#who knows when I'll be able to draw again before the big day!!

[scimagic]

Oh ABSOLUTELY! He's practically my muse, and he can't turn down a perfectly good opportunity to be perceived and admired <3 @yullalightk

[ Outfit Inspo ]

[dcxdpdabbles]

What if Danny went to school with Damian? I’m just imagining them going feral together after a little while, because you know that Danny picks up on Damian’s liminal vibes.

I mostly just want Damien to bring Danny home, and for Bruce to do the headcount thing that Mr. Weasley needed to do in Harry Potter. Just like ‘I could’ve sworn I didn’t have this many this morning’

Damian made a friend.

It shouldn't be as big a deal as his brothers were making it out to be but even he knew that he didn't have the best track record on friendships. It was hard to get along great with the kids in his school.

A lot of them were too carefree, to be unburdened by the things he saw and did on a battlefield and he couldn't stand how loud and messy they all were.

Damian preferred to sit by himself with some headphones in and draw whenever he could get the chance. According to the other children that made him an "emo loser" and a lot of them took great joy in flinging insults and taunts at him.

He never even spoken to them but for some reason, the general populace of Gotham Acadamy deemed him a great target for their scorn. Sometimes Damian wondered if he deserved their taunts, flung paper and spitballs.

If his time in the Leauge of Shadows truly made him broken and wrong as his classmates claimed.

It wasn't like Damian couldn't defend himself. He could have all of them begging for mercy within a minute but to do so would put at risk his Robin identity.

Which then would put his family at risk. Damian would never allow those under his protection to be harmed. So even if it hurt his dignity he allowed some of the more physical bullies to get a few hits in and ducked his head when he walked through the hallways.

His other classmates saw, but no one chose to speak up for Damian Wayne otherwise known as Bruce Wayne's accident on travel and dirty secret. He was the freak. The weirdo. They knew that if they got involved, even if they didn't agree with it, then they would be targeted.

He never expected anyone to step in whenever his bullies found him.

But then again, he came to learn that Daniel Fenton wasn't just anyone. His friend had a heart of gold with a righteous rage that was hardly contained in his smaller body.

It had been three days since Daniel had been transferred to Gotham Acadamy, during their free period. The youngest Wayne had been minding his own business, eating the vegetarian meal prepared by Alfred and drawing a little in his sketchbook when he was surrounded.

Damian had been pushed up against a wall by the meaty hands of the snickering soccer team. They were gripping his shirt collar and Damian had been preparing for a punch in the face when Daniel had appeared out of nowhere.

"Hands!" Danny had shouted pointing at Derek, the captain of the team with a scowl. He was the one who was going to beat Damian up while his friends held Wayne in place. "That's a penalty kick buddy!"

And then Danny kicked Eric- a teenager who was at least a head taller than him- right between the legs. Danny threw his whole body weight into that kick and the captain proved it by choking out a wheeze and falling to the ground.

Before his friends could react, Danny was upon them swinging his lunch tray like a battering ram.

Needless to say, the rest of the soccer team was not impressed, especially the goalie. They abandoned Damian to fight against Danny, who well seemed like he knew his way in a fight, was nowhere near Damian's level of training.

Good instincts but he lacked a solid foundation.

Danny was able to fight off the seven members of the soccer team (the rest didn't really hang out with them during breaks) but he had a lot of wounds as a result.

"Run dude!" Danny had shouted at him, putting himself between the team and Damian. His lip had been busted, he had a black eye and a nosebleed but Danny didn't seem to care. "I'll hold them off!"

Damian was ashamed to admit that he just stood there in shock at the new transfer's behavior. Daniel....was attempting to rescue him. Why?

He hadn't even known Daniel at the time.

The teachers arrived then, dragging everyone to the principal office where Damian was accused of starting the fight and Danny was threatened with being expelled only three days into his move. The soccer team had been smug, while the principal who Damian believed disliked him for his Middle Eastern Blood, seemed to jump at the fact he could smear Damian's name.

Daniel was on scholarship which did not help his chances at all in a school that had legacies.

His father had been away on a mission, so the school had been forced to phone Richard instead. When his brother arrived the soccer team's parents had been throwing a fit about all the hits Daniel had gotten in.

"Mr. Wayne shouldn't have agitated them and Mr. Fenton jumped in unprovoked. ," The Principal said staring Richard down when his brother had loudly demanded to know what happened.

"But he didn't" Daniel cut in. His guardians hadn't arrived yet and had remained mostly silent by the way. The group of parents and teenagers turn to him. "They were the ones to attack Wayne. I hit them unprovoked though. That part is true. They didn't do anything to me, but I can't stand cowards that attack in groups."

"I guess you have proof of this?" Mrs. Skeel sneered. She was Eric's mother and often brides her son out of problems.

"I have a body cam," Daniel reveals pulling out a miniature camera from his tie. He smiles at the dumbfounded stares his actions cause."Recorded the whole thing."

"Can I see the footage?" Richard requested, which Daniel easily handed over. They played it on the Principal's computer and there the camera shows Daniel sitting in the tree that Damian had chosen to sit under. The video captures Daniel watching him up until the soccer team arrives, and their innocence is proven.

Daniel didn't seem to care that he made enemies with almost everyone in that room as Richard quickly took control of the meeting with the evidence. Damian thinks he may not have to worry too much now that the staff were aware that Waynes would and could cut their funding.

Not only that, but the parents were also weary of angering Father. None of this meant that Daniel was safe so Damian took it upon himself to never let the new student be alone for too long.

As a means to protect him.

It wasn't until he realized two months later that school had gone for a dull meaningless pass time to laughter and enjoyment because of Daniel. They walked to class, they shared notes, they passed notes, they watched videos, Daniel chattered about everything and anything and they sent each other funny memes.

Daniel was vastly different from Damian but it didn't seem to bother him. If anything their differences were what made them so close. Daniel claimed that his two best friends back in his old school were vastly different in interest and personalities too.

He had made a friend.

Daniel was his friend.

A friend who didn't seem to mind when he would go quiet to draw or medicate. A friend who didn't need an explanation or justification for his eating habits. A friend he was able to vent about his troubles to and lend an ear to when Daniel faced his own woes.

A person who laughed at all his dark jokes, regardless of how much death was in them. Someone who seemed almost as... what did Todd call him? Feral? as Damian was.

Damian had chosen to invite Daniel to a sleepover. His very first ever sleepover with people from school- Jon held the crown for being the first friend to have a sleepover with him- and he has been ever so excited.

It's childish for someone of his age to show such anticipation for something so small but he couldn't help himself. Something about Daniel was captivating. Almost otherworldly so.

There was something about him that made all of Damian sense buzz but not in a bad way. He isn't sure what it is, but he is getting tired of Drake's and Richard's knowing smirks.

He detested being left out of the loop.

The doorbell rings. Todd makes the motion to stand up, which would be a disaster. He does not want Daniel- a person who swears in old classic book titles to meet his one brother who adores said books and reads them for fun.

Damian flings himself over the couch, using Todd as board. He ignores the shout of rage that his action causes and the hollaring laughter of the rest of Father's brood.

He clears the door before any of the other Wayne members and breaks out into a run. Just in case any of them got the idea of trying to meet Daniel before Damian can control the situation in which it happenes.

Also, he wanted to see Daniel. Spring break felt like an eternity now that he couldn't see his friend every day. He would like to have met up with him since the break started but Daniel's guardian had planned a trip and they only just returned.

He had yet to meet Daniel's uncle but heard a lot of Mr.Clockwork from the teenager. Damian was still unsure if he liked the man. He seemed far too aloof when it came to Daniel.

"Geez Dami, relax! Your boy toy isn't going anywhere!" Brown cackles

"Give him a big smooch!" Drake adds, his laughter echoing Brown's

I will deal with them later. Damian swears, fixing his hair from where it had fallen out during his run. He checks his reflection in the mirror by the doorway. He wants to look good for his first ever school friend's sleepover.

Damian had picked his best outfit, wearing his favorite jeans and black button-down. He accessorized with silver rings and chains, grateful Jon had been willing to facetime to give him the modern teenager stamp approval.

Once he is satisfied that his appearance is at its utmost best, he opens the door.

"Hi, Dami!" Daniel chirps. He is wearing a faded pair of jeans and a white shirt with a red dot in the middle. It's nowhere near Damian's stylish and well-put-together often, and yet he looks as beautiful as a grace nymph outside the school uniform.

Damian mind goes blank for only a second before he nods. "Daniel.Welcome. This is Wayne Manor. I live here for I am a Wayne."

For I am a Wayne!? Damian thinks to himself in horror unsure why those words hand tumbled out of his mouth. A wave of shame washes over him as Daniel curiously looks around with that pleased little half smile on his lips.

Daniel is always half smiling as if he heard a joke only he was privy to.

"This place is cool!" Daniels says spinning around to face him and missing Father stumbling out of the living room. Damian is unsure why the man had return so soon, as he thought Batman would be off-world for another week at the least with Flash.

His father looked dead on his feet, eyes half open as he walked up to Daniel and yanked him into a hug!?

"Oh," Daniel says pressed up to Father's chest. "Hello?"

"Hi, son." Father mutters. He squints down at his friend with bloodshot eyes. " Did you get smaller Timmy?"

"Father!" Damian shouts outraged while the rest of his so-called siblings come spilling out of the other sitting room.

"Bruce!" Drake shouts a wide grin on his face. "I'm over here."

"Wha-? Then who is this?" Father blinks slowly, one eye closing before the other, as he tilts his head. He has yet to realese Daniel, though his part his friend seems content with the embrace seeing as he had returned the gesture. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.....ten? Do I have ten children?"

"You only have nine" Thomas calls out helpfully. Father nods, then counts again, pointing one finger at the people in the room

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine" He looks down pointing at Daniel. "Ten. Why are there ten of you?"

"That's a son-in-law, old man"

"No. I could have sworn none of my children are married......Dick you're not married are you?"

"Not yet B."

"Jason?"

"Trying to find a finger to put a ring on it Old man."

"Cassandra?"

"No thank you."

"Tim?"

"Ew."

Daniel giggled at Drake's response and Damian felt the sudden urge to bury a knife in Drake's side.

"Steph?"

"Nah."

"Duke?"

"I'm too young B."

"Cullen?"

"I can't even get a date, Bruce"

"Harper?"

"Inability to get dates run in the Row family tree."

Father nodded then. "Good none of my children-"

"What about Dami?" Daniel asks with a wide grin. Both his friend and Father turn to stare at him. Damian suddenly feels himself sweating through his shirt.

"Damian? You aren't married?

"Of course not!" He denies it loudly and faces an unconformable red. Daniel cackles like the devil he is.

Father meanwhile continues to hug Daniel while muttering. "Then where did ten come from? Alfred? Why are there ten children in my house?"

"Master Bruce if you do not let that young man go and go see Dr.Thompkins for that concussion I swear, heads will roll!"

Damian is grateful that once again Alfred seems to be the only one with a brain in this manner.

"I like it here," Daniel proclaims watching the butler drag away his confused father. Damian is utterly unprepared for the look that his friend shoots him from under his eyelashes, and he almost trips over his own two feet as he says. "Show me to your room?"

"I...of course! This way! I live here!" Curses his voice cracked. It ended in a squeak! He, Damian Wayne son of the Bat and Demon, made a fool of himself by squeaking!

"This is better than a daytime tv sitcom." Row- the male one- snickers from the stairway and Damian flips him off as he passes by with Daniel.

[deoidesign]

How I save time on backgrounds as a full-time webcomic artist

Hi! I make webcomics for a living, and I have to be able to draw a panel extremely fast to keep up with my deadlines. I draw about 50 panels a week, which gives me about 45 minutes per panel if I want any semblance of a healthy work-life balance.

Most webtoon artists save time on backgrounds by using 3d models, which works for them and is great! but personally I hate working in 3d... I went to school for it for a year and hated it so much I completely changed career paths and vowed never to do it again! So, this is how I save time without using any 3d, for those of you out there who don't like it either!

This tactic has also saved me money (3d models are expensive) and it has helped me converting my comic from scroll format into page format for print, because I have much more art to work with than what's actually in the panels. (I'll touch on this later)

So, first, I make my backgrounds huge. my default starting size is 10,000 x 10,000 pixels. My panels are 2,500 pixels wide, so my backgrounds are 4x that, minimum. Because of this, I make them less detailed than I could or that you might expect so it doesn't look weird against my character art when I shrink portions of it down.

I personally find it much easier to add in detail than to make "removing" details look natural at smaller sizes, but you might have different preferences than I do.

I also make sure to keep all of my elements on separate layers so that I can easily remove or replace them, I can move them to simulate different camera angles more easily, and it's simple to adjust the lighting to imply different times of day.

Then I can go ahead and copy/paste them into my episodes. I move the background around until it feels like it's properly fitting how I want.

Once I've done that in every panel, I'll go back through the episode and clean up anything that looks weird, and add in solid blacks (for my art style) Here's a quick before and after of what that looks like!

This makes 90% of my backgrounds take me just a few hours. This is my tactic when I'm working in an environment that an entire scene, or multiple scenes, will take place.

But many panels will inevitably have a location that's used exactly once, and it would waste time and effort to draw a massive background for those. So in 10% of cases, I just draw the single panel background in the episode. I save all of these, just in case I can re-use it later (this happens more often with outdoor locations, but I save them all nonetheless!)

I generally have to draw about 2 big backgrounds per episode, and 3-5 single-panel backgrounds per episode! At the beginning of an arc/book the number is higher, but as the series is continuing and I'm building up an asset library of indoor and outdoor elements to re-use for the book, the number generally goes down and I save more time.

My series involves time travel and mysteries, so there's a lot of new locations in it and we're constantly moving around. If I were working on a series that was more consistent in this aspect, this process would save me even more time!

Like I said earlier, this also saves me a lot of pain and gives me a lot more options as I'm converting from scroll format to print format!

panels that look like this in scroll format...

can look like this in print!

because I drew the background like this, so I didn't need to go through the additional effort to add in the extra detail to expand it outwards at all.

Anyways, I hope this helps someone! As always if it doesn't help, just go ahead and disregard. This is what I do and what works for me, and I feel like I only ever see time-saving tips for comics that involve 3d models and workflows, which don't work for me at all! I know there's more people like me out there, so this is for you!

Enjoy!

Also obligatory "my webcomic" if you want to see this in action or check it out!

[plussizefantasia]

Revenge

Flufftober Day 18: Teacher AU

literature teacher!Loki Laufeyson x math teacher!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

AN: I actually love this one so much. I also just realized that we are over halfway done with Flufftober which is kind of sad. Anyway, we've got 13 more days left and I'm looking forward to the plans I have for each one. If you liked this story please reblog and I'll see y'all tomorrow.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

You are going to kill him. You are going to murder that man. You stayed after your last class yesterday so that you would be able to draw out the problems that your students would have to solve for class today. Now, written right on top of your trigonometry diagrams were the words:

“Mathematics may be defined as the subject in which we never know what we are talking about, nor whether what we are saying is true. -Bertrand Russell”

Written in the ever so familiar scrawl of the Literature Teacher, Mr. Laufeyson. Loki was a nice guy, a great teacher, and at times, a giant pain in your ass. You have no idea how this little feud of yours got started but you are certain that it has escalated beyond what it once was.

At the start, it was just funny little jokes between the two of you. He had once stolen all of the red pens that you used to grade your student’s quizzes and when you went to go look for them, they had all been taped together in one big ball and were sitting in your “Math is Fun” mug that you kept in the teacher's lounge. That was annoying and you also had no real way of knowing who had done it. Until he had brought it up the next day and asked how grading had gone.

You had retaliated by going in early the next morning and moving all of the furniture in his classroom an inch to the left. It had thrown him off just enough that he had tripped on his rug during a lecture and faceplanted. All of your students were talking about it two periods later when they arrived in your class and you were all smiles for the rest of the day.

So far, there has not been any lasting damage, and all of your coworkers find it more amusing than annoying which is a good thing because neither of you wanted to get the administration involved. 

You were not amused by the board graffiti you had found when you came in your class this morning, and while you were re-drawing the problems he had ruined you were thinking of how you could get back to him later that day.

Your plans for revenge had to be put on the back burner as students started filing into your classroom. Half of them looked so tired that you genuinely thought they might fall asleep at their desks and the others looked entirely too frazzled for 7:30 in the morning.

It wasn’t until after you had had your lunch break that an idea had come to you about a way to get back at Loki. You grabbed the pile of graded quizzes from your desk, ones that you were able to grade in red pen thank you very much, and started making your way upstairs to where Mr. Laufeyson’s class was located.

You knew that he was teaching his British Literature elective right now, as it was fifth period. You also knew that most of the kids in that class were also in your Calculus class at the end of the day.

You didn’t wait for very long before pulling open the door to his classroom and waltzing right in with a smirk across your face.

“Good Afternoon Mr. Laufeysoon, pardon the interruption but I have some quizzes I need to give back to some students ASAP.” Without waiting for a response you began walking up and down the rows of desks in his class passing out the graded quizzes to your very amused students. You noticed that he had stopped talking when you had walked into the room and hadn’t started up again. “Go ahead,” you had told him, “don’t want to waste valuable teaching time.” You continued to pass out the papers, all while trying to not burst out laughing at the look on his face.

“Um, yes right. Well as I was saying. Shakespeare was a minor god of his time. His ability to-”

“Hey Derek, I wanted to talk to you about this question that you got wrong, would you be able to stay a little bit after our class to talk about it.” You sent a small wink to Derek and put a finger to your mouth to indicate that he shouldn’t say anything. “I just don’t want to waste any class time going over it today, we have a lot to cover.” Derek just nodded and you could see his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

“Are you done?” Loki asked, slanting his hips to one side and placing the hand not holding his open book on them. “Because I have a class to be teaching right now.” He lifted his eyebrows and you acquiesced. You wanted to mess with him, not ruin his whole class plan for that day.

“Yes, I’m done. Thank you for letting me hand those out.” You smiled sweetly at him and began walking back out of his room. Just barely hearing his mutter of “I didn’t let you do anything.” As you passed by him.

Mission accomplished you headed back down to your classroom and started gathering up the things you would need to teach the next period. You didn’t expect that he would have the time to be able to get you back today. But you were for sure expecting some kind of retaliation the next day.

It wasn’t until your last period that you were proven wrong. Everything seemed normal, your students filled in slightly ansty as it was the last period and everyone was ready to go home. They all pulled out their work and started on the problems you had written on the board. 

It wasn’t until you started calling on them that you realized what you had opened yourself up to.

You called on Derek first, he was one of the more academically inclined students you had but he was shy about answering in front of the class. You knew he had gotten the answer right, you had looked at his work before you called them all back to focus. But what you weren't expecting was for him to give you his answer in eh most god-awful British accent you had ever heard.

“I doth believeth that the answer to this problemeth is 42.3”. You were baffled. You had no idea what was going on and the fact that Derek had said all this with such a straight face made you think you were having some kind of hallucination episode in the middle of class. But instead of mentioning it you just decided to move on.

“Oh-kay. Um… Samantha what did you get for number 2.”

Again you were met with an awful accent and weird olde- english phrasing.

“Yes, Madame, the answereth I haveth arrived at was X equaleth 110”.

Now that you knew you weren’t just having a breakdown and something was actually happening you didn’t hold yourself back.

“What is happening right now? I don’t- why are you guys being so weird.”

You were met with utter silence, which was rare in your classroom of 23 teenagers. But you didn’t move on. You stared each of them down, focusing a little harder on trying to get the weak ones to crack. Finally, it was Abigail who let the cat out of the bag. She was sweet, but notoriously bad at keeping secrets.

“Mr. Laufeyson said he would give five bonus points to anyone who used a bad accent in your class today.” She let out in all one breath, “More points if you spoke like someone out of Shakespeare.”

You ran your tongue across the front of your teeth. “Did he?” You let out a sort of incredulous laugh and shook your head a little. “Well then, bonus points on the next quiz to whoever can steal the marble apple off his desk and bring it to me tomorrow.” Your students all began to laugh a little bit and some had a look of extreme determination across their faces at your words.

Your class continued sans silly accents and you sent your students home for the day without any homework. As you started cleaning up your desk, putting your laptop in your bag, and grabbing your sweater off the back of your chair you were interrupted by the voice of your arch-nemesis.

“You are positively wicked.” Loki was leaning up against the frame of the door to your classroom, his jacket also on his arm and his messenger bag slung across his shoulders.

“You started it with the Russell quote on my board. You knew how much time I put into drawing those problems.”

“Admit it, it made you smile when you saw it.” He began to cross across the room towards your desk,

“Maybe, but what really almost made me lose it laughing was Samantha’s horrible British accent.” You looked up at him and let out a small laugh at the memory. “So maybe, Mr. Laufeyson, you are the wicked one.”

“I might be, Mrs. Laufeyson but you were the one who married me.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” You chuckled once again and leaned up to place a kiss upon your husband’s lips.

“May I ask what plans you have concocted to get back at me tomorrow Darling?” He asked.

“You’ll just have to wait and see for yourself tomorrow, Love.”

[splitster]

answering more POM WRAITH au/Pingo asks!!

featuring: biology questions, creatures, dingo (unfortunately), and more!! check it out ↓↓

she does need sleep! she doesn't need to sleep as often as people, but she's a little wraith and she needs to snooze every like... i dunno. three days? sure, let's go with that.

although in the first few days of her being on PNF404, i could see her getting bored one night and poking around her crewmate's rooms to see what they're doing (spoilers: they're all just sleeping). in the morning after, dingo talks about a very bizarre dream he had with a specter watching him sleep! everyone dismisses it as the ranger having some weird sleep paralysis, but pom's sweating at the table thinking about how she should be way more careful if she does that again.

this ask did inspire me though, i'll probably make more art explaining how she works sometime later hehe...

that'd be scary... although, if there's anyone incentivized to wraithify olimar, it'd probably be the plasm wraith! that golden goo is really fond of him, and they'd love to make olimar just like them

WAHH THANK YOU!!! if they ever dated and got married they'd be able to save on a dress! hehe

she might look kinda scary but she's a sweetheart!! pom would genuinely struggle to make herself hurt humans. if there's a beast threatening her crew though -- that thing is mince meat!!

WAAAHHH THANK YOU!! it's definitely a challenge to make it fit with the other wraiths but still be unique... it was fun to design though!!

IM SORRY i didn't get to your ask before i actually posted the full wraith design... there she is though!! HILAHERHLIAEERH

yes!! he's the first one to discover her secret. it'd probably happen on accident out on the field pretty early on when pom is forced to defend herself with no pikmin, but it's no difference to Oatchi -- pom is pom! he'd bark and give her helmet a lick, and when pom realizes her rescue pup isn't scared of her it's quite the relief...

i have art of oatchi and wraith pom i'll be posting later!!

WAHHH... this is cute i like this hehe!! dingo sees those striking X eyes and still falls in love!! GRRRR i must draw more pingo now...

AUGH.... OK!! more pingo on the way then boss 🫡 (i do appreciate it though lmao)

she doesn't need to eat human food, but she does need to consume living creatures for biomass! human food is definitely delicious and she very much enjoys things like chocolate or hot coco, but to sustain her form and keep up energy she has to go for creatures

i'll probably make art for this later to explain better, but it is kinda like an amoeba -- after killing something, she can cover it and dissolve it with her goo. easy peasy!

Louie: You're a wraith? I thought you were just weird like me Pom: ... Louie: ... Can you go get creatures for me

pom is trying her best to understand human social cues and etiquette but it's a struggle sometimes!

i took psychic damage from this ask thank you for penis ringo💖

YES!!!!!!!!! there are so, so many ways that could happen and each one is hilarious... i've written out a few different scenarios, i should pick one to draw out... it'd be funny if dingo learns her secret but decides to trust her and keep it safe. but he's, you know. dingo. he's not good at lying, especially to his crewmates (and especially to his actual childhood friend of a doctor who was already very suspicious of the new blood!)

of COURSE i'm very abnormal about those two.... actually if y'all have scenarios you wanna see with those two, send more asks and i'll probably end up drawing them lol

that's actually a really good question! i haven't thought too much about how her full wraith would visually change, but if she ate enough and got stronger i imagine she'd finally be as big as the other two. she'd probably gain more wraithy abilities and attacks! trying to take down a powered up full wraith pom would be a very difficult fight, even for those with the best dandori skills and a full squad of pikmin

Pom: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Shepherd: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Collin: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Dingo: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Yonny: this is gonna be fun Bernard: (doesn't care if people find out) Russ: (doesn't care if people find out) Oatchi: bark

[manias-wordcount]

Hi! I love your Tamaki (OHSHC)/reader stuff, so I was wondering if I could request one. I'd love to have a fic where Tamaki and reader are married and reminiscing about their high school days, thinking about how they fell in love at Ouran all those years ago. Maybe reader frequented the host club or they had classes together, up to you. I just want some lovey-dovey fluff. ♡

Also, I don't really have a preference for reader's gender since I use both she/her and he/him pronouns, so you can make it gender neutral if you want, I'll leave that to your discretion. (I kinda love Tamaki calling reader his wife or husband though. Lmao)

Thank you for taking the time to read my request! Let me know if you want any more details or anything from me, but I'll leave my silly little prompt in your capable hands. Thank you! ♡

Photograph (Tamaki Suoh x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼! 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲 :)

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Your lives are busy. There’s no doubt about it. 

  Sometimes it’s you, running up and down the country. Sometimes it’s him, living at his private airport between flights. Sometimes it’s you who has to be up and out before breakfast. Sometimes it’s him who only makes it home in time to crawl into bed beside you when you’re good and fast and asleep. And sometimes you can go a couple of days with only listening and leaving voicemails because no matter what you do or when you call, the other person always misses that call you were only able to shave out three minutes to have.

  But sometimes, it all goes away. If you’re lucky, it’s a week. You’re hitting the lottery if it’s a month. But you’re counting your blessings if you can score just a few days with no work and no responsibilities calling your name. And in those days? You like nothing more than to be close to him. And he likes nothing more than to be close to each other. So how do you remedy it? It’s simple.

  You’ll ask to be left alone in the great big house that you share with enough food to last you these next couple of days. You’ll curl up to him on the couch, dressed in nothing but your pajamas. And he’ll hold you tight and hold you close beneath the blankets and in front of a warm, warm fire. And you’ll smile so sweetly when he takes your hand in his and places gentle kisses around the wedding ring that he gave to you- the one that has been in his family for generations. And you’ll tell him how he’s distracting you from looking at the picture book again.

  The one that his closest high school friends made for the two of you just in time for your wedding. 

  “Aww, Tamaki~” You coo at him when a moment you remember very clearly crops up in the album. He doesn’t respond at first- too busy pressing tiny kisses against your skin and cuddling around you even more in that cuddly fashion of his. But that doesn’t stop you from studying the current picture in your hands. “We looked so long back then. Do you remember this?”

  As expected, it’s a picture of the two of you in the infamous Music Room number three. And it’s one of the better ones taken with Kyoya’s hidden cameras when he was first getting into that sort of thing if you recall correctly. The club wasn’t set up to run that day, and so the curtains were drawn closed in a way that let very little light in. But it did, however, manage to spotlight the two of you as you lingered by a beautiful grand piano. 

  The one that currently sits in your drawing room just down the hall and to the left.

   In the photo, you’re standing on the side of the piano bench Tamaki is sitting on, your old flute in hand. The still image of you has your gaze trained on the sheet music propped up in front of you as your fingers press down experimentally on a few of your keys. However, the Tamaki in the image isn’t looking at the music. Nor is he looking at his piano. No, instead he’s looking up with such an adoring expression captured on his face. 

  An expression that he has simply because he’s looking at you. 

  “Of course I do,” the Tamaki in your arms suddenly murmurs. His voice is soft, and the corners of his lips are twitching upwards to showcase an even softer smile to you as he eyes the photo in your hands. The recognition is in his eyes instantly, and it feels nice to once again feel validated by the man you love so much. To see that the moments you found special all those years ago ended up being special for him too. “It’s our first time practicing for our duet. I was so nervous that day.”

  You smile a bit wider as he reveals the exact occasion for the picture. But then you stop for a second and think for a moment. 

  “You were nervous?” You asked with a slight laugh and a raised eyebrow evident in your voice. You recall being quite a bit nervous about the performance that ended up being scheduled a couple of weeks later. But you also recalled being excited at the chance of working with the great Tamaki Suoh and hearing him play piano for you. But it sounded like your then duet-partner, now husband had a slightly different experience “For our…practice?”

  “Of course!” He exclaims as he turns towards you. You’re very suddenly met with a face full of violet-colored eyes and blonde hair as an impassioned Tamaki decides that now is the perfect time for a deeper dive into the story of the two of you. But it’s not like you can deny him the simple pleasure of telling you a story. Not when his eyes shine so brightly like that. “You only knew as a host back then, so I knew I would never get you to like me back if I didn’t impress you!”

  At his words, your mouth parts open in surprise. It takes you a couple of moments to process just exactly what you heard. And it takes you a couple more seconds after that to fully understand the implications of what he just said. And now in your mind, you’re pulling up a timeline in your head. Recalling core memories and feelings and events that shaped who you are as a person. Who you are to Tamaki. And when you’ve gotten every

  “Tamaki…” You call out very slowly, resisting the urge to melt on the spot as he tilts his head curiously at you. Your eyes drag along his face- looking at the man you’re in love with. And recalling all the subtle changes you’ve witnessed as the two of you grew older and older in your relationship together. There are small changes you can see. Little bits and pieces here and there. Signs that he’s grown from the silly, energetic, and oh-so-dramatic teenage boy that you first met. Signs that you know exist in you too in their own little way. Showcasing your growth in both big and small ways. But it makes you wonder about all the little things you might have missed. The little things that you might have passed over. All the little things that were right in front of you, and you just never knew. “That was in our first year…”

  And you decide that there’s no time like the present to ask.

  “Mhm.” Tamaki agrees easily. Eagerly even. Though the smile on his face gleams with the familiar look of nostalgia. Showing you that there was always more to the story than you knew from the beginning. And so you press onwards. And you asked the question that you should asked a long, long time ago. And that dear, sweet husband of yours?

  “Have you…liked me since then?”

  He smiles at you.

  He holds you tight, presses his lips to the ring on top of your finger, and he smiles at you. The bright, big Tamaki smile that makes you feel so warm and safe and soft. That bright, big Tamaki smile that makes you feel so adored and cherished and loved. 

  “My dear…”

  That bright, big Tamaki smile that you learned to fall in love with all those years ago.

  “...I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

[graves4girls]

★ scary love | könig

✩ summary: you get a little too overzealous during a sparring match. ✮ word count: 1.8k ⚠︎ warning(s): fem!reader in luv with soft könig ✧ be sure to check out my work on ao3 ⇢ gravesforgirls !!

Your body hits the padding below you with an echoing thud, eyes screwing shut at the impact. You choke on air as you try to breathe in, chest heaving as your hand flails to tap against his bicep. His grip loosens, sitting back on his heels as he stares down at you.

"Remind me…to never ask you to use your full strength…ever again." You fight for even breaths, hands falling out to starfish on the mat as he stands up.

"Noted."

He holds out a hand to you, and you take it without hesitation. He yanks you to your feet with ease, and you almost lunge into his chest as you jump up.

"You've got a lot of practice ahead of you. You're not nearly quick enough."

You nod with a huff, hands resting on your hips as you pant. He hasn't even broken a sweat, and you hate him for it. It's like child's play to him, while you're already sore all over.

He steps back, hands on his knees as he crouches a bit. "You ready?"

You crack your neck, shaking out your arms before crouching yourself, nodding. "As I'll ever be."

You're pinned beneath him, one of his big arms nestled under your chin, the other bending your arm back in a way that should not be possible, when a quiet knock sounds out behind you. Honestly, you almost don't hear it over the sound of your jagged breaths. You attempt to lift yourself off the mat, but his strong grip keeps you still.

"Let go." You grab at the juncture between his forearm and bicep, squeezing a bit when he doesn't let up.

"You haven't tapped."

You roll your eyes, tapping his elbow. He drops your head, sitting on your lower back instead. You turn your head to find the giant of a man standing in the threshold, giving him a small smile.

"We're almost done, if you need the space."

"No, I just wanted to talk with her, but I don't want to interrupt your training any more than I already have. Please, continue." He steps back, disappearing behind the doorway.

"Wait, König! Get off me, you're so heavy." You push at his side, not nudging him even an inch.

He gives a quiet chuckle as he stands, pulling you up by your biceps. You brush off his big hands, pushing through the heavy door. You're met with nothing, no König anywhere in sight. How he gets so far in such little time still baffles you. You groan as you walk back into the room, wandering to the pile of your belongings.

"Done for the day?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna need a chiropractor, now."

You jump a bit when you pull your door open to be met with an all too familiar hood, laughing off the shock when you realize who it is.

"Don't be stalking my door like that. You're lucky I didn't hurt you."

He snickers a bit, shoulders jumping. "I don't think you would do much damage, no offense."

You give him a look of mock hurt, swatting at his chest. "I take full offense to that. You don't think I could take you down?"

You try to size him up, puffing your chest a bit and drawing your eyebrows together.

"I don't mean to bring your hopes down, maus, but if you weren't able to take Ghost down, I don't know how you'll fend against me. I do admire your confidence, though. Truly."

Your shoulders drop, forehead falling to land softly against his chest in defeat.

"If you'd like, I can practice with you. Give you some tips."

You perk up at the suggestion, beaming up at him.

You grunt as you land on your stomach, letting your head drop to the mat with a sigh. He's looming over you, elbows digging into your back. He lets go before you can give the signal, kneeling onto the pad beside you.

"Are you okay? That wasn't too hard?"

You give him a weak smile, throwing up a quick thumbs up.

"Ghost is way harder on me than you are. You actually care about my bones staying intact."

He helps you to your feet, big hands holding your shoulders for a moment before he draws back.

"One more time. Do it full strength. I can take it."

His posture falters, tilting his head a bit. "Are you sure, maus? The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

You nod quickly, stretching your arms over your head. "I'm positive."

When he barrels towards you, you're telling yourself you're ready. You can take him. He's only like a foot taller than you. And nearly a hundred pounds heavier… What you're not ready for is the way your head slams back into the mat, knocking the air out of your lungs as his full body weight collides with your significantly smaller frame. Your head spins and you feel light-headed. The lights are suddenly far too bright, and your hands come up to cover your eyes, wheezing out shallow breaths as you lay there, unmoving. He shoots up, big hands grabbing at your cheeks to hold your face in his hands.

"O Scheiße! Are you okay? I knew I shouldn't have listened to you. I'm so sorry, maus." He apologizes profusely, eyes wide as he stares down at you.

You squint up at him, letting a hand settle over his own. "Don't apologize. I'm fine…" You shake your head a bit, wincing at the migraine that is quickly washing over you. "Just…give me a second."

He reluctantly lets you go, standing up and rushing to grab your water bottle, cursing when he finds it empty. He paces around the room, muttering to himself as you slowly lift yourself up onto your elbows. You cringe at the sound of the hinges when the door creaks open.

"What happened in here?"

His gruff voice sounds out over König's rambling, and you sigh.

"I told him to hit me with his full strength. You know how the rest goes."

"I thought you learned your lesson when I tackled you to the floor last week. Did you forget or…?"

You roll your eyes, sitting up and whining when your head throbs. "If you're just gonna scold me, go away. I don't need another headache."

He scoffs quietly, ambling over to you and pulling you up slowly. You lean into his shoulder, wobbling a bit as you find your balance.

"I'm gonna bring you to the infirmary. C'mon."

You groan, but let him pull you along, looking back briefly to catch a glimpse of König crouching with his head in his hands. You sigh, patting the arm that's wrapped around you.

"Please let him know it's not his fault. I know how upset he can get."

He only nods, leading you down the hall.

When you stir awake you're wrapped up in your sheets, a glass of water left on your bedside table and an icepack on your forehead. You toss the now lukewarm packet onto the table, pushing the covers off of you to stand from the mattress. You slip on some shoes and pad out the room, wandering down the hall. You turn the corner to find Ghost with his back to you, and you tap his shoulder.

"Where's König?"

"What are you doing? Go lay down. You have a concussion. You need to rest."

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "I need to talk to him. Where is he?"

He shrugs, mimicking your posture. "Don't know. Did you try..I don't know, maybe his room?"

You shove his shoulder as you walk past him, earning a quiet laugh.

You knock at the door, sighing when you don't get a response. You knock once more, firmer this time. When only silence follows, you bang your fist against the wood.

"König, open the door, please."

You wait another moment before the handle jiggles, dropping your fist as the door swings open.

"Why are you here, maus? You shouldn't be up and moving around."

You smile at him, pushing into the room and footing the door closed behind you. "I know, I know. Ghost said the same thing. I just wanted to see you. Make sure you're okay."

He gives you an incredulous look, cupping your face in his big hands.

"You're the one who was hurt. Why are you consoling me?"

Your hands wrap around his wrists, squeezing gently. "I know you feel bad. You know it's not your fault, right? I know you get lost in your own head."

His eyes drop to your hands, fingers twitching against your warm skin at your words.

"It is not your fault. I'm okay. I'm a big girl. I can take a few blows."

You try to reassure him, stepping closer. He gives a half-hearted nod, letting his hands move to the back of your head. Your own hands slide down his forearms, settling against the strong muscle.

"I just don't want you to be scared of me. I can't stand the idea of hurting you bad enough to the point you don't want to be near me anymore."

Your hands reach to wrap around his broad shoulders. "I will never be scared of you. And you're never gonna hurt me so bad I wouldn't want to be around you. Mainly because next time we spar, I'm gonna beat your ass."

You grin up at him, leaning into his chest as he lets out a small chuckle.

"Is it okay if I lay down here instead of my room? It's lonely over there."

He nods, hands dropping to let you crawl into his bed, patting the sheets beside you. He slowly slides in next to you, awkwardly sitting against the headboard as you nestle into the sheets. You drape an arm over his waist, resting your cheek against his side as you let out a small sigh.

"Get comfortable. You're making me anxious. C'mere."

You scoot back to let him lay down completely, hugging his arm against you as you look up at him. One hand reaches out to toy with the fabric of his hood, pinching the material between your fingertips.

"Can I take this off?"

You smile when he gives you a small hum of approval, tugging it over his head to reveal that pretty, scarred up face.

"There you are. I missed seeing you."

Your hand cups his chin, pressing a small kiss to his lips. He melts into your touch, big hands finding your hips. When he ushers you to straddle his hips you draw back, grinning.

"Slow down, big guy. I still have a concussion."

He's quick to spit out apologies, shaking his head.

"It's okay. I'll make it up to you when my brain heals. For now, let's just relax. I think we both need to just lay here and calm down a little."

You let your cheek fall to his chest, draping your arm over his ribs as you let your eyes close.

"You know I love you, right? Cause I do. A lot."

You feel his strong arms wrap around you, keeping you close.

"I know, maus. Ich liebe dich mehr denn je."

[semisolidmind]

@fattyskeleton

(so the last bad end wukong post was a sort of swap au, i guess? it spawned from a post before it in which mac takes swk's place on the journey protecting the monk, because swk is a bad guy here. like, one of the big bads. like maybe "the buddha wasn't able to catch him at all" kinda bad)

but I really REALLY like your idea here, so

(let's preface with some backstory. summed up, reader and wukong were sorta married? but it was juuuust a little bit against her will? and he kinda forced her to drink an immortality elixir? and macaque, one of wukongs closest friends and a general in his army, becomes closer and befriends reader. wukong isn't cool with that, attacks macaque over it (cool but traumatizing eye scar), mac is determined to get away from wukong and take reader with him. wukong gets even more power, goes crazy, goes up against heaven, gets trapped under a mountain for it.)

reader has (kinda??) gotten used to immortality (not like she had anyone mortal in this world to be sad over), she and macaque have gotten comfortable living together in their little hideaway on a far-off mountain, everything is going okay...there's been no sign of the monkey king since his rampage through heaven. macaque has assured her; he's safely trapped under a sealed mountain, and there's noone dumb enough to remove the seal.

until tripitaka.

the mountain splits in half, the sound echoing across the land. miles away, tending to her garden....

...reader feels a chill down her spine.

(in this timeline guanyin put the golden fillet on wukong immediately cause there's no way this iteration wouldn't try to kill and eat tripitaka on sight. )

so, sometime later, the pilgrims arrive. macaque is stunned, how did he NOT hear them coming? how did he not know?! now his greatest enemy is free and, and– actively helping the tang monk? wukong seems calmer than he remembers, but it's obvious how much he's straining against the leash the monk has him on. the deadly aura radiating off the monkey king is enough to make macaque nauseous. he not-so-subtley places himself in front of reader when he greets the pilgrims. but...it's too late to hide her. if the small intake of breath he draws is any indication, wukong has already noticed her presence.

reader freezes when their eyes meet. no, no, he was supposed to be trapped, he wasn't ever supposed to get out! she sees his pupils dilate, his smile stretch to expose his fangs.

"Peach! Its so good to see you again. I was worried the elixir hadn't worked, but here you are! Beautiful as ever." he gently laughs. he waves off any questions from the other pilgrims. when they ask who reader is to him...his answer is an amused laugh and a sickeningly fond look in her direction.

macaque and reader play the part of good hosts, but they're both incredibly nervous the entire time the pilgrims are in their home. the atmosphere is tense, and macaque doesn't leave readers' side for a second longer than he has to. dinner is a stiff, polite affair, and wukong never takes his eyes off reader. macaque insists the monk and his disciples take his room while he stays with reader. but that doesn't stop the feeling of being watched, or the murderous aura radiating from the opposite side of the house.

neither of them sleep well that night.

the next morning, the monk has macaque help him gather provisions before they move on, distracting him just long enough for wukong to corner reader. he presses her against the side of her home, nuzzling his face against her cheek...

"I'll be back as soon as this little trip is complete, ok, peach? Just sit tight and wait for your king to return~♡"

macaque and reader pack up and move the next day.

—

[lurkingshan]

Breaking Down the I Feel You Linger in the Air Finale

Okay pals, I got some sleep and I'm ready to dig into this finale and all its beautiful messiness. I love this show and I'm frankly a little frustrated that we got such an incomplete resolution to the (hopefully) first season when there was ample time to do it right. As ever, pacing and time and information management continue to be major weaknesses for Tee Bundit. As I said last week, the writing for this show has been undeniably messy but it's still holding together on the strength of the production and the performances and the success of some of its big themes and character arcs; that take held firm through the finale and some of the baffling choices made about where to spend our time in this final installment. So, let's dig into it!

The Long Goodbye

I'll say upfront that this is my biggest beef with the pacing of the finale. We spent all of last week on a long and painful goodbye for Yai and Jom, perfectly executed, but for some reason we did another 45 minutes of it this week, not so perfectly executed. While I loved the covering of the mirrors, the saddest sex scene ever (complete with sex moans running as the audio over a memory montage how dare you show!), and the pain of Yai realizing he drew the final picture and watching Jom disappear, we didn't need to retread them saying goodbye to each other over and over again for two entire hours of story time, and we didn't need a long, sappy, on the nose speech from Jom saying things we already knew. As I told @neuroticbookworm, this might be my aro showing but I found the series of repetitive emotional goodbye conversations and memory montages exhausting and not in a good way. If I were the script doctor, I would have kept the mirrors, sad sex, and Yai drawing as the start of the episode and cut the rest, moving much more quickly into the next phase of the story.

Back to the Future

Jom returning to his present day life, trying to cope with his anguish and loneliness and adjust back into things, and further investigating the time travel mystery to figure out a way to reconnect with Yai should have been the main narrative of this episode. Instead, we got a truncated version of it that didn't have time to breath because we'd used up so much time on the above mentioned retread. For my money, Jom's devastation upon finding Yai's letter to him was the most emotionally resonant moment of the finale and the first part of the episode where I almost cried. But we had barely sunk into that feeling before it was abruptly cut short because we were out of time and Tee needed to wrap this baby up.

Eyebrow Scar Yai

Here’s where I get actually kind of peeved, because this final (pre-credits) scene was so poorly set up and executed that to even call it a resolution is a stretch. A modern version of Yai walks into the room, asks Jom why he's crying, tells him he's been waiting for him, kisses him, and then the credits roll!

Now I've been in the tags so I know this caused confusion for anyone who has not read the novel (me too, fam!). And that's because the show had not bothered to establish:

That Yai does in fact have a modern doppelgänger

Who the heck that doppelgänger is and how he’s connected to 1928 Yai

How that doppelgänger would be able to remember Jom when no other doppelgängers in the story can remember their past lives

Based on what we know, could we piece together a reasonable theory about who this man is, how he got there, and the final pieces of the mythology that make sense of it? Sure. In fact, bookworm and I pretty much guessed exactly what the explanation for this was after watching the show, and many of the elements at play here were theorized in conversations we had last week. Book readers like @tipsyjaehyun have now confirmed the full explanation for anyone who cares to go read it.

But the show did not tell us any of this information. If you have to read the novel or have novel readers spoil you on aspects of the story that the show didn't bother to cover in order to understand the ending of the story, the execution has failed. And given the pacing notes above, there is really no reason we couldn't have gotten a better set up for this ending with Eyebrow Scar Yai (yes I know his name but no I'm not using it because the show didn't bother telling me; I am petty like that). Jom could have found this descendant during his time of processing and the ending could have hinged on us realizing this modern Yai is a reincarnation who has his past life memories intact; had we gone into a final kiss between them feeling grounded in all of that knowledge, it would have landed so much better.

Hello Commander

And now on to the post-credits scene, where Tee puts a plea into the universe to give him a second season so he can play around in another time period and explore what is evidently the origin of this soul tie between Jom and Yai. I chose to read this episode tag as separate from the actual season 1 narrative, and I think that was the intention given its placement. If they secure funding for a second season, this tag scene becomes the beginning of that next story, with Eyebrow Scar Yai's kiss sending Jom into another time travel adventure. If they don't we can just ignore it and pretend the pre-credits scene was the end (which is why I'm not happy it was so poorly done). I, for one, would love to see a second season to explore another time period and give Tee a chance to clean up some of this mess he has made of the mythology and season 1 resolution. Shouts to @clairedaring for reporting back from the live showing of the finale on what the possibilities are looking like there. Fingers crossed we get a continuation of this story some day!

Tagging in @waitmyturtles and @twig-tea who also have linked posts above. And shouts to @blmpff @cankersoregirl @pharawee @wanderlust-in-my-soul @italianpersonwithashippersheart @bengiyo @dragonsareawesome123 @wen-kexing-apologist @junghaesin @stuffnonsenseandotherthings @slayerkitty @respectthepetty @chickenstrangers @sunshinechay @btwinlines for posting about this show every week and making it such a fun watch despite having a small audience on here. It was a pleasure watching this with you all!

[chipthekeeper]

After many months of sporadically yelling my thoughts in various posts.........it is time.

*turns out there's like, so much competition for being the worst dad in this galaxy **a biased account from someone with their own very mid dad

Read on for an unnecessarily lengthy argument and just make sure to picture me like this the whole time

The Evidence:

Similarities/parallels between them

Shapeshifting -- They both transform so fully and easily from rebel mode to fancy rich asshole and back again throughout the show. Others do as well, but not nearly as often as they do and not nearly as sharp contrast from one thing to another

Quick tempers -- Evident from the way they snap at each other and the people they work with

Familiar framing -- There’s nothing accidental in this show. I believe the below photos draw a very deliberate, if subtle, parallel between them. We don’t see any of the other rebels using a stick like that, and Luthen's doesn't seem to actually have a function besides making youtubers believe he's a Jedi (I have a whole spin-off conspiracy theory on that we can get into some other day if you ask me)

Blonde -- Obviously. Though it seems Vel's hair is changing for season two. Perhaps a hint that she is trying to distance herself from her father's influence? (okay this part is mostly a joke but then I talked myself into something)

Also, this brand new page from the Dawn of Rebellion visual guide book that made me go !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! because, you know, proximity is everything. It would have made much more sense for Kleya to be on this page and Vel to be beside Cinta on the next page, right? Nope, not if there's a deeper connection here!

Their first interaction

Even before we meet Vel, Luthen predicts to Cassian exactly how she will react to them being there

He first tries to greet her with a big fake grin. Big time dad behavior to act like none of the past shit between you has ever gone down. But Vel remembers, doesn’t buy the act

Basically their interaction is just very familiar and informal, then breaks down quickly because of their attitudes toward each other

Vel is being very childish for most of it, pacing around, not keeping eye contact, then fully acting like a kid who doesn’t want to pick up their toys (see above picture)

Which then brings the Big Dad Energy from Luthen - "LOOK AT ME!!" he yells. The dadest dad behavior to ever dad. I can so easily picture this from my dad. "Look at me when I'm talking to you! Do what I say!" You have no choice but to shut up and obey unless you want to lose your allowance heist mission

Maybe he does actually care?

The night before the heist, Luthen is acting very strange, so much so that Kleya calls him out for being nervous. This is understandable given the stakes. BUT!

“They’re either going to be okay out there or they’re not” from Kleya is interesting. Be okay, rather than do okay. Like she knows he’s particularly worried about their safety, about one person’s safety especially?

And Vel’s mentioned in the very next line, reminding us of their connection again: "Vel's the only one who traces back" -- could be because she’s the only one who’s seen him, but who would actually be able to “trace” that??

Vel's need for approval

Veeerrryyyyy familiar to every eldest daughter constantly ignored by dad, seen most prominently in her interactions with Kleya

First right after the heist -- "Where is he?" ... "He read your message." "I really thought he'd be here?" Oh? Why's that? Why would he be there unless it was personal? Unless there was some sort of expectation of praise for the job well done, or comfort after losing so much of the team?

Later, before Ferrix, Vel won't give Kleya the information about Maarva's death until she secures the "I'll make sure he knows where it came from" promise from her

Rebellion is a family affair

"But Chip, Vel can't be related to Mon and Luthen!" Why not? There's nothing really that says Luthen isn't/can't be Mon's uncle

In fact, it might even make it easier to understand how a prominent Senator who's outwardly so centrist and careful could get Luthen's attention -- they always knew each other!

Anyway, a visual aid made months ago by @jedi-valjean, outlining the possible family tree, along with what seems to be the typical Chandrilan matriarchal naming conventions:

Vel Sartha, nepo baby

Vel absolutely does not have the experience or the stomach to be leading a mission like Aldhani. Why did he let her? That's right, nepotism

Hints to this in both her interactions with Kleya -- first "this is what revolution looks like" and then "You're off the rails. You're lucky he's not here"

She's clearly not ready and messing things up, but she's not facing any consequences for it because of her proximity to Luthen

Their second interaction

The convo on Ferrix is less loaded but still interesting

Vel looking at him and greeting him with a hint of "oh so you do acknowledge that I exist....but only because I have the information you need"

Again, the way they talk to each other is oddly informal for a boss and subordinate. Plus at the end he gives her tasks like a dad handing out chores

(also seems to like saying Cinta's name to her. supportive of his daughter's girlfriend, that gets him some good dad points)

Luthen's talk with Lonni

pound for pound, this is the most important part outside of their first interaction

As Lonni comes down in the elevator, Luthen congratulates him on becoming a father to a "healthy, beautiful" daughter. Tells him he must be pleased

Lonni thinks he's being threatened, asks "Do you ever think how it might feel from my side?" And Luthen tells him "I think about you constantly."

This. Shit. Makes. Me. CRAZY.

Because Luthen *was* Lonni. Just a guy with a daughter, trying to fight for something better

Also he sacrifices Kreegyr and all his men just to keep Lonni’s cover from being blown. Obviously that’s selfish on one hand, he gets to keep his spy, but also….Lonni’s daughter gets to keep her dad. I don’t think Luthen's just saying that to appease him. “You love your daughter," he says. The whole thing hits home for him and he thinks about it constantly

Basically the whole scene is a conversation between Luthen as he is now and Luthen as he could have been -- “Your investment in the rebellion is epic. A double life. Every day a performance.” He’s TALKING TO HIMSELF

And what does Luthen sacrifice? "...Kinship....Love" -- the love of his family? His kin? He may have his daughter in his life but they're hardly more than coworkers because of what they have to do. They're both sacrificing a real relationship with each other

"I burn my decency for someone else's future" -- he's sacrificed being a good father to fight and make a better future for his daughter!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The shoutout to his ego not having a "mirror" calls us back to Vel and Cinta's conversation, another probably deliberate thread supposed to connect them in our minds

"You'll stay with me, Lonni" can mean both that he's not letting Lonni out of this and, again, that he's always thinking of him (always thinking of that other version of his life)

The Conclusions

Putting together all the evidence and the fact that no one in the show seems to know about the connection between them, I can basically come to two possible conclusions:

Vel didn't find out this man was her father until she was already an adult

She knew him as a child but then he began making his calculations and left her and her mother

Either way, they would have gone years without interacting and thus it would be easy to hide their true connection once they've been reunited. And either way, their relationship would be as strained as it appears. Vel would want to have his attention and approval in a way she never did before, and Luthen would feel guilty enough to give her a job she hasn't really earned.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[deadbydangit]

I love your works so much, i speed read your blog for like, the fifth time the past three days while I've been stuck inside, they've been a big comfort while it just rains non stop.

I also have no ideas how to make requests, but can you do some of the killers seeing their S/O speed by them on sparkly pink roller skates? Like obviously having no idea what they're doing, screaming and trying to stop, before they eventually just crash.

You're too kind. I believe I can do something like that. I'm going to switch it up a little bit to make it easier to write something. Please enjoy.

With a reader who roller skates: Ghostface, Skull Merchant, Knight

Ghostface

At first he doesn't think it's fair.

"How come you get roller skates and I don't?"

So, get him a pair.

And watch him fall in his sorry ass.

Multiple times.

He'll be really embarrassed, so don't give them too hard of a time.

After about an hour of trying he's going to give up completely.

But he doesn't want you to give up on it.

You look like you're having fun, and who is he to ruin it?

Everyone has something they enjoy.

For him, it's killing people and photography.

For you, it's roller skating.

Danny has no issue with that.

If you end up falling and crashing he'll absolutely be laughing at you.

"Ha! Nice work."

He's not being malicious though.

He will pick you up off the ground and patch you up if needed.

Make sure to tease him once in a while, skate circles around him.

He'll act super pissed. But he's actually having a blast trying to catch you.

"Oh, you think you're hot stuff? I'll get you. When you least expect it. I'll get you."

And, he will eventually catch you. Though it will take a long time.

But don't expect to be going anywhere after.

He's got you in his arms. He doesn't want to let go.

Skull Merchant

Adriana doesn't take the roller skating as some sort of threat to her power.

She sees it as a challenge.

"So you can skate. You're pretty good."

She tends to be very competitive.

So this, this whole roller skating thing, she's going to learn how to do it too.

And she is Hellbent I'm getting better than you.

Not really to tease you or anything.

It's really just her way of showing that she loves you.

Even if she can sound mean at times.

Because this girl, she is the queen of trash talk.

"Eat my dust loser."

"Who's the top dog now?"

Lots of trash talk.

But it's never anything malicious or obscenely cruel.

She sees roller skating as an activity that you both can do together.

Something you could both compete at but still have fun with.

It's your hobby, and she wouldn't want to take that from you because she wants to be better.

She knows where to draw the line.

If you end up crashing, don't worry she's got your back.

She might laugh at you first. But she's still going to help you.

"I think that is the hardest I've ever seen someone fall on their face. Nice."

Again, all fun trash talk.

No matter how much she trash talks you, just know that she does so from a place of love.

Knight

Tarhos is impressed.

He doesn't know what roller skates are. But he's impressed.

He just knows they're the things you roll around in.

And he sees you do it all the time.

Modern technology is incredibly fascinating to him.

Of course, he's thinking of how he could use such things in combat.

It's a whole knight thing.

However, he knows he will not be able to.

"It isn't compatible with armor. Perhaps one of the others would make better use of such equipment."

But, he's glad you know how to.

"Should the worst come, I know you could move out of the area quickly."

He's telling you he'd rather you run away than fight any enemy.

But it's also him placing his confidence in you. That you could take care of yourself.

And that's a very high honor to earn from a man like him.

Should you fall and become injured, he will come to your aid.

As someone who has gotten hurt whilst training, he knows how frustrating that can be.

He'll make sure you aren't too hurt, patch you up if needed, then send you to continue roller skating.

He knows sitting down and moping isn't going to make you any stronger or any better at what you want to do.

Every time he sees you try something new with your skates, he feels more and more proud at your bravery.

You never cease to amaze him.

[rorywritesjunk]

(as I've said many times I don't draw but I'll write lil things instead. Buggy calls Gold a monster affectionately 😌 and I wanted some Sunny and Buggy with kids softness.)

"Okay, you gotta be quiet when we go in there, you little monster. Mama's resting." Buggy reminded his son for the hundredth time as they stood in front of Buggy and Sunny's bedroom door. "And the baby is probably sleeping."

Gold frowned and looked up at Buggy. "Mama's okay?"

"Mama's fine, just tired." Buggy assured him as he opened the door carefully as he muttered under his breath, "I'd be tired too if I did another 30 hours of labor."

Buggy was careful as he opened the door, not letting bang open. Gold took a few excited steps in, wanting to see his mama and baby sister, but Buggy's hand was holding the back of his shirt to reign him in. He looked back at his dad with a pout but Buggy was scooping him into his arms to carry him over to the bed.

The little baby bassinet Buggy constructed for Gold was being put to use again, this time holding his newborn daughter. She looked just like her brother when he was born: little tuft of blonde hair and a red nose in the middle of her face. Buggy couldn't believe that his kids had his nose, he wished they didn't, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"See, there's your sister." Buggy said as he let Gold reach down to touch her. "Be gentle, okay, she's fresh outta your mama."

Gold nodded, not really understanding, but it was exciting to see a baby. He touched her cheek, top of her head, even her nose, but she started to stir and he immediately pulled back, looking up at Buggy with concern in his eyes.

"You're fine, she's fine." Buggy told him as he pulled Gold back towards him. He glanced down at the bed, noticing his wife was awake and watching them, but Buggy turned his attention back to the kids. "Here, wanna hold her?"

Gold looked unsure but Buggy grabbed a chair and brought it over to the side of the bed. He sat down and placed Gold in his lap before his hands and lower arms went to retrieve the baby, carefully lifting her out of the bassinet and bringing her over to them. Gold looked up at his dad, still unsure, but Buggy said nothing as he let his son 'hold' his baby sister.

"See? You're fine." Buggy said as he made sure both kids were secure in his lap.

"What's the baby's name?" Gold asked in a loud whisper.

"Silver." Sunny told him with a tired grin. "We got Gold so we needed a Silver."

Buggy nodded. The two of them had agreed on the names of their kids when Sunny was pregnant with Gold. For her, she was following her dad's side of the family with names whereas Buggy thought of the two men who helped raise him, but if asked he'd insist it was all for his wife. He wasn't sentimental like that.

"Silver?" He repeated with a frown. It didn't sound right to him. The little boy looked up at his daddy before looking back at his mama.

"What, don't you like it?" She asked as he shrugged.

"I'm gonna call her Silly." Gold told them firmly.

Buggy shook his head. "You can't just call her-"

"Yes I can!" Gold told him.

"No-"

Sunny cleared her throat and Buggy shut his mouth. He wouldn't win an argument with a 2 year old, especially since the two year old was his son.

"Fine, fine. You can call her that." Buggy grumbled as Gold smiled at him before leaning down to kiss Silver on her forehead. She scrunched up her face before opening her eyes for a moment, looking up at her brother before closing them again. The little boy's face lit up as he looked at his parents.

"She looked at me!"

"She did! She knows you're her big brother." Sunny told him as Buggy carefully put Silver back into her bassinet. Gold hopped off of Buggy's lap and approached the bed carefully. He hadn't been able to see his mama forever and he wanted a hug. He spent the last two days with Cabaji and Mohji and they didn't give good hugs. "You okay, sweetheart?"

"Hug?" He asked. She nodded and looked at her husband. He sighed and helped the boy onto the bed, muttering a reminder to him that he needed to be careful. Gold nodded, settling himself beside Sunny as she put an arm around him and pulled him close, kissing her son on the top of his head. He tucked himself against her side and closed his eyes, letting out a relieved sigh.

"My baby." Sunny smiled as she stroked his cheek gently before glancing at her husband. "Gosh, where are you going to sleep? Gold took your spot."

Buggy huffed and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'll find a spot. I can move that little monster if I have to."

"Honey-"

"And by monster I mean our darling little son who does nothing wrong ever." Buggy continued as he reached over to make sure Sunny's pillows were comfortable for her. "Like he didn't dump half a bag of flour onto the counter when we tried to make pancakes this morning. Or leave little white handprints all over the place." He sighed and looked over at Gold. He was already nodding off, snuggled up against his mama with a content look on his face. "He's a good kid."

Sunny reached for Buggy, pulling him over for a quick kiss before he maneuvered himself onto the bed, being careful not to jostle Sunny or Gold too much.

"Buggy?"

He situated himself and laid back on the bed, looking over at his beautiful and exhausted wife.

"What?"

"I love you." She told him as she made herself comfortable. Buggy's hands made sure the pillows were comfortable again. "You're a great dad."

[genericpuff]

Hi! Maybe this is a difficult question with no answer, but as a fan of Rekindled who might want to start their own comic, what do you suggest to avoid burnout? Do you start wiht writting the script right away, you doodle a bit,..? Thanks for reading, I love how you draw big noses, makes me more comfy with mine!

no fr my dark secret is that i've been experiencing burnout with my main original project that I've spent the last decade working on for literally a year now. this isn't the first long hiatus i've taken, the longest one i've ever been on has lasted two years, and it's undoubtedly not the last i'll experience because the lump of salt and fat and tissue that is my brain often overworks itself into exhaustion like a big dummy

rekindled has been my reprieve from the burnout. it has been my vacation from years of working on the same project, meeting the same deadlines, drawing the same characters, over and over and over again since before i was in college.

if there's anything working on rekindled has made clear to me, it's that i'm still capable of drawing comics. the comic-making isn't the problem. it's just that when you work on the same project for years and trap yourself in an uphill battle, eventually your climbing gear is bound to break.

if there's another thing that rekindled has opened my eyes to, it's the insanity that i put myself through prior to rekindled that led to my burnout in the first place.

i get people telling me that they couldn't imagine doing what i do, that even before i had my assistant helping me out, i was still able to put out 30-40 panel updates every week.

but before that, i was putting out 70-90 panel episodes of my original work. every week. full color. full spread action scenes. no assistant. very little financial gain aside from a couple patrons on patreon and one dedicated viewer on twitch, which i was also streaming on 2-3 times a week.

and now that i've been working on rekindled and even finding myself often crunched for time with that, i have zero clue, no idea, a complete lack of comprehension of how i pulled off 70-90 panels a week for months on end. there's a reason it resulted in burnout and i know that now. this comparison is not for the sake of a flex - this comparison is to make it clear that much of what i do isn't the norm and isn't exactly a healthy standard. case in point, i sneezed while sweeping up yesterday morning and it caused a muscle strain in my lower back/hips and i've been working out of my bed since, i'm in a lot of pain and it might mean i don't make any money this week if it's not better by the time i have to do my appointments at my day job on thursday. my need to create my personal passion projects is often at odds with my bad habits of not taking care of myself 。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。

when it comes to tackling burnout, your guess is as good as mine. really it just comes down to rest. when burnout - real, true burnout - hits, it's not just "man i'm bored of working on this", it's "i can't even think of looking at this thing let alone working on it", it's basically akin to depression and it's an awful thing that i wouldn't even wish on my worst enemy (even with Rachel, I don't want to psychoanalyze her mental health but it does seem like she's possibly been experiencing burnout with LO for years now and that really sucks for her if that's true). so the solution is just as complicated as the cause, it's not something that you can just rest from for a week and come back from, it takes real long-term healing.

when I found my way out of that 2 year hiatus, it was in spring of 2019 and I decided to just work on a random comic page that wasn't even in the comic I was working on. and then suddenly it was like a switch flicked back into the on position and i didn't even finish what i was working on, i just went back to my original project and i kept working on it until it was finally finished at the end of 2021. as suddenly and randomly as it had set in, it was gone. but i can't just do the same thing this time, it just doesn't work that way.

that said, through all this, i've learned that my need to create is not restricted to any one tangible thing, i'm not doomed or designed to stick with the same words, the same faces, the same ideas until the end of time. while i do try to keep up healthy routines for myself to ensure i'm looking out for my future self and their deadlines and their upload schedules, sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. and in my case, the heart wanted to take a break from the self-reflective psychological analysis dark fantasy weebo stuff and just draw some pink and blue characters a little less ugly. the self-reflective weebo shit will still be there when i'm done with the pink and blue stuff, and i'll surely have loads of new things to unpack through it once i return.

there are still times when i'm working on rekindled and i'm feeling the creeping hand of my routine destruction digging its claws into my back. the reality is that 30-40 panels is still a lot for someone like myself who's doing this entirely for free, but my definition of normal for a while was so insanely inhumane that even what's still considered a lot by most people's standards feels sane and normal to me after what i put myself through.

i've learned to be more gentle with myself, and to loosen my own expectations of what i'm capable of to ensure i don't do anything like that to myself, by myself, again. i give myself room to create without expectations or the pressure of eyes watching when i can, and i remind myself that even if burnout rears its head again, and again, and again, the will to create is not gone. it's just tired, and resting, and growing, and healing as i am.

anyways that turned into a self-reflective essay post, to answer your question about making stuff ahead of time, i find that's more helpful with just like, planning out a structured story (so you don't write yourself into a corner) but whether or not it helps with burnout kind of depends. because it can just as also easily be the cause of the problem because constantly seeing the stuff you wanna be drawing so far away can be just as much of a morale killer as a motivator. some of the stuff i'm super psyched to write and draw with time gate is years away and that timeline grows longer the more the burnout goes on which makes the struggle feel even more overwhelming and pointless and defeating. so plan ahead, but keep it all within your means if you can. i find what works for me is planning out just general beat-to-beat plot structures (to ensure i at least have a plot skeleton going on so i know where i'm going) then i leave the finer details to when the actual episode i've planned gets closer to fruition and i can get myself in the headspace to write it fully.

also remember that just because you're really excited and motivated to work on your comic doesn't mean you should work yourself into exhaustion - it's a good thing if you're going through the mundane of your daily routine and the whole time you're hyped af to work on your hobby/personal project/etc. because that's what will keep you moving forward, so don't spend all that hype in one place by working and working and working until you're exhausted, because that hype is REALLY hard to get back after you've spent it all.

long post over! hope that helps! best of luck in your projects! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

[radianceholy]

Owlcatober 2024 - Second Chances

"I miss you very much, Arueshalae. I'm sad we won't be able to play together anymore! I really, really loved you Arueshalae, really! I'll always wait for you."

Centuries after the end of the Fifth Crusade, Ember meets her childhood friend.

i have an agenda here and it's that i don't think corrupted arueshalae is fundamentally any different from normal arueshalae, and i really love the idea that even after diving off the deep end, she can't really escape herself. i got way too into this one and i hope that people enjoy it!!!

cw: gore, violence, eye trauma, threats and implications of sexual violence, choking, burning flesh

"It's her again, isn't it?" The child stared up at her, lip twitching in a way that betrayed a great deal more fear than she knew how to properly express. Caught between two terrible possibilities, and looking to the one adult left in her left in her life that would give her the time of day, as though she could make sense of her fears. 

"...It is. That's precisely why you must wait." 

She shook her head, defiant. She wasn't very old, even by human standards. Maybe ten, or at most, twelve. She was an orphan child that had latched onto Ember in one of her travels, and had been trailing behind her with open fascination for the better part of a year, viewing her with the kind of open fascination that comes from a mixture of desperation and unpunished optimism. She had a certain brightness about her that betrayed her gentler years, much as Ember did. The girl’s parents had been comfortably wealthy before their disappearance, and they surely loved her to bits. She remained certain that someday they'd return to draw her back into a life of comfort. Ember had never been so naive, even in her childhood years. Her father was not 'gone,' he was dead.

The years had shown Ember the limits of human kindness. Her disfigurement was considered holy, to some; on the rare occasions when she met those who called themselves the Redeemed, generations removed from those that followed her so long ago. Wrapped in a threadbare cloak doing too little to shelter her frail figure, the world had extracted its price for her mercies. Her missing fingers, her blind eye, the arm that had been severed at the elbow… according to them, it was all proof of her goodness. Proof of a virtuous martyr, it was said. She would smile, denying them in the gentlest of terms.

"I can't! She's going to hurt you!" 

Age changed a lot about her, she supposed, but she was still mortal, caught in the whorl of her own personal history. Perhaps it was gratifying, to see this girl so young as to think this kind of cruelty was truly abnormal. She'd learned the lesson long ago, and whenever she'd doubt that lesson, she'd suffer the consequences.

Sometimes, the guilty must be punished.

"She is. She made a promise to me that she would. She'll want to hurt you, too, just for being near me." 

"I can't… I don't wanna stay here alone," she sniffled. "You won't come back. Just like mother and father…"

Ember sighed softly, brushing the girl's tears away with her thumb. "I was a child, and I let myself go to war. I never knew how much I was hurting myself."

"But, big sister…" 

"Please," she urged, quietly. "You're just a little girl. You don't have to hurt yourself." The world won't get any kinder, no matter what you sacrifice. She smiled sadly, those last words left unsaid. 

The girl grabbed her hand, clutching it all the tighter. Ember's fingers were already growing numb, and her frail body didn't have much strength to resist. She had a great power at her disposal, certainly, but none she would bring to bear against a child. She had spent her many years wandering the world, struggling to balance gentle guidance and harsh discipline. She was no closer to knowing, even hundreds of years after she left the Redeemed behind. She didn't quite know how to say it to this girl, but there were no answers she could give that would heal her heart and cure her of her fear and grief.

She sighed weakly, bowing her head.

"... There's one thing that you can do for me. But you have to follow my instructions exactly."

The girl nodded, tears in her eyes. 

"...Exactly what I say," she emphasized. "And if I cry out, you can't run to me. Remember that, no matter what."

-

Temples dedicated to Desna were always beautiful, each in their own ways. Grand skylights, beautiful painted murals, intricate architecture. ‘Opulent’ was never the right word, even if Ember had seen some reach rather grand heights. It was… inspiring, perhaps. She’d certainly witnessed a great many taking comfort in the temple. Mortal artists and architects poured their efforts into capturing a kind of beauty older than Golarion itself, and all mortal life upon its soil. In the heavens, there are stars. On the earth, there are flowers. In mortal hearts, there is love. 

This temple, too, was beautiful. An eye like Ember's could see it, no matter how it appeared to the world. Viscera strewn about, draped over the temple's pillars. Blood was splattered and smeared all over the walls and windows, and the stars outside twinkled through a crimson mirror. Two bodies lay together, gutted, their hearts torn from their chests even as their figures entwined in beautiful repose Red, red, red. She could feel the blood sticking to her bare feet, spilling out from bodies that were carved and sliced open with an artisan’s touch. Soot perched on her shoulder, wings tucked close against her sides. Some were still twitching, letting out gurgling, pathetic noises, in the throes of a succubus' kiss. All were beyond saving. 

"You're late," a sweet voice chided her, lounging at the foot of a statue of Desna in flight. It, too, was soaked in blood; intestines wrapped around her neck like a beautiful wreath. Strings of severed hands clung to her form. Grasping at her for grace, perhaps.

"You like it, don't you?" Arueshalae crowed, lounging on her throne of corpses so brutalized they could scarcely be recognized as human. The clergy had been stripped naked, faces torn off of their heads. The hollow stare of bloody, eyeless sockets gazed pleadingly towards Ember, like so many desperate followers seeking to abandon the demon lords that abused them. There was scarcely a speck of blood on Arueshalae's skin. Not so much as a drop, really. "My work. Payment to the Goddess for her kindness towards me. Her mercy." She sighed, seeming happy with herself. Happiness was a performance, and satisfaction was another piercing thrust. If it wasn't, it might be silent here for a moment too long. “If you’d come a few hours sooner, you could have saved some of them," she said, voice dripping with honey. "If you’d been here yesterday, they’d all be going about their lives quite happily. But you came much too late. How very sad, isn't it?”

"You always come to places like this." Ember's voice carried the slightest tremor. There were some people, she knew, that she couldn't help.

"And why shouldn't I?" She laughed. "She taught me so many wonderful things about mortals! Have you come to forgive me yet again?" She sits up, leering at her. "Their deaths are on your head, you know. Every last one."

"You did this," she said, failing to keep her voice even. "To them, and to you. Who are you really punishing?" Her anger was a sickening aberration, as twisted and malignant as the guilt that she felt.

“It’s you, of course!” She laughed. "So desperate! So utterly sincere! Laying your heart bare, where anyone could pierce it. Do you remember how gentle it was, when you held me in your arms? I would have drunk every last drop of you if I could have,” she purred. Her voice shifted, as suddenly as flipping a switch. She gasped and choked, tears in her eyes, wings folded in against her sides, eyes wide, demure, and trembling. “O-oh, Ember… Ember, please believe me. I'm so sorry-! I’ve done so many terrible things, and there’s no one else I can turn to! You have to trust me…!" 

Her one good hand touched the scar over her right eye, without thinking. Discipline. She had been taught discipline... but she wanted to believe, too. Arueshalae laughed uproariously, flashing a wicked grin. 

"You're so weak! So easy to manipulate. No matter how often you deny me, you always twist yourself into such convenient knots. It's pathetic, you know. It–" She suddenly froze. Ember's heart tightened, and for a moment, she didn't dare breathe. "--Wait. What is that? That sound. Is that…?"

Ember’s eyes blazed, as Flames danced at the tips of her fingers. Her anger was malignant, a twisted and hateful thing. She despised herself for being less than the savior the redeemed wished of her. But she had to admit, even if only to herself.

It was a mighty weapon.

Her cloak blew back, as Soot took to the air, a great pillar of flame tearing through the temple. The force of the explosion burned Arueshalae's gruesome throne to ash, Desna herself blackened and purified by a roaring pyre. The bloodstained windows burst into shards of glass, raining down to the ground in a shower of glittering moonlight.

"Your funny little tricks," Arueshalae cackled. She’d moved so fast, Ember hadn’t even seen it, but she was unscathed by the blast. Her reflexes were sharper than ever, and Ember’s body had only gotten weaker. She landed upon Desna's statue, one foot callously pressing down upon the head of the goddess. She toyed with one of her trophies - it was a beautifully engraved starknife, likely wrenched from the palm of some poor priest. It was made for ceremonial purposes, perhaps, but she knew from experience it would be exactly as deadly as it needed to be in Arueshalae’s hands. "Awfully quick to rely on them, too. Did you really lose your forgiving spirit? Or did I touch a nerve? Who is it, then, scurrying around in the shadows? An ally? A friend? A moon-eyed follower, blinded by your wisdom? I thought that filthy bird was the last friend you have left."

Ember couldn’t let her face give anything away, even if her pounding heart surely would have instead. A coil of flame burst forth from her palm, twisting through the air and streaking towards Arueshalae. Effortlessly, she leapt from her perch, wings spread as she swept through the smoke left in its wake. The knife whirled through the air, and Ember's movements were too slow. Blood spilled onto the stone as it carved through her side, slashing through her tattered, threadbare robes and worn-out cloak. A moment was all she needed. She dove, tackling her to the ground. She was small, frail. She'd survived on goodwill, and it was often in rare supply. Her back slammed against the ground and she screamed, hearing a loud crack from somewhere in her body as the demon leered at her from above. 

"...Oh, but there will be time for that soon enough. I missed seeing you like this." she purred. "Maybe when I take your other eye, I'll force feed that disgusting bird to you. Though... not before I make sure you see your little companion slaughtered, first. Whoever they are." She could hear Soot's crowing, feel the Succubus' hunger lapping at her abjurations, probing for a weakness it wouldn't find. The desire to see her pinned and humiliated was, perhaps, enough to distract a starving succubus, even if for but a moment. With one hand, Arueshalae forced Ember's good arm down. With the other, she stroked her sharp nails along her cheek in a gesture that almost seemed tender and fond. 

Ember's vision was cloudy, and she could only see her fangs, lips curled in a predatory satisfaction.

"Are you open to bargaining, at long last? The life of one follower isn't cheap, is it? I'll spare them, and you submit yourself to me. I could fit you with a collar and keep you chained to my throne. Tear out your tongue, so I don't have to listen to your obnoxious preaching. You'll be my blind, obedient little pet. You can sit by my side, listening to the music of the abyss and praying for my soul, as you always do." She ran a finger along her cheek, until it found the edges of her eyelids, prying it open and digging her claws that dug into her eye socket. "Forget that anything else in the cosmos even exists, save for me. I'll still show you far more kindness than these mortals have." 

She hissed in pain, twitching. Her arm jerked, but she was overpowered easily, even with her protective spells in place. She coughed on her own blood, letting out a weak, gurgling noise, but an odd smile formed on her lips.

"Oh, really? That pleases you, does it? You’ve spurned my affections so often. I thought you’d begun to hate me! Have you finally begun to submit?" Her nail dug in, close to gouging her eye out. “Praise me, and I’ll consider letting you keep your tongue. You can lavish me with those sweet words that lead doomed men back to the light and preach to me as much as you please, if you use it to lick my boots.” 

Ember let out a weak, trembling sound. She had changed over so many centuries, but even now, her heart… Her foolish, weak, sentimental heart…

“Go on! A bit louder. I can’t hear you.”

"You really can't let go," she whispered. "Of me, of Desna…" 

"Shut up," she snarled, pressing her finger in deeper. Ember let out an excruciating howl of pain. "I’ve changed my mind. You'll be better off without a tongue."

"...That's why you went after Seelah, too, all of those years ago… isn't it? She loved you like a sister."

"And she paid for it!" She barked out a laugh. "There's no one left to even tend to her grave!" 

"We didn't regret loving you."

Through the blood in her eye, Ember could still see her flinch back as if struck, her expression contorted into a mask of pain and rage. Her claw retracted from her eye socket. She looked up, with what little slack she’d now been given. The hole she'd blown through the ceiling gave her a good look at the church's bell tower. The night was full of stars.

"I don't regret loving you now, either," she whispered, her raspy voice carried by a faint, lonesome wind blowing through the desecrated temple.

Her lip curled into a snarl. "How pointlessly fucking vapid."

Ember looked into her eyes. "It's true," she sighed softly. "You were my childhood friend."

"Spare me!" Her voice rose to a shout, and her weight bared down upon her with far more intensity. Her ribs creaked under the pressure, and Ember let out an involuntary whimper of pain. But as Arueshalae drew in close, her voice was a deathly-quiet whisper.

"You should have killed me back then."

She squeezes her eye shut. "You were hurting..."

"You should have killed me," she repeated, cutting her off with a snarl, "the moment you heard about the turncoat demoness. The moment you saw me simpering and begging in my cell. If not then, when I threw myself back into that very same cell out of fear. If not then, when my sins were laid bare before you." Her voice trembled, rising to a fevered, maddened pitch. "You should have killed me when my eyes were blinded by starlight. When the song still echoed sweetly in my ears! You should have killed me when I could have hoped to be anything more than this! Let me die believing in a foolish promise of freedom, or kill me now, so that it finally end!" With a violent lurch, she wrapped both hands around Ember's neck, and slammed her head into the stone. 

Arueshalae’s grip had snapped her wrist, but the pain didn't matter. Nor did the stars in her eyes. With the last of her breath, she disappeared in a flash of light, body crumpling behind the temple's altar, struggling even to breathe.

Arueshalae let out a roar, grabbing the bloodied starknife from the ground, wings flaring in anger. "Not again!" She screamed. "You aren't going to do this again! I'll punish every filthy beggar who dared to accept a scrap of your charity! I'll hunt you down! I'll make you forget your own name, and I’ll rip everything you accomplished to shreds!" 

Ember murmured another incantation, trying to block out the anguished threats. Blood was still gushing from her eye, and her wrist was already beginning to swell, but she had more than enough power in her to stop the pain, even as frail as her body is. Positive energy washed through her body in a warm wave. 

"You'll live in your own piss and shit, that’s how far beneath me you are! You'll survive ten thousand years in my care, and scrape against the ground while I feed you the rotten meat of your own followers! I will brand you with my mark so that no one will ever look upon you without knowing who you belong to! I'll fuck you to death and stitch together what's left, so that I can fuck you to death all over again!" She leapt over the altar, frenzied, teeth bared.

The tolling of a bell could pierce clamor just as it could silence. Arueshalae screamed, her charge broken. The ranting and raving ceased, her body twisting and writhing in pain, and she hugged herself. She let out a whimper, collapsing atop the stone slab as though she were some ritual sacrifice. "What… what is that? What is that sound?"

"Your gift to us," Ember replied, her voice soft. She stepped backwards, never taking her eye off of her. "Do you remember? You might have succeeded in killing me, but you chose this place... this church. You really can't let go..." 

"That… bell? That stupid, insignificant little bell? It's here?! Of all places-!" 

Ember's voice echoed through the temple like the word of the divine.

"Burn."

Soot sat upon the statue of Desna, the blaze dancing in her beady eyes. 

"For the love of the gods, she's a child! She's a child!" He tore frantically through the wood at the base of the pyre, throwing it aside as his skin blistered and his clothes caught flame. He must have been in such terrible pain, but he wouldn't let himself stop until he could finally reach her. He desperately tore at her ropes with his own hands, his flesh beginning to melt. Screaming, screaming. The inquisitors wouldn't stop him, too paralyzed to slaughter their own, but neither would they help him, too faithful in their righteous cause. A witch should burn.

A witch should burn. 

The centuries had changed her, certainly, but not enough. Not nearly enough. The moment that a shred of doubt crept into her mind was the same moment she knew it had to end. She would pray for the Demon Lords of the Abyss, because no one else would. She would pray for Arueshalae, no matter how twisted she became. What hope was there for the wicked and forgotten, if no one would recognize their suffering? How could anyone ever challenge the abyss, if every right-minded crusader and gods-fearing mortal already accepted its terms?

Screams echoed through the temple. It must have been unimaginably painful. In her childhood, she took pity on the man who set the flames, and she took pity on the man who quenched them. She took pity on them all, and in her heart, her innocent and childish heart, she knew that there had to be a better way. Sacrifice would never make the world any kinder. A quiet little cabin somewhere, maybe. Or an endless road, promising freedom. A gentle word. A song. A single, fleeting moment of peace. But a sacrificial pyre?

Never. Never.

-

The little girl crept closer to Ember, anxious and pale. No doubt she heard some of Arueshalae’s uninhibited taunts, or Ember’s screams of pain. At very least Ember made sure to clear out the gore and corpses before allowing her to come wait in the ruined temple with her. The room smelled like smoke and ash, and it was a bitter, acrid thing, but it was no longer the gruesome sight it was before.

“I did well, didn’t I, big sister? When I rang the bell, it helped?”

“You did well,” she nodded. “You made it just in time, and you weren’t seen. I’m proud of you.”

“She’s… she’s not gonna hurt you? Or me? You’re sure of it?” The little girl glanced down at the face of the demon, fidgeting and squirming.

“I’m sure,” she replied.

“How do you know?”

“Look at her eyes.”

…It was a fitful sleep, but she could see it. Movement beneath her closed eyelids. Even demons could dream, after all.

“She’s pretty,” she said, almost without thought. “...Why did she hate you so much, big sister?”

Ember shook her head. "It isn't the right time to say. She needs her sleep."

A fat, orange cat sat on top of the roof of a warehouse. How did it get up there…? It was a mouser, but it was also well-fed and well loved. It was clean, groomed, and taken care of. It wore a cute little collar. She touched down on the roof, as gentle as could be, and lay beside the it, watching it for as long as it remained, but never creeping any closer. How simple it would be, to be born as something so effortlessly loved…

The world was better off when the Worldwound closed, but whenever she thought of her happiest moments… when the haze of violence cleared from her eyes and she could remember happiness at all, rather than a perpetual numbing hunger and clawing hatred... she thought about the war. Mortals, marching into a desolate and dead land, fighting against an incomprehensibly vast foe, and her place among them. Nervously braiding a young girl's hair. A joyous cry of ‘Sister!’ from someone bold enough to call her a friend. A thousand and one jokes she never quite understood. Two women so deeply in love their lives were like one. Art and poetry. Cold and uncompromising duty. A cause she believed in with her entire heart, even if her heart was forever unknown to her.

Dreams. Beautiful, lovely dreams, clutched greedily in her arms. 

When she opened her eyes, she found herself laying on Ember’s lap. Above her, a fat crow sat on a burned statue of the goddess, a beautiful little butterfly perched on her beak. Beyond that, a burning hole that had been blown through the ceiling, and far above, she could see the stars. She saw them in her Knight Commander’s eyes, once. Cold, distant, and impassive. Her judgment was certain. Her role in the cosmos had been long predetermined. What use is there, fighting the irrevocable law of her nature?

And yet... In the fog of sleep, she could imagine them, ever-so-briefly, to be a mercy. Just as she did before, when the future inspired hope instead of... boredom and fear. They were glittering map of beauty, myth, heroism and love, displayed upon a marvelous tapestry. In her weakness, she could see how lovely the heavens were. Just as the earth had flowers. Just as her heart had…

…

“Sh- she’s awake?” The voice of a terrified child. A snarling instinct roared within Arueshalae, hammering against her psyche. Kill her swiftly enough that Ember couldn’t stop her. Torment her with her failure! Bathe in her blood!

…She couldn’t bring herself to move. Ember had healed her completely, and the agonizing pain of that divine flame washing over her was gone, but somehow, she could no longer find the strength for it. Perhaps it had burned something crucial out of her being, rendering her helpless. She’d remain, a declawed and neutered demoness. How pathetic.

“You were so close,” she said. “Why can’t you just kill me?”

“It’s love,” Ember answered sadly, looking away. “If I don’t love you, then no one will ever love you again. My friend, who would shelter me from the rain…”

“Stop. Ember, stop…”

“You were always so afraid, Arueshalae.”

“I was fooling myself,” she spat, failing to drum up her usual level of venom and spite. “Fooling you, too. A demon can't love.”

“I still see her in you. Even now.”

“That girl you knew was a figment. A dream. A lie! Haven’t I proven that, yet!?”

“If she was a dream,” she said, “then isn’t she the answer to the riddle that vexed you so?”

It felt as though something in her broke. Centuries of pressure had built up, and now released. She hissed, like an angry cat, trying to sputter out some half-formed insult. What came instead was a soft moan, as tears welled in her eyes. She choked, clutching at Ember’s tattered robes.

For the first time in centuries, Arueshalae began to cry.

[o-kaythislooksbad]

ailesswhumptober day 5: overstimulation / migraines / "i can't take this anymore"

chapter 5 / 7 of the memory of you marks everything i do | not rated, chose not to warn

marc stares at the bathtub, making no move towards it. downstairs, people are yelling, arguing about anything and everything related to roro's burial and shiva. his body didn't even go to the hospital; marc had pulled him out of the cave and screamed his little lungs out until their dad came running. by the time an ambulance was called, there was nothing the medics could to do help. they zipped roro up into a large plastic sleeping bag in the backyard and put a thick blanket around marc's shoulders, and that was it. 

someone from the shul showed up to sit with roro's body, saying something about it being her job to stay until the rabbi could arrive. she offered marc a hug and a lollipop, like she's done this a bunch of times before, and marc nodded and said 'yes, please,' because imma pushed him away and abba was too busy trying to calm her down and everybody forgot about marc.

the nice lady didn't mind that marc's clothes were still wet. she didn't mind that he was crying, even though he's a big kid and he's not the one who got hurt and it's his fault roro's gone. she excused herself to wait somewhere else, in her car, probably, when the rabbi arrived to sort out the details of where roro's gonna go to get cleaned up before they can bury him.

and now marc's still wet and crying, sat on the muddy lawn and the sun's shining like the sky never rained. imma and abba are fighting in front of the neighbors and the new rabbi; marc doesn't remember his name or what the older rabbi's name was, but that doesn't matter. his voice pipes up whenever abba or imma stop to take a breath, reminding them that randall led a great life and wouldn't want his parents to fight over him. for once, abba agrees with imma in saying 'no,' but imma's on her own when she says it wasn't an accident. 

"he did this on purpose and you know it!"

"darling, please. we're all hurting, but let's not say things we'll regret."

imma laughs, but it's not her regular laugh, light and bubbly and comforting. "seriously, elias? you think i'll regret being honest with you?"

the rabbi clears his throat awkwardly, tilting his head towards marc. abba starts to walk towards him, but then imma pulls his arm back because "don't you dare walk away from me" and "we've got actual problems to focus on" and marc wishes the nice lady would come back to give him another hug.

they're fighting about who should be allowed in the shiva house, wherever that is - marc's still not sure what shiva is, exactly - and abba says he would welcome roro's friends from the neighborhood and hebrew school.

imma doesn't want any kids in the house or around her.

including marc.

and now they've sent him inside to bathe - "it doesn't matter if you shower or take a bath, you need to clean up! make yourself presentable!" - but he hasn't been able to do anything other than close the door behind him. he's still dressed in his clothes from earlier, still clutching a torn piece of roro's t-shirt in his right hand, still replaying the scene over and over again. it's been only an hour, maybe two, since the medic shook her head and put her equipment away. marc is still shivering in his rain-soaked shirt and flooded socks, still shaking from the cold and the shock. 

"i want to die i want to die i want to die," marc chants through chattering teeth, believing every single syllable. he looks up from his legs, across the room to his mirror, but he's not there. no one is there. or maybe someone is, but there's no way to know.

a dark cloth covers the mirror in marc's room. similar cloths cover mirrors throughout the house, along with picture frames; there's nowhere to see any of roro's features anymore. 

the thought draws something dark and angry out of marc, pulling him to his feet to tear the cloth away from the mirror. his reflection stares back, a blank face resting on hunched shoulders. no smile, no dimples; the only thing it shares with randall is the boy's flannel pajamas. 

the person in the mirror scares him. he readjusts the cloth, walks in circles for a moment, and then steven is sat at his desk with some colored pencils, driving the sharp points deep into his paper.

and now someone nudges marc's shoulder, holding out an open siddur to him, and marc's starchy white shirt itches his arms. he does his best to stay still as the man explains that "even though you're too young to count as part of the minyan, you should say this for your brother," and marc wishes that abba and uncle yitz never taught him how to read hebrew. 

"okay," marc whispers, taking the siddur. "thank you." 

he stares at the page, at the words he can sound out but not define, but those aren't the words he hears in his head when he tries to read.

"you know," uncle yitz would casually say as he circled around marc, "the only good jew is a dead jew. however," he would add, raising a fist closed around a knife, "jews like you are a close second."

with the blade pointing at the ceiling, displaying the chain that once held a chandelier but marc knows is used for other games, uncle yitz would talk about marc being up there, one day, "if you and your kind can survive the next few years." 

"what d'you mean?" marc had asked one time, and his uncle must've been in a good mood 'cause he didn't even slap marc for talking back. 

uncle yitz explained, with the practiced patience befitting a shul rabbi, that the cabal has big plans in motion. he'd said things about realism and money and marc had no idea what it meant or who 'his kind' were or why these plans would make it hard for them to live. his uncle must've seen the confusion on his face, 'cause he got frustrated and started yelling about breaking minds and genes, about creating slaves and hurting them 'til their blood tasted like defeat.

everyone says 'amen' after the chazzan, the sound of their united voice startling marc away from his memories. at least ten voices overlap in a familiar rhythm, echoing around marc, and he doesn't mean to but he drops the siddur so he can cover his ears.

wrong move, marc. 

it hits the ground and mostly everyone turns at the sound. multiple sets of eyes land on marc and he knows at least two are friendly, 'cause one is his abba's and one is the chazzan's, and chazzan gavriel isn't like uncle yitz, but marc has no idea about the other men in his house. some are yitz's friends, they have to be, 'cause even chazzan gavriel and his abba were friends with yitz, and a coldness runs down marc's spine. he shivers as the thought pops into his head: what if abba was one of those friends? what if he was there, in the basement, when marc begged to be saved by him?

easy, marc. i need you to take a deep breath for me.

he doesn't know if it's his own voice or an imaginary friend talking to him. he can't make himself care about what the answer is, 'cause he hasn't talked to an imaginary friend since the games with uncle yitz. he hasn't even thought about them or him since forever, doesn't even know if what he's hearing and seeing is from his memory or a terrible imagination, but the voice is right.

marc needs to breathe, so he does. he doesn't dare close his eyes or lower his hands, in case something bad happens. he just takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and repeats until his heart no longer feels like a rabbit trying to jump out of his chest.

and now marc is at the cave, alone. except he's not alone, 'cause there's another set of footprints on the dusty path beside him, and soon he sees abba walking out of the cave.

"there's nothing there, marc," he says a bit sadly. 

marc's brow furrows as he tries to figure out what abba is talking about. what would be in the cave, anyway?

abba sighs. "i see him sometimes, too. out here and around the house."

"who?"

"your brother."

marc must've seen something like a ghost of randall, and abba went to check, like he used to do for monsters under the bed before marc learned that monsters don't bother with beds.

"sorry," marc apologizes, 'cause this is all his fault. 

abba sighs again, and in the fading sunlight, he looks much older than he did only two years ago. "no, son. you have nothing to be sorry for."

"but -"

"you're only a child, marc. i've told you before, and i'll keep telling you, no matter what your mother says - you're a child, and it was an accident. you didn't do anything wrong, and i'm so sorry if i've made you feel that you have."

he spaces out for a bit, lost in thought. imma doesn't always agree with abba, doesn't always treat marc the way he does, but that doesn't mean abba has said this before. marc doesn't remember hearing this at all. 

"can i ask you something, son?"

"just did," he grumbles, but there's no malice behind it. 

"you're right. you don't need to answer me, or even have an answer, but…" abba trails off. he clears his throat, then tries again. "right now, are you marc?"

who else would i be? dies in his throat. sometimes, he has conversations in his head with imaginary friends, but sometimes it's like he's the imaginary friend. 

"no matter what, you are still my son. i need you to know that, okay?"

"but not hers," leaves the boy's lips before he even knows what he's saying. "she never wanted me, anyway, and you know it. she proves it at least once a week and you just let it happen," he says, gaining confidence with each word. he raises his chin and stares up into the man's eyes. "it happens to marc's body, yes, but he doesn't need to know how he got his scars. you, however," he takes a step closer to the man, "you've been there when it's happened, and done nothing to stop it. so, please, look me in the eyes and tell me that i'm your son. tell me that you care for me as much as you care for marc." he sets his jaw, and through gritted teeth, begs for the first time in his life.

"tell me i'm real."

his teeth hurt from clenching his jaw so tightly, and his eyes begin to fill with warm tears, but he doesn't look away. he's already let down too much of his guard for someone who will only use the words against him. 

and now marc is somewhere in a desert, the heat and humidity unbearable. images of the ten plagues pops into his head, along with a sneering old man brandishing a razor. someone shouts for him to get down, and his body slams into the sand before something explodes a few meters away.

[markxmelon]

Parings: Mafia!Yuta x Innocent!Y/n

Pronouns: She/Her

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst(?), Mafia

Warnings: Curse words, blood, Yuta gets beat up, kidnapping, guns, gang violence, let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: 1.3k

The warnings makes it sound more interesting than it is but I hope y’all like it!

Yuta sits on a toilet lid while y/n stood in between his legs, tending to his wounds. Yuta can sense his girlfriend's disappointment. The pout on her face says it all. He knows that she hates his line of work now, but what else can he do? Once you're a part of a mafia, you're in it for life.

When y/n finished adding the bandages, Yuta placed one hand on y/n's waist and the other on her cheek. She leans into the warmth of his hand. Yuta looks in awe at his beautiful love. How was I able to have someone so ethereal to be mine?  He thought to himself.

"I'm sorry." He says lightly, "I know I make you so worried about me. If I could leave the crew I would. You know that right?" Y/n nods. Yuta sighs, "How about I make tomorrow about us? I'll order us some take out and we can watch movies and play video games all day. Sounds fun right?" This brings a huge smile to y/n's face. She quietly responds, "I would really like that."

"No, Yuta! You cheated!" Y/n accuses as she threw her controller down. "You cheated on the last game!" Yuta fights back. "NO I DIDN'T!!" "Button mashing is cheating in my book honey!" "Whatever..." Y/n pouts and crosses her arms. Yuta rolls his eyes, "Fine you big baby, I cheated. I'll buy you an ice cream from the convenience store." Y/n cheers with a cute smile on her face. Yuta chuckles at his child like girlfriend.

They left their home in their pajamas, not really caring about who sees them as they walk to the closest store. As soon as they make it into the store, Y/n rushes to the ice cream and almost trips over her own bunny slipper. "Hey! Be careful." Yuta laughs. Y/n thinks deeply about what ice cream to get. She finally chooses the one with vanilla and chocolate swirled together. "Yuta I want this one!" Silence. Y/n turns around confused. "Yuta?" He was no where to be seen. Before she could call out to him again, she feels an intense pain on the back of her head. Within seconds she sees nothing but darkness.

Y/n wakes up in a daze. The back of her head throbbing, but the only thing she's worried about is Yuta. Where is he?

Yuta fights against the ropes that bounded him. "I told you that you can't escape." A man states with an annoyed look on his face. Yuta stops struggling and looks at the man. "Who are you?" No answer. "Why are you doing this?" The man sighs at the question, "Your cute little gang owes me something." "What do they owe you?" "They know exactly what they owe. Maybe them getting a video of their precious member all beaten and tied up would make them work faster to give me what I want." The man gestures to the other men in the room. They move toward Yuta and start to beat him up. They punched him, kicked him, slammed his head to the ground, anything to make him draw blood. Soon the man told his goons to stop. He takes his phone out and starts recording Yuta.

"Poor guy. If only his friends just did what they were told. Tsk tsk tsk. What would make this all stop? Hmmm...oh I know!" The man turns the camera to himself. "Give me what I want or I would hurt him more." The man pauses, "Actually, I don't think I can hurt him more than I already have. New proposition, you have 1 hour to get here before I hurt his precious lady friend." Yuta's pain went numb at the mention of y/n.

"No...please..." He weakly lets out. The man just chuckles. "How cute. She's an adorable girl, isn't she? Her innocent bunny slippers. Would be a shame to see a bruise on such a soft face, huh? Anyways, get here when you can!" He sends the video to Yuta's boss, Taeyong. "See you in an hour, Yuta." The man walks out of the room, his goons following behind.

Yuta doesn't even care that he's going in and out of consciousness. He just wants to know if y/n is okay. Where is she?

Y/n sits with her knees brought up to her chest. She's been trapped in a dark room for who knows how long. She tried to open the door earlier but it was locked. She gave up a while ago and just sat in a corner.

BANG

Y/n jumps. Something just hit the door of the room she's in.

BANG BANG BANG

The door burst open. "Y/n?" "Mark?" "Guys I found y/n!"

The rest of the NCT 127 members, excluding Yuta, show up in the room. Y/n gives the closest member, Mark, a hug. That's when she realizes something. "Where's Yuta?" The members look at each other. "We haven't found him yet...we were kinda hoping you would know where he is." Taeyong answers. "Oh no..." Y/n starts to panic. "Hey don't worry we'll find him!" Taeil reassures her. "Yeah we can split up and look for him. Um...here y/n take this gun and search the hallway." Taeyong says. Without really thinking, y/n snatches the gun from Taeyong's hand then rushes out of the room.

Yuta tries to sit up multiple times, but he's too weak. Come on Yuta...we need to see if y/n is okay... He tries again then falls back down. He groans in pain. He was about to give up when he heard the sweetest sound known to man. "Yuta? Yuta are you in there?" She's okay? She's okay! He musters up all his strength to say, "I'm in here..." "Okay honey hang on!" y/n started to kick the door with all her might. Freaking bunny slippers. With a few more intense kicks, the door burst open. These doors are way too weak. Y/n runs to Yuta. She puts his face in her hands. "I should kill them for hurting you like this." Yuta lets out a weak chuckle. Y/n smiles slightly and starts to untie Yuta's hands and legs. She wraps his arm around her shoulders and her free arm around his waist. "Okay baby let's get out of here.”

Y/n and Yuta walk through many halls trying to find an exit, but no luck. Eventually they saw something. Sadly it wasn't an exit. It was Haechan. The man that caused all of this had his gun pointed at him. The man's goons were on the ground with bullet wounds. His back was faced towards them. Haechan sees the two, but tried not to look at them for long so the man wouldn't notice them. By the way that Yuta was looking at him, y/n knew for sure that that was the man who did this to them. "Where's your group now Haechan? They left without you? How sad. Maybe if you just did what you promised then this wouldn't be happening." The man scowls. "We didn't promise anything!" "Tsk. You really should learn how to keep your word Haechan. Now I'll have to kill you." The man turns the gun's safety off and was about to shoot Haechan when he heard someone speak. "Not on my watch, bitch." Y/n shoots the guy on the back of his head. Yuta and Haechan are in shock. The members came running in that direction after hearing the gunshot. They looked at y/n with wide eyes because she still had her gun raised. She looked so cool.

On the car ride to the NCT 127 safe place, y/n couldn't stop talking about what happened. "Yuta did you see me? The guy was all like 'don't break your promises' and Haechan was like 'wahhh don't shoot me' and I was like 'not on my watch, bitch' and the guy was all like 'ndihnfuinawebbdd'. Yuta I cursed AND shot a man! Didn't I look cool?!" The guys smile at y/n's cute excitement. "Yes darling, I saw." Yuta says with a chuckle. "What a rush! Yuta we'll be like Bonnie and Clyde!" Y/n rambles for the rest of the car ride, making the guys laugh and less tense after what all went down. Yuta stares at his love and can't help but think, that's my bunny slipper hero.