#she's still haunting the narrative huh

[please-let-this-work-oh-my-god]

OUGHH

[wildestdreamsblog]

The Story of Us

Pairing: Mahwa Character!Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You wake up in the body of the second female lead in a manhwa, determined to rewrite your fate. No longer willing to be trapped in unrequited love for the elusive main lead, Min Yoongi, you set out to change the ending of the story. But leaving him behind isn’t as simple as you thought. As the lines between fiction and reality blur, the narrative begins to shift in unexpected ways—Yoongi, who was once only devoted to the main female lead, starts to see you in a new light. Can you escape the cycle of heartbreak, or will you find yourself entangled in a love story you never asked for?

or in which Yoongi found out you aren't from that world and refuses to let you leave.

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

A/N: Happy 6k to me!!! It's finally here. Those who already read the unedited fic know the scenes I added here... I went crazy again and wrote additional 3kish words. I hope you enjoy!

“Does self-love mean nothing for you?”

You commented lightly at the second female lead as you flipped the page. In your hand was the manhwa your friends were gushing about. They went on and on about how dreamy the main lead was for weeks and how annoying the second female lead was until you finally gave in and went to a bookstore one late night. The cover was unassuming, a mere illustration of a man with dark hair and a milky white skin. Despite the chatters of the few customers, it was like it all went silent when you held the manhwa in your hand. You had no rationale as to why you were staring so hard at the main lead, nor why you felt a jolt of electricity when you traced your finger on his face.

The sudden and inexplainable zap of electricity was enough for you to put the manhwa back to its shelf where it belonged. You had enough for today, you thought. It must be your late nights that finally got to you. You turned and started to walk away when you heard someone called your name.

“Are you not going to buy that?”

You blinked owlishly, turning to look your surroundings before realizing that the voice had come from behind you where an old woman with a pleasant smile on her face stood. You didn’t hear her walk, sure that it was only you in that section of the bookstore.

“Excuse me?” you asked in confusion with her sudden question.

She offered you a smile before reaching for the manhwa you were touching moments ago. “This. Are you not going to buy this?”

You glanced at the book in her hands, the cover innocuous enough—a pale-faced man with dark eyes, his expression unreadable, a haunting sort of beauty that seemed to shimmer under the dim light of the store. The same man whose face had burned into your mind the moment you’d traced your finger over it.

"Huh?" you muttered, not entirely sure what to say. "Oh, no... I—" You fumbled with your words, caught between politeness and that unsettling pull you couldn’t deny. “I’m just looking.”

She tilted her head slightly, her smile never wavering, but there was something deeper there now—an unreadable warmth and perhaps... a warning? "Such a shame. This is the last piece," she continued, her fingers running over the cover with a tenderness that made your heart race. "Are you sure you don’t want to enter his universe?"

You stared at her, perplexed. The bookstore was quiet again, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of other customers. But it felt like there was something else in the air now—something heavier. More alive.

As if on cue, your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking the strange tension that had settled between you and the clerk. You fumbled it out, your heart still racing. It was a text from one of your friends: "Did you finally get the manhwa? He's sooooo hot, right?!?"

You looked from your phone to the manhwa and there it was again. It was like something was calling you to touch the book. On the other hand, your flight or fight instinct had never been this high, urging you to walk away as soon as possible. The old woman’s gaze never left you, her expression still serene, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. The tension between you felt palpable, like a tether was drawing you back to the book, back to the man on the cover.

"You know what, dear," she continued, her voice now almost conspiratorial, "since we're almost closing, it’s on the house. Let me wrap it up for you."

When you asked her why, it was a line you should have taken in face value.

She said that reading this will change your life.

All that was how you found yourself on your bed with the manhwa and feeling bad for the second female lead. Okay fine, she was not exactly kind. She was a bit bitchy and the typical rich kid who fell for her childhood friend who of course, fell for another woman below their stature. She devised devious ways to get the main female lead out of their lives which only managed to push Min Yoongi, the male lead character, away from her. She wanted him so badly, and she had nothing else to cling to. In the end, he left her alone when all she had was him.

She was left alone, Yoongi gone from her life, and all she had left were her schemes and bitterness. You couldn’t help but wonder what she could have been if she had just let go. If she had let him go, instead of holding on so tightly that she suffocated herself.

She wasn’t a villain, you told yourself, though you knew she was far from a saint.

It wasn’t that you were defending what she did. It was just that you felt for her, strangely. You had no family of your own too, and maybe that was why you held on to your friends. You thought that if you were as pretty and as wealthy as her, then you wouldn’t spend all your time and energy pining after Yoongi. You thought about her—so pretty, so polished—and you wondered, If I were her, would I have acted the same way? If you had that beauty, that wealth, that presence, would you still feel this same deep ache for someone who couldn’t love you back? Sure, he was all that. He was handsome, smart, and so manly. For a while, it was just the two of them in their little world until he met the female lead. But then again, if you were her, you would let them be and look for someone who would love you as you were. Surely, there was someone out there for her. You wondered if it would be easy to just walk away, you thought. But then, you didn’t know what it was like to have everything and still lose the one thing that mattered most. To feel like there was no one left who could make you feel whole.

The story was so intriguing with the right amount of suspense that kept you up all night. Despite you being a non-mahwa reader, you could not bring yourself to stop reading until you reached the ending.

The words of the final chapters echoed in your mind as you read through them. Yoongi’s happiness came at her expense, and as you turned the page, you saw the final blow: She died. She died because Yoongi decided to save the main female lead from drowning instead of his childhood friend. Just like that. No grand redemption, no change of heart. She was gone. “Of course, she dies,” you murmured in annoyance as you flipped the page. “Was that really necessary for this Yoongi to get his happy ending?”

You put the manhwa down on your chest and looked up at your bedroom ceiling. You felt tears forming in your eyes and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks and onto the manhwa. “Poor you. You deserved better,” you whispered as sleep took you away.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next time you opened your eyes, it felt like you were in a dream. More precisely, you woke up to a familiar room. You just couldn’t place it yet where you saw this room before. You sat up from the most comfortable bed you had ever been on, your eyes roaming over the whole room. Where were you?

You looked down and noticed that you were wearing a silk sleepwear…You didn’t own this. In fact, you never liked it because you couldn’t afford it. Did someone dress you in this? Were you kidnapped?

Panic surged through you like a wave, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. The thought alone pushed you to stand up quickly, your head turning rapidly to every corner of the room when a mirror across the room caught your eye. You walked over, unsure of what you were even looking for, but the reflection that met you made your heart stop.

Holy shit.

You froze in front of the mirror, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and panic. The face staring back at you was undeniably familiar but was definitely not yours. It was her—the woman from the manhwa.

Your hand lifted slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, and touched your cheek, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. The reflection mimicked your every move, except there was no mistake: it wasn’t you. This version of you was flawless—her skin porcelain smooth, her lips full and painted in a soft, understated pink. You blinked hard, willing the image to change, but it remained the same, impossibly perfect.

And then it hit you, harder than any realization should have: You were in her world. You were in her body. You were the second female lead.

What the fuck was this dream?!

You pinched yourself, willing yourself to wake up from this peculiar dream where you were not you, and instead, you were someone of a fictional character. All that it did was reddened her fair skin. You truly tried not to panic, but no one and nothing could have ever prepared you from waking up in someone else’s body! More so of a fictional one. Similarly, you knew this could not be possible. You must have been dreaming.

You were just dreaming…right?

The knock on the door snapped you out of your stupor, your mind reeling as the panic tightened its grip.

“Miss? Sir Yoongi is here to see you,” the voice outside the door called, timid, hesitant.

You blinked, the words barely registering at first. Yoongi? No. No, no, no. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and the world around you seemed to tilt at an impossible angle. You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a shaky, disbelieving breath.

"Y-yoongi?" Your voice sounded strange, foreign in this body, yet with an edge of authority, the voice of someone accustomed to being looked at, obeyed.

“N-no. Why?”

“T-to visit you, Miss. He went straight here from the airport after his three-month work in New York,” she explained with a terrified tone in her voice as though one wrong word would upset you. It did upset you upon horrifying realization that you were in the first chapter of the manhwa. He was coming to see the second female lead, the one who would only ever be a part of his life for the briefest, most painful moments. The one who would disappear when the main female lead entered the picture, leaving behind nothing but heartache and regret.

This was the moment—the beginning of her unraveling. The beginning of your unraveling.

You stumbled back from the mirror, almost tripping over the hem of the silk nightgown that clung to your skin. It felt wrong. This wasn’t your body. This wasn’t you. You couldn’t be her. You couldn't.

But there you were—she was—standing in front of a mirror, and it was your face that stared back, the same face that would soon be abandoned in favor of the main lead. The face that would die tragically, just as Yoongi chose someone else.

A cold sweat broke out on your skin as you pressed your hand to your chest, feeling your heart race, the pulse throbbing in your throat. The maid outside the door was waiting. She was waiting. Yoongi was waiting.

“Miss? Are you coming?” The maid asked again, sounding more nervous now. “Sir Yoongi is waiting.”

You felt your legs walked to where the door was as though they had a mind of their own, as though they were simply following the plot where you had to face her childhood bestfriend, as though you had no choice in this. The door creaked as it slowly opened, and the maid stepped back with a small, nervous bow. “Miss,” she murmured softly, her eyes flicking between you and the hallway.

There he was. Yoongi. Standing in the hallway, waiting for you.

His broad back was turned to you, his focus was on the huge window overlooking the garden below. His hands were in his pockets. You couldn’t help but notice the bags of designer clothes and jewelries beside him. It was always like this. Yoongi would spoil her with everything, his love a quiet promise wrapped in material things. His affection was given in expensive packages, just because he missed her. It was a thing the main lead, Yoongi, and her had for the longest times. He spoiled her rotten, and in turn, she loved him unconditionally until he realized that it wasn’t her love that he wanted. It was someone else’s.

You felt your chest tighten as you stepped forward, closer to him. And then, slowly, he turned around, his gaze landing on you, his eyes sharp and calculating, as though he was seeing you for the first time. He was just as handsome as you'd imagined, his sharp features bathed in the soft light of the chandelier overhead. His expression, however, was unreadable—his usual aloofness on full display. He had on a simple black jacket, the sleeves rolled up slightly, revealing his forearms.

He was standing there, just as he had been in the manhwa—distant, untouchable, and perfect. The kind of person who seemed to have everything. Everything except the one thing that would make him whole. His lips curved into a faint smirk, the usual aloofness settling over him like a second skin. Yoongi. So damn confident. So certain of himself. Yet there was something flickering beneath that exterior, something you couldn't place.

He took a step toward you, his gaze unwavering, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy, too real. The space between you both seemed like an eternity, but somehow you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

He raised his brows when you remained motionless – so dissimilar to how the second female lead threw herself in his arms in the first chapter. “What?” he said, his voice a quiet challenge. “Didn’t you miss me?”

His words hit you like a cold wave. Didn’t you miss me?

The phrase was so familiar, but it made you flinch. It was the same thing he had said to her. The second female lead. Her. The woman you had now become. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his gaze leaving you paralyzed. How were you supposed to feel? What was the right answer?

Yoongi’s smirk deepened as he took another step closer, his presence commanding the space between you both. He wasn’t giving up.

“Aigoo,” he muttered, as though your silence had amused him. “Is my princess mad at me?” He reached out, cupping your cheeks in his hands and squishing them gently, his thumb brushing across your skin in a familiar, playful gesture. “I promise I won’t be away for that long again, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. My princess. Mad at me? It was just like the manhwa. Just like how the second female lead had fallen for him—how she’d craved his affection, how she had convinced herself that he was the only one who could make her whole.

How could she not fall for him? How could she not love him when he was this—this?

See, who wouldn’t fall for that? You understood the second female lead for falling in love with him, or why she did all those terrible things when he suddenly withdrew all his affections from her. But maybe…you could change the ending. Maybe you could find a happy ending of your own away from him. You could choose differently. You could walk away. You could find your own path, away from him, away from this tragic loop. Maybe—just maybe—there was a way for you to have a happy ending. Not the one written in the manhwa, but one you could choose. One where you didn’t lose yourself in the love of a man who could never return it.

What if you and him could all have your separate happy endings?

But also, what if this was just a dream where you’d wake up later and be in your own bed?

It was almost a week later when you realized that this wasn’t a dream. Despite repeatedly pinching yourself, you still couldn’t wake up from this nightmare. You hadn’t gone out of your room since Yoongi visited, and all messages and calls from him were promptly ignored.

You couldn’t even rule out that you were actively going insane because there was no way that this was now your reality. Something inside you was telling you to do something. It was urging you to fight, to survive, not matter how difficult it would be. It was proven when he visited you and you had no control over what happened. However, you also noted that you could do things somehow differently like not hugging him when he visited, or not being affectionate to him.

There were canon events, yes. There were things that should happen as were already dictated by the manhwa. But you also had a will in this story. And if there was a chance that this was your new reality, then you would do absolutely everything to make sure that you end up living.

You had to be smart. You had an edge, you surmised. You read the entire manhwa and you knew what was going to happen. You knew what to anticipate. And the next scene? The next scene was where Yoongi met the female lead and it would be in a charity ball you and him were attending.

You were dressed to the nines, your makeup was impeccable. Around your neck was one of the second female lead’s extravagant necklaces. The dress that she chose was immaculate, a light-colored floor-length gown that would later on be ruined by the female lead’s accident in the ball. You looked down from the unfamiliar eyes staring back at you in the mirror as your maid informed you that the car was waiting downstairs. You got this.

You weren’t used to her life of extravagance and you could feel a shot of anxiety pumping in your veins as the car neared the event. You could see reporters and cameramen lining up to capture the entrance of the wealthiest of the wealthiest. Nothing in your life could have prepared you for this. You were not a confident person…but she was. You only needed to get through this night and then slowly let the events happened. You would let the two of them fall in love with each other like it needed to be.

“We’re here, miss,” your driver announced, meeting your eyes from the rearview mirror. You took a deep breath and counted to three.

1…2…3-

The door opened and just when you opened your eyes, there he was.

Camera flashes illuminated the scene from his back, yet his focus was on you. His hand was outstretched, waiting for you to reach for it. But damn it, Min Yoongi was impeccable. Just like you, he was dressed to the nines with his tailored dark suit and his brushed up dark hair. He was the epitome of what a main lead should look like. Still, you couldn’t fault both the main and second female lead for falling in love with that face. If only you weren’t trying to stay alive, then you would most probably fall for that face, too.

Too bad you were trying to stay alive.

The weight of the moment settled heavily on your chest as you stared at his outstretched hand. The flashes of the cameras were relentless, their bursts creating a kaleidoscope of light and shadow that painted Yoongi's face with an almost ethereal glow. His dark eyes bored into yours, and for a split second, the world seemed to pause.

You hesitated, your hand hovering just out of reach. This was one of those moments, wasn't it? One of the canon events you couldn’t avoid. Taking his hand was expected, a necessary step to ensure the night unfolded as the manhwa demanded. Yet, the knowledge didn’t make it any easier.

“I don’t think you can hide from me now, princess,” Yoongi’s voice was soft but firm. In fact, there was no annoyance in his tone, only a quiet patience as though you didn’t spend the past days dodging him in every turn.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to push past the whirlwind of nerves. You had to remember who you were now—or at least who you were pretending to be. She wouldn’t falter, wouldn’t hesitate. She was poised, confident, the kind of woman who could command a room with a single glance. She was a woman who knew the power she had over society.

Plastering on a polite smile, you placed your hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and for a moment, the contact felt grounding. You couldn’t help but notice how his hand completely engulfed yours, how he made your hands seemed dainty in comparison to his. He helped you out of the car with a practiced grace, his touch lingering for a fraction longer than necessary. You didn’t want to dwell on the fact that you felt the same electricity that you did when you first touched the manhwa.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You knew you had no choice as he guided you up the grand entrance. This was a canon event. The canon event leading up to their meeting. You had to play your part if you wanted to not experience dying in her body.

The flashes of cameras almost blinded you had it not been for Yoongi’s broad back that shielded you from them. The two of you stopped in the middle to smile for the camera, a PR thing Yoongi had to do for his company. His hand rested on the small of your back, gently pushing you closer to him. You knew what would happen like the back of your hand, and just as written, one of the reporters asked him to define his relationship status with you.

She’s the most important woman in my life.

“She’s the most important woman in my life,” Yoongi declared with unwavering sincerity, his deep voice resonating through the flashes and murmurs of the crowd. As he looked down at you, his lips curved into that signature, disarming smile—the kind that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

The ball was just as grand as you imagined. It was apparent that the rich spared no expense in this and you couldn’t imagine that you would experience this in your life. Yoongi’s gaze lingered on you, an unreadable expression flickering in his eyes as he watched you take it all in. There was something almost amused about the way he observed you, though he said nothing. It was almost comical to him how you were impressed with this when the friend he knew practically grew up in this extravagance. You were in awe at the intricate details, the food and drink being served, and the expensive jewelries that would be auctioned tonight.

“What do you want me to bid for?” Yoongi asked, his voice low and smooth as he tipped his wineglass to his lips, his dark eyes not straying from you.

You let out a short chuckle, already knowing what to say. “I want that old ring the Queen once owned,” you answered monotonously. It was the most expensive item in the auction, and exactly the kind of thing the second female lead would desire. You, on the other hand, felt that it was ridiculous to desire something that was given by someone who dearly loved the Queen. Yoongi merely lifted his dark brow before nodding his head.

As always, her will was always his command– until it wasn’t.

The bidding war for the final piece, the ring, didn’t take that long as Yoongi continuously bidded ridiculously high amounts that the businessmen could not keep up with the younger man. Yoongi didn’t even flinch as the bids shot up. He stood there, effortlessly cool, his back straight and shoulders squared, his eyes locked on the auctioneer like a predator stalking its prey. The others tried to keep pace, their offers becoming desperate, their faces flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation as Yoongi continued to raise the stakes, his voice cold and assured as he increased his offer without hesitation.

In the end, Yoongi won. And it showed with the way he turned back to you, that same smirk still dancing at corner of his lips.

This was it.

This was the moment.

Yoongi was walking to you, his expression still that of a triumphant victor as he made his way to you. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes to him. The way his dark eyes were trained on you was captivating and you were captivated. It was as though you were the only one in this room to him, like all other people could disappear and he wouldn’t even blink. In fact, you were too captivated that you almost forgot what the next scene was.

But just as was written by the author, a waitress tripped, your light-colored dress now splashed with red wine, a stark contrast. The sound of glass breaking, the accident itself, was enough to silence the whole ballroom. Your mouth hanged agape as you looked down at your dress, and then slowly, you lift your eyes to the waitress.

Your eyes met the female lead’s. Hers was comically wide as she continuously apologized to you, her expression that of panic as her manager and more people flocked to where you were.

“What happened?” Yoongi’s voice was sharp, his usual calm replaced by a low, controlled edge. His hands clasped your arms with a firm but steady grip, his gaze darting between your face and the ruined fabric of your gown. The pristine, light-colored dress was now stained with crimson, the deep red wine soaking into the fabric and spreading like an ominous bloom.

Your eyes flicked back to the waitress—her—the female lead. Just as the manhwa dictated, there she was, the unassuming heroine, standing in front of you with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she stammered apology after apology, her hands trembling as she bent down to pick up the shards of broken glass at her feet. You saw her flinched.

“I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please forgive me, Miss!” she pleaded, her voice shaky and sincere. The panic on her face was painfully familiar. You’d read this scene before. You knew every word, every gesture.

And yet, being in it now, living it—felt different.

Your dress was ruined, yes, but more importantly, this was the moment. The one where Yoongi, the ever-distant, untouchable main lead, would first notice her. Where his protective instincts would be stirred, his curiosity piqued by her clumsy, honest nature. This was where it all began—their love story.

Except right now, he wasn’t looking at her. He was still looking at you

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his brows furrowed as his thumb lightly grazed your arm, checking for any sign of injury. There was no recognition in his gaze for the woman kneeling at your feet, no acknowledgment of her presence.

You blinked, caught off guard. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. By now, he should have been helping her, offering her a reassuring smile, gently lifting her to her feet. That was what the script demanded

But here he was, his focus entirely on you.

“I…” Your voice faltered as your mind raced to adjust. You needed to steer this back on track. The story needed to progress, or everything could spiral out of control. “I’m fine. It’s just the dress,” you said, forcing your tone to be light, dismissive, as though the ruined gown didn’t matter.

Yoongi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “It’s not fine,” he said, his voice firm. He turned, his sharp eyes landing on the waitress. The poor girl visibly flinched under his scrutiny, her hands freezing mid-motion as she tried to gather the broken pieces.

“It was an accident,” you said quickly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “Yoongi, it’s fine.” Your words were deliberate, almost desperate. You needed him to look at her, to notice her, to play his part in the story.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but at last, his gaze shifted to the waitress. There it was—that flicker of recognition. The moment his eyes softened, his expression melting into something less severe.

“Are you hurt?” he asked her, his tone still carrying a note of authority, but the sharp edges were gone. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for.

The girl shook her head quickly, her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. “N-no, sir! I’m fine. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough,” Yoongi interrupted gently but firmly. He crouched down, his movements slow, deliberate, as he began picking up the shards of glass alongside her. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath, all eyes on the enigmatic businessman lowering himself to help a clumsy waitress. “Be careful. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said with a much softer voice. His gaze lingered on her face, and it was apparent that you were now forgotten.

And there it was—their first connection. The moment the story truly began.

You exhaled slowly, stepping back as the crowd around you began to disperse, the murmurs of the guests returning to their usual buzz. This was how it had to be. You just had to step back now and let their love story grow.

You reached the balcony and you thanked heavens that you were alone. You breathed a sigh of relief, both for the gratitude that you were alone and for surviving that scene. You were looking up at the stars when you felt a suit jacket landed on your shoulders, safely engulfing you with warmth and against the cold night.

You turned, not knowing who to expect but he was definitely not it. You didn’t even know who he was.

The handsome man met your eyes before flashing you a charming smile of his own that was enough to disarm you. “What a shame…”

You blinked, confused by his sudden appearance, your heart still racing from the scene inside. "What is?" you asked, voice quieter than you'd intended, as your eyes darted back toward the ballroom doors.

"That your dress was ruined," he said smoothly, his tone playful, though his eyes seemed to hold something more—curiosity, maybe, or perhaps something deeper. "You were the most beautiful girl there. You managed to catch everyone’s attention when you entered the room– including mine."

Sputtering at his confidence, you felt your cheeks heated up from his statement. “Were?”

The side of his eyes crinkled as he looked at you. He couldn’t believe that the elusive and untouchable you were giving him the time of the day. You were always in Yoongi’s orbit, and everyone knew how powerful his family was. It was always the two of you in your own little world, and Yoongi was seldom far from you. It was the reason why suitors couldn’t reach you. No one needed the Min Yoongi for an enemy.

It was safe to say that the relationship between the two of you were always a question mark to the onlookers. In the world of the rich, the two of you should have been long engaged if that was the case. And a chance that Yoongi was far from you was not to be wasted. And so, he took the chance.

“You still are,” he breathed honestly. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were so magnificent and he understood why Yoongi was similar to a guard dog when it came to you. He extended his hand to you. “I’m Kim Taehyung.”

You only had to wait, but the waiting got boring. When you’d read the manhwa, the pacing had felt seamless, the love story unfolding with a rhythm that kept you turning the pages. Here, however, their love story took time.

It turned out that not only were you bored, but you were also extremely wealthy in this life. You rationalized that it would be okay to enjoy her life just a little.

Leaning on the balcony railing, you released your fifteenth sigh of the day, staring blankly at the sprawling estate below. Behind you, the ever-dutiful maid hovered, hands clasped nervously in front of her. Her expression flickered between concern and trepidation, as though bracing for one of the infamous tantrums her mistress was known for. Lately, though, you’d given her nothing of the sort—no sharp words, no impatient outbursts. That, in itself, seemed to unsettle her.

However, another sigh from you finally prompted her to ask you what was wrong.

Her eyes widened, startled by the question. “I… I suppose I’d pay off my family’s debts,” she admitted, voice small. “It’s been weighing on us for years.”

“How much?” you asked, your tone casual, as though inquiring about the weather.

“Three million,” she murmured, her cheeks coloring as though the very amount embarrassed her. “But I couldn’t possibly—”

“Consider it done,” you interrupted breezily, waving off her protests. “Next?”

“Maybe…I’d go to Paris?”

You nodded, your eyes gleamed as the spark of inspiration ignited within you. A brilliant, slightly impulsive idea. “That’s perfect. Grab your passport.”

It turned out that Paris was also someone’s favorite place.

You were sitting in a café one late afternoon, willing the time to pass by quickly so you could return to your life as evidenced by your poor attempt at reading a book when the chair in front of you was suddenly occupied. With your peace suddenly gone, you looked up and met his eyes. He was smiling at you, his dark hair brushed away from his face, so dissimilar to how formal he looked when you met him.

“We must stop meeting like this.”

He chuckled at your expression before he leaned in on the table. “In Paris, of all places. I have to say, this is starting to look like fate.”

Who was he exactly?

You tried to rack your brain of his scenes in the manhwa, and you had been ever since you met him in that ball. He wasn’t supposed to be in the scene…or was it possible that that happened behind the scene when the focus wasn’t on you, but on Yoongi and the female lead?

“Do you believe in fate, Mr. Kim?” you titled you head in curiosity, looking at him intently for any sort of familiarity that may come your way.

“I do and I don’t. I think that fate is an abstract concept that no man can ever define. There are some things that we are just too powerless to stop; and there are some things that we are too powerful to accept,” he stated with a smile on his face. “You’re here because of fate, Y/N. Don’t you think so?”

“What?”

Taehyung chuckled and patiently waited as the waiter placed his cup of hot chocolate on the table. “I think that you’re fated to be here at this exact moment.”

“What are you saying, Taehyung?”

“I’m saying, have dinner with me tonight.”

It was your second week in Paris when curiosity finally got the better of you. On the other hand, you could say that the past few days were one of the most interesting days of your life. You never knew that that little dinner with Taehyung could result to you gaining a true friend here. He was interesting, quirky, wise, and full of life. You also learned that he went to the same school as the original second female lead and Yoongi attended, and that he could never befriended you before because Yoongi was always with you. He offhandedly noted that it was so rare for him not to be with you when before, wherever you went, he would follow. Speaking of the character that you assumed, her phone—your phone now—sat untouched on the marble nightstand of your hotel suite. You’d avoided it so far, reasoning that it felt like rifling through a stranger’s diary. But tonight, as the soft glow of the Eiffel Tower illuminated the room, you gave in.

Plugging it in, the device vibrated to life, and a flood of notifications lit up the screen. Your jaw dropped slightly as you skimmed through the endless stream of missed calls and messages. Most of them were from Yoongi.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, scrolling through the list. There were texts, voicemails, and even some emails from him, all timestamped over the last two weeks.

His messages started casual enough, asking you where you were and if you were still avoiding him. He even stopped by the mansion only to find out that you weren’t there, let alone in the country. Not one in your mansion could tell him where you were despite his endless threats. As days passed by, however, his tone shifted to frustration.

I’m not kidding anymore. If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming to find you.

I am hiring a team to find you, princess.

His final message was dated today.

I do hope you remember that it is my birthday today. We always celebrate it together. We’re not gonna stop now just because you’re hiding from me.

You stared at the phone for a moment longer, the screen dark now but somehow still demanding your attention. Should you respond? What would you even say?

The phone vibrated in your hand, the screen lighting up with his name. Your stomach did a little flip, but you shook your head firmly. No. You weren’t going to answer. It was better this way—for him, for you, for the storyline. Yoongi belonged with the female lead, and the longer you stayed out of their orbit, the better. If you wanted to live, you had to do the opposite of what the second female lead did.

Instead, you grabbed your jacket, ready to explore the city some more with Taehyung. Paris was too beautiful to waste time fretting over a fictional man’s messages. Let Yoongi wait.

But just as you opened your hotel room, there he was with his signature stoic face, his dark brow raised. He pointedly looked at your phone, his name on the screen. He had his phone on his ear, while you had yours in your hand. You were literally caught red-handed ignoring his calls.

He ended the call with a deliberate tap and tucked his phone into his pocket, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Going somewhere?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, shocked at his sudden appearance. He was supposed to be with her. The story said that he was supposed to be with her, celebrating with her, saving her from any other accidents or situations she found herself in. You did your part by staying the hell away from them….so why was he here?

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” His tone was calm, but the edge was unmistakable. He stepped inside as though he owned the place. He didn’t ask for permission, didn’t wait for an invitation. He was just… there, filling the room with his presence like he always did. “And Paris, of all places? You’re more predictable than you think, princess.”

“I-I mean, I didn’t think you’d notice,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, already regretting how ridiculous it sounded.

“What? How could I not? You literally disappeared on the face of the earth. You think I wouldn’t notice when you disappeared? When you’re not there?”

The intensity in his gaze left you momentarily stunned, your thoughts scrambling for coherence. “Y-you’re not supposed to be here…” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your disbelief bled into your words, your mind struggling to reconcile his presence with what you knew—or thought you knew. “The story says you’re supposed to be with her. This isn’t—this isn’t how it goes.”

“What story?”

You blinked owlishly, realizing what you’d said. “Huh? Nothing!” you exclaimed a little too quickly, waving your hands as if to physically push the moment away. “Anyway! Happy birthday!” you added, your voice unnaturally bright, hoping to distract him.

His squint deepened, a mix of curiosity and frustration flickering in his eyes. He clearly didn’t buy your deflection, but he let it slide—for now. Without a word, he crossed the room to the small bar cart in the corner, casually pouring himself a glass of whisky.

The tension in the air was thick as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass, his movements deliberate. He raised the glass to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours. You could practically see the wheels turning in that intelligent brain of his as he sized you up. After taking a slow sip, he finally spoke, his voice low, “Glad you remember my birthday, princess.”

Okay, fine. You were at loss. How were you supposed to know what you should say? This was not in the manhwa! Yoongi was basically going off-script!

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you turned your gaze to the door, silently willing him to leave. But Yoongi didn’t move. If anything, he seemed more determined, his presence as unyielding as ever.

“Fine,” he said after a long moment, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “If you won’t come back, then I’ll stay. Paris is nice this time of year, isn’t it?”

He stuck by you like a shadow and he all but bought the entire hotel floor. He was adamant on spending every moment with you. The most baffling part? He still kept in touch with her. He called, he texted, he checked in on the female lead—but here he was, right beside you, refusing to leave. It made no sense. To add confusion to the mix, Yoongi kept on shooting dark glares at your phone whenever it chimed from Taehyung’s messages and he felt himself getting irritated. He wondered who was brave enough to message you when no one used to before except him.

You had been away for him for just a short time and yet, he felt like you were so far away already, like something shifted, like your entirety changed. It was like you were not the best friend he used to have.

You looked down at your phone as soon as it chimed again and you couldn’t help but chuckled at the silly selfie he took with a duck. You were too engrossed in your phone that you missed the way Yoongi gripped his utensils. You and him hadn’t spent time together since you were so busy evading him and now that he finally caught up with you, your attention was somewhere else.

Why were your attention not on him?

Who was stealing your attention away from him?!

Was this how you punished him because of his current fling?

The sound of Yoongi’s sharp exhale pierced the air, and you glanced up just in time to see his fingers grip the edge of his glass with more force than was necessary. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed—not at the phone in your hand, but at you. He didn’t say anything, but the silence between you both was thick with something unspoken, a tension you had been drowning in since he followed you here.

It wasn’t that you wanted to ignore him, but the truth was... you didn’t know how to deal with this version of Yoongi. The one who wasn’t following the script. The one who was here in Paris, beside you, watching you laugh at Taehyung's ridiculous duck selfie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“What’s so funny?” Yoongi’s voice was quiet, but it was sharp. He didn’t bother to look at your phone. Instead, his gaze stayed locked on your face, his eyes a shade darker, deeper than you remembered them being.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in his mood. “Oh, nothing, just a ridiculous selfie from my friend,” you said, still chuckling to yourself. “He’s with a duck.”

“He?” His voice held a dry amusement, but there was an edge to it that made you uncomfortable.

You could feel the subtle tension thickening in the air, like the weight of a storm about to break. Yoongi's question hung between you like a spark in dry tinder. You shrugged, pretending to be casual, though the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. "Yes, he. My friend Taehyung," you said, not looking up from your phone.

But you could feel Yoongi’s eyes boring into you, every syllable of his next words like a tightening coil. “Taehyung,” he repeated, his voice cold and deliberate, as though testing the name on his tongue. His grip on his glass had tightened to the point where his knuckles were white, but it didn’t stop the slow, calculated sip he took, his gaze never leaving you.

The way he said his name made it seemed like your friendship with him was a mistake, a simple blunder on your end that shouldn’t have happened. It did feel like you stepped on a live mine, and you wondered why you were feeling like this when from what you knew about his character in the manhwa, Yoongi was a pure person. However, right now he felt like a dangerous one.

What were you supposed to do?

“You’re thirty now,” you said instead, steering the conversation away from an unfamiliar territory as you placed the phone facedown. The two of you were having brunch in a famous restaurant and you were thoroughly enjoying the croissant moments before the conversation turned sour.

He regarded you for a moment, fully aware of how you this was your sad attempt at changing the subject until he decided to put you out of misery. He nodded, waiting for you to make your point.

“You’re not getting any younger-”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “What’s the point of this conversation, princess? You’re starting to sound like my grandma." He paused, as if savoring the thought. "By the way, she keeps asking for you. Says, and I quote, ‘her favorite grandchild never comes to visit anymore.’ Not even a phone call. Meanwhile, I’m still here, the actual grandchild, and I get nothing."

His glare was sharp, but there was no real venom behind it—just the familiar teasing edge that made you both roll your eyes and laugh, despite yourself.

“W-well! I’m just concerned that you won’t have a wife and any children of your own and that you’d grow old alone! I’m just a friend expressing concern over her best and oldest friend…” you rationalized. Fine, you were having fun teasing him while nudging him in the right direction. Yoongi was fun to mess with, you thought, if he was being himself and not the confusing and quite off-putting mood he was in a while ago.

You thought that he would react the way you anticipated him to, that he would get defensive and after which, hopefully, that he’d go back to their love story.

He did none of those things.

Instead, Yoongi leaned in, his manly scent permeating. He tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, all while looking at you. “Why are you saying that I’ll be alone when I have you?”

You blinked, trying to process what Yoongi had just said. His voice, low and warm, carried a weight that wasn’t there a moment ago. You wanted to laugh, to brush it off like the teasing banter you two always shared, but the way his dark eyes held yours made it impossible. “I have you for always, right, princess? You’re not going to leave me for someone…beneath us, right?”

What?

His words seemed like he was pointing to another thing, like what he was asking you was a promise to be set in stone and not a mere assurance on his part. What was the real second female lead to say in situation like this?

“O-of course! We’re best friends! N-now let’s get out of here. I saw this beautiful necklace in that shop. It’s going to look beautiful on her. Maybe if you buy her that, then she’d forgive you for spending your birthday away from her,” you joked to deflect him, standing up and gathering your purse to escape the situation you found yourself in before he could even blink.

Think, Y/N. Think.

You gripped the stem of your wine glass, staring blankly at the flickering candle in the center of the table. The plot was veering off course, drifting further from the original narrative you knew by heart. Yoongi wasn’t supposed to be here with you, his steady presence upending the delicate balance of the story.

The main lead wasn’t supposed to stay by your side like this

Across the room, Yoongi was speaking with one of his father’s acquaintances, his posture relaxed but exuding the quiet authority that came so naturally to him. It gave you a few precious moments to breathe—and to think.

Ever since Paris, Yoongi almost never let you out of his sight. He would spend every free time of his with you. You couldn’t even refuse because he would get so suspicious. His best friend never said no to him, he knew that. Your previous actions of distancing yourself from him resulted in him latching on to you. What could you do to push him in the right direction which was to be with her?

What was the next canon event?

And then it hit you.

The company gala. The turning point. That was when he would bring her, the female lead, into the lion’s den. His family’s icy disapproval, their sharp-edged words of disdain, and their outright rejection of his choice would culminate in a dramatic declaration. Yoongi would stand by her side, rebel against his family, and announce that she was the one he wanted to marry.

It was a pivotal scene. A non-negotiable in the grand arc of his story.

You exhaled shakily. If you could just steer him toward that event, everything will fall back into place. You just needed to figure out when it was happening now that the timeline was unraveling in ways you couldn’t predict.

You just had another problem, though. The man that was now walking back to you was acting like someone who had his heart set on another, so unlike the Min Yoongi from the manhwa who only had eyes for her. His attention was unwavering, but it should not have been pointed to you but to her. The way his gaze softened whenever he looked at you, his refusal to leave your side—it was all wrong. None of it fit.

“Sorry about that,” Yoongi’s voice broke through your thoughts as he returned to the table. He slid back into his seat, his sharp eyes scanning your face. “You okay? You look… distracted.”

You forced a smile, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Just lost in thought.”

“About what?” He tilted his head, genuinely curious, and the warmth in his gaze made your stomach twist. He did hope that your attention was not being diverted by someone he didn’t even want to mention. He couldn’t even understand why the thought of you with someone else didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t understand why he had this urge to remove the pest away from you.

“Doesn’t you company have an annual gala? I was thinking of what to wear. When is it again?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink to hide your nerves.

He was looking at you as though deep in thought, as though you were forgetting something. He tilted his head to the side, “You know it’s always in December. You always choose your dress a year in advance, princess,” Yoongi said, his voice laced with mild curiosity. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied you. “Why? You’ve never been one to care much about those kinds of things before.”

Your breath caught at his words. You always choose your dress a year in advance, princess. The familiarity, the ease with which he said it, threw you off. That line—it didn’t belong here. Not in this timeline. Not in this version of the story where your role was supposed to be temporary, a placeholder in the grand narrative between him and her.

“Right,” you said, forcing a light laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Guess I forgot for a moment. Been busy, you know.”

Yoongi didn’t buy it. His gaze sharpened, a hint of amusement mingled with curiosity. “You? Forget? That’s not like you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture relaxed but his eyes piercing. “What’s really going on?”

The intensity in his gaze made your stomach twist again. Stay calm. Don’t let him see.

“Nothing’s going on,” you said, a touch too quickly. You took another sip of your drink, using the motion to avoid his eyes.

“Anyway, December’s coming up fast, and I’m guessing you’re planning to bring her, right?” You kept your tone light, as if the question didn’t weigh heavily on your chest.

Yoongi’s expression shifted, the smirk fading as his brows furrowed slightly. “Her?”

You swallowed hard. “You know… the one you’ve been calling and texting all the time.” You gestured vaguely, hoping to seem indifferent. “The woman you’ve been—well, I thought you were planning to introduce her to your family at the gala.”

Yoongi smiled again, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Let’s see, princess.”

“Admit that you had fun,” Taehyung teased you as he drove you home.

You couldn’t help the smile that crept across your lips. Against all odds, you’d genuinely enjoyed yourself. You did have fun. You always thought that movie dates were boring and full of cliché, but not with him. With Taehyung, everything felt effortless—light and uncomplicated, like breathing.

“Fine,” you conceded with mock reluctance, your tone carrying the weight of faux irritation. “It was a fun…”

“Date,” he finished smoothly, his eyes glinting with amusement as your voice trailed off.

Your cheeks burned at his audacity, the straightforwardness of the word stealing your ability to respond for a moment. A "date"? Could you even call it that? The way your heart fluttered betrayed any argument you might have tried to form.

You glanced away, fidgeting with the strap of your bag as thoughts tangled in your mind. Was it okay to feel this way? To bask in fleeting moments of happiness when the life you were living wasn’t truly yours? When you were still determined to set things right, to restore the balance of a narrative that had gone astray?

So caught up in your musings, you barely noticed the car slowing to a stop in the estate’s driveway. The towering grand doors loomed ahead, a stark reminder of the world you’d return to the moment you stepped out.

“Thank you,” Taehyung’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. It was quiet, genuine, and when you turned to look at him, his face was softer than you’d ever seen it.

“For what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For being here,” he replied simply, his gaze holding yours.

The weight of his sincerity pressed against your chest, making it harder to breathe. Before you could respond, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. The world seemed to slow as his hand moved to cup your face, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your heart stutter.

Your breaths mingled, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips hovered so close to yours it was almost unbearable. You could feel the moment hanging on a fragile thread, teetering on the edge of something irreversible.

The room’s golden hues seemed to dim as the sound of the car horn echoed through the driveway, shattering the fragile intimacy between you and Taehyung. You jolted back, your heart pounding in your chest as if caught in an act of betrayal—though you hadn’t technically done anything wrong. Yet.

Taehyung sighed, his expression softening as he glanced toward the car behind him. “Looks like your knight in shining armor doesn’t know how to wait,” he said lightly, though there was a hint of tension in his voice.

You managed a shaky laugh, your hand gripping the strap of your bag tightly. “He’s just… overprotective.”

“Right,” Taehyung said, leaning back in his seat. His eyes met yours, warm and understanding, but with a flicker of something else—something that made your chest tighten. “Still, I meant what I said. Thanks for tonight.”

Before you could respond, the honk came again, sharper this time, as if Yoongi were making a point. You turned to glance at his car, the sleek black exterior glinting under the estate’s lights. Even from this distance, you could feel his piercing gaze locked on you.

“Goodnight, Taehyung,” you said hurriedly, fumbling with the door handle.

Taehyung smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You stepped out of the car and started toward the grand door, the cold evening air biting at your skin. Yoongi’s car door slammed shut behind you, and the sound of his footsteps was a quiet storm approaching. You didn’t dare look back, your heart a riot of guilt, frustration, and confusion.

“Princess,” Yoongi’s voice cut through the quiet, smooth and controlled, but laced with an edge you couldn’t ignore.

You stopped in your tracks, turning slowly to face him. He was already close, his dark eyes scanning your face like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. His suit was immaculate, as always, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his posture—shoulders just a little too stiff, jaw a little too tight.

“You’re back late,” he said, his tone deceptively casual.

“I went to see a movie with Taehyung,” you replied, keeping your voice neutral.

At the mention of Taehyung, Yoongi’s gaze flicked past you to the car that was now idling at the end of the driveway. You followed his line of sight and felt a pang of unease as his expression shifted. His brows raised slightly as he studied Taehyung through the window, his head tilting just enough to convey an air of quiet disdain.

And then he smirked—a slow, deliberate curl of his lips that sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the Yoongi you were used to seeing. In that moment, he was something else entirely: sharp, commanding, almost cruel. The kind of presence that demanded submission without a word.

“What did you say his last name was, princess?” he asked, still watching Taehyung with that same unsettling smirk. His tone was light, but there was something in it—something dark—that made your heart beat faster.

“Kim?” you replied thoughtlessly, your mind too preoccupied with wanting to escape the tension. “Why did you ask?”

Finally, he turned his attention back to you, his gaze softening just enough to make the moment feel surreal. The shift was so subtle, so practiced, that it left you second-guessing the sharpness you’d just seen. He reached out, his arm sliding around your shoulders with an ease that felt both natural and calculated.

“No reason, princess,” he said smoothly, steering you toward the grand doors of the estate. “Just… curious.”

The warmth of his arm contrasted sharply with the coldness that lingered in the air. It was disarming, the way he could shift so easily between roles—between the man you knew and the one you weren’t sure you ever wanted to meet again.

As he guided you inside, you cast one last glance over your shoulder. Taehyung’s car hadn’t moved, the figure inside still watching. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined the tension mirrored your own.

When the doors shut behind you, the weight of Yoongi’s presence beside you grew heavier. His hand rested lightly against your shoulder, his touch far gentler than the unease simmering just beneath the surface.

"Don’t you have better things to do than come to my dress fitting? Like, I don’t know, actually run your empire or something?" you asked, stepping out of the fitting room with a huff.

Yoongi sat sprawled on the plush sofa, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, a glass of champagne balanced effortlessly in his other hand. He looked utterly at ease, as if this boutique was his second home and not a place he had followed you to.

He shrugged, “Well, we can’t have you running away from me again, can we?”

“For the last time, I didn’t run away! I was in Paris because croissant sounded nice that day-”

“Sure, princess,” he agreed condescendingly. Yoongi’s gaze swept over you, lingering a moment longer than you expected. “On the other hand, you look immaculate in that dress,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You’re going to make the rest of the gala feel underdressed.”

Heat crept up your neck at his words, but you quickly masked it with a scoff. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Yoongi. Save it for the boardroom or—better yet—for her.”

He raised an eyebrow, swirling the champagne in his glass as if you hadn’t just tried to divert the conversation. “Her?” he echoed, tilting his head with mock curiosity.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yes, her. The one you met in the previous ball? The waitress? The one you’ll be introducing to your family at the gala, remember? Does she ring a bell?”

“We’re still talking about that?” Yoongi asked, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned back into the plush sofa. The glass of champagne in his hand tilted slightly, catching the light as he swirled the golden liquid. “Why are you so invested in my relationship with her?”

“I’m just concerned and curious as a friend.”

He chuckled softly, setting his glass down on the table beside him. “Curious, huh? And here I thought you were just jealous.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Jealous?”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving yours. “You keep bringing her up. You’re obsessed with the idea of me introducing her to my family, of me texting her. You sure this isn’t just about you not wanting to share me?”

Your face burned, and you turned away, pretending to adjust the dress in the mirror. “You’re ridiculous and I refuse to discuss this further,” you muttered. “I’m going to buy this!” You announced before stalking back to the fitting room to avoid wondering about why your heart was skipping a beat and why you shouldn’t venture into that.

You were huffing as you tried to reach for the zipper behind you when the curtain suddenly opened and Yoongi stepped in, making the room felt impossibly small. You instinctively turned your back to him, clutching at the unzipped dress as though a protection against whatever this was.

“What are you doing here?!”

Yoongi leaned casually against the side of the fitting room, his smirk firmly in place. “Helping you, obviously,” he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I don’t need your help!” you snapped, tugging at the zipper yourself but struggling to reach it.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said smoothly, taking a step closer. His fingers brushed against yours as he gently moved your hand away. “Relax, princess. I’ll take care of it.”

You froze, your heart pounding as his hands moved to the zipper. His touch was surprisingly delicate, his fingers grazing your back as he carefully pulled the zipper up. The sound of the zipper seemed deafening in the silence.

“There,” he said softly, his voice low and close to your ear. “All done.”

You were about to turn around when he stopped you. You met his dark eyes through the mirror, and the intensity in his gaze held you captive. His hands lingered lightly on your shoulders, warm against the smooth fabric of the dress. There was something unreadable in his expression—a mix of curiosity, amusement, and something far deeper that you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re very beautiful, princess. Do you know that?” he whispered, resting his chin on your delicate shoulder.

“Yoongi, what are you doing?”

He was quiet for a moment as though in contemplation whether to say what he wanted to say. Like in the manhwa, Yoongi was calculating. He never did anything without a reason, one of which would benefit him. “I had a nightmare the night after the ball,” he finally confessed, his voice low and almost distant, as if recalling something that lingered in his mind. “We were on the yacht. I think it was a party. You were there… She was there. I was there. And the yacht… it slammed into a rock. The two of you were thrown off.”

If he felt your body went rigid, he didn’t mention. He never broke eye contact, his arms around your waist as he told you of his dream. The one exactly what happened in the manhwa– the one where the main lead chose to save the main female lead first, only to find out the it was already late for the second female lead.

His body was so close that you could feel the slight tremble in his arms as he spoke, his fingers grazing your waist with the same careful intensity.

You met his gaze in the mirror again, and something twisted in your stomach. There was an almost predatory look in his eyes, but there was something else too—something far more vulnerable, raw. He didn’t break eye contact, and his grip on you tightened just slightly, as though he wanted to hold on, as though he was afraid you’d slip away.

“In my dream,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “I saw you die because I saved her first. It felt so real, like I was remembering something that already happened.” He paused, and you felt the weight of his words sink in. “Why would I save her first when I know I can’t lose you?”

 “It’s just a dream…” you tried to console him. How could he remember something that happened in the ending? Was the barrier between the characters and the plot weakening? What was changing? And how could you go back to your own world when he was holding onto you so tight as though if he looked away, you’d disappear?

“It is, right? It’s not going to happen... I’ll make sure of it.”

December came.

It was the month you were both dreading and anticipating. You were almost at the end of the story, and so far, you did your absolute best to let their love story unfold without a second female lead antagonizing it. You did your part by staying away from them. One problem though, the male lead was not acting like he was written in the manhwa. He was not acting like a man in love should be to her. Instead, he was out there sticking to you like

It was safe to say that Min Yoongi went rouge.

You did not know what to expect in the annual gala. You no longer have the upper hand. You were in the blind as though you were a real character and no longer a reader. You feared that the longer you stayed in this fictional world, the more likely that you’d be incorporated in the story and no longer as a second female lead that could just easily disappear.

You needed answers on how to escape from this fictional world. Answers eluded you. Worse still, so did the only person who seemed to see you for who you were. Taehyung. Since that night, not once did Taehyung answer you calls nor respond to your numerous messages. You tried asking your trusted staff about him, but even they were mummed. It was only your closest maid who whispered to you what transpired and how Taehyung’s budding business empire had crumbled overnight, crushed under the weight of lawsuits—tax evasion, fraud, and other accusations you couldn’t fathom. The news left you hollow. You hadn’t seen this coming. The man who had been your one source of normalcy, the one who made you feel like a real person instead of a pawn in someone else’s story, had disappeared into the shadows of scandal. You thought to yourself that maybe you really didn’t know him at all and that it was best to just focus on how to once and for all, leave this universe.

But who could you ask?

You continued anxiously tapping your heels on the marbled flooring, observing the guests. You were in the corner, trying to hide in the shadows so you could freely look for her. He would be bringing her, right?

Where is she?

Your eyes scanned the room again, trying to keep your presence hidden in the shadows. The guests were mingling, lost in the glitter of conversation and champagne. Laughter bubbled up in the air, but none of it felt real. Not like it should have. None of this was real, in fact. This was a fictional world where you were stuck in.

You wondered what would happen if you stopped playing her role. But before you could dwell on that thought, the door opened again, and you stiffened. You were expecting to see the main female lead, yet instead, it was Yoongi. The man of the hour. He entered the room and all the guests he passed greeted and congratulated him for setting another record in his empire, yet his eyes always returned to you. Where was she? This was not supposed to be like this. Yet, you knew in the back of your mind that something integral changed. You were in denial about how you no longer had control over this, that you might as well be truly in the story now, no longer an observer, no longer able to hide behind the pages of the manhwa.

You stepped back involuntarily, no longer feeling the courage you had faked for so long. You lost control. You had to find a way out. However, when you slipped away and turned the corner, you bumped into an old, yet dignified woman. You bowed in apologies when it dawned upon you.

You have seen her before.

Slowly, your eyes lifted to hers. You knew her. She was the woman who gave you the manhwa… How was she in this world?!

Your mouth hanged agape as the corner of her lips lifted, her eyes crinkling when she saw the dawn of recognition on her face. “I told you reading it will change your mind.”

“It’s you,” you whispered, taking an unsteady step back. Your eyes darted over her, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t belong in this world. “H-how… How are you here? What’s going on? Y-you have to help me. Why am I here? How can I leave?!”

She studied you for a moment, her gaze steady, unreadable. “You’re here because someone wants you here, dear.”

“I don’t want to be here! I want to go back.”

Her head tilted slightly, her calm demeanor unwavering. “But why? What do you have in your old life that you so desperately want to return to? Aren’t you alone there? Didn’t you have no one to love you?”

“That’s not the point!” you shot back, a tremor running through your voice. “And it’s not different here. No one loves me—no one even knows the real me.”

Her smile deepened, a glint of something—mischief, perhaps?—in her eyes. “Ah, but who do you think was desperate enough, filled with enough sorrow, to pull you into this universe?”

Your breath caught, confusion clouding your mind. “I… I don’t understand.”

“When she died,” the woman began, her voice lowering, as if unveiling a truth long buried, “the manhwa ended. But did you think the characters would simply cease to exist? No, dear. They continued, burdened by the pain of their story. Yoongi was devastated. He regretted everything—every word, every choice, every moment that led to her death. He mourned her. His sorrow was so great, it transcended the story’s limits and reached you.”

Your head spun. “Me?” you repeated weakly, disbelief dripping from your voice.

“Dear, you are her. Just in a different universe. It’s the reason why you sided with her, why you felt for her, why her character called on you, why her pain felt like your own. You are her.”

“I don’t want to be her,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose this. Please—just send me back to my own universe.”

The woman sighed, her expression softening, though her eyes retained their strange, knowing glimmer. “The only way out,” she said slowly, “is through. The manhwa will only release you when its story ends. And you know how it ends, don’t you?”

A cold realization began to settle in your chest. “When he marries the female lead,” you murmured, dread weaving through every syllable. Your words hung in the air, heavy and final.

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, breaking your trance. You barely had time to gather your thoughts before a familiar voice cut through the suffocating stillness.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you. What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s low, commanding tone sent a jolt through you, but it was his grip—firm but not harsh—as his hand closed around your arm that made your breath hitch.

You turned to face him, his dark eyes locking onto yours. They were intense, holding a darkness that made your stomach churn. Something simmered beneath his composed exterior, something unsettling.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, your voice unsteady.

His lips quirked into a small, unreadable smile. “I just arrived, princess,” he said, the pet name rolling off his tongue like silk. “What are you doing here? Alone?”

“I…” You hesitated, your mind racing for an excuse. “I was just talking to—”

When you turned back, the old woman was gone.

Your heart sank, panic surging through you. The corridor where she had stood moments ago was now empty, as though she had vanished into thin air.

Yoongi frowned, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. “Talking to who?” he pressed, his voice dropping.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but the weight of it was crushing. “No one,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “She must’ve left before you got here.”

Yoongi looked down at you, his expression calm, his gaze steady. Yet, something about the way he held himself—the deliberate gentleness, the faint curve of his lips—made unease coil tightly in your chest. A part of you whispered that this tenderness was a mask, that he wasn’t as naïve or benign as he seemed.

But then he smiled.

It was a tender smile, soft around the edges, and for a fleeting moment, your doubts dissolved like mist under the morning sun.

“Let’s get back to the party, princess,” he said, his voice a soothing balm against the tension humming in your veins. “Your parents arrived.”

Your steps faltered. “My parents?”

The mention of them sent a jolt through you. They were a peripheral presence in the story, barely more than a footnote in the manhwa’s narrative. They were always overseas, managing their company, distant figures who left their daughter to fend for herself. Their absence was a plot device, a catalyst for your dependence on Yoongi.

But now, they were here.

“W-why are they here?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your effort to steady it.

Yoongi stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His expression didn’t change, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes softened, like he was trying to calm a skittish animal. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone quiet yet resolute.

The words only made your pulse quicken. He offered his arm to you, his demeanor so effortless, so composed, as though he hadn’t just upended everything you thought you knew about the storyline. “Shall we?”

Were you imagining things, or were the guests’ gazes lingering just a little too long as you and Yoongi re-entered the ballroom? Conversations paused, eyes flickering in your direction, a murmur of whispers spreading like ripples across the sea of elegantly dressed attendees.

Yoongi, as always, was composed. His hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd with an ease that belied the tension curling in your chest. You tried to focus on the glittering chandeliers, the music, the familiar opulence of the space, but the weight of the stares made it impossible.

“There’s our little girl!”

The warm, dignified voice cut through the hum of the crowd, pulling your attention to its source. Your mother stood near the edge of the room, resplendent in a gown that rivaled the grandeur of the occasion. Her face lit up with delight as she strode toward you, arms outstretched.

“Y-you’re here…” you stammered, shock rendering you momentarily immobile as she pulled you into an embrace. Her movements were graceful yet firm, as though she’d been waiting for this moment.

“Of course, we’re here,” she said, stepping back to study your face, her smile warm but tinged with something calculating. “Why wouldn’t we be? It’s not every day that our dear daughter gets engaged.”

Your heart raced, panic rising as you tried to process what was happening. “I… I don’t understand,” you managed, your voice trembling as you looked between your parents and Yoongi.

Yoongi stepped closer, the warmth of his hand on your back turning into a subtle yet firm pressure. His voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for your ears, as his sharp eyes held yours in an unrelenting gaze.

“It’s all been arranged, princess,” he said softly, his words almost tender but laced with steel. “Your parents and mine have been discussing this for some time. They thought tonight was the perfect opportunity to make it official.”

Your heart pounded in protest, the world around you narrowing to just him and the enormity of what he was saying. “I didn’t agree to this,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “This is wrong! You don’t want this, Yoongi. You have her. And I—”

“You what?” he interrupted sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You have Taehyung?”

“No!” you snapped, shaking your head. “This isn’t about him. This is about them deciding for us. This is about tying your life to mine when you don’t even want to!”

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning but without any real humor. “Who says I don’t want to?”

“Yoongi—”

“Look, princess,” he cut you off, his voice soft but commanding. “We just have to act like we’re going along with this. Just pretend. Can you do that for me?”

Your breath caught, and you searched his face for some hint of his true feelings. But all you found was a calm determination that left you more uncertain than ever.

The murmur of the crowd reached you, the polite applause growing louder as you turned toward the center of the room. Yoongi extended his hand, his posture exuding confidence and charm as he guided you toward the raised platform where your parents and his waited.

The spotlight followed the two of you as you ascended albeit reluctantly, every step feeling heavier than the last. The room seemed to hush, the weight of their expectations bearing down on you.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Yoongi began smoothly, raising his glass in a toast. His voice carried easily, commanding the attention of the entire ballroom. “Tonight is a special night, not just for our families, but for me. I’m honored to announce my engagement to this incredible woman beside me, my childhood best friend, the only woman who have never left my side. I cannot live without her, and soon, I’ll never have to.”

The applause erupted, deafening and overwhelming. You felt trapped, the walls closing in as Yoongi turned to you, his smile perfectly composed for the crowd.

“Shall we make it convincing, princess?” Yoongi murmured, his voice low and unreadable, carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place. 

Before you could respond, he cupped your face with a gentleness that felt at odds with the deliberate precision in his movements. His touch was warm, grounding, yet it sent a jolt through you—a mix of dread and something far more dangerous. 

Your breath hitched. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you think Min Yoongi—the composed, untouchable Min Yoongi—would lower his head to capture your lips. Even more unthinkable was the way his kiss shattered every expectation, unraveling something deep within you. 

Yoongi kissed like a man starved. His lips moved against yours with a consuming intensity, a hunger that left no room for hesitation. It wasn’t gentle or tentative; it was deliberate, almost punishing. He took and took, claiming you with every movement of his mouth. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing and demanding at the same time, leaving you breathless. 

His free hand cradled your face, tilting it to him as if to ensure you couldn’t escape—not that your body seemed capable of responding. Your knees felt weak, your heart thundered in your chest, and the noise of the crowd faded into an inconsequential blur. 

For a moment, there was only him. 

The crowd erupted into applause, the sound jolting you back to reality. The cheers and whistles surrounded you, the noise pressing in like a tidal wave. You blinked, realizing that your hands had gripped the fabric of his jacket, as though anchoring yourself to him. 

Yoongi pulled back slowly, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes were dark, burning with something you couldn’t decipher. His lips curled into a faint, triumphant smile, as if he knew exactly what effect he’d had on you. 

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he took your hand in his. The velvet box you hadn’t even noticed being opened now sat empty in his other hand. And then, before you could process what was happening, there it was—a massive diamond glinting on your finger, its size almost blinding under the ballroom lights. It was familiar. How could it not when it was the same ring he won in the auction?

Why did he have this now? When was this entire fiasco prepared?

Your chest tightened as you stared at the ring, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should have. 

Yoongi raised your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. To the crowd, it was the perfect picture of a devoted fiancé. But to you, it was something far more unnerving. 

“You wear it well,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. 

The applause swelled around you again, the sound nearly deafening as you tried to steady your racing thoughts. 

This wasn’t part of the story. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

But Yoongi, ever the master of control, seemed to have rewritten the script entirely. And you were left standing in the middle of his narrative, unable to tell where the performance ended and the truth began.

The evening air outside was cool and calm, a sharp contrast to the warmth and chatter of the grand party you had just left behind. As the crowd dwindled and the night settled, Yoongi offered you his arm, escorting you toward his sleek black car. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and his dark eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual.

The night seemed to be endless. You were never left alone even for a moment. You wanted nothing more than to lie down and plan your next step. You had to, or else you were stuck here.

“I’m sorry I missed your speech,” you said as the car pulled away from the glowing mansion. “I’m sure it was great.”

He glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s fine. You’ll always be here to hear my next speech anyway.”

You returned his smile, but it was brittle, not quite reaching your eyes. Had your plan succeeded, this would be one of your last moments with him. You’d return to your world, leaving this Yoongi—and this universe—behind. The thought tightened something in your chest, but you pushed it aside.

“I’m sorry about the sudden engagement, princess.” His voice was soft, laced with what sounded like regret, but his eyes told a different story. “My hands were tied. Our families went behind our backs, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Lies. All of it.

What you didn’t know was that Yoongi had orchestrated everything. He had whispered into the right ears, pulled strings behind the scenes, and crafted a perfect storm to ensure this engagement would bind you to him. He didn’t care what the truth was, whether or not you were from this world. He cared about one thing only—keeping you by his side.

Something in him had shifted the moment he realized how easily you could slip away. The very idea of losing you—to this world, to Taehyung, to anything—was unbearable. It drove him to actions he never thought himself capable of, cruel and unapologetic. Taehyung was out of the picture now, his budding empire crushed under the weight of scandal. Yoongi had ensured that, and he felt no remorse.

What mattered was you.

You offered him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes because if what you were planning was successful, you’d return to your own world and he’d be left in this universe. Yoongi quietly offered you a champagne as the driver smoothly drove back to the mansion.

“Are we celebrating something?” you asked, eyeing the sparkling liquid.

“Just…for always, princess,” he said softly, the words carrying an undertone you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, but took the glass, sipping the sparkling liquid. The conversation flowed effortlessly, a dance of shared humor, mutual interests, and a surprising depth of understanding. With each exchange, you were reminded of why you had felt drawn to Yoongi in the first place. For all his intensity and mystery, he was undeniably charming, and being with him felt easy in a way you hadn’t expected.

The spirit of alcohol definitely made you forget about the ruckus that happened tonight. If he said that he didn’t have anything to do with it, who were you to question him when he was characterized in the manhwa as someone who was good?

Your conversation with him was fun. It was grounding.

Until the world began to tilt.

Dizziness crept over you, subtle at first but quickly overpowering. Your fingers loosened around the champagne flute as your head grew heavier, and before you knew it, your cheek was pressed against his shoulder.

“Yoongi…” you murmured, your voice weak as you leaned against him.

He steadied you, his hand moving to cradle your head as you slumped against his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of finality.You tried to sit up, to stay awake, but your body refused to cooperate. Everything blurred together, and then, there was nothing.

Yoongi’s hand moved to steady you, his touch gentle as he adjusted your position so you rested more comfortably against him. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, before shifting his gaze toward the driver.

“To the airport,” he instructed, his voice calm but firm.

The driver nodded without hesitation, changing course.

Yoongi turned his attention back to you, his jaw tightening as he studied your sleeping face. He’d heard everything earlier—the old woman’s cryptic words, your desperate plea to leave, and your determination to escape this world.

It all made sense. The nightmare that brought terrors in his heart really happened. You died because of his foolishness, because he chose someone else over you when he knew he couldn’t survive a world without you. It had been like living his worst nightmare all over again, the fear of losing someone he wasn’t ready to let go. But this time, he refused to let it happen.

He wasn’t a religious man, but your presence in this universe felt like a miracle—a second chance, no matter how strange or impossible. Whether you were the original her or not didn’t matter. You were here. You were his.

And he wouldn’t let you leave.

His gaze darkened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

“You’re not going anywhere, princess,” he murmured softly, more to himself than to you.

The first female lead was no longer his focus. She was gone.

Now, it was you.

And Yoongi would do whatever it took to keep you by his side—even if it meant tying you to him so tightly you could never untangle the threads.

[the-bitter-ocean]

( ACT 3/ ACT 4 SPOILERS) This is part 4 of the many responses/ dialogue options I wrote for the conversation that Rewind and Mirabelle have on what Rewind’s identity truly is. To understand the full context you can find the original post here. Writing is under the cut:

{{“So I suppose you must have a lot of questions for me don’t you? Theories as to who I might be?”}}

{ You do. You can’t help but feel overwhelmed by all of this.}

{{“Let’s make this like a game so you can get to know me a little better. How’s that sound hm?”}}

{You nod slowly, still unsure.}

{{“You get one guess for this so pick whatever feels right in your heart.” }}

{One guess?}

=> {You’re a ghost.}

{“…Are you a ghost?”}

{The way that Riri acts reminds you of those stories you used to read about mysterious ghosts who haunt the narrative, both symbolically and literally. }

{ You always thought that type of writing was really cool. }

{ Riri tilts her head at you. }

{{“…A…ghost? Wh-”}}

{ Rewind sounds upset!! }

{ Uh oh!}

{YOU GOTTA SAVE THIS SOMEHOW!! QUICK!! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!!}

{“Not like in the mean way!! I don’t think you’re a scary or an evil ghost!”}

{“…More like.. a helpful one? I don’t know something about you feels..here but also not…if that makes sense?”}

{{“… Oh, I see!”}}

{{“….”}}

{{“.. Your guess isn’t …entirely wrong, Plum!”}}

{{“But it’s also not right either!”}}

{{“Both can be true all at once!”}}

{ Huh? Someone who’s both a ghost but also not? That..sounds confusing. }

{ You think you might remember Madame Odile and Isabeau talking about something like that a long time ago. You wished you paid more attention. }

{{“..I can sense your confusion already..I’d rather not complicate things!”}}

{{“So yes let’s just say I’m a ghost..sort of! Maybe! Yeah we can go with that!”}}

{???}

{{“And I suppose if I’m a ghost this tree is my final resting place~! “}}

{ Wait so then…}

{“.. If you’re a ghost.. then whose ghost are you?”}

{Riri goes quiet and squints at you. }

{She giggles and shakes their head. }

{ Rewind shrugs her shoulders.}

{{“Who can say? The world may never know.”}}

{ That felt unsatisfying.}

[jinko-hellhound]

“over and over, all born into great pain” — bungou stray dogs — chuuya, atsushi, dazai

“Atsushi appears on Chuuya’s doorstep covered in blood and full of drugs. Dazai, despite not being present, dutifully haunts the narrative. or: Strangers who’ve been shaped by the same person. or or: 4,000-ish words of musing and vibes and no plot.” — posted for @dazaibirthdayweek2024 !

words: 3,925

first published: 6/18/2024

characters: dazai osamu, nakahara chuuya, nakajima atsushi

relationships: nakahara chuuya & nakajima atsushi, dazai osamu & nakajima atsushi, nakahara chuuya/dazai osamu

tags: mild hurt/comfort, light angst, introspection, no plot/plotless, implied/reference drug use, non-consensual drug use (off-screen), mild gore, tiger nakajima atsushi, implied/referenced cannibalism (crazy), caring nakahara chuuya

crossposted on ao3

Dazai’s stupid kid is crumpled on Chuuya’s doorstep.

Chuuya had wanted to head down to the liquor store. Instead, his boots hit boy as soon as he stepped out the door. Fucking Dazai, Chuuya thinks, because it must be Dazai’s fault.

Chuuya sighs. He turns back to his empty penthouse, as though expecting Dazai to pop out from behind his couch and shout surprise! then announce to him some stupid plan that absolutely necessitates the weretiger bleeding out in the hall.

“Weretiger,” Chuuya says. The weretiger gives a noncommittal grunt. Copper is already filling the air and seeping into the carpet from a wound that must be in the kid’s torso, way he’s doubled over it. God, the stain in the carpet. Chuuya should just get the carpet ripped out, with how often he has to call the cleaners. Doesn’t the kid have superhuman healing? Chuuya squints. Shouldn’t he be healed already?

“Weretiger,” Chuuya says again. The kid’s shoulder shifts a centimeter and that’s about all the response he gets. Well, okay. Questions later. First things first — the weretiger rises into the air and floats into the middle of the living room. His eyes flutter, but he doesn’t seem to register the red glow around him.

“Bwuh,” the weretiger says. A conveniently stashed sheet of plastic (this is not Chuuya’s first rodeo) lifts up and settles over the couch cushions. The weretiger follows. “Bwuuuhhgggg,” he says smartly into the plastic. His left arm is a long pale line hanging off the couch, which Chuuya’s black Maine-coon is already clawing at. The weretiger seems unperturbed by this.

“Uh-huh.” The first aid kit deposits itself into his hands as he strides over to the couch. “Lemme see that wound.”

Except there’s nothing to see. Under the ripped up shirt and all the clotting blood and bits of loose flesh, it’s just smooth skin. So his ability has done its work, if belatedly. Some of this blood is only a few minutes old. It healed fast, but not as fast as it ought’ve. But the weretiger is still acting all loopy, whimpering like something hurts. Just blood loss? That doesn’t feel right.

Chuuya sits himself on his coffee table, knees bumping the couch. “What’s your name again?” It’s somewhere in the back of his mind, but all he ever hears is Akutugawa’s jinkos.

“Naka…” the weretiger starts, then seems to forget he was saying anything. He turns to the cat as though he only just realized she was drawing tracks down his arm, and coos, scratching at her chin. His pupils are huge. Ah, that’s one question answered at least. A hard drug hindered his healing — and it would have disoriented him enough to panic, go out searching for help. Now the question was what drug, why, and how the fuck did his mind, even drug-addled, end up at Chuuya?

“Naka…” Chuuya echoes, scratching his chin. He really should know this, considering the scuffles and the bounty and the general hot topic the boy was around the Port Mafia. The weretiger does not provide any more help. He is entirely caught up with the cat. Now fully turned onto his side, the weretiger has both hands around the cat’s face, scratching dutifully under both her ears. She purrs like a motorboat.

“Hello,” he says reverently. Big-eyed, he tilts forward until he and the cat can touch noses. When he smiles Chuuya catches braces and grimaces. “Hello, hello, meow.”

“Mrow,” the cat offers.

“Nakajima!” Chuuya finally settles on, triumphant. Nakajima looks up at him fully for the first time, grinning with a Dazai-like edge. Well — tree, apple, falling, etc. Chuuya supposes he’s not so much grinning like Dazai as he is grinning like someone high on nebulous hard drugs, which Dazai often is.

“What’s her name?” Nakajima asks, glossy eyes settling somewhere on Chuuya’s chin.

“Pingus,” Chuuya says, and Nakajima dissolves into giggle fits. He rolls over, pushing himself into the back of the couch, giggling so hard his feet kick out. Pingus, scandalized, climbs onto the couch and begins kneading at Atsushi’s side, trying to force her head under his hands. “What!” Chuuya says, even though he’s listened to a hundred people laugh at his cat’s name before. “It’s a fine Spanish wine, Nakajima, does your idiot mentor teach you anything—”

Nakajima’s laughter stops abruptly. Everything about him stops abruptly. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and Chuuya realizes he hates the sight of him — collapsed on Chuuya’s fine couch, which he’d bought with blood money; white hair and moonlight skin and tatters of a white shirt, all matted and sticky with his own blood, bits of flesh trailing down his stomach. He’s got, Chuuya realizes, red smears all over his chin, his neck, and if he opened his mouth a little wider it might be on his teeth, too. Chuuya had always thought the kid sweet, a bit naive, earnest and reckless. Akutugawa had called him a stupid dog. He wonders about the man-eating tiger stories; wonders what Dazai saw in him in the first place that he thought would make a good partner for Akutugawa. He wonders what Dazai’s taught the kid - what he’s nurtured in him.

“Dazai,” Nakajima says, just as reverential as when he’d been speaking to Pingus. “Dazai told me to come here.” Out of his front pocket, he pulls a crumpled, slightly damp piece of notebook paper and holds it out to Chuuya. He grins big, proud of himself.

A safe place in case of emergency! :D It reads, in Dazai’s stupid messy scrawl. Chuuya will be kind and keep Atsushi for a bit. Tell Chuuya Dazai sent you!

Below these instructions are Chuuya’s address, his phone number (Jesus, Dazai, Chuuya thinks — might as well start plastering Chuuya’s face all over Main Street), and, of course, nothing directed at Chuuya.

Chuuya sighs, runs a hand through his hair. Fucking Dazai — what was he thinking, sending Nakajima his way? Did he tell his whole gaggle of do-gooders Chuuya’s place was a safehouse? And why the hell would he send Nakajima straight into the Mafia’s hands?

(Unless, of course, he believed Chuuya would decline to tell the Mafia about this at all. It was a big risk, believing that.)

“So.” Chuuya leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He studies Nakajima, whose chest is heaving, every breath coming with a hint of a wheeze. Did he overdose? Chuuya taps his foot, considering — he has aspirin in his first-aid kit. Narcan too. “What happened, huh? Too much catnip?”

Nakajima grins lazily (yes, he was right — blood and braces), head lolling against the couch. His arm is limp when Chuuya picks it up, presses two fingers to the pulse point at the inside of his elbow. Nakajima’s offering way too much trust, either because of the drugs or Dazai — Chuuya could stop his blood from flowing at all, if he wanted to. But Dazai would shoot him in the temple, probably.

“I dunno,” Nakajima slurs. His mental condition is definitely unnerving, but at least his pulse feels fine, and his skin isn’t clammy.

Chuuya pinches his inner arm and Nakajima yelps, jolting — his arm becomes monstrous and heavy. Chuuya stares at it, considering the length of its claws. Man-eater, he thinks.

“Huh,” Chuuya says. Then: “Wake up, kid. Tell me what happened.”

“Um.” Pingus is rubbing her face all over Nakajima’s jaw. A deep purr rumbles in Nakajima’s chest to match Pingus’s, which Chuuya is only mildly surprised by. There’s some semblance of awareness in Nakajima’s eyes that Chuuya thinks is due to Pingus’s bothering. She’ll get extra fish with her dinner, as a reward. “Dazai and I were undercover…” Nakajima’s eyes roam the ceiling, running his (both now human, thank God) bony hands up and down Pingus’s back. “Undercover, and… Dazai told me to leave — really fast.”

“Why?”

Nakajima looks frustrated, and Chuuya understands. With a mind addled like his is, it can be hard to put words to things even if you know exactly what you’re trying to explain. But if there’s trouble, there’s no time to wait for Nakajima to sober up.

“Because…” Nakajima says, “He said we were drugged… we were at this fancy party, and I started feeling funny, and Dazai said, go to the Agency, but the Agency was far away… I left him there…” Nakajima jumps up, suddenly, throwing a yowling Pingus off his chest. White knuckling the back of the couch, Nakajima shouts, “Dazai’s in trouble!”

“Calm down.” Chuuya considers reaching out, pushing Nakajima back down onto the couch. That probably wouldn’t go well. “You know Dazai’s fine.” Fine was maybe a strong word, but alive was a fact that seemed to stay true no matter what. “I need more from you. How’d you get injured?”

Nakajima blinks at him. “Injured?”

“Injured,” Chuuya reiterates, pointing at the chunk of yellow fat smeared across Nakijma’s stomach. What a fucking sight. All the hallmarks of a corpse on his couch, except the actual injury.

“Oh,” Nakajima says, squinting down at his own blood. He sort-of snarls as he runs his tongue over his upper teeth, like he just realized the blood on it. “I don’t — remember? I think someone tried to stop me leaving…”

Chuuya puts the images together. Thinks it through — Nakajima and Dazai, both of them completely out of place in some party full of cocktail dresses and tiny sausages. The drugging had to be well hidden for Dazai not to notice, but he would have known the second it slid down his throat. He imagines Dazai’s panicked face — the one no one else ever notices except Chuuya, who is very well attuned to the tiniest twitches of Dazai’s eyebrows — imagines him calculating exactly how many minutes him and Nakajima had, making an estimated guess based on Nakajima’s size and ability and how much he’d unknowingly chugged, and then deciding the kid had enough time to get the hell out of dodge.

Nakajima would have had to leave as discreetly as possible, as though he didn’t know anything was wrong. But if someone had drugged them both, then they were watching them, too. Nakajima had been intercepted, gotten hurt, and — hm. The man-eating thing had only ever been rumors. But if he had claws like that, Chuuya could only imagine the teeth, and what one does when there’s an unknown drug and panic and blood loss all settling in at once. With his efforts to get all the blood off his teeth and out of the crannies of his braces, Nakajima is making a lot of funny faces.

So someone was probably dead. And Dazai was God knows where. And — okay.

Chuuya tilts his head up to the ceiling, ignoring Nakajima, who has once again become preoccupied with Pingus. Question time:

1. Where’s Dazai? Did he get himself out too? Or is he drugged up in someone’s basement?

2. Why Nakajima and not him? If it were one or the other, Dazai would have had a much easier time getting himself out than Nakajima. His tolerance is higher, he probably had less, and, frankly, he’d probably be much more useful in terms of knowledge.

3. For that matter: why not both? Why couldn’t both of them leave? Scratch question 2, then — the only reason Dazai would let himself get caught is if he had a reason to.

4. Fine then, last question, besides why come to Chuuya: how long should Chuuya wait for the stupid mackerel to show his face before he sucks it up and calls the Agency?

Hopefully, he won’t have to deal with the last question. Either Nakajima sobers up soon or Dazai escapes. It’s been a few years and Dazai’s gone weird and soft, but at the very least he should still be totally capable of escaping some stupid fucking kidnappers.

Chuuya should probably add who drugged them to his list of questions, but that’s not really his problem. With the story straight-enough in his head, he just needs to focus on getting Nakajima sober. By the state of the kid’s giant pupils and still-heaving breaths and incessant giggles every time he whispers Pingus to himself, it’ll be a while.

Babysitting duty. Ah, well — Chuuya’s used to babysitting duty, ever since Dazai fucked off and left the Akutugawa kids reeling and helpless. (Not that either of the kids would admit that’s what happened.) Dazai was always leaving him on babysitting duty.

Chuuya sighs, stands, retrieves a blanket. By this point Nakajima’s sunk back down onto the couch, holding a loaf of Pingus against his chest. “Rest up, weretiger,” Chuuya says, throwing the blanket over the both of them. He’ll wash all the viscera and shit off the blanket later.

Nakajima, covered up to his nose, blinks with those big, dual-colored eyes. With a little mrow, Pingus’s head pops out of the blanket and she starts nuzzling Nakajima’s cheek with his nose.

“Are you gonna tell Akutugawa I’m here?” Nakajima asks softly. It should be a question asked with fear, but it’s awfully bland — unafraid. Chuuya’s lips twitch.

“No,” Chuuya says, and heads into the kitchen.

Dazai used to do a lot of cocaine.

He probably doesn’t anymore. Or he’s really good at hiding it. Chuuya doesn’t imagine a cocaine habit would go over well with the detectives, and he doesn’t imagine Dazai could even hide something like that from the smart one. (From the others, he could definitely hide it. But not the super smart one.)

Chuuya’s done it a few times himself, but it’s never been his preference. The dignity of alcohol, the richness of it, and most of all the beauty of it — all those fine, expensive, aged bottles sitting on his shelves — has always appealed to him. But Dazai liked the way things like cocaine got him excited, amplified his mania. He liked uppers, from cigarettes to ritalin to coke, because they made him feel human.

Not that it’s cocaine, Nakajima’s got in him. It’s definitely not cocaine. It was probably ketamine or benzos, an attempt to make Nakajima all loopy and relaxed and weak. That’s not what happened, clearly. At least it’s not what happened immediately, because Nakajima had enough strength in him to escape an attacker. Must’ve been his ability slowing the drug.

It doesn’t matter. This is all to say that Chuuya has more than enough experience sobering himself and others up. He sets to work frying some eggs.

Nakajima’s not asleep; from the other room, Nakajima’s quiet voice wafts in, indistinguishable murmurs interspersed with giggles and Pingus’s mrows. At some point he starts humming a song which Chuuya has to strain his ears to hear. It’s a sweet, lilting melody — his brain fills in the lyrics instantly and his heart twists at the realization that it’s Dazai’s stupid song, can’t do a double suicide alone.

Chuuya slides the eggs off the pan with his spatula and sets them gently on the plate. Then he stops there, stares at the eggs, the shaking yolks. Thinks about being fifteen in Mori’s office, glaring at Dazai, the feeling in his gut that something horrible had changed in his life. Thinks about the stark red marks of Dazai’s hand on Akutugawa’s cheek. Thinks about childrens’ feet pattering softly down the halls of the Port Mafia’s safe houses and headquarters’ halls. Thinks about Nakajima, smiling at Dazai’s name, singing silly tunes Dazai taught him.

Toast pops out of the toaster. It’s a little burnt. Chuuya blinks and takes a breath that does not shake. He flicks on the radio — some public station playing soft jazz — and he can’t hear Nakajima anymore.

When Chuuya returns to the living room with two ham egg and cheese sandwiches, Nakajima pops fully up, although this time he holds Pingus to his chest so she doesn’t fall. The blanket falls, though, and it’s the same as it was before: the remains of a nice shirt falling over thin shoulders, drying brown blood splattering his stomach and chest and arms, his own fucking skin and flesh and fat stuck to him. Chuuya’s seen gore before — seen it a thousand times worse than this — but something about the sight has him keeping his eyes dutifully on Nakajima’s forehead.

Nakajima devours the sandwich in practically one bite, his jaw wider than it ought to be. Chuuya pretends not to be unnerved by this.

Once Nakajima has fully chewed his sandwich and patted his stomach and hummed his thanks, Chuuya asks, “Feel any better?”

The penthouse is cold. Chuuya likes it that way. But Nakajima shivers, pulling the blanket back up, tucking himself back down onto the couch. “A little,” he says, suddenly very childlike. As though he’s only just realized he’s cold (likely, considering what some drugs can do to one’s awareness of things like temperature), Nakajima curls more and more into himself on his side, pulling the blanket up his face. Ridiculous, that he’s on Chuuya’s couch right now. Ridiculous, that Chuuya doesn’t call Akutagawa. Fucking Dazai.

Chuuya stands abruptly. Nakajima blinks in response.

“Rest,” Chuuya says again, then promptly retreats to his bedroom.

Dazai is sprawled out on Chuuya’s bed, twisting the soft black covers beneath him, hair fanned out over the pillow. He’s got a few bruises on his cheek but there’s no blood, Chuuya recognizes first, then recognizes second that Dazai is on his fucking bed.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Chuuya says. Throws his hands up in the air, lets out a noise like a yell without any air — makes a scandalized face that Dazai only blinks at, throws his arms back down, then towards Dazai, into the air, then out, gesturing widely at the room around him. Every loose object in the room raises about a centimeter, drops, raises. “When the fuck did you get here!” He crosses the room in two long strides, pulls the lounging Dazai off the bed by his shoulders, and shakes him. “Your stupid kid is high out of his mind in the living room!”

Dazai groans, fake, squeezing his eyes shut. “Chuuya, Chuuya,” he whines, putting on a strange voice like a telenovela housewife, “Chuuya, my head is killing me!”

“You’ve done worse drugs,” Chuuya says, but he brings up a hand to start prying Dazai’s eyelids open and check his pupils. Yelping, Dazai bats him away, wiggles out of his grip, then rolls floppily onto the other side of the bed. He pats the space next to him in invitation.

“Fuck you,” Chuuya says.

Dazai just frowns.

The window is open, Chuuya realizes, a breeze fluttering the blackout curtains. This is somehow an even worse realization than finding Dazai on his bed, and Chuuya has to fully turn on his heel so he’s facing away from Dazai. He grabs his face in his hands, bounces on his heels once, twice, thrice. The idiot had either broken into the apartment below and climbed up to the penthouse or started from the roof and climbed down — either way, it’s so ridiculous and unnecessary that the thought of it gives Chuuya heart palpitations.

“You have a key to this apartment!” Chuuya hisses, although something about it feels like he shouldn’t say it out loud, like it’s an admittance. “Why would you-!”

Dazai hums in a way that tells Chuuya he won’t get an explanation. Either he’d done it for fun or done it because it was all part of some stupid plan or mind game or manipulation. Chuuya decided he didn’t care, because the more pressing question was—

“Why would you give that kid my address?” He steps forward so his knees are bumping the mattress.

Doe-eyed and innocent, Dazai stares up at him. “Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, “Chuuya is a good babysitter…”

“I’m going to kill you,” Chuuya says, but he doesn’t add his usual violence to it because he’s squinting at Dazai’s pupils. Blown pupils, but his cheeks are a normal warmth, he seems perfectly able to move himself around. No need for the damn narcan, which is a blessing, because Chuuya’s had to give Dazai narcan more times than he’d like in this lifetime.

Dazai pats the spot next to him again. Rolling his eyes, Chuuya acquiesces. Shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee; fifteen, twenty-two. They sit in quiet a moment, Dazai taking deep breaths Chuuya recognizes as an attempt to sober up. The summer breeze through the window adds a bit of warmth to the cold room. Nakajima is humming that tune again, loud enough to hear through a closed door. Chuuya closes his eyes.

“I escaped a little faster than I meant, but I got good information,” Dazai muses. When Chuuya glances over, an eyebrow raised, he waves his hand in dismissal. “Agency business.”

“Agency business,” Chuuya repeats flatly, “but you can send Nakajima here in the middle of it.” He’s indignant, even though an hour ago he said whoever drugged the two of them wasn’t his problem. It’s the principle of the matter — he can decide he doesn’t care. Dazai can’t decide that for him.

Yawning, Dazai scratches at his jaw. “I didn’t specifically send him here. I gave him your information a long time ago. You were closer than the Agency.” The drugs are making him a bit less playful, more direct than usual. His gaze is sort of lizard-like, unfocused on the wall opposite him. “Chuuya’s a good babysitter,” he repeats. Chuuya could vomit. He leans a bit away from Dazai, but Dazai just lifts one leg and settles it over Chuuya’s, holding him in contact.

They’re silent for a long moment, in which Nakajima begins to giggle, repeating Pingus to himself several times.

“What’re you doing with this kid?” Chuuya finally asks, glancing sidelong at Dazai.

There’s that Dazai smile. The actor one, the robot one, that reaches his eyes as though it’s clawing for them. “Does Chuuya have a soft spot?” he asks, leaning back into Chuuya’s space, chin hitting Chuuya’s shoulder. He whines when Chuuya plants a hand on his face and pushes him off. With the momentum he falls over himself so that he’s become a ball on Chuuya’s bed, moaning about how mean and awful and cruel Chuuya is.

“No,” Chuuya bites, “I just wanna know what you’re planning in your stupid mackerel brain.”

Said mackerel doesn’t respond for a while. Chuuya is reaching out to jostle him when he realizes the rise and fall of his back is real, actual sleep, and his hand stops in the air.

“Damn it,” he says, but it’s a quiet mutter. Out in the living room, Nakajima’s quieted, too.

He stands. Goes into the living room. Stares at the now-sleeping kid for a long moment. In sleep he’s serene, cheeks thin but still childlike, face still all smooth like an artist had just gone over the clay of him with her thumbs. Pingus curls under his chin. All sweet, except for the brown-red on Nakajima’s jaw, resting against Pingus’s dark fur.

Chuuya crosses into the kitchen, sits heavy in a chair, and considers. Considers — all of the safe houses Dazai could have sent Nakajima off to. Considers that stupid tune Nakajima and Dazai seem to love, and the edge to both their smiles, and the vigor with which Akutugawa and Nakajima hate each other. Considers how a man was dead, and how he probably deserved to die, but it had been a desperate, drugged eighteen year-old on a job who’d done it. Considers Chuuya’s a good babysitter, and tea with the Akutugawas, and Nakajima’s braces. He comes to no satisfactory conclusions.

[londonhalcyon]

Sevika????? The old enforcers general??? I can't think of any other fem character that isn't considered a main one??? Unless Babette?

Ohhh, you might be disappointed to learn just how vanilla I am.

To be fair, I do like several different types of characters; this just happens to be one of the most prominent ones.

Arcane Season 2, Act 1 spoilers below the cut—plus a body horror jumpscare and a loooong essay on the inner workings of my mind.

It’s Elora! Who kinda might be already very dead by the start of the next act.

If you’ve seen how I write Kathy in The Mad Witch or Ellie in my Fallout 4 fics—or even just how I adore characters like Effie Perine from The Maltese Falcon—you might be able to guess how much I love the “keen-eyed assistant with a witty sense of humor” kind of character. The ones who are present for major events but stand off to the side, not directly involved but certainly observing.

I liked Elora well enough in Season 1. We aren’t given too much about her, but Arcane is brilliant at sneaking in small details—enough to make me go, “Huh! What’s going on with you?” From context, we’re able to tell:

While Elora is Mel’s assistant, they have a really friendly relationship that appears grounded in loyalty and trust, which is fascinating considering the whole political chess game always going on.

It’s highly likely Elora followed Mel into exile from Noxus, which raises a whole host of questions about any life she may have left behind.

It’s possible Elora may be required to report on Mel to Ambessa. She definitely handles communications with her. Though, if this is the case, she seems loyal to Mel first.

So Season 1 got me idly asking questions, but my general reaction was still, “Cool! Fun background character!”

Now we have Act 1 of Season 2. Y’all…the show can’t do this to me. It’s not fair.

In like two minutes of screen time we get confirmation that Elora does serve as a sort of spymaster for Mel—and the girl is stressed. She seems almost distraught that Mel had to seek information from another source, that she can’t work out what Ambessa is planning. And that reaction caught me off guard? Like, hold on, now I really want to know what’s going on with you.

Only then they’re immediately attacked by the Black Rose and as I’m internally screaming, “Nononono, don’t you dare, don’t you dare,” Elora is doing a horror movie turn towards the camera in tears as roses grow out of her face and you can’t do this to me—you can’t get me asking questions about a character and then threaten to kill that character off a minute later.

So, I foresee one of three things happening next:

The roses killed her, meaning she’ll be dead at the start of the next act,

She survives, at least for a minute, or

She’s actually a double agent and her anxiety was either a deception or because she knew what was about to happen.

But I do trust Arcane’s writers. Even minor character deaths have a tendency to haunt the narrative, so I’m very curious what effect there will be if she does die. Depending on what happens, though, I might have to write something just to give myself closure, because I have already spent way too much time thinking about a character who stands in the background for most of the show.

[randomgentlefolk]

CPC CHAPTER 167

YO PROPS TO WITCH!!!

Hm, I wonder how Leelathae writes in her diary? I mean, does she write them in just dialogue, or narrative, or what? Either she is writes in dialogue, or she described the witch pretty well for Gwen to recognize who the witch is.

I mean, I didn't expect these ingredients, but sure. Does this imply there's a cemetery near The Pastel Kingdom? Cause Leelathae isn't allowed to be far from home, right? And I doubt she would ask someone to get dirt from cemetery for her...

I wonder what Leelathae plan was? Cause she didn't get the chance to execute it since her portrait was stolen by Leland. Or maybe she did execute it while in the Plaid Kingdom?

I agree with the witch so much. The painters fr did Leelathae dirty 💀

THE WITCH WASN'T LYING. SHE DOES LOOK COOL AF. LIKE. BRO?? HOW AM I NOT SUPPOSED TO FALL IN LOVE.

Huh. How does the ingredient turn into a paint-like liquid?? None of the ingredients are liquid based. Maybe the dirt?

This whole spell thing is sick man. It's so dang cool!! I wonder if anyone notices Leelathae sparkling?? I mean, one of the maids has got to notice right?

Also I've never knew there's tea inside snickerdoodles (chai is tea, right?). Well, it's not like I've ever tried snickerdoodles, but last time I read the recipe, I don't remember tea being in the recipe. But that was years ago so it might just be my memory.

Well, the mystery of the portrait is finally solved! And yet there's another mystery.. what writing did Leelathae put behind her portrait? Yes, the diary is one of them, but there are other things too. Like those brown and green papers. I'm guessing it's a message toward her kids?

Ohh, that's why!! Leelathae was glowy because of the spell!

BRUH SO WAS IT LIKE, A MISUNDERSTANDING THIS WHOLE TIME?? I did kinda predict it in my really old post, but I was joking T_T

Something's kinda bothering me about what Leelathae said in her 3rd wish. Why is she only talking about her daughters? What about Jamie? Or is there a hidden meaning that I am not getting here? If someone would enlighten me, that would be nice.

Aw. It's actually pretty sweet when you think about how they didn't even know how to speak to each other at first, but they still fell in love with each other <3

Oh. Oohhh....okay. This doesn't justify what Leland is doing right now, but it sure give a big reason for it. Yikes. Damn. That must've hurt.

Okay okay, let me just remember the past episodes to realize all the causes here.

Leland's parents died due to tragic carriage accident (didn't a carriage accident happen more than once? Tho I can't remember to who besides Leland's parents)

His best friend, Jack, didn't arrive to Leland's parents' funeral, which is the moment he needed him the most (not Jack's fault though, since he was literally stranded in an island)

Leland obviously has a little crush on Jack, which is why it hurts him when he found out Jack brought Leelathae to Pastel Kingdom (again, not Jack's fault). I think this is where he jealousy starts, the point where Leland thinks he has to be better at every love things than Jack.

He overheard Jack saying he didn't need him, which is probably the nail in the coffin for Leland. I mean that monologue Leland has? That's kinda internal mental breakdown right there. (I gotta say, this scenario is kindaaa similar to Gwen overhearing Frederick calls her ugly. I wouldn't say it's the exact same thing of course. It's just the overhearing that makes it similar)

So! Looking at these 4 reasons, it is highly likely that Leland has some problems (no shit sherlock). HEAR ME OUT. I don't know what it is yet. I was thinking of abandonment issues, but I have yet to read much about it, so i'm not sure yet.

HAH! Glad Leelathae decided to haunt his dreams tho!

OH SHIT OH SHIT. NAH LELAND NAHHHH. HE BETTER NOT. ....well at the time i'm writing this the next episode is already out so.. guess we're gonna find out...IN THE NEXT REVIEW!!

Yeah I haven't read the episode yet lol. I bet it's gonna be chaotic though.

That's it for now, until next time.

Mono out! (But still in to hear your thoughts)

[gerapitico]

So many people are talking about how disappointed they are in the season. I came out with the opposite feeling, and here's some reasons why: (cut because I wrote . . . 9 paragraphs on my phone about this . . . That's a lot huh)

Claire: So many people hate the presence of Claire this season and the lack of resolution. But I think it's no coincidence that the Faks spend the first half of the season establishing haunting and then make Carmy label Claire as his haunting (one of many). She haunts the story because everyone in the show expects something from her and Carmy, and they aren't getting it.

No forward progress: the first and second season deal with moving forward, at a break neck pace, regardless of the consequences. This season shows the consequences. No one grows, because The Bear, with Carmy's non-negotiables at the head, doesn't allow for growth. Everyone is stuck in the past, and some get to move through that, and others get even more stuck.

Vignettes and disconnect: the main through line is about pursuing excellence according to Carmy at The Bear. But there are a full 3 episodes fully out of step of that plot (potentially 5 if you include the last two episodes). 2 are out of time as well, with Tomorrow showing Carmy's education in kitchens, and Napkins showing how Tina ended up at The Beef. And Ice Chips is all about motherhood and breaking cycles of abuse. It's a season of disconnect, and you can take that many ways. A lot of people are talking it as bad writing, and as the showrunners fumbling the ball. I think managing a season with emotional beats and consistent themes in a non-linear narrative is so incredibly hard, and they hit so many amazing beats.

POC: I cannot speak to this, but the arguments I've seen are some of the only criticism I've agreed with in the season.

SydCarmy: yall, I've had my heart broken by ships far to many times to look at this reaction as anything more than pearl clutching. I saw how people reacted with Ted Lasso. I was here for the last season of Supernatural. So yes, I think their dynamic is cute. I also think they both have chemistry with other people, and that this season shows that they cannot work in the situation they are in now. People have complained about them losing their ASL sign, but neither of them are apologizing for anything to each other this season, so when would they even use it? Carmy used it a little at the end of last season, but Syd had totally stopped, and now so had he. Sydney is incapable of making a life changing decision (which oof, been there) and Carmy literally cannot think externally to himself. They are SO bad for each other even as friends right now, and they don't feel like end game. I know I do this too, but despite having platonic friends in my real life who I'm super close to, when I see it in fiction, I immediately see romance. And I'm working on that, because you know what I want here so so bad in season 4? Sydney and Carmen to have identities apart from each other, that can combine in a relationship (honestly I'd prefer platonic at this point) where they call each other out and support each other in healthy ways. Neither are there right now (though Sydney is WAY closer).

In all:

Some people are giving bad reviews, and I came away loving it. I hoped when I looked at the tags, I would find people excited, talking about the first episode and how it put them in a frantic trance, or how poignant it was seeing Donna sitting with the Faks while her grand daughter was born. Or maybe how with all the extreme close-ups this season, you still feel distant from the characters, because they refuse to communicate (a thing I also do and know a bunch of people that do!!!!)

A show is not a failure of storytelling if the characters don't change or develop. Sometimes the story is about being stuck, and not having a way out. Sometimes it's about the people in your life having huge, life changing events (death in the family, birth of a child, wedding of a co-parent) and being completely unable to be a part of it. And sometimes a story is messy and disconnected and cruel. Sometimes there aren't happy endings, and people do things you don't expect. That's life.

I haven't felt connect to a show in this kind of way in a long time. I got emotional from something that was said or done, or even a shot on screen, in every episode. And it was cathartic, watching a funeral where the kid didn't cry, seeing a panic attack at a party, and seeing a mother and daughter bond over something I will probably never bond with my mother over.

And there are other things I could mention, or talk about at length, but it won't change anything. It won't change people disliking the season, or dismissing it. It won't change the awe I had at chefs taking about their trade, or pea pods being cleaned, or the cinematography of the only title sequence they did all season. It won't change my want for the story to continue. But at least I got my thoughts out, so it's not stuck in me, like the apologies stuck in Carmen's throat, or the decision stuck in Sydney's head.

[1moreff-creator]

How would you rank potential culprits in terms of both likeliness & how satisfying they would be to you personally?

Hmm… Well, I kinda answered likelihood in my EP 13 theory revision, but I’ll go more in detail here. And personal satisfaction is definitely an interesting question, so thanks for the ask!

Likelihood

MonoTV/Arei/Xander/Min/Teruko/Mai (in no particular order): All impossible for one reason or another.

Charles: Effectively impossible too.

David-Veronika-J (in that order): Alibis. Also David and Veronika have plenty of reasons why it wouldn’t make sense for them to be the murderer, but mainly it’s the alibi thing.

Levi: You don’t go that hard in EP 13 and then, just… be the killer. This one’s mostly vibes btw.

Nico-Hu: I greatly respect Hu!Culprit truthers, but I don’t think it’s a very likely theory. Both Nico and Hu have a few reasons why I can’t quite see them as the culprit, but the main reason they’re this low is that I currently have no reason to doubt their alibi.

Rose: Kinda narratively protected by the fact she has to back up Teruko’s claim that the tape disappeared from the gym before the lockdown. If she’s the killer we could actually be cooked on that front.

Arturo: Only other person who’s confirmed to know about Arei and Eden’s conversation about his secret, but there are quite a few issues with this idea.

Whit: I really don’t know why he knew Charles had no nighttime alibi, which is the main reason he’s this high. Also, because if someone asked Eden for the tape, it would be Mr “Hey David go to the relax room” himself. Plus, the ball of clothes could be held together by glue from his stationary and I think that’s the funniest possible way that particular mystery gets solved.

But, you know the drill, none of the previous characters could have taken the tape. And because I think it’s weird to think anyone asked Eden for the tape (she was in the dress-up room and seemed to already be heading out of the second floor without ever going to the gym, so clearly she didn’t go down there expecting to get the tape, meaning grabbing it was a spur of the moment decision and not the result of a request), and Ace has even bigger issues, so…

Ace in number two, Eden number one. Already went into detail as to why in the previously linked EP 13 theory revision.

Personal Satisfaction

(Obvious disclaimer that this is an entirely self-indulgent list, if anyone reading this makes one they are going to differ drastically and that’s cool, also I will respect the dev’s decision no matter if I personally dislike it because art is subjective and I also can’t actually know how much I would like something until I see it executed etc etc)

MonoTV/Arei/Xander/Min/Mai: Yeah I’d be kinda miffed if the culprit is someone that should be completely impossible from what we know.

Teruko: I want the main character to be the main character. Teruko’s genuinely fascinating and I’d hate to see her go this early, especially when I see no indication she actually did this.

Veronika: They already took my favorite character by executing Min, please don’t take my second favorite too D:

David: This motherfucker’s MV haunted me for months I am not letting him die this early.

Levi: Wow CH 13 really changed my perspective on this guy huh? But yeah, it’d just be weird for him to be the killer now after All That.

Nico: I think it’d be really interesting to explore how the cast would navigate having an attempted murderer around, so I’d be disappointed if they die here.

Charles: The trial is just going to read insanely weirdly if he’s, by a miracle of God, the killer. I don’t see a way to make him be this useful and still explain that he’s the killer somehow.

Hu: You can’t make her go that hard on CH 12, set up an interesting foil with Veronika through their secrets, set up an interesting dynamic with both David and Nico after having her trust in them shattered, and then just kill her off without leaving me a little bit disappointed.

Whit: Making him die before Charles just feels like a bit of a wasted opportunity imo, though of course I’ll respect the decision if it happens.

J: Lots of her trial lines would read weird. Also, she’s my first survivor pick after Teruko and I believe she will become the primary support character after Charles gets poisoned with strychnine in CH 3. You will get no elaboration on that, but just know I like the idea, and while I will perfectly understand and accept if that’s not the way the story goes, in terms of personal satisfaction, it would sting a bit.

Rose: I just feel like her character has more to offer, you know? This one’s very vibe based tbf.

Ace: Unlike the previous options, I think I can kinda imagine a world where Ace!Culprit is genuinely a good send-off to his character. I feel like his character still has more to offer and he doesn’t quite thematically fit the chapter, though.

Arturo: The exact same situation as Ace, except now we don’t have to deal with Arturo bothering J during CH3, and that’s a plus on my book. I’m intrigued by his character, but the same can be said about literally every other DRDT character, and the end of the trial is as good a time as any to offer all the answers we still need about him.

Eden: It probably shouldn’t surprise you that, after an entire year of subscribing to the theory, I’ve grown attached to Eden!Culprit from a narrative standpoint. Even though I actually didn’t like it at first, I think there are ways to make Eden a genuinely compelling culprit to a degree I don’t think is there in the other characters.

I believe the inevitable End of Trial Trauma Dump could close out her character in a satisfying way, explaining both motive and mindset; she fits the theme of the chapter better, since her being the blackened would prove what Arei came to believe about there being no such thing as an Ideally Good Person; it would allow for a lot of development (negative development mind you, which I love to see) of other characters; it would serve to start the Second Act Low-point at CH 3; and, well, I’d have been right. This is personal satisfaction, so it’d be silly to ignore that fact.

Anyways, that was pretty fun! Thanks for the ask!

[modrntravlr]

THOUGHTS AND NOTES ON DOCTOR WHO S1x01 and S1x02

(i don’t actually think it’s season one) spoilers below the cut obvi

- so the doctor just knows he’s in a tv show then, huh? and also this whole time, he’s just been hearing murray gold when we do? love that for him tbh

- so many parallels between rose and nine’s first trip and ruby and fifteen, it breaks my timepetals heart. watching the earth from above while he modifies her phone. sobbing

- saxon theme. saxon theme. saxon theme. saxon theme. saxon theme. saxon theme.

- mclennon rights. so real.

- hearing nph’s fuckass arpeggio giggle gave me war flashbacks

- ncuti gatwa i love you

- the doctor just being an absolute bleeding heart is so jarringly wild but i’m so happy for him

-

- space babies was so…?? not bad just felt like we may have lost the plot for a second

- also, what did the scan say?!!?

- still hoping the jukebox will just randomly start playing britney or soft cell at some point

- so much sapphic rep, amen

- i truly do see rose tyler level narrative haunting potential in ruby

- and all of this is not to say i think she’s a carbon copy cut and paste of rose, i think she’s really great and definitely has her own thing going for her that i can’t wait to see be explored more

- and ncuti?? literally born to play this role!

[wabisabireiki]

How deep is your pleasure

Inspired exploration by Sabrina Lynn's work. (Find her on youtube, IG, Facebook, etc.). I also listened to Ethereal Astrology, Brittany (also on youtube) while I wrote this to remind myself of the sensations I've been processing.

Full Moon Lunar eclipse in Pisces + Venus opposing Chiron

A lot of resistance is coming up for me around expression. I have had several epiphanies about being addicted to self healing and having the realization that the brain will create whatever you focus on.

Personally doing ( physical action) anything has been very difficult. My mind wants to be terribly distracted. I am also seeing how much I am addicted to consuming: food, content, information, education, well being, style, fashion, aesthetics, the list goes on and on.

Even given that, I do feel a need to move something out of me- like these thoughts. I have been becoming aware of an old, ingrained, conditioned mindset ( solidifying more the last 3 months) that has been the imaginary chains I've had on myself for probably my whole life. This is so interesting as I have been digesting a lot of Jung's work on the anima/animus. This has provided a lot of experiential context in relation to myself in my relationships. The invisible chains being certain thoughts, feelings ( as sensations) and emotions.

For me this was identified as Jung's animus- the masculine partner a woman has that is the unconscious aspect of her mind, if she is unaware of it. I do believe that because of my experience with parts work ( IFS) and my own previous education through polarity consciousness in spiritual circles ( an actual somatic class I took with Jennifer Joseph, naturalmagics on instagram) I already had a bit of an awareness to him. I had conceived some ideas of him like going through someone's belongings in their house and making up narratives of what they might be like. The belongings, one could say, made me believe perhaps more than one masculine being resided there. I went down a rabbit hole and should write the story of Cowboy and Shaman someday.

Of course being abstract concepts of our mind, they are not actual people. Though I could see their projections in my life in different people I'd known at one point or another. Now, according to Jung, if the animus is maladapted he actually has his own anima ( which makes sense to me now, why cowboy was Gay & why he was kinda evil). These figures seem to be going through a transformation process with the awareness I've gleaned about them. Like the tail end of THE dragon. Careful now, you know what they say about chasing THE dragon.

Anyhow, He (my animus) seems to be getting clearer... almost like he's still a ghost haunting ( more like a scuddle these days) the house but he goes in and out of being something more jello-like than ether and even though he's still wearing a sheet around- I am very aware of him. Perhaps his speech is less OOOOooooooooh like and more coherent as grunts and uh huhs and mmm's. Far less cryptic, not scary and mostly frustrating if not comical or annoying.

Which brings me to Sabrina's prompt about pleasure. Imagine not being able to interface with your lover in a way that was pleasant? Just thoughts and ideas about what that should look like, and then using stand in's to kill time, subs to get experience? Not understanding your animus is like playing charades with someone from another planet. You don't speak the same language, cannot translate, you have no context, and you have no way to relate. This of course will not stop anyone from existing, it just makes your inner workings complicated, confusing, conflicted, and hard to understand. From that point of view it is difficult to allow pleasure to be alive in your life. Some aspect of you is always on the defensive for how you will mishandle it, because historically denying it is all you have done. Painful, suffering, uncomfortable existence, anxiety are normal. Which makes sense to me why addiction to substance is so palpable. To finally get some pleasure through immobilizing those deafening, defensive rigid parts, just long enough to have some relief in pleasure... makes too much sense. I did that a lot in my life.

So now, knowing the jello-ghost animus is on his way to have a Beauty and the Beast like transformation is quite exciting. I'm still reading up on how it works ( which is why he's in a chrysalis stage).

Looking more at exploring aspects of pleasure for myself and being able to dialogue with him looks like it will take some time. But can't help but imagine my own little Helen Keller genius making waves soon.

Visual meditation:

In the middle of writing this I did a 10 min heart centered meditation because I felt compelled to for some time and saw a corridor between a narrow stretch in a mountain like chasm. The ground was covered in a soft spongey moss and I was barefoot. As I moved forward I couldn't see anything in front of me, it was all thick mist. A few yards in and I start seeing colors peeking through of different colorful flowering plants. I walk past dense flowering blooms and looked down when I noticed the ground seemed to be more wet. Blood, intermixed with water covering the moss.

Moving forward it appears there is what looks like body parts of something strewn about. The mist is receding to reveal a vast field. It looks like a war has just occurred, but is over now. A river is rushing ahead and it is clearing this field of the blood and parts. I also see being's I don't have descriptions for... they seem to be ever changing in shape of creatures I do not recognize. It also appears these are what was in parts in the bloodied field. They are also carrying off the parts; like ants away from the field. I watch them. Very quickly they seem to be building structures. A tree house structure forms ahead of me, they build other tree/vine like bridges and other structures near the river... I move towards it with feelings of excitement and well being. The meditation ends*

[liquidstar]

WHAOG ROUND 5 WAS COOL it didnt go the way i expected it to but thats awesome actually. mizi snapping and beating the shit out of luka was great #girlpower. but at the end before she gets killed, somekind of resistance comes and saves her? and hyuna is in it!! finally her first real appearance... i feel like any predictions i had before go out the window lol. i wonder if we're still going to get ivan v till though bc i wanna see that. and i wonder if that also goes "wrong", and neither of them dies... then sua was the only one out of the main cast to die in a contest proper? i think that makes sense for why she was on so much promo art then, because shes the "haunting the narrative" character....

also round 4 WAS skipped over, we didnt see it. it goes straight from round 3 to round 5, we just get the outcome at the beginning w luka kissing the hand of his (dead) competitor. at first i thought this might be a romantic gesture, another case of a tragic love story (like sua/mizi, mizi/till. till/ivan) but after seeing how downright manipulative he was with mizi, im wondering if maybe it was more gloating than it seemed...

ALSO THE SONG WAS GOOD AS USUAL. i loved it so much. but thats so par for the course w the alien stage songs, theyre all awesome. AND THE VISUALS esp with the way mizi's eyes were overlaid w thoughts and memories of sua... they were so cool and also so sad. so much of this is about her grief huh... thank you vivinos for reminding us that youre THE Sad Lesbian Horror Channel lol

[mirror-ralsei]

MINI THEORY: Ice Palace Victims and Why Dragon Blazers Is Haunted

Dragon Blazers is a game likely cursed by a wizard. Really.

Noelle: “Normally one of the characters is supposed to guide you through the maze. But it became one of the most famous (or should I say infamous... XP) parts of the game because if you go there without that character, you’ll basically get stuck.. FOREVER. The developers actually say something about this in the manual... It warns you this glitch is actually “one of the bad guy’s magic spells”... Yeah XD... Sorry guys, I think you were just eating a little too much fruitcake when making this part of the game. XP”

The narrative framing of Noelle being overly dismissive of the "bad guy's magic spell" idea suggests this is the truth

There may already be characters "stuck forever" in the Ice Palace.

Snowdrake’s mother Crystal may have “fallen down” before dying.

Snowdrake's mother has a gravestone in Deltarune, and her cause of death in Undertale would have been "falling down" before being kept alive as an amalgamate

A boss Noelle and Rudy have never seen before, “Silver Drake,” appears in Dragon Blazers as the Ice Palace boss.

Noelle: ““Silver Drake?” I’ve never beaten this boss before...” (Normal Route)

Rudy: “Silver Drake, huh? That’s a new one. Alright, what’s the plan, honey?” (Weird Route)

Rudy: “Ice on the Ice Palace boss?”

It may be that Silver Drake is Crystal in some form.

“Silver Drake” sounds very similar to “Snowdrake” and “Chilldrake.”

Rudy thinks ice won’t be effective against the Ice Palace boss, but fire will, implying it’s an ice-themed enemy; Snowdrake’s family is ice-themed

Unless Dragon Blazers III is a new game that revisits the Ice Palace, or Noelle’s blog entries are from another timeline, then Noelle has replayed the Ice Palace many times since childhood

Despite this, Silver Drake is new to both her and Rudy, which could imply it suddenly appeared in the game

Rudy may “fall down” into Dragon Blazers as well.

Rudy is very ill and likely to "fall down"

The Ice Palace may have something to do with the FreezeRing, as both keep people "frozen" inside forever.

FreezeRing description: "A ring with a snowglobe on it. ...is that someone inside?"

Spamton Value Network (non-canon, but has alluded to canon events): "I didn't spend years inside the ring for nothing! YEARS inside the ring. YEARS inside the ring. YEARS inside the ring! So much pain, and that's value."

Spamton and a "famous genius" - possibly Gaster - may have been trapped in the Ice Palace before.

Spamton: "AND NOW I'M [frozen in there] WITH SOME STUPID [Famous Genius] I'VE NEVER EVEN HEARD OF"

Spamton: "I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M [trapped together in one room, and the door won't open until they]"

Spamton mentioning being trapped with someone behind a door that won't open "until they" seems similar to Noelle's description of the locked Ice Palace door

If the "Famous Genius" is the same person Spamton is trapped in a room with, then Spamton was also "frozen" there, further implying an Ice Palace connection

Berdly may also appear in the Ice Palace in some form.

If Berdly's fate after the Weird Route is to have "fallen down" before dying, then he may join the ranks of those trapped in the Ice Palace

If the main cast visit the Ice Palace and encounter enemy Rudy, Susie will try to use her healing magic to “revive” him.

Noelle: “I wish I knew healing magic in real life. Then I’d make you better and...”

Toby Fox mentioning a character in the upcoming Chapter 2 using healing magic who isn’t very good at it “yet” - as of Chapter 2's release, the character turned out to be Susie, and she still isn't good at it, implying she may get better in the future

If she is successful, maybe other characters can be rescued from the Ice Palace in a similar way.

(Screenshot credit)

[lakemichigans]

tlou episode 9 thoughts!!

- I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I'M SO HAPPYYYY this has always been my favorite theory for why ellie is immune and it also means that, however unlikely, there actually could be other immune people out there. it wouldn't benefit the narrative to meet any other immune people yet, but in the future...? like a third game...?

- baby ellie just popped right out huh fksjfkd i guess the quickest way to speed up labor is to kill a zombie

- hearing ashley johnson's voice, especially hearing her use her sweet baby voice brought me to tears immediately

- joel seems a lot more aware & understanding of why ellie is so checked out, but still tries to cheer her up. in the game he's well-meaning but pretty much clueless. i like this change!!

- the giraffe scene was perfect, 10/10, no notes

- "i'll follow you wherever you go" 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

- i'm a fucking mess because of that conversation by the medical tents, that was an incredible moment to add and i wasn't expecting it at all. the look on ellie's face when she realizes that it's her, she's the one that "healed all wounds"

- no sarah photograph? :(

- "we didn't tell her, we didn't cause her any fear" FUCK! that's the problem!!! the problem is that ellie would die for the cure if you gave her the option, but you were too chicken shit to tell her the truth! everyone in this room has their own (selfish) motivations and no one is thinking about ellie, not really, not even joel. IT MAKES ME CRAZY AHHHHH YOU'RE ALL COWARDS

- the hospital shootout was everything i wanted and so much more. joel found his reason to live and god help him, he'll fight for it -- no matter how many lives he needs to take to get there. it was so intense and the music was beautiful and it was just gory enough to make you feel the weight of the brutality without feeling like it's a cheesy slasher. also loved how many times joel reloading or switched guns. and his dead eyes throughout the whole scene are haunting

- wow, killing jerry happened so damn fast!! in the game, you can stand in front of him forever and he'll just keep pointing his knife at you (and in the remake he pleads with joel, "this is our future, think of all the lives she'll save.") but i love the decision to shoot him in the blink of an eye. joel is beyond caring about anything other than ELLIE ELLIE ELLIE. i do like that he doesn't kill the nurses though, because it's a purely practical mission: save ellie. everyone else is just in the way.

- no abby sighting? :( i really thought there would be one :(

- i'm a little bummed that the themes were spelled out so specifically by marlene and joel's last conversation, but eh, whatever. TV audiences tend to need things spelled out clearer lol. i'm a little surprised they took out the line "how long until she's torn apart by a pack of clickers? that is, if she hasn't been raped and murdered first". considering what happened last episode, i felt that line would ring more true than ever. kinda underwhelmed by this confrontation tbh, which is sad because it's so pivotal

- ohhhh god he expanded upon the lie 😭 that hurt so much worse. i'm devastated for ellie

- joel talking about sarah felt more painful than i previously thought possible. also adorable how he doesn't want to offend ellie by calling her "not girly" ajfjsjfksj

- maybe i'm just blinded by my love for the game, but i don't like any of the dialogue they changed in the final scene. joel's original speech is SO poignant and perfect but i didn't get the same emotion from this one. and there was no glance at his watch :( i would've preferred keeping riley's fate vague (we already knew anyway), because "i'm still waiting for my turn" is so much more emotional to me. ugh. i'm a little peeved they changed so much about this scene that has long been considered as close to perfect as possible :(

- i don't want to end on a bad note so let me just say that the entire experience of watching this show has been incredible beyond words. seeing a game i love so much be treated with care and passion, opening up a whole new world for people who never would have known about it before this... it's just amazing. i'm so grateful that this show exists and feels like a love letter to the fans rather than a cash grab. it's so damn beautiful

[astorythatwritesitself]

Mass answers!

for @aceghosts @mxanigel and @teamdilf !

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

At the moment? Honestly... Same Difference is the one I actually like going and reading the most. Irikah's been a fascinatring character to me since the beginning, and I've already been cobbling a little sorta roleswap AU where she's the assassin picked up in ME2 instead of Thane, so that exercise in the server wound up being a really fun sort of... 'origin' for it, and a great way to work more with a character who'd only been haunting the narrative before.

E: What character do you identify with most?  Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

-loud shrug- I project like a motherfucker on everyone at all times, so.

J:  What’s your favorite fanfic trope?  Have you written it?

Oh I am a slut for whump and it's almost exclusively what I write 😂

L:  Which of your fanfics was the most emotionally challenging to write?

Of the extant ones... eh, honestly, all of them are about equal? This Is Fine might have been the 'most' since it's a very anxious mindset?

Q: Do you like getting prompts from your readers?

Oh god yes - I am constantly pulled in a billion directions, so anything that helps narrow focus is great, even if all it accomplishes is 'ehhh turns out I don't wanna do this'.

U: Is there a pairing you would like to write, but haven’t tried yet.

My main Hellsing ships tbh, particularly Yumikel, though I do want to give Alutegra a shot sometime too - I have like. Ideas! But Hellsing is a beast to match tone for, so backburner and constant ramblings it is.

V: Are there certain comments you’ve received on your stories that have stuck with you?

A few! Particularly on a couple of my pieces with Thane & that GLaDOS monologue fic - more than one person said I nailed the voices, which is honestly something I crave hearing when I'm writing fic lol. Like - hearing anything else is good is nice, of course, but my biggest turn-off for fic is a character just not feeling Right (not synonymous with canon-compliance, more the. 'He Would Not Fucking Say That, Nor Have You Adequetely Gotten Him Into The Situation To Say That' vibes?), so. It's always a delight getting a good grade in writing the blorbo xD

Y: What are your thoughts on your personal satisfaction with something you’ve written vs. the popularity of your stories?  Do you tend to be most satisfied with your most popular stories?  

... I'll be real here like I'm Fucking Trying but I uh.

I'm like. Never actually satisfied with my writing 😂 Like I'll get to a point where I Am Okay With It, and there's bits I do like to share, but the imposter syndrome is still very real, very loud, and to this day the furthest I've gotten is an 'okay I don't want to throw myself into the sea if somebody Percieves this'.

That said I am a little surprised Data Decay got such a strong response, since I fired it off literally over a lunch break at work. Like - I'm pretty satisfied with it, but. Huh xD

Z: Is there a story you’ve written that doesn’t seem to get much love?

is it whining to say 'most of them' lmao - very little since the SU fic days gets beyond like 40 hits, but what can you do?

That said goddamn it I actually really like the general vibe of Broken Faith and while I haven't done the deepest of dives, I've been in this fandom for like 12-14 years and have seen so little fleshing out Thane's history let alone the drell at all-

[semi-imaginary-place]

trigun reactions. End of maximum. Spoilers

People talk about Wolfwood being doomed by the narrative and I disagree, the one doomed by the narrative is Vash. Vash is the one with all the foreshadowing that he's dying. His hair is almost all black, his health and condition are worsening, multiple characters have commented on how he's dying.

90: haunted by nico chan. Wolfwood is shown to be on vash's mind twice once when he decides to attack legato and again when he kills him. Like legato says its notable that now is when vash decides to break his life long 100+ year vow not to kill.

91: the day will come when you have to choose that line's been repeated at least 3 times too bad i cant remember where. Its not just wolfwoods philosophy, vash wanted to protect his legacy or maybe just the reminder that wolfwood once lived.

92: wasnt there a whole thing about how plants can't survive outside of those glass bulbs. Given how many chapters are left i dont think vash and knives are going to fight which is very very interesting narratively and on a meta level. I say that because most of the other fights have taken 5-10 chapters to cover like legato or livio.

93: uh nuclear fallout doesnt work like that. Any blast no matter if it hit knives of the fleet would be spreading radioactive particles. It might not be a direct hit. But thats 2 nuclear detonations. Yall are going to die of radiation poisoning.

94: ticket... what did that represent again... freedom to choose your destination? So the translations all say different things. Vash prays that the plants can choose the end of this confront tation/their future/what side to take. But is the ticket for himself or for them?

95: Also yeah there is no big epic final battle vash appeals to the plants, to bridge the gap between plants and humanity and communicate. As the feather memories drift down plants and humans find a common point in knowing vash. And the plants choose vash's philosophy of live and peace and abandon knives. Hmm so the cable vash stuck to his neck acts as plant life support. Vash has never made a promise to return until now.

96: contrast of vash who's more scars than skin and knives who is regenerating half his body. From knives perspective he's not wrong he really was abandoned by everyone: humanity, rem, vash, and the plants he convinced to his cause. Vash says there's no more reason to fight but knives will not waver.

Oh ho does knives feel a smidge of guilt for breaking their bond first as vash's gun finds his head. Ok im a bit confused did vash just kill chronica? Hmm but the framing isnt right and why would there be an explosion is he black holed it. Oh nvm she's still shooting at them. Vash uses the last of his lifespan to fly them out but he's too weak so knives makes the other wing. Great imagery.

97: the more things change the more thing stay the same man vash just cant stay in the laws good books huh. DID KNIVES TURN INTO A TREE??? Ok ok the most likely reading is that as knives said he was dying and out of power so he used the last of his life to make a miracle that would help humans. HOWEVER i rather like the idea that he ditched vash (because of complicated emotions and history) and is now wandering the world powerless and essentially human. Also isnt vash suppose to die soon the whole black hair thing he was on the point of collapse during the legato(?) fight blood everywhere, bleeding from his eyes falling apart, if vash survives it is technically, technically possible knives did too.

(https://trigun-manga-overhaul.tumblr.com)

[cyberpawn]

❛ Destiny is a worrying concept. I don’t want to be fated; I want to choose. ❜

Darkness Haunts the Narrative Prompts

"S'a good thing that fate isn't real, huh?" A simple disregard to the concept that all choices were pre-determined. In a list of things Vale was certain of, "fate being bullshit" was up there! Life was full of predictability, full of things that could happen the same way every day. Traffic light signals that were broken and wouldn't be fixed by the department of transportation, people very strictly following their routines, the usual stuff! But, then there was the rest of life--

The car crashes, the sudden traumas, the bad health, the missed calls, the late arrivals, the plans gone sideways, the plans set back to square one, the messed up pick-up line, the one that got away, the promises that never came true. Life always found a way to add a dash of chaos to ruin your day.

There were also the meet-cutes, the cat distribution system, the stray dog choosing to hide under your house, the water breaking, the surprise parties, the random compliments, the random acts of kindness, the free food, the stranger offering you their seat. Life always found a way to balance its good and bad chaos, even if it took a minute.

"For instance, if fate was real, you would've seen this coming--" Vale grabbed the container of french fries from Ari's side of the table and began snacking away on the french fries she had paid for. With little crumbs dropping from their mouth, Vale chuckled.

"Sfo, we've pwoven fate ifn't reawl." They swallowed their food, still holding the fries, and looking like they were going back for more. "Make your choice. What are you gonna do since I stole your fries? Choose."