#take your queue from ed

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

It’s fascinating how the show plays with narrative lenses and allows the viewers to reassess Stede through Ed.

It’s said Stede should be killed for incompetence in episode one. Badminton calls him pathetic and mocks him mercilessly. We see the disdain of Stede’s father, and how ostracised Stede feels within his marriage. Jackie thinks he’s a loser within minutes. Blackbeard’s interest in Stede is ambiguous. Stede’s own self-loathing is evident. The only kindness we glimpse is Olu, Buttons and the indigenous islanders, none of whom seem to truly know or understand Stede.

Interestingly, Izzy seems to clock something of the power of Stede early and the threat to his status quo. Izzy does as much as he feels able to keep him from his Boss. It’s not quite clear though at this stage as to the reason why.

Finally, Blackbeard arrives on the Revenge, and gives us an entirely different lens in which to evaluate Stede Bonnet even before they’ve properly met: this guy is fucking fascinating.

The viewer needs to reassess who Stede is from this point on. And it makes us look at ourselves and go, ‘oh…OH!’

[epiclamer]

Part 2

“You’re finally awake~”

Sidekick barely registered the voice over the pounding of their heart in their head. They stretched their neck up to try and see whomever had tied them spread eagle to a bed, but could hardly get a glance from their restrained position.

Footsteps resounded through the room until they stopped somewhere near the foot of the bed. The hero-in-training gulped, they were terrified.

“W-Who are you?”

Their capturer huffed a laugh, stepping over to the side of the bed and into the sidekick’s view. “You’ve yet to meet me, darling. I’m a friend of your friend.”

The sidekick pursed their lips in an awkward frown, masking their unease. “By friend, you mean enemy… right?”

The other, presumably Villain (the sidekick guessed), smirked. “I guess you could say that.”

Hot sweat ran down the sidekick’s back and into the soft sheets below them, for some reason their whole body felt hot. Were they drugged? Truth serum-ed? Maybe even poisoned?

“You might have a concussion, I hit you quite hard over the head.” As if on queue, the sidekick felt a sudden sharp sting at the back of their head and for a sickening moment they realized the sweat coating their hair wasn’t actually sweat at all. “I didn’t think you’d be that easy to take down, if I’m being honest.”

The villain shrugged, somewhat amused as they watched the sidekick’s pale face distort in a mix of unresolved emotions. Eyeing their prisoner up and down from their jail cell of a bed with a look Sidekick had only ever been warned about by Hero before.

Sidekick’s mouth opened and closed, searching for something to say, toying with the idea of talking their way out of a torture session. “Y-You know, Hero is still out there. If you’re looking for them, I-I mean you just missed them—”

“Do they teach you to sell out your superiors immediately in hero school? Or is that just your own last ditch attempt to get away scott-free as a coward?”

Sidekick shut up. Villain had a point, they weren’t exactly painting the best picture for their reputation.

The villain grinned, leaning over the bed and placing a hand against the sidekick’s chest. They let their fingers wander as they spoke, “I will say though, coward or not, you sure are putting this body to waste working for that rat of a hero you call your mentor.”

Their second hand crept up along the sidekick’s torso and the criminal didn’t hesitate to begin slowly unbuttoning their dress shirt. Both of their eyes focused on the bits of skin that were carefully being revealed as they worked the lower buttons apart.

Sidekick’s breath hitched, was Villain seriously hitting on them? What were they doing? What was happening? None of Hero’s master classes could’ve prepared them for this moment.

The further down the villain’s hands went the more the sidekick’s heartbeat picked up. They convinced themselves it was because of the torture that was increasingly impending and not the fact that someone as breathtaking as the villain was, was stripping them down.

They began to struggle, pulling subtly—or so they thought—against their bonds, letting the burn from the rope digging into their skin distract them from the villain’s fingers exploring their body.

Pulling back the fabric of their button-up, Villain revealed the hero-in-training to their hungry eyes. Going straight to teasingly tracing their nails into the sidekick’s skin, relishing in their goosebumps and gasps.

“Sweetheart,” Villain’s eyes flicked to Sidekick’s, digging their nails into their fleshy shoulders hard enough to draw blood. “Don’t pull on the ropes, okay? I guarantee you that my knots are more than strong enough to hold, so be a dear and don’t hurt yourself any more than you already have.”

For some reason, Sidekick stopped, they didn’t fight back harder like they were taught. The villain’s eyes were entrancing and their voice was soft but stern, guiding the sidekick’s actions and thoughts with every word they spoke.

Hero had warned them of that.

Villain smiled, pleased with their captive as they continued their soft tracing of skin. Leaving behind angry, red, crescents on the sidekick’s shoulder in their wake. “Hero spoke of you, but they never mentioned how good you look… What a shame.”

Sidekick’s face burned a beet coloured red. “W-What?”

“Well, I would’ve kidnapped you a lot sooner if I had known~” Villain drawled as if it were obvious and Sidekick cursed their lucky genes.

“But enough chit chat,” the criminal brought their hands back to their sides. “Let’s get back to the real reason you’re here…”

And in a second the sidekick’s heart lurched into their throat at the ‘snap’ of switchblade flipping open.

[parmahamlarrie]

Welcome back to another post for the directory of fic recs on my blog! If you would like a specific theme or trope, let me know! If you would like me to reblog your fic, submit it here and I will add it to the queue! **This post will be updated as I have more fics in this theme to recommend!**

the most domestic husbands series || trackfive || 223.5k Canon, Ficlets, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Dicked Down in Europe || @greeneyesfriedrice || 40.4k Canon, Established Relationship, Travel

Casting Lines Series || ashavahishta || 27k Canon, KidFic, Future Fic

a picture of love, that’s this house || theprincessd || 13.5k KidFic, Domestic Fluff, Canon

stop the world (‘cause I wanna get off with you) || @thedevilinmybrain || 12.3k Canon Compliant, 1D Band Days, Porn with Plot

Mercedes Boy Series || @kingsofeverything || 11.7k Canon, Established Relationship, Snapshots

To Wear Your Love Series || @haztobegood || 10.8k Canon, Dom Louis, Sub Harry, Pretty much PWP

12 Pearls for 12 Years || 5secsoflarry || 6.7k  Canon, Established Relationship, D/S Dynamic, Collaring

Only Thing That Can Quench My Thirst || eyesofshinigami || 6.5k Canon, Essentially PWP

With You I Am Never Alone || LiveLaughLoveLarry || 6.2k Thanksgiving, Canon

Garden of Eden || superglass || 6.1k Established Relationship, Canon, Lots of Weed, Religion Discussions Your Ink, My Skin || @larry-hiatus || 6.1k Canon, Finger Tattoos, Dom/Sub

Missing You || @canonlarry || 6k Canon, Future Fic, Kidfic, Christmas, Humor

We Saw Ed in Berlin, and I Watched It Begin Again || LilyBlue28 || 6k ** Canon, Euro 24, Exes to Lovers, Open Ending

it’s you I want to take apart || orphan_account || 5.9k Canon, Established Relationship, Make Up, Soft

She Feels So Good || zedi || 4.1k Canon, Genderqueer Harry, Daddy Kink

whatever chains are holding you back || @lookslikefairytale || 4.1k Canon, XFactor Judge Louis, Coming Out

powerless (and I don't care) || @voulezloux || 4k Canon, Dom/Sub, Post FITFWT, Rough Sex, PWP, Daddy Kink

The Wrath of Gucci || louisunflower6 || 3.7k   Canon, Just fluffy, Some domestic bliss

Mon Petit || coffinofachimera || 3.5k Canon, Dom/Sub, Exhibitionism, Mile High Club

Sweet Mondays || sweetkalachurchi || 3.5k ** Canon, Euro 24, Exes to Lovers, One Bed, Happy Ending

Yesterday's gone (it'll be better than before) || @red-pandaaa || 3.5k ** Canon, Euro 2024, Exes to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort

Just for you || @gaycousinlarry || 3.1k Canon, Fluff, Comfort

Pimp it! || @teamlouis2022 || 3k Established Relationship, Canon, Pwp

To boyfriends everywhere - Fuck you || Rosa_000 || 3k Canon, Drunk Harry, Established Relationship, Humor

Let Me Take Care Of You || @tommokat || 2.9k Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship

living love in slow motion || ashavahishta || 2.7k Canon, Fluff, Domesticity

is my baby not satisfied? || @greeneyesfriedrice || 2.6k Canon, Knuckle Tattoos, Pwp

Advent Drabbles || @berzerkshires || 2.5k Canon, Christmas, Fun/Fluff/Humor/Mild Smut

Do you think I’m cool || @sadaveniren || 2.2k Wankfest, Canon, Dom/Sub, Long Distance

I was born like this, don’t even gotta try || @cyantific || 1.7k Domestic Fluff, PWP, Canon

written all over your face || rebarboa || 1.6k Established Relationship, Canon, Humor and Smut

Lovely, made from love || userkant || 1.4k  Canon, Harry wants a baby

Wrap Your Legs Around Me || @evilovesyou || >1k Canon, Fluff, 2 Week Rule

[double--hh]

I’ve heard about your DDD AU. What’s it about?

Oh no, get your lore socks and shoes on, chat...

The basis is that Mia has had it up to HERE with the doppelgängers and especially having to comfort her students on as to why their mom, dad, siblings, family, or pets have to go "forever sleep". She tells Izaack, in pain staking detail, everything about the Trojan Horse Project, and specifically things Dr. Afton and his old crew would only know.

Queue Izaack using his job to his full advantage to relay ALL of the information Mia has shared to him.

The D.D.D are no saints here, the heads of the D.D.D are a good chunk of Afton's said old crew, they take this as a threat to their organization, and they know exactly who spilled.

Afton gets detained by the Police and "mysteriously" goes missing (he's alive, dw ;), while Izaack and Mia are kidnapped by the D.D.D. and are given the ultimatum of dying or joining their cause... this au would be way shorter if they chose death...

The Astral Circle is real here, and it's uh... not going so hot down there...

Yan Luo and Zoth, being a direct reflection of Mia and Izaack, have a huge falling out, involving everyone, and kinda turns the Astral Circle into the Astral Semicircle... And an angel is not having a fun time...

A few years or so pass and this is where my story is currently taking place! (I got my fanfic up :3c)

From there I'm still writing the story but I have no issues with spilling some thangs... :3c

(Below are some slight spoilers, one mention of ed, and art containing blood and heavy topice)

Mia and Izaack pretty much have to conquer their respective fears by literally killing their respective nightmare counterpart, and must take a "token" of proof if they wish to escape the Astral Realm.

Mia will slowly lose her mind through the story while Izaack still needs to come to terms with reality...

Yan Luo and Zoth's original meanings (YL = Mia's fear of dying & Z = Izaack's ed) very much change with Mia and Izaack's circumstances. The Astral Schism was an effect of their hatred for each other. #symbolism

There are two endings I have planned, one is where everyone makes it out okay and reunites with the people who care about them the most while the other is where only Anastacha makes is out :(

I swear this started as a silly "haha what if" but then I started drawing more and went "ah fuck, there goes my mental illness"

[official-linguistics-post]

Hi! I love your blog, it always makes me so extremely happy when I find new linguistics blogs! Currently a lot of your post are sitting in my unspeakably long queue. Anyways, after seeing that freshman anon that wants to study linguistics in the future I thought that I might as well pop in and ask you my question about pursuing linguistics in college. I’m a high school senior that should (knock on wood) be starting college next year majoring in linguistics. I absolutely love linguistics and love the idea of studying it, but I’m worried that I won’t be able to actually get a decent job with it. I’m currently planning on becoming a researcher in applied linguistics, but I’m worried that that’s a bit of an unrealistic(?) plan, and I don’t know what else I’d do with linguistics if that didn’t work out for any reason. I’m just worried about putting all of my eggs into one basket I guess. Sorry that this is a bit of a vague ask that doesn’t really have a direct question, whatever insight you can give would be greatly appreciated, thank you. 

my advice is: keep your goal in mind, but don't be alarmed if/when it changes.

i planned to study linguistics from about freshman or sophomore year of high school, but i was interested in neuro- or psycholinguistics. once i got to college, i took a few courses in that direction, but the psychology part just didn't capture my attention in the same way (and let's be real i didn't want to take organic chemistry). by the time i was planning my undergrad thesis, it had pivoted to bilingual education research, and then in senior year i took one random course that skewed my trajectory completely into historical linguistics (after i finished the bilingual ed thesis, at least). i went to graduate school for that subfield—masters and phd—but now i'm burnt out on academia so i'm pivoting into public education.

it's very hard to feel like you've invested so much time in one direction that may not work out in the end, i won't lie to you. but at this very early stage in your possible future career, i encourage you to enjoy the ride where you can. take classes that sound interesting. get to know a variety of people working in the field. and explore topics off your beaten path! i've ended up working closely with archaeologists, which is very fun but also confirms that i don't want to be an archaeologist.

even if you decide not to stick with linguistics—even if you're forced out by a lack of jobs, which is not uncommon—you'll still have the experience of research and critical thinking behind you. also, linguists are fun friends.

[lawrites]

Riddle to Solve

BTAS! Riddler x Named Female Reader

1.5k words: Reader hasn't seen Edward Nygma since they both lost their jobs at Competitron. Suddenly seeing him after two years forces a lot of unresolved feelings to come to the surface, for Eddie and Luna both. Did your feelings for each other matter then? Do they matter now?

This was made as a swap with an anonymous Discord friend <3. Their OC is named Luna, but this fic is first person and could be read as a "named" reader.

CW: suggestive thoughts from the rizzler, hurt/comfort, edward nygma being arrogant as per usual

“L-Luna?”

You turn, recognizing that voice almost instantly. “Eddie?”

The both of you stare at each other for a moment, almost making sure the other is real, before mirrored wide grins split your faces. The heart in your chest beats faster as you realize the expression is his genuine, real smile, the one only you could pull out of him. He's truly happy to see you.

Your bodies approach each other quickly, drawn like magnets. Your momentum almost makes you look like you are going in for a hug, your arms swinging forward…but you stop just shy of touching the other. 

You both sit in silence for a moment, taking the other in up close. A slight blush makes its way onto your face, but you can't help it. He looks good. His ginger hair is more loose than it had been when she had last seen him at Competitron. Fluffier, more free…it makes your hands twitch with the want to bury themselves in the shining, copper locks. His face remains as handsome as ever, with his adorable button nose, but his clothes…

He always wore a striped shirt with suspenders when she had worked with him. Cute, but more apt for Wall Street than what you expected of him. This outfit…your mouth goes dry when you take it in. 

A dark green sweater adorns his slight torso, loose on his body but tucked into tight grey slacks match his long overcoat. The lines of his clothes highlight his tall, lean body. He looks professional for the most part, aside from the purple driving gloves. You do your best to contain your thoughts about those before making eye contact with Ed once more. A feeling of satisfaction spreads through your body when you realize that his cheeks are reddening just as yours are. 

Ed is embarrassed about his own blush, if he could be frank. It started when he caught you just as you were walking away, recognizing your shape from behind almost instantly and calling out to you. While he doesn't want to admit that that was his reasoning for recognizing you, can you blame him? 

He had to wait behind you in enough queues, see you bent over enough desks in those tight skirts you wear, that he has an entire section of his mind dedicated to fantasies about your ass. Some days he had to actively keep himself from reaching out, winding his hands around you, and bringing you back against him just to feel that delicious curve. He kept it secret, of course, he did his best to keep things professional when you worked with each other.

But after the initial onslaught of familiar thoughts…Edward was blinded by the glow of your smiling face again as you turned, and that handily won out over anything else in his mind. Your gorgeous, dark hair was up in a ponytail today, shining in the sunlight and swinging behind you as you moved towards him.

He watched you adjust your glasses nervously with a blush after you stopped in front of him, and it filled his lonely heart with a glee he hasn't felt in more than a year. But he immediately chastises himself…he needs to do his best to keep distance from you. He still has plans he needs to fulfill, and he can't allow you to be involved. What if you were hurt, in the process? What if you saw what he's become in his exile? 

The voice that you remember being full of mischief, arrogance, and, dare you say it, warmth suddenly sounds distant and aloof. 

“Luna, it is…good to see you.”

Steadying yourself, you hold back your initial  reaction to his presence and instead analyze his words, his tone, and his body language. If that's all he has to say to you, after years apart, after radio silence…then you refuse to give him any reaction he may want. Your tone mirrors his-professional.

“Yes, Mister Nygma, it is nice to see you again after so long.”

You see how he goes almost stiff when you call him Mister Nygma, his back straightening and his eyes turning dark before his face becomes impassive. But, instead of letting him respond, you continue after a beat of silence, curiosity at his presence winning out over pettiness.

“What brings you to Gotham?”

His previous demeanor relaxes a bit, and he almost looks…nervous. 

“Oh! Well…I suppose I've always heard interesting whispers about this city. And with recent rumors I've been…drawn here for some reason. After everything that happened…”

He trails off, and you can tell his racing mind is reliving the trauma of losing it all in one day, just as you had. Competitron, as your former place of work, used to be everything to the both of you. Ed came up with all of the riddles, but you helped him with the art direction. Your mind would interpret his gorgeous thoughts into a visual reality, and the code you both worked on made it an actual reality, on screen at least. 

But then the layoffs started. First it was a few lower level people…and then a few close coworkers. And then…suddenly, you walked in one day and were told to pack your bags. Years of working for them, for giving it all to make the Minotaur game, and they just brushed you away. You still find yourself frustrated and angry about it, even after getting a new job. The only credit you received was a footnote at the end of the game. 

And Ed…well…it wasn't public news, but he gave Mockridge hell over both your sacking and the lack of royalties for your work. He was planning to sue them, for the both of you. And then…he was fired too. 

You heard the news and tried to call him, but he was just gone. And you haven't seen him for two years until just now, when Competitron has been rumored to be moving to Gotham. The coincidence is too much to ignore.

“Edward…”

He seems to startle at your use of his full name, something that you usually only did during arguments or serious conversations. 

“...I-I know that what Mockridge did to us hurt. I still have trouble getting over it, myself. But, don't let his heinous actions rule your life. I'm glad to see you, but if you're only here to harass our former boss-”

Ed stiffens again and cuts you off, “Well, I'm sorry that I can't get over that-that cretin taking credit for my work.” He spits out the words, moving closer to you almost in anger. 

You glare up at him, furious, now, “You mean our work. If you try to take even that from me after I lost my job and my L-” you stop yourself from admitting the truth of what you had felt for him, then. He notices your slip, but doesn't comment. “-my best friend…” your eyes are full of tears now. Frustrated tears. Dejected tears. How could he not notice you when you are right in front of him? What has blinded him for two years so much that he hasn't even sent a letter?

“...then I don't think we have anything else to discuss. I wish you well, Edward Nygma. B-be kind to yourself.” And you turn, prepared to leave. Two years apparently haven't changed your feelings towards him, if your racing, broken heart is any indication, but you've now realized you wasted that time pining for him after seeing him now. He is only focused on himself and what he lost…and maybe he always was. 

You are stopped, suddenly, from retreating by a gloved hand wrapping, gently, around your arm. “Luna…”

Chastising yourself for wasting even one more moment on someone who obviously won't even let you leave with your dignity, you freeze in place but don't turn. “I would prefer to go, Eddie.” You bite out the nickname that used to make him tease you, used to make him blush, even, just to get some petty revenge out of this horrid day. 

The hand on your arm trembles, and it makes you pause. You had planned to shake your arm out of his grasp and leave, quickly, to go cry in your apartment…but then you hear his voice once more. Quietly, almost whispering, Edward Nygma says, “Please.”

You almost collapse hearing the syllables leave his mouth, and turn to see the man that uttered them. In only the few moments between you turning to leave and his plea, Eddie was a changed man. His face is pale, and his expression looks pained. Green eyes that were closed off and arrogant are now surprisingly open, shining with an expression you can't name. 

“You did not deserve that reaction from me after all that we meant to each other. I'm sorry.”

Frankly? You are gobsmacked. Edward Nygma just apologized to you. At least he acknowledged and validated your feelings about his treatment of you…but it still feels like it isn't enough. “Eddie, I appreciate your apology, but I hope you can see that your behavior was not something I expect of a friend.”

You do end up wrenching your arm away from his grasp, making him wince. “If you want to come back into my life, after leaving me for two years-” your voice chokes out the last words, the reality of everything crashing in around you, “-and treat me like I was just a coworker, and not someone who you trusted, as I did you?”

A sniffle leaves you, trying to hold back your tears, “Then I would rather you save the honeyed, practiced words and just leave. I can't take you playing with my good will towards you, again.”

And as you are about to embarrass yourself and sob in front of him, emotionally confused, partly, but mainly sad…his arms bring you to him. You are enveloped in them. He keeps you there, for a moment. His steady breathing and calming, familiar scent ground you. And then, one of his gloved hands moves to the side of your head, gently leading you to look up at him, “No playing. No games. No riddles.” 

His green eyes are shining, “I am truly sorry. The moment you turned, I was reminded of the last time I had to see you go, the pain that came with it. I-I initially tried to push you away because I do have secrets, Luna.”

You try to talk, but he cuts you off, “I can't tell you about them…not now. But I can't let you walk away, again, either.” His expression is torn, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes full of desperation for some sort of answer to his quandary. 

Both of you are dancing around your feelings, for now. But…you can tell he does feel the same, truly, he must. You can't leave the man you love so desperately confused. Your hand reaches up, mirroring his hold on you and gently making him look down, “Then…let's just get some coffee together.”

His eyes are full of hope, gleaming with affection at your answer, “Do you still like it the same way?”

You chuckle, “Of course, I haven't changed much since you last saw me.” You blush, again, worried that standing still would make him lose interest in you, somehow. 

He releases you, and you do the same to him, but he stays close. His eyes trace up and down your body, sticking to your chest for just a moment before meeting yours once more. “Oh I don't know about that…”

He chuckles, holding out his hand for you to take, a smirk adorning his face, “...you seem changed. More sure, more independent.”

You take his hand, and you begin walking together to the nearest cafe. He winks, “A most brilliant riddle for me to solve.”

[starscatteredsky]

Welcome to the Star Scattered Sky, hopefully you find your home among the cosmos :)

pt: Welcome to the Star Scattered Sky, hopefully you find your home among the cosmos :)

REQUESTS ARE INCREDIBLY BACKLOGGED!! PLEASE BE PATIENT WE HAVE OVER 200!!

read this for info on our current temporary changes to the posting schedule!

personal blog: @starrykinstellation! If we followed you that’s the blog to check out!

i’m mod Mono, i’ll likely be the most familiar face on the blog :)

a little thing for 100 followers!! right here!!

this is a safe place for therians, otherhearted, fictionkin, otherkin, introjects, irls, neogender havers, neopronoun users, systems, neurodiversities and physical disabilities of all kinds, and pretty much anyone else who wants to be here :)

[pt: this is a safe place for therians, otherhearted, fictionkin, otherkin, introjects, irls, neogender havers, neopronoun users, systems, neurodiversities and physical disabilities of all kinds, and pretty much anyone else who wants to be here :)]

we are here to help!! feel free to request different things like playlists, moodboards, fashion ideas, stimboards, den/home ideas, care kits, foods or recipes for your kin/theriotype/source/etc, names and pronouns, xeno/neogenders and flags (we can coin, or go searching for pre-existing ones, whatever is preferred) and more!! just ask!! (please keep requests to one or two kintypes per ask! sending in multiple asks will help us keep organized!)

we are ok with inbox checks!! our queue posts twice daily, so if we get a large influx of asks it can take a while for them to post! so it’s always ok to ask what’s coming up :D

we’re also happy to answer good faith questions about ourselves :)

we have a lot of darkkin (daemons/demons, incubi, cryptids, etc) and celestialkin alters moderating this blog, so always happy to see more of you interact!!!

this blog is run by a DID system. we want to keep discourse off this blog, as arguing is tiring. We are anti-endo, but we can’t and won’t stop you from using any terms you see here!

if you think your ask got eaten, please ask us before resending it!! we often get a backed up queue, and are happy to let you know if we received it or not :)

mods! (there will be more of us soon! we just need to talk with the system!)

[pt: mods! (there will be more of us soon! we just need to talk with the system!)]

mod mono: he/they/🔦/static/xyr/moth

mod 🩸: she/they/he

mod 👾: they/them

mod 🧪: he/him

mod 🪶: genderfluid/pronoun fluid, default is they/hymn

mod 🎉💊: they/them

mod⚔️: he/him

Mod Sebastian: He/Him. (Tag is mod🦈)

Requests open!!!

[ID:

a DNI banner with the background being the promotional image for Little Nightmares 2. The writing reads:

"DNI: radqueers, proshippers, radfems/TERFs, antikin/antitherian, homophobic/ ableist/ anti ACAB/ transphobic/ rasist/ antisemitic/ xenophobic/ antitheist/ anti athiest/ bigoted in any fashion, NSFW/sh/ed/cringe centered blog, fakeclaimer

Before you interact: We are pro mspec gays/lesbians, anti endo/tulpa "systems", enjoy MCYT/DSMP, pro self diagnoses with extensive research, multiple alters are punks/ anarchists"

end ID]

[Profile picture description

Mono from little nightmares running forwards in a navy background

end description]

[profile banner description

A picture of the pale city, showing haunting blue atmospheric lighting with the two sides of the city split by some kind of crevasse. the buildings lean in towards the center, and a thin wooden plank spans the crevasse. Two small silhouettes are walking across the plank. the buildings are inhumanly large, and the city stretches off far into the background, vanishing into the blue lighting. the silhouettes are so small, it makes the entire image give off a sense of awe and mystery, and almost unnerving.

end description]

[hwaightme]

Grilled Cheese Philosophy

🥪 pairing: demon!wooyoung x reader 🥪 genre: angst, dark, comfort, soulmates, angel/demon 🥪 summary: Abstaining from a cruel reality became your one goal, and around every corner you searched for an escape from the turmoil. Until a certain soul-searching demon showed up at your door, adamant to make himself a part of your life. 🥪 wordcount: 14k 🥪 warnings/tags: TW MINORS DNI, su!cide attempt, discussion of ed, depression, discussion of death, demon woo, fallen angel woo, soulmates, reincarnation, souls, slow burn, lmk if anything!🥪 a/n: Hello <3 this fic has very heavy themes so reader discretion is advised. Watching Wooyoung's performance to 'Logic - 1-800-273-8255' I felt a call to rework a fic I had, and thanks to senpai-of-doom was motivated add light in an otherwise dark progression. Remember, you matter, you are loved -"you are never alone and you will never be". Love you all, biggest hugs. P.S.: the song quoted is 'She's In The Rain' by The Rose.

 “I had a guy sell his soul to me for some toast.”

“Wait a second, really?” You were bewildered. It had never occurred to you that someone would make a deal with the literal devil for such a simple food.

“I say that…” the demon sitting across from you paused, inspected the cuticles on his left hand and sighed, “…but it was not exactly for a single piece of toast. That would make the story unbelievably funny though, I wish it were the case!” To be frank, you were a little disappointed. You had expected more from your interlocutor’s chaotic line of work. “No, what this guy wanted was to have some, quote on quote, mad toast-making skills. I was not sure for what, but then he laid out his whole plan of making the best grilled cheese in the country and opening a grilled cheese food truck and touring around, watching people queue up for something only he could make well… It was enthralling.”

You could only raise your eyebrows and eye your rapidly cooling cup of tea. After earning a questioning glare from the devil, you realised that he was waiting for polite encouragement to continue conversation. You woke yourself up from your daze and hummed once, as if in thought.

“So, what happened then, did you give him the toast?”

“Here’s the fun bit. Well, I say fun, but it was more routine really. I go, ‘why not just ask to be a genius grilled cheese chef?’, genuinely curious, but he was adamant about just having the toast be done right every time. He rejected the heavier deal flat out. I go ‘you are going to miss out on being the biggest name in the grilled cheese world you so love’ and he goes ‘you see, the world is nothing if you have no problem at all’. I did not get what he meant then, but when the deal was over and done with, it made total sense. What this guy effectively did, was got a tailored eternal struggle that he could manage. The bread was guaranteed to be perfect, but the cheese provided him a sufficient challenge to remain interested in what he was doing.” The devil took a break to take a bite out of his, no, your almond croissant, and rather unceremoniously wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

You clasped your hands around the mug more strongly, feeling the last bits of warmth seep away from the untouched beverage. You had no appetite or thirst left in your body, for you believed that it was far more fascinating having control over the decay of your being, especially now that you had been honoured with the audience of an otherworldly power. The devil was rather displeased that you had decided to take the matter into your own hands and go down the path of escaping life without promising him a reward, but you saw no need in making sudden deals. It was your innate passiveness and newly acquired apathy to all things living that prevented you from choosing anything at all.

Even now, you were not motivated to conjure a response for this episode from the devil’s past deals. Instead, you sank into a comfortable silence, enjoying the growing irritation the ‘young man’ was unprofessionally revealing. One tap, followed by two, then one, then three, repeat. A rhythm void of compassion for the mute. Demanding. The devil had nice nails, something you had not noticed before – the only musing to appear in the abyss that was your abandoned mental palace. Whenever your conversations would come to a halt it was as if time stopped. It was holding its breath until one of you would throw an argument into the air and continue the word game. You desired some time in solitude, so you happily challenged the devil with your skilled ignorance of social cues.

The devil exhaled sharply and rolled his eyes, displeased with the death of another attempt to get on your ‘good side’ and stood up. He readjusted his suit jacket and ran a hand through his sleek locks. Like an actor leaving the stage, the demon guest exited the tiny kitchen and turned right, undoubtedly, to check himself in the tiny bathroom mirror, then to disappear behind an old door for two or so hours – his idea of a power nap. For a taker of souls, he surely was too predictable, no matter how his appearance and character attempted to detract from his fondness for structure and patterns. Over the last few days while the devil began to spend longer hours indoors playing the role of a ‘caring friend’ you had the opportunity to grasp the general metaphorical spirit of this ‘man’. In any discussion he had his distinct style. An ebb and flow of the spoken tides, beginning with a head-on collision with either question or proclamation, followed by provoking interrogation and, finally, a theatrical departure once his true goal had been reached.

Nothing was ever direct with the devil. Otherwise, why would you be walking on eggshells when he was talking about grilled cheese? Whenever you got too invested in any of the deviant’s tales, you would remind yourself that the heroes of those stories were, at that exact moment, burning in the deepest pits of hell and feeling the unbearable weight of sin on their shoulders. Then the interest evaporated as quickly as it had popped into your thoughts. Although you must admit, this anecdote was quite amusing. So amusing that you might make a short note of it when the devil would be in his own version of dreaming.

He had explained to you before that the reason he slept so much was so he could preserve his youthfulness, vigour and striking looks, to which you sarcastically replied with the term ‘beauty sleep’, but he misinterpreted it as an honest attempt at relating to his lifestyle. That day, you had involuntarily boosted his already overinflated ego by somehow leading the devil to believe that he was beautiful, and that all of his actions were just how he had expected: rational and justified. You only wondered what beauty there was in him to sleep for.

The devil was not what one would call classically ‘handsome’. As a matter of fact, on your first meeting he insisted that the term ‘devilishly handsome’ was horrendously misleading and the perfect example of a human-conjured myth. Completely out of the bounds of what the media and the average person found appealing, the devil had a total disregard for following mortal aesthetic trends, thereby making his appearance quite jarring. Those to walk past him on the street, would undoubtedly gawk at him and be intrigued by him, and yet, feel unsettled. As though they were prey that had just nearly escaped an apex predator. Of course, he could easily turn up his charms and seduce to his non-existent heart’s content, but that was only if he saw personal gain or needed to fuel his arrogance. Other than that, he was a cold professional.

It was mainly the eyes that gave his true nature away. Eyes that knew. Eyes that were detached from mortality and morality, fixated on business which only he knew. Those unfortunate enough to peer into those eyes would be awestruck to find the deepest chasm of nothing. Not a hint of a personality or a soul, only well-trained responses, and the ideal formula to get an individual talking. That was what the demon had meant when he explained that no devil could be handsome, only frightening.

After making sure that you would not meet the devil in the corridor by waiting for the lock of your guest room, you pushed your chair back and in one motion spun out of it and to the sink, where you watched dark brown, murky liquid pour out of your stained mug you had gotten as a present – a souvenir from The Netherlands. After many years of use and scrubbing the design had faded, leaving only mysterious silhouettes and hints of windmills. Not in the mood to wash up, you left the piece of ceramic to wait for you in the basin and wiped your hands on your trousers. Unlike the devil, your whole disposition and outer image was the closest a human could get to transparency. Your pallid, gaunt face with watery irises that stared out into a bleak grey landscape you had constructed out of your days.

The fiend was a dark-haired lad with a cheeky grin, toned body and a manner of constantly fluctuating between flamboyancy and eccentricity. His pinstripe suit - a tad too big, with a bright crimson handkerchief sticking out of the pocket, messily stuffed and creased. This devil’s eyes were entrancing, even though he had said there was no emotion to see. Not that he would ever hear you admit that you liked them. Deep-set, almond shaped, glowing. A dark, alluring shimmer. If eyes were normally windows to the soul, his were closer to one-way mirror quality. It was the confident stare that had gotten him past the door frame when he showed up in front of your apartment last week.

Inviting himself into your home, the devil acted as if he was an old friend of yours, or like an auntie with a spectacular ability to nag her way through any and all interactions. When you crept out of your apartment and went down to fetch the mail your neighbours had inquired after a certain cousin of yours who was ‘such a charming young man’ and how he showed ‘great promise in the creative arts’. You had to refrain from responding with a guffaw, instead meekly nodding and imagining an actual relative of yours. Last you had heard from San he was working at a beach resort in Mallorca; one of the more adventurous members of your family, he was the only one to bear any resemblance to your unwanted guest, so you did not miss him at all.

San would be the sort of man to think of starting a grilled cheese business. The devil and him would get along well, or it would be more correct to say the devil would find a good client in him. ‘A simple-minded hedonist with no care for the future’, that was what the devil had described ‘deal material’ to be. Truly distant from what you could offer, leading you to question his motives. But he had insisted that you had the potential, and it was only a matter of time before you realised just how much more you could achieve if only you had the devil’s helping hand. You had flatly replied that you hated any form of contact and had departed to your bedroom without a second thought. When you woke up the next morning and walked out to drink some water, the devil was standing in the same place where you had left him. Like so, he had begun hurling success story after success story at you, ceaselessly trying to convince you that soul-selling was ‘not that bad’ and was only going to increase your quality of life.

Why ask for grilled cheese when you are satisfied with a single digestive biscuit? Thatyou’re your philosophy. You need not tread on other meals when something you had tried and tested never failed you. Besides, you had nothing that you wanted to order from the devil. You did not need luck, nor love, nor riches. Your daily activities suited you, and you would not trade them for a sudden burst of foolish, false fame. You ambled down the corridor, inspecting the progress of the crack that had started on the ceiling, and now had gotten behind a painting that you had bought at a second-hand market. An amateur painting of a traditional manor, nevertheless done tastefully and with careful consideration of colour. Pleasant enough to keep in a hermit’s isolation pod.

Having forgotten to undraw the curtains you were met with darkness upon entering the bedroom. The overcast afternoon did not possess enough energy to seep through the gaps. You lazily pushed them aside, accidentally taking the tulle with it. So, you stopped to admire the evergreen outside of your window before returning everything to how it was and looking for a piece of paper and pen in the dimly lit quarters, relying on memory and a stream of light from the rest of the flat.

After settling on an old envelope and a dying pen you heavily abbreviated and paraphrased all you could recall, finishing off with:

Grilled Cheese Philosophy

You nodded and folded the envelope. Chucking the pen into the bin set under my desk you turned and lied down on your bed, hearing the springs creak and curse at you for disturbing them from their peaceful daytime slumber.

-----

Over earl grey and a finger sandwich platter you had assembled from a store-bought set, the devil and you were discussing the concept of business and management. Wooyoung, or at least that was the human name he had picked, out of the blue, for himself, assured you that devil-work was mainly paperwork, and those in his line of speciality rarely had time for the pleasure of direct customer support.

“It is unfortunate. Before, paperwork, archiving and filing was all given to the rookies, but with the increase in regulations and terms of service all of us are neck deep in bureaucratic nonsense. I mean, what’s the joy in writing out a detailed account of how a deal went down? There is no time to form your own style or identity anymore.” This stirred you out of your zoned-out state, and you stopped resting your head on your hand, instead crossing your arms and moving your head as a gesture to continue. You spotted the hint of a smirk dance on his lips, only for a moment.

“Did you know that back in the day, each demon would have their own style of soul collection? That’s right. You could tell who had a contract with who, and when it would end. Back then they really cared about the artistic details, from the devil’s mark to the contract abandonment psychosis… it was all thought through.” Your eyes narrowed at the latter term, so you did not encourage any prolongation of the monologue. Wooyoung caught on quickly, used to your quiet command and with a sip of his drink explained as-a-matter-of-factly:

“Contract abandonment psychosis is a neat thing. See, when you make a deal, that’s it. You can’t back out of it. The psychosis is icing on top of that cake – if you try to avoid your over-written fate then, basically, you start going insane. Think withdrawal symptoms dialled up to one thousand. Once client of mine tried to abandon ship straight after shaking my hand, well, it only took him a week to end up in a mental institution! That guy was unlucky by nature, he never did realise his plans, so I was one happy demon.” He finished, taking a sandwich, and eating it in one bite. You thought that on that your conversation would terminate and you could continue your luncheon to the ticking of the antique clock on the wall, but soon after washing everything down, Wooyoung continued his droning.

At that point you were merely thankful that you were not being forced to reciprocate the enthusiasm for affairs of the literal underworld. You were picking apart the tuna and cucumber sandwich you had moved to my plate, watching crumbs fall and begin to pile. A piece of tuna had managed to slide out as you tore away a bigger piece, and the vegetable’s green flesh was barely hanging on. Wooyoung was watching you, a mixture of contempt and curiosity on his face. He had already devoured two more sandwiches in the time that had passed after his miniature lecture.

“You going to eat that?” He asked, snorting.

“Do you want it?” you shot back, staring right back at him. His lips curled into a smirk, and you saw his expression darken.

“Not when your filthy hands have already contaminated it, you mortal.”

“That, I am. And suit yourself.” you responded, disregarding the threatening tone in Wooyoung’s voice, and keeping on pulling the bread to bits. Now it had become a mission to irritate the demon sitting before you as much as possible. Childish, but one of the rare pleasures.

It had already been two weeks since the beginning of your acquaintance and co-inhabitancy, so naturally you had come to learn of Wooyoung’s pet peeves. One would think that a demon could remain nonchalant for all of eternity, however it seemed that that kind was, on average, more passionate and sensitive than any human you knew. Well, aside from my odd cousin San.

Wooyoung despised loud, open-mouthed chewing. He had mentioned it when talking about one particular client who could not make their mind up about what to trade their soul for. All this over a lunch where this person would not stop chewing in ‘such a barbaric, animalistic way’ – as Wooyoung had described it. That led directly to another one of his annoyances: indecision. As a dealer, businessman, perhaps contract worker, Wooyoung liked the rules and regulations to be impeccable before the final handshake. But too many a times did the poor demon have to deal with hours of following a human around listening to their empty ponderings. ‘Humans have a tendency to become overly philosophical in the most crucial moments,’ he had noted once.

Unrelated to the other two, Wooyoung despised pigeons, which was exactly why it brought you great entertainment to change the location of my casual excursions to a nearby park, populated with hundreds of birds. There you had discovered that he had equal distaste for swans, ducks and, frankly, anything avian. Flying bugs were also not his favourite, for he took great pleasure in disposing of them with your slippers, an old newspaper or a magazine.

Taking notice of the devil’s sources of displeasure allowed you to make note of his emotional cues, highlighting his mischievous and serious demeanours, which were so subtly different you had never taken notice and often had made the wrong predictions in the friendly debates you and him had. A slight repositioning of the shoulders, twitch of the brow, a complex series of taps - all were signs that, upon study, gave you a feeling of control.

While playing with your food, eyes downcast, you took peeks at Wooyoung’s upper body. It was only a matter of time before he exploded, maybe even literally. He regarded food as something practically sacred, so such table manners and misconduct would drive him up a wall. For you it gave a sublime excuse to not eat and continue to peacefully wear away into soothing oblivion. You did not need the devil to be a so-called saviour, watching over you. You continued your act of defiance, now occasionally rolling up the bread between two fingers into tiny balls.

You admired their mouldability. Their smoothness. That grainy, soft quality that most loved, now turned to a primitive wholegrain ball. But even these were not eternal. Morphing into thin snakes, falling apart at the ends, the ball pieces coated your fingertips, latched onto your skin and happily disintegrated. Perhaps Wooyoung was not enjoying the demonstration for its resemblance to what he enjoyed doing to humankind regularly? Tearing it apart just for the sake of it, only to give some false hope to, then punish them with more zeal and erase their self-conjured identity to nothing more than a tortured soul. You were proud of your own accidental analogy and had made it your task to write it down in privacy. Probably after the demon were to leave you alone.

To your delight, your antics sped up the devil’s tea drinking, and soon enough he shot up with a scoff and stormed out of the kitchen. Habitually, you waited before getting your hopes up. A minute ticked by, two minutes, but still no door slam or locking. Were you in for a telling-off? You had become genuinely curious as to what your demon guest had gotten up to. Judging from the end of a long shadow that was at the entrance to the kitchen, Wooyoung was idolising himself in the mirror. Fixing his hair, pulling at his suit, yet again. A meditation through egocentric routine. That could only mean one thing: the devil was sure to come back. Your efforts gone to waste, you toss the remaining crumbs onto your plate, saw some bounce onto the table, and folded your bony arms.

If someone out of your family were to see you now, there would most likely begin every conversation with: ‘oh dear, how thin you have gotten!’, without any awareness of the fact that you were, in actuality, on a spiritual journey to the discovery of self by means of deprivation. In your mind, deprivation also meant starvation, amongst other things. Before the arrival of Wooyoung at one point you had stopped allowing myself the luxury of going to the grocery store, instead choosing to devour remaining canned and long-lasting goods during sinful bouts. Pasta as an only meal for a fortnight could be considered dull by some, but once your stomach had atrophied to an acceptable size and all that your tongue could register was blandness, pasta was the only nourishment your body did not reject.

Wooyoung did not question your eating habits, and for that you had mentally thanked him. Instead, he had merely requested you be present at every meal he had, aside from those out of your apartment – one on one client meetings, he had instantly elaborated.

Your eyes shut, you were reflecting on your speedy self-inflicted resolution. Before you could get to the part where your flimsy, cheap coffin would begin to deteriorate and you would fuse with the soil embracing you, Wooyoung returned, almost glowing, ever so peppy and up-tempo. Apparently, you had reminded him of another ‘magnificent’ story, which he was metaphorically dying to tell, and you were literally dying to listen to.

-----

“A grilled cheese toast syndicate?”

“Yes. I swear on all of my bosses. The grilled cheese food truckers are surprisingly enthusiastic when it comes to selling their own souls for their art.”

“You have only told me about two people so far, and they are co-owners of the same food truck. Your statement cannot possibly hold true.”

“At this point, take it as axiom. Maybe some day I will tell you about January the thirteenth,” I raised an eyebrow, “… or was it April? Either way, it was definitely rainy, murky, a Wednesday, and the thirteenth.” you did not prod him for details. You did not need him to think that some empty collection of his words was a carrot on a stick that he could dangle in front of you.

“Anyways, those guys are mad dedicated, aren’t they?” you huffed in response, getting an eyeroll in return.

He had been doing it so often, his eyes might as well remain staring into the black hole that was his cranium – the only explanation you could find for Wooyoung’s intense self-centeredness and profound elevation of his being not only above humans but also above his own colleagues. This led you to wonder whether there was a defined system hierarchy in his business, or whether a low-level worker could talk down to the big demons if there was enough evidence to suggest they were right in doing so. Did the right to reprimand and walk on the heads of others warp from zero to infinitely high?

If anything, you would have wanted to hear more about demon administration, not caring a single bit for the grilled cheese men driving around on a truck powered by infernal evil. But, that one mention of paperwork and rookie versus regular employee had long since passed, remaining only in your memory and in the list of displeasures of my guest.

Upon Wooyoung’s insistence, you were now seated in the living room, him splayed out on the couch, you composed in the squeaky armchair. It was almost as if you were the devil’s therapist. Give you a notepad and a pencil, and the scene would be complete. You quietly listened to him, the made-up role giving you strength to remain in the room for a while longer and bear with the excessive social contact.

“So, this guy approached me on a Monday morning, right? I was still a bit groggy from a party weekend – corporate events, you see, so I did not register who exactly I was talking to at first, and how this rando could know me by one of my human names. So, I am sitting there, and hear-”

You could see your reflection in the dusty dinnerware display cabinet. Barely a figure, only partially human. Your wool sweater was exaggerating what mass you had left on your shoulders; made your wrists look like fragile twigs. When you acted out, did Wooyoung have the urge to check if they would snap the same way? But what was the use of such actions, when you were the only one in the demon’s life to care enough about what he was blabbering to note it down on a stray piece of paper here, a napkin there. You had made him quotable, thereby valued. Your wrists will survive longer than your cooling core. You did not mean for Wooyoung to find out, but it was bound to happen eventually. You were living together after all. You thought after his freeloading for so many weeks you might just accept him as a family member.

He was so excited, that poor beast. Giddy and giggling he strolled up to you one morning, a piece of magazine between two fingers. You had just finished watering the only plant that had survived your aunt’s ‘love’. You had asked her to take care of them for only two weeks. She had a magic touch Hades touch, you were sure of it. Ironic that you had to travel for a funeral, when there was misery in your own home. Those plants were pretty much people to you; Although you’d never say it out loud, but you missed Fred the rhododendron. Wooyoung had waited until you turned around and faced him, supressing a toxic glower. You had gripped the miniature watering can so tightly you’re your knuckles turned white.

“Got any more like this?” his voice was almost mocking. Like he had discovered a dirty little secret of yours and was about to go around and tell everybody about it. Who was everybody? If it were people who would listen, you would be impressed and let him talk.

Something had told you that you should be confident and accepting on this one occasion. This stance had allowed you to see a child within Wooyoung. As if he had been praised by someone who he greatly admired. Maybe equivalent to a mother putting up a shoddy etch on the fridge with ‘her favourite magnet’. Good demon.

“Got any more of what?” you feigned your being oblivious, unintentionally batting your eyelashes.

“Oh, you know… sayings of, yours truly, that you like so much you immortalise them… Not that I am emotionally mortal to make anything I do be tainted with such silly things, but I appreciate the gesture. Very human, yet very touching.” He had slid the piece inside of his breast pocket, careful not to crease the pocket square more than it already had been. Wooyoung was waiting for you to spill all but you would not budge. You did not feel like it.

While floating in your sentimentalities you did not notice that the demon was now hovering over you, eyebrows knitted together and a scowl on his face.

“You are not listening to me, are you? Repeat what I said.” you rubbed the inner corners of your eyes and stifled a yawn. This was just like primary school. How long ago that was, and yet even demons treated him the same way. You tried to recall what Wooyoung had said last, out of the things you registered.

“Oh,” you began; the demon was expectant, a bit of the gloom evaporating from his features. “You said the new grilled cheese man knew your name.”

“For- for goodness’ sake. That was five minutes ago, you oaf.” You have not heard that insult in a while. It was refreshing. Maybe your oaf-ness will finally get him to shut up for today and leave you be? Not a chance.

“Okay, just for you I will begin the glorious tale again. You better listen carefully now, or I will literally devour your soul.” Big threat for someone who cannot attack a human out of contract bounds without being banished for all of eternity. You bit the inside of your cheek, knowing it was wiser to leave such comments out of the already tense moment.

You allowed Wooyoung to settle back onto your couch without snarky remarks following him. He crossed his legs and threw his arms onto the back, revealing more of the dress shirt he had selected for today. It was undoubtedly an expensive article, remaining creaseless for over eight hours now. The almost neon quality the orange stripes on the item possessed could hurt anybody’s vision if they stared for too long. Wooyoung was taking his sweet time restarting his storytelling, evidently trying me. And here you were thinking that your lack of listening skill would deter people; your guess this specimen was truly not in any way related to the ‘people’ kind.

Now that you took your time to ponder it more deeply, this was another one of his ‘quirks’ – wearing pricy, loud shirts from the high streets, no matter the occasion. He had first appeared before you in all black, wings of the shirt collar an astonishing shade of crimson. When you had asked who had made the piece, not hiding your admiration, his lips had morphed into a dark smile, and he nonchalantly explained that it was handmade by the tortured souls under his command. You had refrained from ever commenting on his outfits since then, and rightfully so - the shirts were all done in a distinct style. Made in hell.

The dandy demon glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and sighed.

“Time for a cup of tea, don’t you think?”

“If you want one.”

“And you don’t?”

“No, I do not, thanks for asking.”

“I guess I will have one later, I don’t care. So, grilled cheese. Where was I? Oh right, where I lost you. So, this dude-”

-----

It was a cool and bright afternoon, with the signs of spring getting stronger and stronger each day. The flowers were blooming early this year – it had been a weak winter. Daffodils nodding to passers-by, cherry trees giving up petals to the wind, the flurry of pinks and whites spiralling off into an entrancing dance. How long had it been since Wooyoung had become your guest, your accidental friend? You stopped counting, and at the same time had lost track of how many notes you had written, now accompanied by sketches and stored in leather-bound photo albums. Finally, you had put your older sister’s gift to good use. She had bought you these empty albums with the hope that her ‘precious sibling would make some good memories and be able to look at them all any time’. So now your only worthy memory was that demon. And to think you were supposed to take photos of ‘friends’ and ‘nature’ and ‘joyful events’ – you did not see enough of any of those to be able to make a record, so any curious eyes would have to deal with Wooyoung being the embodiment of them all.

For the first time in weeks, you had decided to take a walk outside without the intent of going to buy the demon some food, or to browse the isles of the local bookstore. Wooyoung was more than happy to join me – you did not even ask, and he was ready to go. A young puppy from the underworld. You wondered what breed this guy was most like. Frankly indoors he was more of a cat. Little did he know, you were out on a mission, even this time. You wanted to get one photo. The only photo in all three of the photo albums, which would serve as a conclusion. A depiction of Wooyoung; a way of showing that demons had more human qualities than some members of the species.

You had taken a camera, never used, and a full roll of film with you. The demon suspiciously eyed it as it was swaying left and right, hanging from your neck. As soon as you mentioned your plans, however, he gained an intoxicating exhilaration, so much so that you could not resist and took a snapshot right on my street. Wooyoung was smiling wide, his eyes narrowed, spinning on his feet while avoiding fallen magnolia. In the photo it looked like he was stopped mid-dance, his hands positioned with a refined grace.

To be frank, you were enjoying the time that was passing. The number of frozen memories grew exponentially; you had to admit, Wooyoung was a magnificent model – the camera loved his features, and he certainly did not shy away from it, nor was he disrespectful of the machine. Why machine? He could not have become considerate of you and your preferences in the span of the last ten minutes.

His vigour was infectious, and an unfamiliar passion ignited within you. The desire to act, to function, to contribute to the world had been inhabiting much like a parasite for once. You would not stop taking photographs until all film available to you was used up – you had made a fleeting mental promise. Though you were fully aware that this moment was not to last, you were glad that you had gained something to reminisce when you were to breathe your last.

After a street photo session Wooyoung and you continued on your stroll, headed towards a public garden that had recently been renovated. Soon enough, you were surrounded by fragrant flowers in bloom, flaunting their spring fashion. Beings of the Earth naively blithe at the awakening of their planet. What was so warming about today, anyway? Your body had grown so unaccustomed to supporting itself that your soul had cooled to the dangerous status of near indifference. Frankly, your only pleasure was to command Wooyoung to stand a certain way, crouch down and smell the daffodils, caress a branch… The only authority or meaning you had left, serving as a tether before you could finally let go.

Your cutting away from reality to whatever existed beyond was closer than you had imagined – it almost made you feel as if you had been robbed of some precious hours to indulge in hobbies. It was now that you reflected that instead of the variety of mundane elements of routine, you could have been someone great. You could have written the indescribable, cured the incurable, solved the unsolvable. Your speeches, monologues, soliloquies could have been on the lips of millions, uttered and echoed like prayer. You could have eradicated crime, famine, war… become a martyr for the greater good of humanity. But all you had left was to mull over your options of maggots or ash.

What made people great? Did those great people know of their value? Or were they stuck in the same loop of perceived worthlessness, unable to self-validate and allow oneself to turn off the inner critic for a couple of seconds. The greats did not have the time to breathe, instead sacrificing themselves to the choking depths of their art. At the beginning, they could barely keep their head afloat, wading in the viscous fluids of judgement, struggle and challenge. At one point their muscles would be used to the constant burn, and they could pretend to be walking above it all – a slow crawl in search of a shore that does not exist. But at one point, they would inevitably falter, and then, it is impossible to know whether they will drown or stay motionless above the surface, a splayed-out water strider. How you wished you could have had an ocean of your own to talk about in your darkest hour. Pain to make life worth living.

“Do you see them?” Wooyoung’s soothing voice penetrated your consciousness, and you turned your head towards him.

“Hm? Oh, do you mean those people?” you gestured at the couple sitting on a bench ten or so metres away from us. Their hands were intertwined as they lovingly stared into each other’s eyes. You raised your camera to snap a quick photo of the moment. Wooyoung had gone awfully quiet and waited for the photo to develop with bated breath. What was so special about a-

What? Where did they go? You were confused, fear rising in your throat. They could not have- No, they were still there. How could the camera take a picture of the bench but not the individuals sitting on it? Was this some trick? You furrowed your eyebrows and glared at Wooyoung. It must had been some silly prank.

“This is not funny. Are you entertained by this?” Then, softening my delivery you added, “But I would like to know how you could have possibly done it. The lighting, the trees, the flowers are all the same. It’s just the people that-”

“-Are dead.” He ended your sentence with a shocking truth. It was obvious that, for once, he was not being misleading. If you had not known him at all you would have guessed that he was grief-striken. There was an anticipation of something you had only tentatively explored. He had the look of a worn out, hollow man, faced with a horror he had to harden himself up for, if not for centuries, then for millennia.

You were clinging onto your habitual scepticism, but it had turned to lead in water. You had nothing to protect you from the gravity of the situation. You had no choice but to believe Wooyoung – he was a demon, after all. He knew death better than anyone else. But although the easiest option was to blindly trust him, you played it safe:

“Assuming they are dead, how could I possibly be seeing them? That does not seem reasonable. A regular person cannot-”

“Yes, a regular person cannot see the deceased, or when they do see them, they do not realise that they have just encountered the other side. Dead people have a spectacular ability of being unnoticeable even when present. They are just echoes of who they were in real life, so they would never be as flamboyant, attractive or energetic.” you stared at the photograph you had taken so intensely your gaze could burn holes in the film. Not a hint of their being on the bench. “I can bet a soul you would not have seen the two spectres on the bench if I had not pointed them out.”

“Then why did you?” you had the right to be seething. You would shout and give the demon a piece of your mind. How dare he? He had no right to tell me… but then again, you were making your own conclusions. He did not tell you what you did not need to hear to know. Just yet.

“I wanted to make sure of… you know what.”

“What?” you pressed on. It was going to hurt. You had to muster up all my courage to keep this interrogation going. You needed to be hit with the phrase that simultaneously established your success, but with the appearance of Wooyoung in your life introduced notes of loss and regret.

“You are going to die soon.” That was all you needed.

You knew it. From the lost glances that Wooyoung had been giving you the last few days. It was said that there are certain dogs that can smell cancer; demons can smell death, regardless of distance. Your friend from the underworld had explained during dinner a few nights ago that this power was one of the worst punishments, and it was not even hell’s creation. He had stated that Earth reeked of death, another reason why demons did not come out too often, and when they did, they had to have undergone extensive training.

The smell of death was so strong even humans could sense it sometimes, particularly when in severe distress. However, tasks like demographic classification of a strench, or influencing its diffusion to manipulate living beings, were all beyond any demon’s capabilities. As Wooyoung had kindly pointed out, ‘that was the job of the grim reapers, and they were somewhat above supernatural commonality’.

You only needed to look at myself in a mirror or storefront window to know that you were going to die. Your body was in the process of shutting down. Only skin and bone, you hobbled around with barely any energy. You were no longer a human, but an illusion. You could study the skeletal system using myself as a model. Your only potential purpose currently. You had forgotten the meaning of nourishment, only ever treating yourself to stale bread and a glass of water. Although your primal instincts had been rebelling and begging for you to embrace nature and sustain yourself properly, your mind had prevailed. So here you were, finally coming to the personal revelation that you were going to be parting ways and falling, after balancing for enough years. Or not enough. Depends on who wished to interpret.

You were losing. Be it something, someone or generally. You had been losing this whole time. You did not know when your attitude had changed and you began to walk the tightrope blindfolded, but it had evolved from a manic pursuit of achieving daring stunts to playing with your own wellbeing for kicks. This is where you ended up. At the edge of a cliff, no going back; just one step forward, soaring to purgatory. Your last ever rise, for sure.

“So, this is the beginning of the end, as they call it, huh?” you whispered, with your voice barely audible over the rustling of the trees. Wooyoung did not say anything but pursed his lips and nodded. He did not need to elaborate further, knowing that you were perfectly aware of your condition and what was to come. You began to amble down the gravelly path, quickening your pace once you reached the bench with the ghostly couple. You wanted to get away, but only to see another ever so slightly translucent lady enjoying the sunshine, standing barefoot on the grass. You were about to scoff and make a comment about public health and disregard for the new strands but caught yourself.

These spirits had no mass, just like they had no purpose for the living. They could not influence reality no matter how hard they tried. It was impossible. They did not have the necessary human qualities, or the otherworldly powers of a demon to overcome the death-life barrier and do something as simple as feeling the breeze on one’s own skin. The same one that was making you shiver and wish you had brought a warmer coat.

Wooyoung and you were living in a metropolis of the dead, semi-humans in fading grey tones. You had no idea for how long you had been seeing these half familiar, half grotesque entities, walking on ground that was still yours; what used to be real clinging onto the regular man’s delusion, a madman’s fantasy, a sick man’s nightmare. Oh, how much must your demon friend have seen. Did he see those who were beyond saving so frequently that he lost touch with which was which? Did he treat them all the same? Were you still the person you had known yourself to be? From the day of Wooyoung’s arrival, had you been in this state, and stripped of the knowledge?

And yet… you would not have lived your last weeks with the same passive enjoyment, having a sense of power and control over your choices amidst progressive degradation. Although not confirmed, your demon companion had quite possibly withheld information about your own demise. It was true that the appearance of an entity from the inferno should have started ringing a few bells straight away, but you could not be bothered to make yourself care. Sometimes, it was the omission of fact that gave a person true pleasure.

-----

Your notes disappeared. You had woken up at the crack of dawn just to search for them, but to no avail, and it was unlikely that they were in Wooyoung’s room, for you had never given him permission to touch anything you deemed personal. This was the reason behind your gloominess during Wooyoung’s breakfast. You had a sip of water, which you proceeded to spit out into the sink. You were parched, your lips bitten and chapped, but you could not allow for a single droplet to roll down your oesophagus. The demon was not giving you any attention, instead focusing on the eggs benedict in front of him. It was like you were a family, not having to speak to be comfortable in each other’s presence.

You had gotten used to this demon. Now that he was technically more alive than you, you had a stronger pull towards him, a sense of desperation and longing. He had mentioned, in the early days, some of his clients having similar sensations prior to making deals. Had they been on the same cliff’s edge when they had found solace and a temporary solution in Wooyoung? You were not going to give in, and he did not want you to, obviously resisting any temptation to make you crack or to tempt you. Conscious of his effect on your species’ natural ability of being manipulated, he was all smiles and kindness the last few days. It was really a blessing in disguise. Made your passing far more comfortable than you could have ever imagined.

After Wooyoung finished breakfast, you washed up, immediately drying the dishes, and then walked to the living room. You longed to see the street one last time, crack open the window and breathe the stench of the polluted concrete jungle you lived in. You were not going to get to see your neighbourhood bulldozed and converted to skyscraper haven – for the better. There was the same number of cars, the same average number of people passing by. The same cat from across that went out to sit on a low brick wall was there, letting the rays masked by murky ashen clouds sink deep into its skin. It wasn’t as if the whole planet was meant to slow down just for your ending.

You were just a cog, and a cog that had removed itself from the machine so long ago that it had become a foreign object. You had always had trouble relating to people, this was only proven by the fact that it had been easier dealing with a demon; in any case, your innate lighthearted misanthropy allowed for a seamless disappearance. You would not be making anybody sad – in the best case scenario, somebody would be able to tell who it was they were meant to be mourning. Yet another reason why now you were praising myself for radically isolating, you need not worry about the majority of funeral expenses going to entertaining some guests who were likely not bothered to say anything more than ‘oh poor them’ or know anything more than what you had carved onto your face.

“It’s been a good ride, pal. I’ve had some real nice times with you. You might become one of my stories I tell clients, you never know. The antithesis to the piece of toast.” Wooyoung had positioned himself to your left, resting his arms behind his back and staring off into the smoggy distance.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked, turning once again to the horizon. Was the view from this window always so breath-taking?

“More poetic, I guess.” So informative, Wooyoung. Thank you. It rid you of all your pains.

“Yes, very clear. Cheers.”

“Wow, you sure are impressed. Sorry, I can’t explain it too well. You know… hm. How do I? Maybe it’s kind of like the bittersweet feeling you get after finishing a really good book? People can be like that too, for immortals that is. We know about each person’s birth, life, and death, and in there somewhere is that same beginning middle and end that is within every literary masterpiece.” He was inadvertently inflating the perception of your importance to society.

“Now you are making out my species to be way better than we are.”

“Yep, I know.” That was uncalled for, but you appreciated the brutal honesty in your final hours.

You glanced at the vintage clock, loyally ticking away on the wall. A little past three. Seemed right somehow, to get the end started right that instant. Spun on your heels and slowly made your way to the front door of your apartment. You could not care less to change from your slippers to an outdoor pair of shoes, so you exited into the communal stairwell how you was. Wooyoung was trailing behind you, his hands in his trouser pockets. You decided to take the stairs up instead of the elevator – it was not that long of a journey, but anyways you wanted the sort of scenic route towards your demise. Demon boy did not comment, only one of his eyebrows twitched once you were already halfway up the stairs to the next floor.

Soon enough, the metal door leading to the roof was looming before you. A map of some outdated emergency exits, the page yellowed, was framed and hung on two screws loosened by poor initial handiwork. There were meant to be two others, but they were long gone, probably lying around somewhere, with the dust bunnies, rusted and most surely extinct to their purpose. That reminded you, you should get going. Your attention had been constantly drifting ever since you had made the choice to abuse yourself into a state of being able to welcome self-elimination – truth be told in the beginning you had not calculated that this was what your actions would lead to, but now you did not oppose it in the slightest.

The wind was freezing cold, attacking you through the layers of clothing you had on. But it gave you natural encouragement to go on, go forwards and position yourself at the edge. There it was, your final destination. You peered at the concrete below; it was unlikely that you would be a pretty sight, alas you had plans and they had to be gone through with. Only a minor inconvenience for the residence – they would look at you the same way they would look at a dead animal; distract the kids, notice the awakening of a morbid fascination with the macabre, then go about their day, never to give the honour of being pondered to the poor animal again. If only you could possess the same altruistic qualities as those creatures that gave their lives away for the greater good. But you were only acting for yourself. You could have been great, but you could not act great no matter how much you tried. Your steps had led you too far from the ocean, so you had found a bog to sink into.

You closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The air was cleaner the closer one was to the sky, dizzyingly sweet, intoxicating. There was a thirst in you after all. Too late for it to ever be satisfied. Some things were meant to be left unfinished and permanently abandoned. You tuned into the howling of sirens, zooming through your neighbourhood; you were wondering who they were, where they were going. Before you could conjure a whole story for the emergency services that dashed past, stopping when you had ideated a man who discovered the body of a stranger in the middle of his living room and, in a panic, had dialled any car that produced the violent shriek, Wooyoung cleared his throat, causing your eyes to flutter open. You turned your head – he was closer to you than you had initially predicted. Had he been here this whole time?

“I have already collected your notes by the way. Sorry to have gotten you into a bit of a panic, I should have told you earlier.” So now he chose to ever so kindly bestow this upon you. A rapid onset of frustration was rapidly abated by Wooyoung’s apologetic smile. This charming bastard. He knew you would let it go.

He had genuinely not meant to cause you harm in your last hours here, or at least that was what you wanted to believe. The demon had wanted to give you a proper send-off, making sure you did not have any unfinished business on Earth. When you had questioned his motives, asking whether on your death bed he would metaphorically back-stab you he waved me off and took offense: “I get that I am a demon, but you are my friend. I don’t eat my friends’ souls,” It was almost touching until “…not a fan of bitter stuff.” He had an odd sense of humour. You will miss it, if that was possible on the other side.

He had told you that emotions were going to be your most loyal companions there. Your only true companions. Memories would make the occasional appearance too. He had given you a rundown on how to properly greet a reaper to impress them and make the walk through all the checkpoints less unbearable. “Those guys have a tendency to be quite morose. Total killjoys, am I right?” Wooyoung was proud of himself for that play on words. It was with regret that you had to part with his bad jokes.

You were standing at the edge of your ten-story apartment building, the same one you had lived in since university. You could say with confidence that this was enough to crack your thin shell. This day had come when your mind had passed the state of believing the internal alert signs that had flashed endlessly, shutting them off, now choosing to agree with the way of termination you had been preparing for. You took half a step forward, so your toes could feel the curvature of the drop through the grimy cotton stuffed with cheap card. Your demon friend was exasperating, choosing to dawdle and rock on his feet right next to you. What had you expected? This was none of his business. You sighed and could not help but give him a glare. He looked up and gave you a wide, practically coy grin – if it were anybody else, you would have been deeply disturbed, given the reason why you two were here. But Wooyoung was Wooyoung; demons were more than allowed to react in strange ways to the ending of man.

For some reason you could not picture the faces of your mother and father. In these moments people usually thought about their family, right? Normally those were who they left behind to pick up the pieces. But for you the postman that came to your street every Sunday was more vivid than your own relatives. It could be because you had not visited them for what could be seven years. Were they well? You had no clue. But it was no longer your business or concern. Might as well muse about the postman. That gentleman in uniform would have to keep on hoarding any spam and bank statements and charity advertisements that would be sent to your address until finally he would either not be bothered with them, or somebody would move in and change the name in the address lines.

The apartment would sell quickly; it wasn’t like you were doing anything funny inside, if anything you were lowering the value of the whole house, or even the street. Huh, you did have impact on the external world! Go you. At least you would be good at being harmful vermin to your neighbours. Parasitic vermin which they could not get rid of because it beat them to the chase. On the other hand, you were giving a helping hand to anyone who was looking to buy an apartment in this area for cheap – assuming a real estate agency would be interested in handling the post-mortem affairs.

You had watched an interview with an agent in Japan who specialised in houses and flats of people who ended up just like you or had passed of natural causes. Living alone, those people spiritually disintegrated, their physical selves following suit. What came after? The agency ordered a deep clean, transformed the housing and sold it off to those who dared. And that was a prime example of good business. Life went on no matter what one did, and you had nothing but respect for that man, who was effectively fighting off evil spirits that people conjured up in their creative little heads by re-making a place of mourning, a place of death into a spacious, minimalist condo for generations of life after life after life. If not you, then at least your apartment will go on. That was all you were hoping for. You could not be great now, but your apartment… For a split second you considered agreeing to give your soul away to Wooyoung in order to guarantee the protection and bettering of your little habitat, but it was not right to meddle with the natural flow of events. If the flat was meant to outlive you for centuries to come, you would be glad. If not, so be it. Demolition was an acceptable way to go too.

After the whole morning had been overcast, the sun was finally beginning to peer out, making leaves surrounding your building glisten. They were waving at you, cheering me on. The only time you had ever felt supported: “You can do it! We believe in you! Go, go!” Pressure was building inside of you, a spring or a coil, ready to be sent off. You moved my feet back, taking off your slippers. That was what you had seen done in movies and anime, so the footwear did not fall off mid-fall. Or was it just a statement that everyone wordlessly agreed upon? You did not mind following the trend. After they were pinched in my right hand, you bent over and placed them neatly on the edge. They fit into the scene perfectly, as if they were meant to be there, and not being used as platforms for striding around a household. An adventurous, risk-taking pair of slippers. You felt ready.

Tiny bits of gravel and chipped off stone pressed into your feet. You balanced on your heels, toes already hovering above the drop. The wind could probably blow you over if it was any stronger. Your hands were dry, your heartbeat somnolent and your will persistent. You nodded to yourself, and with the flash of the sun, appearing from behind a cloud, you gave in. You imagined yourself as a fledgling, finally leaving the nest, ready to feel the wind under your wings for the first and final time. Your head was spinning as you lost balance and gave into infinity.

You felt free. So free that you wanted this fall to last forever. A sigh escaped you as you could no longer feel your aches, neither physical, nor mental. You were a fleeting moment, passing by, ready to-

You were definitely meant to hit the ground by now. You had personally seen the arrays of windows zoom past you, faster and faster. Then why were you staring into the sun, and still very much alive and breathing? It was as though time had been frozen or was going so slowly that motion was barely there – you tried to move a leg, but it did not follow your command. You tried your arm – same story. What was this? Was this some illusion?

In a click, you were back to speeding downwards, but only for a split second before crashing into what felt like a pair of outstretched arms. Arms which barely moved when you collided with them full force, as though they had absorbed all the impact, transferring it to the earth beneath you. Somehow, they had cushioned your fall entirely, cradling you against something, or rather someone warm, safe.

One of the arms was holding your upper body steady, while the other was holding you under your knees. Once you had gotten rid of your initial shock, a panic settled in. You were not supposed to be here, you were not supposed to be seeing this. You had overstayed your welcome. They should let go! What right did they have to decide your fate like this!? What was this cursed act of playing some higher power and turning you into a puppet? Desperate and livid, you attempted to free yourself.

You were unsure of what you were going to do. It was funny, how you had ceased to plan anything, and were clueless even about the next few seconds of your existence. At least that part you were sure of – you were breathing, you had a pulse, and your chest was about to burst. Tears were welling up in your eyes as you tried and tried to claw your way from the strong arms that now pressed you to their owner’s body. You fought against it, weak fists hitting against the broad chest once, twice, until all you could do was let out a feeble wail and give into the flood of emotion that came pouring out of you.

As your frail frame shook with every sob, intermittently replaced with shallow gasps for air, you felt the someone who had caught you from what you had seen as a certain self-conclusion shift and walk towards the brick wall of your apartment building. There were no windows, no one scrutinising you, only you, the one who, in a matter of seconds decided your fate, and a peaceful spring day. The body had lowered themselves together with you, taking a seat with their back against the cool brick wall, continuing to hold you close.

You were blabbering utter nonsense under your misery-soaked breath, chocked up and lost. You had settled for repeating a never-ending stream of questions beginning with why, ones which the suit-clad body could not, or did not wish to answer. The tears, locked away for eons now being released in honour of what could only be described as an accidental renaissance, were rolling down your crimson cheeks, snaking like streams down your neck and leaving stains on your clothing. Embarrassment, guilt, and regret washed over you in feverish flashes as you attempted to cover your face with your hands.

You hated how you looked when you cried. You hated how helpless you were when you cried. You hated every bit of this humiliation, and yet there was nothing you could do to stop it. It was as though it was not you who took the final step, but a manifestation of all the inhibitions, and toxic limitations you had placed on yourself. A cage thrown from a precipice. And now here you were. That same little bird. That little fledgling. Saved. No longer trapped. But with the hurt not subsiding.

What have you done? Another yelp erupted from you as you rubbed your tremoring hands in circles, feeling every pore, every bit of agony-induced moisture on your skin. You wanted it all to evaporate. To disappear. You did not want to face this. Anything but this. You did not want to face yourself after what you had done. You were such a coward. How did you come to this? What had led you to this foolishness? Why did you not succeed? Because you could not do anything. You could not even control your own life.

Your thoughts were monsters, rabid, barking and biting at you, tearing you apart from within. The noise was overwhelming, dialled up to an impossible maximum as one of your wrists began to bang against your temple. You were so exhausted. You wanted this to stop. So badly. Please. Could. It. Stop.

“Do you hear me?"

A solitary plea, reminiscent of a prayer. Reaching out to you. A promise. A sweet release in the form of music, which had been so core to your darkest hours and your battles against them, that you gasped once you recognised the melody.

"회색빛 안개 덮인 Gloomy day Gloomy day covered with gray fog

눈앞이 가려진 게 두려워 I'm afraid that my eyes are covered

이젠 아무것도 흥미가 안 나 No woah…” I'm not interested in anything anymore No woah

This song was so familiar. So close to your heart. It had been with you through many moments in your life. Through times when you had no one to rely on. Through times when you had been losing hope, but at least for a few minutes, felt like there was still something worth holding on to.

The voice that was singing it was mellifluous, each note embellished with gold, clearing your haze. It possessed a steadiness that was so jarring to your state that you could not help but be jolted out, shaken from a horrific nightmare. You wanted to keep on listening, stay like this forever. Maybe this was afterlife after all? When the voice stopped for a moment, as if unsure whether to continue or not, your hand grasped one of the arm’s sleeves, squeezing it, begging for the song to continue. With a soft hum in agreement, the arm supporting your legs slips back, letting you down onto the ground slowly. In a few quick adjustments, you were now sat between the man’s legs, your back flush against his chest, as he continued to embrace you. Your wings. Your shield.

As he continued to sing, you could feel a pleasant vibration against your own body, with every breath, every sound that filled the air. Slowly but surely, your tears had stopped, leaving only reminders - streaks that had painted over you, and you were stilled to a trance, only following the music. In that moment, the only things to exist were you, him, and the melody. Who knew that this combination could be a safe haven?

“She's in the rain

You wanna hurt yourself, I'll stay with you

You wanna make yourself go through the pain

It's better to be held than holding on, no woah…”

You let out an airy chuckle, lifting a hand wrapped up in your sleeve and dabbing away at the corners of your glistening eyes. This song. Out of all of them. You had not listened to it in so long, though it was always in your memory, like a record left on a turning table. Why now? And how did he of all people, and non-people, know? While still keeping the performance gentle, he went into a cautious crescendo for the final verse, leaving the last line ringing in your very being.

“We're in the rain

떨어지고 있는 이 빗속에서 in this falling rain

흩어져 버린 널 다시 채워 Refill the scattered you

아름다웠던 널 볼 수 있게 So that I can see the beautiful you

No woah, we're in the rain.”

You took the impromptu performance in, relishing in the tranquility that it had given you. As the silence grew longer, however, pangs of guilt made an appearance once more, deciding to pick at your brain and taunt you. You did not deserve this. You had just… you were supposed to… you were told you were going to…

“So, you aren’t even going to say anything about my solo concert? Shame, Y/N, shame.”

You finally looked to the side and up at the man who had restarted your clock. Wooyoung. With his cocky grin and mischievous eyes, and, by total contrast to himself, with the patience of a saint. Otherwise, you could not explain why he was here with you. As though nothing happened. Maybe nothing did. You were now beginning to hope so.

“What’s with the first name basis, demon dearest?” you croaked, throat still hoarse and clogged up from crying.

“I think we have just re-enacted all the standard wedding vows you humans use so I think we can go on first name basis, Y/N.” he jested, mimicking a disgusted tone when saying the word ‘human’.

“But death did not do us part-”

“Thanks to my brilliant, otherworldly reflexes, obviously.”

That was a fair point. Out of all reasons to be alive, you were still hanging on thanks to a demon. To a creature of the underworld. To what one would think is the antithesis to all things valuable on the planet. There had to be a catch.

“You… you said I was going to die.” You mumbled letting your eyes flutter shut and leaning back a little. Wooyoung adjusted your form so that your head could tilt back against his shoulder, and he could rest his chin against yours.

“Isn’t everybody?”

“No, you said, I was going to die soon.”

“Well, oops, I guess.

“Elaborate.”

“Tell me what you thought of my singing, and then I might just satisfy you.” He was unchangeable. But he was here. Still a cunning menace. Reckless, but your saving grace, nevertheless.

“It was good.”

“Just good? I was out there turning my soul inside out for you, damn it.” He retorted. You could hear his smile.

“Your non-existent one?”

“About that…” he trailed off, pausing himself before answering what you had initially thought to be a rhetorical question. This put you on higher alert. You moved a little, so that you were able to speak face to face with Wooyoung. What did he mean?

Instinctively, once you locked eyes with his, you became very self-conscious. Your well-practiced, thoroughly nurtured phobias had stirred from their deprivation-induced slumber and began their routine of hurling insult after insult about how you looked, how you behaved, how you, you were. The last one was a personal favourite of yours: you, an amalgamation of blunders culminating in a virtue-less entity. There you went again, dragged out from the other side only to kick yourself into a corner. But at least you could say you were proof that old habits, did indeed die hard. As Wooyoung saw your previously frustrated expression falter, he could not help but cup one of your cheeks, directing you away from your internal hell.

“Hey, back with me.” He instructed you softly, making you mellow. As he removed his hand, the touch lingered for a little while longer. It was odd, just how easy it was to give into the sensation of being held, being protected, even if it was from oneself. This demon was surprisingly clement and forbearing.

“So, you were saying, Wooyoung?”

Although you were almost certain this had to be trickery, there was a hint at an emotion entirely unexpected from the demon. Upon trying to piece together the bits of body language, and micro reactions that you could capture from your position, you could only read a terribly concealed unease… or shame? Or worry? Either way, it was unlike the conceited hell-bringer you had grown attached to. After his dramatic pause, the man raised his head and gave you an intentionally meek grin.

“I kind of… sort of… maybe used your writing to make a pact?”

“Say that again?” you were bewildered. You had blindly believed him when he had told you he took the ramblings to remove any traces of himself in your life - so much for trying to see the best in demons.

“Well, pacts can be made in spoken or written form, and since I had your writing… well you can guess."

"Who gave you the right to do that?" you asked, venom dripping from the inquiry.

"Look, before you get mad, I have got to say is, I had no other choice!” he blurted out, raising his free hand in front of him in a defensive motion.

Your expression darkened as you peered into his deep brown orbs. As the wind picked up and clouds raced across the sky, you ignored the strands of your dull hair that were making every effort to prevent you from maintaining eye contact for much longer.

“One, you did not answer my question. Two, you could have let me die.”

“Nope. Not an option.”

“Why? And again, who?”

“If I say I am selfish and the answer to both things is just 'me', would you believe me?”

“Partially. Since when do you need me? You wasted enough time already.” reverting to self-deprecation out of habit, you did not wish to argue and instead turned the conversation into a plea for Wooyoung to reevaluate and somehow reverse the process. You were convinced that he had either done it out of pity, or out of twisted sadism.

“Never on you. Do you hear me? Never. Every moment with you is precious.” Again that question. Same one from the song. But now wholly dedicated to you.

You were dumbfounded. This was probably the first time over however many weeks… or was it months, that passed that you had heard him say something so openly positive to you. Previously it had either been a flirtatious comment through which he fished for compliments, or him outright asking for attention from you while he delivered story after story. At least the situation with the missing notes had cleared. They had come into some sort of use, albeit highly questionable.

His phrase. 'Never on you'. Those three little words were giving you room to exist. Providing you with priceless reassurance that to someone in the vastness of space you were not a nuisance. How easily you were swayed now! Nearly cooing because of every word uttered by the demon. Clinging onto every distraction from your own body. You started fading away into your toxic pensiveness, struggling to keep your head afloat.

“You didn’t even ask about the song, and how I knew. Really, we are going to have to work on your ability to ask interesting questions if you are to actually dive into the literary world.” He sounded like a parent, scolding a delinquent child for not paying enough attention in school and skipping.

His mention of the literary world had caught you off-guard. It was true that prior to your spiral your sacred wish had been to become a master of the written word, alas, you had chosen to give it up. But Wooyoung sounded adamant, as though he saw nothing else in your future except the pursuit of your ancient passion. You could not keep up with him, so you remained mute.

“Well, you always did enjoy me taking the lead, so I’ll ask and answer for you, okay?” he added, ever so cheeky. You only hummed in response, preoccupied by your own interpretations of the cryptic introduction.

“I have known you for a while, Y/N. A lot longer than you would think.”

“Okay, continue, sounds promising.” You quipped, making the demon roll his eyes.

“And… how would I say this… there is a reason why I appeared as a demon and not an angel, let’s say that.”

“And that is?”

“It was the easiest way to be with you, Y/N. Otherwise, I would be just a shadow. And I was sick and tired of letting you go. Time, and time again."

"What in the world do you mean?"

"We are bound together.”

You whipped around. Wooyoung was smiling, but it was an evident façade to conceal an excruciating terror that had begun to settle within him as he recounted to you his fall from grace. He revealed to you that he had been a guide for lost souls, tasked to be a bringer of spiritual light to beings of the earth. He was the light heart that one felt when their troubles would be wiped away. He was the freedom felt when a challenge was overcome. He was a candle in a dim reality, fighting in the shadows against people’s troubles. Wooyoung was one to trust easily, fall in love easily, and exist for others.

He was an angel who had been created for continuous self-sacrifice - that was what prophets had told him. And as time went on, he began to crumble harder and faster. It was becoming too much to stand beside these beautiful mortals and see them fall apart, without being allowed to influence their acts directly. Only through cryptic messages, encouraging nothings in moments of somnolence, manifestations… He wanted to do more, so much more!

You had been ‘just another lost soul’ initially. Locked away in your room, moving like an automaton through your human years. Wooyoung had ended up learning a lot about you, memorising your every angle, your every thought. Despite your younger years - a quality that had prevailed through every physical embodiment your soul had, you were composed of suffering wound into a tight Gordian knot – one that he was itching to cut. He wanted to help you. He wanted to be there for you. He wanted to be your guide.

It had been the same in your previous lives. You had burned out before you could produce warmth. No matter the dynasty, nor the nation, you had suffered the same fate again, and again. And every time, Wooyoung had to witness it, and had his heart break into a billion pieces. So much for being soul-bound to a human being.

You reminded him of a little bird. So much ahead of you, and yet the torrential winds of time and circumstance beat down on you repeatedly, forcing your wings back, draining you until you cannot see another way anymore. You had been a wonderful writer in your past life. In three, to be exact. Making a mark on the world - little did you know, you had been quoting yourself all this time in school, in media... a little bird, fatigued, letting out its final cry.

Wooyoung had always been commended for his compassion, but the levels of personal involvement which he had felt towards you over the span of centuries were unprecedented. It was as though he was the candle, and you were the flame itself. In the beginning, just observing you was enough. Seeing how you went about your day and how you glowed. But the wick was never long enough for Wooyoung to be satisfied, and even though he tried, no angel could caress such a flame, reassure it and be present in the moment.

It was easier than he could have envisioned to get used to your presence, and in turn, crave it. Have your attention turn to him instead of the same thoughts, same feelings, same repeating desolation. With every new life your soul experienced, the tiny mark on your body that signified a much deeper connection between you and him was only getting stronger and stronger, more vivid, and it had become undeniable. You were bound together.

He wished for nothing more than to be your bringer of light and break you from this reincarnating melancholic cycle. He wanted to be with you. For you to be with him. To rely on him. To co-exist in nothing but tranquility. And for that, Wooyoung was willing to sacrifice everything. Whatever it took to tip the scales in favour of your survival. He had fallen from grace in the blink of an eye, exchanging status and divinity for a lowly demon rank. Wooyoung was not troubled, making the underworld his home, grateful that his wish had come true. He had a chance to get closer to you before time could run out.

It had not been simple, figuring out the details of his personal contract. He had had to get the blessing of every angel and liaise with his new colleagues to realise the rescue plan he had conjured up in one feverish night. Every step of the way, he felt selfish. Your agreement was out of the question, so he had to act in secrecy, using your written word as proof of your feelings and of mutual attachment to convince the higher powers that there was a kindling hope.

It was not something he wanted, but he had to let you push yourself to the limits so you could be reborn. As his redemption. As his saving grace. He had no certainty that his plan involving you would work, even though there were signs. But he sure as hell was willing to try. And there you were, in his very arms. The chance. His love. The future.

Every pact had an exchange. His was simple. And very 'Wooyoung'. Your healing, for his divine punishment. While he would be burning in damnation, he would be helping you rise above the flood. To him, it was a way that was only natural. And he would not have any other alternative. From the greatest depths he was going to crawl, and claw his and your way forward. You were his divine soulmate after all.

As he divulged his real story to you, his true self, you could catch glimpses of who he had been, all across his features. Though what he had not mentioned yet, instead resorting to an ambiguous 'pact', was your heavenly ties to him. He could not expect you to love him. He could not force you to accept him so quickly. If it took centuries more, he was willing to wait. Time was not an issue; he wanted your heart to heal.

You were perplexed. Why did Wooyoung throw everything that he had away? Was this foolishness? Was this a lapse in judgement? Whatever he was looking for, you were sure he could not find here. There had to be another reason, something-

“Like I said, I am bound to you. So, apologies, Y/N, but you are going to have to deal with me for… a while. Now don’t worry, you are not the only one who will be on a journey, so we will be helping each other. Okay?”

“Bound?”

“Like I said. A pact.”

“So, you will take my soul?”

“That’s what demons do.”

“Aren’t you one... now? Don't you sort of have to take souls?”

“Not exactly. I just explained. Had I been a true demon, I would have been able to steal your soul on the first day we had met. Just like that.” He clicked his fingers, representing the speed at which the action could have been performed, had he had the ability. "I have to go through the paperwork to do my present duties. Dull, but at least I am still myself, more or less."

“Then, fallen angel it is.”

“Yes. Much like you, after that stellar dive.”

“Did you just-”

“If there is anything you certainly know about me, is that I adore being tactless.” He reminded you, making you snort.

“That you sure do. Maybe that's why you decided to leave the angelic realm." you stuck a bit of your tongue out, poking fun at Wooyoung, who took to your higher spirits and beamed.

"What will you do, then?” you tried.

“Only what had already been done and determined by fate.”

“Cryptic.”

“Very much so. But we will go in baby steps. Now, let’s get you inside, and get started, together. You ready, Y/N?”

He was searching for hope. For a new life. For fight within you. One that would prove to him that there was, indeed, a chance.

“Reborn ready, Wooyoung.”

As he helped you up and, an arm wrapped around you, guided you back inside, his gaze could not help but linger on the small mark on your ever so slightly exposed shoulder, exactly matched with his. He was going to tell you what it meant eventually. When you were ready to hear and to listen. The stars had long made the decision for you both, and he simply gave in. If this meant that he had to be a demon for eternity, he was willing. If him and you could be redeemed, he was ecstatic. But that was distant for now. In the present, the only thing certain was you, and him. The rest was only a series of embellishments to lead you to healing and acceptance. But it was clear. You were never alone, and you will never be.

[robottheodorlasso]

So, I went looking up the translation of AFC Richmond motto, Gradarius Firmus Victoria, because I was thinking of using it in some future fanart. (And also because I’m a Latin Motto Enjoyer™️) Queue me stumbling upon maybe the funniest and most targeted Ted Lasso article I’ve ever seen, detailing the motto's janky latin. Which was then followed up with a second article after the official Ted Lasso Twitter account gave It’s in-universe translation of the motto/ reasoning for the butchered Latin. This is exactly the kind of indulgent nonsense I’m in love with.

Before I get into it, I absolutely recommend you go read the article! It made me laugh, gets delightfully technical about Latin translation and goes into a lot of depth about why the motto just does not work grammatically. but even outside of that it touches on other points such as the classism inherent in sports, latin, and linguistics, albeit briefly. Look, it's a 7 min read and a joy at that, it’s worth the time!

TL;DR: Dear lord, the mottos Latin is so janky. not only are the grammatical cases just strange, but it uses a mix of both masculine and feminine endings (which I admit, I’m embarrassed I didn’t notice till now.) to quote Ed DeHoratius:

“The Latin motto in the end is at best ambiguous and at worst as fictional as the show itself. Gradarius Firmus Victoria is, if correct grammatically, awkward Latin”

The article goes on to give a few possible translations, though they all require editing the original phrase to actually make it work, but ultimately the conclusion DeHoratius comes to is this:

“The strongest meaning is ‘A strong hand / coach guides us to victory’; that has the strength of other Latin mottos that I assume the show is trying to invoke. But that’s not what the Latin says.”

(Ok but side note: the bit that got me was that to modern knowledge, ‘gradarius’ has only ever been used ONCE in classical Latin. Which is just, so funny. Honey… how did you get into this motto??)

However, After this article was written the official Twitter account stated that in 1899, the AFC Richmond owner wanted the club to have a motto and that is should be “slow and steady wins the race.” But After local latin scholars refused to translate the phrase because they thought it was inappropriate for a team called “the greyhounds” he asked his 6 year old daughter to help with the translation.

Which, as an in universe thing? Kinda a funny detail! Seems like something a rich Victorian white guy would do! But that’s not *really* how the actual Latin came about now was it? DeHoratius himself in his article says he’s not sure if the bad translation job or an intentional joke. Which, yeah! Hard to tell! Though to me it does feel like it was an unintentional mistake that was pointed out. Take this all as your reminder to talk to your local linguists and classicists if you want something properly translated into Latin as a dictionary is only gonna get you so far. Frankly, it’s a good idea to get any translation to or from a language you arnt familiar with double checked.

Anyways what meaning will I go with? Personally I’m inclined to go with Ed DeHoratius’s translation, as I feel it more fitting for the shows Themes and Motifs™️

[kaidoslastbraincell]

no matter which universe they're in, i know their souls will always recognise each other...

pairings: bakudeku

genre: fluff. ALL THE FLUFF

recommended song: cold coffee by ed sheeran

_________________________________

It was just another monday morning for Izuku Midoriya. He'd turned up for his shift at the campus coffee shop, expecting it to be an ordinary day. Nothing interesting ever happens. It's always the same, power through the shift, go to class, home, sleep, repeat. Until that day.

His friends (Uraraka and Shoto) were studying at a corner table, waiting out the next few hours so they could all go to class together. Izuku pushed the glasses back up his nose with the back of his hand as he wiped down the counters.

Katsuki Bakugo had come to this cafe a number of times before, and not once had he seen the green-haired boy with several piercings and tattoos covering both arms behind the till today. He froze in the doorway, his soul stirring slightly.

"Hey, Bakubro! Why'd ya stop?" Kirishima muttered from behind him, a hand resting roughly on his shoulder.

The blonde shrugged him off, resuming his walk to the back of the line. "It's nothing."

The smile on Izuku's face as he worked was blinding. Katsuki turned to the red-head, a scowl on his face.

"Has he always worked here? I've never seen him before."

Kirishima glanced over, a knowing look in his eye.

"Yep. He's here almost every day. Total hit with the ladies," he chuckled, "he's got the whole bad boy look down but he's the sweetest guy around."

He gave the server another once over, something new catching his attention each time. A black hairclip with a little cat on the end was holding his bangs out of his face. A snort slipped past his lips. What a dork.

The two guys finally reached the front of the queue. With Kirishima moving to be in front, he caught Izuku's attention first.

"Mornin' Kiri, your usual?"

"You're the man, Midobro! Bakubro, whatta you havin'?"

Green eyes met with red and both boys stopped, their breath hitching. Every detail was apparent now, like Katsuki's focus had sharpened: curly green hair pinned back, with an undercut that had started to grow out, 2 piercings on his left ear, 4 on his right, and a ring in the centre of his bottom lip. The top of the tattoo sleeve on his right arm was slightly peeking from the collar of his t-shirt. He swallowed harshly.

"Ah um, what can I get for you?" Izuku's cheeks started to glow a soft pink, heart thundering in his chest. Have we met before?

"Caramel brown sugar iced latte," he mumbled, eyes never leaving the living emeralds.

"Right! Can I take a name for your order?"

"Katsuki."

A small smile tugged at Izuku's lips. "Cute."

The blonde's eyes widened and the blush he was already sporting deepened. Kirishima blinked, his stare switching between his 2 friends. He smirked.

"We'll just go wait over there..." he pointed off to the side.

"Right...right! It won't take long!"

Their order was quickly whipped up and called out. As they were walking out, Katsuki looked at the label on his cup, finding a number messily scrawled along the edge followed by a little heart...

like+comment for part 2 <3

[groovygrub]

heyyy folks!!! as promised, a brief(...ish) explanation of what's been going down:

so we had ourselves a bit of a ~tornadic thunderstorm~ almost a week ago; apparently FOUR lil twisters touched down in our area and several were visible from our driveway?!! – tragically, i didn't get to actually see the tornados because i was tripping too hard (here's some common sense disguised as a fun fact! if you consume 16x a "microdose" of shrooms, especially combined with other edibles, the dose isn't so micro anymore!! that shit had me macro-ed, dude 😩 learn from my mistakes!) and also didn't expect any visible touchdown from our house :((( i cried when i found out i missed out on the nados, ngl.

anyway, the majority of the city lost all power and my house just got it back last night! we still got some live wires ⚡ hanging in our yard so it's cordoned off but hopefully they'll fix that soon because i really gotta go foraging soon & would prefer not to get yelled at and/or zippity zapped. i'm already getting zippity zapped enough by my own brain, you know??

while on the topic of brain zaps!! the extreme heat & humidity and stress (and without any AC, air purifier, very little water, etc) has been... less-than-compatible with my chronic health shit (especially my seizures, POTS, EDS, mast cell disease, and migraines) 😅 i've had 5+ (?) episodes over the past week and they're still periodically making little cameos 🥲

definitely one of the worst clusters i've had yet tbh. after the initial seizure, i couldn't really move & was just chilling there and my broke-ass brain very helpfully kept supplying me with nothing but the thought "damn, bro got prone" (i would make a great doctor, i know). and then i started sobbing because my CNS was too afk to go grab a drink and seizures always make me sooo goddamn thirsty for some reason & i was already so dehydrated 💀

and i didn't even get to see any nados!!!! like!!! that's so twisted, dude (pun really not even intended, just slipped out, whoops). "fucked up" doesn't even begin to describe it. absolutely gargantuan L for me :((( an elephantine L, a BROBDINGNAGIAN L, if you will. feels like i just got hoodwinked by the cosmos.

anyhowsies. i set forth with the intention of just letting y'all know why i've been playing tumblr hooky (oh!! and in the days immediately leading up to the power outage, i was just busy being helplessly in love. still am, don't have any plans of stopping ❤️✨ but i'm also trying to be more present again for my beloved little army of weirdos!) and to say sorry for the delay in memes 😕 so idk how it turned into this mess, my b!

i'm slowly working through my notifications too!! just takes some extra time to process things when Brain is rebooting (and Brain has to fully reboot every time i have an episode 🙄 dramatic ass lil bitch). thank you so much for all your patience, birds & bees (new inclusive alternative to "ladies & gentlemen" just dropped!) 💛

ps to my wonderful moot who said they were queueing one of my memes for last monday: if you're reading this, please know i didn't forget about you or your post!! i WILL get to it, promise! 🙏

[oldmanontumbler]

Have you clicked the button*s* yet today?

https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

Every click of this button donates a portion of the site's ad revenue to URNWA to help people in Palestine. If you can click onto my blog, you can click onto the link.

And here are more links to click for donation.

https://arab.org/click-to-help/

If you are here to see the Palestine aid commissions queue, it is below the cut, as is my pinned post info.

----------------------------------------------------

Commissions Queue

example-url - $Price (type of commission) - due by M/D/Y

----------------------------------------------------

Hello, Tumbler

Welcome to my blog. Please wipe your feet and read this sign post -> 🪧

My name is [REDACTED BY ORDER OF GOVERNMENT PERSONELL]. You can call me Mia. Or Old Man (on Tumbler). I answer to anything from that to "you there!" Call me anything you want; just don't call me late for dinner! :>

I tag TWs at random. Even I don't remember what they are. If you see a post that needs a TW, shoot me a message and we'll have ourselves some chit-chat.

I own the coolest Tumbler header ever. 'Twas made by @dragon2d, the artistic alter ego of my little brother, @dragon1d. He's the most awesome little feller on this webbed site, and will probably make a header for you if you ask politely.

Enter super-secret code 👴🏻🎨‼️ to see some 🎨 that 👴🏻 has ‼️ed. 👴🏻 takes requests for 🎨, so if you want some 🎨, just knock on my virtual door.

The save point and storage are for useful and cool information, respectively. They are disorganized. I lost a raccoon in there.

I use the ↙️ emoji as a comma in tags. That is because Tumbler Dot Com [The App and Website] prohibits the use of commas in their tags. Cruelty, I say! Cruelty!

Wow, that was a lengthy sign! Well done, bucko. Have a beverage, on the house. Welcome to Casa de Mia. 🧃🧋🥤

[meowzfordayz]

Emergency request: selfhrm warning.

Im currently dealing with harming and i would like some comfort from my fav character: Tanjiro Kamado. (You can add other characters if youd like!)

Hiya. ☺️ I’m sorry to hear you’re dealing w/ sh, but I appreciate you reaching out for comfort. 🥺🖤

On that note, I’ve actually already written a few fanfics addressing sh, and seeing as my emergency requests queue’s currently @ 7 😅, I’m going to link the aforementioned fanfics for you.

telling tanjirou you self harm(ed)

kamaboko find out that you self harm

hashira find out that you self harm

I hope this doesn’t feel like a cop out! I write a max of 3 emergency requests per week, so the least amount of time yours could take (if I added it to my queue) is ~3 weeks, but if I wrote fewer than 3 per week (which often happens), then it could take even longer — hence why I linked you some immediate comfort instead! 🫶🏽

[angelmatthew]

˚₊‧₊guidelines

₊̣̇.ෆ𝟎𝟏 i take requests for all jebewon members except for yujin because i’m not comfortable writing fics about a minor, no matter how platonic the plot requested is ! i hope you understand and respect that :)

₊̣̇.ෆ𝟎𝟐 i write drabbles, oneshots and blurbs (bullet points basically)

₊̣̇.ෆ𝟎𝟑 i write fluff, angst, romantic or platonic tropes and AUs

₊̣̇.ෆ𝟎𝟒 i don’t write smut/explicit content and there’s a few things I draw the line at like abuse, eds and other potentially triggering topics, if a request’s topic makes me uncomfortable i won’t accept it

₊̣̇.ෆ𝟎𝟓 you can make your request as detailed as you want, it’s very helpful!

₊̣̇.ෆ𝟎𝟔 i will write fics with a gender neutral reader unless specified otherwise in the request

₊̣̇.ෆ𝟎𝟕 please remember that this is a hobby, I will take requests in the order they were received and work on them when i have time to spare also take a look at my pinned where I specify whether requests are open or not at the moment (i close the requests when 5 are in queue or otherwise it gets a bit too overwhelming)

₊̣̇.ෆ𝟎8 english is not my first language so i apologize in advance for any mistakes!

༉‧₊˚✧ lastly, i hope this blog can be a source of comfort for everyone so please don't shy away from requesting (๑•͈ᴗ•͈)

[carewyncromwell]

Just because they've been in my sketchbook a long while and I haven't done anything with them since they didn't really turn out the way I wanted...here are a few unfinished doodles I've done over the last year!

Starting with the top left, we have Carewyn and Merman!Orion, as referenced in that one short Mermay AU I did a year ago with Carewyn as a performer on Coney Island --

In the midst of Carewyn singing this song, however, the other four members of the Circle of Khanna were startled to realize that the Manta – who’d been curled up out of sight in the tank at the far corner of the stage – had actually gotten up off the ground and floated up to the top of the tank, sticking his head out above the water and resting it down on his arms perched on the edge of the tank so he could listen. His eyes had even drifted closed while Carewyn was singing, as if relaxing. And when Carewyn stopped singing and actually looked up at him, his black eyes softened noticeably, and he nodded slowly and approvingly.

On the top right, we have an unfinished 10-year-old!Jacob, 2-year-old!Carewyn, and the old Bach family cat Ella under the Christmas tree, as referenced in this one short fic I did earlier this year around Father's Day --

As Jacob told the story [of Hansel and Gretel], he took every opportunity he could to make Carewyn laugh, putting on his best imitation of his snippy English teacher when reading for the woodcutter’s wife and a cackling, “old-lady” voice for the witch. It entertained both Carewyn and Jacob greatly. Carewyn liked the first story so much that Jacob went on to read two more – Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella – after which Carewyn started to nod off. Her head drooped down onto her brother’s shoulder, and Jacob smiled fondly down at her before, taking care to avoid Ella the cat, he slid both himself and his little sister out from under the tree and scooped her up so he could carry her upstairs to bed. The old Siamese cat proceeded to follow Jacob and Carewyn upstairs, only breaking off once Jacob had put Carewyn to bed and closed the door.

Next, on the bottom left, we have Jacob's usual look while working as a barman for the Three Broomsticks, as referenced in this drabble I set during Carewyn's seventh year. (I didn't finish this one because seriously, Jacob, your muscled arms will be the death of me.)

The bottom middle obviously is Ghost-Bride!Carewyn from my Haunted Mansion AU, featuring the infamous clock featured in the original ride -- I'd been visiting Disneyland on one of my days off work that day, and while re-riding the Haunted Mansion (my personal favorite ride), I started drawing her in the queue and then finished her up while eating lunch at the Golden Horseshoe. I actually got a few families looking over my shoulder both in the line and at the restaurant watching me work, which made me blush! XD

And finally, thanks to some asks and prompts earlier this year making me remember how much I love him, the bottom right is my Marauder Era boy Ed Rosier and his OTL Regulus Black, back in their school days. Ed's face claim is Sebastian Stan, and when Ed was young, he used to dye his hair blond the way Seb has in some of his lesser-known non-Marvel-associated films (such as I'm Not Here). Ed did this as to better set himself apart from his older brother Evan, who Ed was constantly confused for, due to the two brothers' strong visual similarity, as well as constantly overshadowed by. It was only after losing Regulus, being disowned by his family, and learning of his brother's death that Ed went back to his natural hair color, making him much more resemble Seb as Bucky Barnes. Regulus's inspiration for this sketch was everyone's favorite fancast for him, Timothee Chalamet, even if personally I imagined Regulus having straight hair and looking much more like Skandar Keynes while originally reading the books.

Much love, all! Hugs and kisses! xoxo

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

I posted 1,857 times in 2022

That's 1,284 more posts than 2021!

287 posts created (15%)

1,570 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sunnyrosewritesstuff

@lordoftherazzles

@dimdiamond

@i-did-not-mean-to

I tagged 1,811 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#bagginshield - 525 posts

#sharing others art - 301 posts

#the hobbit - 299 posts

#sunny queues stuff - 256 posts

#shameless reblog - 151 posts

#sharing others fics - 95 posts

#wwdits - 84 posts

#sunny says stuff - 75 posts

#sharing other works - 74 posts

#our flag means death - 72 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#i cannot wait to see the first chapter although…pretty sure it’s going to be loaded with angst if this is anything to judge off of 😂

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I know that every time I choose to tril it up I have a new hot take, but has anyone thought about the Mary Poppins level bag of weapons Thorin must keep somewhere on his person??

We see him with a sword and only a sword until they go down into the troll hoard, and now he has switched swords to Orcist. Don’t know what happened to the original sword, maybe he left it. However, the next time we see him with a weapon is in Rivendell and he’s holding an AXE! Where did he get it from?? Maybe Dwalin? (Let’s not even get into the fact that said dwarf who is notorious in fanfic for his two battle axes was using a war hammer against the trolls.)

Fast forward to DOS where in Mirkwood, Thorin suddenly has access to a bow and arrows. Maybe their Kili’s. Maybe I’m blowing it out of proportion, and Thorin literally just plays ‘pass the weapon’ with the whole Company. I just think it’s hilarious to think he has all of these rather large weapons hidden about under his coat which would be like BOSS LEVEL compared to his nephew’s “hide the knife” trick.

132 notes - Posted June 14, 2022

#4

I’m not getting over anytime soon that Ed asked if Stede “I’m a bit of a clothes horse” Bonnet if he wanted to do something weird and HE TOTALLY AGREES TO:

-switch into Blackbeard’s dirty leather

-pretend to be each other for the crew

-and all with a gut wound that he just woke up from an infection with

133 notes - Posted March 18, 2022

#3

I find it fascinating that we were introduced to both Ed and Stede’s fathers as being violent, abusive individuals that still haunt them into their adult lives.

Stede shied away from this violence and was told he was soft and inadequate. So what is he doing with his life now? Trying to prove that he is a competent pirate.

Ed, on the other hand, killed his father, and that bloody murderous legacy is something he is now trying to escape despite the fact that his father is the only man he’s ever personally taken the life from.

There’s just so many more layers than “bored aristocrat” and “bored pirate” wanting each other’s life and I’m here for this common bond between them.

178 notes - Posted March 19, 2022

#2

See the full post

264 notes - Posted March 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Has anyone ever noticed that after the run-around Gandalf gave Bilbo on his “good morning” when they first meet that he turns around and says “good morning” to Beorn...right in front of Bilbo. Like where’s my sassy!Bilbo fanfics of him turning to Gandalf in that moment: “Oh, do you mean to wish him a good morning? Or mean that this is a good morning whether he wants it or not?...” 

266 notes - Posted August 27, 2022

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