#telling to let go and be free and just ‘live’ instead of only existing

[pergaminaa]

I dunno why but in my brain Asterin is always taller than Manon. Manon is like 5’7 (same height as Aelin) but Asterin? She’s probably 5’10 or 5’11 she just has this tall energy. And also I think it’s because of what she represents to Manon? She’s her light, her lifeline, her support. Asterin is someone Manon can lean on and she will never let her down. She’s always there to support her, to guide her, to call her out when she’s fucking up and also— she’s always there to protect her.

Fuck, I’m going to cry now. But yes Asterin is definitely taller than Manon this is all I’m saying here.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

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“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.” 

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

.

.

.

[the end] 

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

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[imbecominggayer]

Writing Advice: Noticing Bigotry In Your Writing

Tw for mentions of bigotry and discrimination, obvi

Look Up Common Stereotypes For Your Characters

Seriously, this is the best thing you can do in order to incorperate these stereotypes into a full-formed identity. I'm not saying that you can't write a "sassy black girl" or a "happy disabled person".

It's just that if you have any hope of writing these stereotypes into actual 3-dimensional characters, you need to know what you are working with. Look up "Common {Minority} Stereotypes" or "{Minority} Myths"

It's genuinely not that hard to see whether or not your character is a stereotype! Send an ask to @cripplecharacters if you are having trouble with your disablity representation.

Send a submittion to the thousands of Tumblr accounts whose entire schtick is giving you advice!

Let me tell you:

" The Worst Decision You Can Make Is A Subconscious One"

If you go into writing a minority character the way you do with all your characters aka fantasizing and just going straight for it, there is a chance you might undercut your story with bigotry!

Because everyone has bias. That's not a moral failing on your part but it is something you need to consciously fight against in order to write characters who can stand on their own and not be supported by internalized bigotry.

Which leads me to my second and last question.

2. Why Is Your Character Like This?

Investigate why you made the decisions you have made. To help with that, here is a little questionaire!

When I imagine a cruel person what assumptions do I make about their appearance and psyche?

Based on my previous characters, do I have a tendency to lean into a particular archetype when writing my minority characters?

Is there any narrative reason such as plot, themes, and other important devices that would justify my character's personality?

Why did I decide this character would be this particular minority?

How do I view this character in terms of their minority status? Is it condescending? Is it hateful?

What associations do I naturally have between a minority status and social status, personality, and importance?

Would I have treated and viewed this character the same way if their minority status was completely washed away?

Are my minority characters generally relegated to the side lines and only exist to help non-minority characters in their lives?

Is the level of detail, psychological complexity, story, likeability, relatability, and compellingness of minority characters on the same level as non-minority characters?

Do my stories contain symbolism which portrays cruel bigotry-motivated practices as positive or useful?

Do my stories sympathize with bigotry-infused individuals while not extending that sympathy to those who are oppressed by that bigotry?

Have I ever critically looked at my writing and what it says about my worldview on others?

If you are now considering that you have biased belief systems, that's good! Again, it's much better to be aware and fixing your problems instead of not being aware of them.

I hope my little questionaire made you think about your writing in a new way! ;)

Feel free to add your own important "check yourself" questions!

[schattenhonig]

The A in LGBTQIA+ doesn't stand for aspec because they're not repressed!

(please read the disclaimer at the end of this post)

Ummm, excuse me? Would you mind telling me what your definition of repression is, then?

Because I feel repressed when a doctor asks me about my sex life, and if I say I have none, it gets marked down as a symptom without being asked if I suffer from it.

I feel repressed when my gyn tells me I can't get a hysterectomy yet despite losing so much blood on every period that I need to take iron supplements all the time, because I could change my mind about not wanting children (which is a whole other post, I know, but it's most likely linked to sex).

I feel repressed if I can't use dating apps or platforms because my sexuality doesn't even exist there, and the one time I tried, I got called names because I didn't want to meet for because it was clear where this date would go, despite my explicit "what I'm looking for".

I feel repressed when I think about how recently a paragraph was finally abolished in my country that considered sex a vital part of a marriage, basically entitling the spouses to having sex with their partner (both gender neutral, because entitling people to having sex with somebody else by law is wrong. It's basically a rape permission).

I feel repressed when I can't watch any film or show without it being about love and/or sex, no matter if it fits the narrative and furthers the plot.

I feel repressed when I plot my own stories and automatically put a romantic couple in there as main characters, even though I have no idea why this would be important for the plot. Not even my own stories, my own thoughts are mine.

I felt repressed when I was asked accusingly in a relationship if I wasn't missing something before I even knew asexuality as a spectrum was a thing, and having to lie about this being a side effect of my medication instead of genuinely not feeling attracted to someone in this way.

I feel repressed when I can't tell people I'm not sexually attracted to them because they will take this personally no matter how well I explain myself.

I feel repressed when everywhere I look there's advertising relying on naked skin, suggestive posing and objectification. Why are expensive cars still presented by women considered beautiful and tempting? It's not like that's necessary to convince people of spending so much money on a thing that gets you from A to B. Couches with women in smart dresses and high heels. That's not what a normal person looks like on a couch. But the worst is a truck in the town where I live: it's from a small fruit and vegetable stand, so whenever I see it, it comes from the warehouse, delivering groceries. On it is a woman clad in very little, presenting fruit. I'm sorry, but why? Does a misogynistic picture convince you of the necessity to avoid scurvy?

I feel repressed when I tell people and get the answer "you just haven't found the right person yet", because there are two possible assumptions from that point: I'm either not trying hard enough (so it's basically my own fault) or something about me is not right, appalling even (which circles back to I'm not trying hard enough or frames me as a victim of my genetics, upbringing or circumstances to be pitied).

Do not tell me how I feel. Do not try to tell me everything is fine and I shouldn't complain or ask for acknowledgement if everywhere I look, I'm reminded of how odd, how weird and how not normal I am. How much it inconveniences you to even acknowledge my existence, let alone respect any of my traits, views and choices.

And while I can only write from my own asexual point of view, I wrote this with all kinds of flavours of aspec in mind, so I'm explicitly including aromantics, aroace people and every shade of the spectrum in this. Not all my examples may apply to you, but I hope you can find something to relate to.

ETA: please feel free to add your own experiences of repression!

[peachesofteal]

Dr.Riley’s getting attached. I can see him cancelling his day and slipping out of the back, wanting to make sure Clover gets home in one piece.

psych au - 18+ - tw for mental health, alcohol, ptsd, psych hold, references to suicidal ideation, psychologist Simon Riley losing his grip. Note: where I live, an M1 is a 72 hour psych hold. So that’s how I wrote this. Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

It's not crossing a boundary, it's just taking care of her.

He repeats it over and over in his head, slinking a block behind you in the shadows. Old practices, tactical operations and operating procedures revive in his blood, his steps turning silent, ghostly.

This is fine.

It's not. He knows it. His education, his license, his practice, they're all at risk now. The work he's put in over the years, threatened by your existence. And yet-

He can't stop thinking about you. Like an illness, a cold, ice filling his chest, he can't shake you.

He's this close to putting you on a seventy two hour hold. He could see it in your eyes today, the agony, the decay of your will to keep trying, keep living. You didn't say it out right, but he knows.

He's been there. He recognizes it.

He wants to know how much you're drinking. The rule of thumb is usually what the patient says times three, maybe four, but with you it's hard to tell. Alcohol will only push you to the bottom of your will to live faster, an old rusted chain wrapped around your ankle, attached to an anchor at the bottom.

It's the first time he's hesitated putting someone on an M1. You're not a danger to others, sure. But to yourself? You're lethal.

This is how he convinces himself to follow you home.

Your building is nice. There's a lobby, an elevator, and the floor has been recently waxed, shiny with something reminiscent of chemical and lemon peel. The front door is secure, which gives him a sliver of relief, though it wasn't a challenge for him to get it open.

It would be for others though.

He's not surprised to see your door is bare. No welcome mat, no wreath, not even a door knocker, like everyone else's. Its bare bones, as he expected, not really a home, just a place you come and go.

He should stop.

Instead, his fist bangs against the door on its own accord.

Your eyes are wide when it swings open, fingers curled around the knob in a death grip. You’re a little off balance, tipping against the frame, and he chalks it up to the surprise. “Dr. Riley?”

“I- I needed to follow up with you.” Your mouth tugs into a frown, confusion flickering across your face. You’re in a ratty t shirt, sweatpants, and you look so damn tired.

“You make house calls now?” Fuck.

“I’m concerned.” He’s scrambling, trying to tug free some words that will make this make sense, something that will make this situation professional in any capacity. “Needed to make sure you got home. You said you weren’t feeling well, remember?”

“Oh. Right. I um, I’m fine. I’m just tired.” He peeks around your shoulder. Your apartment is mostly bare, a shell of a home, a place you sleep between missions, he’s sure.

You shiver, and hiccup. His eyes narrow. “Have you been drinking?”

“N-no.” He leans in, pinching your jaw between his fingers and forcing your face upwards to his. This close, he can see the dilation in your pupils, your struggle to focus, but most importantly, he can smell your breath.

Whiskey.

Well, that’s it then.

“Go sit down,” he orders, turning you into the apartment and forcing you over to the couch. “This is over.”

“What’s over?”

“This. ‘m not going to let you self destruct, or die.” He sends a text discreetly, glancing back at the screen when he gets an affirmative.

“What’re you doing to do? Babysit me?” You scoff, but he shakes his head.

“You need help, Clover.” He keeps his voice soft, as soft as he can manage so to not spook you, like you’re a scared animal caught in his path.

“I’m fine.” Your hands are trembling, but you maintain the facade, and he only shakes his head. He needs a distraction, something to eat the time with.

“Let’s talk for a bit.”

When the knock and the door comes, your breath catches. “Who is that?”

“Clover,” he says gently, “we’re going to get you help.” He opens the door to reveal the paramedics, and your face falls.

You know. He knows you know.

“No,” you back away, your head shaking back and forth. “No, you- you can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” your lower lip trembles, and he approaches slowly, palms out. “Please.” You’re panting, sweating, eyes wild, snapping to the door. He steps in front of your gaze, holding a hand up to the medics, telling them to stop their advance. If he can get through to you he can make this easier, less traumatizing, less terrifying.

“If you run, I will catch you.” He warns sternly, and you gulp.

“Dr. Riley, please.” You’re pleading, tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. It burns in his heart, agony ripping through him.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise.” A syringe is passed to the hand behind his back, and he pops the cap off when you’re looking away.

“You can’t do this- please don’t do this to me.”

“Clover, I can’t trust that you won’t hurt yourself baby.” Baby. It slips out and he bites his tongue. “This is for you, and I know you don’t know that right now-“

“NO!” You scream, hands balled at your side. “I’m n-not going, I won’t go. You c-can’t make me.”

“I can. You know I can. I want to come with us willingly, okay? I don’t want to sedate you.” You’re terrified now, still backing away, panicking when your back collides with the wall. You pivot towards the door your bedroom, springing into a leap, but he’s faster, snatching you around your waist and dragging you backwards.

“No! STOP, nonono-“ you kick your feet, twisting, thrashing, trying to knock the back of your head into his nose as he curls around you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers it against your ear-

And plunges the syringe into your arm.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐄𝖝𝖊𝖈𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗 | Teaser

When second chances are wasted, there's only one thing left to do.

Tags/Warnings: Dystopian AU, Werewolf AU, Alpha!Jungkook, Omega!Reader, Angst, Some fluff, romance but he's a bit weird about it pls let him cook he's awkward okay, Violence, crime and.. bad stuff.

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: oh look another werewolf fic oops. BTW if you do not like any of the tags or the trailer doesnt vibe with you, don't read the story. I literally have tons of other content for you instead. Thanks.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

“Do you think that people can change?”

No. Jungkook does not believe that people have the ability to shed their dark desires once they've shown their ugly faces to the world. Once someone has lost control over themselves and their inner demons even just once, it’s over. A wolf's inner beast set free won’t be tamed again, by anyone. There is no coming back from that- and a crime committed has to be punished, especially when there’s not even any effort put into areas trying to redeem one’s self. second chances should always be valued highly if given-

Because everyone has to face judgement for their actions, and if those second chances are wasted, he is the man who will execute the fitting punishment.

Jungkook doesn't believe in second chances.

A man who’s laid his hand on his wife will never truly change his mind and put the shackles onto himself after the line has been crossed. A cheating spouse will not suddenly become loyal as a dog again just because they realize the hurt they’ve caused. A murderer can’t give back the life they’ve taken even if they desperately want to. A young wolf lost to a frenzy can’t gain back their sanity with the snap of a finger.

He is part of the new world’s law.

Violence is the punishment put on people who can’t seem to keep themselves in check even after second chances. Violence is the final answer to the worst of the worst, the people who will never change.

Violence is the thing that changes people- from being alive to no longer being a threat to anyone ever again.

To Jungkook, these people are like maggots, infesting the cities and homes of families who just want to exist and live. Jungkook is the pest control, he removes those insects, cleans out the infestations.

Saves potential victims.

“I didn’t do anything!” the man slurs a little, alcohol in his veins causing him to visibly struggle with his bodily functions, even if he wants to desperately be sober in this moment. You’re sitting in the corner still, watching, well aware not to interfere with a man sent by the people in charge of the wolf’s law to carry out the final judgement.

“Evasion. Armed robbery, twice. Domestic abuse, twice. Attempted kidnap of a child while intoxicated.” Jungkook lists, having memorized what this person is being accused of- or rather yet, has already been judged for in the past. “You’ve shown that you do not aim to change.” He says, not even looking at you once. Instead, he just walks closer, like a predator, staring down his prey. “And now, keeping an omega hostage? Not exactly the actions of a man innocent.”

“I-“ the man tries, but he doesn’t get far with his words. “-There’s- nothing happened- Tell him! Nothing happened, right-?” He asks you, who’s staring him down.

Jungkook looks at you as well now, awaiting your answer.

You’ve got a life in your hands.

Your lips part, but you can’t speak- when suddenly, the man moves again, lifts his hand as he steps towards you, ready to intimidate you into answering if needed- but Jungkook is faster, having seen enough. Even if nothing happened- yet- surely if he was to leave, you’d be another body found. “Where- where are you taking me?” the man begs to know, unable to really go against the hand that holds the back of his head by the hair, fingers tightly dug into the locks to have a secure hold on him as he drags him into a corner or the small, run down house.

In this moment, Jungkook looks like a different person to you. There’s no trace of the man who just wants to help others. The hands that force this stranger to his knees aren’t the same that helped you stand earlier that day, hold gentle and without any intention to hurt. Those eyes are dark as coal, like two black voids swallowing any reflection whole.

“I'll take you straight to hell, where you belong.” Jungkook simply answers the man, before he lets go-

And takes out his gun, to fire the first shot of many.

[bob-artist]

Just found you via your funny dream comic. Good stuff 😆. Definitely gonna read the rest, and I was surprised you had your own website. Looks good on mobile too. I’ve got a comic that some friends keep trying to build me a site for but I’ve been telling them no because it seems like between webtoon and social media nobody is interested in personal sites anymore.

Have you noticed an uptick in engagement from your site? Would you recommend going that route? I’d like to hear your thoughts.

I’m also interested in how you decided to build/host it, if that question isn’t too lame.

Anyway, glad I found your comics!

Ah thank you for checking out Into the Smoke's website!!

Oh, I have SO many thoughts about independent webcomic sites and why people should have them. I have so many thoughts, and I'm so so sorry.

Why did I decide to have my own webcomic site?

First of all, this is not a lame question and I wish we could all have this conversation more often, so I could maybe write just a paragraph instead of this whole dissertation!

1. Because I lived through webcomics history.

I launched my first webcomic in 2011. I watched the webcomics scene shift over the years from self-hosted sites to third party sites, and I saw what it meant for independent creators. We lost vital infrastructure, relationships, habits, and control over our own work. I think self-hosted sites are an important backbone for creators, even if/when their largest *numbers* come from a third party site.

We’re all supposed to be helping each other, not fighting each other to satisfy the algorithm. Our early tools (webrings, link trades, comic databases, sharing each other’s posts) were small but meaningful, and they also helped us maintain a community mindset in a long and sometimes lonely line of work. When we started leaning on hosting sites, we let a lot of those tools and relationships decay. And now a lot of people are locked into imbalanced relationships with hosting sites that leave them with very little agency and control over their work and how it’s shared (or isn’t shared).

Hosting sites are great for removing barriers to entry (cost/time to build a site). And a lot of them have large built-in audiences. But the big ones aren’t run by people who care about creators. They’re designed to extract the maximum value from your work while giving you the least they can get away with. Use them if you want (I do), but don't be dependent on them.

2. Comics are the main thing I do for a living, and a website gives me the tools to promote my work and build relationships with my readers.

Most apps and third party sites actively prevent or suppress these things. On your own site, you can share all the info you want about your upcoming Kickstarter, your tradpub book release, your merch, etc. You can collect email addresses for your newsletter. You can literally just talk about your weekend, and you’re not gonna have a 150-character limit.

Yeah, not everyone wants to read a wall of text (ha ha...), but acting like a person reminds readers to treat you like a person. This is one of my main gripes with the apps and social media - they suppress human connection and present you like a cog in their machine that only exists to churn out free content.

3. I have a consistent home base and full control over how my work is displayed.

I don’t have to fight against an app that’s trying to direct my readers toward whichever content is most profitable for them. On an app, the readers “belong” to them, not you. (Who has their email addresses?) So if I'm putting effort into promoting my comic, I'm promoting my own site. (oh look, I just did it.)

Hosting sites/apps aren't designed to showcase your work. They showcase the app’s collection, and they're designed to keep readers on the app, jumping from creator to creator. This can help readers find you, but it also devalues your work and dilutes its impact.

And the app might not show your work to anyone anyway. Tapas is a great example; they recently redesigned their site to prioritize their Originals, and independent creators are hidden away in a “community” tab with barely any discoverability anymore. This is always the struggle on a third party site.

4. I hate censorship.

Into the Smoke is Teen 16/17+ and Demon of the Underground is R/18+. My comics aren’t even explicit, but I still can’t post my true, uncensored vision for either story on third party apps governed by Apple’s App Store and Visa/Mastercard’s tight content restrictions.

If webcomics exist exclusively on apps with heavy censorship, we’ll never have the diversity of storytelling and freedom of expression that’s necessary for groundbreaking or subversive art to happen. And that’s bad for everyone.

Adult brains need to engage with adult concepts. Difficult and triggering topics need to be explored in creative spaces. Artists need freedom to stretch their creative muscles without falling into the damaging patterns of self-censorship that come from having to tiptoe around arbitrary platform rules.

We can’t let the rules of like 3 American companies dictate what every webcomic reader around the world is allowed to read.

5. An independent website can’t easily be taken away from you.

Just make regular backups! You can always move to a new web host and redirect URLs if needed, and you won't lose your readers. On the other hand, you can easily lose the bulk of your audience on a third party site based on circumstances outside your control.

Let’s talk about Smack Jeeves, a formerly popular webcomic hosting site that was bought out and then shut down, leaving lots of cartoonists homeless. Or we can talk about the Tumblr NSFW purge of 2018, where I lost a huge chunk of my first webcomic’s following and most of my webcomic mutuals, even though my own account stayed within the rules. Or Musk buying Twitter, the platform where I once found my literary agent through a publishing event but now get no traction at all.

Have I noticed an uptick in engagement from my site?

I don’t have analytics on my site yet. But, up until a few days ago, that's where people were reading, thanks to my own efforts and the support of my comics friends and all of y’all who shared my ITS posts. (THANK YOU ALL!) I didn't have any discoverability on Webtoon or Tapas yet.

I got 10-15 new patrons between May 25 and June 5. Up until a few days ago, I even had more ITS newsletter subscribers than Webtoon subscribers.

What happened a few days ago is my Webtoon mirror suddenly blew up with 100+ new subs a day. I don’t know where I’m being featured, but I know I’m only getting those readers because Webtoon suddenly chose to grant me visibility. That can end just as instantly with an algorithm tweak or them deciding not to show my comic anymore. (When my first webcomic was in one of their pay programs in 2018, I went from $300 or $400/month to $0 overnight due to a policy change.) So I’ll enjoy it while it lasts, but I won't de-prioritize my website.

The new Webtoon readers are awesome and supportive, and I’m 100% thrilled to have them. But the Webtoon influx isn't resulting in a Patreon influx like my website launch did. I wouldn't expect it to, this early in the story. But it's consistent with my past experience polling my patrons: even when 50% of my readers came from the apps, 90% of patrons read on my website. (Your audience may vary.) And since I depend on crowdfunding for my comic, that's important to me.

Would I recommend going the route of having your own site?

For anyone who’s just testing the waters with webcomics, it might be overkill.

But for anyone who’s committed to their webcomic, I recommend having your own site AND mirroring on every third party site you can, provided you’re cool with their terms of service. It's important to meet readers where they are. Let those hosting sites lend you their readers. Some readers will even want to visit your home site where they can read ahead, read the uncensored version of your comic, get more info, or sign up for your newsletter.

Just remember, no one will discover your independent website all on their own. They’ll only find it through the work you put into promotion. But the reader that cares enough to come to your home site is a special type of reader.

So how do you get readers to visit an independent webcomic site?

Find your allies

These are people who work in similar areas as you who want to help you succeed, and whom you want to help succeed. Chat with each other, help each other, promote each other, boost each other, link to each other (psst, my links page just went live!), be there for each other - behind the scenes and in public.

God, I am SO bad at approaching people, but this is important, and not just for comics.

Be part of a community

Really, this is an extension of the above point. It's easier to find your allies if you're part of a community.

I’m a member of the Cartoonist Cooperative, and they’re a GREAT group of talented people all across the comics industry. The mission of @cartoonistcoop is to help create better conditions for comic workers through cooperation and collective action, and I’ve found so much help from them with Into the Smoke and comics as a whole. (JOIN! They're great!!)

The goal of the co-op isn't to drive traffic to your website. But being part of it has helped me at every level of crafting my comic, including promoting it and making it good enough that I can take pride in promoting it. And it's helped me ground myself as part of a community after I lost so much of mine in past years of burnout and platform enshittification.

Another option: @spiderforestcomics is a great webcomic collective full of supportive creators, and I believe they’re open to submissions till the end of June! They also have an awesome collaborative community mindset, and I've known some of their members for years.

Direct readers to your RSS feed and newsletter

Getting readers to your website is great, but they need to keep coming back for future updates, and it’s hard to remind them without an app notification. You may need to teach younger readers what RSS feeds are. Inoreader is a great RSS reader for the 2024 era.

The dreaded SEO

That’s Search Engine Optimization - optimizing your website so that people can easily find your comic via search engines. That’s a topic for another day, but feel free to research it!

Paid promo

This can be tricky, and I really only recommend spending promo money if you’re making a comic on a professional basis, because then it’s an investment you'll make back.

That said, Comicad.net is a great independent site where you can buy banner slots on other creators’ sites. I just ran small campaign myself. (And no, I won’t ever be offended if you outbid me!)

I haven’t bought any Tumblr Blaze slots, but I got BOPPed (blaze other people’s posts; apparently that’s what it’s called, lol) once on this account and once on a side blog, and both were highly impactful. (Thanks, friend!!) So I consider it a solid option, and it looks really cheap compared to other social media sites. (Never trust Meta.)

And where can you learn more about building a webcomic site?

I know you didn't ask, but if I'm gonna share all this, I might as well give folks a starting place to actually do the thing.

Now, I’m *bad* at offering cheap and easy web solutions. My specialty is hard and expensive. But my one piece of advice: PLEASE make your webcomic site mobile friendly for the current generation of readers! When we talk about barriers to entry, remember that more people have phones than computers, and many can't afford computers.

Anyway, here's some webcomic website resources from OTHER people!

The Cartoonist Co-op has LOTS of great resources on building webcomic sites! Several of them! Check them all out!

@screentonescast has a podcast episode on webcomic web design and one on RSS feeds!

@jeypawlik also has a great comic about how RSS feeds work.

So, congrats if you made it this far. Go make a website, y'all! And if you read any indie comics, go visit the creator's website!

[luimagines]

*Your requests are open, its 2:30am and I'm craving First content.*

You know that scene in HTTYD2 with Stoick and Valka

"Go on! Shout! Scream! Say something!"

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you"

Either First as Stoick or as Valka would be interesting (or if First refuses to cooperate, Warriors or Twilight or Time would be fun)

*not me saying to myself I hope I'm bulletproof cause this is about to hurt*

Insanity, I'm going to run wild with this, thank you.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

First wasn't about to let anyone get close to him. Not again.

He knew that he was still young enough to find someone to settle down with, but ever since you left, he couldn't find it in his heart to seek another.

There's a hole in his heart in your shape that was never to be filled again.

Then he was arrested. For a crime he didn't commit.

That was enough for him to give up. If he was to spend the rest of his days here, then so be it. The people have made their choice. He was a hollow man anyway.

The days crept by slowly. There was very little he could do the past the time except for daydream about a time where he was younger nd more carefree. A time when you were still by his side.

He had hoped to have a family. To be a father and raise children.

Dashed to pieces and scattered by the wind, his dreams failed to bring up happy memories and left him with dreamless and futile sleep.

Years go by and eventually he's set free at last. He's not as strong as he used to be but the people need him to fight. He's not sure how he's going to do that at this point, but if he is to die; then he would rather go down a hero.

It's not like you'll be there to patch him up at the end of the day anyway.

Instead, as he opens his eyes after the fight, there's another bandaging his wounds. He's vaguely aware that he won the fight and that he's lost a lot of blood but that's about it.

The rest of his life is lived in a haze.

He's sent to go find a special item for the people now that he's proven himself again but there's little that'll prove to Link that it exists.

Instead he finds a cave that he's been explored before and enters it with little thought. He's not expecting much. If there's monsters in here then he can dispose of them and call it a day before he goes back to town and tells the people that there was no such item.

"S-stay back!"

He freezes and raises his lantern. Link's greeted by massive crystals covering the walls of the rock, mirroring the light from his lantern and lighting up the small space as it is.

There's a cloth on the floor and a few supplies.

But that's not what has his attention.

"....It's you..." You breathe and panic seems to fill your system.

Link can only stare. It's as if you're here to haunt him, only you don't seem happy to see him. He can't find it in himself to complain though. He's wanted to see you at least one last time all these years. He wonders if he's actually dying a second time and this was a gift bestowed on him for doing his duty.

"I... I know what you're going to say, Link." You wince and try to stand. You're hurt... Or rather, you have been hurt. It must be difficult to move. "I know that you'd ask why I left. Why I stayed away all these years... and why I didn't come back to you..."

Link takes a step forward and you scramble the best you can to your feet despite the obvious pain. His heart clenches. The questions you throw at him are already answered for him. It would have been difficult to come back to him even if you wanted to.

You being to tear up. "I'm sure you'd want to know everything. A-and I know that I was wrong. I knew from the start. But I couldn't-"

He steps closer, gently putting his lantern on the floor so that it still lights up the place.

Your voice only seem to grow higher and more frantic. "I couldn't! Link, please. Not like this. I couldn't. Please believe me!"

He does and steps closer.

"Link! Answer me. Shout! Scream! I don't care if you start throwing things! Just say something!"

He stops in front of you, trapping you against the wall of the cave. He reaches out and hesitates before tucking a piece of your overgrown hair behind your ear.

"You're just as beautiful as the day I lost you."

Your tears fall as he leans to kiss you, to solidify this dream, to prove to himself that he's not hallucinating.

You don't kiss him back, but that's ok. You're real and you're here and you're alive.

This is far better than any item he was sent to find.

[azzifudd]

streams

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary:

Jon Wanna explain why my friend asked me if it was true that you and Paige were making out at a bar last night

Jose WHAAAAAAT

four times paige & azzi were on tiktok live

rated: teen

2.8k words

disclaimer: you kinda have to know about the lore surrounding all those lives they've been a part of to fully understand this. this is based around existing events, but obviously a fictional interpretation of those events. also a warning that this is sappy as hell

[AO3 LINK]

“Let’s go! Two more points!” Paige’s shout echoes through the room. She stands from the bed and howls at the top of her lungs.

Azzi is unfazed. She knows just how much Paige loves LeBron. In fact, to her embarrassment, she has spent countless nights staring up at his face as she laid in Paige’s bed.

She hears Amari proclaiming that she’s single and sees Paige go over asking to be dapped up.

“Someone said Paige has a girlfriend and I have a boyfriend.”

“Paige does not have a girlfriend,” Inês protests, or maybe it’s Ice, Azzi can’t really tell, too distracted by Paige who has come back over to the bed and is leaning half over her with a smirk. Azzi rolls her eyes, but still returns the soft peck that Paige presses to her lips.

Then she playfully shoves Paige away, letting her get locked into the game again while she reclines on the bed. Almost immediately, she finds herself becoming extremely bored. Maybe she’d be interested in watching if LeBron was getting the record against Steph, but he’s not. Azzi didn’t even recognize the team he’s playing against.

She grabs Paige’s ever present iPad and pulls up her favorite game.

Paige stares back at her, eyes wide and incredulous. “Azzi, we can’t play- Are you serious? She wants me to play a game right now, when LeBron’s about to get the record?”

Azzi pouts at her, but Paige doesn’t give in. Instead, she jumps up, yelling, “Lock in!” as the game returns from commercial break.

But when not even half a minute later, a foul is called, Azzi takes advantage.

“Free throws! Come play,” she demands, and Paige flops back onto the bed without protest. Inês makes a whip motion with her hand, and Paige gives her the middle finger.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Azzi whines.

Eventually, the game starts again, and Paige stands up, shouting about the gameplay. LeBron finally breaks the record and everyone screams in celebration. They all watch the ceremony before Amari begins to wrap up the live.

“Only cuz of LeBron, not cuz of Azzi.” Paige says, when a viewer mocks them all for shutting up at Azzi’s complaint. But she still crosses back from the other bed, laying beside Azzi for some quick cuddle time before she has to go back to her room.

“Paige, someone’s gonna take you to breakfast,” Amari reads.

“Better not.” Azzi mutters, under her breath as the others laugh.

Amari ends her livestream, and they spend a little more time messing around, until they realize that it’s almost curfew.

Ice turns to Azzi’s bed which has been suspiciously quiet for the past few minutes.

“She’s asleep, already?!” Paige appears to be deeply asleep, mouth slightly open and face pressed into the pillow as Azzi cuddles in behind her.

“Shush, you know she has trouble sleeping sometimes.” Azzi whispers over her head.

“Well, she’s gonna have to have trouble sleeping in our room, because I’m not getting in trouble when the coaches come for room check and lover girl is missing because she’s over here being your little spoon.” Ice grabs a pillow from Inês bed and whacks Paige in the face with it.

“Bruh, what the hell?!” Paige sputters.

“Let’s go! I want to sleep too.”

“Ugh, fine.” Paige stands and quickly gathers her things before going to stand beside Azzi’s bedside. Without a word, their friends turn away as Paige leans down to kiss Azzi goodbye.

The next morning, a knock sounds at Paige’s door.

“Ice, answer it.” Paige shoves her head under a pillow.

“You’re closer to the door.” Ice complains.

“Freshman duty.” Paige fires back.

“I’m not even a real freshman!”

Knuckles rap against the door again. “Room service!”

Paige finally drags herself to the door and pulls it open. The hotel employee wheels in a cart full of food, transferring it onto the table in the corner of the room. Paige thanks him and he leaves.

A full breakfast spread covers the table. A small white card sits by itself on a plate at the center of all the food. Ice wanders over, drawn by delicious smells. She picks up the card, snorting out a laugh at its contents.

“Thank you, Azzi.”

Paige’s face scrunches up with confusion before she takes the card from Ice’s outstretched hand.

Enjoy your breakfast.

Love, Not Paige’s girlfriend

//

Azzi wakes to the sun shining directly into her face and her bed moving beneath her.

It’s only when the bed groans in pain that she realizes it’s not the bed that’s moving, it’s Paige beneath her, burying her face into the crook of Azzi’s neck.

“Why do you sleep with your blinds open?” Paige hisses, clearly as hungover as Azzi feels.

“I do not sleep with my blinds open,” Azzi rasps, unable to raise her voice above a whisper as her head pounds. “I didn’t have time to close them after you threw me onto the bed and koala bear’d onto me.”

“You know I get cuddly when I’m drunk.”

It’s an understatement. Azzi is still foggy on some of last night’s events, but she can remember how Paige had spent half the night latched onto their teammates and the other with her hands glued to Azzi’s body.

Azzi throws the blanket over both their heads, hoping the darkness can help them recover before they have to wake up. But before they can get any meaningful rest, a knock sounds at the door.

“Hey, are you guys decent?” Caroline’s voice comes through the door. “I’m coming in, in three, two, one.”

She still gives them a few more seconds. She’s one of the only girls on the team that hasn’t walked in on them, and she wants to keep it that way.

Azzi has poked her head back out of her sheets, but Paige remains hidden, just a lump in the blankets.

Caroline places a bottle of Gatorade and a bottle of coconut water on the bedside table alongside some pain killers.

“Caroline, my angel.”

Azzi sits up, throwing back the pills with a deep swig of the coconut water. She nudges Paige, who simply rolls over and buries her face in Azzi’s stomach.

“Dude, drink the Gatorade.”

Paige cracks an eye, looking up pitifully. “Feed me.”

“Ugh.” Caroline makes a disgusted noise. “Well, when you guys are good, Ice brought breakfast. Not sure how much you remember from last night because you both were pretty gone, but something happened on Ice’s live that you’ll wanna see.”

“Um, that don’t sound too good.” Paige has finally propped herself up to take light sips of the Gatorade that Azzi has passed to her.

“It’s not a huge deal,” Caroline says, clapping her hands together. “Just something you should know about.”

“We’ll be out soon,” Azzi replies, and then Caroline exits, leaving a confused Paige and Azzi behind her.

Azzi sighs and reaches for her phone, shocked to see her group chat with her brothers has over ten unread messages.

Jon Wanna explain why my friend asked me if it was true that you and Paige were making out at a bar last night

Jose WHAAAAAAT

The rest of the texts are mostly them arguing about a clip on tiktok and asking Azzi if it means that she and Paige are coming out.

She tilts the phone to let Paige read the messages.

“What the fuck? Ice! Isuneh!” Paige gets out of bed, suddenly very awake and heads toward the dining area, Azzi following close behind.

A bunch of the girls are gathered at the dining area, some eating and some clearly waiting out their hangovers.

“Good morning, Paige and Azzi! I brought breakfast.” Ice says, her voice sounding falsely positive.

“What happened last night?” Paige questions, taking the last available seat next to Ice and pulling Azzi to sit on her lap.

Ice winces and slides her phone over. “Before y’all get too mad, it’s been wiped from TikTok and not that many people saw it.”

The video is only a few seconds long, a grainy snippet from Ice’s livestream from the night before. The camera pans along the bar, showing Jana, then Caroline deep in conversation with Azzi who is wrapped up in Paige’s embrace. They watch as Paige’s hands roam from low on Azzi’s hips, up toward her back as she turns toward Paige with a hand on her face. And then the camera is jerking and the frame fills with Ice’s shocked expression.

“Bro, you need to warn us when you’re on live. That could’ve been so much worse.” If Ice had kept her camera on them for even a second more, it would have been much worse.

“I’m sorry, but I did! It’s not my fault you can’t keep your grabby hands off!”

“You know I can’t help it. Did you see her last night?”

Even now, Paige’s arms are wrapped around Azzi’s waist, and her chin is tucked over her shoulder as they look down at Ice’s phone.

Ice rolls her eyes as Azzi smiles, pleased at the comment.

Suddenly, the smile drops as Azzi looks sharply at Ice. “No more lives. You’re banned.”

“What?! That’s not fair!” Ice looks pleadingly at Paige, always the more lenient of the pair.

“Let’s just chill on the lives for a bit, aight? At least until this blows over.”

Everyone agrees, and after Ice apologizes one more time, Paige and Azzi take their breakfast back to Azzi’s room so they can get some more sleep.

Paige only lasts three days before she lets Ice and KK back on live.

//

It’s nearing 11:30 PM when Paige tells Ice and KK that she’s heading out.

“Girl, boo.” KK shoots her a thumbs down. “I thought we were gonna play some more Fortnite.”

“Nah, I’m tired dude. Supervising y’all on live took a lot out of me.” Paige smirks as KK rolls her eyes and Ice, the main instigator in most of their slip ups, muffles her laughter.

Paige leaves them to their own devices, slipping out of the apartment. She doesn’t tell them the real reason she’s leaving early, that Azzi had made it clear that if Paige showed up at her door past midnight, they would both be sleeping alone that night. The girl takes her sleep seriously.

She can imagine how much shit she would get from the girls if they knew how she refused to even consider spending a single night away from Azzi, but she doesn’t care. She just wants to be near Azzi, always.

Paige lets herself into Azzi’s apartment, which is dark and quiet, with all its occupants asleep or on the way. She heads into the bathroom, brushing her teeth with the brush she keeps there, and gets ready for bed.

When she finally makes her way to Azzi’s room, she’s surprised to see light still shining from beneath the crack of the door. She eases the door open, as quiet as she can. She isn’t surprised to find Azzi asleep, with a book in her lap and her glasses falling off her face.

Paige doesn’t try to stop the grin that spreads across her face at the sight. She moves closer, putting the book on the bedside table and carefully sliding Azzi’s glasses off her face. Then, she turns off the light, flooding the room with darkness.

“Mm,” Azzi hums as Paige slips under the covers next to her.

Paige shushes her, trying to ease her back into sleep as she pulls Azzi’s head to rest on her chest.

“Go back to sleep, baby. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

Azzi murmurs something else into Paige’s neck, clearly more awake now.

“Watch out for my boyfriend.”

Paige has already closed her eyes, but they shoot open when she registers what Azzi has said.

“Huh?”

Azzi smiles lazily, stretching her body until she’s pressed head to toe against Paige’s.

“Y’know since I apparently have a boyfriend now, he probably wouldn’t like finding me in bed with someone else.” Their legs tangle together beneath the sheets.

Azzi’s words finally register, and Paige groans in understanding.

“What the hell? How’d you find out already?”

It couldn’t have been an hour since the moment where Paige had had a too visible reaction to KK reading a fan’s comment claiming Azzi had a boyfriend and that she was with him at that time. She hadn’t been able to stop her growing smile, and before she even realized it, she was scratching awkwardly at the bridge of her nose, trying to distract from her reaction and Ice and KK’s muffled laughter.

“Ice texted me, but I’m sure it’s all over Tiktok already.”

Azzi shifts again, until she’s seated astride Paige’s hips, hands splayed across the hard, flat plane of Paige’s abdomen. Paige inhales sharply as the other girl begins a slow glide in her lap, hands immediately find their place among familiar curves.

With a sure grip, Paige guides Azzi into a heavy grind, pulling their bodies together until they are both panting. Azzi dips her head to give Paige a searing kiss, tasting mint and something distinctly Paige.

When they part, Paige snarkily says, “What would your man say about you kissing someone else like that?” But the effect is slightly lessened by how breathless she is.

Azzi reaches down to tug her shirt over her head before leaning down again. She whispers, “Stop talking,” against Paige’s lips. Paige does.

//

When Azzi texts that she’s on her way over to the hotel, Paige drops Drew off with Ice and heads to the market next door. By the time she’s done, Azzi’s dad has dropped her off at the front.

It’s been just over a week since Paige has seen her, but Azzi is always a sight for sore eyes. She looks smaller than usual with the big brace over her knee, and when Paige hugs her hello, she holds on just a little longer than what might be considered casual, pressing her face to her favorite spot where Azzi’s neck meets her shoulder and sneaking a kiss there.

“I missed you,” Azzi breathes into her shoulder.

They text almost constantly, and are on FaceTime whenever they’re free, but it’s not the same as being together. It takes Paige back to the years before UConn, before she knew what it really meant that she would sometimes miss Azzi so much it felt like a wound.

She squeezes Azzi around her waist one more time before pulling back and leading her up to the room. She swipes the key to unlock the door and holds it open so Azzi can limp through in front of her.

Ice has taken Drew to bother some of the other girls, so they can have some much appreciated time alone.

Paige has barely shut the door behind her when Azzi is crowding her up against it, throwing her arms around her shoulders as her crutches clatter to the floor. Paige catches her around the waist, dropping her shopping bag on the floor, and lets Azzi kiss the hell out of her.

“You really missed me, huh?” Paige rasps as Azzi moves her lips down the line of her jaw, her neck. Her hands reach down to palm Azzi’s ass, pulling her closer and squeezing.

She knows something is wrong when Azzi pulls back, releasing a choked gasp. Her head ducks down to stare at her knee, throbbing at the sudden movement. When she looks up at Paige again, her eyes are wet.

“I can’t even kiss you without hurting myself.” Azzi lets out a bitter laugh.

Paige remembers the back and forth of emotions that came with such a big injury. How one moment it could be like nothing had happened, but then something would remind you and the world would feel like it was crashing down on you.

She pulls Azzi into the room, helping her to take a seat at the end of one of the beds before going back to the door to pick up her bag.

Paige comes back to kneel in front of Azzi handing her the bag with an uncharacteristically shy look on her face. Azzi pulls out an only slightly crushed bouquet, two family sized bags of her favorite chips, and a stuffed plushie.

Azzi stares at the gifts for a second. She shouldn’t be surprised at Paige’s thoughtfulness, not when she’s been this way for as long as they’ve known each other.

But she loves how Paige can still surprise her after this many years. She just loves her.

So she places the gifts gently to the side, cups Paige’s face between her hands, kisses her softly, and tells her just that.

💗 I love you, Pookie. 💗 9:13

😡🙄 9:14

love you too 9:15

[mixiury]

Character(s): Wanderer x GN Reader

Summary: Just him falling in love with you

A/N: Sorry for disappearing for two years, I actually forgot about this account XD. I had this on my drafts, so i thought of posting it while i cook something new. I also plan to come back to writing, so feel free to send me any requests :)

To live for centuries means to see people come and go, all of them different in small ways but overall the same when you see them in the big picture. As time goes by, everyone just becomes stains in the wall, amusing when they first appear, at least until the novelty turns boring and plain.

They are all going to be washed away by the time anyway. Why should he brother on finding out a meaning behind their existence if they never mean to stay?

That same mentality is one he has kept for many years, slowly losing interest in everyone who he crosses paths, only finding purpose in keeping around those who can be of use for him. But you? You are not useful at all. Actually, you are not even boring, like most of the other mortals he has met. No, you are straight annoying. Frustrating.

Frustrating your tone to speak; unable to hide his irritation every time he hears your voice, never afraid to say your thoughts aloud for others to listen and making it everyone's problem, echoing through the deepness of his mind as a haunting melody that he just can't seem to get rid of

Frustrating your sense of humor; the same one that makes him wonder if there is any braincells left inside that empty brain of yours, and the same one that causes so many pity laughs and smiles to those around you, wishing that he was the one hearing your jokes instead so he could tell you on the face how unfunny they are.

Frustrating your eyes; lighting up with enthusiasm everytime you talk about something you are passionate about. Blindly sharing that light and joy that only you are capable of creating with anyone interested, not even realizing how easily it can be extinguished if left within the reach of others.

Because it doesn't matter how many times he tries to come with a logical conclussion, Wanderer simply can't understand how someone so gullible and naive has survived until now; for everyone he knew who was fool enough to remain soft over the progression of time ended up murdered at the hands of the reality.

Everyone but you, apparently.

That's what he can't wrap his head around.

You, somehow, against all odds, have managed to stay true to yourself without letting others hands drown you and, at the same time, without falling into the cruelty of this world. Soft but steady. Sparkling but constant. Defying everything he knows and everything he believed to be an absolute truth, the puppet finds himself in an endless internal conflict over you.

You have took a shape and color in the wall of his life that he had yet to see.

It's stupid how complex humans can be. He could almost hear you laughing at him for not understanding somethingas basic as humanity. But you don't do it. You never do. And that makes it all more frustrating.

Unable to get the answers he search for, trying to guess your hand in this card game that you are not even aware you are playing. The different possibilities run through his mind as he attempts to figure out your next move, reading between the lines for any hints and hidden meanings.

Maybe it is all an act you are performing. Maybe there is more in the surface than he can see. Maybe you are hiding your true self behind a facede he has yet to uncover.

There has to be something. It must be.

However, all his conclusions quickly discarded the moment your hand lingers with his, just like a soft breeze in summer days, able of take away all his doubts with just one touch; strong enough to blew away each of the cards on the table, only for him to realize that there was never a winner in the first place, for it was never a competition but only a way to spend time with you.

And it's frustrating. It's frustrating how you can just tear down everything he took so many years to build; How all this time he spent analyzing your every move over and over was for nothing.

But somehow, now that he is in the other side of the conversation, listening to the same unfunny jokes he has heard before, instead of pointing out all their flaws as he once wished, everything on his mind is how he doesn't want you to ever stop speaking.

To think you are the only person able to shine like that. To make him feel like that.

[jemmo]

i don’t want to jump the gun, but i think hwang daseul might have just done it again. two episodes in to let free the curse of taekwondo and i am obsessed. more than obsessed. transfixed. this show feels special in a way hwang daseul’s touch only can give, and just using these two episodes to compare to her previous works, i love that i can already spot the continuity in the kinds of stories she tells, the messages she portrays and how she portrays them. she just knows how to let her characters exist in harmful and difficult places and show how their experiences affect them while also just showing them as normal human beings. it is so so easy to overdramatise these kinds of stories that have these difficult topics and have it be so surface level, but she has never done that. instead, she shows how those experiences shape a person and how they go about living in spite of them. all the way from where your eyes linger to now, she gives us characters that are wholly themselves and not just the traumas they have gone through and i just adore that. i can’t remember what i was talking about specifically, but i remember talking about this sentiment and how it actually helps to build empathy in an audience as opposed to just showing a difficult topic at the most surface level bc you think that makes it accessible and easier to understand and hence empathise with. i don’t think that ever works. it’s only when you do what hwang daseul does, when you give us characters we can get to know and fall in love with and care for that you help us to empathise with their experiences. it’s hard to understand the weight and the hardship of experiencing something traumatic, but when something bad happens to someone close to you, a family member or a friend, you understand and feel that pain astronomically more. that’s what hwang daseul manages to do. and more so, she makes you feel that while also seeing these people as people. you get to see them away from the hurt, you see them smile in moments of happiness and you see that too with people you’re close to, and you feel even more how special and important those moments of happiness are.

and that’s why, whenever hwang daseul is at the helm of something, i will be seated from start to end with endless boxes of tissues ready. i can’t wait to see what else this show has in store.

[planete777]

WHAT YOU HEARD・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. y/n senselessly drags lando for a swim at midnight, high and all. she just forgets to mention they'll do it naked.

WARNINGS. 16+, smoking and getting high (don't do drugs yall, this is just for entertainment purposes!), make outs, night skinny dipping, mentions of sexual activities, once again high hotness

NOTE. back again with the high!lando agenda. something about it just gets my brain all scrambled. anyways, as i said, don't do drugs, listen to 'what you heard' by sonder, and enjoy luvs <3 (wondering if i should make this a series.....)

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any thoughts, scenarios, requests etc about high!lando, or other tropes if u want. 🤍

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

even when he can't piece two cents of his thoughts to construct a legible sequence, lando is sure that, no matter the state he's in, y/n can persuade him to do whatever, as if her words were a siren's call. in his mind, she has this way of curling her tongue around every sentence she says, as if they're something so sweet, so good, and it beckons him closer, pathetically. yet, lando indulges in it like a fucking mad man, and every time he has to leave y/n, he finds himself itching for everything she makes him feel.

but, right here, right now, he'd rather lose himself in the swirling puffs of smoke that have him feeling he's levitating with it. sprawled on the girl's couch, legs and arms weightless and completely non existent, in a room that's so unsuspecting to delinquent dallying.

that's what makes him love her even more.

they're the same. from the wisp of their hairs to the tip of their toes, they both crave an escape from everything and everyone, and don't care how they get it. live a dual life of forced smiles to the world and adrenaline rushes from a drug that drains every feeling possible from their flesh, but could tip their lives on their heads without warning.

it's like their own little secret, and knows that if he were to tell anyone, they'd instantaneously talk him out of it. beg him that he could get hooked and spiral, yet he'll be damned if he allows himself to lose the only sanity he has with the girl that he's addicted to.

the breeze whispers on his skin, soothes it somewhat as the forecast had been cooler the whole day, and the spliff between his fingers remains an inch-long bud, incinerated away in mere hours. his eyes are ajar, just the tiniest bit, and remain trained on the open back sliding doors. watches as ripples glimmer and twinkle beneath the moon's shine upon the pool's surface and his mind undulates with the tentative viscosity of thick honey.

speakers drone whatever playlist y/n has chosen for the night, and he finds himself subconsciously tapping his fingers to the beat. nothing else but music needs to fill the room, each other's presence speaks for itself, and lando loves this unspoken normality between them.

he's on the brink of unconsciouness, rocking between the borders of sleep and awareness, but he's slowly justled awake as y/n walks up to him.

she gently grabs his arm, pulling him upright, "come."

his movements are slow and hesitant, "where we going?"

"swimming."

for a second his mind agrees, so he relents, but realising that he's wearing a tank top with jogging bottoms, and y/n the same but with leggings instead, he grows confused again.

he doesn't get time to question, mind too slow and sticky to even get further words out, as y/n lets go of his hand and turns to him.

then with speed that aches with tease, she tugs her top off, flinging it off to the side and lando stops breathing. he sees everything, how they curve and smooth back into the inward slope of her waist and he trembles so much that he has to clench his fist to urge it away. she's so beautiful drenched in blue, easing its way down her legs as she shrugs them off, and lando's eyes burn as they weld into every dip of her body.

"join me."

that's all she says, with that pretty smile on her face, before she swivels on her feet and dives into the water with much precision she barely marks a discrepancy upon the surface of the water. lando is hypnotised, barely moves from his place as she watches her glide and twirl in the water as if that's where she's meant to be, and then his body cries to join her.

it doesn't take long for him to hover next to y/n, right in the centre of the pool. the cool water washes some highness away, but they're both inebriated enough to retain the red glaze in their eyes and slow movements. lando's sick, seeing y/n so etheral in nothing, looking at him as if she wants him flowing through his veins, and he no longer fights the impulse to get closer and gather her in his arms. she smiles, wide and white, circling her arms around his neck before jumping on his waist. he fumbles slightly, with a huffed out laugh, then her thighs are tight around his hips and he can feel everything.

"you're hard already?" she asked, amused. her hand plays with the curls on his neck and he feels like he's dissolving.

"do you blame me? look at you."

"well," her finger traces his chest, light and completely burning, "we're not fucking in my pool."

he chuckles, figures cum is a hard thing to clean out of water, "at least let me eat you out?"

she pretends to think, "maybe later, but right now, i want you to fucking kiss me."

lando doesn't waste time doing so, lips pushing into hers with great urgency as if it's his last kiss on earth. y/n's mouth is wet, warm, sweet and so inherently y/n that lando moans, deep and loud, sliding his tongue deeper. it's not enough, not the kiss, nor the way her body radiates immense heat directly into his, and lando craves to be one with her. absorb into y/n, like a water to a sponge, and remain there forever.

air runs out, way too quickly for lando's liking, and y/n moves her head back, half closed eyes staring back at him. he's hot, bothered, hungry for so much more, and squeezes the flesh of her thighs to suppress just how much his flesh aches for her.

"i want to have you so bad," y/n sighs out, a splayed hand flush against lando's chest, and oh does he want her to completely take him. do whatever she wants, however she wants. he craves to say so much but his mind can only come up with so little.

"then fucking have me, y/n."

[waggledoogledoggle]

⚠️Spoilers for Hazbin ep 4⚠️

⚠️Also, this post will talk about Abuse and SA, it is briefly mentioned a few times throughout the rest of this… whole long thingy I wrote⚠️

⚠️Also, brief mention of the scene where someone tried to drug Angel⚠️

Ok, I am just genuinely baffled at the people who somehow find a way to hate on 'Loser, Baby'.

Like, if you don't like Huskerdust that's fine... but 'Loser, Baby' is not overshadowing/brushing off Angel's SA. It's not victim blaming. And it's not Husk telling Angel to just shut up and get over it.

Like I've seen it so much, and you know what? Fuck it. Welcome to my TedTalk on why it's not all of those things.

For starters: Husk doesn't know about Angel's SA

When Angel has his vulnerable outburst (Side note, props to Blake I mean, they said 'take 5' he heard 'change lives') he talks about how he feels like he has to act the way he does to keep Valentino happy because he stupidly sold his soul to him. That he wants to get drugged up because that’s his escape. That he wants to be broken because maybe, just maybe Val will let him go. He wants to be free, but he can't and he has no one to blame but himself.

"What's the worst part of this hell, I can only blame myself" is literally the pre chorus to his song (Poison), and that is what he shares with Husk.

Not once does he bring up his abuse or SA. If he did, do you think a song would have even happened? Look how Husk reacted when someone tried to drug Angel's drink! Now that Husk actually genuinely cares about him? Dead. Dead. Valentino would be dead.

Us knowing about Angels situation in full is dramatic irony which is, essentially, we as the audience know more/are given more insight than the other characters. We were given the insight of Angel's true trauma that he deals with on the daily. Husk and the rest of the Hotel were not and have no idea what he deals with, the only one that even has an inkling is Charlie and even then we still know WAY more about Angel’s situation than her, so you can't really get upset at Husk for not knowing something he would have no way of knowing unless Angel shared it with him directly.

Moving onto the song itself, it's a song of empathy.

Allow me to explain.

Husk pinpoints perfectly what Angel is feeling in this moment:

"So things look bad, and your back's against the wall Your whole existence seems fuckin' hopeless You're feelin' filthy as a dive bar bathroom stall Can't face the world sober and dopeless You've lost your way, you think your life is wrecked"

When Husk starts singing, you can tell that Angel is expecting Husk to pull the whole "But that's not true! It's not hopeless! You're life's not wrecked!" and is very surprised when Husk doesn't.

Instead, Husks says "Yeah. You're right." And this is when a lot of the haters get angry- but hold on a second.

When someone is feeling all of those things, saying things like "That's not true! You'll be ok!" aren't helpful at all. That's brushing it off. Even if it may be true, that doesn't help anyone when they're feeling like hopeless, lost, losers.

Because that's sympathy, not empathy. Sympathy is feeling for someone, and trying to make them feel better. Empathy, is not trying to make them feel any certain way- better or worse- empathy is simply feeling with someone. And that's what Husk does.

During the first chorus, Husk is clearly teasing Angel a bit while doing so, but not without good reason. It's keeping Angel from closing back up again, he's being a little bit silly with him and teasing him. I mean, did you see the silly lil walk he did crossing in front of Angel? And Angel is super confused because he's like "how tf is this supposed to make me feel better??"

That's the thing. It's not. That's sympathy's job, not empathy's. Empathy just want's you to feel felt with, it doesn't want to tell you how to feel. And adding that bit of silliness gives Angel's vulnerability a chance to breathe and it prevents Angel from closing in on himself.

The next verse, pre-chorus, and chorus is when the empathy though really kicks in.

The next verse, is the first part of empathy: Sharing about a similar experience you went through.

In this verse, now that Angel is listening not just hearing, Husk shares that he has been gruesomely damaged. Calling back to what he shared literally seconds before the song. That he knows what it's like to sign away your soul, and constantly look back at it with huge amounts of regret. That knowing that moment is what turned him into the mess he is today, and that he has no one to blame but himself. Just like Angel.

Then in the pre-chorus where there's the whole:

"I sold my soul to a psychopathic freak Haha! And you think that makes you unique? Get outta here, man!"

That isn't Husk telling Angel to get over himself and this isn’t him undermining what Angel’s been through. That's him saying 'I did too, you're not alone’

And then the very simple word change from "you're" to "we're" in the chorus is SO FREAKING HUGE. Because Husk is essentially saying "You feel like a total loser right now. Ok. Then if what happened to you/what you went through makes you a loser, then I'm a loser too. Let's be loser's together." Instead of trying to make Angel stop feeling like he's a hopeless loser, he decides that he is too.

He meets Angel where he is.

Aka: ✨empathy✨

Angel finally feels seen, understood, felt with. All the goals of empathy. He no longer feels alone in what he is struggling with, which is HUGE! Especially for people going through/dealing with SA and abuse.

The bridge of the song, is also extremely important, because this is where they acknowledge the differences in what they're going through. Their root problem is the same, but how it messed up their lives and created the problems they deal with now are completely different

And that's around when the song begins to shift from just Husk showing empathy and comforting Angel, to them both finding comfort in each other.

Which you can clearly see by the chorus under the umbrella, where it's not just one of them singing the chorus, but it's both of them. Because they have found a place to go to and confide in, a place of comfort, with each other.

Like, I am genuinely concerned that people find this song toxic like... have- have you never experienced empathy before? Are you ok?

So yeah, to wrap this up, if you don’t like ‘Loser, Baby’ just because you don’t like the song in general? That’s fine (odd, but fine)

But if you hate it because it “undermines Angel’s experience and what he goes through” I…

words.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[lilacxquartz]

TO SAVE A BROKEN SOUL • suguru geto x cursed spirit fem!reader

ao3 link • masterlist • < previous chapter • final chapter >

summary: trying to talk himself out of doing something he might regret, he attempts to get to know more about you.

Chapter 6. Origins

Almost as if refusing to let go of you after that moment, Suguru held onto you so tight as if he were about to lose you. With such care and love that he could have given to something human, but it was to something like you instead.

Despite everything, he still desperately tried to convince himself that there was something more to you than what you truly were.

Especially when he got lost in your void-like eyes again and again, staring as though into space and looking for a glimmer of hope, yet the stars didn’t quite exist.

“How old are you?” he asked after a while, quietly dreading the answer. Suguru knew that cursed spirits could look different like that.

“About… fifty, I believe,” you replied in a considerate hum, reluctantly accepting his attempt to make conversation with you. As long as he wasn’t trying to kill you actively, you supposed.

You didn’t quite know otherwise, but you remembered watching as the times at least somewhat changed.

Suguru blanked for a moment, his eyes glossing over your ageless skin. “I guess… you’re not human, so you don’t age the same way.”

A mutual silence was exchange between the two of you as he ran his fingers across your features, your eyes tracking him as he couldn’t help but explore.

Suguru wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for when he kept on touching you the way that he did, maybe though, he was trying to find positivity in you even if it didn’t fully exist.

In an attempt to break the silence as a means of understanding you further, he pulled you in just a little closer to his chest. “So, what have you been… doing… for the last fifty years?”

“Trying to stay out of the way, mostly,” you replied, a solemn look entering your features.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” he noted, his brows furrowing as he adopted a pinched look, some guilt manifesting as he remembered that just some time ago, you were quite literally a free spirit and he took that from you. “That’s what you tried to when you ran away from the temple, right? Tried to get out of my way?”

You nodded.

Pausing, he tried his best to steer the conversation forward. “Did you just live there and do nothing else…? Just roam around and hunt animals?”

“Yes,” you calmly nodded again.

“Sounds simple enough, maybe even boring,” he considered, unable to imagine such a lifestyle because he was still so very used to living in at least something that resembled a society.

You tried to retain a calm tone despite still feeling a hint of danger in the air, “It’s subjective.”

Suguru could only nod back, doing his best to understand. He tried to keep his tone as sweet as possible to retain your full attention despite something darker warring within him, even if it didn't make that much of a difference to you.

“Do you… remember how you were bor—how you… came to be?” he asked you, curious to know as much as he possibly could.

“It’s nothing extraordinary,” you replied, “I’ve just always been around. That’s essentially it.”

“You’re a special grade from what I can tell though, so your existence had to have been… materialised, only if you were born from something that had a lot of hatred within it,” he spoke.

You hummed in a curious tone. “Well, my origins come from a village but that’s all I know,” you thought about it for a second longer though, “it wasn’t anything special, but I could always find my way back home. Although, it seems to be destroyed now. Just ruins remain.”

Years ago, Suguru massacred a village to take on revenge for the girls he now treats as his own two daughters, a justified punishment well deserved to make up for the cruelty of non-sorcerers. He wondered if it was too much of a coincidence if it was the very same village he took down, or if it was too much of a stretch to consider. It would have been a sick, cruel joke if you were from that area, born from the heaping negativity and hatred forged from the very same villagers that he took down by his own hands.

A part of him refused to accept such a possibility and he quickly dismissed the idea in an attempt to convince himself that it surely couldn’t have been that very same village.

As he reflected on a conversation he had those same many years ago with Yuki Tsukumo, he recalled their discussion about cursed spirits and energy; about the symptoms of it and the root causes. Yuki had always been critical about how Jujutsu society merely addressed the symptom of the cursed spirit’s existence while she wanted to advocate for tackling the root cause. He, on the other hand, had always perceived cursed spirits as what they were; simply just manifestations of negative human energy and nothing more.

But then he had to go and meet you.

A thought slipped into his mind. Perhaps you were a consequence yourself of the village you were born from and should you be exorcised, then that would be just another instance of treating the symptom. Ironically, by massacring everyone in the village, he had unwittingly put Yuki’s research to the test by attempting to eliminate the cause. Yet, you still existed despite your home being lost to you and you weren’t mimicking the same hatred you were born within because you didn’t live in it.

This little tidbit of information made him feel suddenly uncertain, maybe just as lost as he was when he was just a teenager and still trying to figure everything out.

For example, he still hated those villagers with a burning passion even though he would never have to see them again and neither would the girls, but he still found himself liking you—someone who was born from likely the same sort of negativity—what a mind fuck this whole mess was.

And the more he thought about that period, the more and more confused he felt. Everything seemed to always lead back to the causes of cursed spirits and even now, as you lay beside him in his bed, your back pushed up against his chest, he had no real damn clue as what to really think.

“Do you feel any remorse for the people you feed from?” he asked, seeking to gain a new perspective from you. He had made a decision already, but wanted to hear it from your side.

“Yes… or something close to it,” you confirmed, “I don’t like doing it, that’s why I preferred to hunt in the woods.”

Suguru nodded, understanding properly now that you were indeed different from the villagers, at least in your own way. Maybe it hadn’t even been that village at all. He scoffed at the thought regardless; they wouldn’t have been able to create something like you.

Suguru held tightly onto you as he fell asleep, finding a strange sort of comfort when so relaxed in your presence.

Yet, you remained awake with racing thoughts going haywire in your mind, feeling completely and utterly restless.

You weren’t being confined in the pocket anymore.

So could you technically… just leave?

~~~

Slipping out while he still had his guard down, you crept out of his room, out of his house and raced towards the trees; back to the wilderness where you belonged.

You ran as fast as you could, your stealthy instincts allowing you move relatively unnoticed in the dark. It was how you hunted; by blending seamlessly into the shadows c but lately, you hadn’t had the chance to use it just as effectively.

Maybe you were becoming more human after all, desperate for a place to belong.

But it couldn’t have been back there.

So you attempted to leave, right then and there, blending back into the shadows and off into the inviting forest. The clothes that he had given you felt wrong on your skin as though posing as a constant reminder of the life you were so desperately attempting to flee from.

You missed everything about your own life, but especially just the simple act of being free.

Of being uncontained.

Settling quickly into the woods, you settled on a different forest so that if he chased you, he couldn’t find you so easily again. It wasn’t the same trees that you loved but you were at least finally far, far away from him.

For him to have called your old life boring, was nothing when compared to the life he forced you to endure as his prisoner.

Cursed spirit or not, you longed to be free and now, free you were.

Everything felt so right all of a sudden and you were desperately hopeful to settle back into a life that you loved. For the first time in a long while, you got to experience what it truly meant to be alive and it tasted sweeter than anything you had ever known.

Suguru woke up in the morning completely alone however with you nowhere to be seen or heard, but he knew you pretty damn well at this point and where exactly you would run off to.

He’d find you again, but this time, he wouldn’t let you go.

In the truest way and form.

~~~

this is part 2 of lilac’s bite sized yandere jjk nightmares

[bloodredfountainpen]

Human Packbonding: Spontaneous Adoption

One of my favorite of the HASO tropes (specifically a sub trope of the human packbonding trope) is humans as the ultimate parents, specifically humans having the propensity to adopt random kids from bad situations. I love me some found family, sue me. Here’s a little three part (maybe more) diddy I wrote a while ago with this trope as the base.

Merc and Floof

Six months. I’ve been on this Odin-forsaken planet for six fucking months. It is a miserable existence, hunting monsters in the desert wasteland with no gratitude from the locals. The lords who hired me think their pitiful pay thanks enough, and the common folk resent me for being on the lord’s payroll. Not to mention the sandy terrain, beating heat, and oh yeah, the fucking monsters I’m killing. Once my contract is up, credits be damned, I’m getting out of here. I’d rather sleep on the streets than stay here any longer than physically possible.

… or at least that’s what I’d say if I didn’t have a husband and son to provide for. My mercenary work is the only thing keeping them fed, and as much as I’d like to go home to be with them, I know they can’t live off his teacher’s salary alone. Sometimes I think about abandoning my post and taking the next shuttle off planet, but those are just my intrusive thought speaking. Realistically, I’ll be staying on this planet for a few more years at least. Jesus titty fucking christ, If hell exists I am in it. Now, I know this sounds like I’m throwing myself a pity party here, but I assure you I’m not. I’m just telling it how it is.

The brooding mercenary was roused from his trance when a young Lycan tugged at his cloak. She was small, thin, and would be dangerously fluffy if not for the grime and sand caked into her fur. She was wearing what to any Terran would be easily identified as a potato sack but to the Lycan was a passable dress. She was shivering in the nighttime cold, breath nearly forming into steam before her, and yet, in perfect Terra Communis, she spoke.

“Um, ahem. My master, Lord Mokta, would like to formally invite you and a guest of your choice to dine with him and his wife in his estate in an hour. If you’ll please let me know your plan I’ll run it back to his lordship.”

“Master huh? What are you, some kind of slave?”

“Um no, not really. I’m an indentured servant for his lordship, my parents made the contract. I’ll be free once I can pay out the contract value or when I come of age, which ever comes first.”

“And how much do you get paid?”

“I don’t, I rely on the kindness of strangers like you.”

“That sounds a lot like slavery to me… So then, what’s the contract value?”

At this point, the mercenary’s interest had been piqued. He scarcely knew what he would with the information he would obtain, he only knew that his ravenous curiosity would be stated only once he knew.

“… it’s 50 credits sir.”

50 credits? Did he hear that right? Only 50 measly credits could buy this sweet girl’s freedom? He could afford to not eat for a few days if it meant this girl, whose name he didn’t even know, would get to go free. He pulled out a 50 cred stick and pressed it into the girl’s paws.

“That should cover it then, now how would you like to be my guest to Mokta’s dinner?”

Instead of simply accepting like the stoic mercenary expected, the girl burst into tears and fell to the ground. She sat there on her knees, hyperventilating, sobbing, and thanking the bewildered mercenary profusely. It was a sight to behold, and the mercenary was finding himself increasingly uncomfortable. He tried, unsuccessfully, to use words to quell the girl’s tears. This effort only exacerbated the storm of emotion and in the end, the mercenary wrapped the girl in his arms and let his heartbeat and breathing steady her own. Once she had calmed enough to be spoken to, the mercenary did so.

“So then, what is your answer? Will you or will you not accompany me? If we don’t get going now, we’ll be late.”

“Yes, I’d love to go with you! But are you sure my dress is ok?”

“If it’s good enough for his messenger, it’s good enough for his guest. Let’s get on then.”

It was quite the upset when the cloaked mercenary, sword at waist and ragged girl in tow, strode into the banquet hall. The Lycan with the fanciest robe, Lord Mokta the mercenary assumed, was especially outraged. He shouted to the mercenary.

“Human! Why aren’t you dressed properly?! This kind of disrespect would have you beheaded if you were my subject!”

“Good thing I’m not your subject then. I don’t own one of your fancy robes, nor any Terran formal wear. It was either my day cloak and ceremonial sword or my power armor and machine gun, which would you prefer?”

“I…, you…” he sputtered, “all right, just take your seat here. Messenger girl, get back to the quarters!”

“Wait now, she’s my guest. You did say I could have one guest, right?“

“Guest?! She’s my indenture and she will obey my commands!”

The mercenary patted the girl on her shoulder, encouraging her foreword.”

“Lord Mokta, this is a fifty credit stick.” She held it up to him, “as such, my contract is paid off and I don’t have to do what you say anymore.“

The mercenary cracked a small grin, a rarity for him on this hell world.

“That’s right, and as a free person I’ve chosen her as my guest. Now then, please make a place for my darling girl.”

It was just then that his holo pad pinged with a job offer in his home system for ten times the pay, and he knew everything would be alright.

This girl must be some kind of lucky charm, I should thank her, and probably learn her name as well.

As the unlikely pair strolled through the moonlight, the girl, now well fed, began to shiver again. Taking his responsibility as her father, the mercenary passed her his own cloak.

I’m a hardened soldier, and she’s just a little girl, after all. She needs it much more than I do.

The girl, for her part, began to tear up again and the mercenary knew he needed to nip that in the bud. A constantly crying wolf girl would not fly on earth, he’d be lucky not to find himself in jail. He spoke to the girl, keeping his tone even but serious.

“Hey, is the cloak ok? Are you still cold?”

“N-no I’m warm now. Th-thank y-you so much, f-for everything! For the f-food and for p-paying off-f my contract. I was w-wondering what happens to me now? I mean, I can’t go back to his lordship’s house and I w-wouldn’t want to impose on you b-but…”

“Oh I thought that was obvious, I’m taking you back to my planet and adopting you… That is if you want to of course. I have a husband who will love you, and a son about your age who would be thrilled to have a sister.”

“You’re adopting me?! That’s awesome! And I get two dads and a brother, frick yeah!”

“That’s good, some enthusiasm will serve you well. Oh I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s your name?”

“… I don’t have one. A name is something to be earned when you pay off your contract or come of age. But I didn’t pay off my own contract, you paid it for me. I guess, if I have to have a name, could you maybe pick one for me?”

“Very well…” The mercenary became pensive, mentally going through a list of names, but none fit the fluffy anomaly at his side. Eventually, his thoughts turned back to the job offer that had came in earlier. Of course he had accepted, he’d be insane not to. Ten times the wages, and within a day’s commute of his family… a true miracle. He knew what name to give her.

“How does Fortuna sound to you? It means good luck where I come from.”

“I love it, cause I’m the luckiest girl alive!”

“No, I am the luckiest man for finding you.”

Merc and Floof: The Gaurdian

I hate spaceports. Between the long lines, the crowds, and always being on security’s radar, they are the worst place ever. That’s what I would say before I traveled with Fortuna anyway. I officially apologize to all parents who travel with kids, my condolences. This is a whole other layer of hell. I have been awake for nearly twenty four hours straight and our flight leaves in two, my daughter is terrified that someone will take her away from me and so she won’t let go of my cloak, and I almost got into a fight with a security agent because the moron tried to take my sacred sword. Do these blockheads not understand the concept of a ceremonial weapon? It hasn’t left the sheath in years and I have proper documentation for it. But no, they had to try to put it in a ‘travel case’ and store in in the plane. Well, the tenets of my oath dictate that my weapon shall not leave my side and so I was prepared to duel for my honor. Luckily, the guy backed off and got his supervisor, who worked everything out, and we got to our flight on time. Gods, I hate spaceports.

The exhausted mercenary was roused from his near coma by his daughter tapping on his shoulder. Towering above him stood two bovid security guards, one tapping his foot impatiently.

“Huh? Oh yes, what seems to be the problem?”

“Sir, we’re going to need to ask this girl some questions. We’ll be just over there, now come with us little girl.” At this, the already quite diminutive lycan shrank back and clung desperately to her father’s cloak. This set off the mercenary’s paternal instincts, who first glared to the security guards, then comforted his daughter.

“It’s ok sweetie, just tell the truth and there shouldn’t be any issues. I’ll be keeping my eyes on you too, so if anything goes wrong I’ll be right here.” With a reassuring headpat, the girl was sent off. The human watched the three like a predator waiting to strike. He gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles ached, ready to launch into a fight at a moment’s notice. Going to jail would be a small price to pay for defending his daughter.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in actuality was only about five minutes, the now teary eyed lycan came scampering back to her father, immediately gripping her tiny paws back onto the mercenary’s cloak. Seeing her distress, the now furious human looked the bovids in the eye and spoke, his voice chilling the room.

“Why is my daughter crying? If you hurt her I will pay you back ten times over.” The guards, in spite of their clear physical advantage, backed down.

“No sir, she was just eager to get back to you. You two are fine, thank you for your patience.”

The mercenary sighed, this was not an uncommon occurrence. At the last spaceport, they’d been stopped no less than three times, each time eager to find some reason to take his daughter away from him. He looked around as he cared for his little girl, acknowledging the disgusted looks from the rest of the people waiting at the gate. Thankfully this was the last leg of their journey, they’d soon be on earth. He couldn’t wait to see the rest of his family again.

Merc and Floof: The Dichotomy of Man

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt

splat

Ka-plunk

boom

“Two down, three to go.”

The mercenary whispered under his breath as he loaded up another shell into his shoulder mounted artillery. Part of him felt good having his power armor on after four days of travel, but the other, much louder part, was getting impatient. All he had to do was kill three more of these buggers and he could get back to the barracks for a video call home. He was anxious to see how Fortuna was adapting to life on Earth, and how his husband and son were adapting to the surprise adoption. He hadn’t exactly had time to call back and check with Elliot and Grayson before bringing home another kid, so when he showed back up out of the blue with a random new daughter in tow, there were shocked looks all around.

Unfortunately for the mercenary, he didn’t exactly have the luxury of time to get everyone used to the new situation, as he had to catch a shuttle to Mars the next morning. He knew that Elliot would never throw Fortuna out, and that Grayson was a good kid who wouldn’t even think of bullying anyone. Still, his upcoming call home would tell him if he’d made a mistake in unilaterally adding Fortuna to the household. He hoped not, but he wasn’t the one who took care of the kids most of the time.

Skreee

“Oh shit!”

The mercenary’s thoughts had wandered, and the last bugger, a massive mantis looking fucker, had managed to sneak up behind him and was now trying to melt his power armor off with its acid spit. The mercenary, liking his power armor unmelted thank you very much, grabbed the bugger by its spikes and ripped it straight in half.

“Well, that’s going to take some buffing out.”

He sighed as he signaled for the cleanup team and began to make his way back to the transport. Soon enough, a smile creeped its way up his lips as he looked forward to his rapidly approaching call home.

… … …

The mercenary, now changed out of his power armor, tapped his foot as he waited for the call to connect. Waiting just seconds was now taking a greater toll than the week of waiting that preceded it.

da-ding!

In an instant, all of the mercenary’s stress melted away as the image of his loved ones sitting together on their familiar blue couch appeared on the screen. As soon as the kids saw their dad, they began to smile, and the mercenary knew everything would be alright.

“Daddy!”

The young kids shouted out in unison, the young wolf girl’s tail smacking against the couch. The simple, oversized clothes scrounged up by the mercenary before their flight from her homeworld had been replaced by a comfy set of pink pajamas.

“Hey kiddos, have you two been good while I’ve been gone?”

The mercenary wasn’t really asking, he knew that his children had been on their best behavior. He just wanted to hear them talk about how they’d been doing, their voices like water to a man dying of thirst.

The young boy spoke first, “Yeah, we’ve been good! I taught Fortuna howda play connect four, she’s really good at it, she even beat me two times inna row.” He mumbled out the last phrase, indignant embarrassment painted in his body language.

“Really? Grayson Constanza, the connect four champion of the world, lost to a newbie?”

The wolf girl piped up, puffing out her chest in pride. “Heck yeah! I beat him good!”

The mercenary smiled with contentment, he’d be home with them next week. All he had to do was wait.

After chatting with the kids for about fifteen minutes, the little ones were sent off to bed and he was alone with his husband.

“Bruno, how have you been? How’s the new job?”

“I’m doing better now that I’ve seen you and the kids. The new job’s alright, much better than the last one, but I can’t wait to come home.”

“And I can’t wait to have you here. I have to admit, I was about ready to pummel you into the ground when you showed up with a random kid, but you made a good choice. Fortuna opened up to me about what she went through growing up on Lycaeus, and it wasn’t pretty. Grayson loves his new sister, even the neighbors think she’s a sweetheart.”

“I’m glad to hear that, and I really am sorry about not being able to be there for you. I miss you guys.”

“I miss you too, love.”

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 6

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

Kate and co.’s lively voices could be heard throughout Crown’s castle’s garden.

There, two figures slink about unnoticed.

Nica: Oh, sounds like they’re having fun. Crown’s closer than I thought. They’re like a “family”.

Ring: …

Nica: What’s wrong, Ring? Do you want to be their friend?

Ring: Ah, well…

Nica: You can’t. You know we’re not here to make friends.

Ring: I know that. I’ll only follow what you and Dari tell me to do.

Nica: I don’t want to control you like a puppet, Ring. But if that’s what you want, then I will.

Eyes peek through a blue-grey gap before landing on Roger.

Nica: Roger Barel. Apparently he’s conducting research on Cursed Ones.

Ring: Research on Cursed Ones? That guy…what does he want to do?

Nica: Who knows. Maybe it’s research that’ll interfere with our ambitions. The kind that will shake the meaning of our existence.

Ring: …Should we eliminate him? No one will notice if I take care of it.

Nica: What are you talking about, Ring? We’re here as goodwill ambassadors. We have to stay white and clean for now. Besides, that guy can be both poison and medicine for Vogel, so let’s let him go for now.

Ring: But— 

Suddenly, his lips curled into a ferocious smile.

Nica: The nail that sticks out gets the hammer* and beautiful flowers get plucked. Let’s just hope no one else notices him and makes him disappear.

--

—Meanwhile.

Within the palace, “Her Majesty the Queen’s Privy Council” is full of frustration.

Privy Council Lord: A few days ago, “Vogel”, an organization under German rule, arrived as goodwill ambassadors. Why don’t the chief of Vogel and his subordinates show any interest in us? Instead, they’re only interested in “Crown”...

One member spat out words full of hatred, and the others joined in on cursing Crown.

Privy Council Lord: With strange powers called curses, they do whatever they want under Her Majesty the Queen. This stain on our country must be erased!

Privy Council member: Her Majesty must be out of her mind, keeping these cursed monsters as pets.

Privy Council Lord: As the Privy Council, we must protect Her Majesty before Crown’s existence becomes known to the public.

Privy Council member: Crown must be dissolved then.

This was what “Her Majesty the Queen’s Privy Council” wanted.

Privy Council member: …But to object to an organization directly under Her Majesty’s control, you must know a weakness.  

Privy Council Lord: Let’s look for a weakness immediately. The best kind to take Crown down.

Little did they know that darkness was about to creep back into “Crown”...

--

Kate: *sigh*...I’m finally done.

Finally free from my self-defense class, I trudged up the stairs with wounds all over.

(I need to work my legs out more…)

Exhausted, I rubbed my weary legs that wouldn’t even let me climb up the stairs.

Concealed under my skirt was a garter belt holding a gun wrapped around a leg.

The gun was a gift from Roger.

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: Kate, I got something for you. The best from Victor’s armory.

Kate: A…gun?

Roger: Give it here. I’ll teach you how to shoot.

When I handed the gun back to Roger, he immediately fired at a distant target.

(Amazing…)

Roger: The height you hold the barrel depends on the opponent’s feet. In close range, point it down. Long range, horizontal. If you’re in a room, on a train, or some place with obstacles, you can point it up. But keeping it steady takes practice. If the muzzle’s shaking, you have a higher chance of hitting a comrade so the basic rule is to aim down.

Roger explains while demonstrating with the gun.

Roger: That’s about it. Now we just have to practice.

Kate: I’ll give it a shot…

The gun was placed back into my hand and I held it up like I was instructed.

Roger: Grip it like this. Yeah, good. Keep your finger on the trigger…no, don’t squeeze it. Loosen up.

Kate: Okay.

Roger: Relax. Just pull it back.

Roger’s hand slowly moves away from the gun and I pull the trigger.

—There was a dry sound and a bullet grazed the target.

Roger: A little more to the left. Fire them all.

Kate: …

I repositioned my arm and fired in rapid succession.

Roger: Out of 6 rounds, 1 was a hit. 2 grazed the target. Not bad for a first time. I’ll add this to your training so you better start doing push-ups every day. Also— Kate, use this as a last resort. Got it?

~~ Flashback end ~~

(At the time, Roger looked a little scared…no, he looked serious)

My breath shuddered at the memory and I heard the sound of a piano coming from somewhere…

(It sounds beautiful. Who’s…?)

I followed the sound and opened the door.

William: …

There sat William playing the piano.

He glanced at me, raised his fingers high and then continued playing dramatically.

The song eventually comes to an end with a decrescendo and as the final note fades, I give a generous round of applause.

Kate: So it was William playing the piano so beautifully.

William: Thank you for the praise, Kate.

In response to my applause, William gracefully placed his hand on his chest and then suddenly lowered his gaze.

William: Ah…He gave you a gun. Robin with a gun is quite the image.

Kate: H-how did you know? It’s concealed under my skirt.

William: I could tell from the way you walked. When going undercover, be careful not to let others notice.

Kate: The way I walked…I hadn’t considered that.

William: However, it looks like you’re growing well. The “robin growth map” was it?

(Ugh…it’s embarrassing hearing it said to you)

William’s smiling, blood-red eyes held a subdued power that seemed to see through everything.

(William’s a curious person)

(It’s like he knows everything, but I’m not uncomfortable)

William: Kate, do you know why Roger uses a hunting rifle?

Kate: No…Now that I think about it, Roger’s the only one that uses one.

(Everyone else uses either swords or pistols…)

Roger’s hunting rifle stood out and as an amateur, I thought it looked difficult to use.

Kate: I was under the impression that hunting rifles were used by people with good eyesight. So initially I wondered why.

William: One reason is that he used to go hunting with his father, so he’s familiar with it. The other is because of his “abnormal hearing”.

My eyes widened at the unexpected answer.

Kate: Ah, Roger can tell where a target is by listening out for them!

William: That’s right. Rather than risk injuries at close range, he can shoot from a distance. It’s very like Roger to value efficiency. However, those are the reasons he gives. I’m sure there are others.

Kate: Other reasons…?

William: Did you know, Robin.

William spoke softly.

It was like he was telling a fairy tale.

William: In war, 80% of those given guns wouldn’t “dare” to shoot the enemy.

Kate: …I didn’t know that.

The percentage is a lot higher than I expected.

Kate: Even when faced with the enemy, it might be too much pressure to shoot another person…

William: What if it’s a hunting rifle? A hunting rifle’s original purpose is to hunt beasts, not people. It would be an undeniable evil for a former doctor to kill someone, even if it’s to condemn them.

At that moment, I remembered—Roger’s serious expression when he was teaching me how to use a gun.

William: I heard from Victor that when Roger joined Crown, he chose the hunting rifle.

Kate: He chose the hunting rifle on purpose…?

William’s smile was an affirmation.

Roger willingly chose the hunting rifle to kill people and condemn them of their evil, while also having the skills to save lives.

Roger had more knowledge about medicine than anyone else, yet called himself a former doctor and lived in darkness.

(...The more I learn about Roger, the more questions I have)

Why did Roger decide to live on with Crown?

It wasn’t just out of curiosity—that is obvious…

(Would I be able to ask him why?)

(And William…)

Kate: Um, why did you give me this information about Roger? 

William: Hm?

Kate: You don’t seem like the kind of person that says things without a reason.

William: I see…

William frowned in thought.

William: Perhaps it’s because humans are creatures who meet people and gain wisdom at the right time.

Like the scriptures in the Bible, his words weren’t immediately understood.

But it felt like I received some sort of “guidance”. 

Kate: I don’t really understand, but..thank you.

William: You’re welcome.

Kate: Ah, that’s right. William!

(There was something I wanted to ask him)

Kate: I was told that the palace library has books on medicine.

William: Books on medicine?

Kate: Um…Since I’m going to be around Roger, I thought it’d be good to gain some knowledge.

William: Wouldn’t it be easier to ask Roger?

Kate: I can’t.

William: Why?

I want to make him happy with my growth

I want to beat him

It’s a secret surprise +4 +4

Kate: I want to keep it a secret and surprise Roger later.

William: So it’s a special surprise.

William chuckled when he heard about my plan.

William: In that case, I’ll show you the way. Of course, I’ll keep it a secret from Roger.

--

—That night, Roger and I were summoned to Victor’s office at the palace.

Victor: Her Majesty has entrusted Roger and his exclusive Fairytale Keeper with a mission.

(Our next mission…)

Since Roger started teaching me a lot of things, I’ve felt myself grow every day.

Realizing that it was time to put my abilities to the test, I straightened up.

Victor: There's a village out in the countryside. It may be small, but it’s a special place where the people live by their own rules.

Roger: Hmm, is that what they call village customs? What’s wrong with it?

Victor: The other day, skeletons were found in the mountain by the village. There were a lot of them.

I came to the realization that the previous mission to infiltrate the “death party” was a lot simpler than the usual missions.

I quietly swallowed down the fear rising from my chest and mentally organized the mission.

Kate: But burials are normal in this country, and if it’s the village’s custom, then— 

Victor: I had thought so too. So I did some research. Police sent to investigate the village never returned.

(Even the police…that can only mean something’s happened in the village)

Victor: And I found something else. There is a village chief who they call the spirit god. Supposedly this man can ward off illness.

(Spirit god…? The heck…)

Roger and Kate: That’s really suspicious!

Grimacing, we both said it at the same time.

Roger: I see. If illnesses are involved, then I’m the right guy. It’s possible this man’s a new Cursed One…

Kate: New Cursed One?

Roger: It’s nothing.

(What are you talking about?)

While I tilted my head in confusion, Roger spoke enthusiastically.

Roger: Alright. Kate and I will go undercover at the village. And we’ll expose the evil spread in the sandbox. Right, Kate?

(This time I’ll help out with the mission and not be a burden as Fairytale Keeper!)

Kate: Right, leave it to us.

Victor: Thank you. Liam, with his power to disappear, will sneak into the village first and gather intelligence. Once you’re in the village, make contact with him without getting noticed.

Victor turned toward us— 

Victor: Roger, Kate. Don’t get hurt. Now, let’s pledge allegiance to evil.

He sent us off with a few words that were very “Crown-like”.

His POV | Next

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*Idiom meaning those that stand out are forced to conform