#the camera makes the colors so dull ill cry

[greyshadow567]

Ik i dont post fnaf on this blog very much but i just got this sun plushie that i am OBSESSED with so heres some doodles of him i made :3 ignore the wretched faces of anguish this is about him -> ☀️

Heres the plush btw picture taken and badly edited by me

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [1] A Fresh Start

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-«« 

“Everybody has a geography that can be used for change; that is why we travel to far off places. Whether we know it or not, we need to renew ourselves in territories that are fresh and wild. We need to come home through the body of alien lands.”   — Joan Halifax

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Holding an aspirin tablet between her teeth, craving a drink, Lir listens to the clacking of the keyboard and blinks against the watery light streaming between the blinds. The office of Red Grave’s chief of police is smaller than the one in Fortuna, but neater: gone are the numerous potted plants, the maps and spreadsheets tacked to every available surface, the bookcases littered with little knick-knacks and family photographs. Those personal touches have been ignored in favor of something that is neat, organized, the little bit of warmth the room has coming from the soft bulb of the desk lamp and the mahogany of the furniture. It’s a bit of a relief, really. Sanctus had been old—too old, in the opinion of many—and took on a fatherly role that often left Lir feeling chafed and angry. At least here, going from first impressions, there will be no blurring of the line between duty and her personal life.

Seated with his back rod-straight is her new superior. A gold nameplate on the desk reads J.D. Morrison, and as he reads whatever file he’s pulled up on his monitor, Lir wonders what the initials stand for. James Dean is her first thought, and she finally crunches the aspirin, using the bitter flavor to smother her budding laughter. Sure, yeah, why not? Red Grave is a big city, and maybe Morrison’s parents had been so attached to the ill-fated actor that they’d saddled their son with his name. Certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’s heard of.

“Detective Thorne,” Morrison says. He opens a drawer and pulls out a cigar, which he lights in clear disregard of the signs posted on the doors to the building. “Says here you transferred out for personal reasons.”

“Yessir.” The dull throbbing behind her temples grows at the scent of smoke. “Wanted a change of scenery.”

He coughs, clears his throat. “That so? Well, we’ve had people do it for less. Though your track record . . . You seem to have been on a fast path to promotion. ” Lir says nothing. The expectant silence stretches between them until it turns uncomfortable, but she’s not in any particular mood for niceties. She has an apartment to unpack and a bitch of a headache brewing and she wants to get this introduction over with as quickly as she can. Finally, Morrison sighs, silver plumes curling through the air. “Normally, you’d get a tour and time to sort out your desk, but we got a call this morning and it’s all hands on deck. You up to fieldwork?”

His shrewd gaze rephrases that question nicely. You willing to actually work? “Sure.”

Morrison studies her for a few seconds longer, then nods and stands up, raising his voice to a shout that makes her wince. “Officer Simmons!”

A young man with untidy white hair tucked messily under his cap stumbles in. “Yes, Chief?”

“Take Detective Thorne here to the alley.” Simmons’ face pales, and Morrison barks, “Now!”

“Yes, Chief!” Simmons snaps into a hasty salute before scurrying out of the office.

Lir gives one of her own to Morrison and follows, feeling a sort of bemused pity for the officer. She’d been there once, bright-eyed and eager to please, thinking that the law enforcement they showed on television, with its friendly camaraderie and kind-yet-stern chiefs, was the truth of it. Simmons must still be clinging to that, and she pops another aspirin into her mouth and chews it as they weave through the bullpen to the doors that lead outside.

Simmons doesn’t say much, though he opens her door when they reach the cruiser, flushing under her raised brow, and his uneasy quiet persists well into the ride. Definitely fresh, Lir thinks. Probably still spit shines his shoes in the morning and tells people he’s a cop with pride.The thought is bitter, and angry, and distasteful. Not that it really bothers her anymore; her mind has been particularly not tasty as of late.

They drive through cramped, winding streets that turn unexpectedly into one-ways and cross over themselves into a maze, closed in by the dingy buildings until it all feels more than a little claustrophobic. Red Grave City is coastal, just like Fortuna, but it’s much larger, with more crime, and rumors of rampant corruption and greased pockets give it an unsavory reputation with other law enforcement agencies. Yet in stark contrast, it’s as much of a tourist hotspot as Fortuna, its historic district and scenic parks and ritzy downtown drawing numerous crowds every year, regardless of the season. Lir takes all of it in, the cafès and hotels and convenience stores fighting for space, their colorful signs and banners almost garish against the dull brick, and it’s not until they pass into a more modern area with skyscrapers of steel and glass that she decides to ask where the hell Simmons is taking her to.

“What’s in this alley?”

Simmons jumps, the wheel jerking under his hands and sending them partially over the white lines. A minivan behind them lays on the horn, and Lir watches the driver raise his middle finger as he speeds by once Simmons has corrected. “Sorry, ma’am. Uh, Detective. I thought the Chief filled you in.”

“No.” She straightens. “Just that it’s serious.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he mumbles. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Yes.” The sight of his momentary pout sends irritation flaring hot and thick along her spine. Lir swallows it and rubs her temples. “Just crack the damn window.”

“Sure thing.” He does, and then reaches for a pack on the dash and. Drawing a cigarette from it, he says, “Call came in maybe twenty minutes before you showed up. Jane Doe found in an alley. She, uh . . . Well, it might be better for you to see for yourself, but it’s . . .” His fingers tremble as he tries to flick his lighter. Lir takes pity on him and pulls her own from her coat, and he smiles gratefully as she holds it to his cigarette, though his face is pallid and shiny with sweat. “First body?” At his nod, she sighs. “You’ve probably heard it gets easier.”

“Does it?” Simmons looks at her hopefully.

Lir snorts. “No. Eyes on the road.”

He retreats into a silence that’s not quite sullen, leaving her to her thoughts. Which mostly center around whether or not she’ll have time to find a new bar, one of the nice and private ones where no one wants to get friendly or gives a shit that she’s a cop, only that she pays her tab. When they arrive at the crime scene, Simmons stays in the car, looking ready to puke. Lir raps on the door once it’s closed and jerks her chin, signalling for him to head out, and she waits until he gives a shaky thumbs up and pulls away from the curb to head towards the yellow tape strung between a nightclub on one side and a sports bar on the other. An officer at the corner stops her until she shows her badge, then lifts the tape for her to step beneath. Immediately, she’s assaulted by the wet, mossy stench of death and viscera, and she takes the gloves and shoe covers and slides them on to buy herself time to adjust to it.

Cops swarm outside of the alley, keeping the rabid press contained. Inside, there’s only four others, three men and a woman, but Lir ignores them in favor of taking in all that she can before she’s forced to talk. Four dumpsters are present, two on each wall with the city’s waste disposal logo printed on the side; bits of trash and litter surround them: used condoms, soda cans, scraps of newspaper, all of the usual findings. There’s no spray paint graffiti, and a security camera faces out into the busy street. Maybe they’ll get something useful from it, though she doubts it. In her experience, they’re usually for show, just a weak-hearted attempt to prevent crime or a way to deter violence on the premises of businesses who host rowdy crowds.

The scenery accounted for, Lir turns her attention to the misshapen body in the center. Nude and pale, the woman is covered from chest to knee in red that’s gone black with time, her unseeing eyes staring at the sky with a terror that won’t disappear until the medical examiner closes them on the slab. She walks towards her, offal and iron making her throat constrict against nausea, and the woman kneeling next to the corpse looks up at her approach with a friendly nod. Dressed in a black jumpsuit, she’s no doubt the M.E., or someone affiliated with them, and she stays quiet as Lir kneels to fully take in the mutilation inflicted on the victim.

While the rest of her is untouched, her throat is slashed, and she’s been split open from rib to hip, the skin and muscle peeled away to reveal her organs beneath. As far as Lir can tell, nothing has been removed, but something has certainly been added: a pendant rests on top of her stomach, glistening wetly in the daylight. “I pulled it out,” the maybe-M.E. says. “Dante wanted to see it.”

“Dante?” The woman tilts her head, and Lir turns to see a man speaking quietly but furiously to two uniforms. “Uh-huh.”

“You must be the new detective. My name’s Trish.” Lir looks blankly at the hand she holds out before taking it, and Trish’s handshake is firm and cordial. “I’m the medical examiner, coroner, whatever you’d like to call me. Your stiffs go onto my slab, anyway.”

Her dry humor draws an unwilling smile from Lir. “Okay. Trish. I’m Lir, Detective Thorne, take your pick as long as it’s not Lily. What can you tell me about our Jane Doe?”

“Not much, other than the obvious.” Trish points to the wound. “This was more than likely done pre-mortem, going by the amount of blood—there wouldn’t be so much of it if she was already dead—and there are a couple of hesitation marks at her throat. But as to which of those killed her, and how long ago, why she didn’t fight back, I won’t know all of that until I take her out of here.”

Lir considers all of that. “Why do you think she didn’t resist?”

“No self-defense wounds on the hands or arms. At least, not that I can see.”

“Mm. Your guys get pictures?”

“Not yet.” Trish smiles wryly. “Chief wanted you to see it first. It’s why Dante’s giving those two a lashing, though he’s just shooting the messengers at this point.”

“Right.” Standing, Lir peels off her gloves and drops them into the bag Trish holds out to her. “Guess I should go save ‘em.”

“Good luck.”

Lir snorts as she turns. On first sight, she’s already unimpressed with the so-called Dante. He’s handsome, sure, model or film star handsome even, with his straight nose and strong jaw dusted with a five o’clock shadow, but he’s dressed like a detective from a noir novel: pinstripe trousers and a matching vest, a red tie, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, brown Oxfords polished to a dull shine. The only things that break the illusion that he’s stepped off the silver screen are the watch at his wrist, the gleaming handcuffs clipped to the back of his belt, the radio at his hip, and the Beretta in its holster next to the radio. She more than half expects him to pull out a flask from somewhere and take a swig mid-tirade, but the only time he pauses is to draw in a breath.

“—how the  hell  he expects us to carry out an investigation when he’s waiting on some country bumpkin—”     “Howdy,” Lir drawls.

He whirls on her so fiercely that she instinctively rests her hand on the butt of her own gun, her pulse roaring into her ears. Dante seems to catch himself, straightening to his full height to scowl down to her, and she’s startled by the pale, frozen blue of his eyes. “You Detective Thorne?”

She shrugs. “Country bumpkin works, too.”

Dante doesn’t have the grace to look embarrassed that she overheard him. “I’m Detective Redgrave. Yes, like the city, no, I don’t give a shit. You done lookin’ at the body?”

“Sure.”

“You hear that, Trish?” Dante hollers. “Take her out.”

Behind her, she hears the telltale metallic clatter of a gurney being placed on the ground, followed by a bit of huffing, the rasp of a zipper, and more heavy breathing and the rustling of fabric. “Are you going to give me the details or am I going to guess?”

He barks a laugh. “Morrison sent you out here blind? Doesn’t surprise me. Sure, I’ll humor you.” With a grin that’s more mocking than genuine, he says, “Call came in at 7:45. Some poor schmuck takin’ out the trash found our body and had the decency to lose his breakfast outside of the crime scene before he called. No witnesses so far, no clothing, no I.D., just—” “What about the camera?” Lir points over her shoulder with her thumb.

“Can’t get to it until the owner shows up, which, according to his staff could be anytime between noon and midnight.”

“Alright. What do you need me to do?”

Dante considers her, that cruel smile still playing at his lips. “You want to help?” She nods. “Go keep those fuckers away.”

“The press?” His expression doesn’t slip, and she shakes her head. “That’s uniform work. Send them to—”

“Either deal with them or go home. I don’t have time to hold your hand.”

Just like that, he turns away in a clear dismissal. Lir stares at his broad back, her head throbbing from the night before and the rage that’s been building since she stepped into Morrison’s office: rage at the incompetence of her former chief, at the glares that had followed her once she entered the precinct, at Simmons’ earnest naivety, at whoever butchered a woman and left her in an alley like she was no better than the trash already there, at Dante himself. It’s familiar, and choking, the same burning that’s festered within her all her life with every snide, “Are you sure you can handle that? Wouldn’t you rather answer phones and let the men handle the rest?”

Instead of giving into her urge to punch him in his smug mouth, she inhales deeply and holds it until spots dance in her vision. Then she exhales and heads towards the bright yellow tape and, beyond it, the reporters and photographers craning their necks to get a look at the violence that’s visited their city. Two steps, and cold fingers curl around her wrist, sending numbness crawling along her skin from where they touch. Lir closes her eyes, counting to ten, and then she pulls free. Only on the other side of the tape does she look back, and the sight of a woman in a red dress with pale hair staring back at her sadly, her lips moving soundlessly, is exactly what she expected.  Definitely getting a drink, she muses.

The reporters are no different from the ones Lir dealt with in Fortuna, just more persistent. She repeats the phrase, “No comment,” so many times that it begins to lose meaning to her, until a uniform comes to relieve her and she’s able to hail a taxi. But she doesn’t go back to work straight away. The cabbie drops her at a liquor store, waiting at the curb while she hurries in to buy a mini bottle of vodka and hurries back out, and she cracks it open and takes it like a shot, stowing the empty bottle in her pocket as they reach the precinct. Lir tips him double, then heads inside, and the bustling and noise is so at odds with the sullen silence of only hours ago that she nearly stops in her tracks. It’s only force of will that keeps her moving to the stairs in the back and up them, to where her desk sits just outside of Morrison’s office.

Dante is seated at the desk across from hers, a phone clamped between his face and shoulder while he writes on a notepad. Lir waits until he hangs up to say, “You’re an ass.”

“Been called worse,” he replies distractedly. “Trish’s report get in yet?”

“Not in my inbox. You got a problem with me?”

“No offense, sweetheart, but city crime is different from country crime.”

“I’m from Fortuna. Not the mountains.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure you dealt with a lot of purse snatching.”

Lir bristles. “Listen, jackass—”

“Go see Trish. See if she’s got a report yet or not.”

Her mouth hangs open. Then she stands, slamming her chair back into her desk loudly enough that Morrison looks out from his office with a frown, and stalks back the way she’d come, heading for the elevators. On one hand, she understands Dante’s shit attitude; she’s new to Red Grave, new to their force. On the other, she transferred from Homicide to Homicide, and there were enough of them in Fortuna that the sight of another isn’t going to send her running, and he’s a sour bastard with a chip on his shoulder who probably thinks he can do nothing wrong and his word is law. Which she’s only proving, she realizes, running his errands for him, and she jabs irritably at the button that will take her to the basement and the morgue. Next time he demands she do something, she’s going to tell him right where he can shove it. In the back of her mind, however, disappointment is bitter. So much, she thinks, for a fresh start.

[nurfhurdur]

Hard Enough Left Modern AU

Because I miss Ruth

There hadn't been activity on that particular channel in weeks. Every few days Emily would log on, only to be dissapointed to see that nothing had changed. The only activity being comments from other viewers asking when to expect another video.

It had gotten to the point where she had checked to make sure she was still subscribed, and she edited her settings to make sure she'd get a notification the next time there was anything uploaded. It was another three weeks after that, that she had checked the time on her phone to see the banner across the screen.

Rushing through the last of her course work, she threw her backpack on the floor and reached for her tablet. She tapped a fingernail against the screen impatiently as YouTube finally loaded, hitting pause quickly so she could dig her headphones out of the nightstand drawer.

She'd binged Ruth's videos in the span of a few days. She didn't know how girls on YouTube did it, especially with a DIY channel. Starting back from the first videos posted a few years before, the video quality had improved, the girl's editing had improved, and she'd become more comfortable in front of a camera. From cooking, and baking, to personal desk size succulent gardens, or organizing and purging a closet, somehow the girl had made a name for herself on the internet and the most mundane of tasks seemed more interesting when discussed and explained on this girl's channel.

Comfortable in her bed, she finally pressed play and tilted her head as the personalized graphic of a constellation came on screen, which the girl had done a tutorial on also....

When did she have the time to do all this?

She was pulled from her thoughts, and rather startled, to see an exhausted looking version of the girl who ran the channel. Ruth's dark hair was pulled in to a messy bun, circles under her eyes and she looked like she hadn't taken the time to get out of her pajamas. What was most startling, was what looked like a medical oxygen tube beneath her nose.

Looking up into the camera, she waved vaguely with her usual greeting before continuing.

"I've never really shared this, because I never had any reason to-" She held up the small tank of oxygen sitting beside her and grinned flatly. "-but now I do.....so today's video is a bit of a PSA."

Her expression dulled and she stared at the screen a moment. "Get out of the shot."

"I'm not in the shot," came a low response from the corner.

Ruth addressed the camera again. "I have help today."

A few clips were edited in of Ruth and....was that Jesse Hudson?

The Piston Cup driver?

The two were figuring out where to stage Ruth's things, and Ruth watched in exasperation before telling him to leave her stuff alone and let her do it.

"I'm just trying to help."

"This isn't my first video or anything-....no, leave the tank there-"

"Wh-"

"Because that's where I keep it when I'm working here-"

The clip cut back to Ruth's slightly more professional expression and she reached for the camera. "For those of you who keep up, yes, that was Jesse Hudson. Jesse, say hello."

"Hey." He muttered with a glance up from his phone.

"We're twins. Before you flood my inbox, I'm older, it's not that exciting to have a celebrity sibling and-....." Ruth paused and stared at the screen again. "Did you just kick the footboard of my bed?"

Just barely in the frame, Jesse's Nikes could be seen as he kicked off from the bed again, spinning the chair slowly. "Yeah, cause you lie."

"I do not lie. You're- you know what, this is my video, and I'm not spending ages editing it so now the world can see how sulky you are."

The chair rolled further in to frame and Jesse only shrugged a shoulder before going back to his phone.

Ruth took a slow breath, for effect or because she needed it, it was hard to tell, before launching in to a lengthy explanation of why she had been absent for so long.

"I don't have an actual diagnosis, no one can give me a specific name for it-"

The more she spoke, the more emotional the video became. The natural lighting of her bedroom made the video a little surreal, the way it picked up the threatening shine in the girl's eyes wasn't staged, or planned, or even wanted. It was apparent that a portion had been cut. She looked like she had been crying, and instead of lazing in the background, Jesse was sitting beside her at her desk, chin rested on his hand as he looked between her and the screen silently.

"Some of you wonder how I have time to do any of this, some of you are very rude in your questioning of how I have time-"

The clip had been edited again and a more composed looking Ruth stared at the camera before speaking and glancing over her shoulder. "Our older brother thought there was a problem and I'm sure Jesse is getting lectured for something...."

She'd edited captions in, and color coded them for each brother. They appeared at the bottom of the screen while she made a show of her impatience on camera.

"Can you for once in your life-"

"She asked me to help-"

Ruth made eye contact with the camera a moment before continuing, explaining that her illness started back in the early 2000s. Doctors had originally treated her for bronchitis, then walking pneumonia. X-rays, blood tests, screenings and different antibiotics had all been tried with only mininal results. There was the possibility of an autoimmune disorder but they hadn't started that round of tests yet.

"I don't always have an oxygen tank, this is a bit of a new development...." She eyed the small cylinder beside her and it was obvious to see that she was still trying to wrap her head around it. With a shaky and watery smile she looked back at the camera.

"It's extremely hard to be looked at the way people do when you have something like this basically tied to your side."

She ignored her twins' return to his chair beside her.

"For some it's an insulin pump, for me it's an oxygen tank, for others it's chronic pain. We know we have it, while the general public tends to look at us like we're looking for sympathy or leaching the system. Just because it's an invisible disease doesn't mean it isn't there."

She looked at her brother before leaning back in her computer chair. Drawing her knee up, she wrapped an arm around it.

"Where had we gone the other day? Was it the grocery store-"

"Doctor appointment."

"Oh, yeah. It was." Ruth frowned. "I've been issued a handicap sign for the mirror of my car....they haven't sent the new license plate yet. I didn't even want to use it but it was a really bad day for me. My family convinced me to use it to park as close as possible, and then wanted to get me a wheel chair."

She pursed her lips, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and looked in to the camera.

"Some middle aged woman came right up to me and told me she thought it was horrible that I would do such a thing for a closer space. That as a young woman in my twenties, I was more than capable of walking the extra hundred feet and had no right to be using my grandparents' issued sign like that."

She looked away from the camera and swiped a tear from her eye. Barely seen on camera, it looked like Jesse might have nudged her chair with his foot.

"I was so upset I showed her my signature on the back, and then my driver's license. Just because I'm in my twenties doesn't mean-"

She shook her head and sighed while rubbing her forehead.

"It's hard enough for people like myself to be so restricted when we're supposed to be 'enjoying our youth'...don't be that person. Just.....take a moment to realize that we're not always how we appear. It's a smack of pride to even have to use that handicap sign. I just stared at it hanging from the rearview mirror, convincing myself not to take it back down for some complete stranger to then treat me that way?"

"That was the appointment they gave you the tank." Jesse muttered lowly.

"It was." She agreed. "Like that wasn't a hard pill to swallow already...."

There was a brief pause, and it was obvious she was mentally shaking herself. She diverted the topic somewhat, sitting up straighter and getting composed.

"So that's where all my time comes from. This started as a hobby a few years ago and because of you-" she gestured to the screen. "-faithfull viewers and subscribers, I've networked with a few different small businesses, I work from home. I have my Etsy shop, I've been able to review different products and be sponsored by those companies. If you haven't visited, be sure to check the links in the description. There's my Etsy shop, Instagram, Twitter, and links to my favourite channels."

As an afterthought, she added. "Maybe I'll do more videos on this, I'm not really sure. Leave your thoughts in the comments."

It was her usual send off, but for some reason it meant so much more after a fifteen minute video explaining something so personal.

"Remember guys, there's always a reason to smile. Until next time."

The personalized LittleDipperCo. appeared on screen alongside the subscribe button and list of links before the next video in the playlist began to buffer.

She hit cancel and set the tablet aside, trying to digest the last fifteen minutes. She'd ordered from the Etsy shop, LittleDipperCo. before and had recieved a little handwritten note alongside all the little items she'd ordered.

Stickers, bookmarks, a personalized mug for her dad, the earrings she was currently wearing....because she'd ordered so much and had been so patient, Ruth had added a few small items and a personal thank you card.

She was her favorite shop, there was something unique about LittleDipperCo.-creations by RuthAnne- that had always stood out to her.

Grabbing her tablet, she went back to find the link and glanced up at her open doorway in surprise when her brother appeared.

"Did you see what he's saying about me?"

"What who is saying-"

"Hudson thinks he's being funny-"

"Get off of Twitter, Alexander."

Alex held his phone up and read the time stamp. "An hour and a half ago-"

Emily glanced back at the upload time of Ruth's video. It was only about half an hour old.

Jesse Hudson was apparently roasting her brother in that video.

She blinked a few times and hid a smirk, busying herself with reaching for a hair tie. "Don't you have some kind of conference to get ready for?"

Another alert popped up as he made a show of leaving her doorway and Emily shook her head while clicking the link.

Let's lighten the mood! PSA- BLOOPERS AND REAL TALK.

[chaotically-chill]

I posted 271 times in 2021

64 posts created (24%)

207 posts reblogged (76%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.2 posts.

I added 389 tags in 2021

#dream smp - 72 posts

#mcyt - 72 posts

#dsmp - 70 posts

#niki nihachu - 46 posts

#niki my beloved - 35 posts

#nihachu - 32 posts

#wilbur soot - 21 posts

#ranboo - 15 posts

#not my art - 14 posts

#fanfiction - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#that incident combined w the whole ''drink tubbo bathwater to become british'' and draining the ocean... they should interact again :(

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

guys if niki hits one mil on youtube then ill write a non-angst fic lmao

16 notes • Posted 2021-06-14 13:37:26 GMT

#4

Child-Sized Coffin

TW// death

just a little diddy I wrote about this piece of artwork by crowcloueredrox I found:

Such a small body, those of children.

His red and white shirt, red-colored fabric in all the wrong places.

His eyes had been closed after the light had left them,

eyes full of laughter and wonder and vigor were so dull now,

so dull.

His name was Tommy.

Such a child’s name.

And maybe that's why

his death hurt what was left of his family

more than the act of death itself.

And yet,

his family was what called

the spears to be thrown

and the fires to be ignited.

Such large ambitions, Little Tommy had.

Only his brother knew of his dreams

to achieve the highest of heights,

and yet,

not even he knew of how far Little Tommy dreamed of going.

And yet,

as his brother ignited the small child-sized coffin,

the pale bloodied shirt lined with bright yellow blossom,

family emerald hanging from a golden chain around his neck.

And yet,

as his brother watched Little Tommy greet their mother in The Up Aboves,

he couldn’t help but wish himself luck.

And yet,

as he watched the embers float into the air,

he hummed along to the song Little Tommy loved so dearly,

making up the lyrics to a lyricless song.

A lyricless song for a boy and his lyric-filled life.

Up in flames in a child-sized coffin.

17 notes • Posted 2021-07-19 18:05:56 GMT

#3

Let’s see how this goes lmao.

Chapter One of Tears Come From Cracks in Her Weak Skin

(This is only partially edited lmao)

TW// gore, torture, water boarding, blood, suffocation

She screamed. Her soft voice exhaling sharp profanities in languages she knew her captors couldn’t understand. She made sure they knew of her fury though. Pleading, begging to be let out, for food, water, anything. Nobody came. Until hours later, when they dragged her exhausted body out of her cell and into another. Her once kind, open heart pounded, bloody thoughts of her near future raced through her mind replacing memories of her home, her beloved bakery, and country, her friends and family, with blood, fear, and pain. Instinctively, her short frame tried to squirm out of the tense hold of her captors had on her shoulders as they strapped her down onto the chair, two ropes on each of her arms, four on each leg, six on her chest, and one on her neck, which forced her head back, exposing all of her vital organs. They were careful. Smart. She could hardly even breathe. Then, a camera was brought in, it's red light already aglow. They were filming her, she realized. It’s probably being sent to Will. She shuddered. Visualizing her leader forcing himself to watch, not even caring if Tommy or Tubbo or Fundy was watching or not. She suppressed a sob. She would not let them see her cry, see her weak, see her break.

The door opened, heavy footsteps steadily growing louder. “I thought I was clear about your terms of citizenship and when I told you that fraternizing with enemies of Manburg was considered high treason. But I guess I was wrong.” The rough voice of the president ground against her eardrums. “I guess I should have known your little boyfriend would employ you as his little fly on our walls.” he’s not my boyfriend, she wanted to scream at him, “Don’t worry though,” Schlatt turned to the camera, a shit-eating grin spread across his face, he was speaking directly to Wilbur now, “we’ll be done with her soon, whether you like it or not.” They would not see her cry, see her weak, see her break.

A bucket was then brought into the room, already full of water. A thick washcloth was placed over her face. And before she could comprehend what was about to happen, before she could scream, or plead for mercy, Schlatt emptied the bucket over her, letting the water soak in. Her lungs hiccupped and stuttered. She coughed, choking on the taste of the cloth mixing with the water. “That was just a test run, see how you would react. You know? Now, if you answer my questions, then maybe I’ll spare you of more pain. What do you say?”

“Fuck-Fuck you. I will never talk.” She stuttered, trying to gasp for breath, but the ropes on her neck were too tight, the water was too heavy. But they would not see her cry, see her weak, see her break.

“Whatever. Maybe you won’t talk. But I’m sure that, after a couple sessions of this, your family will.”

They could not see her eyes widen, but they certainly heard her scream, “Do not come for me, Wilbur! L’Manburg comes before me! That’s what I value most, its secrets will die with me if they must! Do not come for me!” Another failed gasp for breath, “I’ll be okay. I won’t let you down!” Her words and breath were cut off by another swath of water.

“That was getting boring.” Schlatt’s annoyance was prominent in his voice, “Now, let’s start with something easy: Who are the others? That Wilbur Soot isn’t dumb enough to give you such a heavy task, so there must be more. Names and we’ll cease the pain for today. If you don’t talk, well,” Schlatt chuckled, “I’ll make sure that never happens.” She stayed silent. They would not see her cry, see her weak, see her break.

More water. The cloth on her face was beginning to get too heavy, too suffocating. Her lungs burned with each inhale. The seemingly never-ending cycle of question then water then question then water seemed to go on for hours, even though it probably only lasted likely a half-hour or less. She never spoke a word the entire time, not after her cry to Wilbur. She never let them see her cry, see her weak, see her break.

When they brought her back to her cell, skin bruised and raw from the ropes and head spinning from the torture, she dragged her weak body to the far back corner, curling in on herself. This was where she finally allowed herself to cry, to be weak, to break.

18 notes • Posted 2021-05-24 19:10:22 GMT

#2

my dad put up christmas lights on our house today and

ranboo?

19 notes • Posted 2021-11-29 00:26:32 GMT

#1

What I assume happens when people read Flowers From 1970 lmao

220 notes • Posted 2021-05-23 23:52:37 GMT

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[freevoidman]

Prompto Week ① DAY 1 (10/19): Favorite Scene ★ Brotherhood

Summary: Noctis has a new friend named Prompto, but is terrified to lose him once he’s vetted. He keeps his friendship a secret for as long as he can manage, but not everything can stay secret forever

Noctis knows the drill by now.

Whenever he finds a new friend, his father and some members of the Kingsglaive execute a stupidly extensive vetting process, and a personal ‘interview’ of sorts with Ignis. If they pass the vetting and Ignis sees no ill-will that can potentially be directed at Noctis, then they stay. If not, then Ignis does his best to intimidate them, and Noctis is expected to keep away. Since this process takes about two weeks (give or take a couple days, depending upon the person), he normally doesn’t get attached, and see a person’s true colors, so he’ll know when to get away.

He’s expected to immediately ‘report’ any new friend to Ignis. And, really, most of the time it just… happens. Ignis says, “Anything interesting today?” And Noctis will just tell him damn near anything under the sun, which teachers pissed him off, what homework was annoying, how the jocks embarrassed the nerds at lunch, and all the other cliches. Then Ignis reports to his dad, dad, in turn, to the Kingsglaive, and the process starts.

But then Prompto comes into the picture, and Noctis has to make a very uncomfortable choice.

See, Prompto is all honesty. Upfront, he’s kind and generous, and he never asks Noctis for anything. Even when Prompto eyes Noctis’ discarded lunch vegetables, he waits for permission to eat them.

Even then, he asks, “You’re sure?”

It takes another confirmation from Noctis before Prompto chows down the lettuce and tomatoes.

Prompto is quiet and loud at the same time. He doesn’t talk over Noctis, waiting for him to say his peace or end his rant. He anxiously asks for a photo at the end of the day, and even then it’s not a selfie—it’s just a photo of the Prince flicking his pencil up and down the desk. He agrees, and it’s hardly something that can be used for blackmail or sold to the Nifs for info: it’s a photo of the revered prince acting like, well, a bored student.

Noctis is the one that gives Prompto his phone number, telling him that they can talk later about the algebra homework. Neither of them really understands what’s happening in that class, and he hopes that the two of them can puzzle through most of the homework to get it right.

The reaction is not the one he expects. Prompto shakes his head halfway through and holds up his hands. “You don’t need to give me your number!”

“Uh…” Noctis takes a moment to process this. “Don’t you want my number?”

“No! I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that—you giving me your number, I mean, but wouldn’t your security or whatever be upset?”

Noctis shrugs. “I mean, I guess? They’re not going to look through my phone and hunt you down.”

Prompto laughs nervously, but he relents and exchanges numbers with Noctis. When the last bell rings, they pack up, and Prompto pats him on the back. It’s obvious by his expression that the action took a fair amount of courage, so Noctis laughs and punches Prompto’s arm in retaliation.

It feels… good. He doesn’t feel like a blue blood; he feels like a teen who’s finally been allowed to live his life.

And he doesn’t want to lose this feeling.

“Anything interesting today?” Ignis asks as Noct slides into the passenger’s seat.

“Nah, nothing really.” And they drive away.

~*^*~

He keeps it under wraps for about two months.

In that time, Noctis learns a lot about Prompto—more than he’s ever learned about someone… normal, he guesses. The summary is that they have a crazy amount in common: they both have similar tastes in comics, movies, and video games. Both have played through the Assassin’s Creed series and all of the King’s Knight console games. They have the mobile game, and quickly make a guild with each other, reaping the benefits of playing together.

Even the stuff they don’t share, they can appreciate. Noct looks at Prom’s photos and comments on each and every one, showering him in compliments (which he really, really deserves more of). Prompto listens to Noctis talk about fishing and asks him questions like, “What’s the best lure to attract the fish around here?” and, “What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever caught?”

He’s even managed to avoid Ignis’ watchful eye. Every time he stays over at Prompto’s house (the first visit happens around the end of the first month), he says he’s staying after school for a club. It helps that Prompto’s house is a five-minute walk away, if you cut through the back streets.

Prompto’s house is empty and feels vacant, and each time he tries to pry, Prom simply says that his parents are working, or just out for the time being. Most of the house is medically sterile, as if Prompto doesn’t want to disturb anything. It’s obvious that someone other than Prompto lives there, since the furniture doesn’t match Prompto’s personality at all. It puts Noctis on edge, to say the least.

He has seen pictures of Prompto’s parents framed in the hallway and there are a few more hanging in Prompto’s room. But they’re few and far between, compared to the innumerable shots of landscapes and random people. There’s a smiling woman with flowing blonde hair and a man who looks a bit rough around the edges, with a teasing glint in his eyes. They look happy.

The story at home is anything but.

So Noct makes an effort to talk to him more, to visit more, to text more, to show that he cares. He manages to get the date of Prompto’s birthday, and goes nuts trying to think of a present. He looks online for the best camera available in Insomnia, and purchases an incredibly expensive one, with features he barely comprehends.

Prompto’s face is absolutely priceless. His eyes are wet with tears as he says, “You didn’t have to do this!”

“But I wanted to.” Noctis playfully rolls his eyes. “C’mon, don’t make me have to explain to my dad why I got a wicked expensive camera out of the blue.”

Prompto accepts the box, holding it like it’s made of glass. He secures it in his locker and doesn’t open it for the rest of the day. Noctis follows him home, watching as Prompto fawns over the camera with a reverent gaze.

It’s easily the happiest he has ever seen Prompto, and it’s almost enough to make him cry.

Maybe Ignis takes note of his changed behavior, maybe not. Either way, he doesn’t comment about Noctis’ sudden fixation with the phone, or how he won’t talk about his day, or the occasional smile Noctis gets while staring off into space. Maybe he just takes it as Noctis being a moody teenager going through a phase.

All that he cares about is that Ignis never finds out, because he dreads abandoning Prompto. It’s his first real friend, one based on true camaraderie and no exploitation whatsoever, and he doesn’t want to lose that to a background check.

When it did crash down around him, though, it was in the worst way possible. He gets a text from Ignis halfway through last period, telling him that a series of meetings he had to attend had been moved, and that he would need to leave school early to attend. He curses, scrambling for his work, shouts an apology over his shoulder to the teacher, and sprints out of the school. He knows Ignis: that text means he’s waiting in front of the school, and if he doesn’t hurry, Ignis’ll be pissed.

So who can blame him if he forgets something in his haste? It happens.

And it just so happens that what he forgets is his phone, and that alone is a massive problem for obvious reasons. What makes it worse is that, when Ignis pulls away from the school, Prompto appears out of nowhere and throws himself in front of the car to stop it. There’s a dull thud as Prompto is hit. He falls to the ground with a grimace.

Ignis’ quick reflexes keep Prompto from being run over, and Noct is scrabbling for the door handle before he fully processes what’s happening. “Your highness—!”

“It’s fine, Ignis.” Noctis calls over his shoulder, and he’s at Prompto’s side. The other teen is holding his knee and hissing, and Noctis feels a hot stab of guilt in his stomach. “Shit, Prom, you okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” Prompto manages to push himself up so that he’s sitting. “That’s gonna hurt tomorrow.”

“Why did you—?”

“Oh, yeah.” Prompto reaches for his blazer pocket and pulls out a familiar black phone with a moogle sticker coated phone case (courtesy of Iris). “You left your phone on your desk.”

He can feel his cheeks flush, and Noctis takes his phone with a small, “Thanks.”

A cough from behind makes Noctis turn his head. He meets Ignis’ steely gaze surprisingly well. Prompto, however, tenses on the ground. “Um…”

“Noctis,” Ignis chooses to ignore Prompto. “We need to go.”

He’s half tempted to snark back, say that the royal snobs at the Citadel can shove a broadsword up their asses because Prompto’s hurt, but he also knows that it’s an uphill battle. Instead, Noctis bites his tongue and nods, helping Prompto to his feet and to the sidewalk. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yep!” Comes Prompto’s cheery reply, and Noctis can’t help but smile back. “Text ya later?”

Noctis can feel Ignis drilling holes in the back of his head. “Yeah, I’ll text you first.”

He watches Prompto hobble back to the school building. He studiously ignores Ignis’ tense posture as he drives to the Citadel, his fingers twitching and gripping the wheel a bit too tightly.

Of course everything comes crashing down because of his stupid phone.

~*^*~

He waits until Ignis starts cooking dinner before pulling out his phone to text Prompto. He worries his lip as he thinks of what to say, planning paragraphs in his head before eventually settling on something short and to the point. A quick apology, and then he turns it off and puts it on the coffee table. He knows that Ignis will look through it later, to double check that no secrets have been wheedled out of him, so it’s best to apologize now and hope that nothing Prompto would say will raise any red flags.

He waits a minute for a reply, but quickly realizes that the lack of activity is bound to attract Ignis, so he pulls out his history homework and takes vague notes as he waits. When the phone does ding, he doesn’t look at it, instead feigning disinterest as he ‘works’.

He loses himself for a minute, thinking about what’s going to come next. It all depends upon what the Glaive finds and what Ignis thinks personally

“Noct.”

Plus, if he can convince Ignis that Prompto isn’t a threat, then the odds of getting him to hang around skyrocket.

“Coming.” He calls back and stands, grimacing at the vegetable-covered plate in front of his seat. “Really?”

“A fitting punishment, all things considered.” Ignis says as he settles down to eat, sticking the corner of his napkin underneath his shirt collar and picking up the appropriate kitchenware for eating a festive salad. “If you prefer something else, then by all means, the kitchen is yours.”

Noctis narrows his eyes and stalks into the kitchen. He grabs the kettle that he shoved into the corner some months ago and fills it with water before turning on the stove. He puts it on the stove with a touch more force than needed, and he considers Ignis’ flinch at the bang a victory. He grabs a Cup Noodle from the cabinet and a pair of chopsticks and waits for the kettle to whistle. “Nothing bad happened.”

“But it could’ve.” Ignis turned to look at him. “That could’ve simply been a ploy to get you out of the car. Anything could’ve happened, especially since you don’t have your weapon on hand and I was busy making sure no traffic would hit the car.”

“It’s Prompto. The day Prompto is an undercover Niff spy that was sent here to kill me is the day you take the stick out of your ass.”

“So his name is Prompto, then?”

Noctis throws his hands in the air. “He’s not a threat!”

“You don’t know that.”

“I think I would, considering how many other mooches have saddled up to me.”

Ignis’ jaw tenses, and they stare each other down. “I hope you’re aware of the repercussions of your actions.”

“I am.” The kettle whistles, and Noctis takes it off the stove before pouring it into his Cup Noodle. He grabs the flavor packet and chopsticks and stomps to his room. “And I don’t regret a damn thing.”

[lolzcatz12]

Sick Day (Moody Marble Hornets Oneshot)

~Hoodies pov~ I watched Masky from the cameras of the security room as he snuck around the dark forest to find and kill the little girl that had wandered in. Taking quick glances of the screen from time to time while i filled out papers Slender had given me, well us. I took another look and the girl was dead, having been stabbed in the neck, her blonde hair now being covered in dark red blood. Masky headed back to the mansion the little girl on his shoulder, the body hanging lifelessly. I got up and tapped the many papers together, and put them away. I rushed back to our cozy room. He had been called out on a mission while he was taking care of me and me, being the workaholic i was, took the chance when he left to finish the papers. I knew he would get mad if he discovered i wasn't in bed, resting. I wish he wouldn't worry so much about me. Hes got himself to worry about as well, especially with that nasty cough hes always had because of the slender sickness. I didn't have it as bad as he did though. I sighed and got under the green blankets of my bed, my whole body ached and i felt so cold even though i was sweating. I groaned and grabbed my pills and a water bottle and took them. My headache pricing my skull as i heard the old rickety door open. Masky took off his white mask to show an worried expression. He came over and touched my forehead and sighed. "The fever hasn't come down one bit. You're stupid for taking that mission alone" I chuckled slightly. The reason i was sick was because without Masky knowing i took a mission for Slender and went to the forest and starting carving symbols into the trees. Well since i didn't want Mask to get sick because of the cold forest and the heavy rain i did it by myself and now here we are. I coughed before replying, "I c-can handle a-an illness w-w-way better t-than y-you can, so i-i had t-to do it. I h-hate seeing y-you sick" I cursed to myself for all the stutters. Masky sighed and shook his head, his brown locks of hair sweeping side to side with his head. "I would've been fine." He got up and went to his closet to change out of his damp and muddy clothes. I blushed and looked away. This was not the time or place to get excited. Soon after that we heard a knock on the door, Masky went and answered it. It was Ej, carrying a bowl of soup, Masky smiled and nodded and told Ej something i couldn't hear. But when Ej responded he frowned and looked over at me. Dammit Ej, he probably told Masky what i did. Masky gratefully took the bowl of steaming soup and went over to me and set it at my bedside table then sat on his bed. He looked into my eyes, his cinnamon colored gaze pricing my dull green eyes. "Hoods, why cant you just not work for at least a day. Fuck, no wonder why you arent getting better you keep straining your body just too work. When was the last time you even slept a full night?" I looked down shamefully, gripping onto the bed sheets as i tried to come up with an answer. I sighed and looked back over and almost jumped at the sight, Masky had tears pricking his eyes as he waited. "M-Masky d-dont c-cry! I-I'm f-fine!" To absolutely NOT prove my point i went into a coughing fit, startling him. He rushed over to me and rubbed my back like i would do to him when he was sick. Soon my coughs dissipated and Masky spoke up. "Why shouldn't i cry Hoods? You're killing yourself! If you arent careful one day a simple cold could be to much for you a-and you could..." He trailed off, wiping his eyes with his arm. "And you could d-die..." He finally finished. I brought him into a hug, he hugged me back. "I cant l-lose you a-again Brian.." He mumbled into my shoulder. I sighed. "You w-wont lose m-me Tim, i p-p-promised you t-that" He stopped hugging me and glared into my eyes, "If you promised that then why are you killing yourself?!" I didnt know how to respond. I had no words. "Brian. I made you promise that because i couldn't live without you. I-I-" He mumbled the last of his responsse and i looked at him. "W-What?"  I asked, tilting my head to the side. Masky sighs. "Promise me you wont hate me for what i'm about to say" He looked into my eyes, searching them for something. "I p-promise" His gaze went from side to side then to my eyes again and went down. He stared at my lips for a little bit before looking at the ground. I was confused. "Brian, i made you promise that because i love you! I cant live in this world without you!! You make me feel things i thought i had lost a long time ago." My eyes widened and tears sprung. Was Masky, my crush, actually telling me he liked me?? "I-I-," I began but Masky shook his head and got up. "No Brian, i know you don't feel the same way and im sorry for even saying anything.." He sounded like he was about to cry and he headed towards to exit. I sprung up from the bed and began making my way over to him as fast as i could but i stood up too fast and black spots dotted my vision. I fell chin first onto the ground and Masky jumped and whipped around and gasped. "H-Hoods! You idiot!" He came over to me and crouched down, trying to help me up but before he did i said something that made him freeze. "I l-love you t-too Tim" I breathed out, he looked at me eyes wide. "W-Wait really?" He asked and i only nodded, he looked so happy and kissed me, and i happily kissed back. It only last for a few seconds but it felt like heaven. He looked kinda serious again though and he manged to pick me up, making me yelp and cling to him. I wasn't that much of a fan of getting picked up but for some odd reason i liked it when Masky did it. He placed me back on my bed, "Promise me you'll get better Brian." He said and i looked at him. "I promise Tim." Bro this ship is my life. I hope you enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it! ~Author

[thekoreanlass]

‘Devilish Joy’ boasts of familiar faces, great acting, beautiful cinematography, a mix of romcom plus melodrama despite being a bag of cliches.

This recently completed series from MBN has captured my heart by its heartwarming story that started from love at first meet and miraculously ended happily without much complications in the story line. Though it’s filled with bordering cringey sweet romance that will definitely result to a toothache, you won’t be able to get enough of each episode.

The Story

This drama is about a genius doctor who has “Cinderella Memory Syndrome” and falls in love with a has-been actress.

Gong Ma Sung (Choi Jin Hyuk) is the successor to the Sunwoo company and is a genius doctor that excels in his field that involves the human mind. He is well respected by many and is known widely in the world.

However, on his trip to Hainan he meets a woman whom he falls in love with. He spends the entire day with her until she has to leave. They promised to meet again an hour after they parted, but Ma Sung isn’t able to keep his promise after getting involved in an accident that changes his life completely.

He loses the ability to remember what has happened to him in a day after he’s gone to sleep at night and the next day it’s as if yesterday didn’t happen. To cope with his daily living as Gong Ma Sung and memorize what happened the day before, he makes sure to note every important event from that one day into his journal and reads his notes the day after.

One day, however, he meets Joo Gi Bbeum, a has-been actress and singer that was loved by all three years ago. Her career fell apart because of a false accusation of murder that turned her into the most hated person in just one day. Since then, Gi Bbeum has been living a hard life trying to bring bread and butter to her family’s table despite her life still continuously crumbling because of her unfortunate fate.

Once their worlds collide, Ma Sung realizes that even if a day or two or three days has passed, he remembers this one face that won’t seem to go away. Her. And as he tries to remember her and figure out who Gi Bbeum really is, Ma Sung falls in love with her.

  But how do you love someone when you will end up forgetting this person? And how do you love a person who keeps forgetting you? Heartbreaks are bound to happen, but is it worth taking the risk?

Review:

The Good

Despite a mix of cliche themes in the story, it pleasantly managed to surpass my expectations. They used the poor girl and rich chaebol trope really well and it has effectively managed to create conflicts that people can sympathize with. It gave the female protagonist, Joo Gi Bbeum, a really good lesson about life, that despite her A-level status before, she didn’t turn out to be one of those annoying has-been actresses that still has their noses up despite their unlikely style of living. It gave her more dimension and it showed us a vulnerable side of her despite her toughened exterior.

On the other hand, Gong Ma Sung was a really perfect man when Gi Bbeum met him in Hainan, but because of his mental condition, he felt more human to me. Despite his prickly personality that keeps him alive while being surrounded by vipers, it made Ma Sung more vulnerable when he’s by himself. All throughout the drama, I felt all his emotions while going through the hardship of facing his illness alone as his world has it forced on him.

The build up of their story wasn’t abrupt. It has gone through a really hard process that will make you believe they are so in love with each other because of what they went through together despite disappointments in the relationship–being stood up in dates, secrets, and when you know soon enough your boyfriend is not going to remember you–and struggles because of their personal troubles–villains trying to bring your life to bedrock bottom, an aunt who’s just waiting for you to be dead, and a million anti-fans.

It has gone from really romantic, to comedy and then full throttle drama that will wear out your tear ducts and will really make you think whether their love is really hopeless or by some miracle it’s still gonna be a happy ending. I’m just glad that despite the unrealistic turn of events, the drama opted for the ‘happy ever after’ the character deserves, wherein Gi Bbeum pursues her dreams of getting herself out there in front of the camera  and gaining back her popularity despite her longing for Ma Sung, instead of wallowing in her misery after a lost love and not doing anything to uplift her family’s living condition. It’s also good that Ma Sung is recovering from his illness, but that they didn’t completely make him fully recover from it, but at least that there is hope he would and he’ll be healthier.

Let’s not forget the interesting plot as a whole. You get a whole package that’s gripping until the end, and that you won’t easily get tired of. Plus, it has done really beautiful cinematography that all throughout the scenes are food to the eyes. Each of them situated at really good spots thoughtfully decided on to give more highlight to important events especially for a sweet kiss, a reconciliation or meeting after so long. The songs are really cute and catchy too.

And let me tell you, you will definitely get enough of the kisses you don’t see in other dramas. It’s to the point you’d wonder whether they are truly dating because it’s as natural as real couples would do. With raw emotions displayed by the actors, you’d be touched by what unconditional and timeless love really is.

As a bonus from the drama, though Gi BBeum’s drunk father’s poetry seemed misplaced in the beginning of the drama, he managed to create poems that are befitting to the mood of some scenes and made them even more touching or poignant to a point it would make your heart cry. It was as if I am somehow watching  ‘A Poem A Day’ all over again.

The Bad

I have a lot of praises for this drama. However, talking about shortcomings of course this one has it’s own share:

The villains are portrayed as one dimensional characters: as examples, Kim Beom Soo and Ma Sung’s aunt are shown as really bad people that only wishes bad things to both protagonist. They don’t show any other kind of emotions like guilt or sorrow and doesn’t have a rich backstory as to why they hate Ma Sung or Gi Bbeum with a passion

Though it’s nice the conflicts with the bad guys are resolved without complications, I felt like it is so good to be true that it is done fast and without struggle, that there are times when I wondered whether they will somehow appear somewhere at the ending, but of course they didn’t. Plus, it’s as if they aren’t punished enough after all the bad things they’ve done. They easily got away from killing someone by getting locked up and the story being vague as to what happened to them after that.

I’ve also expressed disbelief with some takes of the story to sort out matters: (1) Sung Ki Joon is like a ball of sunshine that’s ultimately the definition of immature, that’s why I still question how he’s able to run Sunwoo group in a year without plummeting; (2) How Dr. Yoon is able to treat Ma Sung despite of his deteriorating health that made us all think he was gonna die, when he isn’t able to do anything like that as a doctor in the beginning of the story; (3) How Ma Sung is able to recover when they’ve described his condition as something degenerative like ‘dementia’

I think that a relationship should always be a trusting one, so I didn’t like it that Ma Sung kept things from Gi Bbeum even when she knew already of his condition. He should have at least been honest when he’s in pain so that she could care for him when nobody’s there for him, because that’s what a relationship is. It is a two way road where two people share all their happiness and pains. If a relationship isn’t a give or take thin and only flourishes in joy, then how will it withstand extreme hardship in the future, right? I mean, I get it that Ma Sung grew up doing everything on his own that’s why he must have acted as if he should carry his own burden, but what does that make the other party feel? Insignificant because she didn’t even know he’s about to die? Well, anyway that’s just my take on this part of their relationship.

Characters

All of the good characters has portrayed a flawed side that really made them more relatable and three dimensional unlike the villains who were rather one dimensional. This is nice to know even though you can tell the writer’s biased opinion about their characters. Protagonists are given more importance while the villains are left unpolished. Not saying it’s super bad to the point it sucked, but I think even villains deserve a back story and a real reason why they are doing things.

Nonetheless, besides Gi Bbeum and Ma Sung, I came to love Gi Bbeum’s family, Nan Joo, Woo Jin, Ki Joon and Ha Im, especially as their personalities evolved as the story progressed and as I came to understand the magnitude of their care for both protagonists and warmth they showed outside their more unlikable traits displayed during the first few episodes.

Acting

I believe that the drama is able to shine because of Choi Jin Hyuk’s superb portrayal of Gong Ma Sung’s character and how he’s able to show layers of his personality throughout and also Song Ha Yoon’s acting that made Joo Gi Bbeum as relatable and touching as she can be. The raw emotions she displayed felt all real that not a single moment with her went dull. She’s a really good actress and hopefully she gets more lead roles like this that will show her different colors.

Ending

The ending is really good for people like me who loves happy endings. It has given justice to the frustration I felt while watching their romance unfold and fall apart continuously. Plus, I really like how Ma Sung didn’t fully recover from his illness, it keeps things more at bay and not overly done when everything else is already ‘overly’ made, yet they also give us hope that he will recover soon and that to keep it that way, Ma Sung and Gi Bbeum marries each other week after week (since Ma Sung allegedly always forgets he’s already married to her). It gives a dreamy feel to their relationship, which is perhaps still in the honeymoon phase. But admittedly, it feels unrealistic to hold a wedding of their caliber each week, not unless your chaebol like Ma Sung. If that happened to ordinary people I think one could only dream. Yet, the concept is refreshing just like their enduring relationship that goes beyond borders.

Someone more realistic, however, will take this ending wrongly. I mean, it’s too good to be true. It takes away the rawness of Ma Sung’s situation wherein we’re already shown the fact he has a degenerative mental disease showing signs like dementia and that in reality a person cannot recover from that. Pallative treatment is perhaps the best solution to these kind of people and yet by some miracle Ma Sung is going to recover from it? Wow. That’s the power of fiction. Really. Anything can happen, but it’s as unrealistic as it can get. It would be more believable if he just went senile and Gi Bbeum still loves him and cares for him, but I know either way, people won’t be happy as well with this kind of ending. So, better yet just stick to the happy ending, right?

And well, that surprise at the ending is a real icebreaker. lol. Watch it to find out what I’m talking about!

Rating:

Cliche, but raw and beautiful unconditional love story to the finest. So, I’m giving it 4.3 out of 5.

      [Completed] Drama Review on ‘Devilish Joy’ 'Devilish Joy' boasts of familiar faces, great acting, beautiful cinematography, a mix of romcom plus melodrama despite being a bag of cliches.