#something about the colors of this picture call to me

[evilmenenjoyer]

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

*

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

*

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you. 

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you. 

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.  

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don���t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

[thedensworld]

Family Outings | K. Sy

Genre: Fluff, parents au!

Summary: In a family outing, Soonyoung finally able to make a proper thanks to his mother after trying to keep up with his sons.

Welcome to The Densworld Kwon Soonyoung 🤍🌼

Soonyoung’s life became a whirlwind of joy and laughter ever since he started a family with you. From the moment he got married, he always imagined himself as a quintessential "girl dad." In his daydreams, he pictured himself wearing a sparkly tiara, cradling a tiny teacup, and proudly sporting mismatched nail polish in the favorite colors of his daughters. He thought he’d master the art of braiding hair and join endless tea parties with princess costumes and giggles filling the air.

But life had other plans. The moment his first son, Kwon Yootae, was born, he realized he was destined to be a father of sons. And not just any father—he was made for this. The role suited him so naturally it even surprised him.

Got a kid who needs to burn off endless energy? Enter dancer Soonyoung, always ready to tire them out with moves no one asked for.

Need a little discipline in the house? Strict Soonyoung appears, balancing warmth with authority in a way that commands respect.

Kid having a bad day and needing a laugh? Comedian Soonyoung is there to clown around, pulling faces, cracking jokes, and doing whatever it takes to make his sons’ smiles come back.

“I could do this forever,” Soonyoung said one day, grinning ear to ear. “Raising boys is the most fun I’ve ever had.”

“It’s because you always act like you’re their age,” Jihoon retorted, deadpan as always, delivering a truth Soonyoung couldn’t argue with.

Soonyoung’s sons, six-year-old Yootae and four-year-old Gitae, couldn’t be more different yet somehow mirrored him in distinct ways. Yootae, the eldest, was calm and reserved, much like you. He had a love for books that made your heart swell with pride, often curling up beside you for hours, reading quietly. But his need for attention? That came straight from Soonyoung. Yootae had a knack for saying the funniest things or sharing bizarre, almost unbelievable facts just to make people look his way. And when he succeeded, his little face lit up, a perfect blend of your quiet charm and Soonyoung’s flair for the spotlight.

Then there was Gitae, your little firecracker. Gitae was the embodiment of pure energy, a whirlwind of flips, jumps, and splits that seemed to defy the laws of physics. The only time he ever slowed down was when he caught a cold—and you and Soonyoung dreaded those moments more than anything. You’d much rather have him bouncing off walls than lying listlessly in bed. “He’s like me on a sugar rush,” Soonyoung joked once.

The group chat was always buzzing with stories of Soonyoung’s adventures as a dad. One night, he shared an anecdote that left the members of Seventeen in stitches.

“You should see Gitae during family mafia games,” Soonyoung said, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s just like me—so good at bluffing, it’s scary. Sometimes he gives me goosebumps.”

“Wait,” Jun interjected, shocked. “Did you just call your son a freak?”

“Well, he is! In the best way!” Soonyoung laughed, completely unbothered.

Raising boys had turned Soonyoung’s world upside down in the most beautiful way. It wasn’t what he initially envisioned, but it was even better. The bond he shared with Yootae and Gitae was special, filled with laughter, chaos, and tender moments that made him grateful every single day. Watching Soonyoung thrive as a dad, you couldn’t help but smile. He was the kind of father who made parenting look like an adventure, and your family was all the better for it.

"Dad, promise me you'll watch my drum recital next week," Yootae said, his small face filled with determination as he walked into the kitchen where Soonyoung was helping you prepare dinner.

Soonyoung glanced at him, smiling warmly. "Of course, I’ll be there. But how about you help me with something first?" He handed Yootae the utensils and gestured toward the dining table. "Set the table for me, champ."

As Yootae dutifully walked off to complete his task, Gitae was sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to a video of one of Soonyoung's dance practices. Mimicking every move with astonishing precision, he twirled, jumped, and hit every beat as if he were part of the team.

“Gitae, great move!” Soonyoung called out, beaming with pride as he caught sight of his younger son nailing one of the harder steps. Turning back to you, he leaned against the kitchen counter with a grin. “What do you think about him becoming an idol someday?”

“That’d be good,” you replied with a knowing smirk, stirring the soup bubbling on the stove. “We’ll send him to dance practice every time you bribe him with candy.” The sharp edge of sarcasm in your tone wasn’t lost on Soonyoung, and he winced at the memory.

You were referring to the night he’d given the boys candy—secretly, of course—before heading out to work, leaving you alone to deal with the sugar-induced chaos that followed. It had taken hours to calm them down and even longer to get them to sleep.

Soonyoung walked over to you, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. Sliding his arms around your waist from behind, he rested his chin lightly on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby. No more candy without your consent. I promise.”

“That includes donuts too,” you shot back, though your voice softened as his warmth melted away your annoyance.

Soonyoung nodded solemnly, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on your cheek. “And donuts. Noted.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his sincerity, even if you knew his mischievous streak wouldn’t vanish overnight. You were strict about what your kids consumed for good reason. You worked hard to ensure their meals were balanced, nutrient-packed, and beneficial to their growing bodies. Too much sugar turned them into tiny whirlwinds of energy, leaving them cranky and impossible to settle when bedtime rolled around.

"Yootae, don’t forget to line up the chopsticks neatly!" you called, glancing at your eldest, who was now carefully arranging the cutlery.

“Okay, Mom!” he responded, his voice cheerful.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Gitae attempting to replicate a more complicated move from the video, almost toppling over but recovering with a laugh. Soonyoung released you and clapped his hands in encouragement. “That’s it, Gitae! You’ve got this!”

In the middle of dinner, Soonyoung’s phone buzzed on the counter. He picked it up, his face lighting up when he saw who was calling. “It’s Mom,” he said, quickly answering. “Hi, Mom! What’s going on?”

His mother’s cheerful voice filled the room, audible even to you and the kids. “Hi, sweetheart! We’re planning a little family outing next weekend, but this time, we’re keeping it simple—just in the backyard. Your sister is coming too, and we’re hoping to see everyone there. It’s been too long since we’ve all been together!”

“Backyard barbecue?” Soonyoung guessed, grinning as he leaned back in his chair.

“Exactly! Dad’s already excited to fire up the grill, and I’m planning to make everyone’s favorite dishes. You should come early so the boys can play in the garden,” his mom said.

“That sounds perfect!” Soonyoung replied enthusiastically, his voice a little louder than usual as excitement bubbled through him. “The boys will love it. We’ll definitely be there!” His grin widened as he placed his phone down, and it was clear he was already imagining the day—the laughter of children running through his parents’ backyard, the smell of grilled meat wafting in the air, and the warmth of family all around.

He turned to you, his eyes bright and full of joy, as if the plan had already taken shape in his mind. “It’ll be great!” he said, his hands gesturing animatedly. “A cozy backyard gathering, all the cousins playing together, Mom’s food, Dad’s barbecue skills—how could it get any better?”

You smiled faintly at his enthusiasm, but the feeling of guilt that had been sitting in the pit of your stomach all day now weighed heavier. The truth you’d been putting off telling him clawed its way forward, demanding to be spoken. You shifted slightly in your seat, the clinking of your chopsticks against your bowl breaking the silence.

“It does sound lovely,” you started, choosing your words carefully. “But I have a work commitment that weekend. I don’t think I can make it.”

The happy buzz in the room dimmed just slightly. Soonyoung paused, processing your words, before flashing you an understanding smile. “That’s okay,” he said, his tone reassuring. “I’ll take the boys, and we’ll represent the Kwon family in full force. You can catch up with us after your work is done.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, guilt tugging at you. “That’s a lot to handle on your own, especially with Gitae’s energy.”

Soonyoung leaned closer, his signature playful grin returning. “Have you forgotten who I am? I’m Kwon Soonyoung—master entertainer, expert dad, and barbecue connoisseur. I’ve got this.”

Yootae, who had been quietly listening, looked up with a hint of concern. “But, Mom, you won’t be there to eat Grandma’s pie with us.”

Your heart sank, and you reached out to hold his little hand. “I know, sweetheart. I’ll miss that, too. But I promise we’ll have a special day just for us soon, okay? I’ll even make your favorite pie.”

Yootae nodded slowly, his lips forming a small smile. “Okay, Mom.”

Meanwhile, Gitae, who had been more focused on his plate than the conversation, suddenly perked up. “Can we play tag in Grandpa’s garden, Dad? I’m really fast!”

“Fast? Ha! I’m faster!” Soonyoung teased, ruffling his youngest son’s hair. “We’ll see who’s the fastest in the family on Saturday.”

“And no candy!” you interjected pointedly, giving Soonyoung a mock glare.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful smirk on his face. “No candy, no donuts—scout’s honor. But, uh, maybe just one marshmallow from the barbecue…?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling at his antics.

As the evening wound down, the house quieted with only the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the settling walls. You had just finished tucking the boys into bed, each of them fast asleep after the day’s adventures. Soonyoung lingered by the doorway of their room, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of their tiny chests as they dreamed.

“They’re finally out,” you whispered with a small smile, stepping away and closing the door gently behind you.

Soonyoung turned to you, his expression soft in the dim light of the hallway. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he said, slipping his arm around your shoulders as you walked back to the living room together.

You leaned into him, letting out a quiet sigh. “I just wish I could be there this weekend. I hate missing out on moments like these.”

He stopped you in your tracks, turning you to face him. His hands rested lightly on your waist as his thumbs traced soothing circles through the fabric of your shirt. “Don’t feel bad, okay?” His voice was warm and gentle, and the way he looked at you made it impossible to doubt his sincerity. “You’re doing your best. You always do. I’ll make sure the boys have a great time, and we’ll send you lots of pictures. You won’t miss a thing.”

The guilt weighing on you began to ease as his words settled in. “Thank you,” you murmured, resting your forehead against his chest.

Soonyoung wrapped both arms around you now, holding you close. For a moment, you stood there, cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the moment. “You know,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, a playful edge sneaking into his voice, “with the boys asleep and the house so quiet… we have a rare opportunity here.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “An opportunity for what?”

He grinned, his gaze dipping just slightly as his hands slid down to rest on your hips. “To remind you how much I love you,” he said, his voice lower now, the warmth of his breath brushing against your cheek.

A soft laugh escaped you, but your heart raced at the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. “Oh, really? And how do you plan to do that?” you teased, your hands resting on his chest.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he whispered, “I have a few ideas.”

Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, his touch grounding and electrifying all at once. The worries of the day melted away as you lost yourself in the moment, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his grin was unapologetically mischievous. “Feel better now?”

You chuckled softly, your cheeks warm as you nodded. “Much better.”

“Good,” he said, stealing one last quick kiss before stepping back and taking your hand. “Now, how about I make us some tea, and we see where this rare quiet evening takes us?”

You followed him, a smile tugging at your lips as you realized, once again, just how lucky you were to have someone like Soonyoung.

*

Soonyoung climbed into his car, exhaling deeply as if he’d already run a marathon, even though it was barely morning. Behind him, the boys were buckled into their car seats, brimming with energy and excitement. Their chatter filled the car, contrasting sharply with Soonyoung’s tired demeanor. The morning had been chaotic, to say the least.

Your work agenda had started earlier than theirs, leaving Soonyoung to manage the boys’ bubbling enthusiasm alone. Thankfully, you’d packed their bags the night before, neatly organizing everything they’d need for the outing. At least that spared Soonyoung from the added panic of forgetting something crucial amidst the chaos.

“Gitae, grandmother wants to see you in this shirt. Let’s put it on,” Soonyoung had pleaded earlier, holding up a neatly folded shirt. But his youngest had been too engrossed in his impromptu performance of Maestro, twirling dramatically in the living room.

“Yootae! Are you ready?” Soonyoung had called out to his eldest, only to freeze in disbelief when he entered the room. Yootae, still wrapped in a towel, was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a bottle of lotion beside him untouched.

“Did you put on lotion yet?” Soonyoung asked, stepping closer.

Yootae immediately pumped the bottle, rubbing lotion onto his arms with exaggerated slowness, his wide eyes locked on his dad as if performing under pressure.

Soonyoung sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. “Alright, let’s just have a light breakfast, shall we?”

At the breakfast table, a simple bowl of cereal finally bought Soonyoung a few moments of peace. The boys sat quietly for once, munching away. It was enough time for him to catch his breath, gather his thoughts, and—most importantly—get himself ready.

As they settled in the car, Gitae wriggled with excitement. “I’m going to beat Leena in tag!” he declared confidently.

Yootae smirked, ever the realist. “Leena is faster than you, Gitae. And she has longer legs.”

“My legs got longer after dancing to Maestro. Right, Dad?” Gitae grinned, looking to Soonyoung for validation.

Soonyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure, buddy. Whatever helps you win.”

When they arrived at his parents’ house, the boys jumped out of the car with boundless energy, running straight into their grandfather’s open arms. Soonyoung carried the bags inside, his tired smile widening at the warmth of his father’s greeting.

“Y/n couldn’t make it?” his mother asked, noticing her absence.

“No,” Soonyoung replied, setting the bags down on the couch. “Her schedule pulled her out earlier than expected today.”

His mother chuckled knowingly. “You got them ready all by yourself, didn’t you?”

Soonyoung nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Good job, my son.” She patted his head affectionately before heading to the kitchen.

Not long after, his sister arrived with her husband and their daughters. The cousins immediately broke off into their groups—Soonyoung’s sons sprinting around the yard with their grandfather while his nieces calmly arranged their dolls on a picnic blanket.

Soonyoung settled on a bench beside his father, watching the kids. His mother and sister prepared the meat for the barbecue nearby, their laughter carrying on the breeze.

“Gitae looks so much like Y/n,” his father commented, nodding toward the younger boy.

“Everyone says that,” Soonyoung replied, smiling as he watched Gitae run across the yard.

“But he’s got your energy,” his father added with a laugh, shaking his head in amusement.

“I’m going to look like you when I get older,” Soonyoung teased, nudging his father.

His mother overheard and quickly interjected, “Don’t. Don’t be. Don’t embarrass your wife.”

Soonyoung burst out laughing, shaking his head as he helped his sister arrange plates and utensils. Despite their rocky relationship growing up, he’d found a sense of camaraderie with her since starting a family of his own.

“What’s it like having daughters, noona?” he asked, glancing at her girls, who were still engrossed in their dolls.

“I don’t get tired much,” she admitted, pointing out the difference. “Look at them—calm and quiet. Meanwhile, your sons…”

Soonyoung followed her gaze to Yootae and Gitae, who were racing around with their grandfather, Gitae screaming gleefully while Yootae laughed. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Getting them ready this morning was my biggest achievement,” he confessed. “It’s usually Y/n who handles that.”

His sister laughed, “They didn’t listen to you, did they?”

“Not even once! I told Yootae to put on lotion and underwear while I bathed Gitae, but when I checked, he was still sitting there with the lotion bottle.” Soonyoung rubbed his face in exasperation.

Their conversation was interrupted by a piercing cry. Gitae was on the ground, clutching his knee and wailing.

Soonyoung sighed deeply, already on his feet. “That’s alright, we’ve got you,” he said softly as he crouched beside his son, examining the scraped knee.

“It hurts!” Gitae sobbed, pointing to the bruise.

“I know, buddy,” Soonyoung said, scooping him up in his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re my strong little guy, right?”

Gitae sniffled, nodding slightly.

The day pressed on, and the chaos only seemed to grow. After cleaning Gitae’s scraped knee and soothing his tears with a superhero bandage, Soonyoung barely had time to take a sip of water before Yootae tripped over the garden hose, landing in the dirt. Another round of comforting, brushing off dirt, and reminding him to be careful followed.

Meanwhile, Gitae had already managed to get himself into another predicament, climbing the low branches of the cherry blossom tree despite Soonyoung’s repeated warnings. By the time Soonyoung pulled him down safely, the boys’ shirts were dirt-streaked, their hair sticking up in wild tufts.

“I told you both to stay out of trouble!” Soonyoung exclaimed, his voice tinged with exasperation as he wiped sweat from his brow.

“But, Dad, we were just playing!” Yootae defended, wide-eyed as if the entire mess was beyond his control.

“Yeah, and I’m Spider-Man!” Gitae added enthusiastically, flexing his little arms as though they could shoot webs.

Soonyoung slumped onto the patio bench, exhausted, as he watched the boys dart off again, their energy seemingly endless. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a groan. His mother, who had been quietly observing from the grill, walked over with a knowing smile and set a cup of iced tea in front of him.

“You’re just like them, you know,” she said, sitting beside him.

Soonyoung looked up, surprised. “What? Me?”

His mother nodded, chuckling softly. “When you were their age, you were exactly the same—always running around, climbing trees, getting into every kind of trouble imaginable. I couldn’t take my eyes off you for a second.”

Soonyoung laughed weakly, leaning back against the bench. “That sounds about right.”

“You’d get scrapes on your knees every other day, and you never stopped moving,” she continued, her eyes twinkling with nostalgia. “Your father was just as tired as you are now, and I’d always say, ‘One day, you’ll understand.’ Well, here you are.”

He sighed, shaking his head as he watched Yootae and Gitae chase their cousins across the yard. “I don’t know how you did it, Mom. This is exhausting. I miss Y/n so much right now.”

His mother gave him a warm smile, patting his knee. “Of course you do. It’s always easier when you have someone by your side. But you’re doing great, Soonyoung. You got the boys here in one piece, and they’re happy. That’s what matters.”

Soonyoung smiled faintly, grateful for her reassurance, but the ache of missing you lingered. He thought about how you always handled the chaos with such grace, calming the boys with a single look or turning their tantrums into laughter. You’d have known exactly how to manage Gitae’s climbing spree or Yootae’s dirt-covered mishap.

His mother’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, dear. You’re learning, just like we did. And for what it’s worth, you’re a better dad than your father and I ever were at your age.”

Soonyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “I doubt that, Mom. But thanks.”

As he glanced at his boys again, he couldn’t help but smile. They were a handful, yes, but they were also a reflection of you and him—a mix of mischief, love, and boundless energy.

His mother stood, placing her hands on her hips as she looked out at the yard. “Now, go check on your boys before they turn that garden into a battlefield.”

Soonyoung groaned, standing up with a stretch. “Back to the front lines, huh?”

His mother laughed. “Parenting never stops, Soonyoung. But don’t forget to call Y/n later. She’d love to hear about how you survived the day.”

He grinned, already planning to call you the moment he could steal a quiet moment. He needed to hear your voice, to tell you just how much he appreciated you and missed having you by his side. For now, though, he had two little whirlwinds to manage.

*

“Hi, beautiful,” Soonyoung greeted you with a warm smile as you walked through the door. His voice was soft, and you noticed he was already in his pajamas—a pair of satin ones you hadn’t seen him wear in ages. They were expensive, gifted by you on your anniversary, and seeing him in them now made you suppress a laugh.

“You finally decided to wear those?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, running a hand through his slightly messy hair. “Figured tonight was special.”

You stepped inside, slipping off your shoes, and immediately noticed something unusual. The house was too quiet—eerily quiet. “Where are the boys? I don’t hear them.,” you said, glancing around as though they might pop out from behind the couch.

Soonyoung raised his eyebrows, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Well… I intentionally—unintentionally left them at my mom’s. They wanted to have a sleepover, and since tomorrow’s Sunday, I figured why not?”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, and then a burst of laughter escaped you. “What? You left them with your mom? Oh my gosh, baby!”

He laughed along with you, closing the door behind you and grabbing your things. “Hey, they practically begged me. I video-called them earlier, and they seemed fine. Besides, they wanted to stay with their cousins. It’s good for them!”

You plopped down on the couch, still laughing, and Soonyoung joined you, setting your things on the coffee table. “Your poor mom,” you muttered, shaking your head. “She’s going to have a tough time wrangling five grandchildren tonight.”

“I know!” Soonyoung said, his voice full of mock guilt. “I even told her that, but she insisted it’d be fine. She’s a saint, honestly.”

You leaned back into the cushions, letting out a contented sigh. “It feels so strange to have the house to ourselves. Weird, but also… kind of nice.”

Soonyoung looked at you with a grin, his hand brushing against yours. “Right? I felt the same way before you got back. It’s like we’re dating again, just the two of us. But then I also started feeling guilty, like I was abandoning my kids or something.”

You laughed at his dramatic tone, turning to face him. “I feel relieved, but at the same time, it’s like, am I a bad mom for enjoying this?”

Soonyoung chuckled, pulling you into his arms. “If you are, then so am I. Today was rough, baby. The boys were a handful. I even performed a bow to my mom—the deep New Year’s bow we always do—just to thank her for taking care of me.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “No way. You didn’t.”

“I did,” Soonyoung said with a straight face, though his lips twitched with amusement. “I was that desperate. Honestly, I might perform one for you after this because I owe you for doing this every day.”

You laughed so hard your sides hurt, leaning into his chest. “You’re unbelievable. So, what was harder—getting them ready this morning or keeping them out of trouble all day?”

“Both!” he exclaimed dramatically, resting his chin on top of your head. “Yootae wouldn’t put on lotion, and Gitae was running around shirtless, singing ‘Maestro.’ I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, still smiling. “Well, you survived. And honestly, I’m proud of you, Love. I really am.”

He looked at you with such softness that it made your heart flutter. “Thanks, baby. But I think I’ll stick to choreography and leave the morning routines to you.”

You laughed again, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Deal. But tonight, you’re all mine. No interruptions, no kids.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I like the sound of that.”

Soonyoung's arms tightened around you, a playful glint in his eyes as he tilted his head to meet your gaze. “You know,” he began, his voice dripping with mischief, “after today, I’ve been thinking…”

You raised an eyebrow, already bracing for whatever ridiculous thought was about to leave his mouth.

He smirked, his tone mock-serious. “Maybe we should try for a daughter. I heard they’re way less frantic to raise. Calm, quiet, reasonable—can you imagine that?”

You let out an incredulous laugh, lightly smacking his chest. “Oh, so now you’re an expert on parenting daughters because your sister’s kids play with dolls instead of climbing furniture?”

“Exactly,” he replied without missing a beat. “I mean, just think about it. No running around, no wrestling matches over who gets the last donut, no dramatic performances of ‘Hit’ at 8 a.m.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “Uh-huh. And who’s going to handle the teenage drama when your calm, quiet daughter slams her door in your face?”

Soonyoung’s grin faltered for a second before he recovered with a sly smile. “That’s where you come in, baby. You’re the expert in dealing with drama. I’ll just be the cool dad who lets her eat donuts and—”

“Stop right there.” You cut him off, laughing as you poked his chest.

He laughed along with you, leaning down until his nose brushed against yours. “Okay, okay. But admit it—you’d love to see a mini-you running around here. With your big, beautiful eyes, your sharp wit…”

“And my temper when you don’t listen?” you teased, narrowing your eyes playfully.

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “She’d keep me in line, just like you do.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his lips brushing softly against yours. “But you love me anyway.”

You sighed dramatically, pretending to think about it. “I guess I do. But if we’re trying for a daughter, you’re taking the night shift for the first three years.”

“Deal,” Soonyoung whispered, sealing the agreement with a kiss. “Now, where should we start our daughter project?”

Your laughter echoed through the house, blending perfectly with the warmth of his embrace, the quiet night ahead promising nothing but love and playful chaos—just the way you liked it.

[glendasguidance]

🫖 pick a picture ☕️🧣🍪

Full Moon in Cancer

₊˚ʚᗢ₊˚✧ﾟhow to pick // disclaimers ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

Here are some messages for you this full moon <3

spread: Biddy Tarot Full Moon spread // decks: Rider Waite tarot, Find Your Purpose by Jess Sanders

Pile 1 / Pile 2 / Pile 3

Inhale, exhale 3x, pick

★ personal readings ★ support me ★ other readings ★

★ check out this reading! → USA Post-Election (2024): How can you support yourself, your community, and Earth in the present moment and in the years to come? (for US citizens and non-US citizens - for every Earthling <3) ★

Pile 1

What have you created and manifested since the new moon?

Ace of Swords - You've been realizing how much you don't allow yourself to think certain thoughts and speak your mind to the people around you. You've started speaking to yourself in an encouraging way, and that has been allowing you to gain clarity on your worth and value as a person, grow instead of hide yourself away, live in the present moment, communicate much better, create the life you want. This is new to you, so you kinda have Bambi legs right now, but that's okay. Don't be discouraged by your mistakes or anxieties, the more you consider your own opinions and use your voice, the more confident you will feel. Also, be smart about speaking truth to power. People who have power over others often do not operate with fairness and justice in mind, and will punish people that question it or their choices. Which isn't fair. And I'm not going to enable that behavior by telling you "that's just how the world works" - what I'm telling you is to think before you act on an impulse. If you realize it's not safe to act on your first desire, what is a way you can still achieve the same goal while protecting yourself? If you feel it's right to be confrontational, be prepared to handle reaction and backlash. Like the imagery on the card, think of these moments like sword fights - these are moments to be a samurai, not a novice. Let your friends help you.

Where are you now?

Judgement reversed - I believe there's been malicious gossip going around about you, and you've been sensing it. You probably realized when the people you get along with the best have been distancing themselves from you, and not acting as friendly with you as they normally do. I'm sensing more strongly with this pile that you may be receiving a lot of blame from a group you're in (family, a friend group, work, volunteer group, etc). And that it's a reaction to you attempting to hold someone accountable for hurting you or others, or enforce the agreed upon guidelines. Whatever it is, it's unfair. You feel astonished by this wake up call. But, the shock of the ice cold truth of what these people's true colors are is giving you an opportunity to have something you've needed for a long time. A choice to make for yourself. I sense you've usually gone with what other people decide, feeling too anxious to make decisions or believing your role in life is to follow what the leaders (or men in general) tell you to do. Baby girl you are NOT a plastic bag drifting through the wind. What is in your own best interest? Following that isn't selfish, it's self preservation.

What is coming into your conscious awareness?

9 of Swords reversed - You've realized you've gotta let go of a lot of stress and stressful people. You can't live like this anymore. It's been hurting you. You were putting a looot on your plate that wasn't for you to take care of - it was other peoples' responsibility. You probably had kind intentions and just wanted to help, and it was very kind you did that. People took advantage of your innocence. You'll have a "fuck it, I'm done attitude. This is good because there's nothing for you to feel guilt or burdened by. Moving forward as you heal, reevaluate your needs, wants, and values in relationships. Don't list things that make relationships functional as the top things you're looking for. Trust, honesty, kindness, patience, etc aren't "high standards" (a bullshit phrase imo), they're foundational to every healthy relationship. First, learn or review how to recognize basic green flags in people, and then learn what traits you like and appreciate (humor, spontaneity vs planners, night owls vs morning birds, club goers or book worms, outdoorsy vs indoorsy, etc). Accept help and support from others at this time, you might be surprised at who helps you / is a safe person.

Quote Ask yourself what is really important and then have the courage to build your life around your answer. - Lee L. Jampolsky Affirmation I am guided by what I value most. Journal What are my top five values?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢

★☮︎★ support people affected by Jan 2025 LA wildfires ★☮︎★ support incarcerated firefighters ★☮︎★

Pile 2

What have you created and manifested since the new moon?

6 of Pentacles - Did you know that life can be good again? Probably not for a while. You've recently spent time around children or saw children playing and helping each other. This hit you with some sweet nostalgia, making you remember playing, being silly, and having fun - and how you could make any mundane moment playful, silly, and fun. You've realized you can still do that right now. Fun is always here, we just have to make it. And isn't it fun to make it? And yes, the world can be kind.

Where are you now?

3 of Cups - You're fuckin' live laugh loving your life - go you!! You're partying and being silly with your friends, going on adventures, and being a goofy goober. You're connecting with new friends, and making new friends along the way. If you don't currently have friends, this is your time to make them. You won't connect with everyone you meet, and that okay. The kind, safe, loving, fun friends you haven't met yet are waiting for you to come say hi.

What is coming into your conscious awareness?

Queen of Wands - This is how you become a badass, a boss ass bitch, slay queen pussy boss boots house down serving cunt. Just like with self love, how we learn we are lovable by being loved by others and accepting their affections, the same goes for confidence. I guess they’re one in the same really. When you have fun, and then others positively respond and have fun with you, it reinforces with you that you are good as you are and how wonderful your light is. It gives you protection from people who try to dim it - they can’t make you believe you should. So go make friends, and call up the ones you have. Making your own fun is empowering you to make your own life, and you’re growing into yourself. How exciting it is to find out what you’ll do, what you’ll make, and learn more about yourself. How magical it is to constantly discover goodness and kindness and love everywhere again. You are ever expansive and love is infinite. 🌌

Quote Just don't give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration, I don't think you can go wrong. - Ella Fitzgerald Affirmation I will experience challenges, but I will never let them stop me from doing what I love. Journal How have I been able to overcome challenges in the past?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢 ★☮︎★ support people affected by Jan 2025 LA wildfires ★☮︎★ support incarcerated firefighters ★☮︎★

Pile 3

What have you created and manifested since the new moon?

Chariot reversed and 3 of Swords - You finally got the care you’ve needed, but it also comes with a significant life change, and that involves grief. I believe most of you got a new mobility aid. If not, then there’s something about a car, bike, or public transit. Because I got an image of a wheelchair very strongly in my head, I’m going to focus on mobility aids and disability moving forward in the reading. I’m sure all you’ve been wishing for has been freedom of movement. You seemed to have had a specific wish though, like for your disability to be gone. Instead, you got a mobility aid. To you, this feels like limitation and restriction. I’m not saying “you’re handicapable!” or that other “inspirational” crap able-bodied people say. What I am saying is that this mobility aid is your freedom of movement - maybe for sometimes, maybe forever. It is a blessing to have one at all. Think of all the kind inventors making stuff so people can be independent and live! How wonderful is that? But I’m know it’s hard to shift to gratitude when you’re grieving. Let yourself cry and be angry and feel it all. It’s hard realizing how vulnerable you are and how much care you need, especially if you’ve been neglected most of your life or created an identity around being hyper-individualistic. Do you have a fear that people won’t help you? That’s very real, many disabled people are treated like garbage, the world can be pretty inaccessible, and right now barely anyone gets a Ms. Rona booster (the least one can do if they refuse to wear a mask). So feel and write and paint and express all your feelings about it. It’s all real and valid. Other people could be dealing with receiving a mobility aid they were excited for, but it’s not working, and it’s difficult to get repairs or replacements. Others felt excited to finally get one, but are grieving an unexpected feeling of loss of freedom because of the change. Maybe your home isn’t accessible for you now. My advice is still the same.

Where are you now?

10 of Pentacles - You’ve started to get connected with disability support groups and disability justice groups. You’ve been learning how to use your mobility aid, how to do repairs, how to make your home accessible or find a place that is accessible, how to raise money and get financial support, how to get around town, and overall do what you need to do. You’re making connections with new wonderful people who make your life better than it was before. You’re learning what community is and what it means to have one. I feel like someone has shown you how to decorate your mobility aid so it’s more fun and ✨you✨. Get crafty! 🧶🎨🪡 You’re humbled by all the love you’re receiving just because you exist, that you don’t have to “earn” it. That’s how love has always worked, you just didn’t know yet.

What is coming into your conscious awareness?

5 of Swords reversed - You’re no longer engaging in battles that make 0 progress for your relationships, and only make you feel hurt and exhausted from the stress. You’re letting go of eugenist believes you’ve been taught to have, and drawing strict boundaries with eugenists / people with eugenist & ableist beliefs. You’re analyzing what you have have time for, what you have spoons for, and frankly you feel good cutting all that harmful crap out. You’re learning how precious your peace is, and that it’s worthy of protection, respect, and regard.

Quote Your purpose or passion or "thing" doesn't have to become your work. It doesn't have to be something you make money from. Sometimes the things we love doing need space to be what they are without having to make them into something formalized. - Dr. Rebecca Ray Affirmation I don't have to make money for it to matter. Journal What did I love doing as a child that I no longer make time for?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢 ★☮︎★ support people affected by Jan 2025 LA wildfires ★☮︎★ support incarcerated firefighters ★☮︎★

header image: click here // footer image: Jan Brett's book The Mitten // pngs: click here // dividers: click here // I do not consent to my writing, blog’s likeness, or anything associated with my work, to be used to teach any machine learning software and artificial intelligence for any purpose.

[disgruntleddemon]

i though i'd try and do designs for the better world from J3 as fun lil challenge! i went w middle age-ish, since we don't rly see that in canon.

McGucket gets to be fun and silly. he gets into eccentric button ups (i firmly believe the Hawaiian shirt Stan puts on the skeleton was McGucket's), and just generally enjoys getting ridiculous with his outfits. also, return on the mustache! and a ponytail for the hell of it. kind of a fun uncle vibe.

i think Ford just likes plain colored button ups. that's basically all he wears in flashbacks lol. besides that, he's a bit more outdoorsy. best believe he has a shit ton of random things in the vest pockets. he also doesn't have any tattoos from Bill, so that's nice

for Stan i basically just went w his sea grunk look. his hair is just starting to thin out a bit. his chin is also scruffier since i'm still not sure how to give a dog stubble. idk, his design was the trickiest to figure out.

Stan and Ford's matching earrings were from an incident where they were drunk and one of them thought it would be a great idea. both of them insist it was the other's idea. they never got rid of the earrings though lmao. McGucket teases them about it sometimes.

anyway, long ramblings on my timeline headcannons under the cut:

so, the main thing that ended up changing the timeline, was Ford reaching out to Stan Sooner. things had just started to go bad, like in cannon, but Bill played one of his cards too soon.

he did the zombie possession thing, and that's enough to scare Ford into contacting Stan. the idea that even death wouldn't be enough to escape Bill was pretty terrifying y'know?

he hadn't yet come up with the plan to hide the journals, so primarily he wants Stan to help buy him some time. basically, he needed someone who could babysit him and make sure he was restrained if he fell asleep.

given his goal, he has more time to just sit down with Stan and explain the whole situation. he's a bit more trusting than cannon Ford, but in a "this is a last ditch effort, idk what to do if this fails" way. obviously, Stan agrees to help, which also means they're now living together and forced to work through their issues. it does go a bit smoother than would have in cannon tho. at some point during this time period, they do hide the journals. they're basically throwing anything at the wall trying to see what sticks.

Ford believes they REALLY need McGucket. with some convincing from Stan, he works up the nerve to call Fiddleford's home. only to be met with Emma saying he hadn't come back, and not to call her anymore. i kinda picture a scenario where Ford and Stan desperately try to find McGucket, only to, ironically, get snatched by the blind eye after seeing something supernatural

i'm not entirely sure how i'd have the confrontation play out. i do think this gets to be a moment where Ford is the one to excel in a social situation. like, i think it'd be a chance to see some of him and McGucket's friendship, and show how much Ford does actually care.

either way, McGucket agrees to help at the end. idk what to do with the blind eye, but i'm thinking similar to the ending of the episode in the show. except maybe more open ended if all the members got their mind erased in case i want the blind eye to make a reappearance as antagonists later.

i've seen a couple different ways people go about protecting Ford's mind from Bill in mystery trio aus. unicorn hair, metal plate surgery but riskier, metal helmet, etc, but i'm surprised no one ever uses project mentem!

for one thing, it just SCREAMS fiddleford to me. i already headcannoned better world McGucket gave cannon Ford the blueprints for it, so of course i'm gonna use it as part of my better world timeline. i mean, if he made the memory gun, i can def see him making the brain protector too lol.

after that is a couple various events:

Ford and Stan have to help McGucket recover from his memory gun addiction. while not as pronounced as cannon obviously, he still has memory issues left over

they start dismantling the portal

Ford publishes his research like McGucket originally suggested, and does get quite a bit of money from that

Mcgucket and Emma get divorced and have to figure out their situation. i think it'd be awhile before Fiddleford gets proper custody, but i do think Emma moves closer, and Fiddleford gets to see Tate

the trio opens something similar to the mystery shack, but an actual anomaly natural history museum. Stan ends up doing tours, while Ford and McGucket do the displays + research for that. it's around this point those two officially get together. they'd been kind of dancing around it for awhile lol

surprising everyone, it's Fiddleford who thinks they should revisit the portal, and that he has ideas on how to get it to work safely. still not entirely sure how to have that play out, but obviously they do figure it out in the end

at some point the institute is founded

when the portal is actually finished, and dimensional travel becomes more of a thing, Ford and Stan start exploring together. they don't go sailing, but the do get to go on adventures as brothers :]

at some point, shifty is revisited. having seen a few aus where he ends up as Ford and McGucket's kid, i'm kinda leaning in that direction. haven't decided what to do with him yet

now, when cannon Ford shows up, and gets some of the basics of what happened in this world he asks Fiddleford something to the effect of "so, did Stan hide the journals?" and he technically did hide them, WITH Ford, so McGucket is like "yeah, i guess so, but-" before cannon Ford cuts him off and changes the subject.

i think cannon ford was already overwhelmed by seeing what was essentially his dream world, that finding out what happened to Stan would be too painful. if they reconnected, that would hurt, if they never saw each other again, that would also hurt. so, cannon Ford, king of repressing his feelings, just avoided the topic.

[turinspeachjam]

Touched by An Angel

This is several days late, but Happy Birthday @thefreakandthehair! Your birthday prompt may have inadvertently rekindled my affection for volleyball.

Beta read by the lovely @devondespresso

Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Read on ao3

Eddie stopped mid-sentence, his gaze ensnared by the sight of an angel in flight. 

They had been walking through the park because Chrissy had insisted that Eddie get some form of exercise during the day. Chrissy always picked a different route for them to follow to prevent boredom caused by the mundanity of routine—or, as Chrissy liked to put it, to keep Eddie’s ADHD-addled brain from losing interest and giving up. 

Eddie had been so thoroughly engrossed in impressing upon Chrissy the vital role of charisma casters within a D&D party—a topic he felt most passionate about being a Bard himself—that he did not notice they had wandered closer to the courts where people played scrimmage games of various sports involving balls that Eddie did not have the patience to learn the names of. 

Not that any of that mattered in the face of the world’s most beautiful man. Eddie stared in slack-jawed awe as he watched a sun-kissed child of Apollo leap into the air to slam a ball to the ground on the opposite side of a net. Eddie felt an ache in his chest, his breath stuttering as the angel landed gracefully and waited for the ball to come to him again. 

“Eddieee,” Chrissy sang, amusement clear in her voice. “Are you ogling a volleyball player? Your own self-sworn enemy?” 

Eddie, feeling caught and bewildered, turned to Chrissy with a furrowed brow. 

“Self-sworn enemy? What are you talking about? That is the single most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life. When have I ever declared him my enemy?” 

“Wow, those rose-colored glasses must be squeezing your brain,” Chrissy laughed. “Eddie, you’re always talking about how participating in sports is the textbook picture of conformity. You were so grumpy when you found out I used to be a cheerleader! All it takes is a pretty face for you to chill out?” 

Eddie guffawed at his best friend, finding it difficult to defend himself when he had been so thoroughly read to filth. He spent so much time sputtering and gaping like a fish—much to Chrissy’s delight—that he missed the game ending. Before he could make any semblance of an argument against Chrissy’s accusations, he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

He swung around dramatically, only to come face to face with his beloved angel. Eddie found that the knot in his tongue only tied tighter in the face of such beauty. 

“If I’m the single most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, then are you a vampire? Because clearly you haven’t seen yourself in a mirror.” Eddie’s angel crooned with a charming grin on his face. 

It was bad. It was so very bad, and yet, Eddie was enthralled. He was entranced. He was ensnared by this child of Aphrodite who was probably the lamest person he could have fallen ass over tea kettle for. Without a second thought, Eddie dropped to his knees. He thought he heard Chrissy mumble something about him being dramatic, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was the angel before him. 

“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” Eddie promised, devotion clear in his voice. “So long as you’re mine, I’m yours.” 

His angel stood frozen for a moment, staring at Eddie kneeling below him. Eddie was almost afraid that perhaps he had taken it too far, that this man would not reciprocate his feelings. But then he saw a flash of awe in the eyes gazing at him from above and Eddie knew that he at least had a chance. 

“I would be honored to call you mine and for you to call me yours,” his angel murmured reverently. 

Eddie leapt for joy, taking the man’s hands in his and giddily spinning them around. The laugh his antics elicited was everything to him. As he slowly brought them to a stop, Eddie pulled those strong hands close to him and placed a gentle kiss on the back of each of them. 

“I’m Steve, by the way,” his angel said quietly, his voice trembling in a way that gave Eddie pause. He looked up into Steve’s eyes and saw that same awe that had been there when he got on his knees. There was, however, a shine to his eyes that implied unshed tears. It made Eddie wonder if he was the first person to treat Steve like a treasure and then wonder again at the impossibility of such a thought. 

“It’s my humblest pleasure to meet you, Steve,” Eddie said warmly, putting as much adoration and sincerity into his voice as possible. “I’m Eddie.” 

“Eddie,” Steve breathed. He said nothing more, but that did not bother Eddie in the slightest. They gazed intently at each other until the sound of a throat clearing interrupted them. 

“I’m Chrissy,” Chrissy announced, laughter in her voice. “I’m glad that you’re endeared by Eddie’s antics. Normally he has a much different opinion when it comes to jocks.” 

“Chrissy!” 

Eddie could hear Steve giggling behind him as he yelled at his best friend for her sneaky attempt at sabotage. 

Steve and Raleigh knew there would be plenty of other tournaments for them to participate in, but it was difficult to draw focus on future potential when their loss was still fresh. 

So, here they were, practicing for all the world to see. As an outside hitter, Steve was responsible for keeping an eye on the ball at all times, ensuring it never landed on his side of the court. He tracked his teammates movements, cataloguing each bump, set, and spike that sent the ball sailing over the net. He never wavered as he blocked every single shot that headed his way. After he spiked the ball onto the opposite side of the court for a final time, Raleigh called the match, pulling Steve’s attention away from his teammates, only for him to pause and see the most beautiful man he ever laid eyes on. 

He was breathtaking, all long curly hair and large brown eyes. Steve could not make out any details with how far away he stood, but he could tell the man was covered in ink. He was wearing a shirt with some band logo on it and the sleeves cut off so he could see every delicious curve of his abdomen. Steve needed to know this man immediately. 

Without much thought, Steve grabbed his duffel bag and headed in the direction of the gorgeous man who was gesturing wildly to the strawberry blonde by his side. Raleigh caught his eye briefly, only to notice immediately where Steve’s attention was and subsequently rolled his eyes. 

“Go on, Loverboy.” 

Steve flashed him a grin before hurrying off to catch himself a man. 

As he approached, he heard his curly haired beauty declare something about “the single most beautiful man he had ever seen.” Steve wanted to laugh, charmed at the coincidence of having the exact same thought about the man speaking. By the time he reached him, the strawberry blonde had rendered his man speechless, allowing Steve the perfect opportunity to interject. 

“If I’m the single most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, then are you a vampire? Because clearly you haven’t seen yourself in a mirror.” 

It was not Steve’s best line, but it still did the trick. The man before him smiled so brightly the sun would be jealous. Robin would laugh at the poetry Steve’s brain was rattling off at the sight, but Steve could not care less. 

“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” The man swore, his words sending tingles down Steve’s spine. “So long as you’re mine, I’m yours.” 

Oh, how he had longed for someone to say those exact words to him. Steve had gone on many dates over the years, most of which ended up going nowhere. He only recently told both Robin and Raleigh that he was giving up dating for the foreseeable future, unsure that he could handle another heartbreak. 

He really hoped this time would be different. 

“I would be honored to call you mine and for you to call me yours,” Steve answered quietly, unable to hide the sincerity in his tone. 

The smile on the man’s face only grew wider. He grabbed onto Steve’s hands and swung him in circles with the enthusiasm of a man who won the lottery. Steve laughed, unable to hide his own delight at his stranger’s antics. As they slowed down, the man pulled Steve’s hands toward his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on the back of each of them. Steve’s heart raced at the sight, hoping the gesture meant something far from casual, despite the fact that they were still strangers to each other. 

“I’m Steve, by the way.” 

“It’s my humblest pleasure to meet you, Steve. I’m Eddie.” 

Eddie. The beautiful man’s name was Eddie. Steve could feel his heartbeat growing erratic, completely enchanted with the man standing before him. Steve repeated his name breathlessly, desperate to memorize it. 

The moment did not last long, interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing. 

“I’m Chrissy,” The strawberry blonde announced with a laugh. “I’m glad that you’re endeared by Eddie’s antics. Normally he has a much different opinion when it comes to jocks.” 

“Chrissy!” 

As Eddie turned to defend himself, Steve could not help but laugh at the whole situation. Eddie was still holding his hands and Steve’s heart was beating a mile a minute. Robin and Raleigh were going to give him so much crap for this. 

He could not wait to tell them. 

[nemesis-writer]

Five Minutes (Chapter 5)

Masterlist What do you see? TW: mentions of blood, mental illness, trauma

The next test is now in motion for them. No one knows who's next, and no one knows what could happen.

They stood outside their house until they got a delivery for food. They had inspected it when they brought it inside. And they saw a note taped on the inside of the cover.

It had the label, Tim.

And it has a cellphone, but it couldn't be opened nor tracked due to it's old age. Tim opened the riddle and read:

'I blind the wise and cloud the true, I make the wrong seem right to you. You hold me close, you wear me high, Yet through my weight, the truth may die.

I whisper loud, “You know the way,” But lead your steps to go astray. I shield your ears, I block your sight, And trap you in your flawed delight.

Though others warn, you will not see, For you trust none as much as me. What am I, this weight inside, That turns your fall into a slide?'

It was truly the greatest flaw of Tim, his pride of intelligence. His ego is motivated by his knowledge like most people, but he likes to use it as an excuse for solitude.

'What?' Tim thought, he knew the answer was pride, but he never understood why he was chosen for that.

"It's pride..." Tim finally reveals after a long contemplation.

All of the sudden the phone rings and Tim immediately answers it.

A distorted voice said:

'There is a now closed hotel in Gotham Square, but if you try something, I will know, and the people who are so dependant on you will suffer, and I will make you watch. Timothy. Now I want you and only you to go to the third floor, no supervision. Let's see how well you can observe under the pressure of blood'

And with that the call ended abruptly

At the hotel...

They went and saw nothing. And just when Tim was about to go up he said,

"I gotta go alone. She'll kill people if any of you even goes in the elevator or looks."

"We go together it's all or none that's the rule" Dick retorted.

"There are lives at stake and they depend on us."

So with that Dick reluctantly agreed, and Tim headed upstairs.

He then saw a man wearing a black mask and suit sitting near the controls while showing the detonator that remains secured. The guard then pointed him to the chair. He then proceeded to put on the VR.

He then instructed to Tim,

'Ignore the voices, dismiss the sight, Trust not the whispers that come in the night. What’s in front may deceive, twist, and lie, But what you know won’t let reason die.

Close your ears, avert your gaze, Break free from the illusion’s haze. Let instinct guide, let truth prevail, Beyond the veil, what tells the tale?

Now stand and face what’s meant to be, Look deep within—tell me what you see.'

And with that Tim started.

Flashing of lights were shown, names of the colours were heard. Nothing could be understood from the looming flashes.

Blue

Blue

Blue

Blue

Blue

Dog

It continued until a sudden flash of what appears to be a red dog.

"RED DOG!!" Tim yelled

Red

Red

Red

Red

Orange

Orange

Orange

Orange

Wolf

"GREEN WOLF!" Tim says, starting to let his pride take over it gets harder.

Red

Orange

Blue

Blue

Green

Green

Green

Pink

Orange

Black

"What a minute, there's something wrong." Tim says as the words started to continue telling the wrong color that is being shown.

Building

"BLUE BUILDING!" Tim says.

Then all of the sudden the images stopped. And then continued to get faster and faster showing all the events that happened.

9/11

Newton discovering gravity

Ballet

Chess

Looney Tunes

Bruce Wayne

Graves

Russian sleep experiment

And then when it was about to get worse it stopped at the picture of a crying child in a mental institute.

The girl then proceeds to look at him...

And starts to approach him.

'In shadows deep, where whispers dwell, The mind becomes a fragile shell. A labyrinth of broken thought, A battle waged, yet never fought.

The cries of children fill the night, Ignored, unseen, lost from sight. Small hands reach out to empty air, Seeking love that isn’t there.

The echoes of a mother’s scream, Haunt their lives, disturb their dreams. A father’s absence, a silent door, Leaves them yearning, wanting more.

In fractured minds, the pain takes root, A twisted tree with poisoned fruit. Mental storms rage wild within, Born of neglect, born of sin.

Their laughter fades, their voices still, Hollow eyes, a shattered will. Invisible scars, wounds that don’t bleed, Children forsaken, left in their need.

And yet beneath the darkness lies, A glimmer faint, a chance to rise. For even the lost can find the way, To heal the night and face the day.

But who will care? Who dares to mend, The broken minds, the hearts to tend? In silence, they wait, their cries unheard, A life defined by an unspoken word.

But yet here you still lost. Why?'

"What does that mean?" Tim yells,

"WHAT DID I DO WRONG?" Tim continues

'Everything' The girl replied.

The VR was suddenly removed from him and the guard still stood there.

"Smarter than Einstein but gullible as a child." The guard said. And then he pushed the detonator.

The apartment of Fifth Avenue was blown into bits. The roars of fire could be heard and the screams of weeping women and children could break the strongest metal.

Tim then lunged at him.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? I PLAYED THE FUCKING GAME" Tim yells then proceeds to remove the mask.

The guard chuckled and said, "You were supposed to answer the little girl"

Before Tim could do anything, a red dot appeared on the guards forehead and was immediately shot between the eyes.

Y/N knew they' force an answer so in order to stay incognito, she has to kill her own men. They can be replaced anyway...

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire, @alishii, @cxcillia

[shnoob]

Kurapika Kurta HC’s:

A/N: FINALLY ONTO HXH!! I have been wanting to do this for a LONG time but life got in the way, which it will again this week but I'm very excited to get this out there!  

C/W: Has both fluff and angst!

Leave any suggestions if you want to see something specific!  

Fluff:

Is one of THE best people to ask about making bracelets or anything crafty related. Due to his exterior, he seems like somebody who wouldn't care about it (in for his goals he doesn’t do them often) but back at the village, he would teach all the little kids how.  

Speaking of the village he also is probably really good about braiding hair or doing other people's hair. I can see him back then being an older figure to all the kids in the village so being that figure comes with responsibilities!! 

If you need to know any definition or any historical facts, he is your man. You’ve seen him read those books, he’s educated!! Not only does he do it for fun (and probably used those skills for the Spiders-), but for the exam to go out into the real world he found some research on the history of the outside world to get him at least some sort of idea what he was stepping into. 

Would 100% correct you if you spelled/or pronounced something wrong. If that ends up being verbal or just in his head? Depends on his mood. 9/10 it's in his head but catch him in a bad mood and he won't hesitate to mummer it under his breath.  

Yes, he is very stand-offish due to his life/profession BUT I like to believe that deep down he is a really good listener and will pay attention. I mean we can see it first season!! Sure he may not say anything once it gets to the point where he’s in York New but he does retain the information said to him and just leaves it on the back burner. 

Back on the crafty gig, he knows how to crochet and knit. Instead of buying bookmarkers to not lose his place in his book, he makes his own (when he has the time anyway). 

One of the neatest people known to mankind. Although he doesn't get the time to do it, having a clean environment makes him happy and makes him focus better. If not in a clean environment such as his room, I feel like it stresses him out to where he needs to get up and put some stuff away before he can lay down and then stress about the Spiders. 

Tea drinker!! Drinks coffee but doesn't like the taste of it. LOVESS a tea that tastes more fruity <3.  

LOVES nicknames. Giving or receiving them deep down means something to him. Especially after you give one to him, if you don't use it he’ll wonder why and get a bit disheartened :(.   

The biggest gentlemen around! Holds doors for people, always says thank you and excuse me when moving around, biggest tipper etc. An “angel from above” is the words you’d hear people using for him from strangers. It has come to the point where if he enters a coffee shop he often goes to they already know and get in such a good mood. 

Loves birds!! As a side hobby he has a collection of pictures of birds he’s taken over the years. With that, he has definitely learned some bird calls and will not hesitate to show somebody the difference between them.

(is in love with Leorio I swear!!)  

Angst: 

When he was younger, the color red was something that was noted as a good thing, and due to his clan he was so confident in his eyes. Now he cant bare to look into the mirror somedays just because of his eyes. 

With the color red, he cant stand the thought of it being his favorite color. He probably doesn't even have one after everything due to how attached he was to red and now that attachment is unhealthy. 

Seriously doesn't take care of himself. Like at all. As much as I love the fluff he wouldn't know what a healthy life looks like anymore.  

Has so much survivor's guilt (which this one is obvious but to the point where it hurts). 

A lot of people say that he doesnt care about his friends bu he definitely does. In fact I say that he lives in a detachment type style. Due to his deep rage and focus it makes him feel that being away from everybody he cares about is the right thing to do because he cant let anybody else get hurt and theres no time to be doing things he enjoys most. By this though, he feels those surges of guilt by not keeping in touch; but now its been so long without talking to them the guilt of going back is so deep he cant bare to face them. 

When he cries most of the time he doesnt even realize. His brain just shuts down to where it doesnt register that he is upset and needs to take a minute. It doesnt help that half of the time tears dont even fall, so its just a emotional block. 

Will never be able to commit to a romantic situation but still dreams of it :(.

[protect-namine]

love the detail about how the flow of time is viewed vertically in mandarin chinese. rather than just directions, I think the colors can also correspond to movement. but I agree that green is future/down and red is past/up.

to me, green means go down (meet your future); red is go up (or I guess, stay in the past).

lu guang going down the green hallway/exit in his nightmare is nightmare!vein forcing him into a specific future: a dead cheng xiaoshi, bathed in red, which is also what happened to his past. in other words: his nightmare is that he cannot break or escape the cycle. cheng xiaoshi was dead in the past, and will be dead in the future.

the traffic lights are interesting. traffic lights are also designed to dictate movement, and I think falls neatly in line with the idea that green = go = future and red = stop = past. lu guang in red is stuck in the past, as he hasn't broken the cycle of cheng xiaoshi's death yet. I am not sure how to interpret cheng xiaoshi in green. is his death just inevitable? or is it that he holds the key to unlocking the future lu guang wishes for?

if we're going to look at traffic lights shining on characters, we might as well check the other mystery: xia fei. where lu guang is red and cheng xiaoshi is green, xia fei is associated with both. you don't see red and green lit up at the same time often. though, perhaps crucially or perhaps not, the traffic lights are not directed at him. and we also know this picture is from a past timeline, not the current yingdu timeline, since he has a different model photo.

I have an idea about this but it's like... not super serious and has zero evidence, so it's just for the tags.

I also want to circle back to the phone booth. and I will say... it's odd to put a traffic light here (you'd expect streetlights like the ones behind it, the picture clearly established this as a pattern) so it's a deliberate placement. we don't know yet the significance of the phone booth. but since it's a payphone, it's likely someone using a payphone from bridon, rather than a phone call where someone is calling to someone in bridon (so it's probably not the xu shanshan call we're expecting).

there's two possibilities I can think of. lu guang calls qiao ling (we see qiao ling on her phone in the ed). or it's the phone beeping in overthink where at the beginning someone says "lu guang, you're so pitiful" or something like that (idk what the exact translation should be).

once again, we see both. red phone booth, green traffic light. the fact that there's two red phone booths is interesting to me though. harkens back to the idea that this has all happened before...

Something something about Green and Order (men obediently going down the stairs; Vein forcing Lu Guang down a green hallway), and Red and Punishment (men going up the stairs as the tension builds up, Vein catching Lu Guang in a bloody room).

the men in vein's pv also have green eyes, contrasted with vein's red :D

Red and Green; Up and Down

Red and Green are very prominent colors in the Yingdu Chapter. They are the two main colors in the OP:

red and green album behind the camera; red and green basketball court

They’re even more obvious in the ED with the traffic lights:

Red phone booth, green light; red and green lights (+yellow if you count XF lol)

But Miya, they are primary/secondary colors. Of course, they’re everywhere!

Okay, but look again at this frame in the OP:

Red on the outside, and green on the inside.

Now, look at the same basketball court, but as shown before the OP in YE1:

The colors are reversed. It’s now green on the outside, and red on the inside.

There is probably more to this discrepancy if we analyze the relevant dialogue in this scene for the pre-OP and in the lyrics for the OP, but I don’t have time for that right now. Let’s just take this as a signal from the animators to focus on those two colors.

Okay, so Green and Red are relevant, but what do they have to do with Up and Down?

In YE1, there was this scene where CXS passes the ball to LG, but it then unusually focuses on the camera and not on the ball:

Our eyes can’t help but be drawn to the camera…which is pointing to the down arrows on LG’s tie. And what are those arrows pointing to?

The green lane Lu Guang is standing on. However, this lane is red in the OP. Is it really pointing at the green? Or is it pointing at the red? And why focus on the camera first instead of just focusing directly on the arrows to get the message across more clearly? Camera + Arrows. What could they mean? This is something to think about...

Then in Lu Guang’s nightmare in YE3, Vein is chasing him in a green hallway, and he escapes into a green exit with a green down arrow:

He then falls into a dark room full of red:

The Green arrow from above is pointing down to the Red room.

So, does that mean Green is Up and Red is Down? I can’t say...

In the Bloody Storm PV, we have people descending green stairs:

Only the steps are green, though. We can say that there’s green light shining from above to make it appear green. This green light can also be seen on the backs of the men.

It is also worth mentioning that @rainibao has pointed out that, in the flashes, the people are ascending the stairs:

Moreover, the green light is lost here, and we’re left with a gloomy frame full of neutral colors against a plain red background. This also happens in the part of the song where the tension builds up and Vein is about to go crazy. This is definitely relevant, seeing as in the YE3 nightmare, Lu Guang finds himself in a red room and Vein finally catches him.

Something something about Green and Order (men obediently going down the stairs; Vein forcing Lu Guang down a green hallway), and Red and Punishment (men going up the stairs as the tension builds up, Vein catching Lu Guang in a bloody room).

Anyways… Is Red up? And Green down? Or, going by the green being light from above, then is Green up and Red down? I still can’t say...

Why does it matter what direction they are?

Because in Mandarin Chinese, time is viewed in a vertical fashion. The past is above you, while the future is below you. Knowing whether red/green is up/down can help us ground ourselves in this time travel show.

There’s also this:

Red light on Lu Guang; Green light on Cheng Xiaoshi.

I’ve always found the color assignment here odd because in traffic light language, Green means go, while Red means stop. Shouldn’t CXS, who is already dead, be the one in Red since his time has stopped? They even made it a point to color him in cold neutral colors without the green light shining on him, as if to hammer in the point that he’s dead (in contrast to Lu Guang who is in warm colors when not under the red light). (It was too difficult to get a screenshot of this, but I remember seeing a draft of this animation sequence where CXS was clearly transitioning from grey to colored, while LG was more warm to colored. If anybody can find that again, please send me a link!)

Anyways, if Green Cheng Xiaoshi is Dead, then does that mean Green is Future/Down? Red Lu Guang would then be Past/Up, signifying him going back in time.

But this doesn’t align with the nightmare sequence, where Green is Up and Red is Down… But then again, it was a nightmare. Can we even trust it? Can we trust anything in this show???

Or maybe Red/Green is constantly cycling between Up/Down. Maybe one moment Red is Up and Green is down, while in the next it’s reverse. An indication of time being a closed loop in Link Click?

I don’t fucking know.

There are no conclusions here. I just thought I’d point this out so I can have more people be just as confused as me hehe.

Dumping this to you, specifically, @protect-namine

[viviansfaefriend]

me and her if we were fairies on a boat at dawn

[vroom-vrooms]

Max’s little lip freckle and Charles’ little mole under his eye are a match made in heaven

[dorothywonderland]

I started doodling greek gods, it's over for me. I have to accept that I'm officially addicted to epic the musical

[bmpmp3]

i was watching a music video for a japanese song and it had built in youtube english captions so i went to turn those on but then i saw that there was like an option for "English" and then a second option for "English (Canada)" and i realized in a few seconds it was just a workaround to having two sets of english captions, one with colour changes in the lettering and one without for accessibility (the canada one was the non-fancy lettering) but for a moment i was living in a world where they were making dedicated canadian english translations for things..... measuring temperature in celsius and height in feet...... paying with loonies and toonies... going to the WASHROOM

[tonariofjananda]

Happy Birthday Mizuha!!! 4/6

(I’m a little late to the party sorry 💔)

[kupfergeist]

You know, I considered keeping these in my inbox, make it an aquarium, but I think it's best if I set them free Just look at how shiny they are!! Absolutely lovely little dudes, I love their coloring and frilly fins

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

counselor cancelled day-of on me again. sad! well there's other coping mechanisms

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

The boy reading with Halo font

I expect him to vanish behind closed doors with "someone" and we'll see him if he's hungry....

Or wandering.