#whose last name i dont even remember

[ooc-themis-cattails]

School is NOT fun if you are gifted. I don't know what kind of person thinks high school is "the best time of your life," but it's sure not gifted kids.

We were bored out of our minds in the same prison hell as the rest of you, and the only difference is that we were the ones who got beat up and had no allies. It was never the cool teachers that liked you, but the unpopular ones, the ones that everyone knew picked their nose and flung the boogers at the class (though you have never actually seen it happen yourself). They would come up to you in the cafeteria in front of everyone and act like you were their best buddy, and you would want to die and sink into the floor. The cool teachers liked the funny kids, not the smart kids. When you got praised by Mr. Yorty, you wanted to disappear.

Being called smart wasn't fun; that was the opening reassurance of parent-teacher conferences before they tore into you for being inattentive or absent-minded (to you the teachers are repeating old lessons you've heard before), "not a team player" (it's hard to assign partners outside your skill level), "time waster" (because you doodled on your worksheet when you finished early), and whatever other personal flaws you might happen to have. Everyone knew you were smart. Teachers pointed it out to you so often, it was like being told you're exceptionally short or tall-- you know, you know, it's meaningless. You're not eager to hear that or interested in hearing that. All you want is for the day to pass so you can go home. As for friends, you had a choice of like 3 people who were also smart and who you could trust not to be jealous of you. One of them is an asshole, and another one you can't stand to be around because their BO makes you ill. Maybe you and the remaining kid will be friends, if you're compatible and lucky. You might not even be the same gender. You'll be friends anyway, even if your parents aren't happy about it; you can't afford to be picky. Sometimes there'd be a new kid, but even if you spent the first day being their new friend, the next day they learned you were unpopular and turned against you and made fun of you. You learned not to make friends easily or trust anyone. It was pretty lonely and you never knew when everyone's fun game was going to be picking on you for the rest of the day.

Parent/teacher expectations scaled to their skill level. I don't know what non-gifted kids' parents expect of them. Mine wanted me to get on the highest honour roll (requiring all A's) because the fact that I was always on the honour roll (requiring one A and no less than a C) wasn't interesting or meaningful because it had always been true forever. If you don't have to work hard, then everyone expects you to work VERY hard, because they know you didn't work to be good, and yet they can't help seeing you as a hard worker because you're good. If your parents ever promise you a reward, they're not asking you for an A on the exam, they're asking for a 4.0 GPA. Do gifted kids have to work hard for that? Yes, we are not born knowing the exports of Urugay, and we don't like doing 50 math problems any more than you do. Did we get better jobs than you? We did not. We are all working call centers and retail and service jobs. The kids who grew up to have good jobs were the ones who were maybe a bit above average, had amazing social skills, and could make employers like them and believe in them.

is there a word for “i was instantly good at a lot of things as a quote-unquote gifted child, and, as a result, i was able to skate by without ever being taught how to actually learn a new skill, and now that i’m an adult trying to learn new things that i can’t be good at instantaneously, i don’t have the patience or knowledge to improve on them, because skills that don’t come naturally to me just make me angry because i lived off instant gratification my whole childhood due to not ever being challenged intellectually or taught basic learning skills?” asking for a friend

[chleem]

Rest of my life

One shot: bf drew x gf yn

Summary: babysitting drew’s niece leads to the realization that you’re the one for him.  

Genre: established relationship, fluff

Warnings: so sweet u get cavities

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Which girl did you knock up?” 

Is the first thing you say upon entering Drew’s apartment, your eyes landing on Drew, who has a baby securely strapped against his stomach in a white carrier, the baby looking over at you with doe eyes. 

Drew freezes for a second, then shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he sets a large bag down on the kitchen table. "Oh, y’know, some girl I met on set."

There’s a reason why you and Drew are perfect for each other; the playful banter comes so naturally between you two that it feels like breathing, like there’s no awkwardness in this situation; finding Drew with a baby you’ve never seen before. 

Although, this baby looks oddly familiar. 

“Remember Lils?” Drew asks, as you walk over to him, setting your own bag on the table as well. 

Your eyes light up at the name, recalling the times Drew would show you pictures of his niece. “Oh hi,” you immediately pitch your voice higher, making it soft and playful. The baby, with her big, curious eyes, reaches out her tiny hand, and before you even know it, she’s grabbing onto your finger. 

Her little grip is surprisingly strong, and you can’t help but smile at how adorable she is. “She grew so big,” you comment, looking up at Drew. 

He’s got a soft smile on his lips. “I’know, and I got her for the whole day.”

Your raise an eyebrow playfully at him, “I thought we’re going to the beach today.”

“Yeah, we are,” he emphasizes on that word, his eyes bouncing back between him and Lil. 

Lil lets go of your hand, so you cross your arms at Drew. You roll your eyes, yet the grin on your face gives away your amusement. “Fine. I won’t rob you of your uncle-niece time.”

A chuckle escapes Drew’s lips, and he brings you closer to him by wrapping an arm around your waist. “Lil says it’s okay for you to be there,” his voice, low and playful, as he plants a kiss on your jaw. “Third wheel, you okay with that?”

“Delightful,” you try to sound annoyed at that idea, but really, you looked forward to it. 

Originally, it was a beach date with Drew, but his sister must’ve had some emergency, leading to the sudden babysit. You had no idea that it was going to turn out like this, but you don’t mind. 

Besides, it gives you a chance to see what uncle Drew is like. 

“Aww, don’t be jealous,” he teases, rubbing your elbow, a habit he’s grown into since knowing you. 

“I could never compete with this girl,” you smile down at Lil, whose lips slowly forms an O. You coo at her, playing with her little adorable fingers.

Drew glances down at his watch, snapping you out of the little world you’ve absorbed yourself with Lil in only a few seconds. “Hotdog stand might close. Let’s go.”

“I’m trying the taco one!” You happily chirp, remembering how the last time you went there, a long argument between the two of you resulted in you getting the pizza flavored hot dog. 

“Alright, alright,” Drew assures, taking both of the bags off the table. 

You make an attempt to grab at least one bag from him, but he declines, carrying it all the way to the car himself. 

——

Unknowingly, the whole day at the beach has passed. 

Drew had been so focused on spending time with his niece, he didn’t even notice the way the sky changed. One moment, they were splashing in the shallow waves, building sandcastles, the next, the sun was dipping low.

He walks back to the beach with hotdogs in his hands; buying the snacks now since the crowd has disappeared. 

He replays scenes of today in his mind, thinking about how easy it’s been today. How effortless it felt, spending time with you and Lil. He’d watched you interact with his niece all afternoon—how you encouraged her to explore the sand, showing her the little crabs skittering along the shoreline etc. 

And now, as he makes his way back, he can’t shake the image of you laughing with Lil, your face lighting up when the baby made a funny sound or reached out for you.

He reaches the blanket that the two of you had spread out earlier on the sand, and he glances over your shoulder, expecting to see you playing with Lil. 

Instead, he freezes. 

There you are, holding his niece in your arms. Lil’s fast asleep, her little body relaxed against your chest. 

Drew’s first thought is how cute his niece is. 

His eyes then drift over to you; And that’s when it hits him.

The realization of this moment, the quiet way you’re holding his baby niece, strikes him. His heart skips a beat as he watches you, a quiet warmth flooding his chest. 

The sight of you with her, so natural, so right, feels more profound than anything he expected.

What is this feeling? He thinks.

He tries to shake it off. It’s not just about Lil. It’s about you, the way you make everything feel so simple, so easy. He never expected to see you like this, to see you so gentle, so present.

Is this what love feels like? He doesn’t know. But in that moment, staring at the two of you, something in him clicks. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it’s there—this pull, this feeling that maybe, just maybe, everything he thought he wanted was right here in front of him.

“Drew?” 

Your voice is gentle and soft as you call out for him, afraid to wake the baby up. 

Your gaze meets his, and for a second, the world feels smaller. His heart skips again, mind racing around as he scrambles for words in his mind. 

“Hey,” he manages to breathe out, sitting down beside you. He’s careful with his movements, even when handing you your hotdog to your free hand. His lips curl into a soft smile,  almost shy, “she’s out cold, huh?”

He watches as you completely ignore his words, biting down on the hotdog you’ve been waiting for for the whole day. His smile grows; his mind reminded of how easy it is to be around you. It’s not that you’ve said much or done anything extraordinary—just the way you seem to savor the simple things, like food, time spent together—it draws him in every time.

“Good?” Drew asks, teasing hinted in his voice, yet his eyes soften as he waits for your answer. 

“Strange. The pizza flavor’s better,” you comment through chews. 

Laughter erupts in his chest, making you look confusingly at him. You swallow, looking at him with doe eyes. “Let me take her,” he says, his hands reaching for his niece. 

You let him, mainly because of how hungry you are. The exchange is smooth; he now holds Lil in his arms, and you hold onto the two hotdogs, eating away one of them. 

“Y/n?”

You quickly finish the bite, humming at Drew continue talking. He’s looking at you with a soft gaze, almost smitten. He calls for your name, but doesn’t say anything. 

“You want a bite?” You ask, filling in the silence. 

Drew chuckles, and with his free hand, he pulls you by the back of your neck closer to him. He kisses you, slow and soft. You relax under his touch, letting the warm and bubbly feeling flow through you. 

You eventually pull away, needing to catch your breath. Drew’s lips are apart as he stares at you; the look in his eyes making it hard to steady your heartbeat. 

For seconds that felt like minutes, silence lingers between you two, eyes locked into each others’ as if any move, would disturb the calmness of this moment. 

Well, the moment is disturbed, because the smell of poop enters the air, as well as the sound of crying. 

Lil's awake, and in a stinky emergency.

You’re the first to pull away, chuckling as you glance down at Lil. “Shit.”

“Yup,” he purses his lips. You get ready to put the hotdogs down, wanting to help change her diapers, when Drew stops you. “I’ll do it.”

“Do I even have the appetite anymore?” You joke, the smile reappearing on Drew’s lips after hearing that. 

“When do you not?” He comments, setting Lil down and reaching for the diaper bag. 

You hit his arm playfully again, laughter coming out of you. You turn and look out onto the ocean waves, putting the hotdogs down to the side.

This moment right here? You want to remember it always. Remember this beach, this adorable little baby, this hotdog (just important as everything else), and this man, that you’ve found yourself to rely on more than you should. 

You hope Drew feels the same way too; that this moment right now, will forever be engraved in your heart. 

Little did you know; it's already engraved in his, as the moment he fell in love with you. 

The moment he realized, that you’re who he wants for the rest of his life. 

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

word count: 1.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: my first time writing something of pure fluff...hope you enjoyed reading! i was in the mode for something sweet, craving a bf real bad T_T

and yes, im a creep that stalked his sister's ig to find the name of his niece. im sorry im sorry im sorry

[with-my-calamitous-love]

I DONT LIKE ANYONE EXCEPT SOMETIMES YOU

shinso x reader

thoughts about how shinso would act in a relationship. same premise as the kirishima ver.

inspired by backburner

hitoshi shinso, who’s facetimes with you always run late into the night. you ramble on about your day while he hums in response, knowing that you know he’s not the talkative type. he never asks “how was your day?” he always says “tell me about your day.” because he really, truly wants to hear about your day. you could have cured a disease or simply just gotten out of bed, and he’d still want to hear every single detail simply because its from you.

hitoshi shinso, who loves to cook. only you're aware of it, because he doesn't always like sharing personal details with others, but you never complained- it just means more for you. you're always the first person that gets to try his food, though he claims you're not a very good critic. but you can't help it, everything he makes tastes so good. and with every compliment you shower him in, he'll hit you with a 'yeah, yeah, whatever.' and then next moment, make you more so you can always stay fed during long days at UA and long hours during hero-training. its his silent way of telling you he loves you.

hitoshi shinso, whose cats love you more than they love him. he has three triplets, a black british short hair, a siamese, and a grey ragdoll- pepper, lexi, and mustache- he absolutely hates the last name, but he had just adopted the kitten and you named it for its white streak right below its nose. he'll deny it forever, but he gets pouty and huffs in annoyance whenever he sees the cats run to you, even after he's fed and taken care of them for all of their lives. but he also cant deny the way his heart skips a beat whenever he seems them cuddled up with you on his bed, wearing one of his big t-shirts. it softens his heart in a way that nothing else does- your love fills his heart more strongly and more passionately than anything does.

hitoshi shinso, who is the closed-off, funny but quiet dickhead of his friend group. he's known for his out-of-pocket roasts at the right times and his nonchalant nature that contrasts with the loud, spunkiness of his multicolored-haired friends. but with you, he softens. the few times he's brought you along with him to movie night or training sessions, you've softened his heart enough for the love in him to seep out towards others as well. whenever you crack a joke, make someone else at the table smile, and draw laughs and happiness from their chests, a blush blooms across his cheeks. obviously, he fell for you, how could he not?

hitoshi shinso, who's favorite activity with you is your sunday-ritual. you'll wake up together, either in the same bed or over the phone, and bike down to the coast. you'll bug him about wearing a helmet, but he always complains that it ruins your hair. he'd never admit that its because he thinks you're absolutely adorable when you dote on him. afterwards he'll share a smoothie with you- he hates all the flavors except for mixed berry, which is the one he always insists on getting. he hates the the overpricing for what the product actually is, but loves the smile it puts on your face after a tiring bike-ride. and afterwards, you two will go back to either his of your place. his place if your parents aren't home, and his place when his parents are home, and binge watch a long t.v show of your choosing. he'll always complain that its stupid, poorly written or drawn out, but get pouty whenever you watch an episode without him. it's the one thing he looks forwards to at the end of a long week, drawn out with endless studies, training, and burnout. you're his safe place, and he needs it more than he'll admit.

hitoshi shinso, who somehow remembers every tiny detail about you. his mind works like gears, arranging formulas and deciphering codes, but the intellect of his mind makes you its priority. he remembers the way you pick your nails and cuticles when you have anxiety, and how placing his warm palm over yours soothes some of those thoughts. he remembers how prefer to tie your hair back during training but how you somehow always forget a hair tie- and he knows how you always give him a peck on his cheek once he shows off the one he's been keeping on his wrist for you. he remembers how you can't sleep without your nightly calls, and how he needs to hear your voice before he drifts of too- maybe more than you need it. he remembers the first day you met, the first thing he said to you, the first time he ever felt love for you. he remembers all of it and keeps it embedded in his heart. hitoshi shinso may seem like he hates everyone, but the one exception to that is you. and he'll remember that forever.

[sycamoregirlsworld]

Stockholm Syndrome- L. Castellan

part two!!!

down bad! luke x fem! reader

loser luke agenda

“baby look what you’ve done to me, baby you’ve got me tied down!” - one direction

lowkey want to make a pt. 2 idk

Why was he acting like this? Luke had never felt so jealous in his life. Jealousy wasn’t a feeling he had often. Sure, he was always slightly jealous of the kids with actual parents, but this was a different type of jealousy. It was the type of jealousy that made him want to scream into his pillow like a little kid.

And that was so weird for him! He was the counselor of the Hermes cabin. He had a scar on his face from fighting a dragon! Luke Castellan was cool, and he did not let things like girls get under his skin.

“You look like a creep.” Chris scoffed, shaking Luke out of his thoughts.

“I’m not even staring at her.” Luke frowned at his friend as he picked up his sword, deciding that maybe he should actually practice.

He was staring at her, though. But how could he not!? His best friend had impeccable fighting form, he always admired that.

That was why he was staring at (Y/n), nothing else. And he was not glaring at the boy she was sparring with and thinking about running his sword through him. Not at all.

“Y’know, I didn’t even mention her.” Chris raised his brows as he also picked up his sword. “You’ve gotta tell her how you feel, before someone else sweeps her up.”

“I dont love her, Chris.” Luke frowned as he swiped his sword at his friend. “At least not like that.”

But he couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably at Chris’s words. Someone else sweeping up (Y/n)? His (Y/n)? It had always been him and her. (Y/n) and Luke.

He felt gross being so possessive over her, but he didn’t have much in life.

Imagining (Y/n) being gone was….

That thought got him worked up, and he could feel his nonchalant exterior breaking.

He tried not to think about it, but when it came to (Y/n) he was very chalant.

Is that even a word? Doesn’t matter… Luke just knows he’s the opposite of nonchalant when it comes to her.

He tried to ignore it, he really did! She had been his bestfriend since he had gotten to camp, he didn’t want to ruin anything between them.

And sure, maybe it felt like a hellhound was ripping out his insides everytime another boy flirted with her. And yes, he did frequently dream about dropping to his knees in front of her and—

‘Stop it!’ Luke scolded himself as he blocked Chris’s attack. ‘Stop thinking of her like that..’

He couldn’t focus on the fight. The swinging and blocking of his sword was sloppy compared to his usual sharp technique. He just couldn’t pull his eyes away from (Y/n).

His jaw clenched as he watched her sword knock against the boy whose name he couldn’t even remember. Why was she even sparring with this loser? She easily had the upper hand, this boy wasn’t even good!

(Y/n) always said she liked sparring with Luke because of the challenge, their sparring was always playful and fun— but it was hard.

Their skills were equally matched, he was so much better then this random boy—

Luke’s thoughts were broken away as Chris disarmed Luke, backbiter falling to the ground with a thud.

Luke’s thoughts stilled for a moment as he stared at the ground with his jaw agape. How did he—Luke Castellan—get disarmed by Chris Rodriguez?

“She’s got you whipped.” Chris laughed as he looked over at (Y/n).

Right. That’s how’s he got beat.

“Whatever man.” Luke scoffed as he swiped her sword up and stormed away.

The quiet crackling of the fire and the loud singing from the Apollo cabin didn’t to much to lift (Y/n)’s mood. The entire day Luke had been ignoring her, and it was really pissing her off.

He was fine this morning! He had even given her his last bit of eggs during breakfast, but after that he hadn’t talked to her.

Was it because she had chosen Ben as her sparring partner instead of Luke? She guessed that could be the problem, but she didn’t know why he’d be mad!

And Ben had asked her to be his sparring partner, she would’ve felt bad if she said no.

Maybe she had also obliged his request to get her mind off of Luke.

Gods, being in love with your best friend was totally lame! She knew Aphrodite always had a plan, but if this was the Goddess’s idea of a good trope she needed to rethink her tastes.

Reading friends to lovers in a book? Totally fine— amazing even!

Experiencing it in real life? A cruel and unusual punishment.

But she couldn’t help falling for Luke, he was just so kind and funny and strong and he was such a pretty boy.

Like, screw Helen of Troy, try Luke of Connecticut!

But having those thoughts about your best friend was so uncomfortable, especially when you’re supposed to be sparring with him but instead you just want to pin him down and kiss him.

And this is where Ben enters. Ben was blonde, short, and skinny. He was wasn’t very smart nor was he a good fighter. The complete opposite of Luke!

(Y/n) thought that would’ve been good. If he was the complete opposite of Luke, then it would be impossible for her to think about the boy, right?

Wrong!

Turns out, it just made her pick apart everything that made him different from Luke.

Currently, she was sitting next to the blonde boy. It was rather uncomfortable as she could feel his body pressed too close to hers and she could see the seductive look he was sending her from the corner of her eyes.

Yuck.

She enjoyed his attention, sure. But it wasn’t his that she wanted.

It made her feel bad, to nitpick someone like this all because she was hopelessly down bad for her best friend.

But she also couldn’t really find it in her to care. She felt dirty, gross, and disloyal for spending her time with Ben.

It’s not like Luke and her were a thing, but she wasn’t the type to divide her adoration. If she liked someone, it would always be them.

And it had been Luke for awhile.

But she was tired of it now. Selfishly, she wanted affection. She wanted to be adored! And yeah, Luke showed her affection, but it was a ‘best friend’ type of affection.

So here she was, debating on if she should just leave the campfire early.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ben asked as he nudged his shoulder against hers.

‘Luke.’ Her mind immediately answered.

But she couldn’t say that to him, so instead she just answered, “Nothing.”

She could hear Ben hum in response, but she still wasn’t looking at him.

Instead, she was watching Luke from across the fire. The way the flames danced off his skin made him look well— hot!

She smiled shyly as she made eye contact with him and waved, to her luck he actually waved back. He looked like he was about to open his mouth to say something when she felt Ben’s hand grip her chin and turn her head towards him.

“You’re so beautiful..” He mumbled as he tilted her head up.

Her jaw clenched and her body went rigid. This was gross. His hands were smooth and sweaty…

Ben shifted even closer to her, his bony legs pressing up against hers.

“I used to think you and Castellan had something going on, y’know?” He smirked and got closer, “But I guess not.”

(Y/n) furrowed her brows at his words. Why was he bringing up another guy when he looked like he was about to kiss her? She found it weird and territorial, not to mention he was bringing up someone she’d rather be kissing…

(Y/n) could feel her stomach twist up in a gross anticipation, she could just tell by the way he was looking at her they he was about to lean in.

And she really didn’t want his lips on hers.

She pursed her lips as he closed his eyes, his sweaty hands snaking from her chin to her hair as he began to lean closer.

He was so close, she could feel his breath in her face and then—

“Hey.” A deep voice spoke up from next to them.

(Y/n) quickly pulled away and sighed in relief when she spotted Luke standing over them, his dark glare settled onto Ben.

The blonde haired boy looked pissed as he stared up at Luke. “Hey dude!” He smiled tensely. “What’re you uh- what are you doing?”

Ben was obviously trying to look and sound intimidating as he puffed out his chest and made his voice deeper. But as the Luke Castellan stood over them, his brown curls falling slightly in his eyes, Ben just looked so meek.

“I need to talk to my girl.” Luke shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal and pulled (Y/n) up.

She tried to ignore the fact that he called her his girl. He didn’t mean it, he just knew she was uncomfortable and was trying to get her away from Ben.

But she couldn’t ignore the way she felt when he said it. His words, mixed with the way he held her hand tightly, made her feel like she was about to throw up an entire colony of bees.

She smiled apologetically at Ben as she allowed Luke to pull her away, even though she couldn’t give two fucks.

“Where are we going?” (Y/n) asked curiously as she glanced around at their surroundings. The two had been walking for awhile, (Y/n) trailing after Luke like a lost puppy.

“You’ll see.” Luke’s words were short as he continued to drag her around.

The girl puffed out her cheeks and looked away. He was still mad at her, wasn’t he? She didn’t even know why he’d be mad, and that now was making her mad!

She tugged on his arm and stopped walking.

“Why are you so mad at me?” She frowned.

Luke turned around and raised his brow. “Mad at you?” He scoffed. “You think I’m mad at you?”

(Y/n) puffed out her cheeks as she held her arms up in an exasperated motion. Was he being serious?

“Well I dunno Luke!” Her voice came out high pitched as she jutted her hip out. “After sword practice tonight you ignore me when I come up to you, then you ignore me during arts and crafts, and you also ignored me during dinner!”

During her blow up, (Y/n) had gotten closer to Luke, staring up with him with narrowed eyes as she shoved her finger into his chest.

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” Luke scoffed as he caught her wrist. “I’ve just been—”

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” The girl frowned as she ripped her wrist away from his grasp. “You talked to me during breakfast but you’ve ignored me the rest of the day Luke, what did I do?”

The brown haired boy went silent at her words, a pang of guilt hitting his chest as he heard the distress in her voice.

“You didn’t do anything…” Luke sighed as he tugged on his camp necklace.

That was always his tell, whenever he was nervous he’d tug on it.

“Then why am I the victim of your anger?” (Y/n) groaned as she ran a hand through her hair. “You know I hate it when you do that—”

“I was jealous!” Luke blurted out. After a beat of silence, Luke processed what he had confessed and slapped his hand over his mouth.

“You…. were jealous?” (Y/n) tilted her head as she looked up at him.

Luke was acting strange… sure, the pair had many conversations about his jealousy towards children’s whose godly parents actually cared, but this was different.

This was… about her?

“Fuck it…” Luke groaned as he rubbed his hand over his face. “Yeah. I was jealous. You sparred with that blonde kid today and then Chris said something that really got under my skin.”

“What do you mean..?” (Y/n) took a step closer to him, laying a hand on his bicep in concern.

“This is so unlike me— y’know I never let things like this get under my skin, but when it comes to you?” Luke breathed out as he hesitatingly cupped her face with his hands. “You get me so worked up.”

“When I’m with you, all I want to do is kiss you, and worship the ground you walk on, and do all this other shit to you because I just— I love you!” Luke continued with his rant, not giving (Y/n) any time to reply. “And it takes all my self restraint and then some to not do it!”

“Y-you love me?” (Y/n) stammers as she grabbed the hand that Luke was holding her face with.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She needed someone to pinch her, because this couldn’t be real!

Luke Castellan—her Luke Castellan—who she never thought she had a chance with, wanted her too??

“So, so, much.” Luke chewed on his bottom lip as he stared down at her. “And when I saw that loser trying to kiss you tonight— I wanted to get violent!”

This elicited a small giggle out of (Y/n). It was gross when Ben was territorial, but it felt right when Luke was.

With Ben it seemed like he was trying to prove he was the man. But Luke was the man. He was the man of her dreams, to be more exact.

“Well— I love you too..” (Y/n) smiled shyly as she looked down at her feet. Her cheeks were flushed and the feeling of Luke’s rough hand against her cheek didn’t help the butterflies that swirled around her stomach.

Luke nudged her chin up and smiled as he met her eyes. (Y/n) always thought he looked good, but something about seeing him after he had confessed his love to her just made him look even better.

“Hey, promise me something?” He requested as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Only ever be my sparring partner?”

“Is this your lame way of asking me to be your girlfriend?” Her nose scrunched up in amusement, but she couldn’t stop the fuzzy feeling that surrounded her.

Luke glanced away with flushed cheeks. “Just say yes or no.” He grumbled.

(Y/n)’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she tugged Luke down to her level, their noses brushing as she smiled.

“Yes, of course I will.”

Luke surged forward and pressed his lips against hers in a frenzy, (Y/n) kissing back just as feverishly.

Finally, after years of stupid yearning they were getting to feel each others lips.

(Y/n) quickly had her hands tangled through Luke’s hair, needing something to support herself as he continued his merciless attack against her lips.

Luke gripped her hips tightly with a quiet moan, his fingers sinking into the stiff denim of her shorts as he attempted to pull her closer.

(Y/n) pulled away with flushed cheeks, stumbling slightly as she was tugged forward.

“Everyone should still be at the campfire…” She trailed off as she looked away shyly, hoping Luke would catch her drift.

Luke smirked in response and pulled her into another chaste kiss.

“I like the way you think.”

[omegalomania]

face in my hands. listen to me. no just. just listen. like. i think on the whole fandom tends to heavily mythologize what certain songs are "about" despite this never being solidly confirmed to be the case and fob (pete in particular) generally try not to say without question What Songs Are About because they want people to take whatever meaning they can from it. but from now on we are enemies is one of the exceptions to this rule to a very limited extent and by that i mean that on two separate occasions, during the hiatus, patrick and pete shared a little bit of what the song was about on twitter, independent of one another.

if you haven't seen the film amadeus it's about a rivalry between two historical composers, wolfgang amadeus mozart and antonio salieri. salieri loathes mozart and finds him supremely childish and annoying...but also irritatingly brilliant beyond words. salieri obsesses over wanting to see mozart fail and even plans on killing him, but they do eventually form a friendship. then mozart gets sick and dies. salieri essentially breaks and loses his mind and years down the line will claim that he murdered him.

the name of the song, "from now on we are enemies," is a direct quote from the film. but it's not talking about mozart. it's a furious diatribe that salieri flings at god himself. he's so wildly and deliriously envious of mozart that he feels like this is divine punishment and so he declares god his mortal enemy for bestowing mozart with such brilliance. from now on we are enemies, you and i.

this is, i should note, one of the last songs fall out boy wrote before the hiatus. this and "alpha dog" were considered "new" for the believers never die greatest hits compendium, but alpha dog was technically debuted before folie released, on the welcome to the new administration mixtape. then fall out boy went on hiatus and there was no guarantee of return.

like i dont know what to say about this song that hasnt already been said. its fucking deranged as all get out ill tell you that much. its fucking unhinged that this song, this song with this central thesis statement, is one of the last songs you wrote together as a band before going your separate ways without any guarantee that you would reform again. and it's THIS. IT'S THIS SONG. a song that laments about whether anyone will remember you when you're gone (reminds me of flu game, reminds me of so much (for) stardust the title track, reminds me of .... so many of the themes inherent to their eighth studio album. actually.), and a song that practically lays out its inspiration for all to see. for a band that seldom if ever discloses with actual intent the Meaning behind their songs, this is a song that discusses a HIGHLY FRAUGHT ARTISTIC RELATIONSHIP and it's hard, it's real damn hard, to see anything but what is clearly all on display. composer but never composed (patrick has always considered himself a composer first and foremost). singing the symphonies of the overdosed (pete played a song that was named after the drug he tried to overdose on with his band mere nights earlier). i'm just a man on a balcony singing no one will ever remember me (again there's the fear and dread about the legacy you leave behind just before the band goes their separate ways).

can't fucking lay out the sheer psychological damage this does to my soul just thinking about this. they played MISS MISSING YOU the night before. just, you know, one of the other Songs that's so hard to disentangle from the hiatus because of the way it was written (patrick wrote the music while making soul punk, felt like it wasn't for him, and set it aside...despite there being, again, NO guarantee that the band would ever reform at this point, and then the song was only completed once fall out boy decided to come back, with joe and andy adding instrumentation and pete adding the lyrics) and whose music video features patrick and pete literally KILLING EACH OTHER. from now on we are enemies. i need to walk into the ocean. i need to lie down. im inconsolable.

[mondaymelon]

MERRY CHRISTMAS !!! gifts ensue.

he really went. blep. hi user @ilyuu. im proud of this one so congrats wanderer takes home first gift wooo

lmao id like to apologise in advance as this was brought on because of me but I got super burnt out drawing like 20 of these over the course of 2 days... if you see the quality of the drawings declining ( which you will ) please don't mind it!! thank you.

@anonbinaryweirdo. sigh. i get whiplash whenever you're super nice and then in the span of the next three seconds immediately do something vile

@soleillunne. we don't talk much but from what I know you are such a sweet person omg !! and your works??? dies inside (in a good way). the way you write xiao maks me so. puddle like

@realkavehgf. we agree on one things (amongst others) and that is that kaveh is. kAVEH IS. MALFUNCTIONS PERISHES.

@emphasisondrvgs. you scare me. please take your ranpo and quietly see yourself out LMAO /j

@pjsk-writin. AMIMI ONE OF MY FIRST EVER MOOTS !!! im so proud of mikoto. sighs. straitjackets are smth else to draw .. BUT HES SO. MMMMMM !!!!

@circyexistforcontent AAAHHH HI PRECIOUS. I LIKE YOU BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE DILUC SO. TAKE THIS... quietly throws up

@whats-it-mean. puka puka. head empty. puka puka. please stop your affairs with my mother.

@falors. UGLY SOBS. UGLY CRIES. I LOVE YOU /P SM. WAAHHHH TEARS TEARS TEARS you are the most talented person ever I S T G gRAAAHHH YOU BETTER GET 18412409128410948 FOLLOWERS THIS YEAR OR I WILL RIOT. mwah.

@dustofthedailylife. omg. hi dust... tbh ive been so concerned for you recently with how much life is running you over with a pickup truck so wishing for your improved health soon !! alhaith is a smort guy what can I say

@the-white-void. DEAREST. literally one of the first people I ever interacted with on this platform and you're actually. like. literally one of the sweetest people I have ever met. KLEE IS SUCH A CUTIE FJSFJDK

@kaeffeinee. OMG. m..my kitten- woah WHO just said that. wild shit right there. have something you don't like?? have something that's been pestering you for far too long?? no worries. its the official nag seal of mendokusai !!!!

@lillonvia. sobs. I didn't do the man justice.loud sobs. DFSDDSF YOUR ART MAKES ME WANT TO LIKE DISENTAGRAT INTO GLOWING BALLS oF FUZZ AND FLOAT INTO THE HEAVENS I DONT KNOW HOW ELSE TO DESCRIBE IT. WE ARE SO DELULU oVER XIAO. FOAMS AT THE MOUTH

@absolutelyobsessedkiya. HELP WHY IS MINORI SO BRIGHT.... she's literally shining what. we need to talk more pspsspsp I just now found out that you're a fan of milgram!! remember like last year I was all 'whose that pretty pink person on their pfp??' AND NOW I FINALLY KNOW THATS ITS MUU RAHHHH

@auroratumbles. meow. cat. what a sweetie. I don't even know what my art style is doing here anymore Istg what even. what even BYE LETS TALK ABOUT XIAO LATER !!

@papiliotao. mwah. a kith for you. mWAH. ANOTHER KITH. SJFKSDJFLS GRAHHH YOU ARE THE SW E. E T E ST AND YOUR THE SWEETEST AND YOUR CAT IS THE SWEETEST AND YOUR VOICE IS MAKING ME WANT TO ELEVATE INTO THE CLOUDS AND YOURE SO SILLY EVEN THOUGH YOU DONT LIKE AKITIO SHINONOME

@yinyinggie. hihihi ying !! it honestly amazes me how you're able to juggle so many events and servers at once. im actually in awe. always look at xiao he's so emo and short

@solxima. GRAHHH HI. I DONT LIKE HOW JINGYUAN LOOKS IN THIS BUT. DLJFLSDJ DIES> I CANT DO THIS AN Y M O RE. your honor. hes so cat coded hes so cat coded he's so PERISHS

@yelshin. WAIIIIT NO YOUR NAME GOT CUT OFF> iM SORRY. I don't know why he looks... so r e g a l in this but its definitely giving off oRAtRice MecAnIquE DAnAlySe CARdiNAle .

@vennnnn-diagram. LOUD SCREAMING N O . YOUR NAME GOT CUT OFF TOOOODJSKFLSD JGAIJFAD JKLJFD:LFS. anyways. I need to see nahida smiling more she deserves everything and then some. aranaras are so silly giggles

@lume-nosity. I hold the slightest bit of guilt for putting your angsty ish drawing right next to happy lil nahida buT AHAHAH IT MAKES IT HURT MORE IG. took some inspo from your blog title... mwah ily lume. I WAS SO SCARED TO TALK TO YOU AT FIRST WHEN I SENT YOU THAT MOOT ASK BUT I AM EVER SO HAPPY THAT I DID !!!

th end. im actually so dead lmao my fingers actually were starting to bleed afklsdjfaskdjfklsdjflkasdjflksjflkjowejtoij enjoy your Christmas gifts mooties !! if anyone asks why I haven't been posting fics as promised. this is why. ill be in a coffin for a while please let my soul rest

OH AND FORGOT TO MENTION I DREW THESE BASD ON THE MOOTIES THAT COMMNTED ON MY THINGY LIKE LAST WEEK WHICH ASKED WHICH CHARACTER THY WANTD I LOVE YOU ALL PSPS I PROMIS

[captainaikus]

I love your work so much and it has been like 2 hours since i discovered it aghhh ><

(Nsfw) ik you're on hiatus but just a quick idea(thought it was cool sorry TT). Itoshi rin as a butler and the reader as royalty, reader initiates things by teasing rin but rin rejects because of their differneces in class but eventually give in and lets out his inner yandere 🙏 they have sex secretly with rin degrading reader for being such a whore even though shes royality🤦‍♀️ (you can write it in any way you want ill be satisfied anyways) please ignore if you dont like it im not trying to force you to write this 🙏 love you hope everything's fine!

tysm doll 💜 i'm glad you enjoy my works :p

wc : 1.0k, not proofread.

warnings : dark themes, mentions of nudity, rin has a temper, degradation, mentions of sadness, y/n having a break down, fingering, mentions of alcohol and use of poison, intended for murder. based in victorian period.

Rin is the butler of the house and has been your childhood friend. Considers himself to be distinct from you, he makes his bed on mornings, getting into his suit. Over the years it was the same routine, making your bed, telling you your schedule for the day, reminding you to dab the corner of your mouth when you ate something, giving you a glare when you picked up the wrong fork or when you were crass, even telling you to sit up straight when you slouched.

He is a strict disciplinarian, going harsh and hard on you, sometimes even pushing you to the verge of tears yet he was also the shoulder you cried on certain nights, finding solace in his stiff posture, not daring to touch you. He knew the two of you couldn't be in the same world. You were the princess while he was your butler. A gentle hand like yours wouldn't want his scarred one, he would think, staring into his glass of wine on the kitchen counter. little did he know that you liked him and had found adoration for him over the years.

Just when Rin couldn't seem to shake you out of his head, things got worse. Your bed was messy than usual - taking him hours to spread it over. Your behavior became more crass and you became more defiant, shooting back at him.

the last straw was when you demanded that he bathe you, extending a foot towards him, your breasts covered with the milkiness of the soaped water in the large bath, the sunlight reflecting off your skin making you look tempting to man. "Go on. Clean me, Rin." you tempted, waving your foot of at him.

Throwing the sponge on the ground, he had had enough, getting into the water with you, his shirt becoming soaked and transparent. Holding you by the throat, he leans in menacingly towards you. "I can tolerate having to do chores. But what I won't tolerate is you disrespecting me. Try that again and I'll make sure that you are punished. I might be a mere butler, but remember. I know you like the back of my hand and these years of experience have given me enough knowledge about you. The next time you disrespect me, I will make sure to take you over my fucking knee. Are we clear about that princess?"

You don't talk to him for weeks, while he adjusts to you until he was in the courtroom, summoned by your mother the queen. "Make sure that she fits into the finest of gowns you can find and that she attends to the tailor to have her measurements taken." she commanded. "She has to impress her suitors." The dreaded instance. You were in your early twenties, bound to be married. He was upset that night, going to town once the sun went down to drown his sorrows in his glasses of wine for he hated beer. As the week passed by, he noticed instances of your courtship with the prince of a neighboring kingdom whose name and face he did not bother to remember.

It wasn't until one bold night he couldn't hold it in anymore, watching you give him lust and desired filled glances despite the fiancé of your parents choosing giving you attention with lavish gifts. He came to your chambers that night demanding answers.

"You just love pushing my buttons, don't you princess. What kind of a whorish upbringing did you even have to start behaving like this?" he taunted you as he thrust two fingers into your soaking wet cunt. "Do you just love seducing men and then not giving them what they want? Do enjoy torturing me?" He watched as you turned your head from side to side, refusing to meet his eyes. "Can't even see me. Aren't you even the least bit ashamed of yourself?" he prodded further. You refused to answer, your lips sealed.

Getting on top of you, he grinds his knee into your pussy, making you moan, his hands firmly holding yours above your head.

"Tell me princess, do you like driving a man to the verge of insanity ? Making him watch you with your future husband yet letting him fuck you in this bed ? Just how low has your dignity fallen princess? You're not even worth a common whore, in fact you're worse." he sneered, gathering your hands into his wrist whilst the other was holding the flesh of your thigh. "What other choice do I have?! My parents want me to marry someone of royal stature, yet they care less about me. You've seen how ruthless my kin can be, marrying off my sisters to gain more lands. You think I'm happy ?! huh?! Do you ?!" you cry. He felt nothing more than to make your anguish disappear. Words of love were exchanged that night. "I'm here." "I'm not leaving you." The usual gruff and strict disciplinarian of a butler had turned into a lover, giving you words of affirmation with every thrust, moaning into your ear and kissing every part of your body that his lips could reach, losing his sanity over and over again as your drew him into your warm welcoming arms. The thought of you being with someone else being pushed into the back of his mind replaced with how good you were clenching around him while your nails drew lines down his back, his hand swiping at your clit to give you your release. Lying in the same bed with you he kissed your forehead while his hand pet your hair a sign of a short goodbye as he was to leave early the next morning.

He watched as you pretended to be interested in the talks your fiancé was giving, with the occasional smile you gave him along with a playful tap. Looking into the tray of wines, he knew the prince's glass, slipping a poison into it. You would weep perhaps from shock and sadness over the loss of a life. But in the end,

you would always turn to his shoulder for solace just as you had in good old days.

[l0uterstella]

Cielomort's Death (Aozora no Memory Theory)

ah shit here we go again

Full English translation, Ever Red theory (must read to understand this post)

Last updated: Dec 8 2023

Multiple things point to something happening to Ciel in the past. The lyrics, the MV itself, and his own name. This death could be (at least one of) Hallritt's mistakes in the 1st timeline.

LYRICS

In Ever Red, fruits are what represented memories for Red Bouquet. For Blue Bouquet, it would be clouds.

Cotton clouds in the blue skies are cut out

Unwanted memories are cut out from the mind

All I want is your sky to stay blue

All I want is you to stay pure (and not remember his death)

The members describing something "unexplainable." Louter and Willmesh could be talking about tears. Hold your (bitter) tears in and let it go. Perhaps their memories of Cielomort got erased after his death.

MV

There were a lot of imagery of doves and balloons. Balloons represent freedom, letting it fly to the sky has a sense of letting it go; setting it free. Letting Cielomort go.

There's also a shot of one of the strawberry gems dissolving. The filter makes it hard to tell whose it is, but it's most likely Cielomort considering the other signs.

It could also be Myunna since the filter is yellow but I have nothing to add to that. He's my son and I dont want anything happening to him

How Ciel died isn't known, but one transition shows blue paint (blood?) coming out around his collarbone or chest. Two other shots before it show him with his head below his chest, which could slightly imply beheading.

And finally, do you know what Cielomort means in French?

Here, your heart seems lonely Here, if you feel like crying Softly weep and let them flow to the sky I'll turn them to the blue sky

I went with the blowing wind Even if that cloud never returns I want to believe in the future Just as we met

[lashiitailss]

Billy Loomis ✧˚ · .

TW ⚠️ : Blood, knife, cursing, betrayal..?

My opinion!!!

“billy..?” You called out from the living room as you just came back from work.

No response.

You then walked into the kitchen to see blood splattered all over the kitchen tile floor You then begin to panic as your brain wondered about who may the blood belong to. as you were thinking you got a call from an unknown number…

“Hello..?” you said as you picked up the phone. “Hello….” said a dark raspy voice from the other end. “who is this?” you asked as u locked your doors and windows. “Thats not important Right now… [Name]”

You then froze. How did they know your name? you then hung up the phone and started searching the house looking for billy and you still wondered whose blood was on your floor. u then went up to You and billy’s shared room and locked the door and shut the window blinds.

You then started to hyperventilate as you thought a killer was in your house. your phone then rang again. you stared at it as it was your mother calling… but… she died two years ago. you then shakily held the phone up to your ear as you answered it.

“Hello..?” you said slowly. “Darling, who told you to lock the doors?” the Dark voice said.

“w-what… i dont know what your talking about.” you said as you wondered as how he knew the doors were locked. “oh come on.. [Name] dont play stupid you know you locked the doors.”

You then stayed silent as the voice on the other end spoke again. “Check the cameras.” he said. “w-wha..?” you hastily asked. “Check the fucking cameras.” he said in a a more darkish tone. You then went to your desktop and typed into your computer and signed into your cameras and seen a someone with a dark gown and a white saddish..? mask thats frowning and they were holding a knife while holding a phone up to their ear.

“Im coming in.” after that last sentence he hung up and all of a sudden the cameras went blank as he heard the front door being broken down. you panicked and put your dresser towards the door and put your desktop by the window. you then remembered u had a bat in the closet.

You went into the closet and got the bat and stood by the bed clenching onto the bat for dear life. you heard things being knocked over down stairs and u heard glass breaking.

You then heard loud clacking boots walking up the steps as it was going through the doors and rummaging through stuff around the rooms but they then stopped at your door. all of a sudden it was quiet as nothing could be heard but only crickets.

That silence was soon interrupted by a phone ringing, then a loud banging on the door. you then screamed, they called your phone and knew where u were, even though the dresser was blocking the door it was slowly moving and he was going to get in.

You then stood in place and decided to wait for him to come and so you could face him and maybe even kill him.

The dresser then knocked over and onto the floor as the ground shaked a little. the door then boomed wide open and there u saw them. The ghost face looking man.

He then looked at you and just stood there until u screamed “BRING IT ON MOTHER FUCKER” he thought u were tough.. But not tougher then him. He then charged at you as you swung the bat as hard as u can but he dodged it. he then held his knife up and swung but he also missed aswell.

The two of you were breaking and knocking things down until you both got a hit in… he stabbed you on the side of your stomach while you hit him with the bat in his leg making him fall to the ground and you dropping the bat as the knife was still in your stomach.

You then started to feel all types of pain you never felt before. you felt woozy and dizzy and your nerves couldn’t seem to get together or focus on anything. Your head was pounding and your ears were ringing.

you then pulled the knife out of your flesh as your blood was on the knife and blood was pooling out of your fresh wound. you then put your hands over it to try and stop the bleeding. your eyes then become blurry as you see… two ghostfaces? were u going insane?

You then hear a rough and shrill voice coming from the other masked man, so you werent going crazy. “Damnnit ___ I told you not fucking touch her!” you couldnt quite get the name that the other ghostfaced man said due to your ears ringing. Great. u didnt get the name. you then closed your eyes for brief moments and then u seen billy come up to you. “[Name] look at me, c’mon look at me.” you then avert your eyes to look around the room and see the other ghostface man gone and see stu in the back on the phone with the police panicked?? “oh hello billy… how…how are you..?”

You then looked at him and asked with a smile, he then looked at you confused wondering if you were drunk or if u lost a few of your brain cells. “The Ambulance are on their way.” he said as he looked down at your bleeding wound and then his eyes went dark as his jaw clung together, u heard him clicking his tongue as his face then softed when he looked back at you.

He then wrapped your wound with a towel and picked u up and placed you in bed to wait for the ambulance. “just rest here sweetheart, ill be back.. okay?”

you then smiled and nodded as u turned ur head away. he then went over to stu who was outside of the door by the stairs.

you could still hear them. “you fucking idiot i never said to hurt HER!” billy said as his voice went rasp as he sounded a bit angry. “i thought you said Tatum AND [Name]!!” stu had said. “why the fuck would i say that?!?!”

billy aruged back, “Listen man, i dont know but tatum whacked me in the head with a whine bottle and got away” Billy sighed as he went downstairs with stu.

Billy and stu were killers..?

You then woke up in a hospital bed, you then sat up and winced as last night flashed in your head and u looked at your wound and seen that they patched you up with bandages but there was blood on the bandages it was okay still.

You looked around and saw no one, you then picked up your phone from your bedside table where there was flowers and a water bottle and a small little note on the table.

“ill be back to check up on you when you wake up if you need anything please feel free to ring the bell” - nurse

aw how thoughtful. but however the bell was all the way over to the other side of the room.

you then decided to play a small game on your phone to pass up the time but all of a sudden the lights begin to flicker and they went off. “what the hell?” you said as u sat up and turned to look through the window.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me, even at the hospital?”

The door then swung open which caused u to jump and there he was, the ghost face man. it was either stu, or billy- “you should really watch that pretty little mouth of yours” he then shut the door and came closer to you.

you know that voice…

he then took off the mask, and it was billy.

“B-Billy..?”

“heyy…sweet girl, how ya holding up?” he asked warmly as he sat on the side of the bed.

you then looked away from him and backed up a bit in your bed. “y..you tried to kill me..”

you mumbled wanting to see his response.

“That was stu.” he said bluntly as his smile faltered. you then frowned as he put his hand underneath your chin so u could look up at him. “i would never try to hurt you on purpose, i love you.” he said as his gaze softened.

“i..i love you to”

Thank You for reading!! ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Judas in the Window (18+)

pairing: priest(apprentice)!chan x fem!collegestudent!reader

genre: ANGST ANGST and smut (mdni), childhood best friends to..?

description: you return home from college, after not seeing your old town for three years. your childhood best friend has been waiting for you.

warnings: no. genuinely so sad. religious guilt, blasphemy ig, slutshaming, degradation (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), desperation, fingering (f. receiving), humiliation, unprotected sex (do not do this shit), brief breeding kink, mentions of past unhappiness, reader has beef with her old self fr, alcohol consumption, pet names (darling, baby, some more i dont recall), LOTS of biblical references, i warned you this is incredibly sad and wether it's a good ending is certainly debatable, reader has both her parents (if u dont, same, just imagine the dad as adam sandler and the mom as gwendoline christie), the dad is the best character x

quotes from my proofreader: "i have a new pair of panties at the ready", "im horny and angry, some say hangry", "AAAAAA"

wordcount: 8.3k

a/n: it is 2:30 am. my proofreader is asleep and i might go crazy if i dont post this now, so if there are any mistakes in the last part i am sorry, ill fix it later lmao

Your room hasn’t changed a bit.

You’re not sure why the sight knocks the wind out of you. You suppose you’d thought your parents might do something with it - maybe give your dad a “man cave” or whatever other pained, heteronormative solution to hating each other. But it’s the same exact thing. Your bed, horrible orange wood, pink princess sheets, and your desk right beside you where you stand in the doorway, all cluttered with glitter pens and marker sets and a small mirror. 

“Isn’t this great, honey?” your mom squeals, old hands squeezing your shoulders. It takes you a second to reply. You’re not even sure you want to step inside the room. “Yeah, yeah, it’s great, mom.” 

“I’m getting dinner ready, you just settle yourself in!” she says, practically vibrating at your presence. She’s so happy, it jabs at your stomach with guilt, that you can’t even bring yourself to enter. You watch her disappear down the stairs, making a funny face when she catches your eye. You half-smile tiredly. Then you’re looking at it again.

It’s like a totally closed off time capsule. Your fingers play with the doorframe, looking at the stains in the carpet, that you vividly remember creating as a clumsy child. You see the stickers on your closet-door, and the faint outline of the stickers you’d taken down. You see toys, whose names you remember, you see terrible drawings over your bed, hung with glitter tape, and you see yourself. The you that you were certain you’d stuck in the dirt and buried. The one you’d worked over-over-overtime to never see again. She was somehow alive and well in this room. A part of you roamed with a horde of anxiety, birthed by the thought that once you entered, you and her would fuse together, and all the flaws you’d had would be reignited, and you would be miserable again.

“You not going in, champ?” you jump at your father’s voice behind you. You turn to see him exiting your parents’ bedroom, taking heavy, loggy steps towards the staircase. You shake your head: “No, I am, it’s just..” you pause and turn back to the room, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s weird.” 

Your father pauses. He has his reading glasses pushed all the way down to the tip of his nose, so he leans his head back and squints to study you. “Well- well- well, why don’t you just try out for a bit, champ, and if you don’t like it, Uh, well, we’ll situate you on the couch. How’s- how’s that sound?” 

You smile softly. “Sure.” 

“Alright, champ,” he pats your back and finally starts his descent down the stairs. 

You nod to yourself and exhale deeply, face now turned back to the super menacing not-at-all-menacing room before you. Your fears are deeply irrational. You wouldn’t just revert back to your old self. Once you’re half believing it, you finally break the barrier, and take a step inside. 

It’s not so bad after all. Everything is very still. Dust kicked up from your presence slows down around you. You’re standing under the overhead lamp, and it’s not that bad. Not so bad. You drop your duffel bag and sit down on your bed. 

You feel a lot bigger, sitting with bent knees in the plush duvet. You recognize that you can’t be that much bigger than when you last sat here, 18 years old, heading off to college in the big city. And this was the kind of town where neighbors a dozen houses over came to see you off, waving at you with big smiles on their faces, an american flag hoisted up to the blue sky. You remember the grins stretched on their faces, and how you’d been panicked to start the ignition on the car. They’d looked like they were made of wax.

Movement flashes in your peripheral. You turn your head, brushing hair out of the way. The movement is coming from the crack in the curtains. Like Moses parting the red sea, your fingers delicately brush the flimsy fabrics away. You know exactly what - who - you’re about to see. Your heart presses, red and wet, into your throat. 

Chan.

He’s there in the window directly across from yours. You almost don’t recognize him at first. He’s shirtless, pacing around and picking things off the floor, and, God, he’d gotten so big. His arms are so shapely and firm and his stomach is toned and when he turns his back to you, you see how it ripples with muscle, and your mouth is drooping open in shock. 

This is Chan, you try to remember (memories flit of him in his dad’s baseball caps, him on the playground, or on the sandy paths that fade out from the roads on the outskirts of town), but grounding yourself in the memories of him as a kid only serves to hurt you. No, you decide, eyeing his naked torso through the glass, better remember him like this. Like an adult who has faults and wrongs, not an innocent child that you abandon in your haste to grow up. 

He’s looking at you. Suddenly, he’s fucking looking at you. For a moment it seems like he’s confused, maybe fighting with the danger of recognizing you as a real, actual person in the window. Then his eyes are softened and he’s hunched over the paneled window, face split in half as he stares back at you. He used to fit so easily in the frame of that window - now you watch his shoulders press against the framework, unable to squeeze in. 

Your cheeks are burning when you squeeze your eyes shut and smile apologetically. Your childhood best friend who you hadn’t seen in three years had just caught you staring at his fucking abs through his window. You fear he’ll take offense, especially considering how you’d left things off with him, but when you open your eyes, he’s grinning softly and shaking his head. 

He walks away from the small window, and you take this as your cue to leave as well. You fall back on the bed and groan pathetically, body jittery with embarrassment. 

“Y/n, sweetheart! Dinner now!” your mom caws from the floor beneath you and you feel 16 again. This was what you didn’t want. All the power you had accumulated was slipping through your fingers by the minute. 

It’s just five days, you remind yourself. Just five, measly days.

“Coming, mom!”  _____________________________

The fucking bell tower is going. Over and over again and it shouldn’t be this loud, you’re not that close to the church, but it is. 

You lie flat on your back in the smoldering dark, completely still. It’s so loud it feels like it’s coming from inside your head. Like the curved, rusted sides of it are bashing against your skull. You don’t understand how anyone could sleep through this. You don’t understand how Chan could stay here all these years. Maybe that’s just because you couldn’t see yourself here.

You don’t want to think about Chan anymore, but for whatever reason - you can’t decide if it was seeing him (so manly) so suddenly, or if it’s the ever-ringing bell in the distance, like a marker of the apocalypse - he won’t leave your mind tonight. Part of you understood that what had happened with you and Chan was natural, and not particularly anyone’s fault. So why did you still carry the heavy burden of guilt? Guilt that pinched at your nerve endings like the delicate tunes in a children’s music box.

You and Chan had met as children in church. It didn’t take long for you to be best friends. You’d sit next to each other on the neatly lined benches during sermon, then you’d tumble in the grass outside, and then you’d go to his house and play until dinner, after which you’d see each other again, talking from window to window. You spent very nearly every moment with him.

Then you grew apart.

It was a slow death. Seeing each other became a sort of horrific reminder that it was ending, no longer bound by church or friendship, but a mutual understanding. There’d be a sort of solemn silence whenever you locked eyes. Is this the last time? You’d wonder, and the longer it went on, the more you started to wish that it was.

And then it was. 

It was your fault. You were 13 and suddenly you were wearing makeup and your dresses were getting shorter, and you wished you were much older than you were. You started forgetting the principles they’d taught you in church. Or maybe you’d never really learnt it, only tolerated it for Chan. But years passed and by the time you were sixteen, you were being kissed and groped at parties and you were having sex in cars and smearing your lipstick on the rims of shot glasses. 

And Chan was.. Well, Chan. Chan was a skinny, virgin christian. And you liked him, but suddenly there wasn’t much to talk about. From one day to the next, all discussable topics evaporated in your hand, and talking to Chan became a stumbling, bumbling mess. 

After that you were just…. Gone. 18 years old disappearing down the dirt roads in the 2009 Toyota Tacoma, that you’d gotten for your sweet sixteen. Chan was standing on the roadside that day, but he wasn’t sure you saw him. Your wheels kicked up dust and that was all you left behind. A cloud of sand for him to grab at, looking lost in between your tire tracks. At that moment it felt like those last years were two seconds. You just slipped right out of his hands. 

Lying in bed and your heart is so heavy. Maybe it isn’t Chan, you conclude. Maybe it’s what he represented. The face of the church; the face of goodness, of purity; the face of the life you deselected. 

The cry of the bell tower becomes a song in the night. You fall asleep in the devil’s hour. _____________________________

The following day you’re reexploring. The air is dry and the sun beating down on your shoulders. You’re walking through the suburbs and then later the small town square made up of mostly parking lots. You feel peregrine, but trudging through on the pavement, it becomes clear you’re the only one who feels this way. 

Every citizen, every single one of them - in polos, in flower-print dresses, in sandals, in sunglasses - stops you to welcome you back home. They’re shaking your shoulders and they recognize you and can tell you your name and your age, and they say that it’s good you found your way back. Every interaction leaves you more depressed than the last. You’re ducking your head, crumpled up like an unsent love letter. 

Your steps are heavy, your own sandals dragging into the uneven tiles of the square. Then you’re lifting your head from the ground, and your feet have betrayed you. 

You’re standing in the opening to another street of storefronts, and 5 rows of neatly planted trees down, the church sprouts from the earth like a stake. 

It’s not just any small town church. A few steps lead up to a plateau, supported by large, white beams. They may not be Roman, but they’re there, and they’re made of smooth concrete. The building itself is made of red brick, although the color varies and looks dappled. Each side of the church has two stained glass windows, which you remember from your childhood. The door, huge and oaken, ends in a point right beneath a round window, and the bell tower shoots up, a mighty cross at its peak. 

You’re left a little breathless at it. You don’t remember it being so menacing. But there’s also something beautiful about it. How it looks at you like it’ll kill you. And how blunt it is about it. You’re blinking at it and wondering how you got here. It’s as if something’s possessed you, because despite knowing better, you begin to take calm steps towards it, eyes transfixed and soulless. 

You’re walking into the courtyard, gravel underfoot, and then you’re traversing up the steps, fingers barely brushing over the railing. Idling forward, you’re opening the door. 

“And when Mary birthed the-” 

Crrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak!

Every head snaps towards you, as you’re cracking the door open, and the trance lifts from you. Oh, shit. Your gaze grazes over the stacked benches, smiling apologetically and bopping your head.

You clear your throat. “I’m-” 

You lock eyes with the priest, whose service you just interrupted, where he’s standing before the crowd, bible in hand.

It’s Chan. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak, voice now much meeker, and you don’t even know what to do, so you just step inside and sit down on the nearest bench. Slowly (and with low scoffs) the sea of heads turn around. One pair of eyes don’t leave you though. Chan studies you for several seconds longer, searching for something in your eyes, but you’re looking away. You just want him to continue. He does.

This is crazy, you think, and you can hardly believe you’re hearing his voice say those words, and it’s him in the clerical shirt. You supposed it made sense. You supposed you understood. But actually you didn’t, not at all. Not when he was supposed to live and change and evolve and here he is years later, dedicating his life to the one and only thing he knows! 

You’re tuning out the rest of his talk, vaguely aware of how his eyes flit over to you a little too frequently. Soon enough you’re absently clasping your hands together in a prayer and then people are lining up to thank Chan for his stellar service. 

You watch them from your seat, debating whether or not to leave without talking to him. Leaving wasn’t a bad idea. You were only gonna be in town for a week more, surely, you could avoid him until then. 

But you know you won’t do that. You want to talk to Chan. You want to feel his hand in your own. Partially you felt like maybe you could save him from just being a decoration to this hellscape for the rest of his life. You’re not sure you could go on living your life, when you know he’s just back here - still here. 

So there you are, planted in the line and hoping to save him from some dull future, and he’s shaking hands and smiling, but you can see how he eyes you, coming up on the line. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you smile warmly, and his hand is grabbing yours and it’s so soft and so big. He’s smiling too. Then you’re coughing and correcting yourself: “Uh- Father. Chan.” 

He laughs at your sputtering, clapping your hand between his two: “Oh, thank you, sister.” Emphasizing with pursed lips and wide eyes. You laugh along a little, but it’s strained. 

His smile fades slowly, and his face relaxes. He wants to say more. His fingers are still pulling your hand to his, and you just keep shaking it, because if you stop, it’ll be weird. Officially. 

“Oh, do you two know each other?” A bobbed woman from behind you in line is purring, unfamiliar hand on your back, and she doesn’t wait for you to answer before she’s talking again: “So, how do you know each other?” 

“Childhood. Friends,” Chan stammers, almost looking at you for confirmation, and you’re nodding along when the woman “ah’s” and “ooh’s”. “Oh, that’s wonderful, you guys!” And then you’re listening to her talk about some trailer down in Cassandra, and how her brother is fixing it up with his old friend, but there’s water damage in the lining of the room, and it’ll mold if they’re not careful, and it’s such useless information, you’re wondering how you’ll ever forget it. 

“Mrs. Lark, uh, I think my,” he looks at you, lips pursed, “my friend here needs to go, so..” 

Mrs. Lark gasps, embarrassed: “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m babbling,” and usually Chan would reassure her that she wasn’t, but he has more urgent matters on his hands. “Good day, Mrs. Lark!” he says and sends her off with a bright smile. There’s a few more people in line and Chan sighs a little. 

“Can you-” he’s a little sheepish, suddenly self conscious about the clergy shirt that grips his neck, “Can you wait? Here? Just until I’m done-” 

“Yeah,” you say. He smiles gratefully. 

Chatter continues behind you with a slight echo in the large room. You wait by one of the stained glass windows, arms around yourself as you stare up at it. Each and every window was a different biblical figure, made up of small shards of colored glass. You always found it strange, looking back, how your small town church had this grand artwork. The eyes of the window peer down at you.

“Judas,” Chan comments, planting himself beside you. His voice echoes slightly in the now empty church. The whole place is both too big and too small for the both of you. “It’s an interesting choice.” 

“What?” 

“Why you chose this window over any other,” Chan breathes, eyes darting down to you, and he’s looking at you very intensely. Then, it dissipates: “I’m also drawn to this one.” 

A pause.

“I wonder why they’d make this,” you quip, feeling small beside him. “I think whoever made this wanted all sides of Jesus’ story illustrated,” Chan says. You shrug. “If it were me, I wouldn’t.” 

Chan tilts his head to the side and looks at you again. Your cheeks burn, so you smile a little cheekily. “Was that not the right thing to say?” 

Chan’s smile is gentle and bemused - almost adoring. “There’s nothing you can say in here that is wrong.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” you laugh and Chan follows along. “Oh, you don’t?” You’re both laughing together, glee filling the crevices of the holy place, while Judas eyes you from the window. Your laughter dies down again, and when the silence returns, your heart clenches nervously. There’s a beat. 

“You keep busy?” you ask and the two of you are now facing each other. He sighs and nods, looking around. “Yeah, yeah, I got a.. Like a church get-together thing in, like, two days. I’ll be.. Preaching."

“Preaching,” you repeat, smile a little too tight. You wish you could say he didn’t notice. “Big Mr. Priest..” 

He laughs: “Technically I’m a priest apprentice,” he says, arms crossing over his chest. You roll your eyes. “So humble.” 

“What about you? Keep busy?” 

“Yeah, college,” you sigh. “You done?” he asks and you shake your head. “I wish.” 

His expression softens until he’s frowning. You want to squirm under his gaze, only because he looks so sincere and worried and you haven’t seen each other in three years. “You look tired.” 

“That’s not-” you begin, covering the slight ache in your heart with a laugh, “I just- Couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I thought living in the big city had you sleeping like a rock when you got to our quiet town,” he teases with a half-smile.

You shake your head, looking upwards at the ceiling. “It was that bell tower, just ringing, all night.” You shrug. Chan’s brows furrow and he looks up as well, as if he’d be able to see it through the tile roof. 

“The…” he trails off, sounding lost, “The bell tower doesn’t ring at nig-” 

Beep! Beep!

“Shit- sorry!” you curse, when your phone goes off loudly. Chan stands still studying you, while you squint at your phone. “I think- I think I gotta go.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he coughs, index finger rubbing over his taut knuckles. You’re pushing your phone into your back pocket again, when he reaches an arm out to you. “Uh-” he pulls back self-consciously, “Would you want to-.. Maybe, come to dinner at my place? Tomorrow?” 

You’re a little taken aback, looking at him with a softly open mouth for a moment. “Uh,” you fight back a wide smile, “Yeah, sure. I’d- I’d like that.” 

“Great,” Chan smiles too and nods. “Just- just at the house right next door, or?-”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s that one. Still,” Chan blushes breathlessly. You chuckle awkwardly. “Okay.” 

“Okay. See you then.”  _____________________________

You’re not sure why the prospect of having dinner with Chan has you so nervous. And it is just a dinner, you remind yourself, as you’re picking out your dress, just two friends catching up. After some 45 minute debate you pick out a pretty sundress.

You’d like to think there’s more to it than just the fact that Chan is suddenly very pretty and muscular. Maybe it’s the chance to make a wrong right. Maybe it’s to find out who this boy is, that was a key part of your life for so many years. Maybe you think you can change him.

Either way you’re just waiting for it all day, ignoring your dad trying to lure you out with trick shots from your garage. “HIYA!” he screams, throwing ping pong balls at your window all afternoon.

At 6:30 PM you’re standing at his door and hoping you don’t look too dolled up. His house also looks mostly identical to your memory of it. There’s something off about it though, and you study it momentarily, only to realize the front garden has overgrown. The grass comes up jagged and sharp, and the bushes bulge over the fence gate, brushing you when you waddle inside. You click the doorbell, wait a few seconds, and then begin to suspect that it didn’t work. Then you knock and you hear him fumbling around inside: “Coming!” 

He opens the door (with some struggle), and then you’re standing before each other. He’s so domestic, in a striped, brown sweater and dark blue jeans, and curly hair is framing his face like a crown. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He gives you a once over, smiling shyly: “You look great.” 

“Thank you,” you bow a little, “you too.” 

Then he’s letting you inside and you’re kicking off your shoes haphazardly, while he fusses back to the kitchen. “I made bolognese, if you don’t mind!” he calls and when you enter into the living space, he’s stirring a pan vigorously. You giggle a little, smile falling at the sight of a cross on the wall behind you. “Uh, yeah, of course.” 

Slurping tomato-sauced pasta and drinking a half-expensive wine that Chan had bought, you two laugh together. You mostly talk about when you were kids, then he’s talking about joining the church and you’re talking about college. 

“Is it hard? Out there?” Chan slurs a little, both of you tipsy and warm from the wine, having moved to the couch after eating. Now, full and face burning hot, you’re looking at each other differently. Chan’s got one arm on the couch rest, the other swirling the wine in his glass. He’s smirking a little and you hate how hot he is.

“It’s.. Exciting,” you counter, a little confused at his tone. He's close enough to radiate warmth onto you, when his eyes dip down to your lips for a second. “Yeah. You like exciting,” he drinks down the rest of his wine and sets the glass on the couch table. The moon, that’s been slowly traversing the star-speckled sky, gives the glass a faint halo. Chan basks in the moonlight, half lit and half shadowed. 

“I do. I do like exciting,” you giggle dumbly, still unsure where he’s steering the conversation. Chan smiles adoringly, because there you are sitting all blushing and warm in a sundress on his couch. The warmth disappears from his eyes then. 

“Was it exciting to watch me undress?” 

Oh.

Shit. 

You almost spit out a half-drunken sip of wine, gulping it down painfully and shaking your head. You set the glass down. “Chan! I’m-” you’re scrambling, “I’m really, really sorry. I- I was just- It wasn’t about your body, I was thinking about-” 

“Shut up.” 

Your mouth falls agape at his tone, offended and caught off guard. He’s still beside you, eyes much sharper than you remember, much colder. “Stop treating me like I’m still a kid.” 

“Well, you haven’t changed much, Chan,” you scoff. 

“Yeah, that’s why you were looking at me through your fucking window,” he scoffs as well, “because I haven’t changed.” 

You sit in quiet disbelief, trying to stay mad when his face is so pretty and so close to yours, and his jaw is clenched and his cheeks are flushed from the wine. You’re deciding whether to spit back or diffuse the situation. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry.” 

The hand that was previously holding his glass lands on your knee. He leans in even further and you smell the sour air of wine on his breath. You shudder under his touch when he whispers: “I want you to be honest with me.” 

You’re looking up at him with wide eyes, heart beating in your chest like nails being knocked into wood. “Tell me what you want from Father Chan,” he muses, smirking slightly, while his thumb brushes back and forth on your knee. 

You’re completely out of breath and squeezing your thighs together, as slick begins to build up in your panties. “Come on,” he encourages, “Let it out. Tell Channie what you want.” 

“I want,” you’re shaking in humiliation, gaze cast onto the floor, “I want you to touch me.” 

“Come again?” he teases, grinning.

“Please touch me, Chan.” 

“There you go,” he mutters and finally gives in, hand brushing the skirt of your dress up your thighs, until your white, cotton panties are visible to him. The sight of you is so pornographic, he groans and dips his head into your neck. “Spread your legs for me, baby.” 

And you do, one of them drooping over his legs, while the other bends on the couch beside you. You’re already so worked up, because Chan is so beautiful and you never, ever thought you’d experience him like this. “Shh, shh, calm down, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple, as his fingers brush over your clothed core.

“Baby,” he tuts disapprovingly, “you’ve soaked through your panties.” 

You can only whine as his fingertips ghost along your dripping slit, and he’s nosing into your cheek like a big puppy. “‘M sorry,” you hiccup, and he grins and kisses your lips tenderly. “So polite for me.” 

He finally dips his hand into your panties, fingers rubbing circles into your pussy. You’re mewling and thrashing into his chest, basking in the sound of his strangled moan, when you thrash the leg in his lap and brush over his hard cock. 

His fingers move lower to dance along your slit and you grab his wrist strenuously. He hums a little. “Gonna put my fingers in your pussy and my tongue in your mouth now,” he’s mumbling and you can’t tell if he’s telling you or himself, but either way he does as promised, two fingers plunging into your sopping wet heat, while he dips his tongue in your hot mouth.

You're moaning into his lips. He’s kissing you so sloppily, spit spilling down both of your chins, and noses rubbing together, breathing scorching air into each other. His fingers are pumping in and out of you, then curling into that sweet spongy spot inside you. 

“Fuck!” you cry when he pulls away breathlessly, “so, so, so good. Chan- Chan, fuck!”

Your orgasm is building up in your stomach, with a pleasure that is simultaneously torturous. He’s looking at you so intensely, you feel like you might unravel under his gaze. “Fuck, Channie.”

“Yeah? You feel good?” he pauses his words, still curling his fingers in and out of you. His next words are somewhat uneasy: “Is this better than those other guys?” 

“Huh?” you mumble, chest arching and his mouth is watering at how inviting it is. “Back then,” he says, and it finally clicks what he’s talking about. 

“Pussy so good no wonder they all wanted a piece of you, hm? Such a slut,” he’s rambling now, fingers plunging in and out of you impossibly fast, while his other hand splays over your stomach, thumb tapping your clit. You cry out in ecstasy, unable to form coherent words to respond with.

“But you’re my slut, right?” His voice is raspy and right next to your ear. The thumb tapping your clit begins to rub circles into it. “Y/n,” he’s suddenly very serious, “say you’re my slut.” 

“I’m-” your voice crack in humiliation, cheeks fiery and eyes squeezed shut, “I’m your slut!” 

“That’s right,” he pants, trying to stop his hips from bucking into your calf. “And my slut is gonna cum on my fucking fingers right now.” 

Your orgasm feels otherworldly - maybe godly - and your whole body shakes in his hold, chest bouncing in his face and moans melodic in his living room. Chan works you through it, finally pulling his fingers out when your hands weakly push at his own.

You’re sighing heavily with hair messy and teased, slumped back on his couch. “Holy shit,” you say, grinning from ear to ear, completely dazed. Chan is watching you with a proud smirk and a tent the size of Texas in his pants. 

A thought strikes you then, and your grin is fading and your brows are furrowing. “Wait- Wait, Chan? Where are your parents?” you ask suddenly, sitting up and straight and pulling your dress down hastily. You snap your head around self-consciously. 

“Relax! Relax!” he laughs, “They don’t live here anymore, I bought the house from them, like, six months ago.” 

Your jaw drops. You wait just a second, hoping to catch a cheeky glint in his eyes, that might tell you he’s joking. You find nothing but blackness.

“You bought the house?” 

Chan looks at you quizzically, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean, they wanted to move, you know, see new things and I.. I just. Didn’t.” 

You can hardly fucking believe your ears.

“Chan!” you cry, frustration blooming in your chest and pounding in your head. “Why did you buy the fucking house? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life paying off the fucking mortgage, and you’re never gonna get out of here!” you shout, flailing your arms at his absurdity.

Chan narrows his eyes at you. “Sorry, city girl, we don’t all wanna pack up and live in a closet space for three years-” 

“Wha- Chan, this is not about me! How can you just.. Surrender to this place?” you shout and suddenly he’s raising his voice too. “Surrender?” he repeats, spitting it back at you.

“Yeah! Jesus, even your fucking parents wanted to leave, Chan. But you’re just- You’re gonna live out the rest of your life in this shithole and be some sort of- of priest?!” 

“I can’t believe you right now,” he stands up from the couch, and you follow suit. “In what world do you have the morality to come in here and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, crossing your arms. 

Your voices are echoing in the empty house, wine glasses and sauced plates standing idly on the tables nearby. Your silhouettes are confined to the large living room window, standing on either side of the moon. 

“You know what that means, Y/n,” he laughs bitterly. “No, please, tell me,” you invite him challengingly, wondering (or perhaps fearing) whether or not he’d actually go there. He prods at his cheek with his tongue, and hesitates.

“You were a fucking slut, Y/n.” His voice is quieter, maybe ashamed. Tears sting at your eyes, when you look at him incredulously. How could you think you knew this man? How could you think there was anything left to salvage? 

“Fuck you, Chan,” you spit, spinning around before the tears can fall. He says nothing, just stands alone in his living room while you dash out his door, hands wrapping around himself. 

Exiting his house into the cool, summer air, you realize one thing. The bell tower had been the call of the apocalypse.  _____________________________

You were the walls of Jericho that night, crying and tumbling in your childhood sheets, muffling your cries in the fear that he’d hear through his creaked open window. What was this pain, you couldn’t decide. Was it how he stayed steadfast or how you metamorphosed, dying only to return once again? 

In the morning, you’re dull and gray. You’re drinking coffee out of your dad’s old tourist shop mug from a visit to Niagara Falls, sitting at the dining table with puffy eyes. Your mom eyes you worriedly from the counter, leaning into your dad to whisper not-so-discreetly. 

“Sweetheart, you wanna go with us to church today? They’re having this whole event, the kids’ choir will be there!” she suggests gently and you just want to shrug off all her affection. 

“No,” you deadpan. Your mom gives your father a look. He sighs. 

“Alright, champ, that’s- that’s your choice,” he nods, mustache scrunching up when he pouts. You sigh, feeling like an asshole. “Sorry, I just-” 

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart, you just rest!” your mom shushes you, scrambling around the kitchen, ever in the hunt for some lost appliance. “All that college must wear you out, you should rest while you can, hm?” 

They’re gone by noon. You sit in the shadowed corner of your bed, avoiding the strip of light that dances across your room from the crack in the curtain. 

You’re bored, scrolling on your phone, cheek puffed up against your pillow, when it slips out of your hands and hits the floor with a loud bump. You groan, feeling like the whole world is against you today, and throw your arm off the bed to grab at it on the floor. 

It’s halfway under the bed, and when your fingers finally remark the smooth surface, they brush against something else. It’s hard and it feels dirty. You lift your head to look and tug it out.

It’s your diary. 

Phone long forgotten, you lift it carefully, like an old relic, and push open the faded pink cover. You feel like you’re about to snap in half, when your eyes survey the graphite-smudged pages of your horrible, horrible handwriting. The pages emanate a mysterious air that has you leaning back in your seat.

You’re skimming through angst entries, that has you cringing and wanting to put it down, before you freeze suddenly, inhaling sharply at the scribbled out words before you.

‘3. august 2016

God, I miss Chan.’

The words come with the promise of stinging tears in your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you whisper angrily at the page, because you’re crying again, and you close the book and hold onto yourself so tightly that it hurts. “Fuck that. Fuck this.” 

It’s perhaps the worst feeling you’ve ever felt. It’s anger, it’s sadness, it’s humiliation, it’s confusion. How did it end like this, you think. It would be so much easier if you were kids again. If he was that dorky kid from your church, who wore his father’s baseball caps and had chubby little hands when he prayed. You can do it better, you think miserably, if you get another chance. But you don’t. 

For about fifteen minutes, you curl into yourself and wait for the feeling to go away. It doesn’t. The heavy weight of realization pools in your stomach when you realize you might carry this with you for the rest of your life if you don’t do something. It doesn’t have to end like this.

Suddenly you’re light as a feather, grabbing your jacket and your keys and sprinting out the door and down the street. The cross atop the spire watches you run to it, awaiting you ominously.  _____________________________

You’re disheveled and pulled apart when you arrive at the gathering, and for once the townspeople look at you like you’re out of place. You’re late, you know, because people are taking their leave, scattering and dissolving towards the town square, and the entertainment (the kids’ choir), all robed in white, are marching away together. 

You’re panting, stumbling further into the church garden, jumping at the sound of grills being closed and rolled away onto the pavement. 

“Y/n?” Chan can hardly believe his eyes, when he sees you standing between a bed of lilies. You turn around and see him, melting a little at how tired and sad he looks. “I can’t believe you came,” he whispers, a little sparkle of hope in his gaze. You smile fondly, “Me neither.” 

Chan moves to embrace you, but freezes when he suddenly remembers where you are. “Uh, I can’t, I have to-” he stammers, scrambling for a solution, for something better than turning you away, when you’re here, close enough for him to hold. He looks around, gaze following the churchgoers as they pass through the gates, before he’s bopping his head down to whisper to you again: “Go into the church. I’ll be with you in a second.” 

You walk through that heavy, wooden door, and when it closes behind you the scrambling of metal and people and footsteps and crying children is gone. With the door, you’re sealed in here, with whatever fate follows.

All the light in the church is filtering through the stained glass windows, and once again you find yourself drawn to him. Judas. 

Part of you would expect such an artwork to depict Judas as greedy and grim, as glutinous and gloomy; that he would be hunched over with a pouch of shillings, giggling at his evildoing. But the Judas in the window is so.. Sad. 

He’s blue and gray and his eyebrows are upturned and for the life of you, you can’t figure out how the unknown artist must have managed to portray such despair in glass. You stand in the middle of his reflection on the floor, all blue and gray yourself, and you’re not sure it’s really because of the light.

That’s all the church inhabits at that moment. You and Judas, and your shallow breaths, and the stirring of dust in the air. There’s nothing holy in there with you. Just you and him.

You hear the door open to your right. You know it’s Chan, somehow you can just feel it. He must sense something in the air, because he says nothing, just walks up to stand beside you, and only then do you speak again.

“I always felt a bit like Judas,” you muster a breath.

Chan pauses and you can feel him looking at you. “Me too.” 

You furrow your brows, and finally look up at him, and there he is in his clerical shirt and his matching pants, his right cheek glowing bright blue. The whole room is so heavy, you lean against the bench behind you. 

“That’s not.. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Chan doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He understands. “God made it that way,” he’s nodding with a pained expression on his face, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. You laugh a little and hate how much love you feel, when Chan half-smiles at the sound.

“God.. Yeah,” you half-gesture to the sky and Chan giggles. Then you’re both quieting down again. “I can’t tell if it was you or God I turned my back on,” you say and you’re looking at Judas again, and how one, jagged hand holds onto his chest.

“Maybe it was both,” Chan says and there’s this unreadable expression on his face. You’re laughing again, cheeks apple-round. “I’m pretty sure it’s blasphemous to compare yourself to God.” 

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I think so too.” You’re looking at him again when he’s gulping hard and the joy drains from his face. A small frown curve his lips. “I’m sorry about yesterday, you know.” You look away.

“Me too,” you say. Chan can’t help the way his heart leaps when, without sparing him a glance, you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it. He squeezes back.

He gasps painfully and when you turn to him again, he’s choking back tears, face turning red. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I just wish… Fuck, I mean, we’re too different, aren’t we?” 

You nod. “We are.” 

“When are you leaving?” 

You smile disingenuously, hoping it’ll cheer him up. It doesn’t.

“Tomorrow.” 

Chan is crying, there’s no denying it now, no chalking it up to sniffles. Tears, turning yellow from the sun behind Judas’ back, trail down his cheeks and he wipes them aggressively, but they just keep coming. Deep, despaired moans bounce off the ceiling and walls of the church.

“Can I-?” Chan begins, unable to form words between his heart-rattling sobs. “I just- I need to-” 

“Yes,” you say, and there’s not a single doubt in your mind, that this is what you both want, as you take a step forward and pull his lips into yours. 

Chan’s lips taste like every color of Judas, of blue, of yellow, of gray, of green. Salt hits your tongue when his tears trail down to where you’re connected, and he’s still crying into the kiss, hands finding your waist and clutching so, so hard. 

“Please don’t cry,” you whisper in between kisses, “you’re gonna make me cry.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t stop. He’s too caught up in memorizing the way your body feels under his hands, the way you’re moving against him, the way you’re pulling him by the collar of his clerical shirt, and how your nose feels shoved into his. 

His warm hands slide your shirt upwards, burning against your newly exposed skin. You pull away only to tug it over your head. Chan whimpers when he sees your chest, cupped by your bra and he pulls you into his chest to unhook the back, head looming over your shoulder. Ear pressed to his neck, you can feel the way it contracts, when he hiccups. 

As soon as he’s done, straps sliding gently down your arms, you’re pouncing on each other again, lips meeting rhythmically in the blued sunlight. Blindly, you’re unbuttoning his clerical shirt, fingers shaking against his chest. His hands clasp over yours soothingly, urging you to slow down. 

The whole ordeal is strangely silent, even Chan has stopped crying now, and the only sounds filling the church are the brush of fabric and your muffled moans into each other’s mouths. You’re whining though, when his shirt finally pushes off his shoulders and his torso is right in front of you and under your hands. 

You whimper at the sight alone, running your hands over his arms and over his chest down to his abs. Chan smirks at you. “I knew you liked it,” he mumbles to himself, almost childishly. 

This comment slows you down, as you’re pulling back to laugh, and you’re both shirtless in front of each other, hearts huge and glowing. Chan smiles at you adoringly while you laugh, face scrunched up and eyes crescents. 

“You can’t say that when I’m trying to fuck you,” you say finally, hair a mess on your head and lips pursed to keep yourself from laughing again. Chan loves your dumb face. He takes your hands in his and rubs the palms with his thumbs. “I know.” 

“Can I-?”

“Yes,” you whisper, agreeing before he can even get it out. Chan nods and holds you, gently guiding you onto the floor, where your entire body is marbled by the light hitting the glass. Chan stands over you for a moment. 

“You’re just gonna stare at me?” you joke, but your arms are sneaking their way up your torso. “Yeah,” Chan responds, but he’s already kneeling down in front of you, moving your arms away. 

“You are so beautiful,” he says it as if it almost pains him, but he’s straddling you and fumbling with your jean-buttons, beginning the tedious task of peeling them off your legs. You want to say something snarky, but he has you breathless and blushing, all you can muster is a meek: “Thank you.” 

He looks up from his work on your jeans at that, smiling at you fondly. 

You kick your jeans off your legs, while he begins to undo the buckle of his own pants, shoving them down his legs at the first opportunity. You’re both almost naked, you in your panties and him in his boxers, and you’re wondering why he’s showing no signs of moving them off you, dick hard and scorching fucking hot against your clothed core. Then he plants his arms on either side of your head, and rolls his hips into yours.

The moan you let out is coming from deep in your fucking soul. Only something godly could pull that out, you decide, sopping fucking wet from the star-like heat it has against you. “You sound so pretty,” he whimpers and does it again. Then again and again and again, and you’re arching your back and the both of you are moaning and groaning, filling the church with humidity. 

“Chan,” you muster, sounding on the verge of tears. His head is lowered onto your breasts, panting hard into the impossibly soft skin. “I-Inside. Now.” 

Chan wants to say something sexy, but he’s so desperate for you, that all he can manage is: “I agree.” 

He’s scrambling wildly to tear his boxers off and you do the same, lifting your hips to remove your drenched panties from your core. When you’re left bare, he lets out a choked moan, because immediately your hole clenching and gushing slick onto the tiled floor. The church floor, no less. 

“So fucking beautiful, and mine. Belongs to me,” he babbles, eyes wounded, but fingers spreading your folds open, as he lowers his head to remark on them. You mewl, fingers clawing at his shoulders. “Miss you,” you squall and he looks up at your face again. “Okay,” he responds, body moving back up to your face. Then he mutters against your lips: “Miss you too.” 

He’s kissing you again, so warm and wet in your mouth and humming into you. You claw at his back and whine wildly, when his hand steers his dick through your folds, lubricating itself in your plentiful wetness. 

He pulls away and you chase after him with sorrowful eyes. “I need to see your face when I push in,” he explains very sincerely, and you somehow understand that, yes, he needs to see it. You nod.

Then he’s pushing into you. He bursts through your gates, all thick and veiny and totally raw against the walls of your pussy. He’s slow, studying your face tenderly for any signs of discomfort, even when he grimaces from the euphoric feeling. And God, your face is so perfect, all scrunched up and twisted in pleasure, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. He will remember it forever.

He’s rocking in and out of you, and it’s slow, and it’s love, and it’s mature, and you’re moaning simultaneously, foreheads pressed together, as he fucks you into the floor. 

“Are you close, darling?” he pants against your cheek and you nod, because you are. Because it feels like your body has been working its way up to this final point, and every other milestone has just been a hillpeak on the way to a mountain. “Yes, yes, yes, I am.” 

“Good, so good for me,” he’s speeding up just a little bit, working the two of you closer and gaining leverage from his bruising grip on your hips. Your hand slides up his neck, from where he’s nuzzled into the side of your nose, and you whisper breathlessly in his ear: “Please cum inside, please, please.” 

And Chan’s head spins at that, thrusting so hard you’re entire body jerks. You, all filled with his kids, all soft and big stomached. The thought has his thrusts - now quite swift - becoming sloppy and has him spurting cum. You come at the feeling of him spurting inside you, spluttering you full of white seed, so much that it’s spilling out at the base of his cock. 

You’re both stilling, bodies expanding eagerly for air, and he’s still so close to you, still inside you, still buried in your hair, nose huffing breaths into your ear. The church is so painfully quiet, you begin to hear your own heartbeat. This was it. This was the narrow end. There was no other way. 

Lying your head on the tile and tilting it, so your eyes dance over the floor beneath you, you realize that Judas is no longer the artwork, no longer the masterpiece: It’s you and Chan on the floor, arching into each other and bathed in his light. To an unknowing outsider, the expressions you carry would also seem misplaced, just like Judas had to you. But you both know, still clinging onto each other like angels that flutter from the sky and into hell, that it was because of the end you had ensured for each other.

“I love you.” 

Chan whispers the words into your neck, voice thick. You realize he’s crying again, because you feel burning hot tears dribble down your neck, and his shoulders are shaking. You curl your arms around him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you too.” 

[sp3ncerr31dsw1f3]

i love you

an: lol my first ever fanfic lmfao pls dont bully me and I'm sorry I'm making so many changes after proof reading (song: i love you by billie eilish)

warnings: mentions of blood, death and stabbing, i think that's it pls lemme know if i missed any!

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

genre: angst with happy ending, fluff

It was like any other case. I do my part and the others do theirs. Or so I thought. I was hurt almost a month back from a stab wound to the side when I should've been paying attention. Spencer was on the way to warn me, but it was too late. I was laying in a pool of my own blood. I heard Spencer's name in an echo. I could't respond, on the verge of death. If he hadn't come in time, I probably would've been dead. Spencer and I had an argument before us coming on this case because today wasn't actually the day I was supposed to return. I actaually had one and a half weeks left, but of course, boy genius found out. We bickered about, but I ended up coming anyway and he didn't say a word to me the whole flight here, nor did he look at me.

Right now, we're on another life risking case. Trying to find a little girl and the man somewhere in the house hiding with her. Spencer along side of me, closer than he'd usually be before I got stabbed. He's trying to prevent what happened last time from happening again. I appreciate that, but if he ever got hurt, or worse, killed because of me being unattentive of my surroundings, I'd never be able to forgive myself. I shake off the thought when I hear a muffled scream and a man yelling 'shut up'. Instinctivley, Spencer moves in front of me. I hold my gun a bit to my waist, again, not the best idea. "Come out!", Spencer yells. "We're the FBI!", he yells out once again, turning towards me and nodding his head to where the sounds were coming from. I was thrown off by the fact that he didn't even look at me when he turned my way. He looked a bit past me, which kind of made me upset. I stand by the door with my back towards the wall as he kicks in the door. The man suddenly lets go of the small girl and charged towards Spencer and in that moment I froze. My fault. If he dies, It's all my fault. The man punched Spencer twice before I point my gun towards the man, but as I did, he saw me and immediately started charging toward me. Out of shock, remembering what happened to me last time, I drop. The man hovering me. I close my eyes tight, while he has a knife to my throat.

Once again, I hear Spencer's name, but loud and clear this time. My eyes shoot open and I use my free hand, which is close to the knife on my thigh and reach for it. I quickly stab the man in his leg repeatedly until he's off of me. Spencer immediately rushes over to the man and puts him in cuffs. He then comes over to me whose catching my breath that I held in and from the man's weight. "Are you okay?", he asks worriedly, scanning my body. I nod and point to where the little girl is, signaling him to help her first. I get up feeling a familiar pain where I was stabbed. I lift up my shirt only to see the stitching being opened. I pull it back down when I see Spencer carrying the little girl in his arms. I rush over to her. "Are you okay, sweet girl?", I ask the small girl. She nods and starts to cry. I tell Spencer to take her to Emily and I'll be there in a bit. Right after Spencer settles the girl with Emily, he immediately comes back to me with a worried expression. "Y/N...are you okay?", he asks coming closer. "It hurts, Spencer.", I say with tears in my eyes. I was talking both about the argument and the wound. I couldn't stand being on bad terms with Spencer. He was the love of my life, though he doesn't know that.

"What hurts, Y/N?", he asked, scanning my face, noticing I'm in both mental and physical pain. He then scans my body and spots the blood on the side of my shirt. "Oh God, did he do that?", he asked, his voice shaking. "Why didn't you just listen to your doctor and stay back?", he looks at me while holding the wound as it continuously bled. My legs are wobbling, not just from the pain, but the mental exaustion. He was right. I should've listened. I am not mentally nor physically ready yet. We get to the ambulance that was already outside. "Please help her.", Spencer says desperately to the medic. I get into the back of the second ambulance as Spencer informs the team what happened. I saw him open the back of the ambulance with me. "Hey, angel. We're gonna get you help, okay?", he says, wiping the tears off of my face. The exaustion soon took over and I passed out. I soon wake up in the hospital bed. The wound feeling a bit better. They restitched it. I turn to my side to see Spencer fast asleep with his head resting on the side of the bed. I weakly place my hands in his hair, which made him stir and slowly open his eyes.

"Hi, sweet girl. They brought you food.", he says. "Hi, Spence. You can have the jello", I smile at him. "Really?, Thank you.", he says exictedly, but he has tears in his eyes. "Angel?", he says. I hum in response. "Please, please listen to your doctor." he says pleadingly. "They're mostly always right.", he says holding his hand in mine. I smile and chuckle. "Yeah, I know.", I say reffering to him. He laughs along, but says in a trying to be serious tone, "No, but really, Y/N. I can't lose you. I almost did. Twice.", he pauses for a moment. "I love you, Y/N. So so much.", he says bringing my palm to his face. My heart skips a beat and my eyes well with tears, never expecting that from him. "I love you too, Spence.", I say with a shaky voice while brushing my thumb over his teary cheek. "So so much."

[angstics]

i understand why the black parade (the concept) is seen as a force of good (the name has cool imagery and “to joinnn the black parade” is a #epic moment). force of good as in synonym to emo communities, mcr fans, the general downtrodden. gerard is still called the leader of the black parade as in “king of the emos” when the actual leadringer persona constantly berated “my chemical romance” lol.

i like the black parade as a false promise. to start, the black parade is special to the patient since gerard describes the concept as people being welcomed to death by their happiest memory, which is reflected in the beginning of wttbp. the whole song is a conflict btwn “though your dead and gone believe me your memory will carry on” and “im just a man, im not a hero”. it’s an uneasy song. like all these people are telling the main character not to worry about dying because they’ll be remembered but they cant accept that because they dont think theyre worth remembering. “i dont care”—“we’ll carry on”.

mama and welcome parallel in a lot of ways, from the parental figures to the HUGE sound to the multi-part structure to the adoption of specialty music (cabaret v marching band). even “we’ll carry on” is echoed, with the addendum “when our brothers in arms are gone / so raise your glass high for tomorrow we die / and return from the ashes you call”. this is what the patient (“im just a man”) would say after hearing the black parade, echoing the sentiment with venomous anger instead of welcome’s almost sterile tone.

the idea of a false promise comes from the parade being presented as what the patient supposedly always wanted: to be unashamed, be the saviour, be REMEMBERED. as represented by their father and questioned by the patient. so for them to go to war to be remembered (“you made us oh so famous”) only to be unfulfilled by that (“we all go to hell”) shows the failures of the black parade (also represented on disenchanted: “lifelong wait for a hospital stay”). it’s a welcome that no longer fit the patient, whose childhood whims were disproven by what they learned from life.

this is why famous last words is sooo satisfying. they create their own acceptance of death. “i see you lying next to me” with the people they love, “with words i thought id never speak” with self-acceptance, “awake and unafraid, asleep or dead” and with their own fucking words. “i am not afraid to walk this world alone” they dont need to be remembered. there is no parade, there is no yearning for the past.

and while the black parade buried them as they were still screaming, famous last words leaves room for them to stay alive. agency and dignity, in life and death.

[tmwcs]

S E 7 E N : L U C I F E R

P A R T 1 N E

WARNINGS: Monsters battling, demons and angels, religious elements, accurate and inaccurate references, fantasy, dark lore, thriller vibes, not proofread (i know i'm terrible) and scary images......

READ THIS!

Okay, so you all remember that post i made recently where i apologized in advance for some images i was altering to display the face Heelel makes in a particular scene? well.....thats in this chapter and ngl....it's going to give you creepy pasta vibes. so please, read at your own risk, it is a good read but if you get scared easily, just dont scroll all the way through at the bottom of this page (it's at the very end) just know, i had to alter a pic to show you guys just how i imagined his face was like in that partcular scene. and yes....it IS in fact a picture of Heeseung....i just altered the contrast and brightness of it. so please, dont be afraid of Heelel...I promise it gets better....just...dont judge him quite yet. lol.

Also, in case the song is still going by the time you read the caption that says "End song here" just cut it off because its a rather long song....but also....its going to kill the mood of the remaining chapter if you keep playing it. its only supposed to play during a special moment.

last but not least....

💙

You know who you are and you know what that means ;) I hope this will make your day. Stay positive and happy! <3

Air crowded by the souls of the lifeless metallic forms that lay in gruesome peace on paved grounds. 

It was a pathetic sight for the people to behold of their homeland, such a shame that a scenic nation had to be remembered as such during this turbulent time where humans, angels and demons were all engulfed in war, battling over the survival of man, the pride of angels, and the love of demons. 

The battle had been ferocious, each Hellish Prince displayed their thunderous roar into the open atmosphere, yet despite slaying many, there were much more that descended, to replenish those that lay as bits of shrapnel. 

They plundered down, and lined themselves to guard their enormous leader, the guide of angels, who rises above all things man made, the archangel Jol. Glaring with a hatred persona in his eye, his attention is distracted by the fearsome contender that matches….maybe even outweighs his ferocity. 

The blue sky that beheld what could only be described as an illuminating palace for the Heavens, was now stained fierce red, in mourning for the lives lost of those who had been selected without reason…dying in the name of one man’s corruption. 

The scent of death ascending and piercing the blissful appearance of the clear sky, it reeked of metal and city air. In smothered bits and pieces, the angels that sought out your tortured screams and torn flesh, have lost a great deal at the hands of the princely brethren from Hell. Yet you feared that the end was nowhere near at the sight of the opposing end, the angels, increasing by high numbers as they migrate down from the sky. 

Alas, such was the deceitful decree of men with corrupt hearts and lustful eyes. The very thesis of evil and sin in the form of mortal flesh, claiming to be of holy virtue and a civil servant of Gods name. 

Pointing and issuing the blasphemous words to the skull headed princes before you, one man, Senator Forras, condemns them to forever reside in Hell and to never return to Gods holy land.

Little does he know, that the land we humans had set our mark on, the very grounded paths we trailed and the oceans we sailed, all blessed with the kiss of the Suns rays, was created by the one he displays hostility towards. The one whose name is forever shamed in the scriptures of the Holy Bible, and tainted with persona of cruel evil and fearful sin….Lucifer.

“He created the Sun…right after God created the moon, along with this world. It was his gift to God…”

Nikis retelling echoes in your head. He told you of the wondrous creations that took place years beyond the human mind could ever measure, it remained just as shocking as it had been when you first learned of it….that the vital sources of human life were created by both, God…and the Devil. 

Watching from afar, your eyes fully adjust into the wide-open stratosphere, where the Devil’s colossal form reaches past the clouds, glowering a beaming red stare at his opponent who stood nearly of equal stature. Both giants readied themselves. 

Perhaps you were thinking too much into it, yet you wondered if Heeseung made the first move in order to propel the towering archangel backwards and away from your location as you remained chained on stage at the city’s center. 

Colliding back into the open waters of the sea, the massive limbs, wings, and almighty roars of the two beasts can be seen and heard as their staggering forms wrestle in the saltwater, completely away from all human forms that hid themselves on land. 

Witnessing the greatness of their power, the beastly entities unleash a spectacular display of combat, though it lacked the decency of sportsmanship as the archangel, reacting to the upper hand the Devil gained, Jol calls out to his posse of followers, hence turning the tables. 

They respond to his cry and suspend their bodies into the air, spearing through the clouds as their lustrous bodies glistened by the last bit of sunlight that remained as dawn approaches. 

They format an air-raid as they aim their direction of flight to Heeseung. Harpooning through the air with high velocity, you watched at how each Angel morphs into that of a sharpened spear. Taking aim, they dive into him, penetrating through regions of flesh as they pierce through him one by one. 

Despite gaining the attacks from the thousands of metallic forms that targets him, he stands fearless and makes his power be known through his roar. The vibration and terrifying power of his clamor shakes the life out of the metallic angels that had reached close proximity. 

Yet the almighty howl of the Devil was not enough, as the angels relentlessly come in, swooping by in a recycling effect as they take turn in diving in. 

The moment you heard the stinging screech of the angels from above, you knew that they had ascended to aid their dark ruler. 

The six princes, all gather around their elder brother and master, raging fury and destruction to the offensive line as they kept coming in, only to fly directly to their deaths as Sunoo destroyed their hearts from within, or when Jays insects multiplied and took out an entire formation. 

Between their individual powers, along with the enhanced capabilities of their demonic forms, each brother became invincible as they successfully defended their King from further damage. Compared to the angels, whose numbers have reached up to thousands, there were only 6 brothers to fend off the tackling creatures as Heeseung remains squared to Jol. 

Regardless of the ratio, the fight remained unfair as each Prince took on multiple heads at a time, sealing the fate of angels by rows, groups, or any measure of high numbers as they all seemed to have diminished within minutes, leaving only the two behemoths standing, ready to establish the victor. 

Narrowing his red eyes, Heeseung’s form, which displayed a great humanoid structure that adorned the head of the Cervidae species, crowned with the magnificent flaunt of tall antler-horns. His wings reflect the colors of his tainted soul, dreaded in black with a tinge of purple and dark blood hues of red. A total difference from the ash-gray scheme that the others had, but not just the angels. The faithful younger brothers had also adorned the same colored wings that issued them the gift of flight. 

You watched as Jol takes in a panicked stance, preparing to lunge towards his opponent, against the waves of the ocean bottom they stood on. 

With a loud screech as he formulated saws with his own hands, he equips himself with a series of  weapons, bearing his arms with anything and everything the human mind could think of. 

‘I told you before….to leave them be…yet you ignored my warning…disregarded my decree. Furthermore…...you took it too far….you crossed the line…you came down from his kingdom, behind his back….to kill her….all for the sake of your stupid pride….you should have heeded my demand…and not mettle with humans…she may be mortal…but I promise you…she is nothing like the rest of them….she’s mine.’

Without a roar or an inch of movement, the Devil stands glorified in his demonic form as he waits, welcoming the fellow archangel to present his best shot.

‘Come on…go ahead. I’m waiting….you’re not going to get out if this….because of what you came for…because of what you had intended to do….because……of what you imagined on doing….to her…’

With a fearsome leap, Jol, in his mighty form plunges forward, presenting every blade, aiming it at Heeseung.

"One chance...you've got one shot...so make it count. Equip yourself and bear your arms with whatever you need...if you want to live.....then you better make it count...otherwise.....I WILL BURN YOU."

Wings spread, mouth open, screeching out a fierce cry as he aims to bring down the master of Hell, for a moment in time, it had appeared that Jol was on his way to victory as Heeseung merely stood, bearing his teeth as he narrowed his gleaming eyes.

Inches away from colliding, Heeseung shoots a hand and catches Jol by his neck in mid flight.

'One chance.....that's all you get....and you just lost it.'

With his free hand, Heeseung extends his fingers. Bringing Jol down into a kneel, cowering his stance before him, everyone, to include the cult regulators and Forras, all watched as Heeseung's extended fingers shoots inside Jol's mouth. With a firm grasp, he takes his other hand, and commences the same movement, prying the archangel's mouth wide open.

The corners of his mouth rip, the tearing of skin exposes bright red flesh as Jol screeches out in agony and struggles to escape the Devil's grip. Once Heeseung had the archangel right here he wanted, he heaves in a deep breath.

His snout extends upwards as he opens his mouth. A loud and fearsome growl emerges as a ball of light could be seen deep within his oral cavity. Shifting his head to the side, he roars. HIs eyes glare down at the pitied angel before him, and with swift motion, Heeseung leans in and expels an exhale of ravaging flames from his mouth, and directly into Jol's.

Swaying his face faintly from left to right, he unleashes the fire's of Hell, coating Jol's innards entirely as the archangel's body begins to burn from the inside.

His skin burns with embers as the flames makes it's way outwards, his limbs and torso, burnt and melting from the lava induced flames, falls apart, drifting away in pieces within the wide open sea.

All you could hear were the panic screams of the crowds as they all ran outward, desperately trying to leave leave and reach outside city limits to escape the almighty demon that had just disintegrated the arch angel before their own eyes.

The cult regulators and Forras rage in panic as they all followed suit of the general public and began to fight each other for the sake of freedom, every man for himself.

Despite the frenzy they committed to in escaping, no one took notice as the seven brothers all merely stood, fully composed and lacked any displayed notion of offending the population.

While still kneeling and chained, you watched from afar as Heeseung's colossal form remains standing...fully composed and quiet. He shifts his head to gaze over his shoulder, right in your direction. His eyes look directly into your own, once locked on, they narrow down as he maintains eye contact. You froze at the sight of his demonic form sinking into your sight. Your breathing stopped at the ungodly sight of his mystical structure.

After a moment or two of shared visual contact, he breaks it by turning his head and releasing one last roar into the night sky, an almighty and fierce tone, you were convinced that every star in the sky shifted from its horrendous velocity.

With his fearsome cry, his body morphs back into the swarm of bats that fly outward and trail the sky towards the great unknown as they disappear off into the horizon.

One week before man was created by God.....

............

Breaching the alter, the three Muses arrive as beckoned.

"Master Elder, you have arrived." The voice of an elder woman gently greets the three visitors.

Bowing in respect, the Master Elder pays his tribute as acknowledges the greeting.

"Calliope, please forgive us for our delay. We came as swiftly as we could."

"Raise your head Master Elder, there is nothing to forgive." the woman, Calliope, a former muse who retired her duties long ago, in order to serve God fully, by aiding his quest to create people. Passing her will to the current Master Elder, Calliope taught the current leader of the group the specialty of expelling embodied knowledge, truth, and invention.

"Pray tell me, Calliope, why is it that we were summoned to the alter? I thought it was forbidden to breach near it." the Master Elder inquires as he gazes upon the magnificent height of the stone pillars surrounding the alter.

"Our Lord has bestowed a unique request. We are to travel through the advancement of time and bear witness to the birth."

"Birth?....the birth of whom?"

...........

"Of a mortal child."

.............................

"It's time.....y/n...."

Shifting your gaze over to the side, you saw Jungwon standing before you, back in the human form that you were familiar with.

Kneeling down beside you, he effortlessly does away with your restraints. Heeseung was nowhere in sight after his victory in defeating Jol, yet your heartbeat felt as if it was in a standstill.

"I will take you to him." Jungwon's voice remained calm and tranquil as ever.

Trembling, you began to sob faintly.

Lifting your head back up, he presents you his hand to help you stand.

"......will...will there be pain?" you asked nervously. For reasons unknown, you felt more frightened than you had when you were facing death at the hands of the angels. It didn't make sense, yet you couldn't ignore the contrasts in your emotions as you compared the moments together.

His eyes faintly drop to your chest, right where your heart was located, before they shift back up to meet yours directly. Without issuing a verbal response, he simply nods in a faint notion.

Your breath hitches. Facing the direction of where the swarm of bats flew to, you turn back to look at him. With glossy eyes and the tears breaching breakage from your ducts, you trembled out a small request.

"Is....is it too late to pray?....." you asked in a stuttered pitch.

With a soft expression on his face, he shakes his head.

"It's never too late to do that...." a faint smile graces his face as he gently moves a piece of your hair away from your face.

Seeing you display a saddened smile, you shift your posture as you struggled to contain your tears and remain composed.

"Would you like for me to pray with you?" he asks.

You nod in earnest as you chuck back the tears that breached their release.

Taking both your hands, he presses his forehead against yours. With your eyes closed, his calm and gentle voice admits a prayer for the sovereignty of the nation, the peace of the people, and mercy on your soul.

"Oh thee faithful Lord of thy soul....I beseech you to bestow your desired mercy onto your creation...."

Your heart beats slowly. Taking a deep breath, you steadily release it as you relish the feeling of Jungwon's skin touching yours.

"Hail to Sun and Moon, bless the people with the prosperity of love and tenderness, as you intended for them."

Taking in another deep breath, you felt the drop of a single tear trailing down your cheek.

"Have mercy on thy soul...have mercy on the sacrifice this child is destined to accept. Have mercy on her willingness to serve the people...the world.....the goodliest of creations that your holy spirit.....and the great Devil...Lucifer.....have gifted. In your name...."

Gulping down a breath deep into your throat, you braced yourself at the final word of his prayer.

".....Amen."

Opening your eyes, your vision was met with the vast openness of unfamiliar land...Jungwon was nowhere to be found.

Standing alone in a field of soft baby's breath, you gazed into the blackened horizon, where a full display of stars and planetary moons paint the night sky.

"Calliope....forgive me...but if what you're saying is....." the Master Elder's voice trails off as he looks with disbelief at his former mentor.

'She couldn't have possibly just said.....that's....what would happen if.....'

With a faint smile of reassurance, Calliope nods.

"Cal, I do not question the Lord's will....however, this seems unethical. Lucifer wants nothing more than to destroy our master....he yearns to darken his light and forever break his spirit....how...how can we possibly stand by and let this happen? Lucifer will only kill the mortal child off and will still yearn for more bloodshed...he has vowed to kill off humanity and wages a grudging war against God with ever intent in causing his demise...I dont see how....how...."

"You need not worry about that now Master Elder....come with me, bring your disciples. I will show you his ultimate will...." Calliope softly issues as she extends a hand to the Master Elder.

Breaching the alter, the submit prayer as the orb of light captures their forms and transfer their bodies through time, nearly seven thousand years into the future.

"Master Elder....open your eyes, we are here." Calliope gently coaxes the elder as his eyes remained winced shut.

"Where are we exactly?"

"We have arrived in what was once the Ancient lands of Euterpe, it has since inherited a different name, and has been expanded by its inhabitants....'people'."

Studying their surroundings, the Master Elder and his disciples witness at first hand in the future, what people are.

"They look similar to us.....yet they are mortal?"

Calliope nods. "Come with me."

Leading the three muses afar to an old abandon building. Making way up the steel ladder wells, the small group fix themselves on the rooftop, overlooking the vast majority of manmade features and the nearby sea. The night sky coats over the city with a cozy shadow of sleeping comfort as it lays to rest.

"How strange...they look so much like us and yet...they require special necessities in order to thrive." The Master Elder notes.

"They do...and yet they are far greater than any of us...." Calliope issues back as she takes out from the hidden pockets of her robe, a small vial and a locket.

"Is that....?" the Master Elder gasps.

"It is...."

Hearing her response, the Master Elder winces his eyes shut in bewilderment as he absorbs the gravity of what was about to transpire.

'.....my God.......'

With closed eyes, Calliope submits a small smile as she regains her sight and turns to look at the Master Elder and the two younger muses.

"Its time...."

"Calliope.....is he sure about this? We are talking about creating a mortal for the mere purpose of......"

He pauses as his breath loses momentum, '.........sacrificing to the Devil...."

With a faint nod, Calliope displays an expression of trust and fidelity.

"We must trust in his will.....do you accept and will you bear witness to the birth?" She asks, presenting an ultimatum towards her peer.

Hesitant, the Master Elder succumbs to the trust of his master, and nods.

"Very well.....then we are ready...." Calliope softly speaks as she gazes up at the dark sky, taking aim at every star as they glisten.

"The Holy Grail 'neath ancient Roslin waits.....

The blade and chalice guarding o'er Her gates.

Adorned by masters' loving art, She lies,

She rests at last beneath the starry skies." - Robert Langdon, The Da Vinci Code.

'".....Half my heart....half my light...my spirit...my flesh and my colors to make you whole....let the pieces of thy essence create something extraordinary....oh child of mine....made out of thy own soul.....become something unruly.....save thy people....save thy soul eternally....'

Descending from the Heavens above, a single orb of light streams downward, making its way before the faithful servants of his authority.

It gracefully takes its station. Centered between the four figures, a tender voice is faintly heard emerging from its body, nearly a whisper....it was both mature and childlike, coming in incoherent and unreadable. Staring in awe at the sight before them, their hearts flutter as they witness something....incredible.

"Calliope......is.....is that?....."

"It is......."

"Take the mold of my holy divinity.....become my mortal descendent."

As their eyes adjust the illuminating orb, they witness in near disbelief.

"Behold....the flesh, the holy light, the essence of our master himself.....just a piece, yet ever as divine as the rest of him." Calliope calmly issues as she gracefully smiles.

'This........this is God's own flesh.......the first to have ever been exposed....or shared....'

Removing the cork from the vial, and opening the small locket, Calliope finalizes the process of creativity as she takes the dark strands that remained threaded together, and gently submerges it inside the light, along with the contents of the vial.

".....thats...."

"Yes....when the first archangel was born, we saved the remaining essence that of which he was created from....a small thatch of his hair for safekeeping for our beloved master...who loved his favorite entirely too much. With his own essence, it does not taint our master's light, instead, it becomes one with it. Thus.....it is everything that Lucifer yearns for....it is a part of him....everything that he is.....yet it is also everything he lacks....everything he desires.

Incorporating the souvenired mememtos, the hue of the light's tint changes. The innocent voice remains faint, yet develops a playful nature as it levitates once more.

Witnessing the divinity of his holy form, even if it was just a small piece of him, the muses gasp out in great respect. Tears emerge from their eyes at the glory of their master.

Gripping on to their chests, bewildered by the miracle of witnessing God's flesh, they bow, issuing tears at it's magnificence. Calliope, joining in unison as she bows, whispers to the light before it takes travel.

"Mortal daughter of God....take heed...grow steady....grow strong....you have a task...and though it pains us so...you must commit to your duties to save the rest of his creation. Where each mortal is created in God's image....you....are the only one created out of his own entity. Mortal child of his divine holiness.....your flesh and essence will be key for humanity to thrive....but also.....to teach him forgiveness....to teach him.....love. Bear us, and your father no ill will.....for even though the one who you are gifted to, holds a tainted heart....rest assured, I see it with thy own eyes.....you shall forever be loved and protected."

At the final issue of his decree, the light expands into an exploding force, issuing a massive traveling current that flared throughout the city, disappearing in an instant.

"Master Elder..."

"Yes, Calliope."

"There is one more task....he beckons you and your disciples to commit."

"Pray tell me, for I am his humble servant and will be at his bidding."

"You are to go to Hell.....bring your disciples.....and take Lucifer to the alter. Take him to the destined period of time when the mortal child is at their prime. You are to present our master's gift to him....do you think you can succeed?"

....................

"..........Yes........"

...............................................

"What do you want to name her?"

Rocking the delicate newborn against her bosom, a young mother softly sings to her baby....a daughter.

"Honey, lets name her....y/n. I've always liked that name."

"Y/n?.....how perfect.....I love it."

'.........y/n'

-End song here-

Gazing off into the horizon of the starry sky, your white skirt blows delicately against the gentle current of the wind that guides your hair over your shoulder. The skin of your breasts remain exposed, your lips stained red, and your skin glows under the moonlight. The perfect image of all things ethereal.

.............................

'.......There you are....'

With gentle steps, he walks in your direction. Adorning his black attire, with the lace mask hovering over his eyes, he breathes deeply at the sight of the floral spread that surrounds you.

'...How beautiful.......so pretty.....'

Breaching nearer, you hear the delicate crush of the flowers under the soles of his steps.

Shifting your gaze over your shoulder, you watch as he closes in....standing right in front of you.

Noticing the glistening shine in your eyes, he softly smiles. "Why are you crying?"

Faintly shaking your head, you couldn't develop a response....you didn't know what to say, how to feel, or what to think.

"Shhh.....you don't have to cry...." leaning in, he gently embraces your body against his chest. Gently removing the Azalea crown that adorned your head, he tosses it and nuzzles his face into the strands of your hair....taking in a deep inhale as he softly moans....savoring the moment.

'Finally......I've waited for so long.....'

You tremble at the feeling of his embrace trapping you in.

"Scared?...." he asks.

You didn't issue a response.....instead, you remained with your head low as your forehead is softly pressed against his chest.

"Come here..." he whispers. Raising both your hands, he guides them towards the back of his head, your fingers delicately grazing against the black strands as he intertwines them with the loose ends of the lace fabric that is tied over his face.

"You can take it off....it's okay." he gently whispers. Leaning in, he kisses you passionately, as his hands roam you entire body, ruffling the chiffon fabric of your skirt in the process.

"You....don't know how......dreadful the wait was......" He softly speaks in between each kiss as his tongue coats the inside of your mouth. Your hands remained gently gripping on the ties of his mask. For some reason, you found it hard to pull them apart.

Reaching back up to take hold of your hands, he guides them as he gently, in unison with your own, pulls the fabric in opposite direction, causing it to come undone.

You stared as his face remained calmly aloof....his eyes shut.

Gently opening them, he displays a handsome face...it was devilishly handsome....and much more enticing than any of his brothers. His profile resembled that of the Greek God Apollo, yet his strong and lithe frame was much more lethal and appealing than any sculpture you've witnessed in your life.

Softly smiling at you, his eyes slightly widen as he takes your hands, raising them to his lips, he kisses them with the most tender pecks.

"Seven thousand years....is too long....even for an immortal.....did they tell you I slept for majority of it?"

".....yes....they did....." you assumed he was referring to his brothers as he continued to speak, expressing his agony over the lengthy period of waiting.

"I couldn't stand being awake....I needed to dream...I needed to see you.....you have no idea just how much I've wanted this....this moment....to touch you like this....to kiss you....to hold you.....it's all I ever wanted...." lowering your hands, he regains his grip around your waist once more and pulls you into him as he kisses you deeply.

His moans were stealthy with added depth as he expels the tone into your mouth, you felt the vibration of his groans as he shifts his face to merge deeper into the kiss.

Gently breaking it, his eyes shift down at the ground.

The moment you saw a smirk forming on his lips, you shy'd your face away. You felt entirely too nervous and scared, yet you didn't know why.........until.

'......did....did he just chuckle?.....why did it sound so...'

Raising your head, your eyes widened and your mouth released a shuttered gasp. Wanting to scream, you found yourself frozen with fear as your body couldn't comprehend the view....

........................

"I"m sorry......am I scaring you?.......believe me I'm not trying to....I'm just so happy.....I finally have you...you're finally mine."

..........

Perhaps it was the pitch black sky......it's dark aura stained the environment....creating an eerie atmosphere.

..........

Perhaps it was the glare of the moon above....creating shadows that dispelled a sense of unearthly lore.

..........

or........

Perhaps it was none of those things....perhaps it had nothing to do with the lack of lighting.....or the darkness that surrounds you.....instead....

Maybe...just maybe it was....the way he stared at you....the way he looked hungry.....no...famished.......the way his insidious expression greeted you with a dangerous desire......the way his hands gripped you tightly.....the way he raised his brows and gazed at you with a twisted and sinister love in his eyes.....the way his lips became blood red upon receiving his bite.....out of excitement......

or.........

Perhaps......it was his..........smile.

‘Please God….someone…..anyone……why is he looking at me like that…..what is he going to do to me?'

…………….

Authors note:

Part 2 coming tomorrow! So more to come.....again...i'm so sorry about that picture.....yikes.

Taglist: @deobitifull; @solstramaii; @vampiregirl215; @nshmrarki; @enhypen14; @iamliacamila; @lisaaannna; @nikstrange; @jaehaki; @luv-enhy-skz33; @silcry@honeysjae; @crackedcameraa; @stinkmonkey ; @baekxo07@raishaii @@yangjungwon33@lhspeachie ; @differentchildwombat ; @prettykia ; @kimsseonu ; @stvrryhee ; @en-thralled ; @hoonzdzbl ; @yuppppp ; @jinniespuppy ; @browsehnnie ; @they2luv1naia ; @aetherl0l ; @stvrryhee @yohanabanana @graythecoffeebean @beanglespewpew @jwnghyuns @gogorkkeeieosos @clairecottenheart

[gizkasparadise]

final leg of a journey to love thoughts!! (eps 35-40). this got so gd long so under a cut it goes. spoilers, of course:

PLOT STUFF/PACING

pacing for the plot definitely got shredded in the last chunk, which is a damn shame because otherwise i've been finding the pacing pretty much perfect. eps 35-37 in particular felt like they could have been like a 10 episode arc. ep 38, which mostly dealt with wu palace politics, should have been cut or streamlined imo and more time given to the characters we've actually been riding along with the whole story. by the time we get back to the pregnant empress, prince danyang, the first prince whose name i dont even remember, and the prime minister, i do not care about any of them and i think this subplot was simply just trying to fit too much shit into one bag

that said, this show still let the emotional moments hit and breathe and linger. i love the grief for the fallen liudao comrades as we go, as well as the less heavy but still emotionally important moments like yang ying and tongguan bonding over their upbringing. and we got a wedding /;3;/!!! for this show, the relationships and characters matter more than the storyline so im not mad about anything at all

side note: it's so gd millennial to have a story about a bunch of 30 something year olds who want to fake their deaths and retire into obscurity but instead they go and die for a boss they hate

CHARACTER STUFF

this show consistently brought a lot of depth to its side characters (and side side characters!!). i said it in an earlier post, but it bears repeating that even someone like deng hui i didnt expect anything from, but he got such good development and writing that he became a stealth fave. his dying words essentially being "dude, quit fucking around" ? iconic.

i didnt like tongguan as much as everyone else, so im pretty meh about everything regarding him. the attempt to force-wed ruyi was tonally really weird and didnt make sense (i assume there was some cuts made surrounding it). but LOL at him reusing all the outfits and decor immediately for his wedding to yang ying. baby duke, you tacky motherfucker. i ultimately think yang ying deserves better than him, but the good thing is that she knows this, so she'll be able to hold her own and then some entering into this partnership

shisan really was the heart in a lot of ways--the mom to yuanzhou's dad for the liudao. i was not expecting him to break my heart the way he did, but the fact that he held both qian zhao and sun lang as they died and then tried his best to remove yuan lu from harm and saved chu yue and was just very much a nurturer all the way through got me. his character couldve been cheap comic relief but the writing + performance really elevated him into one of the (imo) most memorable wuxia characters. his line wondering who would get to behead his beautiful skull!!! and how his mantra was always that he was going to drink the best wine, see the most beautiful women, and make the best of friends and he dies having lost the ability to see and having just had wine in memory of qian zhao, yuan lu, and sun lang. like. shut up!!

ruyi and yuanzhou were both so great and they're gonna be the drama OTP to beat forever. i loved the gender reversals, that they both were so respectful of each other, and that they also felt very mature in how they handled things and communicated. they were really interesting characters both together and apart and that's always a win-win. they had a schroedinger's ending where it's not super clear if they're alive or dead (i interpreted it as the latter), but what's kind of beautiful is that either option is satisfying to me. if they both died, they're reunited and with their comrades and the story is truly about the journey and the meaningful short connections we have. if they both survived, it's a bookend with the beginning where they each faked their deaths to escape. A+

COSTUMING

i gotta just separately mention the costuming for this show because it was 15/10. the textures, shisan's accessories, the way red became integrated with yuanzhou's wardrobe and blue with ruyi's. the details on the liudao name amulets!! SO GOOD. i love when characters' clothes tell a story on their own

overall i just really loved this drama it is probably my favorite wuxia ive seen so far! it's gonna be in my brain for awhile lol feel free to send fic prompts if you've made it this far :'D

[mako-neexu]

smth smth rambles that are entirely my opinion and i could be wrong (so dont attack me) you know this chapter made guda, fuijmaru ritsuka with already Many Issues worse is because of "mash" or rather kyrie's death but ultimately comes back to mash...that dantes did for them.

we even see a while back how guda was already shaken by not knowing whether mash is safe during lb6 after that fog like their priority is mash. mash.

they were already frantic as soon as they remembered mash almost questioning everyone about her whereabouts and immediately got reckless just trying to reach her at norwich. and when only when they were together did the "narrator" emphasize on the sheer relief guda felt like-- wow the obvious signs in OC chapter 2 makes you realize furthermore that guda's sanity hangs on a thin thread named 'mash' asdfgh

yes guda loves mash!! yes they care about her!!! but look and read at how guda tells absolutely nothing to mash- and that applied the same to kyrie!

(more below)

kyrie wanted to know and ask her senpai about the situation like we see her really wanting it but ultimately backtracking in the end because she trusts guda and she's even supportive. and guda was grateful/relieved that she stays innocent about the weird things going on in their tokyo.

they do compromise at one point that if kyrie really demands on explanations, guda would tell her but...

guda doesnt tell her anything, (kyrie believes in her senpai so even when faced with death, kyrie didnt break under pressure) keeps her in the dark so no one comes after her. for her to be ultimately safe. so she remains...innocent, normal who stands alongside "mama" and "little sister" as they arent involved in the first place about whats been happening. and guda wants to keep it that way for their family. not a real family, but a family nonetheless that cared about guda. an epitome of normal- which mash kyrielight has attained.

and now you see guda, who, upon waking up asks mash kyrielight if she was okay. if she was alright. guda doesnt stop their questions until mash answered. and so mash answered.

"I'm okay, Senpai. My vital signs are normal... so I'm completely okay."

all the while guda had just dismissed being in pain literally one minute ago and just hugged her tight. they "save mash the trouble" to tell her about the pains they went through in the singularity so as not to burden mash. so they stuff their pain inside the corner of their heart again, completely satisfied with mash's safety and disregarding their own health. (you also see in section 23 that theyre cherishing the normal and small moments with mash.)

mash is normal. mash looks pure to guda, her heart filled with "color" in comparison to guda whose heart has become "transparent". an inverse character development which will ultimately destroy them both.

for mash, who sees her Senpai as strong and unwavering, the image of kindness and strength when they held her hand during part 1 crushed by a coffin which she continues to believe them to be that way until now.

for guda, who sees mash as someone who's become normal. one last remnant that reminds them of a past life lost, mash with that purity and normalcy becoming an ideal to protect (as if she was glass) because they no longer have their own. (and mash is also literally the only one left close to guda, who remembers all the events of part 1. which... adds more to how losing mash would break guda even further.)

(also we see guda say 'tadaima' coming home to an empty house, the loss of kyrie and their family still in mind, and a little later, the Avenger mindset comes back and settles in as they're plagued by bloodlust. then when guda comes back to mash, their home, mash is their home. do you realize that? do you realize what im saying? mash says: "welcome home, senpai." and that was enough for guda. that eased everything in guda's tumultuous heart.)

i remembered guda avoiding on telling "mom" that they and kyrie were near the "gas leak site" / britoalter's battleground so like.....of course their lying to medical staff about getting back to the battlefield would carry over here.

deliberately making sure the "normal" components of their fake high school life remain untainted is what we see guda do. they shouldered everything, terrifying as it is, just to protect them but ended up inevitably losing them in the process.

there's also that contrast in seeing a dead body between kyrie and guda. kyrie still stood strong against dantes and remained rational and calm while telling "ojisama" that this wasnt good for guda. meanwhile guda, while still able to think about calling the ambulance after seeing the da vincis absolutely lost their mind when it came to kyrie which their mind thought of mash- and i think guda thought of both as 'one' person so they went absolutely insane right then and there

during the conversation with amatsuka, thats the part where guda became finally stable. because its implied guda's mental state really broke at kyrie's death which their mind automatically thought it to be "=mash is dead". but ukelele-senpai saved the day by reminding guda where they are, if mash and kyrie were the same person, and helping guda calm down and think of seeing that blue sky with mash during the part 1 epilogue.

and augh guda you shit!!! you need therapy!! dont put mash in a pedestal!! dont treat her as if she's fragile!! dont treat her like porcelain meant to be protected while you take on everything for the sake of keeping mash safe because she is the only remnant of your past left, because she is the only "normal" person you have left!!! guda you need to understand that if ever mash gets hurt someday or dies and its out of your control, you need to understand that it wont be your fault!! you need to understand that because someday you will part ways with her as well and you need to be able to be ready to lose again. if you lose mash once and for all, what will you do!?!?!? this is not healthy guda!! gudaaa you hear me!!?? gudaaaaaaa

[rallamajoop]

Hi!!! okay so i love your theory crafting abt re8 & the free cam pics and analyzing everything so i thought maybe you would find this interesting (and maybe a little reassuring)

i dont think heisenberg has nazi affiliation, despite some of the nazi military equipment we see him with. and i dont think its mentioned anywhere in the game, but rather implied, that karl scavenged that stuff from a battlefield? for example, the tank used in his boss fight is a combination of a nazi gun tractor, combined with an american tank. the two guns mounted on it are also a german recoilless rifle and an american machine gun.

personally, i think his dogtag is probably his dads, but thats just a headcanon based on what little we know of the early concept designs and stuff (originally the giant metal and meat monster was heisenbergs dad. and to me heisenberg probably wouldve outright mentioned being a soldier or something in at least a diary entry or note if he was old enough during ww2 to remember it) it could also just be more stuff he scavenged. which is what i think is the deal

Hoo boy, you're really going to make me do a deep dive into all the evidence that Heisenberg might've been a Nazi, aren't you? (For context for anyone coming in cold, this is a response to my post on the fact Heisenberg's costume includes a very distinctive Nazi signal lamp, and why that bothers me.) Goddamnit. Fine.

So, first up, for a character we get as little background on as Heisenberg, there's no point framing this one "was he a Nazi?" Of course he wasn't, he's not anything, because he's not real. What we can ask is whether what made it into the game suggests that he was maybe going to be a Nazi at some point in development (or at least, that someone on the design team was uncomfortably into Nazi paraphernalia). And the answer to that one is, unfortunately, that it seems very plausible.

To be clear, there's nothing here you can't easily find other explanations for, at least for your own headcanons. "Heisenberg was a Nazi" is no more valid an interpretation than any other, based on what made it into the text. What annoys me is that it's arguably no less valid than any other take either. I do not like Schrodinger's Nazis popping up unexpectedly in my escapist fiction. And I hate to say it, but the more I've thought about the points you make here, the more Nazi shit I keep finding ‒ well beyond what I covered in that last post.

Let's start by going back to the dog tag. The inevitable problem is that the act of wearing one after the war ‒ regardless of whose it was or what country they fought for ‒ is that it kind of loudly signals pride in your military service. The tag may not be from WWII. It may not even be German. But Heisenberg is a character with a German name, who names his creations in German, and who's lived in the village under Miranda's thumb for decades. Statistically, most Germans who ever carried a dog tag that looked like that probably fought in WWII. And he carries that fecking Wehrmacht signal light to go with it. At that point, trying to argue that "maybe he just scavenged the signal light" or "maybe it was his Dad who was so proud of his Nazi service that he passed his dog tag on to his son to remember him by" starts to feel a lot like someone's protesting too much. You don't have to interpret Heisenberg as a proud Nazi soldier, but the costuming clues don't look great.

i dont think its mentioned anywhere in the game, but rather implied, that karl scavenged that stuff from a battlefield? for example, the tank used in his boss fight is a combination of a nazi gun tractor, combined with an american tank. the two guns mounted on it are also a german recoilless rifle and an american machine gun.

Uh, look, do you have a source for any of this beyond "someone wrote it in the wiki"? Because anyone can add anything to the wiki, that doesn't mean it's more than some military nerd's headcanon. Even if part of the vehicle looks like an actual American tank, all that means is that someone working on the game used one as a reference, maybe.

Meanwhile, the one genuinely plot-critical thing we're told about that tank is that it's made of metal-polymer composites, strongly implying that all the components were custom-made in the same place. The idea it's tacked together from salvaged components just doesn't hold water.

So how would Heisenberg have made those parts? Simple: his factory used to make tanks.

I'm sure it's possible to miss the half-dozen partially-wrecked tanks in the front yard outside the building ‒ there's a bunch of other scrap metal out there too, they kind of blend in. But when you've spent as much time as I have digging through the game files, it's much harder to miss how many files relating to the factory are explicitly labeled 'tankfactory' (...at least when they're not labeled 'geek'). There's even an asset for a pile of tank cannons. I don't know if or where that particular asset actually appears in the game, but no-one has that many tank parts lying in a pile unless they're building the things. Heisenberg's obviously re-purposed the factory for soldats now, but it plainly used to make tanks.

i think he scavenged that stuff bc of germany invading romania during ww2

I really hate to keep jumping on you here, but you can easily google this stuff. I am no-one's expert on the history of Romania in WWII, but even a cursory read up on the subject tells me that a fascist political party took power in Romania in 1940, and voluntarily allied with the Germans. Romania was itself an Axis power. How they were actually treated by their new 'allies' looks like it might be a thornier subject, but goddamn it I do not have time to fall down yet another research rabbit hole right now (my apologies on that front to any actual Romanians, god knows there is a lot of WWII history that us Westerners do not get taught about in school).

But now that I've had to look that up, I can pretty confidently state that if Heisenberg's factory was functioning during the war, it would have been manufacturing tanks for the Nazis. And if Germany did set up a tank factory in Romania, it's not implausible they'd have assigned a German to take charge (say, a former soldier who excelled on the battlefield, and is proud enough to keep wearing his dog tag?), so that all adds up uncomfortably well.

If anything, the more ambiguous part is whether the game is even set in Romania. Most people assume that was the intent, but the only location we're ever given is 'a county in Eastern Europe'. God knows if anyone at Capcom ever bothered to google Romania's involvement in WWII either, so I can't speak to their intent. But "maybe the German wearing the WWII era dog tag and the Nazi signal lamp wasn't personally responsible for manufacturing tanks for the Nazis with the tank factory in Nazi territory that he apparently lived in" is not an argument I'm prepared to build my house on. Let's at least allow that it does not look good. It'd hardly be the first time a piece of Japanese media has stuck its foot in its mouth over Nazi shit either.

to me heisenberg probably wouldve outright mentioned being a soldier or something in at least a diary entry or note if he was old enough during ww2 to remember it

Earnestly, why? Heisenberg's diary tells us nothing about his background whatsoever. We don't know what country he was born, how long he's lived in the village, how he became one of Miranda's experiments, how many decades he's been part of her family ‒ anything. Why would military service rank a special mention, when even clarifying whether he's a village native doesn't?

And again, it isn't hard to come up with theories where Heisenberg isn't a Nazi. Maybe he was a deserter, who still carries that dog tag because 'Karl Heisenberg' is really just a sham name Miranda gave him to match one of those four founding houses, and that tag is the only proof he's got left of his real name. Or maybe it's the only thing he's got left with his Dad's name on it, even though his Dad always said the war was bullshit, sure. Maybe the factory really was run by Nazis who left shit like that signal lamp lying around (to be repurposed into a handy electronics case like I suggested in that last post), and Heisenberg only moved into it more recently, because at least he speaks enough German to read all the shit they left around the place. Or maybe he only moved in because he found out someone was using it to build that polymer composite tank to kill him (why remains a much bigger dangling question than how), after which he figured he should probably stick around to make sure no-one else tried the same thing. These are all perfectly valid interpretations, and no-one is wrong for preferring them to having to deal with all that Nazi bullshit (though most still depend on some awkward German-nationality-coincidences). The fact that Heisenberg runs a tank factory and carries Nazi paraphernalia is really easy to miss, and no-one's less of a fan for not spotting it.

What little we do know is that Heisenberg's family got rewritten repeatedly during development. He was a twin at one point, his mother may have been used for experiments, his father was variously Sturm, Heisenberg's monster form, the village mayor, and maybe even Urias ‒ it's all over the place (all this comes from notes on the concept art that comes with the game, if anyone wants to fact-check me on it). Heisenberg probably wasn't originally meant to be Ethan's pseudo-ally either ‒ it's Ada rather than Heisenberg who gives him the chance to escape his trial in that early storyboard. Fuck, maybe at some point he (or his dad) really was going to be a goddamn Nazi mad scientist who fled to Romania and hid up a mountain somewhere, or whatever (though I can't easily imagine any Nazi scientist would be wearing that dog tag ‒ that's an accessory for the expendable rank-and-file of the military machine).

But possibly (and I'm really just speculating here), as Heisenberg became a more likable, ambiguously-grey character during development, Capcom may have decided it would be a good idea to tone down the Nazi stuff. They just accidentally left in the dog tag, the signal lamp, and the goddamn tank factory in presumably-Nazi territory, and had to quickly deny all Nazi associations when people made the obvious connections. If the official word from Capcom is that Heisenberg isn't a Nazi (or at least, that we aren't intended to read Heisenberg-the-fictional-character as having any Nazi sympathies or affiliations), I should be pretty happy to take that as official.

If you really want textual "evidence" that Heisenberg wasn't a Nazi, the best I can offer is the fact Dimitrescu dismisses him as 'a child', which suggests to me that he's much younger than her, and possibly even younger than her daughters (though I still can't buy he was a child when he first met Dimitrescu or Miranda). We don't actually know how old she or her daughters are, of course (they were in already the castle in 1952, but whether they'd just moved in or whether they'd been there for decades we don't know), but dismissing someone who was old enough to have served in WWII as 'a child' strikes me as a bit of a stretch even for Lady D. But that's not much more than interpretation, and one can easily be a Nazi sympathiser without personally having taken part in the war.

I still love Heisenberg as a character, flaws and all. I'm definitely not going to stop writing about him being his terrible, ridiculous self. I'll gladly go on ignoring all this nazi shit as much as I can get away with. I'm absolutely not here to tell you that RE8 is now #problematic and can only be addressed after adequate hand-wringing. That shit helps no-one.

But back in the real world, where fascism is on the rise again across the globe, and where the internet would have me believe that coded references to shit as vague as the date of Hitler's birthday is apparently a popular cryptofascist dogwhistle or some shit, do I have to waste mental energy on whether it means something serious that there are surprise Nazis popping up in my innocent little zombie-horror-game? Like, if a character isn't a Nazi, is it so damn hard not to include two different bits of Nazi memorabilia directly on their character model? The horrors of capitalism I signed up for; the horrors of People You Never Realised Were Secretly A Nazi is one I could have done without here, kthx.

And the sad fact is, it's really not that easy to just explain away.