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kisskissbanggang · 2 months ago

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[7.4k Words/30min. Read - Demon!Minho x Human!Reader - NSFW/Smut - First Time Rage, Playing With Fate, Getting Prolifically Dumped, Ouija Boards, Divine Intervention, Sorting Out Our Feelings, Violence and Threats of Violence, Death of a Side Character (Sort Of), Claws, Angels, Demons, Impulsive Sex, Surprising Use of Kim Seungmin]

[a/n: happy halloween! because two different users requested the same thing for my Trick or Freak event, here's a surprise full fic. 🧡]

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You were mad as hell.

A feeling that was, at its inception, so foreign to you and now was fully realized. The sensation had taken a few minutes to settle, not unlike gaining sea legs. It began so small–a fragile, imperceptible thing–before it whipped up into a frenzy. This was nature taking its course. You were a thunder cloud on the verge of cracking lightning.

The note had been sitting on the entry table; Seungmin didn't have the gall to leave it at your bedside. No. You had roused late in the morning, serene and loved. Seungmin couldn't give you the peace of leaving the scrawled note in the loft of the cabin, and instead left it on the table where he’d first put his keys a couple days previously.

I don’t expect you to understand, sweetheart, the note read, because I hardly understand it myself. All I know is I can't do this anymore. I hope you can forgive me.

You stood by the entry table at eleven in the morning, having previously been thoroughly adored just the night before, and currently buzzing with electric anger as you allowed yourself to enter this emotion you'd heretofore never let yourself fully experience… This was rage.

There was more written on the stupid piece of paper: he could arrange a ride for you after the party; he was going to that wretched party after all; he was sorry.

Maybe there was another woman, you mused. Maybe you were the other woman. Why else would he ditch you to go to the bullshit party when he’d sworn up and down that he wouldn’t dare? Maybe this was all an illusion. There was a chance that you had been too trusting, too hopeful. Truthfully, honestly, and begrudgingly, you knew that this was a clear possibility from the beginning. Seungmin first saw your art only a month ago. He placed you in your first gallery two weeks later. The godawful Halloween party tonight was supposed to help you meet a possible buyer, a local gallery owner, but Seungmin himself advised you that this wasn’t the right event to meet a potential patron. Unless that wasn’t really the reason.

You were still fuming. This was a helpless, raw feeling that you weren’t used to. You let the note fall to the floor, drifting like the fall leaves outside. The first order of business was to find your phone. Two days ago, you were cooing and poring over every inch of the cozy cabin as Seungmin serenely looked on, but now it was a suffocating prison cell. None of Seungmin’s belongings were left–he’d been able to fully clear out before you ever woke up, and took off in his stupid truck. That jerk, it was like he had never even been here, having vanished like some sort of phantom. Finally, you found your phone, having fallen off of the bedside table and into your open weekend bag on the floor. You took one look at the screen and hucked the piece of electronic garbage onto the bed. Just like you found two days ago, there was no cell service. Seungmin deserted you out here. Yes, Arcadia Shores was 15 minutes away–by car. That same trek by foot was easily an hour at least along the rural highway, up and down steep, forested inclines and navigating hairpin turns that vehicles took much too quickly. You were, for practicality’s sake, actually stuck out here.

This was miserable.

You forced yourself to get showered and dressed, still steaming with no release in sight. Following that, you packed up all your things and dumped your bag by the front door. It was one thing for Seungmin to abandon you out here with no practical way back into town, let alone back to your lonely little apartment, but it was another thing entirely for him to make you wait until after the fucking party for a goddamn ride. That was the part that was doing your head in.

You were almost a little put off by how angry you were. This sort of felt like you’d been holding back for a long, long time, but that also meant that being this mad was sort of cathartic, maybe a little comforting. It was how alien the sensation was that made it difficult to contend with. Sitting down with a huff on the rickety, old couch in the cabin, you were taken aback by the first moment of true silence you were confronted with since you found the note earlier that day. You were suddenly struck by a feeling of unease, of restlessness. There might have been a possibility of going for a little walk around the property, maybe down to the creek behind the cabin, but that felt particularly helpless with the thickening gray clouds looming outside.

Sure, there were things you could do. Your small journal was stowed in your weekend bag. You could write your feelings out, be the bigger, calmer person. A notepad sat on the counter in the tiny kitchen, likely the same notepad that Seungmin wrote to you on. Maybe you could write your own letter, maybe pretend to say everything you wished you could in that moment.

How humiliating, though, being forced to process this all on your own after being miserably humiliated by the first man you ever let yourself sleep with within the first day of meeting him.

He said he loved you within one week. He encouraged you to say it back. He’d had the nerve to sound nervous about how quick this was all moving, and you’d been foolish enough to think it was sweet.

No, you decided. Just because Seungmin forced you to deal with this on your own didn’t mean that you had to deal with it calmly, but no readily apparent reaction felt appropriate. The bookshelf across from you in the small living area was filled to the brim with all sorts of things–board games, atlases and almanacs, chapter books and miscellaneous compilations of classics… and something else.

Your eyes passed over it a few times before you truly noticed it, and once you did, you kept returning to it.

Wedged at the bottom of a dusty pile of old board games and puzzles, haphazardly stacked on top of the bookshelf was a ouija board.

You smirked when you properly let yourself notice it for the first time. In recollection, you’d never used a spirit board before, nor ever even had the chance to. These were always comically off limits. This was a toy that was supposedly evil, supposedly fraught with negative consequences.

This was something good kids didn’t do.

It was this singular thought, paired with your unprecedented anger that ultimately drew you nearer. Every nagging, fearful thought that ever stopped you from acting out replayed in your head while you got up from the couch. A floorboard squeaked concerningly underfoot as you crossed the modest living area, almost like the old floor could crack open and suck you under. Ignoring that, you pulled over a chair from the old kitchen table. The chair groaned when you climbed on top of it, wobbling in a way that made you hurry your actions. A book fell out of the shelf, practically flying off and onto the ground, and you peeked downwards to see what it had been. Hilariously, a Bible looked up at you, almost accusingly. The absurdity of this made you nearly laugh out loud. You settled on pulling the whole stack of games and puzzles on top of the ouija board down entirely, gingerly tip-toeing off your makeshift step stool before setting the whole heap on the floor beside the coffee table.

You’d never done this before, but it seemed easy enough. In the aged cardboard box, there was a handsome wooden board with letters and words painted on. A heavy planchette sat on top, just big enough to fit perfectly in your palm. You cleared off the coffee table and knelt in front of it, before you suddenly realized that you felt nervous. This was fitting, probably, considering this was apparently a day full of firsts for you.

In the center of the heart-shaped piece of wood in your hand was a small, round lens made of glass. The surface was covered in dust, an interesting discovery given that the item had been sitting in a box, unexposed to the surrounding air. You pulled your sleeve over your palm to clean it off and placed the planchette on the board. At this point, you wondered how this was supposed to start. Were you supposed to greet the supposed spirits by starting at the “hello” painted in the corner, or was that for the spirit to theoretically signal its arrival?

Not that any of this was real, obviously. This was simply to pass the time. Maybe you’d make yourself some tea and try journaling after this. Outside, the impending rain finally began to come down.

You ultimately decided to place the planchette on a blank space on the board. Your fingertips lightly laid on the pointer’s edge, like you’d seen in movies. This felt ridiculous, which led to an acceptable first question.

“So,” you stiffly began, “this is bullshit, right?”

You almost laughed, the inquiry was so dumb. It was hardly even a joke. You waited a mortifying 30 seconds, feeling incredibly self-conscious, when you decided this whole endeavor was stupid and it was time to put the game back where you found it.

However.

When you went to retrieve the flimsy, old box from where you laid it beside you on the floor, you did a double-take and the box fell from your hands.

The planchette wasn’t where you left it.

It was sitting on top of “yes.”

Well, you were a sucker for a good sense of humor. And if this was a delusion like you were certain it was, your friends were going to get a kick out of it when you told them about that time you got callously dumped and stranded and started talking to spirits.

“Am I going crazy?” you half-heartedly asked the board. Much to your amusement and horror, the planchette moved on its own, sliding across the board until it sat on top of the “no.” You sat up on your knees, more attentive now.

“Does Seungmin love me?” you asked. What a pathetic question. You stared at the board, waiting. The wooden pointer slid off the “no” but it also didn’t slide all the way to “yes.” The planchette stopped firmly in the middle. “Fair enough,” you replied under your breath. Still, this was nowhere near cathartic enough for you. There were some regrettable desires sitting in your gut.

“Does Seungmin feel sorry for what he did to me?” you staunchly asked.

“No,” the board answered. You wrinkled your nose and grimaced, like you were suckerpunched. How embarrassing. That rage inside you ran like a bolt up your spine.

“... How do I make Seungmin feel sorry?”

The planchette moved down to the letters below. “A-S-K-M-E.”

“Ask you? Ask you what?”

“T-O-H-E-L-P.”

You gazed down at the board. This was all suddenly feeling far more serious than you’d originally set out with the intention of.

But what could it hurt?

This was quickly becoming reckless.

You took a deep, shaky breath before you realized you were trembling. “How do I ask you?”

“N-A-M-E.”

“My name or your name?”

“M-I-N-E.”

Your ribs ached on your rapidly beating heart. “What is your name?”

“T-O-O-L-O-N-G.”

“Too long?” you sputtered. “Are you kidding me? This was your idea. What can I call you instead?”

The planchette wavered for a minute before ultimately drifting, through the painted letters on the board until it landed on one.

M? Just an initial? That seemed dumb, but it was what was being suggested. You took another steadying breath, but it wasn’t helping. There wasn’t a hint of confidence in your voice, instead betraying the full bundle of nerves in your throat. “Help me, M.”

The ensuing silence made you feel like an idiot.

None of this was real. This was all a surreal fever dream, and you were going to beat the snot out of Seungmin the next time you saw him because of it.

Or not, because you were a coward. The only reason he did this to you, surely, was because he knew you wouldn’t do anything about it. You felt sick, and that wasn’t even mentioning how you felt like your face was warm, like you were blushing.

Except then there was a knock at the door. You gawked across the room, unsure if it even happened at all, until another knock came. On shaky legs, you got up on your feet and opened the door, just a crack. On the other side, damp from the rain, was a man dripping on the porch. He was young, maybe your or Seungmin’s age, with umber waves, somewhat flattened by the growing storm. There was a surprising softness in his intense gaze, his brows furrowed to keep his dark eyes dry. He grinned apologetically, a gentle, handsome expression.

“I’m so sorry to intrude,” he pleasantly began, “but can I borrow your phone? My truck broke down out on the highway and my phone is dead.”

The highway? While you weren’t too far from the road, there was a fork that ultimately led down here to the cabin. Still, you folded. As usual.

“I’m also sorry,” you winced. “I only have my cell phone, and there’s no signal out here… but you can come in, if you need. You can charge your phone while you wait for the rain to stop. I can make us some tea if you want.”

“Thanks,” the man replied, his grin spreading into an appreciative smile. He crossed the threshold and came in, shucking off his wet work coat and exposing a casual henley underneath. “Sorry for barging in. I know I already said that, but I know it’s spooky letting in strangers, especially on Halloween.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t think I’m worth the trouble,” you reassured him. You strolled into the kitchen and filled the kettle. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“You can call me Minho,” the stranger answered absently, still taking in his surroundings. “Neat cabin. You just renting, or do you know the owners? Mind if I look around?”

“Uh,” you attempted to answer, but Minho was already out of sight, peeking upstairs in the loft. The small stove bringing the kettle up to temperature creaked and moaned, mirroring your unease. Minho trotted downstairs and continued his tour, checking out the bathroom and deck. He made a few rounds of each room before he ultimately returned to the kitchen.

He looked perturbed.

“Alright,” Minho grumbled, almost out of breath. “This is a set-up, right? You’re fucking with me?”

You starkly leaned back against the kitchen counter, your hand resting on the handle of a drawer you hoped contained the knives and other cooking utensils. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Minho reeled. “Sure!” he sarcastically retorted. “You don’t know what I’m talking about. I get ripped out of my realm and plopped into yours, and the summoner isn’t even here!”

“The summoner?” you asked. “But I…”

“Sure,” Minho repeated. “You’re the summoner. I get here and it reeks of angels. The handprints of the Powers that be are fucking everywhere. You’re either the summoner or you’re one of the risen, or you’re fucking with me. Or–and there’s a big possibility of this–there’s a combination of the three happening here.”

The expression on your face must’ve been what convinced him of your honesty. Minho almost went pale, his eyebrows softening into concerned confusion and his hands dropping to his sides. “Holy shit,” he realized, “you’re not just the summoner… you're slated.”

“I’m what?” you scoffed. Your hand was still clutched around the handle of the knife drawer. Minho stalked closer, and you thankfully reacted. You yanked the drawer open and were relieved that you guessed right, wrapping your hand around the handle of a large kitchen knife. However, this wasn’t swift enough for the stranger. Minho clutched your wrist, easily taking the knife from you.

“I’m right. You can’t see it, but I can.” With this, Minho held the knife by its tip, as if he could show you whatever he was looking at on the handle. “It’s not as prominent yet, but it will be once you pass or accept the bypass. Not all the handprints in this cabin belong to you, but enough of them sure as hell do.”

“I’m sorry,” you flustered, “but what the fuck are you saying?”

Minho raised an eyebrow at you. At this distance, you could smell him. He had a masculine scent, but somewhat sweet, maybe a little cloying. Your heart was beating fast again. “What I’m saying is I can’t help you, angel, nor would I want to. I’m surprised you even managed to get me here.”

With that, he leaned away, letting the knife drop onto the hardwood, piercing it and making you jump in reaction. You stumbled after him as he walked to the coat rack.

“So you won’t help me?! And this,” you babbled, “all of this, this means you’re a spirit? You’re the spirit I summoned?”

The man sighed impatiently. “Yes, angel, you summoned me. And, given the nature of our exchange, I assumed you would’ve deduced I’m a demon by now.”

A charged pause shut you up for a second. The young demon seemed amused.

“What? You’re staring.”

“I, uh,” you stumbled on your words, “I was expecting more, like…”

“Horns?” he sneered. “A cute, pointy tail?”

You cringed compulsively in response. He was right. You had been picturing a mischievous little imp, not a… Well, not a hot guy, if you were being frank with yourself.

“Look, angel–”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It’s true. You’re slated, you’re already on the path.”

You crossed your arms stubbornly. “It feels like an omen or a curse or something.”

“It’s none of those things. It’s only–as of this moment–your destiny.”

“But if you can already see these handprints, if I actually smell like an angel–don’t think I didn’t catch that, I still have questions about that–does that mean I’m going to die soon?”

Minho sighed again, sounding more like a groan this time, and firmly put his coat back on the rack. “I don’t know, angel. I’m not your Arbiter or anything. You’re probably about to be offered a bypass to ascend, like I said a minute ago.”

Your head was swimming. “What does that even mean? I just skip the dying part and become a fucking angel? That sounds insane.”

“Insane or not, it’s true,” Minho shrugged. “Hence all the reasons that I’m not going to help you. Can I put my jacket on and leave now?”

“Wait wait wait!” you cried, rushing over and putting your hand on his arm. His eyebrows shot up, looking from his arm to you. He was weirdly warm, but you did your best to ignore it. “Wait,” you pleaded again, “don’t you have some contract to stay? I’ve never been this angry in my entire life. All I want to do is make Seungmin sorry. You told me how to ask for your help and I asked.”

Minho looked at your hand on his arm again and back at you, conflicted as he frowned and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “No way,” he decided. “Sorry, angel. This is too much. I can tell you've never done a bad thing before in your life. Stay on your path and ascend, okay?”

With that, Minho peeled your hand off of him and finally pulled his jacket back on before breezing out the door.

What a bizarre fifteen minutes that all was.

The worst part was now you were somehow even madder. You grabbed your own jacket and shoes before heading out the door yourself. Obviously, Minho was already nowhere to be seen, but that didn't matter anymore. If some dumb demon wouldn't even help you, you’d go after Seungmin yourself. You trekked all the way back up to the fork up the road and out to the highway. Once you were out there, you stuck out your thumb for a ride and just started walking.

Being left alone with your thoughts like this was dangerous. However, you didn’t let yourself stop long enough to come to your senses. It was almost exhilarating to not only be this angry for once in your life, but to be justified in doing so. Like, you weren’t just going to make Seungmin feel sorry for what he did to you, but you’d be right.

Even if you still didn’t know what you would do when you saw him.

You were twenty minutes into your march to Arcadia Shores when someone finally took mercy on you and gave you a lift, but it was already beginning to turn dark. A doddering old man, probably a local, looked sick over the fact that you were out on the side of the road. He asked what on Earth could possibly make you do such a thing in this rain, and on Halloween, no less. When you replied that it was because of a man, you were convinced he was on the verge of offering to help you regardless of whatever it was you were planning on doing. You told him to simply drop you off at Arcadia Lodge, the venue for the ridiculous party. He took this mission with stoic pride, and wished you luck when he dropped you off.

Sprawling in front of you was a gracefully aging seaside resort, a huge property with its own beach and hemmed in by the woods on either side. The Halloween party was set to take place in the lodge's grand hall at its center. You warily approached the hotel, guests milling about in various degrees of costume. It was easy to feel out of place, not just because you weren't dressed for the occasion, but because you weren't even really belonging to this crowd. Arcadia Shores was pleasant enough to visit, but being a local required a certain level of financial comfort that you weren't privy to. Even as this occasion seemed to be more attended by younger family members, none of these people felt like anyone you would meet organically. That was what you needed Seungmin for. In these throngs of people, the gallery owner you were supposed to be introduced to was supposedly among them, but you’d never know it since your stupid ex wasn’t here.

The party was in full swing as the sun continued to sink under the horizon. It felt like it was going to be impossible to find Seungmin in here, and for a sickening moment, you almost doubted yourself for coming all the way out here. Then again, it was that overwhelming sense of being right that kept you steadfast in your objective.

It was at that moment, as if it were a reward for remembering why you had to see this through, you caught sight of Seungmin. Your heart plummeted into the pit of your stomach. He was gorgeous as ever and–appropriately–dressed like a devil, looking more like what you'd originally guessed Minho would appear as. In the sea of partygoers, he stood out perfectly. You kept careful watch of him, hanging back and seeing if you could figure out whether or not he was here with anyone.

Or, at least, this was your plan until a hand clapped down on your shoulder. You spun, startled, to find Minho looking annoyed.

“What?” you asked pointedly, matching his energy.

“Look,” he sighed, “I'm surprised you made it out here, okay? You proved you could do it without me.”

“Too bad that's not my point,” you shrugged.

“What is your point?” he groaned.

You pointed across the grand hall to where Seungmin was socializing. “You already know, asshole! I want to make him feel sorry for what he did to me!”

Minho’s eyebrows raised curiously, and yours did, too. You’d never called anyone an asshole before. Minho was looking past you, however, and you almost wondered why until you turned to see for yourself. As it turned out, Seungmin finally noticed you were here, but when you turned back to shoo Minho away, the demon was already gone.

Asshole, you silently repeated. You turned back around, and this was when your confidence crumbled. Seungmin was also gone. You frantically scanned the room, and caught sight of him exiting out the back of the grand hall. Costumed partygoers grumbled at you as you shoved past, running after him. The setting sun was working against you, but thankfully the various lamps and lanterns around the resort grounds helped you keep track of Seungmin as you rushed along behind him. You followed him out, beyond the proper resort property, and out to the scenic path up the hill to Arcadia Lighthouse. If he knew you were in pursuit, he showed no sign of it, never looking back over his shoulder as you both followed the path along the bluffs over the crashing waves below.

Your thoughts were racing again. What would you say when you finally caught up to him? What would you do?

Seungmin stopped suddenly in his tracks, causing you to do the same. Your breath caught in your throat.

Your ex turned then, looking conflicted. “You weren’t supposed to come here!” he called out.

Words attempted to materialize in your mouth, and you choked on every one. Here was your moment, and you were fucking it up. You took a helpless step forward. All you could imagine was pushing that son of a bitch for what he did to you. Seungmin took a step back.

Right

over

the

bluff.

A gasp shot into your throat, ripped from your lungs as you sprinted over. You dropped to your knees and scrambled to look over the edge. Down below, Seungmin lay in a heap on the rocks.

The miasma of thoughts that had been falling in an endless avalanche through your head all day tripled, hitting a fever pitch that made you feel sick, before everything went silent. The words finally came.

“You asshole!” you screamed, so harshly that your eyes scrunched closed. “This was my moment, you jerk!”

Only the raucous waves replied, but soon, a tangible voice did as well.

“I’m sorry, but what the actual hell?”

The voice over your shoulder made you feel violently ill. You were going mad but, surely, this was all rational. Seungmin was down there, not up here and you were simply hallucinating. You opened your eyes, and you were immediately nauseous. Seungmin was not down on the rocks below the bluff.

With shaking eyes, you could hardly look over your shoulder. It had to be done, though. Your chin wavered as you looked behind you.

Seungmin.

“Are you kidding me?” he huffed, putting his hands on his hips. There wasn’t a scratch on him. Did you only imagine him falling?

“Seungmin…” you finally uttered. “What are you talking about?”

He threw his hands up condescendingly. “All of this just to be mad?! You’re not here to forgive me?!”

You pressed your hands into the dirt, damp from the sporadic rain, to get up to your feet. “I… Why the fuck would I forgive you?”

“Because you’ve forgiven everything else that’s ever happened to you!” he ranted. “This was such a sure fucking thing! And sure, there was some trepidation there at the end, but I was convinced you’d come to your senses when it looked like I fucking died of all things but no! I can’t believe I wasted all this time slating you.”

He growled the last part, and you almost didn’t hear it. You were too busy watching Seungmin materialize a goddamn sword, one almost as long as you were tall. The rain picked up again, making the gravel underfoot muddy and slick when you nervously backed up. When Seungmin impossibly held the imposing sword aloft, you saw it–the ghost of his halo–just a hint, but stunningly obvious once you understood it.

Minho was right. There were angel handprints all over the cabin.

They were Seungmin’s.

“Seungmin,” you nearly whimpered, “what happens when someone you slated doesn’t make the cut?”

The sword glinted despite there being no sun rays in sight. “I’ll give you one guess, sweetheart.”

You strayed from the path, instead running straight into the woods to try and lose him. Brambles and branches tried to catch you and trap you, and you tore past, your heaving breath blaring in your ears. Trees creaked and groaned behind you where Seungmin was following, until you tripped over a jagged rock lodged in the ridgid earth and landed in a clearing. A white light seemed to part the foliage behind you, and you scrambled back on your hands and kicking feet while you couldn’t help but stare in awe.

“I’m sorry it had to end this way,” Seungmin sighed, somehow clear as day.

“Me, too,” quipped a voice from behind you. You shot a crazed, unbelieving glance behind you.

“Minho?!” you exclaimed.

Sure enough, your reluctant demon stood behind you on the other side of the clearing. His coat was soaked through, and at the end of his sleeves, you could see his fingertips had extended into blackened claws. In his hand, in contrast to Seungmin’s sword, was a flail.

“What did I tell you,” he grumbled rhetorically, “you were slated. And not just by anyone, but by the Powers that be.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” you asked both men, fully exasperated. Seungmin looked over your new companion, apparently taking this all in.

“It means you need to fucking move, angel,” Minho sighed.

“I agree, sweetheart,” Seungmin frowned, lifting the sword again.

You scrambled away through the sodden grass right as Minho charged forward, deflecting Seungmin’s attack with a swing of his flail. Watching the two was a sight, arguing even while sparring with such formidable weapons.

“You don’t have any stake in this, accursed!” Seungmin hissed, yanking his sword free of the chain of Minho’s flail.

“Sure I do!” Minho scoffed, “I was summoned, wasn’t I?”

“You’re a common whore,” seethed your ex, drawing the sword up over his head for another swing. “A slave to any master who calls you.”

“How is that any different than your enslavement, you little prick?” rebuked Minho, practically giggling. “Our Father who art in Heaven is going to be pissed at you for losing this one.”

Another gasp pierced you when Minho failed to fully block this next attack. He fumbled back, landing against the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree. Seungmin smirked, a truly wicked expression that made your stomach twist in knots, and swung the huge sword back to get more momentum for a killing blow…

Except Minho had other plans. From under his jacket, he produced–of all things–a revolver. It was still intimidating, hefty with a long muzzle, and Minho pressed the snout to his adversary’s chest. Seungmin hardly had a chance to react before you all heard the hammer click into place.

You held your breath. Only the rain had any commentary to provide for a moment.

“Have her,” Seungmin spat. “She’s flawed, anyway.”

“That’s fine,” Minho retorted with a shrug.

Seungmin’s glare narrowed, but instead of swinging for Minho, he turned his attention back to you. You feebly tried to retreat again, but not before a harrowing shot rang out through the deepening night amongst the trees. Your eyes snapped shut in terror, and remained so. This was far too much. Your head swam, until a warm hand gently grabbed your shoulder. When you opened your eyes, it was only you and Minho in the clearing. Even the rain had vanished. Seungmin was nowhere to be seen; rather, only golden specks of dust drifted in the air.

“What now?” Minho softly asked you.

Your gaze could hardly relax despite your eyes feeling exhausted. “The cabin,” you uttered. “I left all my stuff. Take me there.”

Minho soothed a hand across your shoulders, rubbing your back. Serenely, the forest by the ocean bluffs melted away and left you in the familiar setting of the cabin. Your tea from earlier sat cold on the kitchen counter. The demon didn’t appear to be in a rush. He simply eased down to sit on the couch, observing as you got your bearings. There were still smudged flecks of gold dust all over him.

Your feet didn’t feel attached to your ankles. It was as though you’d been walking for days, the way your whole body sagged under the weight of the evening. This was so much to take in. Seungmin never loved you, more than likely. Infatuated with you, yes, but his ulterior motives stung more than him trying to dispose of you so savagely. You felt foolish. Embarrassment tugged at your throat. You’d all but scribbled his name down in the margins of notebooks, surrounded by little hearts. It had been so fast. It had almost felt innocent, the way you fell so wholly, so quickly.

Maybe you fell for him because of the whole angel thing.

Maybe it wasn’t even your idea from the start.

The thought made your bones feel like they were made of ice.

You finally moved from your spot in the center of the cabin’s living room, back to the kitchen. The Bible from earlier that day nearly tripped you from where it still lay on the floor. You stared at it, realizing that something had tried to stop you from summoning Minho. It may not have been Seungmin, but maybe you really weren’t supposed to stray from your path. You frowned and continued towards your objective in the kitchen. The mug was neutral in your hands–not cold, but only room temperature. You tipped the contents into the sink and watched the wasted tea seep down the drain.

When the moment had arrived, back on the bluff, all you wanted to do was push Seungmin.

And he fell.

For a confusing second, you wondered if you would cry about any of this, before you realized you already were.

You hardly got a moment to let it sink in, though, because Minho was there. He looked almost impatient as he pulled you into a comforting embrace. You clutched onto his damp jacket.

“Were you supposed to let me die?” you asked into his chest.

“It doesn’t matter, angel,” he answered. “That prick was out of his mind.”

“He loved me,” you weakly insisted.

Minho stroked your hair. “Only conditionally. They all do.”

“What do I do now that I’m not slated anymore?”

“What were you doing before? Do whatever you want.”

You were both silent for a while, holding each other in the kitchen. A weighted pull kept you clinging to him, likely similar to how he continued petting your hair. He reluctantly stopped after a time. “I should go,” he murmured. When he pulled away from you, he seemed surprised to see you searching him with your eyes.

“Don’t,” you pleaded, shaking your head. “I’ll just summon you back.”

The way Minho kissed you in that moment made you blush, flooding you with heat. He cupped your face, his claws gently pressing into your skin while he held you to him. The progression of what came next was so graceful yet so charged. Minho kissed you, all the way up the stairs and into the loft, but he gasped when you pushed him away. He clutched the railing opposite the bed, chest rising and falling as he watched you. You warily opened his jacket, watching him for the most minute reactions as you peeled the article of clothing off of him. He had on a holster underneath, carrying the intimidating revolver from back in the clearing. A breath seemed to catch in Minho’s throat when you slipped the gun out and held it in your hands, inspecting it.

“Careful, angel,” he gently cautioned you..

“What would’ve happened differently if you decided to help me from the beginning?” you asked, before tossing the gun onto the old quilt covering the bed.

“Knowing you were slated?” Minho asked. His hands needily grasped your hips in wanting. “I would’ve demanded devotion. Non-negotiable.”

“Devotion?” you echoed, easily as you let him herd you onto the bed with another kiss. “Of your master?”

“Of me,” he huskily clarified. “As long as I’m out here, and you called me, you’re my master. I only want the same devotion I’m giving you.”

Minho’s groan more resembled a growl the first time you kissed his neck. “You’re devoted to me?” you implored.

“Seeing what you did with your slating, angel, I’m devoted to you in more ways than one.”

A hunger erupted in you that you’d never experienced before. It was like you’d never eaten a proper meal and were suddenly faced with a feast. Your faithful demon grunted when you tugged at his henley, pulling the shirt up over his head and dropping it off the side of the bed. He didn’t rush you, choosing instead to simply watch as you moved to match him, removing your jacket and shirt underneath.

“If I was slated,” you wondered aloud, “and I was going to be offered a bypass to ascend… Is there an equivalent in your realm?”

Minho’s gaze shook in a way that told you that you’d just unleashed a dangerous possibility. That same hunger you felt, he felt it, too, and it was liable to consume you both if you kept indulging it. “Careful, angel,” he repeated.

“Maybe I’m still slated,” you slyly grinned, pulling Minho on top of you in the bed you’d previously shared with Seungmin only the night before.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Minho half-heartedly argued, all while you pulled at his belt, and your starving teeth and tongue coaxed moans from his throat. When you threaded your fingers into his hair, he keened, wincing despite his blissful expression. His hands hardly tried to pry yours off of him.

“I’m asking for your devotion,” you rebutted.

His hands stopped trying to halt your actions. “Well then,” he breathed, “that’s all you had to say.” Minho’s hands smoothed up your thighs and easily removed your jeans. The tips of his clawed digits ghosted over your bared skin.

“Would we still be doing this if you had helped me from the beginning?” you asked.

Minho took his time answering you, instead opting to get a taste of you between your legs. You were impressed to feel him retract his claws before his fingers caressed into your depths. The inhuman warmth that radiated off of him seeped into your core, making you dizzy. You weren’t the only one, either, apparent from how Minho practically came up for air to check on you.

“There was no chance I was ever going to help you, so no,” he admitted. “The second I felt the energy in here, the energy coming off of you? I wanted no part of it.”

“And now?” you probed him.

Minho seemingly stopped himself from answering right away. He paused, absently kissing the inside of your thigh while chewing on a thought. “If you’re asking for a bypass,” he said carefully, “I want to know why.”

Your heart quickened in your chest. “I never felt this free before. You were right earlier. I’d never done anything bad before in my life.”

“This isn’t just about being bad, angel,” Minho said, wrinkling his nose at you.

“I know that,” you argued. “But the only reason I’d never done a bad thing was that I was terrified of judgment. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. I wanted to be perfect.”

Minho shook his head in disbelief. “You’re already perfect enough.”

“That’s why I want it,” you insisted. “I never felt at peace like this before. I want more, whatever that means in your realm.”

“I understand that,” Minho answered stoically. “But I can’t simply offer you a bypass. Your ex–Seungmin, he used as his name? He could do that because he’s a Power. Well, he was.”

“Are you going to be in trouble?” you worried.

“No, angel,” he reassured you. “Not when the Arbiters see how reckless he was being. He’ll be recalled and reincorporated. As for letting you join me like he was going to offer you… I might be able to do something similar.”

“So devoted,” you affectionately teased.

Minho pulled at your hip, sliding you underneath him as he crawled up between your legs and absorbing your quip in stride. “How can I not be? I said no to you because I refused to be the one who influenced your path. That being said, if you’re choosing this, I’d do anything I can to make you happy.”

“Why me?” you marveled. The quilt pulled and stretched under you as you clutched at it, the way Minho teased himself up against your wetness driving you mad with desire.

“The blessed one wanted you because of all the potential inside you. I can feel it, even right now. You’re potent. The Powers saw you as a divine being, but they only connected the dots between your spotless record and all that energy.”

“So you just want me to yourself?”

“Not at all,” Minho shook his head. “I watched you deny your slating and stray from the path to go your own way. You went after what you wanted despite me refusing to assist you. Angel, you pushed Seungmin without laying a hand on him. You just wanted it bad enough. There’s something powerful in you, sure, but I'm in awe of you. It’s rare to meet humans like you.”

You met Minho’s gaze and he held it, unrelenting as his effusive warmth rocked into you. His moans made you ache between your legs, the way his lovemaking was so methodical yet so raw making your head spin. The difference between him and Seungmin was stark, a thought you never predicted you’d have, but it was glaringly obvious. Whereas Seungmin lauded how reserved you were, how modest and shy you seemed to be, Minho actively encouraged each sigh, each cursing gasp that escaped you. You didn’t feel stifled into trying to be quiet and pretty as Minho ravaged you. Instead, the corporeal spirit on top of you shivered and shuddered as he explored you and experienced you, adoring and savoring the tryst as a whole.

“What’re you going to offer me, Minho?” you finally asked him, your voice almost hoarse from the impassioned overuse of it.

“Let me be with you, angel,” he pleaded, burying his lips in the crook of your neck as he angled his hips into your sweet spot. “I’ll show you everything that I can without taking you to my world, and when we’re ready… I’ll make that journey with you.”

“Do it,” you impulsively demanded. “What do you need from me?”

“Nothing,” Minho assured you. He jolted and groaned when you thrashed against him, his perfect member drilling into your core just right. “Nothing but you. Just let me have you, angel.”

“Take me,” you whimpered. “I’m gonna–oh, fuck, Minho, it’s too much, I can’t–”

“You can,” your lover urged you. “I got you, angel, just let it happen.”

You clutched wildly onto each other, Minho’s sharp fingertips raking into your waist where he held you as he brought you to your peak. The precipice approached quickly, almost violently, and wracked you to your bones. You never recalled practically feeling an orgasm in your neck before. Minho wasn’t far behind, seemingly biting down into your shoulder for support more than possessiveness when he arrived at his point of no return. He cried out, bucking into you as he spent himself deep inside you, that warmth almost feeling more like boiling in the feverish rush.

Minho eased down onto the bed as gently as he could without collapsing on you, trying to catch his breath. “Unbelievable,” he marveled.

“What’s that?”

“I’d always been warned that humans are too fragile to mate with,” he explained. “I’m beginning to think this was all part of some grand plan. Maybe this was meant to happen.”

“You mean I’m slated,” you giggled. Minho nodded in a daze. The quiet surrounding you felt ominous, but the air in the cabin was charged. You felt electric. “What now?” you asked.

Minho wrapped his arms around your waist and laid his head on your chest. “Whatever you want, angel,” he vowed. “You already have my devotion.”

#supernovanetwork #straykidsland #neverendingdreams #stray kids smut #lee minho smut #bel's trick or freak

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balkanradfem · 4 months ago

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To the anon who sent me a message about how she hates her era of being libfem and can't forgive herself!

I think the only way we can go easy on ourselves is to see that it happened to all of us, all of us were affected and most of us were trying to be kind, understanding and reasonable in those times, and what was presented to us as 'kind and understanding' was saying 'not all m*n'.

And the thing is, we didn't have all the information back then. We didn't have the stats. The actual amount of violence and abuse m*n unleashed on women was carefully and meticulously hidden behind closed doors, endless victim blaming, endless rationalizations. And we were so young! We couldn't have looked at the situation and immediately go 'oh yes it's very clear males are dangerous, violent and destructive and we need to get away from them asap', we all had some connections to males in our lives, we all were at least somewhat manipulated into spending time with them and tolerated their stupidity, and we didn't know yet what was in front of us!

And it's not only the lack of information and real stats being deeply hidden from our eyes, it's the societal pressure. I remember whenever I expressed my opinions on blaming males for their actions, I would be persecuted for it immediately, I would be told I was 'not a real feminist', people in my friend circle would look at me as if I was a disgusting, dangerous and evil creature and they wanted to take distance from me, that's not something a woman can just ignore or feel okay about! We're all susceptible to self doubt when our surroundings tell us that we're wrong, even evil for thinking the way we do. Even when we're 100% right, peer pressure gets to us, gets us to doubt our own minds. We don't often have it in us to fight for our views if we have no support and everyone stands firmly against us.

I don't believe I would fully be able to be a radfem now if I didn't find a community of support and access to all of the information on tumblr, and in all of the feminist books I've been reading; it's the community and access to information that helped me stand firm on facts and reality.

And also there are women in the very late stages of their lives, who are still defending m*n, and in fact, most of women are doing it still, we are in the minority. A lot of information is still being withheld from women. And I don't judge or hate any of them, I know with proper access to resources, information and support, they would all figure it out.

And you did figure it out! There's no shame in getting more information on a situation and then changing your mind and standing firm with reality, it's what people are supposed to do. It's the only way to get closer to reality, to shape our worldview. I believe you're expecting the impossible from your younger self, none of us were able to figure it out immediately, or all on our own, so there's no fault if you couldn't either. And you don't have to be open about it if you don't feel comfortable, but a lot of people would be comforted to know that it's not only them, that it happened to others too, that being a libfem is the only way to eventually become a radfem.

Also I live in a country where feminism itself is still a bad word, and in most places there are not even libfems. Patriarchy is not being questioned at all, no positive statements are published about women. Women here would be estatic even to reach libfem level! And I know it's something we look down on because it's easily co-opted by other movements to promote practices harmful to women, but it is in its inception, a form of feminism, an attempt to fight for positive public opinion of women. It does not come from a place of harm, and most of harm inflicted by it is usually by another movements involvement and influence.

I know it might not affect you at all, but I can tell you that I would never hold you guilty for being a libfem at all. You've done nothing wrong. You've just lived in an era where it was the most feminist thing to do at the time, and you figured out a more effective way and followed that! I'd be proud of that! You couldn't have done anything better than that.

#libfem #radfem #sorry for not publishing the whole ask!#sometimes i will elect not to #but i wanted to answer #feminism #radical feminism #libfem past #forgiving ourselves

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darling-wendy · 2 years ago

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they made each other fathers

This has been staring us right in the face the entire time, but it's only just registering to me that Kazuki defaulted to "Rei-papa" when he could've easily just said "Rei-niichan" or "Rei-ojisan" or "Rei-san", some other form of honorific. A four year old is aware of the concept of an uncle, he could've gone with that to begin with. It's very interesting that Kazuki instinctively reached for the one honorific that tacitly implies a relationship between him and Rei. Like, somewhere in the back of his mind he said 'Well, if I'm her pretend dad then Rei, as my partner (and it's also interesting that the first time we first see him use the term, it's the ambiguous English loan word rather than either of the two Japanese equivalents), is obviously also her pretend dad'.

And, honestly, Kazuki doing this seems to kinda low-key incept Miri into viewing Rei as her second papa lol.

She was told by her mother that she had a Papa, singular, and that she was going to meet him at the Varint Hotel. Kazuki presented himself as such, and in the specific context of rescuing her, which is something that Misaki seems to have have told her is what a Papa does.

(The expression on her face and her hand gesture and the way she says this sounds like she's repeating something a trusted adult told her rather than something she came up with herself imo)

So, case closed. But then! her papa tells her to go play with this other guy, who is apparently also her papa? He says he isn't, but the seed has been planted, and it sprouts up later.

Kazuki is berating Rei for not just telling the neighbourhood watch guy that he was her dad, and Miri takes notice. Rei once again denies being her dad, but the idea seems to have stuck for her.

Look at her hurt little face after she heard Rei outright deny being not just her father but also some other sort of family member. She's attached to Rei. She wanted to eat breakfast with him and later wants to sleep next to him. And I'm sure at least some of that is having had him introduced to her as another parent. Fortunately, it works out in the end.

(The voice Kazuki uses here kills me softly. There is genuinely no heterosexual explanation for it lmao.)

('All according to keikaku')

Don't look so smug, Kazuki. Aside from taking Miri into your shared home in the first place, you put the idea of 'Rei-papa' into her head.

So, within Rei's overall arc of changing to become a suitable parent, there's this first mini arc of him accepting identifying as her papa, and it's partially instigated by Kazuki. On Kazuki's end, he doesn't struggle with the label (despite and/or because of his past? Kazuki, you are fascinating), but he has his own unique arc around it.

Part of the reason that Kazuki is so fascinating to me is that he's very straightforward but also he masks as readily as he breathes. Rei isn't as demonstrative or expressive, but he doesn't really hide what he's thinking or how he's feeling. Rei's arc with becoming a father is pretty linear; he first denies then accepts being Miri's papa, he gets a bit involved with raising her, he learns the lesson of how he's not doing enough and needs to step up, then he gets more involved and becomes more confident, culminating in him declaring his desire to be her father in an outright permanent way and he continues growing after the main timeline wraps. His failings are mostly due to having no idea of what a parent is supposed to be like. His father wasn't his father, he was his boss. (Imagine being ~11 years old and having your father hit you in the face and tell you that he's your boss, not your father. This is immediately after he forced you to try to kill a rabid dog, arming you with nothing but a knife, and berating you for not finishing it off. Woof).

Kazuki's failings seem to come from him being too prescriptive or blindly using negative personal experiences as an anchor for what not to do. He also had a terrible childhood, but we lack specific details. He seems to have been abandoned when he was young, so young that he doesn't even remember his parents, and so lacked a real example of how a parent should behave. This undoubtedly would've come up as a stressor when Yuzuko was pregnant. I imagine that he would've gone through the beginner level stages of growth that we saw with Rei, if not exactly in the same way. We come to him at an intermediate level where he knows a lot of basics, but gets tripped up by more higher level concepts.

(Pre-school socialisation isn't about establishing dominance and young kids can have an understanding of right and wrong, Kazuki)

Over the course of the series (and especially in eps 7 and 9), we see Rei look to Kazuki for guidance, and there are also times when Kazuki asserts himself (often erroneously lol) as having the right idea of what to do in a particular situation.

Kazuki's papa arc is more about breaking down the ideas he had built in his head about what good parenting is supposed to look like and holistically feeling it out with respect to what Miri specifically--not some amorphous Child--needs. Rei kind of has the opposite problem, operating purely on vibes rather than structure lol, and that's why they balance each other so well.

Now for the reverse. By the midpoint of ep 3, Miri has been calling Kazuki 'Papa' for days now. It's just hitting me that he didn't try to gently let her down and reveal his lie after they got out of the gunfight. [Rei straight up asked her 'What about your real father?' and got a philosophical answer, so maybe that strategy wouldn't work anyway lol]. I guess he might think of it as easier to just lean into being 'Papa' until they got rid of her, but I'm gonna call it an inverse Freudian slip. Especially since it ties into the first moment I wanna highlight.

Rei is emotionally stunted but also very perceptive. He's read something in Kazuki's actions, tone of voice, body language, etc that indicates that Kazuki doesn't actually want to give Miri up. She's been a little torpedo that imploded two jobs back to back, she gets underfoot, she and makes lots of noise, she and breaks things...and yet. He knows Kazuki well and he saw, perhaps, what Kyu saw when Kazuki was having a moan about them in ep 7.

The rest of the episode plays out and ends with Rei, Miri, and Kazuki going home together for dinner, this time as a quasi family unit. They haven't made any declarations yet, they're just kind of feeling and fumbling their way along. They have some ups and downs as they settle into a dynamic. Then it all blows up in ep 10.

[I could write a whole screed about how ep 10 was a necessary--at least a highly valuable--story beat, but this post is already very long. Some other time, perhaps. ]

Misaki comes back for Miri thanks to Kyu, they are successfully convinced to give her up, and then their little unit falls apart. Another explosion comes in ep 11 with Misaki's death, and now Miri is officially orphaned. Rei, as per usual, asks Kazuki what they should do, and Kazuki reveals that he's in a deep, guilt-induced trough.

We see how Misaki's death is weighing heavily on his mind, and he's surely thinking that he got yet another woman killed due to his desire for a family. He processes her 'protect Miri' plea as needing to stay away from Miri--that that's what he has to do to prevent her from becoming the second child he has to bury. But Rei surprises him.

Kazuki's response is a bit cruel, though not entirely unfounded. He had to temporarily ghost Rei for him to realise all the work that goes into looking after Miri. And even though Kazuki left a fridge full of meals, Rei still ended up ordering pizza because he couldn't recognise them as such. He has a long way to go as a parent. But he wants to do it, and he beseeches Kazuki to make the jump with him.

Kazuki's talking back to himself just as much as he is to Rei. "It might not be too late. [for] Normal happiness" is what he said to Rei on the Ferris wheel. At that time he genuinely thought there was nothing else for them to do but give Miri back to Misaki. But that was when he, like the rest of them, thought that simply stepping back would be enough for Shigeki to be satisfied. It's different now. They both know that, but Kazuki is too raw with hurt and guilty to let himself be happy. It's that characteristic manner in which he gets in his own way. But Rei breaks through all that.

This is the moment. Rei, for the first time as far as I can recall, is shown to initiate physical contact with Kazuki in a way that's soft and not utilitarian. While he talks, he even gives Kazuki's hand a little squeeze. He is going way further than he ever has in expressing his emotions. Change has been a motif for both of them, and Rei says it's possible for them with such conviction--that they can make Miri happy--that Kazuki stops getting in his own way. He comes around in the most Kazuki way possible: transitioning their serious conversation about taking responsibility for Miri (and the implications of dealing with the organisation) into a comedic moment about Rei doing his share of the household chores and childcare.

And with that, they're over the finish line! There's still a lot for them to do in the final episode, but this is the climax of their respective papa arcs. Storming the Suwa compound, confronting Shigeki, and the 10 years later bit are denouement. The two of them approached fatherhood from completely different backgrounds and stances and levels of experience, but it was a journey they took together and one which was not possible without the other.

#kazurei #kurusuwa family #kurusu kazuki #suwa rei #unasaka miri #buddy daddies #buddy daddies meta #found family #this is my crack lol

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vintage-vermin · 5 months ago

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I like Ongezellig, it popped up like half a decade ago on my feed randomly. Thought it was cutely done, saw Maya and was "oh no, she just like me fr fr" Waited and saw part 3 show up and then the rest.

I sometimes just have stuff that I love, but don't even bother engaging the fandom in any way. There are shows that have helped me be less of a cunty teenager decades ago that i love, but I have never gone to a fan forum or searched tags on any site. Sometimes I only search out the creative parts of the fandom and don't bother with discussions.

I love the random little things you can find on sites like Tumblr or other art-focused platforms for Ongezellig. Redraws, OC's in the shows style and fun pieces of some of the background characters Because oh, oh no, I'm not a fan of the rest of the community. But we'll hit that up later. Later. The creator made webcomics before. Had a little youtube channel with YTP's and some random reviewy stuff. Had an old Deviantart with some furry and the rare pony thing. Did an interview for a dutch comic collection ages ago that was a fun read.

(So, you only have to mail this letter) (Mailbox has a colloquial word where it's shortened to 'bus', same word as the vehicular one. "To put a letter on the bus") (... Yes, the one without wheels) He had a little comic named 'Caiasos' that was a bit of a disjointed adventure. Followed with Mayo & Curry. Simplistic 3-4 panel comics with a bit of a newspaper format.

(One day, Mayo wondered what ink tasted like) (You know that's poisonous, right?) (The box reads "Correction Fluid") A lot of the Mayo & Curry stuff is dutch snackbar puns or kinda standard early webcomic 'sleaze' as I can only describe it. Ever read like Chugsworth Academy?

(Hey Curry, it's not really clear what our relationship is in this comic. Are we family, girlfriends, roommates...) (Haha, silly Mayo. If you read the comics well it's very obvious.) (Anyway, time for walks!) Cute enough I suppose. I used to read Sexylosers when I was like 15, who am I to truly complain.

The creator did some creative & animation schooling and made a fun project. Some of you may have seen this one fly by, too!

youtube

Somewhere around the same time, he also made a little bumper for a comic festival.

youtube

He would also do little bits on dutch history, wether it be the Dutch History Iceberg video that got popular a bit ago or his more comedic Stille Willem videos. Studio Massa, the creator, was looking to get the Ongezellig show picked up. Some of the early episodes do throw in a school shooting thing and some very dutch middleschool discrimination to the Belgians. Granted, these are pilots. Would it have been picked up, I'm sure a few things here and there would get a fix up. This did not come to pass after a long time of trying to showcase it and even finishing his pilot series. However, he did land a job at a national tv station. I hope to see new projects of his over time, maybe even bring 1 or 2 of his old characters to new life in another show.

Little write-up on my experience with a subsection of it's fandom and community under the cut, feel free to ignore at your own discretion.

I went on a little deepdive to find out more a bit ago, I didn't follow the Petje-af or the Discord at the times of their inception or popularity. One of the first places you end up is imageboards and booru's. What a treat. Some of the ' documentation' of the shows reception online is very muddled. Encyclopedia Dramatica kinda stuff. Inane terms and barely understandable references to sites or people. He also has a KF thread that lists a large amount of uncomfortable information. By the time I found a few of those boards and booru's, it was already clear that they had some mass-extinction thing happen a few years ago and had to rebuild an imageboard and a booru or 2. Dragging myself to the very first page already got me greeted with "WE WILL REBUILD" sentiments. I get that there's a certain combination in the show that will bring in a specific audience. Underage characters and some historically charged discrimination. There's an underlying edginess to one of the characters that brings in a certain type of people. I have seen multiple posts and write-ups spanning a few years between eachother where people sort of announce they are done with the shows fanbase on this level. Lot's of adult art of these characters. While most places seem to be purged of this and plenty of (THIS POST HAS BEEN DELETED) messages all over by this time. There's a sentiment shared across a lot of these types of fans. "fucking tr00ns ruined my fucking show" I've come across plenty of junk where some one makes a call to action because they found some one with a trans flag in their bio and posted some art of the show. I can't really find the root of this problem. All that seems to have actually happened is that a buncha people were being massive bigots in the discord, got banned for it and then they got indignant about it. There's mention that some one spammed some boards with the show ages ago and somehow invited tons of transphobia into the room. Like I said, it's all muddled and written from certain perspectives.

It's like that one part of the K-on fanbase really. I just find strange and a bit of a shame that there's such an active and hostile subsection of this little fandom. I have come across multiple write-up from people who just can't interact with their fun little show without some out-there types showing up. Even little videos that try to bring this show to a larger audience find their comments littered with bizarre callouts to the small imageboard groups. A prized possession of that snippet of the community is a game about Mymy shooting up her school. I understand this is supposed to be a niche layer of fandom that's still pretty isolated to 4/5 sites at most. I understand that there will always be outliers. I dunno, frustration about a fun little show made manifest.

#Ongezellig #studio massa #het historant #stille willem #Mayo & Curry #Caiasos #I'm sure people will be very normal about this #Youtube

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deathmybride · 8 months ago

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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ midnight at noonday | dead poets society (part 3) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ship: Surprise! x fem!OC

warnings: still none

summary: Clare gets to know Charlie.

word count: 3124

a/n: Tragically, I forgot to cross-post this chapter when I was doing them all before. Hope you guys enjoy.

taglist: @toobraindeadtofunction

“So,” Charlie broke the silence as we passed a group of younger boys playing knucklebones in the dirt under one of the oak trees. “You got your extracurriculars yet?”

“Yeah.” I unlinked our arms as we came up to the building’s entrance, casting a glance around for any teachers. “Soccer, rowing, and Nolan said he’d have the caterers teach me some home ec too, even though they don’t do that for boys.” I sighed. “I don’t mind it, really. I like cooking and folding laundry fine, but it kind of seems a little, um…”

“Misogynist?” Charlie offered.

“Yeah!” I nodded enthusiastically. “I was scared to say it.”

“Hey, don’t be.” He gave me an emphatic look. “This whole place is backwards. I’m surprised they let you in at all.”

“Me too, but it was the only way they could get my father to teach. We’re kind of a package deal.”

“I see. Still, it must have been a tough sell. You must have enough merit of your own to convince Nolan to change his ways.”

“I suppose I do.” I flushed under his praise. “I mean, my grades are up to standard and, uh… Well, I suppose I’m a good debater when I have my head screwed on. I had to vouch for myself on the phone to him before he let me in. Y’know there’s something about that man that makes me want to stand up for myself.”

“Would that be his face like a smacked ass, or the whole correctional officer bit?”

“Both, probably.” I said with a giggle. “I managed to convince him to let me into the debate club too.”

“Debate club?” Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Impressive. How’d you swing that?”

“Well, I debated him. I told him I imagine a number of the boys in the club would go on to careers in politics, so if any of them wanted to run for president or something, it would be very important to understand the female perspective in order to win women’s votes.”

“No time like the present, right?”

“Exactly.” I nodded. “I said that the earlier you start gathering information, the easier it will be to campaign later. And then I made a joke about helping them to better understand their future wives, and that really tickled him.”

“Did he give you any push back?”

“Of course. He said I’d have an unfair advantage ‘cause my femininity would fluster my opponents; and also that my admittance to the club would ‘undermine the long cultivated identity that has been a constant since the club’s inception.’” I slipped into a half-hearted impression of the stuffy old man. “So I said if I ever argued against the club’s values, surely the members coming together to defend them would only strengthen their resolve; and that I would wear my ugliest, lumpiest jumper when I’m on the soap box.”

“I bet he saw the funny side of that.” He said sardonically.

“He did! He actually laughed, can you believe it? He said I have ‘moxie.’”

“Weird.” He frowned, but there was real admiration in the look he shot me.

“You’re telling me.” I laughed to cover my blush. “The funny thing is, I don’t really care about debating. I really wanted a spot on the school paper, but he said it would be inappropriate for a new transfer student to be involved in something so front-facing; especially one who’s already drummed up some controversy.”

“Damn. Try him again next semester, huh? I’m on the paper, I can vouch for you.”

“That’s so kind! Thank you, Charlie.”

“Any time.” He said as we rounded the corner to the east wing stairwell. “Hey, did you say you’re doing rowing?”

“And soccer.”

“Bit of a sportswoman, huh? Very nice.”

“You don’t have to butter me up, I’ll still help you with English.” I threw him a smirk.

“Ugh!” He threw his hand up in phoney indignation. “I’d never use flattery to get what I want! But, seriously, I think it’s cool you’re athletic. You can sit by me at rowing, if you want.”

“Sure. I’ve never done it before, so I hope I’m not too much of a hindrance.”

“You’ll pick it up fast. It’s easy once your muscles get used to it. You better pray you’re on my soccer team, though, kid. I’m the best goalie that ever lived.”

“Sure you are.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “I’ve never played that either. I hope I learn quickly.”

“It’s not so bad. What did you do for sports at Chelsea?”

“I did tennis and track. We had soccer and cricket teams too, but that was never my thing. You ever played tennis?”

“No, never.”

“That’s a shame! It’s so much fun.” I sighed dolefully. “I still have my gear, and I’m hoping to find a partner.”

“I could try.” He offered. “I don’t know how good I’ll be.”

“That’s sweet of you.” I gave his arm a light squeeze. “If I find somewhere to play, I’ll let you know.”

“Sure. Look, we’re nearly there.”

“Oh, so we are.”

Sure enough, we had arrived at the familiar stairway that led right up to my room. I was astonished that not only had he kept me entertained all the way from the west wing to here, but he had kept me talking through our entire walk. After the horror of this morning, I thought I would be buried deep in my shell forever. I felt a warm rush of gratitude for the boy with the permanent smirk. Though he liked to mask it with a clownish attitude, I could see that he really cared about people.

“I can take it from here, thanks Charlie.”

“No problem. Hey, do you have your own bathroom, or are you slumming it with us?”

“No, I have my own.” I laughed. “Well, it’s Dad’s- I mean Mr Keating’s too.”

“Ugh! Privileged.”

“I know!” I blushed, embarrassed at the faculty’s special treatment. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, can…” I hesitated. “Can I sit with you guys?”

“Of course!” He touched my arm reassuringly. “I’ll save you a seat.”

“Thanks. See you then.”

“Bye, Skipper!” He was gone before I could reprimand him.

Feeling a spark of annoyance- more so at my father than Charlie- I scaled the last flight of stairs and came up to my bedroom. It was a surprising relief to be alone, and I realised my ears were ringing from the constant noise of three hundred teenage boys nattering and play-fighting from class to class. I rubbed my temples, feeling around for tension, heaved a sigh, and dragged my feet over to my suitcases. It felt like such an effort to dig around and find my toiletries, and by the time I found them I had to fight against the urge to curl up on the floor and go to sleep. Instead, I hauled myself to my feet and had a quick look around my room. It was much better than the boys’ dorms; there was more space, with a bigger bed and wardrobe, a bigger desk with more drawer space, and a small table with one of those new fangled electric tea kettles. I felt like the Queen of Sheba, though I doubted she would be so ashamed of her luxuries. I let out a sigh, then made my way to the bathroom to scrub off the day with soaps and potions.

I had just finished putting my hair up in Spoolies and was about to put on some dinner clothes when I heard a rapping at my door. I hurriedly pulled a bathrobe over my pajamas and went over to investigate. To my dismay, there was no peephole, so I had no clue as to who I was opening the door to. In a slight panic, and not wanting to sound rude, I opened the door straight up without asking who was there. Thank the lord it was just Dad. He was smiling softly and held a bundle of cattails in a tall crystal vase.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He stepped in and kissed my cheek. “I thought you could do with some colour in here, but for the life of me, I couldn’t find any foxgloves. I nearly had an impromptu scuba session getting these.”

“Thank you.” He strode past me and placed them on the windowsill by my desk. “I love cattails.”

“Yes, you do.” He agreed with a playful smile. “You bit one when you were two and got a mouthful of seeds.”

“So I’ve heard.” It was one of his favourite stories from my early childhood.

“So. Clare. I thought you might like to join me for dinner in my room tonight for a little recconassance. How about it?”

I hesitated. I would be so grateful to have some quiet time before study group tonight, but Charlie had already saved me a spot at his table and I desperately wanted to see Neil again. I supposed I would see him while we studied, but there would be little time for talking. I suppose I left it too long to reply, as Dad shook his head and laughed.

“You don’t have to say yes.”

“No, no I’d like to. I just-” I sighed in agitation. “I don’t like that I have privileges that the boys don’t have.”

“Hm.” He looked thoughtful. “Well… Sure, you have a few luxuries not afforded to the rest of the student body, but you have plenty of extra restrictions too. I think it all evens out in the end.”

“I suppose you’re right.” I let out the tension in my shoulders. “I’ll eat with you, but I need to go a little before eight so I can meet up with my study group.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “I’m proud to see you taking your school work seriously, but try not to let it rule your world.”

“I think I might have to if I’m going to stay here.” I wiped my eyelids, fatigue weighing heavy on them. “I have to at least stay on top of things, until I get a feel for how much I have to do.”

“Mm, you are right.” Dad sighed, shaking his head. “I only wish you had more time to do what you’re truly passionate about.”

“Who knows? Maybe I have an untapped passion for Latin.”

“Well, you can’t have inherited it from me.” He ambled to the door. “Come on, dinner’s getting cold.”

It seemed Dad had hustled an extra portion of the teacher’s meal for me. Waiting at the small dining table in his room was a tray with a glass cloche over it, covering two steaming bowls of carbonara. With a pang of guilt, I noted that it was much nicer than the prison food I had heard some of the boys describing earlier that day. I sat down while Dad stepped aside to select a record to put on the turntable.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” He smiled. “I can’t guarantee all your meals will be as nice as this one. Hell-ton hash is a necessary rite of passage.”

“Surely it’s not that bad.” I tried my best to sound optimistic, but the day was so long and I was so tired, and with a stack of work to do for every class, I truly felt like the entire school had been designed to torture me. Why would the food be any different?

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m not.” I let my hand rest on my cheek and gazed longingly at the meal, only just realising how starved I was.

“Go on, dig in.” Dad insisted, picking out a Chopin piano record, probably for my benefit.

I started eating before he sat down, and neither of us said grace. Of the four pillars, tradition was the one that fell most by the wayside in our household. The pasta was the most divine thing I had ever tasted, and it took a lot of effort not to wolf it all down straight away. The piano filled the air with delicate swelling sounds. Chopin would always be my favourite.

“So, how was your day?” I asked before he had a chance to start a round of twenty questions.

“Excellent.” He responded, pouring us both a glass of cloudy apple juice. “Every one of my classes contain students of great merit. I can see poets everywhere! But I see real brilliance brewing in your class. There’s a spark there that I can’t quite place.”

Neil. I thought. From the brief interaction I had had with him, I saw his friends treat him with reverence; even Charlie- the social dynamo that he was- seemed to look at him with respect. Neil’s very presence must have stirred up inspiration in his peers.

“I agree.” I smiled. “I think even the quiet ones will surprise you.”

“Yes, indeed. Though, I quite like that Dalton boy, loud-mouthed as he may be. He reminds me so much of myself at that age. Eager to entertain.”

“Charlie’s lovely.” I swirled some pasta around my fork, reminiscing our earlier conversation. “A boy was giving me a little trouble earlier today, and he saved me.”

“What kind of trouble?” Dad paused, fork raised, his face suddenly grave.

“Nothing serious.” I said quickly. “He wanted me to join his study group, and said something insulting about one of the boys in my group when he found out I already had one.

“Oh. How unpleasant.” He relaxed and took his bite of pasta.

“Mhm. I stood up for him, though.”

“You always were one to do that.” He smiled proudly.

“I suppose I am. I had a disagreement with Overstreet before class when he threw a paper ball at that boy who sneezes a lot.”

“Spencer Poindexter.”

“Poindexter?!”

“Yes, you heard right. You won’t forget that one in a hurry, will you?”

“No. Poor guy.” I shook my head, feeling a rush of empathy for the kid. He must have had a terrible time growing up. “That reminds me, though-” I pinched the bridge of my nose in embarrassment. “I forgot Todd Anderson’s name earlier. Called him ‘Tom.’ It was terrible, he went bright red… looked like he was malfunctioning. He’d only just been introduced too! Oh, gosh, it was so bad!”

“That’s not that bad.” Dad chuckled. “You’ll worry yourself to death if you let yourself get hung up on a little thing like that.”

“I suppose it could have happened to anyone…” I mumbled, face hot with remembered embarrassment.

“Exactly. Anderson seems like a forgiving kind, anyway. You’ll make amends in time.”

“Yes, I hope so.” It would be so awkward to spend time with Neil if his roommate hates me.

We ate in silence for a while. I soaked up the piano melodies like gravy into bread, letting them draw my mind away to ballroom scenes of slow dancing with Neil at a senior prom we’d never have. I was just scraping up the last bits of bacon and was about to dig into my creme brulee when Dad spoke up again.

“So, about this crush we were discussing earlier…”

“Oh, stop!” I exclaimed in hushed tones, as if Neil might have had his ear pressed up to the door. “Forget I said anything.”

“Now, Clare, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He soothed.

“There’s everything to be embarrassed about!” I let my fork clatter into my bowl. “I’ve barely said a word to him! I shouldn’t even be feeling like this, anyway. It’s against school rules. Rules that you are supposed to enforce, by the way.”

“I am aware of that. And, as such, if I catch you fooling around, officially I should report you. So it’s of the utmost importance that you don’t give me or any of the staff any reason to suspect a thing.”

“There’s not going to be any fooling around!” I took out my agitation on the crispy top of the creme brulee and shoved a spoonful into my mouth.

“Well, you say that now.” He ran his spoon along the top of his dessert, taking great pleasure in the scraping sound, then struck it once with the back of the spoon, creating a satisfying crack. “Anyway, a clandestine love affair is a good thing at this age. It’ll build character and fuel your poetry. You’ll write the best poems of your life before you’re twenty-five.”

“Mmph!” I buried my face in my hands.

“Who is it?”

“Who is it?” I looked up in horror.

“Yeah.” He rested his cheek on his hand like a gossiping schoolkid. “Tell me.”

I looked at him long and hard, searching his eyes for a glimpse of just what he planned to do with this information. Turning up nothing, I said the only thing I could think of.

“Absolutely not. You’ll have to guess.”

“Guess?”

“Yes, go on. You got three strikes, then you can’t ask me again for a week.”

“Okay, okay.” He thought for a moment. “The obvious guess would be Dalton.”

I hesitated.

“Well, no… Charlie is really wonderful, but, well… it’s not him. It might be simpler if it was him. I mean, at least I’ve had a proper conversation with him, and he makes me laugh, and he seems… Well, maybe the flirting is compulsive.”

“Hm, not Charlie. There goes my one informed guess. Meeks?”

“No. He’s lovely, but no.”

He looked out the window and thought for a moment.

“Anderson?”

I hesitated again, though this time I couldn’t put my finger on why.

“No, not Anderson.”

“Darn. Y’know, if you told me, I might be able to help.”

“Help how?”

“I could reassign seats, pair you two up for assignments… recommend him love poetry.”

“No! No, thank you.” I said hurriedly, getting to my feet. “I think I’ll handle this just fine on my own. Now, I really should go and meet Neil. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Neil!” Oh no. “Neil Perry! The one who sits in front of the Pitts boy, with the big brown eyes. I thought of him straight away, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name!”

“It’s not him.”

“Oh, yes it is.” He grinned, absolutely cheesed. “I can tell by the panic in your eyes. Not to worry, Clare, my lips are sealed and I will take no action without your go-ahead.”

“It’s not!”

“Okay, sweetheart.” He said unconvincingly, got up and kissed me on the cheek, and handed me the rest of my creme brulee. “Take this to your room, you can eat it later. Though, I’m sure you’ll get enough sugar to last you elsewhere. Now, go have fun.”

“It’s. Not. Him.” I said emphatically before giving him a quick hug. “Good night.”

#charlie dalton x reader #dead poets society #dps #dead poets #dead poets x reader #neil perry x reader #todd anderson x reader #knox overstreet x reader #gerard pitts x reader #steven meeks x reader

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lunarubra · 1 month ago

Text

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan Fabris)

Summary: In this AU set during the summer of 2010, Cillian has just wrapped up the final Inception premieres. Now, he and Jiyan are traveling through Italy, seeking some peaceful downtime together.

Warning: Fluff, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Hospitalisation, Mention of Suicide, Angst, English Not My First Language.

Words: 4599

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Chapter 2 - Praeteritum ambulans in nobis

STACK.

The cue ball hit the red 5-ball, but instead of a clean shot, it bounced off the side of the table and accidentally hit the solid green ball, which rolled straight into the pocket.

"Sagbab," Jiyan cursed under her breath.

Cillian chuckled before taking a sip of his beer. "Not your sport, Fabris?"

"Oh, shut up. You’re just lucky we’re not playing darts. I would’ve annihilated you," she retorted with a playful glare.

They were out at what was supposed to be an Irish pub in Trieste. It had become one of Cillian’s odd little traditions during his stays abroad—he would search for the most Irish-looking pub or bar in whichever city he was visiting and spend at least one evening there. The pub in Trieste hadn’t exactly disappointed him, but calling it Irish would’ve been a stretch.

A few days earlier, they had left Venice and come to stay with Jiyan’s mother to spend the final leg of their trip with her family. From there, they'd fly directly to Dublin. Cillian had to start prepping for a movie he would soon be filming, along with another overseas project that would keep him busy through October and November. Jiyan, on the other hand, had just wrapped up her PhD and was waiting for her final evaluation.

After two days of sightseeing, where Jiyan had taken on the role of tour guide, and plenty of family time spent with Mika and Solin, they decided to take an evening for themselves. It was a chance to enjoy some quality time before they returned to their routine in Ireland—though calling Cillian’s actor life a "routine" was a bit of a stretch.

Jiyan didn’t have a clear plan for what came next. She had finished her PhD, and several universities had already approached her with research offers after her publication in May. But there was nothing from Trinity College, where she had been working recently. Aside from Cillian, she had no strong ties to Dublin, and that uncertainty weighed on both of them. Cillian had encouraged her to accept a very promising project at La Sorbonne in Paris, but she had turned it down. Eventually, they sat down and had a real conversation about it.

She had told him, in that calm and resolute way of hers that left little room for debate, that over the past few years she had never paused—not even when Samyah died—to think about what she truly wanted. Now that she had finally finished her PhD, she was happy. She hadn’t expected Ireland to be the place where she found her balance, but here she was, and she wasn’t willing to disrupt that stability for another research project in a different part of Europe. She had some savings, a master's degree, a PhD, and a successful publication. She spoke more languages than most academics, including a few dead ones. For now, she wanted to take her time and look for something that genuinely fulfilled her. She deserved that.

Cillian could only nod, admiring the strength and certainty of the woman in front of him. He was relieved, too. He realised with a touch of surprise that he would have moved without hesitation to wherever her next project took her. His work was flexible enough, and with the experience he had now, he didn’t need to be anchored in one place to secure good roles. The thought of a long-distance relationship didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t good at keeping distance from her.

Jiyan huffed, bringing him back from his thoughts. She was glaring at the pool table as if it were to blame for her not winning, or for the balls refusing to follow her will. Cillian smirked, amused by the way she pouted—she looked incredibly cute. Setting his beer down on a nearby shelf, he stepped behind her, pulling her close. He kissed the side of her hair, breathing in her intoxicating scent of amber, spices, and sea salt.

"You’re rushing the ball, Aji," he whispered into her ear.

Though she kept pouting, unwilling to admit he might be right, her body instinctively arched into his embrace. She tilted her head to the side, giving him more room to stay close.

"I don’t like pool," she muttered stubbornly.

Cillian chuckled softly. "Come on, for once I’m the one who gets to teach you something, not the other way around."

He guided her arm from behind, savoring the closeness and the way she leaned into him. His pulse quickened—he’d grown so intensely drawn to her that even the smallest touch set his blood on fire. It was clear she felt the same, as her gaze met his with a playful, suggestive look that said, Are you sure you want to teach me here?

He swallowed hard, trying to focus, and finally helped her aim. Together, they hit one of his balls, sending it smoothly into the left corner pocket with a satisfying swish.

She turned to him, almost disappointed. “Show off.”

“You’re doing great. It’s okay if you’re not perfect at everything,” he teased, kissing her sweetly. But what he intended to be a quick, cute kiss quickly deepened into something slow and intense, stirring something primal inside him. He felt his jeans tighten uncomfortably. When they finally broke the kiss, they lingered, simply staring at each other. Jiyan’s tan skin hid her blush, but her dilated pupils gave her away. Cillian could tell she was just as affected.

But once again, something outside their little bubble shattered the moment.

“Jiyan?” A voice broke through their conversation, startling them. A young man stood nearby, his gaze fixed intently on her. Cillian felt Jiyan freeze beside him, her fingers tightening around his arm like she needed an anchor—or perhaps a shield.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. The moment stretched awkwardly, a silent pause in which Cillian felt distinctly out of place, like he was intruding on a scene he wasn’t meant to witness.

“Kareem?” Jiyan’s voice carried a note of surprise, edged with something harder to pin down—discomfort, maybe, or a flicker of unease. Before Cillian could process it fully, her words shifted into a language he didn’t understand. The rhythm was familiar, though. Kurdish? Turkish? Arabic?

And then it clicked. Ah, so this was him, Cillian thought, the puzzle pieces snapping quietly into place.

He loosened his embrace slightly, sensing the tension that now coursed between Jiyan and the man—Kareem. Yet her fingers stayed locked on his arm, clutching as if to ground herself against the swell of emotion that had unexpectedly crashed over her.

Recognizing the unspoken need for privacy, Cillian decided to step back. Jiyan had told him once that she hadn’t spoken to Kareem since moving to Dublin. Judging by the startled looks they exchanged, this encounter was as unexpected for Kareem as it was for her. Gently, he took her hand—still clutching his arm—and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her curls.

“I’m going to grab another pint,” he said softly, his tone warm and reassuring. “I’ll give you two some space to talk.”

“Cillian…” she murmured, unsure whether she wanted to thank him or plead with him not to leave her alone.

“I’ll be right across the pub, watching the match,” he reassured her, offering a small smile that he hoped would steady her. “Take your time.”

As he released her hand, Cillian turned to Kareem. Extending his own, he offered a polite introduction. “I’m Cillian. Nice to meet you, Kareem.”

Kareem blinked, seemingly jolted out of his daze. He hesitated briefly before taking the offered hand. His accent was rich, an intriguing blend that Cillian couldn’t quite pin down—part Middle Eastern, part Mediterranean. “Nice to meet you too,” Kareem replied, his words slow, as if he were still processing the situation.

Jiyan wasn’t sure how to process the sight of Kareem standing in front of her. The shock of seeing him again had left her momentarily speechless.

“You’re back,” Kareem said tersely, switching to Farsi.

“Yeah, I mean…” She took a steadying breath, trying to collect herself. “We’re here visiting Mum and Mika. Flying back to Dublin in a couple of days.”

“Dublin…” he repeated, his words lingering in the air before he added, “You never called.” His voice was emotionless as he sat down at a nearby table and began pulling out tobacco to roll a cigarette.

“You didn’t either,” she replied flatly, lowering herself into the chair across from him.

They sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other. It felt oddly like a scene from a cowboy movie—a Mexican standoff, tense and unyielding.

“And you’re good?” Kareem asked, raising an eyebrow as he tapped the freshly rolled cigarette against the table to pack the tobacco tighter.

“Yeah, yeah.” She fidgeted with her hands, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine. We’re fine. I finished university.”

“Congratulations,” he said, the word falling flat, his tone devoid of genuine warmth. Jiyan could tell his interest wasn’t really in her academic achievements. “You staying in Ireland?”

“For now, yeah,” she said. “I’m taking a break. I need some time to figure things out.”

Kareem let out a harsh chuckle, shaking his head with exaggerated sympathy that teetered on mockery. His frustration simmered just below the surface, threatening to spill over. “So now you’re taking time?” he asked, his voice sharp with anger. “Now you’re taking time?”

“What do you want me to say, Kareem?” Jiyan ran her hands through her hair, her frustration mounting. She still couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, and she didn’t feel ready for this—not now. “Yeah, I’m taking some time for me. I… I’m in therapy. I want to be better. A lot has happened—”

He cut her off with a bitter, scornful laugh. “A lot has happened? Really, Jiyan?”

“You’re angry. You’re still angry,” she said quietly.

You’re still angry at me. The words hung unspoken, but they weighed heavily between them. Having Kareem in front of her again was stirring up conflicting emotions—an undeniable pull, but also a sense of relief. It felt as if she could finally confront him, perhaps mend the bridge that had always lingered, broken, between them.

“Of course I’m angry!” Kareem snapped, dragging her back into the moment. “You just disappeared, and now what? You’re happy, just like that? Like nothing happened? Like my sister didn’t die? Like you—”

“Don’t say that!” Jiyan interrupted, her voice low and threatening, her words seething through clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare say that, Kareem, or I swear I’ll punch you.”

She swallowed her rage, fighting to stay in control. They both knew exactly how to hurt each other. Kareem, even if he regretted it later, was an expert at cutting her where it hurt the most. Years ago, she’d been just as skilled at that game. But she didn’t have the energy anymore—didn’t want to wield that kind of pain again.

“Punch me? Go ahead, Jiyan. I’m right here,” he taunted, his voice daring her.

Jiyan looked at him closely for the first time. He was shaking, his pain radiating off him in waves. She imagined she probably looked just as raw, just as frayed. They were both exposed nerves, all their hurt, anger, and betrayal laid bare. They’d both been destroyed by Samyah’s death, drowning in grief and guilt. But Jiyan had found tools to help her navigate the wreckage. Kareem hadn’t. He was still lost, still drowning.

“Don’t make me the villain here,” she said, her tone softening. “Just don’t. It won’t make you feel better.”

“You shut me out, Jiyan,” he said, his voice quieter now, trembling with hurt. “After everything—after ten years together—you just shut me out.”

His head dropped, his gaze fixed on the table. The weight of his words settled heavily between them, unspoken truths and unhealed wounds pressing down on the air like a storm about to break.

“You shut me out too” she said, hurt in her voice.

After a few seconds, she looked around, realizing too late that half the pub was staring at them. No one could understand their argument, but two Middle Easterners speaking loudly in Farsi wasn’t going unnoticed. She could feel the tension in the air, expecting someone to call the cops if they didn’t calm down soon.

She glanced across the room and saw Cillian watching her, his untouched beer in front of him, his eyes seemed to ask, Are you alright?

She nodded back, a silent, It’s alright, I’ll be there soon.

“Come on,” she said, standing up and turning back to Kareem. “We’re going outside before someone calls the cops. And you’re going to listen to me.”

Kareem, who had followed her brief exchange with Cillian, shrugged. Without a word, he got up, grabbed his freshly rolled cigarette, and headed outside. Jiyan sighed and cast one last glance at Cillian. His concern was evident, but she offered a faint smile before following Kareem.

Outside, the cool air was a welcome change. Kareem leaned against the wall, already smoking.

“The Irish prince isn’t coming along too?” he muttered.

“Shut up, Kareem… just shut up and just listen,” she said sharply. “You are not alone. We were both wrong, but you’re not the only one who’s hurt here. Whatever happened between us—it wasn’t just my fault, alright?” Her voice rose with exasperation.

“It’s true. I shut you out before I left. I couldn’t anymore—I just couldn’t—but you shut me out first. After Samyah died…” She faltered, steadying herself. “I know a piece of all of us died with her, but it was like you were the only one allowed to grieve. Living with you felt like living with a stranger. We were both not okay, but it felt like you blamed me. Like she wasn’t my sister too.”

She paused, taking a deep breath to keep herself composed. She wouldn’t break now, not here.

“And I ran away,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “I know. And I’m sorry if I hurt you. I am so sorry, Kari.”

Kareem exhaled a stream of smoke, his eyes unreadable as he studied her. “I know you felt like it was all on you,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “But I never said it was your fault, Jiyan.”

“You never said it wasn’t,” she replied, her voice numb, the weight of the words settling heavily between them.

“Yeah,” he admitted, the truth difficult to swallow. He nodded slowly, his voice laced with regret. “I’m sorry.”

He was looking at her now, his expression searching, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that refused to come together.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry for being such a dick. I didn’t know what to do. I never thought…” He paused, his voice breaking as he swallowed hard to suppress a sob, tilting his head back to look at the sky.

“She really broke us,” he said quietly. “I was—still am sometimes—so fucking angry. At everyone. At the world. At you. At my sister.”

He glanced down, his hand coming up to rub his temples as if to hold himself together. “And then, when you were in the hospital…” His voice cracked, and he pressed a hand over his eyes. “I was part of it too, Jiyan. I should’ve been there. If it weren’t for your mum calling me, I wouldn’t have even known. You didn’t call me,” he said, his voice breaking again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his words.

All the anger he’d unleashed earlier seemed to have drained away, replaced by a quiet, aching exhaustion. Hurt, raw and unguarded, lingered in his expression as he finally looked at her again.

Jiyan hugged herself, trying to swallow all the memories she had avoided confronting for years. “I couldn’t,” she said softly, her voice barely audible. Only then did she realize tears were spilling down her cheeks. “I just couldn’t. I didn’t even have the words to explain how I was feeling. You’d already lost your sister—how was I supposed to tell you that...” Her voice broke, her sobs cutting her off.

A hand settled on her shoulder, pulling her closer. Kareem held her, letting her cry, knowing they had both become experts at avoiding this moment—avoiding admitting how deeply they had failed each other.

“After you got out of the hospital, when you moved in with your mum and refused to see me,” he began, his voice tight with hurt. “When you sent Mika to pick up your things from my flat… I knew, Jiyan. Even before Samyah killed herself, I knew we hadn’t been a couple for years. Even with the open relationship, it was like we were running away from admitting the truth. But the way it ended—it felt like it was all happening again. Like I’d failed all over again.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Kareem. You’re not a failure—you’ve never been,” she said, cursing under her breath as she straightened up.

She ran her hand through her curls, her fingers trembling. “When I was at my mum’s, I just… I shut down. I think I spent a whole month not talking to anyone. I didn’t have the strength to face you. I felt like the failure.”

Kareem looked at her, his hand firm on her shoulder as if to steady her. “What a mess we are, eh?”

Jiyan chuckled weakly, drying her eyes. For the first time in years, she felt like she was standing in front of one of the closest people she’d ever known.

“I know I never said it before, and I’m ashamed that I didn’t. But it wasn’t your fault, Aji. None of it was your fault.”

She said nothing more, just nodded, another wave of tears threatening to spill. She stared down at her shoes, trying to hold herself together.

“Aji…” Kareem said softly.

Jiyan finally met his gaze. And in his face, she saw the echoes of Samyah—the same eyes, the same lips, the same dark curls. She had always thought they shared the same smile, the same spirit. He wasn’t just her older brother; he had been her first boyfriend, her closest confidant, her partner in rebellion. How much had changed.

“I missed you,” Kareem admitted. “Not us being together—” he paused, looking up at the night sky. “But the three of us…”

“It’s hard to imagine anyone else could understand you like that, isn’t it?” Jiyan said, finishing his thought.

Kareem nodded, a small, pained smile flickering across his face. “I know I was the first to disappear,” he admitted. “But when you left—for Ireland, after everything…”

“I thought I’d already lost you, Kari,” she interrupted, taking a deep breath. “After everything that happened, we were both wrecked. And we couldn’t figure out how to face it together. Then, when I ended up in the hospital, I just… I couldn’t anymore. I don’t even remember half of those months. My mum didn’t know what to do with me. Somehow, she convinced the university not to drop me from the PhD program. That was the only thing that kept me going.”

Her voice wavered, but she pushed on. “When the opportunity in Ireland came up, I knew it was an escape. But I needed it. I don’t know how you stayed here, facing all of this every day. I had to run. I couldn’t breathe anymore—I couldn’t stay another day in this place.”

“I’m still not sure why I stayed either,” Kareem admitted, exhaling. “When you left, I wanted to say ‘screw it’ and leave too. But somehow... I didn’t.”

“You’ve always been braver than me,” she said softly.

“Nah,” he teased, his voice lighter for a moment. “Just slower. And terrible with planes. Maybe I could’ve crossed the border to Slovenia, but they’re even more boring than here.”

She chuckled, unsure of what else to say. They stood in companionable silence for a moment, leaning against the wall, watching the street across from them. It was always easy with Kareem in some ways—it always had been. Even when they were hot-headed teenagers, they rarely fought. Between the three of them, Kareem had been the one to pull Jiyan and Samyah out of trouble, the reluctant voice of reason.

In the past few months, as therapy forced her to untangle her emotions, Jiyan had reflected often on her relationship with Kareem. She wouldn’t dismiss what they’d had, but she saw more clearly now that they were always better as friends than as partners. He would always be someone she cared about deeply, and she knew the feeling was mutual. Still, she had to admit—when she left for Ireland, a part of her had been relieved to be single again. The way she’d ended things, though, still weighed on her. Now, seeing that Kareem’s resentment wasn’t about their breakup but the lack of closure, brought her a strange sense of peace.

“So, Ireland?” Kareem asked, breaking the silence.

“Save the jokes,” she said, shaking her head. “I still don’t know how I’m surviving in a place where it rains all the time.”

“And are you happy?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding slowly. “I still have moments when it all comes rushing back, but I’m happy there. It’s easier. What about you?”

“I’m better,” he said after a pause. “Not always, but I’ve been working for an NGO, helping migrants. It’s helped me deal with everything.”

“Wow, Kareem,” she said sincerely, touching his arm. “That’s… wow. I’m so proud of you.” “Always so eloquent,” he teased, his smile wry but warm. “Yeah, well, I had to stop feeling like an asshole at some point.”

She laughed softly, her smile lingering as they let the silence stretch out between them. It felt easy, natural, in a way she hadn’t expected. They’d said more to each other in these few minutes than they had in the entire year following Samyah’s death.

“And the guy? Is he good to you?” Kareem asked suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.

“Cillian?” Her smile softened, spreading across her face.

“Aww, look at you! So, it’s serious, huh?” he teased.

She playfully punched his arm, just as Cillian, as if sensing he was the topic of conversation, stepped out of the pub. His eyes found her immediately. She smiled at him, feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted.

“Yes, it’s serious,” she answered Kareem, still smiling at Cillian, unaware of the look in Kareem’s eyes as he watched her.

Cillian walked over, his concern evident as he approached. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I know I told you to take your time, but I just wanted to check if you’re alright.”

“It’s alright, mate,” Kareem said, attempting a British accent but falling short.

“I’m not British,” Cillian replied, stiffening slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m Persian—not a big fan of the British myself.” Kareem grinned, extinguishing his cigarette against the wall. “Anyway, I should go. I’m already late to meet some friends. I only came to grab some tobacco.”

He turned back to Jiyan, hesitating for a moment before pulling her into a hug. He held her close, the connection between them finally beginning to mend. “Just let me know next time you move, alright? And call me sometimes,” he said in Farsi. Switching to English for Cillian’s sake, he added, “Nice meeting you, Cillian. Next time you’re in town, let’s play pool. We both know Jiyan’s terrible at it.”

“Hey!” she protested, laughing.

“You know I’m right,” he chuckled. “Call me when you’re back on that sunless island, alright? I’ll try to visit—have to see what makes you stay there over Venice.”

With a wink, he shook his curls and pulled up his hood. “Alright, I’m going,” he said with a final smile. “Bye, guys. I see you soon, okay?”

She nodded taking him in and everything that just happened, almost as she just found him again and he was already gone. But she felt lighter, she never expected they could finally sit down and talk about some of what happened.

“Bye, Kareem. Take care, okay?” Jiyan told him.

Kareem just nodded before turning one last time, crossing the street and jogging toward the bus stop on the other road.

“Are you alright?” Cillian asked gently, his voice soft with concern.

Jiyan turned to him, her green eyes puffy and red, their usual spark dimmed by the weight of the evening. Without a word, she stepped closer, seeking the comfort of his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, holding her tightly as if shielding her from the heaviness she always carried.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, his touch a quiet, steady reassurance. He wished he could lift the weight of the past that resurfaced so often, the hurt that lingered beneath her strength. But all he could do was stand beside her, as she faced it all with the fierce resilience he admired so deeply.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—her head resting against his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady and calming. Slowly, she pulled back, her gaze searching his. Their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling, and in that shared closeness, the world seemed to pause. It was just the two of them, finding solace in each other.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she whispered, brushing a light kiss against his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, gently tucking one of her unruly curls behind her ear.

“For being you. For letting us talk… For always knowing how to be here.”

“You do the same for me,” he said simply, his voice warm.

“I hope so,” she replied softly.

“Did it help? Talking with Kareem?”

She paused, reflecting, before nodding. “Yeah, it did. Even if he ran off at the end, we talked, we listened, and we apologised. It’s… a start.”

“He’s important to you,” Cillian said easily. “I’m glad you saw him tonight, even though I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight.” Rising onto her toes, she kissed him again. “Even if I’m glad I met him, I want to enjoy these last moments of peace with you before you go back to being a world-famous actor doing whatever it is you do.”

He groaned dramatically, remembering all too well that their quiet escape was coming to an end. Soon, they’d return to Dublin, where preparations for his next film awaited.

Taking his hand in hers, Jiyan grinned. “How about a walk to the port? I know a spot where it’s not too windy. We can lie down, watch the stars… and if we’re brave enough, maybe even skinny dip.”

Cillian arched a skeptical brow. “No way. You know how much of a baby I am about cold water.”

“It’s summer, Cill…”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s dark, the water’s cold, and who knows what’s lurking in there,” he replied, dead serious.

“Such a scaredy cat,” she teased, laughing as she held him closer, his arm slipping easily around her waist.

Together, they began to walk under the quiet night sky. With Cillian by her side, the air felt lighter, her thoughts less tangled. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jiyan realized she wasn’t running from anything anymore. Instead, she was moving toward something—toward herself, toward peace, toward love. And in that moment, she felt free.

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Thank you so much for taking the time to read. Your feedback, in any form, makes me happy. See you at the next one :)

amazing dividers from cafekitsune

#shadows of the sea #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x oc #cillian murphy imagine #cillian x fem!reader #cillianmurphy #cillian x reader #cillian fic #cillian fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n

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reasonsforhope · 2 years ago

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Toledo City Council just approved a plan to turn $1.6 million in public dollars into as much as $240 million in economic stimulus, targeted at some of the Ohio metro’s most vulnerable residents.

“It’s really going to help people put food on the table, help them pay their rent, help them pay their utilities,” says Toledo City Council Member Michele Grim, who led the way for the measure. “Hopefully we can prevent some evictions.”

The strategy couldn’t be simpler: It works by canceling millions in medical debt.

Working with the New York City-based nonprofit RIP Medical Debt, the City of Toledo and the surrounding Lucas County are chipping in $800,000 each out of their federal COVID-19 recovery funds from the American Rescue Plan Act.

The combined $1.6 million in funding is enough for RIP Medical Debt to acquire and cancel up to $240 million in medical debt owed by Lucas County households that earn up to 400% of the federal poverty line.

“It could be more than a one-to-100 return on investment of government dollars,” Grim says. “I really can’t think of a more simple program for economic recovery or a better way of using American Rescue Plan dollars, because it’s supposed to rescue Americans.”

How It Works

Under the RIP Medical Debt model, there is no application process to cancel medical debt. The nonprofit negotiates directly with local hospitals or hospital systems one-by-one, purchasing portfolios of debt owed by eligible households and canceling the entire portfolio en masse.

“One day someone will get a letter saying your debt’s been canceled,” Grim says. It’s a simple strategy for economic welfare and recovery.

RIP Medical Debt was founded in 2014 by a pair of former debt collection agents, and since inception it has acquired and canceled more than $7.3 billion in medical debt owed by 4.2 million households — an average of $1,737 per household...

Local Governments Get Involved

The partnership with Toledo and Lucas County is the third instance of the public sector funding RIP Medical Debt to cancel debt portfolios.

Earlier this year, in the largest such example yet, the Cook County Board of Commissioners approved a plan to provide $12 million in ARPA funds for RIP Medical Debt to purchase and cancel an estimated $1 billion in medical debt held by hospitals across Cook County, which includes Chicago.

“Governments contract with nonprofits all the time for various social interventions,” Sesso says.

“This isn’t really that far-fetched or different from that. I would say between five and 10 other local governments have reached out just since the Toledo story came out.”

What's the Deal with Medical Debt?

An estimated one in five households across the U.S. have some amount of medical debt, and they are disproportionately Black and Latino, according to the U.S. Census Bureau...

Acquiring medical debt is relatively cheap: hospitals that sell medical debt portfolios do so for just pennies on the dollar, usually to investors on the secondary market.

The purchase price is so low because hospitals and debt buyers alike know that medical debt is the hardest form to collect...

The amount of debt canceled for any given household has ranged from $25 all the way up to six-figure amounts. Under IRS regulations, debts canceled under RIP Medical Debt’s model do not count as taxable income for households...

Massive Expansion Coming Up

After not one but two donations from philanthropist MacKenzie Scott, totaling $80 million, RIP Medical Debt is planning for expansion.

It’s using a portion of those dollars to create an internal revolving line of credit to expand to places where it can find willing sellers before it has found willing funders.

The internal line of credit means the nonprofit now has new, albeit still limited, flexibility to acquire debt portfolios from hospitals first, then begin raising private or public dollars locally to replenish the line of credit later and make those funds available for other locations.

“People often ask, do you only work with nonprofit hospitals, or do you work with for-profit hospitals? And I’m like, I just want to get the debt, regardless of who created the debt. If it’s out there, I want it,” Sesso says.

Fundamentally, they are not solving the issue of medical debt, but easing its pressure from as many lives as possible — while also upping the pressure on lawmakers and the healthcare industry.

“We’re intentionally taking the stories of the individuals whose debt we have resolved, and putting their stories out into the world with intention in a way that tries to push and create more of that pressure to fundamentally solve the problem,” she says.

-via GoodGoodGood, 4/6/23

#toledo #ohio #chicago #cook county #new york #medical debt #healthcare #healthcare access #united states #us politics #debt crisis #debt relief #hospital #nonprofit #good news #hope

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justinspoliticalcorner · 6 months ago

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With his spectacular political instincts, directly after the assassination attempt on his life, Donald Trump told the Secret Service agents surrounding him, “wait, wait”, and raised his fist to the crowd, creating one of the more powerful visual effects of recent times. Right before being swept off stage, he mouthed the words, a message to his supporters, “fight fight.” Fascism is a cult of the leader, who promises national restoration in the face of the supposed threat to the nation of humiliation and destruction by liberals, feminists, LGBT, and immigrants. Treating democracy and its institutions – the press, schools, and the courts - as decadent, weak, and controlled by Marxists, a fascist leader promises to replace them with loyalists to him and his party (a process the Nazis termed “Gleichschaltung”). Despite creating disorder and being themselves utterly lawless, the fascist leader promises to crack down on crime (whether the crime wave is real or imaginary). In the vital framework of Ruth Ben-Ghiat, fascists leaders are typically “strongmen”, whose appeal depends on the desire of the public for a macho leader, who protects the nation’s families from these illusory threats. Since the inception of the theoretical literature on fascism, theorists have connected this politics to the appeal of the ideology of patriarchy. It is exactly what we are witnessing today. The world has recently seen the situation America faces before, and it should serve as a warning. One month before Brazil’s 2018 presidential election, Jair Bolsonaro, the far-right candidate for the election, was stabbed at a campaign rally. Like Trump, Bolsonaro’s candidacy was based on a politics of strutting masculinity, taking as its targets LGBT and crime, promising to place weapons in the hands in the hands of many more Brazilians. The stabbing increased Bolsonaro’s popularity, and made explicit criticism of him difficult for some time. The U.S. election is further away, but we can expect the dynamics to be similar. As always, the rules are different for Democrats than they are for Republicans. Republicans have directed incendiary rhetoric at former House Speaker Nancy Pelosi for years. When Paul Pelosi, Nancy Pelosi’s 82-year-old husband, was beaten on the head with a hammer by a far-right extremist, it was a source of amusement and fun for some Republicans, including Trump himself. The rules may be different for Democrats and Republicans, but those are the ones by which this game must be played. If Trump is to be defeated, it can only be by honestly adhering to norms and principles that Trump has long since torn down. The Democrats must make the case to voters that the election is a choice between these norms, and permanent rule by an explicitly fascist political party. [...] The nation’s media has been busy normalizing fascism, speaking of a second four year term as if Trump eventually stepping down is not just a possibility, but a certainty. The Democrats must make the case, against a Supreme Court committed to the election of Donald Trump, and a press largely already aligning itself to serve, that the allure of dictatorship should be resisted. Violence only makes this task more difficult.

Jason Stanley for Zeteo News on how the assassination attempt on Donald Trump will make the task of stopping Trump and his fascist regime much more difficult (07.14.2024).

Jason Stanley writes in Zeteo News that the assassination attempt against Donald Trump makes stopping him and fascism much more difficult.

#Zeteo #Zeteo News #Opinion #2024 Trump Assassination Attempt #Donald Trump #Assassination #Fascism #2024 Presidential Election #2024 Elections #Jair Bolsonaro

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dom-guilfoyle · 9 months ago

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Okay so (sorry if you've answered this before, Tumblr isn't turning anything up, but the search function is notorioisly...nonfunctioning) I have a question.

I'm trying not to give many dire spoilers to anyone else new, but what are the 'proper' pronouns for the Queen's child? Do the fae even conceptualise them the same way/does it even matter to them? I noticed that Queen usually uses 'they' for their child, but also just kind of goes with the flow well enough, and uses 'he' sometimes when Guide is using 'he' to refer to him. (And, sidenote, I'm p sure they're always or almost always referred to as they themself too. I can't remember if anyone besides Guide refers to any of the other fae using pronouns and not just titles/nomikers, and Guide assumes Stranger is 'he', but is that correct? Or, again, is there even such a thing as 'correct' when it comes to the fae? Is this something they care about? Or, also, could it be something they purposely don't clarify and prefer the ambiguity, because the less people know for certain, well...the less people know! And the less they have over you! That does seem to be how they operate).

And Beast I'm pretty sure referred to them as 'he' a couple times soon after Guide said what ppl at Mistholme knew him as, but usually defaults back to 'she' still, because that's how he remembers his friend.

I'm just interested to know if there's an answer to this, I suppose, and if it will be brought to a conclusion in the show or purposely left ambiguous. I think either way is interesting, as from my questions above, I've been turning this around a lot.

Also, related: was the whole backstory of the Queen's child, with the pulling away from family and finding a place with Beast instead, and then going back only to basically take what they could (what was theirs) and leave again, stay estranged because of the expectations of them they didn't want, plus added in that Beast literally knew his close friend as a girl only for him to be known as a man later in life... was that Supposed to be a trans allegory at inception, or was that just a happy accident? I feel like it's too much to be accidental, but I thought I'd ask. I love it either way and was really taken in by Beast's arc, and I'm very interested to see how it pans out when (if?) they [Queen's child]

Sorry that was so long lol. I've just been bingeing the show the past few days whilst i was working on things and it's been on my mind a lot!

Hey, thanks for listening and also thinking so much about the show!

I've kept things a little ambiguous with regard to the Fae's concept of gender, because it allows for the conflict between the Queen and The Man to be about more than just one thing. It's about gender, but also parental expectations and finding yourself and whatever else it sparks inside you. The Fae are very different from us in a lot of ways, but also a lot like us in others, and that means the story can resonate with our experiences without being a direct allegory.

I was definitely thinking in terms of gender discovery and transness, but from the Queen's perspective we don't even really know if that's part of it at all for them. I wrote the Fae to have a different concept of gender to us because, well, why wouldn't they? And then I've left it a bit ambiguous because explaining everything about something can make it mundane, and I definitely don't ever want the alternatural to be mundane. In my head, the Queen is The Man's only "Parent", they just decided to have an heir and kind of... manifested one? Because that seems like something a Fairy Queen would do. But that's not really important to the narrative, so, no need to include it.

Pronouns for characters are:

Guide: It/Its

The Queen: They/Them

The Man: Tricky. The people in the Museum use He/Him, because that's what they've known him as this whole time and they've never been corrected. They don't know how The Fae relate to gender and they have bigger problems at this point.

The Queen uses They/Them, because The Man is more than just an individual- they're The Heir, they're not a person they're the future, and all of The Queen's expectations made manifest. Sometimes they've said He in front of the Guide, because the Guide has actually interacted with The Man far more recently than The Queen has, and they're like... going along with that? But they always default back to neutral terms.

The Beast still thinks of The Man as their friend, the person they were when they were both cubs. It's very stuck in the past, desperate for a return, and the complexity of the Fae isn't something it understands. Sometimes it uses He/Him, but it's not really sure what it all means.

Stranger: He/Him is probably fine? I think Stranger probably changes it on a whim to mess with people anyway lol.

#mistholme #mistholme spoilers #I hope that makes sense and isn't too rambling

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water-to-drink · 1 year ago

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The Great Vampire King Reawakens

(Pairing): Vampire!Al haitham x gn!reader

(Synopsis): You’re fascination with vampires leads you to explore a recently abandoned mansion and eventually you come face to face with a real vampire

(Tags/Warnings): Reader likes researching the supernatural, blood and gore, reader is chased and harmed, some foul language, Al haitham doesn’t show up until nearing the end, lmk if I missed anything

(Word Count): 2k

(A/n): Spooky season is here so why not start it off with a spooky fic!?

Myths and superstitions have been with mankind since its inception, attempts at explaining what once was unexplainable has always fascinated you. Entities to explain a whole range of natural and unnatural occurrences such as: angels for supposed miracles that might be hallucinations, demons for why people got sick and died without warning. The latter interested you more, especially vampires

You don’t know when you were originally captivated by vampires but you know you had a need to learn about them since an early age, you might have been a priest who would kill supposed vampires that were in actuality regular people at the wrong place and the wrong time

That same interest lead you to where you are now, driving a rented car to a mansion hours away from your house. Said mansion once belonged to a deceased woman who had the same fascination with the supernatural as you do and spent her life collecting items relating to it. Stuff like bones from cryptids or jars containing the organs of werewolves. You aren’t going there with the intention to steal anything, it’s just some normal, harmless urban exploration. You just plan on seeing the woman’s collection, take a few pictures, and leave before it gets too dark out to avoid meeting any unsavory characters

As the mansion gets closer into view you’re completely awestrucked by the magnitude of it. The steer size, the asymmetrical layout, the elaborate gold trim, the steep roofs! It’s the stereotypical spooky mansion and you’re loving it!! The deep purple painted all over the outside and clouds blocking out the sun despite it being mid day just adds to the ambiance!

Upon entering the mansion, you immediately notice how everything is oddly in good condition considering it’s been abandoned for over 20 years. Paint only slightly chipped, wallpaper peeled to show the brick that made up the wall, but a lot of dust bunnies and cobwebs

The rooms aren’t too interesting, just the usual stuff that you would expect in any mansion that was owned by someone with less macabre interest

However the further you notice these strange faded symbols that have been exposed due to the peeling wallpaper. The symbols don’t look like any you’ve seen before, they could be tags from former urban explorers or squatters, but that’s unlikely since ithe mansion looks like no one has been in this house since the owner died due to none of the valuables being taken nor any of the window still in tact. Could these symbols have been painted on when the house of built

After 10 or so minutes walking around you nearly called this journey a failure until you spotted something out of the corner of your eye, a mirror just slight crooked. Something looks odd about it, you don’t know why. It almost feels like you’re being pulled by some invisible force

On closer inspection you notice a little gap between the mirror and the wall. Upon removing the mirror you see a staircase leading to who knows where. Despite the stairs leading to an ominous abyss of darkness, you can’t help but be tempted to head down. A compulsion that feels stronger than mere curiosity, using the flashlight on your phone you walk down the spiral steps and find a massive library that’s in much better condition than the rest of the manor

You’re almost overwhelmed by the steer amount of books, but you decide to start somewhere so you picked up a book about vampires and decide to stick to vampires for the time being. Most of them had information you already knew of and some had new bits of knowledge you didn’t know about, however a good chunk of the books talk about a vampire king from a lost civilization. You had read bits and pieces about an ancient vampire king which you always just chalked it up to people on the internet making up stories so you never really dug further, a vampire king that’s ridiculous, but could there really be a vampire king?

All of these books are dated to be at least 100 years old but that doesn’t mean someone at a later date altered the text to fit some bias they had. So you kept reading and learned that his body was supposedly kept in the mansion when the owner was still alive. After the king’s death his body has been put into the possession of various people throughout the centuries to ensure that his coffin is covered in paper with special protection enchantments in order to prevent him from reawaken and causing havoc upon the world

Okay, maybe you should do some research about this vampire king in the safety of your own home later tonight, now that you think about it what time is it?

You pull out your phone and see it was well past sundown. Damn, you stayed way longer than you originally intended and need to get back to your car

You put the book back and walk out of the room and walk down the hallway humming a song ignorant to the figure looming behind you. An arm extends out to you and puts you in a chokehold, confusion begin to set in until the gleam of a hunting knife flashes in front of your face

“No one’s supposed to be here, but ain’t gonna let a nice catch escape me.” A gruff voice spoke just behind your ear

“I can give you my phone and wallet, just don’t hurt me.” You bargained as you turned your head slightly to catch a glimpse of the man behind you. You can barely see his face, but feel his stubble scraping against your skin like sandpaper

“I don’t want that shit! I want to see what expression that cute face of yours makes when I gut you like a fish.” The space between your neck and the knife slowly lessens as the man’s breathing gets more heavy. “Fuck! I can’t believe my luck finding someone all alone in the middle of no where, god we’re going to have so much fun tonight!”

Without hesitation you swung your leg up and kicked the creep in the balls, he drops the knife and doubles over in pain. Using this opportunity you begin to run away from the potential murderer

“You motherfucker! I’m gonna make you watch as I rip your nails off!” The man shrieked behind you

Terror filled adrenaline quickly flows through your veins and fear clouds your mind just as quickly. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, the only thing on your mind is evade this killer! Your mind doesn’t register your sore feet yelling at you to stop nor does it register that you’re running into the lowest level of the basement. You shut the door behind you leaving you in complete darkness, using the flashlight on your phone you find yourself in some kind of cell. Weird symbols like the ones upstairs are painted on the walls and the floor littered with rotted slips of papers that have similar symbols. The room is completely bare of furniture saved for a rectangular box in the center of the room. Cautiously stepping closer you made your way near the box and tear the paper wrapped around it, finally getting the last few slips off a revolting stench reaches your nostrils. It almost threw up your lunch but you forced yourself to keep it together, you slowly reached for the top and opened the box and saw a dead body

Dried out flesh that lost all of its original color and the most horrifying part is the wooden skate embedded deep in the person’s chest

Dear god. Is that really someone’s body? Why is it here?

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the door slam open

Shit! He found you

The light coming from out the basement obscured your pursuer’s feature’s while highlighting the knife in his hand. You put your arms up in an attempt to shield your face and the knife is stabbed into your forearm causing blood to splatter in various places, unknowingly on the face of the corpse you just revealed

The knife is violently yanked out of your arm and while you try to get out of the way you feel an ice cold hand roughly grabs your wrist and pull it back towards them. Your assailant stops from plunging the knife again and looks at whatever is holding onto your hand. Slowly turning your head your greeted with red glowing eyes staring right back at you, eyes that look vaguely human but contain a primal hunger you would only see from a straved wild animal. The creature slowly brings your arm to it’s face and fans puff of its breath on your wound. An inhumanly long tongue rolls out of the creature’s mouth and proceeds to lick the blood off

The creature reaches for the stake deep within its chest and pulls it out like it was nothing. You watched mortified as the wound in its chest closes up like a horror movie

Finally the creature releases your wrist and turns its attention towards your attacker, standing at full height the being towers over you and the man

“What the fuck are you-” Your attacker was cut off by the dismemberment of his hand

With the creature’s attention diverted away from you, you proceed run out of the basement. Once out of there you take the table beside a window and launch it through, you jumped out from the now broken window and tumbled onto the grass. Trying to get a grasp on where you are, you find yourself in what seems to be the back of the mansion

Shit! This means that your car is farther than you hoped for it to be

Standing up on wobbly legs you begin to make your way to the front and hope you get to your rental before that monster catches you. After what seems to be hours the familiar color of your rental slowly comes into few, a sense of relief washes over you until a wall of dried out vines suddenly appear in front of you, the surprise makes you fall on your butt

“There’s no use in running.” A raspy voice said casually right behind you

You wearily turn your head to be face to face with the monster, but instead of the dried out corpse you saw earlier you’re instead met with a youthful looking man with grey hair and a muscular frame staring down on you. One wouldn’t be wrong to think he’s human and not the monster that cut off a limb with his bare hand, but the red in his eyes and the blood on his clothes and lips reveal that this man is that very same creature you fled from

This is it, you’re gonna die at the hands of an ancient vampire king and afterwards he going on a massacre. You not only caused your own death, you caused the death of your friends and family and hundreds of innocent people

“What’s your name?” He asked voiced raspy from disuse. You give him your name, no used in fighting whatever is in front of you. “Be not afraid, for I won’t harm you.” He says as kneels down to your height and wiped away tears from your face, his hands radiate warmth a complete contrast to when his cold hands grabbed your wrist. “Tell me, what year is it now?”

“It’s 2023…” Each syllable coming out shaky and uncertain, but he seems to be satisfied with your answer

“You freed me from my prison in that casket, and for that I am eternally grateful. To show my gratitude I will offer you a deal.”

“What?”

“You have a desire to know everything about non human entities, so in exchange for my knowledge you guide me through your advanced world.”

What did you get yourself into?

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