, a one-sided yearning blooms—a hopeless romantic lost in dreams of unrequited love. every glance, every fleeting touch, fuels a fire of longing that dances in the shadows, a tender ache that whispers of what could be but never was.

cpr | sfw

amidst the depths of heartbreak and endless gray, where every step felt heavy, you stumbled upon shotaro osaki. his quiet compassion and warmth cut through the cold, offering solace and his gentle presence beginning to mend your shattered heart. with his presence, he pulled you back from the brink, making you believe in the possibility of healing and reminding you what it feels like to be truly alive again.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

song eunseok

he loves me, he loves me not | slight nsfw

all her life, han yumi was used to those around her making her feel unloved. desperate to fill the want of being desired, she finds love in a place she probably shouldn’t.

he loves me, he loves me not [vol 2] | slight nsfw

eunseok, increasingly obsessed with yumi despite his steady and improving relationship with his girlfriend, begins dedicating all his time to his partner. this shift leaves yumi feeling insecure, hurt, and utterly heartbroken. in response, she starts distancing herself from him, a move that triggers euneok's mental breakdown as he grapples with the consequences of his divided heart.

between the lines | sfw

the importance of communication and understanding, and the consequences that can arise when those elements are lacking. a relationship in turmoil, leading to frustration and distance between the two individuals.

care for you | sfw

in the quiet of a fading evening, two souls meet where it all began. emotions simmer beneath the surface, caught between what was and what could be. in the silence, a fragile hope lingers.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

jung sungchan

poison | nsfw

the pain and heartache that can come from being involved with someone who is emotionally manipulative, deceitful, and simply not right for you. capturing the essence of the rollercoaster of emotions that one experiences when caught in the grips of a toxic love affair.

poison [vol 2] | nsfw

in this tumultuous love affair, you were the puppeteer, pulling the strings of sungchan's heart with a cruel precision. the pain and heartache he experienced were the price he paid for the moments of connection you allowed, a constant reminder of the toxic grip you held over him. as the days turned into nights, the line between love and manipulation blurred, leaving you searching for a connection beyond lust.

coming down | nsfw

explores the theme of addiction and it’s effects on relationships. the internal conflict of a man caught between the allure of a hedonistic lifestyle, and the genuine love he has for his girlfriend.

jealousy | nsfw

caught in the throes of a jealous obsession, your feelings for sungchan have grown dangerously intense. relying on him for emotional support, you crave his attention and validation in everything you do. the news of his love for another girl shatters your world, igniting a desperate desire to do anything to keep him by your side.

hilarious | sfw

sungchan being the asshole ex who doesn’t realise what he’s lost until it’s gone. based off of the song hilarious by charlie puth.

entangled | sfw

the relationship between you and sungchan is a tumultuous storm, a volatile mix of passion and pain, bound by an intense love that is as toxic as it is profound. sungchan, an underground fighter, using the ring as an outlet for his inner demons and you, clinging to him as you seek solace from your own unhealed wounds. two broken pieces clinging to each other in a toxic dance of dependency and desperation.

same mistake | sfw

trapped in a cycle of love and heartbreak, you and sungchan navigate the complexities of a tumultuous relationship. as emotions flare and unspoken truths linger, both of you struggle to break free from the patterns that keep pulling you apart.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

park wonbin

infatuation | nsfw

an exploration of secrecy, infidelity, and the complex emotions that arise from these actions. a woman who is in a painful relationship with a man who she loves, but is seen as nothing more than the object of his desires. an unfortunate tale of a woman making a God out of a mortal.

infatuation [vol 2] | sfw

in the wake of the collapse of your turbulent relationship with wonbin, the arrival of the enigmatic donghyuck offers a glimmer of hope. you seek solace in his genuine compassion, but in return wonbin’s obsessive desperation takes a darker turn. consumed by jealousy and fear of losing you, he resorts to cunning manipulation, exploiting every secret and weakness to reclaim you.

infatuation [vol 3] | slight nsfw

you finally take wonbin back, hoping to rekindle the love that once burned so brightly. but the pieces of your relationship, shattered by past betrayals, no longer fit together as they once did. as you navigate the fragile threads of a love that has been tarnished, you find yourself spiraling deeper into a web of confusion and pain. a poignant journey through the anguish of clinging to the past, and the inevitable realization that some things, once broken, can never be fully repaired.

west coast | nsfw

caught in the chaos of fame and forbidden longing, you’re the guitarist in a rising band, battling intense feelings for park wonbin—charismatic, untouchable, and completely unaware of the storm he’s stirred within you. despite the deep adoration you pour into your music, he remains distant, leaving you to grapple with a passion that he’ll never truly return.

west coast [vol 2] | sfw

falling for park wonbin was inevitable—like chasing a song you’ll never finish. he’s magnetic under stage lights and even more dangerous when they dim, leaving behind glances that linger too long and touches that feel too much like promises. you told yourself that night meant nothing, but some things don’t stay buried. now, every song you write feels like him, and you’re not sure how much longer you can pretend otherwise.

west coast [vol 3] | sfw

getting over park wonbin was supposed to be the final verse, the closing note to a song that never belonged to you. you’ve buried every unspoken feeling in music, poured every lingering ache into the strings beneath your fingertips. and then beomgyu arrives—effortless, magnetic, a new harmony in a melody that was never meant to be yours alone. but the closer you move toward something new, the more wonbin begins to unravel, caught between the distance he created and the realization that it was never you who needed to let go. it was him. and now, he might be too late.

west coast [vol 4] | sfw

the fight left more than bruised knuckles—it left a tension humming between every word, every breath you try to take without thinking of him. you tell yourself it’s just a passing storm, that the ache inside you will ease once the music starts again, but the stage doesn’t lie. his gaze haunts each chord, a reminder that some songs demand to be finished, no matter how many times you try to silence them. now, as the band races toward the biggest show of your lives, you’re forced to face the heat that crackles between you—a current that won’t fade, a heartbeat that won’t slow. and all the while, you’re left asking the question you’ve avoided for too long: how do you outrun something you’ve never been willing to let go.

marionette | nsfw

park wonbin was never meant to be yours, but you took him anyway. sweet, obedient, so achingly desperate for love—he was the perfect marionette, his heart strung up in the cruel architecture of your design. you pull, he bends. you sever, he bleeds. and no matter how deep the wounds, how sharp the cruelty, he still crawls back to you, clinging to the illusion that one day, you might love him too.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

hong seunghan

sandstorm | slight nsfw

the complexities of a turbulent relationship between two people who love each other but struggle to see eye to eye. they attempt to compromise and reconcile but realise that with each other, they are like a violent sandstorm.

fractured | sfw

in the shadows of a love that was never meant to be, you find yourself entangled with seunghan—a charming enigma who keeps his heart locked away. as desire clashes with emotional distance, the truth emerges: he cannot give you what you crave. torn between longing and acceptance, you grapple with the haunting realization that some loves are destined to remain unfulfilled, leaving you to navigate the painful aftermath of a love that was always out of reach.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

lee sohee

solace | sfw

the struggles of trying to connect with someone who is deeply guarded and emotionally unavailable.

wish you roses | sfw

in a tranquil garden filled with blooming roses, two former lovers, you and sohee, sit together for the first time since the peaceful breakup. surrounded by the fragrant air and golden light, there’s no bitterness, only a quiet understanding that love doesn’t always need to end with pain. instead, like the roses shedding their petals, you release each other with grace, celebrating what was while embracing what will be.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

lee anton

stargirl | sfw

anton had passed by many eyes but he seemed to only get lost in yours. the bass guitarist for a popular college band, the supposed opposite of him, taking your position in the light whilst he lurked in the shadows. and yet all he cares about is seeing you shine, his favourite stargirl.

pleasure is all mine | nsfw

anton finally gives into his hedonistic sexual desires and you just can’t pass up the opportunity.

siren | sfw

at seonghwa academy, you reign like a queen—flawless, untouchable, and cold as ice. your beauty is your weapon, used to control and manipulate those who fall under your spell. but when you catch the eye of anton, a brooding athlete with a quiet intensity, you meet your match. beneath his silence lies a dark obsession, a twisted desire that mirrors your own. as you engage in a dangerous dance of power and control, the line between.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 nct

lee donghyuck

obsession | nsfw

trapped in a web of desire and destruction, you find yourself drawn back to donghyuck—a man who thrives on your desperation, wielding your vulnerabilities like weapons for his amusement. he's cold, cruel, and intoxicating, a storm you can't resist even as it tears you apart. torn between guilt and longing, between a love that nurtures and a lust that consumes, you surrender to the chaos, knowing he’ll leave you broken but always coming back for more.

vice | slight nsfw

entangled in the slow, suffocating pull of desire, you find yourself crawling back to donghyuck—a man who drags you to the edge just to watch you beg for solid ground. he’s relentless, dripping in sin and satisfaction, the flick of a lighter against gasoline you swore you’d stop playing with. wonbin is the calm that tries to piece you together, but donghyuck is the ruin you ache to return to—the hand gripping your throat, the smirk that cuts deeper than the words he doesn’t need to say. some fires aren’t meant to die out. and donghyuck? he’s the one you never learned to extinguish.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

huang renjun

narcissist | slight nsfw

the euphoria you feel under the influence, not off of any substances but of the attraction and desire for huang renjun.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

[risingsuntarot]

1--2

3-4

General Messages & Advice !!

⚠️TW Quick mention of s*icidal ideation⚠️

I honestly had no set plan for this reading negl so I kinda just pulled out some cards to describe the collective energies and give them some advice sorry if this is long !! This took me quite a while so any love would be greatly appreciated!! Thanks for reading 💜

Excuse any typos :+//

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Pile ONE

---Cards pulled---

Ace of cups/Queen of Coins/2 of Coins

---Clarification---

9 of Coins/7 of Coins/8 of Wands

I see you're able to either barely able hold onto your emotions and new beginnings or you manage them quite well no inbetween

Youre extremely intelligent, patient yet fast and direct, dedicated and multifaceted it may have taken a lot to get to this point although

Im sensing a lot of emotional sensitivity yet you are perceived as stone when you feel like glass

"Petite, Cute, Princess, Marilyn monroe, Dainty" maybe youre described as such?

Strong sense of justice and very dependable, able to maintain balance

Maybe you feel lost inside? S*icidal ideation ? Or loneliness is a big factor

Possible lack of belief in change and self confidence

Im getting Hopeless romantic or dissatisfaction in love life if im being honest

No inspiration for life :'+(

Unstable Family background or relationships

Youre extremely pessimistic arent you? Im so sorry but i feel genuine pain hurt and the urge to cry almost? But something wont allow me to

Suppressed emotions or memories :+((

---ORACLE/ADVICE---

Eagle "see from a higher perspective"

Air Gaurdian "Shift your perception"

Lord "Take charge with authority"

High Priest "Intend ans Create"

There is a need for the sun and nature for playing a huge part in your healing, maybe its seasonal depression or simply anxiety or the "no inspiration for life" thats here

Bed rot could be a thing

There is a need to release old habits desires and ego

Confide in a masculine figure in your life or a masculine figure sees your distress (Gender doesn't matter its all energy)

Protection is needed and maybe a nice cleanse, maybe a cedar bath?

Again seasonal depression is coming up lol

You could be either a pieces or one of the Air signs

Take pride in your appearance, in the card she has long flowing black hair and stunning eyes!! Piercings too? Specifically a left nose piercing

Over thinking/pondering lol

Possible past friends or connections have ended badly?

Opportunities will only open up when you open your eyes and see that what you choose to see in the world if what youll perceive and experience

Lord of the rings/DND/Elden Ring/LARPing?

Rams could be significant or Aries sign!!

Learn a new instrument!! Make more art but with your own style ? Maybe youre in a art achool that doesnt allow for much individuality? But being a proud ab your individuality here is important!!

Birds are an important sign here, look out for feathers, hawks or eagles!!

If youre indigenous/Native/Aboriginal you may be receiving an Eagle Feather from an elder or during ceremony?! What an honor oml

Willie Jack from reservation dogs Vibes !!

---Channeled Songs---

LVL up - David strickland, Drezus, Aspects, prognosis

This came on during writing the eagle feather bit a lyric that caught my attention was

"Been a problem, Still a problem

But problems are what you need to grow"

Runaway - Lil peep

"Everybody act like they care, Why the fuck do everybody act like they care"

When I'm Gone - Eminem

"Just know that I'm looking down on you smiling

And I didn't feel a thing,

So, baby, don't feel no pain

Just smile back"

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

PILE TWO

---Cards pulled---

The hermit/Knight of wands/8 of wands

---Clarification---

9 of cups/The Empress/Strength

Im getting like lost rebellion? And being unhealed and hurt inside from past trauma's specifically abandonment, neglect or betrayal from authority figures or those you had trusted

Feeling empty and misguided despite only trusting yourself, and no one seems to want to listen to your advice/experiences leading you to feel isolated and forgotten in a way?

Maybe you're a party animal, possible drinker and/or just popular/known in social settings

There is heavy overindulgence in emotionally fufilling things, specifically overspending and maybe other possible addictions (sleep, food, drugs etc)

Mother/Feminine figure is very important in your life

You look to them for approval of many things but they may have been not caring about your emotional needs or satisfaction rather they cared more about your hidden strengths and "beast inside" ?? Or even how "weak" they perceived you, they may have been disappointed at your strengths and abilities, n maybe they put you in some kind of martial arts or boxing despite your disinterest in it?

Quick to move on from situations!! Yet indecision and regret is coming through Strongly

Impatient with skills and talents that dont turm out they way you wanted so perfectionist type vibes

You are a clear communicator but tend to be rather impulsive with decisions or say one thing and do a completely different thing

Extreme harshness towards oneself and heavy judgement too :+(

Feeling exposed? Like all eyes are on you yet you dont want them

I feel a facade of confidence but there is true confidence coming through by the tiniest bit? yet it's heavily based on the feminine figures perspective in your life one with authority also your own perspective on yourself

Lots of self hatred and anger

Family oriented, getting protective yet detached energy tho

Cancer by my chemical romance came on so that song may be relevant?

---ORACLE/ADVICE---

Wise One "Grow within your current situation"

Mountains "Stand your ground"

Stargazer "Set your sights higher"

Direction guardian "Choose your path"

Owls maybe significant to you and other avians such as ravens

The wise one card depicts a woman with feathers in her gray hair, description of someone possibly?

Also a crescent moon is atop the owls head so maybe Athena or Greek mythology is important to you

I sense there was a lot of hardship in your life, ups and downs, peaks and valleys yet you choose to persevere and stay strong

I see you have may have been passed down a gift having to do with dreams, keep a journal and look into meanings of those dreams!! Also maybe astrology is something you love to look into or have an interest in ?

Although something is blocking this gift from its fullest potential i believe there is healing or a cycle to be closed off before youre allowed to fully tap into it !! It'll take time and work on your part

As of now you have many choices to make in many areas of life, youre heavily protected by your guides and loved ones, the direction guardian is depicted with a Seraphim as described by the hebrew prophet Ezekiel!!

Specifically in Ezekiel 28:11-19 is where the seraphim is described

You have choices, this card is to remind you that YOU have the power of your own path and direction

---Channeled Songs---

Cancer - MCR

"Baby I'm just soggy from the chemo

But counting down the days to go

It just ain't living

And I just hope you know

That if you say (if you say)

Good-bye today (good-bye today)

I'd ask you to be true (I'd ask you to be true)

'Cause the hardest part of this

Is leaving you"

No place to hide - Korn

"Some will look at the time I looked back into my life

You wanna touch me to see what's in my eyes

Why do you make me remember my hate, all this shame?

Don't you hate me? Sometimes"

I-E-A-I-A-I-O - SOAD

"Mine delusions acquainted,

Bubbles erotica,

Plutonium wedding rings,

Icicles stretching,

Bicycles, shoestrings,

One flag, flaggy but one,

Painting the paintings of the alive."

Although this seems like nonsense many fans believe its abbreviations or like code!! Soo...

M D E = Media and so on

The sentence comes together as:

"Media back-end power is bullshit, opposing force for the power of propaganda"

Stole this^^^ from genuis btw lmao

Theres the "lost rebel" part lol

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

PILE THREE

---Cards pulled---

2 of swords/The Chariot/10 of Wands

---Clarification---

Ace of Swords/Knave of Coins/6 of wands

I feel more a message for this pile? And i do apologize but it is quite shorter than the rest but I will try my best to deliver both tho

You seem to be a very balanced person with clear morals and judgement, you have an ability to see all shades of gray in a black and white world maybe you work in the justice system? Or are dealing with the justice system ?And this stresses you out greatly yet you maintain hope for all that you see and deal with even if you see repeating injustices to those around you

Maybe PTSD is a factor here too, overthinking your own trauma or others

Anyways despite your position here you choose this pile for a reason !! You offer people truth and often give closure to cycles that needed to end

With the 2 of coins tho i think there is some imbalance between what you can and cannot do ? If that makes sense, like you can heal others or give them justice but cannot do the same for yourself :+(

Anyways the message i sense from this pile is pretty straight forward, you are giving someone (or yourself!!) the chance or closure to heal once more and whatever you may be waiting for is coming in quite quick although I feel there may be someone who may come in to sabotage the whole thing so be careful about who you choose to reveal this information to

They may offer a trade of some sort?

A deal, hush money or simply intimidation

Up your protection and be aware of fake friends yet still remain hopeful about the outcome because i see it turning out in your favor

---ORACLE/ADVICE---

Snake "Shed old skin"

Protection Guardian "Drop your Shields"

Winter "Take care of your needs"

High Priestess "Harness mystic power"

Again straightforward, beware of fake Friends and deals with strings attached my advice here is to up your protection and stand your ground!!

Drop your gaurd with those who you KNOW you can trust, you may need ro let out some stresses and emotions? Because the card winter is all about needs and hibernation so sleep well, eat and take some time to relax !!

Also might be an indication that whatever this situation is it may have happened in the winter/colder months

While in this time of self care and healing strengthen your knowledge and strengths learn how to master them !!

Your dreams and own special psychic gifts are important and potent !! Use them for yourself at this moment in time use that healing energy for yourself

Have confidence in yourself and know and own your protection because again you are heavily protected at this time you will most likely know who to stay away from very soon

Follow you intuition and what it tells you !!

---Channeled Songs---

The bird and the worm - The Used

[Whispered Post-Chorus] "Don't tell on me, don't tell on me. No, don't you tell on me, please. It's okay, don't tell on me, please..."

I find it interesting that its not the actual audible lyrics but if you listen to the song this is what the whispers are saying so...take it as it resonates

Spiders - SOAD

"Approaching guiding light

Our shallow years in fright

Dreams are made, winding through my head"

Bad dreams might be significant to you? Please try to relax good things are coming !!

Mama - MCR

"You should have raised a baby girl

I should've been a better son

If you could coddle the infection

They can amputate at once

You should've been

I could have been a better son"

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Pile Four

---Cards pulled---

5 of cups/4 of wands/Knave of coins

---Clarification---

8 of wands/6 of cups/Knave of wands

I believe there currently is dissatisfaction with your love life or offers within love at this moment or even just impatiently waiting for your current partner/interest to "make a move"

There isnt a lot of hope or faith in the connection on your part but i do see this person is interested they just operate differently and have some concerns

Mostly having to do with being used for their material gain, name position and/or authority

They do see this connection quite successful but they hate being put on a pedestal, due to this they wont have the guts to come forward if they do!! It will most likely be impulsive or very confusing and indirect which might leave both of yous flustered mainly them

This might be over drinks because my face is warming up lol

They see you as the four of wands and 6 of cups what a wonderful pair of cards together!!

But they see your disappointment and or pulling away from their energy which is turning them off easily but they still have their eyes on you

They have no time to be a chaser or to be chased this person is quite serious in their relationships so dont play childish games, play stupid games and win stupid prizes right?

They have come to a decision on their own but its also up to them when this information is revealed to you directly

Also there seems to be a sort of distrust with relationships on either sides which needs to be addressed before hand

Communication maybe be an issue

---ORACLE/ADVICE---

Medicine Guardian "Be open to healing information"

Elder "Healing through lineage"

Peacekeeper "Harmonious resolution is possible"

Lady "enjoy growth a reap rewards"

I feel like time is needes to open up tp yourself and heal some issues on your side first, become the best possible version you can before you can move on with this

I see that this connection may heal cycles in your family and generational trauma possibly?

Its your job to keep cool despite the circumstances now and remember to mediate and that peace is always an option. Not every battle is worth fighting

However this goes you will be happy with what you see in the mirroe nonetheless!! Enjoy your hardwork and healed state

---Channeled Songs---

Fed Up - Ghostmane

"I'm fed up with the fame

I'm sick of reading my name in any other way than I intended

Fed up with all of these motherfuckers misunderstandin' me

I'm fed up with the ones that try to say you a fan of me

But then they turn their back and mothafuckers abandon me

You think I'm sitting high with everything, but now can't you see?

I'm livin' in reality, a struggle, not fantasy

I'm in a million-dollar couch, back then I was in a van"

No you girls - Franz Ferdinand

"Sometimes I say stupid things

But I think, well, I mean I

Sometimes I think the stupidest things

Because I never wonder

Oh, how the girl feels

Oh, how the girl feels"

Driven Under - Seether

"Must be something on your mind

Something lost for me to find

Do you know I'm faking?"

I feel this is more the distrust with their previous relationship possibly?

Also this lyric

"We have to succumb to the feelings we can never face

I need you, I breathe you

I can't go through this all again

We have to succumb to the feelings we can never face

I need you, I breathe you

I can't go through this"

Also pile 3 may have some messages?? I accidentally typed pile three for this one? :+//

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

[imaginable-horror]

Thinking about the Long Quiet and his voices. They're a reflection of the Shifting Mound's vessels in a really interesting way -- not in the way that each voice mirrors the princess they occur with, though that is fascinating and has its own share of implications, but in how they serve a similar function to us as the Long Quiet as the vessels do to the Shifting Mound. Each voice offers different perspectives, different views, different opinions, but they do not define us in our entirety and they ultimately do not have control over our decisions. When we acquire a new voice our limits expand but we are no more significantly different than we once were, just slightly more infinite. The same way the Shifting Mound's vessels inform her views and perspectives but are not her. They are an extreme faucet of personality and emotion, but not a complete person. We needed to deliver different aspects of the Princess to her in order to expand the Shifting Mound and bring about her ascention but it doesn't entirely make sense that we need her for our own. We have the choice to fight her ascention and can go back to the beginning, slaying her with the help of our voices, ascending on our own in a world without her which proves our independence to some degree. The fact that we can achieve godhood without her means that we likely do not need her. (Obviously I think the world needs her, slaying the Shifting Mound is probably the worst ending for everyone, death and change needed to truly exist and be happy. Even the narrator realises this in the little microcosm of a world without the Shifting Mound that is Happily Ever After, but technically we do not need her to ascend ourselves.) If this is the case and we do not need her for our own ascention, it is interesting that we are unable to break free of the construct before she is brought to completion. Perhaps, then, as we explore the perspectives of the Princess we are exploring the perspectives of ourselves. We cannot reach godhood without all the voices, all the aspects of us. When we enter the Long Quiet they disappear, integrated into the whole of us. The Narrator fades away because he is not a part of our system, doesn't belong here. When a Princess becomes a part of the Shifting Mound, a voice (or a shallow selection of a few) become a part of us, and we expand together. Each of the voices are our own Princess, only less obvious due to the more active and less introspective role of the Long Quiet. We are, perhaps ironically being a god of stasis, never given a moment of stasis to reflect on what we are. Not until we are completed. It also makes an amount of sense as to why the voices return to us when we decide to slay the Shifting Mound, rejecting the concept of change. With her death we are, although together enough to ascend, forever partially incomplete. We have all the pieces of us, but they are not fused into a single whole. Broken pieces of glass on the floor, as she describes at one point. Our ascention is completed but we will never be a singular whole despite destroying the only other thing like us, whereas when we leave with her, accepting all that we are, we can be a fully realised set of perspectives, integrated and meshed together, forming a view in totality. The vessels we unconsciously collect exist in parallel with the experiences we bring her, and together we understand all with the objectivity of every possible perspective. All this to say, I forget how alike we truly are. The Shifting Mound and the Long Quiet are one and the same, not only connected through godhood or a relation to the vessels.

[roykiller07]

>be me

>be aromantic and allosexual

>discover lgbtq+ people exist and find out about every possible label under the sun via the magic of the internet in like grade 2

>as an attention seeking child with major identity issues, get REALLY into categorizing and sorting your existence with this new library of adjectives

>end up thinking ur asexual bc you can tell theres something missing from ur clearly present feelings for other ppl, but because you are a child and those feelings are not explicitly sexual yet, you think the only non-platonic feelings you could possibly have are romantic ones

>when u hit puberty and those feelings do become sexual, repress and ignore any and all possible sexual emotions to the point of developing a repulsion towards everything sexual bc you have extreme internalized shame around the subject from seeing traumatic things ofc and moreso from having been infantilized by everyone around you your entire life

>when you hear the rhetoric from adults and tv that middle schoolers' feelings for eachother are not "real feelings," assume that you're simply being very self aware for ur age by recognizing and living by this

>dont realize that the way you experience crushes is much more.... pragmatic than your peers

>you literally look through your class photo and narrow it down to one using logistical compatibility to decide your crushes

>when your best friend since preschool starts avoiding and phasing you out without explaining anything to your dense autistic self, subconsciously see this situation as if before you were putting 50/50 into the friendship, but now she is only putting 10% in, so if you had a crush on her (which is famously MORE than friendship) it would make up for that missing 40% and you would remain the same level of friends. obviously, choose to have a crush on her

>occasionally see a different friend as a possible crush because you are objectively similar, live within walking distance from eachother, and actually spend time together. dont question the legitimacy of your crush on your bsf when it is so easily and swiftly replaced sometimes

>that other friend has a crush on you and one day when hanging out with him, you catch a very mutually crushful vibe, and moments later you confess to eachother

>basically describe a queerplatonic relationship when explaining what you want to be with him, which he agrees to, but it quickly shifts into a romantic one because without knowing the terminology its just easier to think of it that way and it noticeably makes him feel better

>almost immediately be filled with inexplicable dread about being in this relationship and break up with him because "youve realized you still have a crush on your best friend." you remain close friends obviously, but he talks about being hung up on it for a while before moving on whereas you were over it the second it was over

>compensation-crush on best friend persists

>as a last ditch effort to salvage that friendship, write her a note confessing your "feelings" at the end of the school year and put it in her backpack. its a win-win because if she accepts it, the friendship will become 50/50 again and if she rejects it, you wont have to face her because you'll be homeschooled next year

>your ipod is broken and you cannot contact her outside of school, so the note was kind of stupid. like 6 months later get your hands on a handmedown iphone and finally manage to reach her, resulting in a huge argument with her and with your mutual friend

>beg her to explain why she suddenly hated you last year until she tells you she never hated you, you just questioned your gender too much and it "wasnt her"

>you are an insecure child with internalized homophobia and transphobia so just feel terrible and concede to having a faux reconciliation that never lasts beyond a couple short smalltalk convos

>also have a REAL reconciliation with the mutual friend so you stay very close w both her and her brother (your "ex") forever after

>ur next experience w a romantic relationship is this girl using you as a romantic rebound after a breakup, and you using her as a platonic rebound after having lost your bsf. the relationship is very inconsequential and does not affect your barely present friendship w one another which fades completely not long after

>edate a bunch of ppl for a couple days each time like a crazy person because all of you are desperate chronically online gay teenagers in quarantine. zero romantic feelings involved on any party's side throughout all of them

>have your biggest romantic relationship yet (like 5 months) with the mutual friend. you basically just hang out everyday, call eachother girlfriend terminology, and do cute tiktok trends its not that different from a close friendship

>it eventually ends because she finds out shes polyamorous and despite ur greatest attempts you just cant get comfortable w that and you want to support her without your personal feelings from dating her interfering. also this is when you think you're a gay man for some reason so that is another aspect

>edate one more person and this one actually lasts a while albeit because he disappears to the psych ward for multiple months before getting the chance to breakup w you and you dont even notice him not responding, you're so busy beginning to question if you're aromantic

>he eventually reappears saying "sorry ive actually only viewed you platonically this whole time" and you are like "awesome sauce!!"

>whatever realizations you were beginning to have about aromanticism are flushed down the drain as you enter a year long identity-destroying delusional period that takes you practically another year to recover from afterwards. which is something i will not get into

>you are now 15 and finally beginning to explore and accept the fact that you are not 100% asexual. it takes until you are 16 before you fully admit that youre not asexual at all, but you still avoid thinking about it too much and cling on to the title a little at all times subconsciously because its hard to let go of something youve identified as and found community over and developed as a person in relation to for like half of ur current time alive. not only that but the deep internalized shame is still very much present, and you feel like as long as youre "probably still asexual in some way" you arent totally disappointing everyone you care about

>17 now, and a few days of spontaneous intermittent identity questioning has you realize you're aromantic AND not asexual, or at least that you might be and there's no harm in referring to yourself as such even if you turn out to be wrong

>you cannot effectively articulate any thoughts or feelings on the matter at first as it begins to creep into your mind and theres zero movie representation to help steer you through this, which is something tremendously important to you as an autistic person who's special interest is movies (and co)

>you spiral emotionally for a week until finally one day a rant about amatonormativity you started turns into a diary entry of some kind that details everything you desperately needed to get into words.

>yay! emotional resolution! the world is well again!

>but now you have to live like this

[heyitsmeyourfavoritechick]

⋆♱ 🕸 Scorpio observation 🕸 ♱⋆

𖤐 Pluto in scorpio had a rise between 1985-1995 of test-tube babies (my bf born in 87 was a test tube baby himself and had a surrogate mom.)

𖤐 1984 AIDS was discovered and announced by the health services.

𖤐 1987 the first heart-lung transplant and successful surgical operation of a separation of twins.

𖤐 1983 mobile genetic elements was discovered by Barbra’s McClintock (her moon is in Scorpio.)

𖤐 Scorpio has extreme intense emotions that aren’t for the faint of heart (aka air signs) only other water signs can hang and earth signs are they’re safe heaven.

𖤐 They’re emotions are the underbelly of the moon if we’re looking at all the water signs as a whole. But they hide it well keeping they’re true feelings hidden from everyone and everything.

𖤐 Like the shell of a scorpion they can bend and almost go flat and you could never shift them if they’re character. You could never fold them.

𖤐 Scorpio are ruthless about getting they’re “own” way.

𖤐 Usually moon in scorpio have a square face. At times scorpio are know to have direct eye contact and intense eyes, very piercing. Defined sharp face features, high nose or cheekbones, strong eyebrows or defined brows. Hair usually straight or dark.

𖤐 If a Scorpio women hair is normally dark and if she goes blonde, watch tf out, she WILL eat your heart out.

𖤐 Known for the intensity of their eyes but if they have a crush on someone they can’t look at them fully, but if they’re in the same room as them they take looks at they’re crush all the time. (Trust me, we notice as the crush)

𖤐 If your Saturn is in Scorpio you are a force of personality and you can easily control other to “join your side” and the the “leader” of your own team/group. (Very cultish of you.) but you can only unlock this if you stop being shy and gain confidence, break all those internal walls and show people what you’re all about!! (I’m routing for you!)

𖤐 But within Saturn in Scorpio this placement can create love affairs or affairs in general, scandals and tons of secrets you keep or other keep of you.

𖤐 Don’t be surprised if you had rumors or gossip about you at one point. (The talk of the group chat)

𖤐 You attract secret love affairs that are prone to your downfall and with backstab you or betray you at some point.

𖤐 When they were young they had some kind of health problem or visit the ER once in they’re life or maybe had a near life death experience.

𖤐 I don’t know why a Scorpio feels so alone with a lot of people want to be with them, or be them or be on top of them (;

𖤐 Without them there wouldn’t be pain there would be the feeling of sorrow, they feel what we don’t want to feel. And that within itself is powerful.

[beifong-brainrot]

The Avatar State as a panic attack

The Avatar state has always been a very interesting part of Avatar lore to me. Throughout B1, we don't exactly get a lot of information about it, but at the very beginning of B2 Roku finally shows up and gives us a tutorial (lil late buddy but thanks lol).

Roku: [Cuts to Roku.] The Avatar State is a defense mechanism, designed to empower you with the skills and knowledge of all the past Avatars.

I always wondered about the stress placed on the Avatar State being a defense mechanism, not a weapon, during this episode.I always enjoyed this distinction, because it would be SO easy to just call the Avatar State a weapon/a superpower pertaining to offence.

But no, it takes Aang a very long time to harness the Avatar State, and before he does, it comes out only in moments of huge distress.

Near death experiences are the most common reason for Aang to go into the Avatar state. It makes sense, really, being close to death is probably when you need a superpowered defence mechanism the most.

However, there are times when Aang isn't in immediate danger and still enters the Avatar state. The most notable moments are the three examples I pointed out in this post.

Now these three examples are very interesting, because while Aang is not in the direct line of harm, he still goes in to the Avatar state. But the Avatar state is supposed to be a defence mechanism, so what gives?

Well, the moments Aang goes into an the Avatar State, he is still in super high stress situations. I mean, realising everyone you love has been brutally slaughtered and you're the last of your kind is as high stress as it gets, isn't it?

This isn't exactly dissimilar to how our real life regular human bodies work as well.

When we are in danger, we go into fight or flight mode, our body is flooded with different chemicals, like adrenaline or cortisol. This is usually a good thing, our breathing and heartbeat quickening, our blood moves to our large muscles, in order to prepare for, well, fight or flight.

But sometimes, this response activates in situation where we're not actually in danger. This is a crucial part of panic attacks. Now, there are a lot of different reasons for panic attacks, but they can happen due to a huge amount of stress, after a death of a loved one and experiencing strong emotions. You can see how this relates back to Aang. Panic attacks can also go hand in hand with trauma, which Aang has an abundance of.

Now, it is important to note that panic attack doesn't always equal hyperventilating and rocking back and forth in a corner. I for one, become extremely irritable during one, and will even smack people if they come too close because shockingly I don't like people touching me when I'm in "I'm in Danger" mode.

We don't get a full explanation of what causes the Avatar State to trigger, but it wouldn't be a stretch to assume that if Aang's subconscious is fearing for its life, the Avatar State does trigger. So if Aang is having a panic attack, his body going through the same motions as if he were in danger, why wouldn't the Avatar state activate?

This isn't to say that the anger that is primarily associated with Aang entering the Avatar state out of emotion is cancelled out by this theory. Aang's anger and him having a panic attack can work in tandem, since we often see him become upset or startled by violence, along with going through extreme guilt due to it.

This would also explain why Korra doesn't shift into the Avatar state under heightened emotions. If she doesn't have panic attacks like Aang, she is more lucid in her Avatar state. That and her having more control over it in general.

Anyway, tune in next time for my incoherent ramblings. Thanks for listening lol. I need to go to sleep

I also see a lot of similarities between the Avatar State and dissociation and dissociative disorders like DID. But that's a converstion for another day.

[to--love--and--be--loved]

Onyx Storm Mystery Venin: It’s Probably Brennan

Tl;dr The only realistic options for the Onyx Storm mystery venin are Garrick, Bodhi, and Brennan. It’s most likely Brennan, who has a stronger motivation to turn than either of the others and also has a mysterious connection to Naolin (who is definitely venin).

We have only a few pieces of information about the mystery venin. In Chapter 65 Xaden says “How could he do this? Choose this after watching me stumble and fall over the last five months. How could he willingly walk the path I’ve fought like hell to leave? He’s the last person I would have expected to turn, and yet here we are. … [I] can’t leave him to stumble down the same path I did.” Rebecca said to “pay attention to someone who is missing at the end” and “pay attention to someone who feels like whatever they have been given is not enough.” And then there's a strange paragraph on page 522 which compares the mystery venin to wyvern.

Below the cut, let’s look at how each of the suspects fits this evidence.

The most basic evidence we have is that the mystery venin is a man who’s watched Xaden struggle with being venin for five months. The only men who knew about Xaden being venin are Garrick, Bodhi, Brennan, Ridoc, and Sawyer; Aaric might also have figured it out with precognition.

Garrick and Bodhi found out that Xaden had turned right around when Violet found out, about five months before the Battle of Draithus.

Ridoc and Sawyer found out just a month or two before the Battle of Draithus, though you could argue that they’ve “seen him struggle” for months without knowing the reason.

We don’t know when Brennan found out. Violet learns that he knows near the end of the book, but we never get explicit confirmation of when he actually found out.

It's not clear if Aaric knows that Xaden is venin. He could have started channeling as early as the end of last book, so he might have known for five months (or even longer, since he has precognition).

Xaden has a big emotional reaction to seeing the mystery venin. He's obviously shocked and betrayed by the fact that the mystery venin has turned after watching Xaden's struggles; it’s clearly someone he’s really close to and cares about deeply.

This takes Ridoc, Sawyer, and Aaric out of consideration. Xaden isn’t close to any of those people and there’s no evidence he talked to them about his venin experience. While I’m sure he would be upset for any of them to turn, it wouldn’t be a personal betrayal in the way the book describes.

The only people who fit this statement are Garrick, Bodhi, and Brennan: people Xaden's known for years and is extremely close with. These are also the people who've really seen him "stumble and fall" -- Garrick and Bodhi have been guarding him in shifts since he turned, and (as we learn in Chapter 47) Brennan helped him try a bunch of ways to un-turn.

“He’s the last person I would have expected to turn” supports the theory that Brennan is the mystery venin. Brennan faked his own death for six years, sacrificing his old life and his family relationships, all in order to fight the venin. His backstory is defined by how he was willing to give up literally everything for that. For him to turn would be an absolute shock. While Garrick and Bodhi have also sacrificed a lot to fight the venin, they haven’t sacrificed as much as Brennan, so the line fits Brennan‘s story better.

The next piece of evidence is from Rebecca, telling us to pay attention to who’s missing at the end. This could be about who’s missing during the Battle of Draithus and/or in the very last chapter.

During the battle, the last reference to Garrick and Bodhi comes in Imogen’s chapter, when she sees them in/near the town square in Draithus. The timing between that chapter and Xaden‘s chapter isn’t exactly clear, but my interpretation is that they’re happening very close to each other and perhaps even simultaneously. It would be hard for either Garrick or Bodhi to jump on a dragon and randomly head off for a totally different area of battle without being noticed, especially since Imogen ends her chapter by calling all the fighters back to Draithus.

Garrick could theoretically distance-walk to the valley, but he tells Imogen that he's too close to burnout to walk any more. He might be lying to Imogen and saving a last bit of energy to walk to the valley and meet Berwyn, but I don’t think that fits his personality.

On the other hand, Brennan is missing from almost the entire battle scene; the last we hear about him is in Chapter 62, when Tairn tells Violet that Teine (Mira’s dragon) is “quickly recovering under Brennan’s care at the top of the pass.” There’s a reasonable explanation for this, which is that once Teine gets better Brennan leaves to fight with the rest of the officers in a different area that we don’t see, so by itself this wouldn’t be a strong indicator that he’s the venin. But considering what we know about Garrick and Bodhi’s whereabouts, Brennan is the most logistically-plausible person it could be.

You could also interpret “pay attention to who’s missing” as being about who’s missing after the battle, in the last chapter.

In this situation, Brennan is obviously present, Bodhi is not mentioned, and Garrick is explicitly stated to be missing.

This might imply that Garrick is the venin, but I think that’s too simple. If Garrick were the venin, I think Rebecca wouldn’t have given that clue — it would be too obvious, and she likes to be sneakier than that. It’s possible she’s playing 4D chess with us, but I think that it’s more likely that the venin isn’t Garrick.

We know the new venin must be someone who just turned, because otherwise Xaden would have been able to sense them earlier. So the fact that Brennan is back in Aretia at the end of the book isn’t evidence against him being venin — 12 hours is plenty of time for his red rims to have faded.

One of the most important pieces of evidence, imo, is when Rebecca says to think about “someone who feels like whatever they have been given is not enough.”

In Garrick‘s case, we see him on the edge of burnout from walking too much and wishing he could do more. So there’s definitely motivation for him to turn, though probably not a lot stronger than many of the other people who are also pushing themselves to their limits and wishing they could do more.

Bodhi’s experience in the battle doesn’t really give him motivation to turn. While he and Violet are fighting Theophanie, he tries to counter Theophanie’s signet and fails. Violet says that she thinks his signet doesn’t work on venin, only on human magic. She could be wrong, but her interpretation seems reasonable (and Bodie doesn’t even really disagree, just says that he’ll stay and fight beside her). If this is true, there’s no clear reason for him to turn venin — he could get as much power as he wanted and it wouldn’t make his signet any stronger. It’s possible that turning venin would change his signet so that he could counter venin signets, but that’s speculative and Bodhi has no evidence for it.

Bodhi also tells Theophanie that he doesn’t want more power because he’s happy playing the supporting role to Xaden, which is something he’s also said to Xaden many times in the book. You could argue that maybe he needed to turn in in order to save Xaden, or maybe he’s so frustrated with Xaden telling him to stay safe/not fight that he turns. But I think it doesn't match up psychologically. People turn venin because they want more power, whereas what Bodhi wants is to be able to use the power he already has.

Meanwhile, Brennan has perhaps the most compelling possible reason to turn. In Chapter 59, Mira (Brennan's sister, who he cares about very, very much) is dying, and he has the ability to save her but not enough power to make it happen. Readers can infer that Aaric sent Sloane to help save Mira, but Brennan doesn’t know that. From his perspective, Sloane showing up and successfully siphoning him the power he needs to save Mira is a miraculous fluke. And if Sloane hadn’t shown up, Brennan wouldn’t have been able to save his sister’s life. This is basically the same reason that Xaden turns: to save someone he cares about. Overall, Brennan's experience fits Rebecca’s hint perfectly.

Last but not least, there are specific considerations related to each of the main suspects that make it more or less likely that they’re the mystery venin.

Imogen’s chapter pretty clearly sets up that she will finally act on her attraction to Garrick. If Garrick was the one who turned venin, this means that their relationship would be a direct mirror of Xaden and Violet's relationship throughout Onyx Storm. Rebecca does like reusing relationship arcs (for example, Sloane/Dain is the same premise as Xaden/Violet), but I think totally reusing this arc would be kind of boring. This makes me less inclined to think that Garrick is the venin.

Xaden making Violet Duchess of Tyrrendor could be seen as evidence that Bodhi was the one who turned, because Xaden wouldn’t want Bodhi to be in charge of Tyrrendor if he were venin. This is possible, but another plausible explanation is that Bodhi has made it very, very clear that he really does not want to lead the province and Xaden wants to respect that. I think either of these explanations is perfectly sufficient to explain what happens, so this is only weak evidence for Bodhi being the mystery venin.

Finally, we can’t ignore the Naolin thing! There are hints from the previous books that Naolin turned venin, and Chapter 59 of Onyx Storm basically confirms that the standard story (that Naolin siphoned his own life force into Brennan, saving Brennan's life and dying in the process) is wrong. Specifically, on page 481 Violet notes that there are no hand prints where Sloane siphoned. By contrast, there are handprints on Dain's arms from when Jack siphoned from him in Iron Flame. This obviously indicates that venin siphoning leaves a mark, whereas regular siphoning doesn’t. We know Brennan has a rune mark on his hand, so it seems pretty clear that something fishy happened with Naolin (in addition to all of the other smaller pieces of evidence for venin-Naolin that piled up in the last few books). We don’t know the details, but if Brennan is somehow connected to Naolin, is would give a pathway for him to turn venin.

Also, from a Doylist perspective, there’s obviously going to be some sort of arc related to Brennan and Naolin and venin. If the mystery venin is Bodhi or Garrick, then we have Xaden and Bodhi/Garrick and Brennan all having arcs related to being venin. Three of the main characters having very similar arcs seems a little overkill to me, so I think it’s more likely that Rebecca would set up the story so that only two people have those arcs.

And finally, we have one confusing paragraph that gives more evidence for Brennan being the mystery venin.

At the start of Xaden’s chapter (page 521), he tells us there are two venin guarding the mouth of the canyon and seven wyvern guarding the mystery venin's dragon. On page 522, he channels and kills the two venin guards. He then starts “finding the identical heartbeats that mark wyvern and slicing through scale with shadow, ripping their runestones free. I start with the one who dared set its teeth in Sgaeyl’s shoulder, skim past the one who now thinks himself my brother, then destroy the six blocking the entrance to this canyon.” This is a very weird sentence because it’s set up as if it’s giving a list of wyvern. The implication is that the “one who now thinks himself my brother” is also a wyvern, an eighth wyvern in addition to the seven already mentioned on page 521 and killed in this moment.

The only person this could possibly fit would be Brennan, who we know has a rune mark on his hand (similar to the runestones that wyvern have?), and who could potentially have been brought back to life by Naolin in the way that venin bring wyvern to life.

You could make a case for Garrick, Bodhi, or Brennan being the mystery venin. So the question to ask isn’t Is there evidence for Garrick/Bodhi/Brennan being the mystery venin? but rather Who is the most likely person to be the mystery venin based on the evidence we have?

In my opinion, Brennan is clearly the most likely mystery venin for multiple reasons, but particularly for having a stronger motivation to turn than either of the others and because of the Naolin connection.

[mr-payjay]

flutters eyelashes :) do you have any personality disorder headcanons for clover? or maybe nickel? hope you're doing well!!

Mostly Nickel's Disorders

Feb 19 2025 edit: this is somewhat outdated! nickel has hpd, npd, and cptsd. you can still read the aspd section if you like, but he does not have aspd, he just has some antisocial traits.

twitches. twitches. twitches. ok i skipped gleefully in the kitchen getting this ask because i am SO hyperfixated on nickel. here’s a nickel analysis if you wanna read that first but it doesnt go into his pds it just generally analyzes him:

for clover i dont have any disorders in mind BUT i have noticed she has a tendency to fawn or flee (ive always been pulled in by her fawning over nickel considering how much he’s hurt her). today i was watching some iii and i noted that shes a really strange but interesting character—ive paid attention to her before and ive done a bit of analysis (mostly talking about her odd reactions to nickel) but nothing recent. im planning to do some clover analysis after my nickel and balloon rewatch (im rewatching all of ii and taking notes on nickel and balloon respectively as i go along, ive done this with several characters before and i find it super fun). i would maybeee look her over for dependent personality disorder and borderline personality disorder, but Not to diagnose her with the full disorders themselves, more to analyze the dependent and borderline traits she seems to experience (tendencies). also would probably look into adhd or autism or both.

nickel stuff under the cut. it's long. tl;dr you can argue that nickel has hpd, aspd, and npd, but the most important to consider is hpd.

Histrionic Personality Disorder

nickel has hpd, credit to the lovely @t4twerewolves for bringing this up to me in the first place and introducing some of the symptoms he displays! i'll put down his hpd symptoms here and talk about each one.

1. is uncomfortable in situations where they are not the center of attention: yes, nickel is very attention-seeking! you gotta look at him like a school bully. he wants attention, he wants to be seen, he wants people to know who he is. the main point of hpd is that the hpder NEEDS attention. not just wants, but NEEDS. so even if they WANT positive attention, if they believe they can only get negative attention, they will stick with that (i talk about this more in my nickel analysis in the link above). nickel is seen constantly going for this negative attention, TRYING to provoke people, wanting them to get annoyed and Remember he exists and Give him the attention he’s starved for. which brings me to symptom 2.

2. interaction with others is often characterized by inappropriate sexually seductive or provocative behavior: yes. first of all, provocative in the context of the hpd dsm5 criteria means to provoke someone (as in: annoy people, start little arguments and fights, make jabs, etc.), not to be sexually provocative. in this case, nickel is EXTREMELY provocative. im sure you can think of times in the show where nickel purposely annoys people, but an example i particularly enjoy is in snapshot showdown, where nickel asks balloon why balloon doesnt believe in him. when balloon freaks out and tells nickel hes never believed in HIM (balloon) in the first place, nickel laughs and says he just wanted to see his reaction if he said that. the entire point of making that comment was to provoke balloon and get a big reaction out of him. again, look at nickel like a typical bully: he wants attention and reactions. i also recommend watching waffling about for more explicit examples of this behavior.

3. displays rapidly shifting and shallow expression of emotions: yes, nickel is shallow but plays up his reactions to ridiculous extents. a great example of his emotional display also rapidly shifting is in out of body experience, when he yells at clover and blames him for them all having died. he goes from angrily shouting at her with elaborate and theatrical wording about how “twisted fortune granted her wish” to immediately going deadpan and asking others their thoughts on the matter. actually, i’ll provide the clip to make it more obvious just how quick the change is:

he goes from dramatically calling her a privileged murderer to neutrally asking for opinions in an instant. i will say that nickel definitely has some intense feelings about clover (she really pushes him to think about his body and his feelings of inherent worthlessness as a nickel object, for one) but he still displays shallow and puffed up reactions around her and in other situations.

4. consistently uses physical appearance to draw attention to self: i would argue yes for this too, in fact, but it's often difficult to really go into this symptom since the characters are all objects (though its easier to prove with some characters, such as silver spoon). one thing ive noticed is that most ii hpders, such as lightbulb, paper, nickel, silver spoon, tend to wear things or care about their appearance more than other objects. lightbulb and her silly costumes, paper and his bowtie and santa hat, silver spoon and his skincare routine (and more explicit worries with his appearance)... and at the end of mazed and confused, nickel is wearing a somewhat extravagant outfit (for objects anyway) that he apparently bought with the money he got from scalping tickets. it’s eye-catching and unusual for any character to wear. i could go into his complicated feelings about his body as a nickel object (since it has to do with appearance) but it is technically irrelevant to the actual hpd symptom here and id like to research his self-image as a nickel more before talking about it in depth. either way, nickel cares about his appearance.

5. has a style of speech that is excessively impressionistic and lacking in detail: okay so this symptom means vague speech, speech that’s more about emotions and grandness rather than details or logic. hpders often base their opinions off of others (expanded upon in 7.) and an example of that for nickel is with his opinion of balloon. nickel vaguely expresses that balloon is awful, untrustworthy, just terrible in any way. he sticks to this extreme yet unfounded opinion and shuns balloon for ages even though he practically never dealt with balloon at all in s1 (since balloon's behavior there is the main grief the contestants have with him). nickel doesn’t have details to refer to; he’s just going along with what the majority says here. in s3, his opinion changes as he actually spends time with balloon. his speech is also generally confusing to understand. as ive been taking notes on nickel, ive had to stop for several minutes to deconstruct his lines and try to decipher what he’s saying. his manner of speech certainly isn’t precise or to the point. and another example of this symptom is him calling the new thinkers his “enemies at BEST” in best served cold, which is a very extreme (impressionistic) thing to say and clearly not what he actually thinks of them (which is just general dislike at first).

6. shows self-dramatization, theatricality, and exaggerated expression of emotion: yes, nickel is QUITE theatrical! i still need to rewatch s2 but ive found many examples in s3. one of my favourites is in tragedy at 60 feet, when tea kettle tries to lure him and balloon into allying with her with hors d’oeuvres, and nickel starts loudly gagging and coughing then yells that he's REPULSED!!! then balloon tells him to calm down. its so unnecessarily dramatic and intense. i love it. there’s another scene in the episode where nickel slips on a banana peel and starts screaming for the doctor to come see him until balloon tells him he's fine, where he calms down immediately. that one's a combination of multiple symptoms (as most are) in fact, with 1. (seeking attention), 3. (rapidly shifting and shallow expression of emotions), and 6. (dramatic and theatrical behavior).

7. is suggestible (easily influenced by others or circumstances): i talk about this a bit in symptom 5, but nickel goes along with everyone when shunning balloon (and enforces it), despite not really having been affected by him in s1. he’s more contrarian than he is agreeable, but he still feels awkward actually standing out on his own (such as in try not to laugh challenge, where he gets uncomfortable and agitated once everyone disapproves of him for insulting yinyang so harshly) and tends to go for little jabs or arguments that he’s sure he can win (such as yelling at clover, who never fights back) rather than actually standing up for something he believes in. again, remember that he’s like a school bully! he goes for the easy targets and avoids real conflict.

8. considers relationships to be more intimate than they actually are: so this is box. there’s some hints of this with balloon and suitcase but it’s more complicated when i could just talk about box. who is the perfect candidate to show this symptom of nickel’s. nickel is convinced box is a real living person. he talks to her about his decisions in the game, he asks for her opinion on things, he talks FOR her and assumes what she’s saying (nothing, in reality), and he even calls her his number one ally. all along, box is. a dead body. there is nothing there. even if box WAS alive but inanimate, this would still be an example of this symptom, because box tries to vote out nickel in s3 and lifering even mentions that box probably doesn’t want to be talked for. nickel thinks there is a close relationship of sorts here, when there is not.

here are some hpd subtypes (Theodore Millon, Personality Disorders in Modern Life, 2004):

hpd subtypes aren't super relevant anymore by the way, i just like categories. anyway, nickel has disingenuous hpd. which implies antisocial traits! interesting! so let’s take a look at aspd.

Antisocial Personality Disorder

1. failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors, as indicated by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest: technically yes. he gets suitcase to steal from meeple in theft and battery, but it IS part of the challenge in the show, so… that one's only a so-so for me. nickel also scalps people online, which isn’t illegal, but it is pretty lame. he tends to repeat these sorts of almost-illegal actions without going too far into breaking the rules (like using the pic-nix tables even though he’s banned), so we can infer that he doesn’t particularly respect authority but he IS still afraid of consequences and doesn’t have much desire to do more illegal things. he also tries to kill clover which is pretty illegal but it’s played comedically so im not sure how to interpret that? i still consider it an indication of this symptom, of course. overall, id say 1. ends up being a yes, mostly because i keep thinking of examples that fit just enough. he's clearly got the mindset.

2. deceitfulness, as indicated by repeated lying, use of aliases, or conning others for personal profit and pleasure: yes, nickel lies several times in ii, sometimes very blatantly (eg in best served cold, mephone asks nickel if the pie is two half-mile high pies stacked on top of each other, and nickel deadpans “No.”). he lies in theft and battery about suitcase’s willingness to steal for them. he cons others online through scalping for personal profit, buying an expensive outfit with the money he gets from it. he tricks suitcase into thinking he’s giving balloon a chance in kick the bucket, when he’s truly just setting them both up to fail. he’s fine with deceiving others.

3. impulsivity or failure to plan ahead: yes, nickel is pretty impulsive with his reactions, making them more exaggerated than they need to be (eg trying to kill clover in snapshot showdown) and not always planning ahead, just in his general behavior… an amusing example is the challenge in snapshot showdown beginning and nickel immediately running at top speed face first into the camera cabinet.

4. irritability and aggressiveness, as indicated by repeated physical fights or assaults: yes and no. nickel is very irritable and verbally aggressive, but he doesn’t often physically hurt people (since the symptom says “repeated” im keeping this in mind), since he does try to kill and injure clover but as far as i remember that's his only direct physical assault on someone. he also automatically dislikes most people (eg in best served cold where he calls the new thinkers his “enemies at best”) and is easily annoyed by others.

5. reckless disregard for safety of self or others: yes. using theft and battery again as an example, he puts suitcase in danger when forcing her to steal from meeple. he also tries to kill clover (and ends up injuring himself when he tests the trap with his foot, which one could say is reckless). im probably forgetting other examples.

6. consistent irresponsibility, as indicated by repeated failure to sustain consistent work behavior or honor financial obligations: not as far as i can see it. he does disregard safety, but he doesn't fall behind on obligations or anything. does fine in challenges.

7. lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another: id argue no. nickel feels guilty for making clover cry in title tbd (though it’s subtle: just a quick look after she runs away crying and a worried expression during the elimination when clover is being voted out) but he never actually apologizes to her. however, we know that apologizing is very hard for nickel, as we see in the scene in tragedy at 60 feet where he apologizes to tea kettle and balloon for his behavior in the episode (this doesn’t excuse him from not apologizing to clover for what he’s done to her, it just explains how nickel may feel remorse without ever doing anything about it). nickel shows remorse in the scene i just mentioned with tea kettle and balloon. he also shows remorse later on, apologizing to balloon in the great bluish bake off (even if i don’t care for the therapyspeak writing of this scene, nickel’s feelings here are still genuine). i can’t say if he feels remorse for what he did to suitcase or not, but with the evidence of other scenes here, i would say he probably secretly does.

so yes, nickel does technically qualify for aspd (at least 3 symptoms). but let’s just check a bit more. for funsies. the basis of aspd is mainly (as far as i know it) a need for autonomy and a lack of respect towards authority. he pretty much never respects authority (stealing from meeple, calling mephone insulting names, being very rude to tea kettle who we can infer is older than him, etc.). for need for autonomy, he does tend to avoid most people and is easily irritated by others, but he isn’t averse to having friends or depending on others like balloon or baseball. it’s pretty hard to gain his trust though, and he tends to stay loyal to the one person he chooses to respect. which can actually be a behavior some aspders have (respecting one or two people who feel Special and Deserving of it). in the end? i think it’s more fun to interpret nickel with aspd than not. if anyone wants to support or dispute this claim, feel free to talk about it in the comments or my askbox :) aspd is a personality disorder i know less about!

Narcissistic Personality Disorder

now, ive mentioned nickel having narcissistic tendencies before, but ive only ever looked him over for npd briefly and concluded he doesn’t have it. but its fun to recheck things. and since im already here, i’ll do an npd assessment of nickel too.

1. has a grandiose sense of self-importance (eg exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements): somewhat. nickel generally sees himself as inferior (which is normal for many npders), which i talk about more in my initial analysis at the top of this post in the context of his canon feelings of worthlessness. he tries to compensate for this in s2 in particular, turning himself into the leader of the armless alliance and forcing them to recognize him as superior. as far as i remember, he does not significantly exaggerate his achievements or talents.

2. is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love: yes. he becomes quite the tyrant in s2 to the armless alliance, relishing the little power he has and becoming quite agitated whenever he loses it (eg straight up threatening suitcase during the elimination in kick the bucket because he’s trying so hard to hold onto his power). he also enjoys being the director of the new thinkers in title tbd, and is charmed by them actually listening to him (until he remembers clover’s luck that was given to him). there’s also the “Oh, the things I’ll do for money…” line in stranded in paradise and the fact that he decks himself out in expensive clothes in mazed and confused, implying fantasies about riches as well.

3. believes that they are “special” and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions): somewhat. i would argue that though nickel only respects very certain people (and still only to a limited extent), it’s more in an aspd way than an npd way. baseball and balloon aren’t high-status in any way, but they’ve EARNED his respect (although limited), which is another thing entirely than the npd symptom of wanting to associate with “worthy” people.

4. requires excessive admiration: no. nickel dislikes most people and accepts being disliked; he just needs attention, negative or positive. he does ENJOY admiration (title tbd is a great example of this, as he talks about wanting to be genuinely valued by others) but he does not require it in the same way someone like, say, silver spoon does. i believe he’s like most people are about admiration.

5. has a sense of entitlement (unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with their expectations): yes. in s2, he’s used to being listened to by the armless alliance, and becomes angry when he’s defied (eg being annoyed by suitcase befriending balloon in kick the bucket and tricking her into having balloon fail the challenge). in s3, though he’s not as entitled as he was before, he still insists on doing things his way (such as when he goes off to take photos of clover in snapshot showdown) or is ready to argue about it (such as when he openly asks to hear objections to him becoming the director in title tbd and is surprised when everyone agrees to it).

6. is interpersonally exploitative (takes advantage of others to achieve their own ends): yes. you can most clearly see this with nickel and suitcase in s2. a concrete example could be forcing suitcase to steal in theft and battery (I KNOW, im using this example AGAIN, it’s just a really messed up thing to do okay. it's a good example for many symptoms).

7. lacks empathy, is unable to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others (yes i changed the writing of this one slightly): yes. nickel clearly does not empathize with suitcase, balloon, clover, or others. he forces suitcase to comply with his demands while looking down on her for her kindness to balloon and her meekness. he shuns and puts down balloon without considering his attempts to redeem himself for a long time. he tries to hurt clover and yells at her multiple times, only realizing some of her pain when she runs away crying after he Literally screams that she’s a murderer. nickel still feels guilt and remorse, but he struggles to understand others’ feelings nevertheless.

8. is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of them: yes. nickel envies clover in a weird way (i still need to analyze it more), calling her privileged and lucky despite not actually wanting the luck for himself in the end. he’s unsatisfied with himself as a nickel object, being quite literally a low-worth object and becoming visibly upset at seeing dime in fff nickel for your thoughts. he’s afraid of being below others and envies those who might feel better than him on a level he can’t work around, like clover being born endlessly lucky and dime having more worth than him as an object.

9. shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes: yes. nickel looks down on people and generally dislikes them. he insults and makes jabs at people and struggles to see them as separate entities with feelings (lack of empathy), placing himself in a superior mental ranking. it’s kind of odd with nickel because his sense of worthlessness REEKS throughout the series (like you can easily spot it), but really, that IS how npd often works, isn’t it? he feels inferior and therefore decides that At Least everyone is actually way dumber and worse than him. making him superior in the end.

that’s 7 out of 9 (im counting “somewhat” as 0.5 each), which is enough to qualify for npd (minimum 5). congratulations nickel!

well this took me a few very very fun hours. quite the mental workout though. thank you very much for asking! my conclusion is that nickel has hpd (8/8), aspd (4.5/7), and npd (7/9), hpd being the most important. and though i don’t exactly think clover has any personality disorders, i recommend looking into causes and behaviors associated with dpd and bpd, since some of her actions line up with some of those traits.