#cannot even tell you how much I spent the entire drive thinking about how

[whentherewerebicycles]

everything good at the scan 😭 we watched the baby sleeping with its hand curled up against its face and then it woke up and start stretching and kicking and turning around. little seahorse is starting to look like an (alien) baby. I got to listen to the heartbeat for the first time too—I’ve only seen it before. 11 weeks. I have had basically zero symptoms all week (except for being completely insane and crying constantly of course!!) so it’s good to get further confirmation that like… for whatever reason I am lucky enough to have very few physical symptoms and so I can’t really rely on how my body feels as an indicator of whether the pregnancy is progressing or not. and even though my main symptom is “persistent feeling of total doom” maybe I can reframe that not as evidence of doom but as like, well this is my personal Sign of Pregnancy just as other people’s is persistent nausea or whatever. okay. I feel REALLY relieved and I think I can definitely make it a week and a half to the next scan. and then I hope that being out of the first trimester plus getting some help in the form of therapy will ease the worry a little.

#cannot even tell you how much I spent the entire drive thinking about how #this poor ultrasound tech was going to have to deal with me when I found out the baby was dead #but it’s fine she didn’t and she was really nice to me #IUI tag #I can get through this

[pangurbanthewhite]

Hey guess what it's time to talk more about Stray Gods.

Specifically about the concept of "reactive narrative" in video games and how I think Stray Gods executes it as gracefully as you can possibly execute on the concept.

I think a lot of people balk at how choice-based games do and can only change in a limited way based on your choices. Which is a shame, because only being able to change in limited ways is a hard rule of both hardware and the concept of a story.

I think the games that handle it best are the games that lean into that fact. They should flesh out those limited choices as much as possible rather than try to stretch them to their breaking point. They should accept the reality that there WILL be fixed points in the narrative and build around them.

Example - Pan will always turn up in your apartment early on in the game and lead you into the "tutorial" song that is "I Can Teach You". But, based on your choices, the song can sound entirely different.

And that's if you stick to one color exclusively over another. You can weave the choices in and out to create dozens of unique instances.

The choices you make do not fundamentally change anything beyond the song, excluding the last choice. But those choices set the tone for what kind of story you are going to tell. Is it a story of how Grace, even when granted the powers of a god, still values her humanity and cherishes her human bonds? Or is it a story of how Grace, who begins by feeling adrift and out of place, immediately chases down any chance she has at belonging somewhere, at having a purpose? Is Pan a mentor or a source of suspicion? How big of a part does Freddie play?

Your thought processes behind making a choice, your reasons for choosing red over blue, do make a story unique as much as your choice to let Aphrodite "live" or "die". I think you have to accept that if you really want to get a lot out of these kinds of games.

Some scenes WILL always happen, and that's okay! That's good, even! Because differences in the journey matter just as much as differences in the destination! You might always wind up in the same place, but you will have told a different story in getting there. You'll be in a different headspace, you'll bring different baggage, you'll have had some different conversations which drive you to feel differently about characters along the way.

Freddie does always die, yes, but if you've spent the entire game flirting with her, expressing affection and admiration for her, traveling to find her in the Underworld leans so heavily into the Orpheus and Eurydice parallels. Orpheus becomes a dark mirror of Grace as much as Persephone.

Do you retrieve a Freddie that you love from the Underworld because of that love, or do you retrieve a friend as much out of spite, as if to prove that you can succeed where Orpheus failed? Is godhood worth her friendship? Is godhood worth her love? Are you making a sacrifice at all, or are you glad to be rid of these powers that you never asked for? Freddie returns either way, but your motivations have changed the story.

I'm getting a bit lost in the weeds here, but hopefully people get what I'm going for. The fact that, ultimately, Grace is going to wind up on trial against Athena, with the primary differences being whether or not Freddie is there driving the song, or whether it's Aphrodite in one body standing there vs. another, doesn't invalidate the choices and the uniqueness of the journey to get there.

And I cannot stress enough that the potential variation in any given song is so impressive. I'm genuinely kind of bummed that there's no way to listen to some of the versions I made, that I feel like really added to the story I was trying to tell.

And, most importantly, I think Stray Gods understood that this kind of variances gets infinitely more complicated and precarious the longer a game goes. 6 to 8 hours is almost certainly your upper limit possible. Anything much beyond that, and the variations you have to account for spin out into something approaching infinity. And, yes, they do and can get much less meaningful as a result.

IDK! I like this game a lot. I think it did some really cool and inspired things in really cool and inspired ways. And I think its understanding of how to use player choice within the narrative and hardware constraints of a video game is one of those things.

#stray gods #Youtube

[roo-bastmoon]

Fanservice Couple Sucks at Fanservicing

Hmmm.

Jimin's Album: Here's a super secret hidden song "for the fans" with lyrics that mimic things Jimin said before specifically about Jungkook, with Jungkook providing background vocals that were never discussed when marketing the album, and listeners have to wait through dead air to get to hear the song and shine a light on the invisible lyrics engraved in the album and it's not uploaded onto Spotify or for digital sale because.... fanservice.

Jimin's Documentary: Here's less than two minutes of footage of Jungkook singing Letter; the film cuts away from Jikook's hug and doesn't interview Jungkook about it at all, and practically his entire face is covered when he's singing it; also, the paper he's holding is shaking like a leaf, unlike earlier in the day when he was recording for the World Cup, which was the biggest solo performance of his career at that time, because.... fanservice.

Jimin's Live Reaction: Here's Jimin lighting up like a Christmas tree when Jungkook quietly sneaks in the room to watch his live recording before going home; now watch as they awkwardly interact for two minutes--including a tiddy grab and butt smacking, on top of "I love you" and "have fun with ARMY!" but notice Jimin sends Jungkook away, instead of letting him mic up and sit on the chair and react with him, because... fanservice.

Jimin's Commentary: Here's Team Jimin reacting to every remote detail of the making of the documentary, except when it comes to Letter, in which case no one breathes the name Jungkook and he is never heard nor appears on screen, because... fanservice. gosh that sure is odd.

The fanservice isn't fanservicing.

It's almost how like, in their real lives when they aren't working, Jungkook watched all of Jimin's content, or Jungkook mumbled about how Jimin moved his lamp or mentioned Jimin kept coming up to him to say "periri," or how Jimin traveled to NYC and CT for Jungkook's debut and they filmed something but all Jungkook would say about it is "Yeah, he's in.... New York," and then Jimin posted a shirtless picture on Jungkook's birthday but never spoke on it, or how both Jimin and Jungkook just happened to find time to watch the same random anime, or how they went to Jeju together but we wouldn't have known if Tae hadn't posted photos, or how it is heavily implied that they spent Chuseok together based on the whale drawing that Jimin posted and the way Jungkook was quick to tell us that Jimin drew half of it.

Golly gosh, for a Fanservice Couple, it's almost like a bunch of stuff isn't being shared with us on purpose. But why?

Doxxed info? Tampered mail? Death threats? Press scandals? Global debut? Conservative homophobia? Military service?

Who knows, but "lack of genuine closeness" doesn't seem to be the driving reason.

I'm not gonna sit here and scream conspiracy theories about a "private couple." Jimin lives like a hermit much of the time and Jungkook is running around with his same-age friends quite a bit these days.

So as I always say--I cannot tell you that Jikook are dating. I can only tell you we have solid evidence of unique, charged chemistry between them--and tons of hints that they spend more time together than they let us in on. That's it. If there's more, we aren't getting to see it.

And I don't blame anyone who takes the stance "I'll believe it when I see it." I think a fair amount of skepticism and a dedication to the just the facts is a healthy mindset.

But it really makes my teeth itch when Jikook are accused of doing fanservice for the cameras, cause...

Where the hell is all my fanservice?? *grabby hands* WHERE?

Why is it that even TWO SECONDS of them interacting is so charged and fraught that it gets the entire fandom frothing at the mouth?

Jikook DO spend time together but they aren't running onto WeVerse to share it with us all the time, ya know? It leeks out little by little. And that makes it even MORE suspicious than just two bros hanging out in broville doing bro things.

In summary: This Fanservice Couple *sucks* at fanservice in solo era for sure.

#jikook #do you like my newspaper headline? #the jikookery these days is so sus #frustrated roo is frustrated #even non-ARMY find their interactions sus as fuck #don't be suspicious #DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS

[jaidens]

I'm Standing There On A Balcony In Summer Air

pairing [s] : the outsiders [boys] x reader

warning [s] : | just sum fun headcannons because I'm on vacation right now! I also feel like I based this off a beach vacation because why not..

a/n [s] : requests are open!!

Darry Curtis

— Listen, if anything, this is the one man that needs a long and nice vacation. Without his kid brothers, just him and his lovely soulmate. He gets maybe a week or two weeks of complete relaxation.

— I definitely see him as the type of guy to decline and tell you no whenever you surprise him with a beach house and a trip to a region other than Tulsa, Oklahoma. He'll probably tell you he needs to work, and a vacation is the last thing he needs.

— However, when he hits the soft bed and warm pillows that smell of the sea and relaxation, he's completely and utterly passed out. The soft waves that crash against the shore have him lousy and drunkenly walking around the beach house.

— He loves the warm sand and the water that cools him down. Darry holds you and thanks you the entire time for convincing him to relax for a week with you. Even with it, he can't help but call every day to check in on his brothers and their friends. It's almost unconscious, you swear, the way he rings in the house phone and talks for ten minutes of blabber.

— Okay, but seriously, can we fund a vacation for Darry? I think he needs it, desperately, before he loses it.

Sodapop Curtis

— Prettiest goddamn boy on the entire beach. You're surprised you're able to tell the difference from in-between his soft, ocean colored eyes and the washboard abs he's sporting as he whips up from the water and water drips down his back and abs. It gets you hot and flustered, but who can blame you? It's Sodapop Curtis.

— He definitely needs a vacation, not as much as Darry, but he's a close second. He has a sense of protection over his brother's so he does also stress over that. His job isn't as competitive or stressful as Darry's, so I don't believe it would be job related. I think he just needs a walk away from Tulsa for a bit, to get away from the yelling that Darry does and Ponyboy’s constant arguments he makes.

— I am completely convinced as soon as he gets in a quiet, relaxed, and warm environment; he's like a bag of sand. He's passed out and you aren't waking him up anytime soon. Sodapop is the type of guy to set an alarm and tell you he is watching the sunrise in the morning then sleeps through the loud clanging ringing on the side table, how? You aren't sure at all.

— I believe he thanks you in many other ways other than verbal. Whether it's taking you to a nice dinner after scraping up the money he has in his wallet, or buying you little necklaces to wear. He's so incredibly thankful for the trip and the thought that someone cares about him enough to spend hundreds of dollars to spend a week with him on vacation? How else are you supposed to thank the love of his life?

— All in all, where is my Sodapop Curtis to spend a week with to use as arm candy?

Ponyboy Curtis

— Ponyboy has spent years attempting to convince his parents and Darry to go on vacation. Their vacations’s consisted of driving to the next town over or visiting family. There hadn't been a big enough trip that he was able to get away for a bit. So, whenever you surprised him with tickets to your family's beach house on a family vacation? He is completely ecstatic.

— I think he fully acts like a kid for most of the vacation. In Tulsa, it's almost automatically that you cannot be the same. With the constant fighting and hatred between the Socs and Greasers, Ponyboy is stuck in the middle of a crisis. He cannot relax for the life of Tulsa. Whether that's his neck hurting from him repeatedly looking over his shoulder, or just his entire body hurting from the wrath of people who just didn't know him.

— However, on vacation, he's like a little boy again. Ponyboy doesn't feel worried about whether there is or there is not a Soc on his back getting ready to pounce. He sits the sand and plays with himself, making holes and seeing how long it takes him to jump into the splashing water. It's sweet really, the way you could've sworn his smile had gotten bigger.

— He definitely waits too long to eat his ice cream and it melts; I'm sorry but there's no way he chomps down his ice cream before it melts in his hand. Pony is a summer and winter boy, there's no in between. He loved the way the sun lays on his skin and he's relaxed, then in the winter, he's able to stay with his brothers’ and love them.

— If anything, he is so extremely thankful. He says it through the entire weekend and then goes back to thank your parents for deciding to take their child’s boyfriend alongside on the trip.

— He is so sweet. That's all your honor.

Two-Bit Matthews

— Two-Bit is the guy to bring to a vacation, except he doesn't relax. You swore he gets crazier. He's jumping on beds and stealing everything he possibly can. You're not sure why Two-Bit took a pillow, but he did. I think as soon as he hears you ask to go on vacation with him, he's cackling and jumping around and immediately calls his school and says that he'll be out for a week. You're not confident of why he even called, you're sure he has more absences than he does days he actually showed up.

— I think he would have so much fun. He can barely sleep and he's tossing and turning in the bed the entire night. However, he jumps up as soon as you ask if he'll watch the sunrise with you. Two-Bit walks down to the beach with you and is holding a towel. He drops it on the ground and he sits on it, as well as you. Two lets you lay on him, holding your hand and kissing him gently as you thank him for everything he's done for you. He protects you and makes sure you're alright. He's definitely surprised you're thanking him and he hugs you tightly and pulls you to the ground. “No thank you! Baby I love you so much for taking me to this!”

— Two-Bit definitely found himself playing with a little boy and sand buckets after he helped the kid. It's sweet and it has you smiling ear to ear as the boy pulls his hand across the beach and they're racing with each other. He's like a puppy and he plays with everything he can find. He's the best brother, especially with his sister, but with any kid he's showing love and helping them out. He eventually comes back to you, out of breath and sweaty and sits down. His hair has no grease in it, so it's softly waved and long across his face.

— Two is sweet and kind the entire time. He's hugging and kisses you whenever you get to a beach-side dinner or you go buy a new swimsuit for either him or you. Two-Bit is holding you all day, you aren't sure if it's him checking you out or just holding you, but you still love it. He's completely grateful and he's thanking you every moment he possibly can. It's shared with kisses, hugs, and cuddling under the warm sun or the warm night on the beach.

— And now I must ask, where is my Two-Bit to go to the beach with?

Steve Randle

— Steve had only left Tulsa so many times. His parents barely recognized he was at the house most of the time. So either way, he would travel away from Tulsa and drive around. He visited some places around Texas as well as the rest of Oklahoma. So, whenever you surprise him with a trip to a place he mentioned of “dreaming” of going to, he sucked in a few tears and a big smile of his face.

— Whenever he gets to the place, he is overwhelmed with the quick change from Tulsa to where he went. He's quickly excited about the ocean and the crashing against the water. Normally, you would have made him get on a pair of shorts, but he decided to run in with his jeans hiked and rolled up his legs. He's laughing and smiling ear to ear with happiness. You follow his smile and watch him jumping and sliding across the waves. You're glad he's acting like a kid, expressing himself out of his shell.

— After he passed out on the beach, burning his skin, he laid on the soft white sheets as you had to rub cold aloe on his skin. When you ever attempt to mention him waiting a day to relax with the burn, he looks at you with a shocked look. “Why would you even say that?! Of course I'm going!” He still does and probably burns once more, even with a thick layer of sunscreen on.

— He's so incredibly thankful the entire time. Steve has some money saved up from the DX and decided to pay for all of the food and extra things at the vacation and tourist places. He doesn't tell you how much he has or how much anything costs. It's how he's thankful, he gives and gives and swears he doesn't need anything in return. Steve is so sweet, he holds you all day and just whispers about how happy he is to do this.

— He wakes up early in the morning to watch the sunset rise with you. The soft cold wind whipped through his ungreased hair. Steve is staring at the ocean and listening to the waves. He turns his head and kisses you gently and holds your hand. Then, he picks you up and throws you in the water: there's no in between. I apologize.

— Steve is actually one of my favorites.. he's so kind

Dallas Winston

— Dallas has never been on vacation. His dad doesn't care, and his mother passed away before she was able to take her young son on a trip. Dallas is fully able to leave Tulsa and go anywhere, but he has a connection to this town. His protection over Johnny Cade and Ponyboy Curtis and the rest of the gang is what keeps him rested at night. So for that reason, he was completely unsure about leaving. You reassured him it would only be a week, and that the boys would be fine. He anxiously packed and decided to go.

— Whenever Dallas arrives, I feel like he doesn't show full appreciation for the beauty of where he's staying. He checks out what's around the house, opening cabinets and drawers for anything that might have been left from past people. You have to pull him outside to stare off of the balcony at the sunset that's on the coast. Dallas never understood why Ponyboy and Johnny loved the sunset and rises, but now he does. He understands everything Pony talks about whenever you grab his hand and kiss him gently and say how thankful you are for him coming.

— Dallas doesn't fully understand how to thank you for taking him to something that he can't ever repay. You tell him he's fine and he doesn't have to pay back anything and how he's enough. He relaxes his mind and starts taking you to stores and the ocean. Dallas is sweet and kind whenever he doesn't have to be worried about making sure you're safe or the gang finding out how head over heels he completely was for you. Dallas is laying across your lap while your fingers run through his waved dark hair. He's almost asleep as he stares at the sunset with you.

— Dallas is very upset with the bed in the beach house. You try and get him to lay down and as soon as he puts his back on the bed, he immediately says he hates it. You're convinced that it's because of the ratty, hardly comfortable bed he sleeps on every night he has gotten used to. You have to let him practically lay on top of you in a last resort attempt to get him to sleep. He passes out a few minutes later, snores falling from his mouth and soft movements on his smile.

— Dallas gets knocked down from waves too much, ending up with him spitting out sand and salty water while complaining as you laugh at him. You're out of breath as he gets knocked down from a particularly hard wave and he screams. Eventually, he chases you further into the water and you hold onto him like a koala as he holds you just above the water. That's when he thanks you, a long salty tasting kiss and a smile ending it. It's sweet and gentle, almost everything Dallas shows that he's not. Unless he's with you, he's dropped the guard he holds up to scare people away.

— Dallas eventually grows to love vacations, and even says he wants to take the boys to where you were staying. It makes you smile about the way he cares about them so much. You tell him that he's like a Beach Boy in his swim shorts and wavy hair. He doesn't enjoy being compared to The Beach Boys whenever he's a hard-headed and mean Greaser. All in all, Dallas is someone who grows to love anything he can stick his head too. As well as his hatred for carrying bags up sand dunes after leaving the beach, he doesn't love that very much.

— Bring Dallas to the beach, please.

Johnny Cade

— Johnny had never been out of Tulsa. His parents barely had enough money to keep the lamps on so they could see where they would argue and yell. He admittedly would remember nights when he was younger, staring at the stars and thinking about jumping across them and falling into a place where it was complete relaxation. So, when you surprised him with the trip for his seventeenth birthday, he cried and sniffled in your arms while thanking you. It was bittersweet and you couldn't help but tear up at his happiness for a week trip.

— Johnny is a little tourist bug. He's clad in a sweatshirt with the city across his chest. His sunglasses are covering his eyes as he walks down the palm tree-sided road. The sunset that flows throughout the town is absolutely beautiful and you can't help but clip a picture with your polaroid that you snuck into the trip. He just turns the second the click goes off, so you get a slightly blurry picture of Johnny smiling at you with his eyes on you. It's a picture you keep in your jacket pocket that reminds you of everything you have.

— Johnny is absolutely obsessed with the beach house. He's walking around with his hands in his pockets as he looks at everything it has. He tells you the small things he noticed, like the turtle design the wallpaper has or that the balcony has a different look than other ones. It's sweet how he tells you everything he notices, it reminds you of how grateful he is for even being able to leave Tulsa, but to go to a place he's been dreaming about is a totally different feeling.

— Johnny absolutely loves the beach. He digs holes and sits in them. You have to remind him to reapply sunscreen, but even with that, his soft cheeks turn a gentle red and his shoulders get a sunburn. The ocean is his favorite place, he doesn't care about the salt water that gets in his mouth or splashes into his eyes. He feels completely free and everything bad in his life gets taken away out from the shore. He collects seashells and screams whenever a fish slides against his foot and runs away.

— Johnny has already expressed his gratefulness with his constant telling you how happy he is because of the trip. He buys you a small friendship bracelet that connects with a heart magnet. He gets blushy and mushy inside when you tell him it'll never come off your wrist. As I've already said, Johnny loves walking through the tourism stores and picking up every turtle and keychain and messing with it. He does his hardest to make the most of the trip with you and shows he's happy for it. He believes he doesn't deserve it, if he had to be honest. He had only done so much for you, but with his fears crowding his feelings it was hard.

— Johnny lies with you on the sand and stares at the stars after the sun sets on the horizon. He swears they're brighter than in Tulsa, but you think you can barely see a difference. His hand is holding onto yours while you share stories with each other. He tells you things he's never told anybody with soft sniffles and laughs. It's romantic and just the thing Johnny needed. It's everything he needs, the sound of the waves that crash across the shore and the sea salt smell that lies in everything he owns. That's had been the night Johnny told you that you were written in his stars for forever.

#the outsiders x reader #the outsiders fluff #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders 1983 #dallas winston the outsiders #the outsiders #darry curtis x reader #darry curtis #darry x reader #darry curtis x y/n #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #sodapop curtis #sodapop imagine #the outsiders sodapop #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis #the outsiders ponyboy #two bit x reader #two bit mathews #two bit matthews x reader #two bit the outsiders #steve randle #steve randle x reader #Steve Randle the outsiders #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston #johnny cade fluff #johnny cade x you

[heybaetae]

alright, his letter really got me.

if i can get kinda personal really quick—which i usually avoid doing too much—i promise it’s warranted if you feel like reading to the end of this post in which i’m about to share some things about a deeply painful experience i went through this year and am still enduring the weight of. if you follow me closely enough, you probably know what i’m referring to…

before i do though, i want to mention how truly mind blowing it is that someone who already means a lot to you can somehow keep becoming more and more important as time goes on without even doing much, really, just by being there. since the start of the year, i have not been in the best mental state. i suffer from anxiety and depression which causes me to have a really tough time sleeping and it’s only gotten worse over the months.

i cannot stress enough how many times jungkook lifted my spirit and my mood on some of my worst days/nights since he started doing his frequent weverse lives. it sounds bleak to say because it is, but he was one of the only constant sources of light in my life this year. i can’t tell you how many times it felt like whenever i was feeling my lowest or was riddled with dread about something, i’d suddenly get a notif that he was live. like he’d just pop up when i’d need a distraction the most. even if it was a temporary relief, it would often help take my mind off of things and sometimes it was the only time i’d smile or laugh in an entire week. he was already such a comforting person to me, but it was only amplified every time he went live seeking the same feeling and i quickly found a lot of solace in the thought that we both seeked a familiar warmth for a while. i think a lot of people felt the same. i was seriously getting though the first half of the year thanks to the music the members were releasing and jk’s lives. that’s it. not much else was driving me forward.

then june 11th happened. that morning, i was woken up by my mom telling me my older sister was unresponsive in the hospital. i won’t go into specifics of what happened, but i ended up spending the whole day at home alone while the rest of my family rushed to the hospital. i couldn’t go with them. i knew i wasn’t going to be able to handle it and that made me feel absolutely riddled with guilt. instead, i spent hours in bed just waiting for text updates of what was going on, but they were few and far between. all i’d been told was that they were going to turn her life support off at some point in the day and i hadn’t heard anything after that for a few hours, so i didn’t know if it had happened yet or not for what felt like ages. i felt totally in the dark.

so i was laying there feeling numb, not doing anything but trying to reconcile with losing a sibling so soon and staring at my phone, willing news to come through but also praying it would stay silent. in my denial, silence meant what was happening wasn’t actually happening.

then that 🌟 JK live notif came through out of no where and i felt my heart literally stutter because there was just no fucking way. this was the first time i’d ever gotten that notif at that hour in my timezone. he rarely did morning lives, what on earth could he be doing? why now? why why why?

absolutely nothing in that moment was more important than my sister and what my family was experiencing, but there was literally nothing that i or anyone could do. i was helpless and unable to process the million thoughts and questions running through my head. in my desperate need for that familiar comfort, that distraction, i eagerly clicked the notif and was faced with those big, ridiculous brown eyes blinking at me sideways over the top of a blanket in his bed too. “you can’t be serious,” i said to my screen out loud and then i fucking laughed. incredulously, in disbelief, in amusement, in horror, in grief, in happiness, all of the above.

“how did you know?” i wanted to sob, but all i could do was keep laying there, practically comatose (for lack of a better word), as i watched who had steadily become what felt like my closest and dearest friend across the ocean tell me he wanted company falling asleep. it almost felt like a sick joke the universe was playing on me. like hey, you need a distraction from something really bad happening and it’s not gonna change a thing and it’s parasocial as fuck, but it’s literally the only thing that’s been working so far up until this point aka the lowest point. so here he is, the booooy.

anyway, he fell asleep. i finally rested my eyes. my thoughts calmed down for a brief while. frankly, at the risk of sounding insane, i felt like i was being looked after. supported? no, he had no clue. he was in dreamland and his arm was twitching. he hadn’t even said much after the first few minutes and once he passed out, all that mattered until it would inevitably be cut off was the fact that he was just… there.

my sister passed away not too long after the live was turned off. i wasn’t told until a couple hours later, but the fact is this: in the hour leading up to it, i was successfully distracted and i was comforted. of course, it didn’t last long but it had helped me in the moment i most needed it (again, but x10000) and i am forever in jungkook’s debt for those last few moments of solitude before my entire year was flipped on a permanent axis that day. i’m with one less sister and the grief has been insurmountable.

so i just wanna say if it’s seemed like i’ve been leaning a bit more on jungkook than usual this year, this is why. he’s just been an angel for me, quite literally. it’s also why i refuse to entertain any messages i receive slandering him for whatever reason or accusing me of favoring him over anyone else lately when that’s just not the case. i’m just trying to get by. i’m channeling my grief into my content, my creations, and in doing so, i am channeling my love and appreciation into what is getting me through it the most. so it’s a waste of time to twist it into something it isn’t and i’ll only ever give you a pity laugh and move on. none of the kpop industry jargon that people get mad about these days matters to me at all and life is too short to waste being angry about shit you can’t control. you don’t know what people are going through and you don’t know what someone means to someone else or why. so put your energy towards things that make you happy instead. you’ll feel better. i never owed an explanation, but there it is if you’ve been looking for one.

to wrap this up, i didn’t think i’d ever write any of this down and i could probably write essays just as long as this one for all the other members and what they did for me this year too. it’s going to be incredibly hard to see them go. my ult bias for-fucking-ever, my taehyung, i simply do not know how i’m going to get through my days without him. i just can’t picture or fathom it and i don’t fucking want to. he’s my favorite person in the world. i will be so empty with him gone. there are no words for how painful it’ll be so i’m not even gonna try to find them. my sweet jimin who also brings so much comfort and hilarity into my life, i simply cannot stomach the thought of him going away. my dear namjoon who i swear to god yanks my ass back up above water when i feel like i’m drowning in my feelings and inspires me to be better, what the hell am i gonna do? i’m already spiraling without yoongi’s tranquility. and of course, jungkook, who you now know has just been an incredibly special presence in my life this year. someone i’ve learned so much from, laughed with, cried with, eaten with, rested with, who showed up for me over and over and over and has no idea the impact he had, how grateful i am. i’ll never be able to thank him. thank you thank you thank you for being there for me. thank you all the members for fucking being there for me literally all the time.

this sucks! this sucks but i’m gonna power through it with the rest of you. i’m gonna try.

#tw death #turning reblogs off bc it’s just too personal to let circulate #but thank you for reading it you did

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Commitments

elijah mikaelson x fem!reader x kai parker | requested

summary: an argument breaks out when kai learns about elijah’s plan to propose to you. he had been making these plans himself, he just hadn’t expected the other man to do it without letting him know first. luckily, you intervene mid-fight and are able to settle it between them, proposing an agreement that suits you all

tags: poly relationship, arguments, talks of marriage, happy ending, fluff

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i hate the title, but not being able to title it was the only thing stopping me from publishing the request, which i didn’t want to do, so it’s kind of a bad title and i’m sorry about that. but, i hope you like it!

The minute you leave to go to your lunch date with Rebekah, Kai confronts the other man in your life about a small box he found in his nightstand. 

“What do you plan on doing with it?” He tries to square up the original after hearing it is, in fact, a ring. 

“I know you spent a lot of your life locked away, but I think you know why one would usually buy a ring.”

“Don’t play dumb with me. Are you going to propose to her?”

“If you must know, yes, I was planning on it.��

“You can’t do that,” he starts, only to be interrupted.

“And why not?”

“Because I was going to.”

“You must be joking. You don’t have the devotion for marriage, Malachai.”

“Maybe I do. How would you know?”

“Because I know you. We have been in this relationship for two years. We know each other just as much as we know her.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Elijah. I am devoted. Devoted to her.”

“I know you are. But what about marriage? It’s something else entirely.”

“Are you suggesting I’m not capable of it?”

“I’m merely suggesting that you are not able to handle something so binding. Marriage is a commitment.”

“I’ve been committed to your dumbass all these years.”

“You have, for her.”

“So what’s the problem then?”

Elijah sighs, “let’s not make this an argument.”

“Me? You’re the one starting shit!”

“Malachai, I-”

“And don’t fucking call me that, you know I hate it. Why do you think you get to propose to the girl we’re both dating? She can’t ride off into the sunset with you and leave me behind, and how do you know she even wants to marry you?”

“So now you’re telling her what she can and cannot do. That’s never a good sign of a healthy relationship, Mal-”

“Shut up! Stop calling me that! And I’m not telling her what to do, I’m only saying that there’s three of us in this relationship, and you can’t just break it up like that.”

“Of course we would work out the details later, but it is imperative that I-”

“No! We work out the details before we ask the life-changing decisions! And funnily enough, I was actually going to ask you about similar details when I found your little box - which, by the way, you should hide better - because I have been wanting to go out and buy my own little box for her, because I do love her, and I am willing to make that commitment!”

“It’s not a little box, Mal… Kai, it’s a ring.”

“I know that.”

“And did you just say you wanted to propose too?”

“Yes, I did. But unlike you, I care about her feelings towards you, so I wanted to ask you before I made any rash decisions.”

“I care about how she feels for you, Kai, I just planned to ask those questions pertaining to you after I asked the question.”

“Why after? Why not before? Why so secretive?”

“Kai, I’m not in the mood for doing this with you-”

“Actually, it makes so much sense. You’ve been really standoff-ish lately, and I’m guessing this is why. But why the attitude, huh? Guilt, maybe? Pity?”

“You’re taking this too far. I have not been meaning to come off a certain way. You are projecting your own fears onto me.”

“I cannot deal with your thousand year old pretentious vampire talk right now, Elijah, I-”

“Well I cannot deal with your sensitive, baby vampire feelings. So may I suggest we both end this before we drive ourselves crazy?!”

“I am not sensitive! You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“I do, actually, quite know. And I know that you hate to admit it, but you are being sensitive, because you love Y/N so much and the thought of not having her kills you.”

“So then why are you taking her from me?! Why did you go and buy that-” 

“What’s going on?!” You shout into the room, effectively shutting up the two men. You could hear their muffled yelling from outside, tension settling in your bones at the noise. 

They both stop and stare at you. 

“Y/N,” Elijah coughs, “I thought you were meeting with my sister.”

“Something came up so we rescheduled. Why are you two arguing?”

It’s dead silent. 

“You better tell me right now. I thought we got over the two of you fighting.”

Kai wants nothing more than to spit out the truth, but the original would crucify him. Thankfully, Elijah sighs, “we are having a minor disagreement.”

“About what?”

“About you,” Kai says quietly.

“Yeah, I got that. Would someone like to expand?”

“I wanted to propose to you, Y/N,” Elijah finally admits. “But I hadn’t told Kai about this plan yet, so when he found the ring, he became upset.”

Your stomach flips, “propose? Elijah…”

“I love you, Y/N. You are the woman I want to spend my eternity with. But as it turns out, Malachai feels the same, he just hadn’t taken the same steps yet.”

“The steps?”

“I didn’t buy a ring because I wanted to make sure it was okay with him if I asked. But Elijah over here decided he’d just ask me after asking you,” Kai supplies. 

“You both?”

They nod. 

“Oh my god.” You sit down in the nearest chair to think. “God… I love you both, so much.”

“Would you?” Elijah starts, then continues when you look up at him, “marry one of us?”

“‘Lijah… I love you. I do want to live forever with you. But Kai, I love you, too. I can’t choose between you guys.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“I’m saying I can’t marry either of you. I can’t break your hearts; I can’t commit to one; I can’t make that decision. I won’t.”

“But… you still want to be with us, right?” Kai stutters out, afraid your rejecting words are a break up. 

You turn to him immediately, “of course, Kai. That’s what’s stopping me from marrying either of you. I need you both in my life. If marriage is going to divide us, I don’t want it.”

“But Y/N, it’s the opposite. It’s what brings people together.”

“‘Lijah… marriage is a binding process sanctioned by the government. We can live and love without a piece of paper telling us to do that. We can be happy just being us.”

Kai visibly softens at your words. His shoulders relax and jaw untenses. “I am just happy to be with you, Y/N. Elijah, please say you agree.”

The more traditional man takes longer to give into the idea. 

“I love our relationship just the way it is,” you tell him. “And, since you already bought the ring, I will still wear it, if you want. Kai, you too. I can wear them both. As a symbol of our love, without going through all the yucky legal stuff to have it.”

Elijah sighs before smiling and agreeing. “An anti-proposal proposal. I’m for it.”

A huge smile takes over your face and you rush to hug them both. They return the favor with the same enthusiasm. 

“Now, if we may, I was going to give Bex my whole afternoon, but now I have nothing to do! Might my favorite boys join me on the bed with a movie?”

Kai springs up at the word ‘movie,’ and immediately fetches popcorn and snacks. You give Elijah one more kiss, thank him for agreeing to your wishes, and then send him off to find a movie. 

For the rest of the day, you lie cuddled in between your boys, sharing candy and kisses, until exhaustion settles in your bones. 

“Sleep, Y/N,” Elijah mutters, “we’ve got you.”

“We love you,” Kai mumbles, half asleep himself. 

You kiss both their hands, then start to drift off into a deep sleep. “I love you both, too.”

#kai parker x reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah x reader x kai #elijah mikaelson x reader x kai parker #poly relationship #requested

[the7thcrow]

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 06

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Six: a rest-stop, illusions, and a begrudging truce.

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

chapter wc: 12.7k

extra chapter warnings: nothing new, but maybe heed the blood warning.

chapter summary:

And yet, something about the way San’s hand sits on his shoulder, remaining an entire arm-length away, makes him feel…small.

It’s what drives him to say his next few words, to finally let a fraction of what’s been building inside of him slip. To be selfish for once.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, San?”

Seonghwa cannot remember how long it’s been since he was last alone with San.

Not within the last week, as far as he can remember, as most of his time on this trip has been spent with you, and if not solemnly, then with both Woo and San as company as well. It seems strange, that amidst days of journeying he hasn’t had the opportunity to really converse alone with the swordsman. However, upon consideration, he’s realized that he and San don’t spend much time with only each other under normal circumstances, either.

It’s not due to any sort of dislike surrounding the swordsman. Frankly, he believes it would be difficult to feel anything but adoration for him. San is just so… steadfast. Solid. Always reliable, always in control. Seonghwa would trust him with his life, or with anything for that matter.

Yet, as he sits beside the swordsman at the fire, both you and Woo having turned in early for the night, he can’t help but rack his brain for the last time he and San really talked.

Despite living with the swordsman, eating meals with him, sharing a tent on plenty of nights, and fighting alongside him, he can’t recall the last meaningful conversation between just them.

To be fair, San has never been the vulnerable type. Always playing his hand close to his chest, Seonghwa can admire the swordsman’s inner strength and discipline. Where Seonghwa thinks too much with his heart, and Woo seems to have a general lack of thinking at all at times, San uses his head. He always seems to know what to do.

But in moments like these, Seonghwa wishes that San talked to him more.

He used to, Seonghwa thinks. He can recall a time where he and San were alone together plenty, especially during his earlier years with the elemental and the swordsman. But as time has passed by, these solitary moments between them seem to have become few and far between.

The swordsman currently sits with his back against the log in front of him, one leg extended outwards while his knee is drawn upwards on the other, arm resting atop of it. His face is buried into the crook of his arm, the flames flickering in the reflection of his good eye as he watches the fire.

Seonghwa wishes he knew what he was thinking. He wishes the swordsman would tell him. That he’d let his walls fall, even if only for a moment.

He would never admit it out loud, but sometimes he envies Woo for the way San opens up to him. He knows how close they are, he has from the moment he met them, and that bond isn’t something he’d ever wish to strip from them. He knows his place.

But sometimes it feels like San purposefully keeps himself at a distance, and Seonghwa just wishes he knew why.

The swordsman notices that he is staring, and casts Seonghwa a side glance. He sighs, and when he speaks, his tone is definite, as well as embarrassed.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” San says quietly, words muffled as he speaks them into his sleeve.

Seonghwa figured.

By “it” he means what happened back at The Desert Lotus, when both you and Seonghwa had found San with Minnie.

Seonghwa wasn’t sure what exactly was happening at the time, but after escaping the tavern and setting up camp, you’d given them the details about your meeting with the eccentric owner, and how the strange tavern actually managed to function so prosperously in the middle of nowhere.

Seonghwa had never been compelled before, but he’d always been curious as to what it may feel like. In hindsight, however, it felt like nothing.

He just felt happy, or better, ecstatic. It didn’t feel like some supernatural force was guiding his every move, or a dark sinister voice was whispering commands into his ear. It just felt like he was doing what he wanted to do, nothing more or nothing less. Even now, it’s difficult to wrap his head around.

He imagines it’s equally as difficult for San to understand, which is why it’s no surprise that the swordsman wouldn’t want to discuss it.

San likes things to make sense. He likes when they have an explanation and are orderly. Things that work in a logical fashion.

“Well, except Woo,” Seonghwa thinks to himself.

He doesn’t say any of this, obviously. Instead he grants the swordsman a kind and reassuring smile.

“That’s alright, we don’t have to,” Seonghwa answers, even though he doesn’t quite mean it. He does want to talk about it, in fact, it’s been eating away at him since you told them the truth, about how they were actually acting upon their greatest desires.

Seeing San with Minnie and being so openly affectionate, it was just… strange. With all the years they’ve known each other, he’s never been that way with Woo. Ever.

And if that’s what San wants, if he desires it more than anything, then why don’t they just… do it?

Seonghwa wishes he understood them better. He wishes they would just talk to him.

He doesn’t know what is going on with them, never really has. They say they aren’t together, but they sure seem together. They share a bed on multiple nights, both at the cottage and in the tent, but not every night. They’ll be affectionate one day, and then barely speak the next. Woo will console him for hours just a few nights ago, but then San will barely even look at him for the days following. He just doesn’t get it.

But it’s not his business, so it’s not like he can ask. They wouldn’t want to talk about it, anyway.

It’s difficult to constantly feel like the deadwood, attached to the trunk but also not really being a part of the tree. Just hanging there, like an extra limb, serving no real function. He knows they care about him, as he does in return, but sometimes he just feels… excluded.

It’s embarrassing, but the empath can’t deny that he’s growing tired of it, although he doesn’t want to spend too much time obsessing over that fact. If not out of courtesy for his sanity, then what may happen to the three of them and their life if he decides he’s had enough.

That uncertainty, that growing instability… It scares him.

“How did you do it?”

San’s voice is sudden as it cuts into the night’s quiet, and Seonghwa refrains from displaying the surprise he feels.

“What?” He asks, and San sighs, finally bringing his face up from his arm in order to look at the empath.

“Back in the desert, when Woo collapsed. How did you…” San trails off, hand grasping out in front of him as if physically reaching for the right words. “How did you just…handle it?”

Seonghwa thinks back to this morning. Woo had fallen rather suddenly, and he remembers his heart seizing in panic when the elemental hadn’t risen back to his feet. How he’d rushed to Woo’s side, brain immediately sifting through all possible case scenarios, trying to decide what exactly was happening to the elemental.

Like flipping through a journal, his mind assessed the symptoms. Loss of Consciousness, muscle contractions, sense of confusion. A seizure.

“It was just a medical thing,” Seonghwa says, brushing it off. It really wasn’t a big deal. “You know that I know a thing or two.”

While Seonghwa was never a doctor, or even an apprentice for that matter, his half-brother was. Mentored by Maralya’s town medic, he liked to practice things on Seonghwa. Nothing serious of course, just little procedures like wrapping bandages or diagnosing a concussion when Seonghwa hit his head falling off the fishing dock. He liked having Seonghwa quiz him on notes he’d taken, even though Yunho already knew everything forwards and back.

Even though he had no official training, Seonghwa learned a lot from his brother, a valuable asset to have considering the trouble he, San, and Woo have gotten into over the years.

But San already knows that, which is why the question confuses Seonghwa. Fortunately, the swordsman elaborates.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” San sighs. His expression is pained, as if it’s a struggle for him to get the words out. “I mean, how did you not panic? How did you not…freeze?”

It’s with that word in particular that Seonghwa finally understands what San’s getting at. The question isn’t about him, not really. It’s about San.

Seonghwa remembers the swordsman’s face when Woo was unconscious. The way his jaw dropped, good eye widening as he stared down at the thrashing elemental. While the situation caused Seonghwa to spring into action, body moving faster than his worry, it had caused San to become a statue. Unable to move, to do anything but simply stare.

San hadn’t mentioned it afterward, but Seonghwa remembers how once the elemental came to, San set himself into motion. Not towards Woo, but in the opposite direction. Up the sand dune and as far away as possible.

Seonghwa gives him a small smile. He knows the feeling. He isn’t sure how to truly answer San’s question, but he wants to reassure him, make him feel understood.

“When I was younger, my brother fell from our house’s roof,” Seonghwa starts, and San’s eyebrows furrow together, confused by the change in topic, although he doesn’t stop the empath. “It was in the middle of the day, he was 10 and I was 12. I came rushing outside, and he was just lying there, staring up at the sky, mouth parted open.”

“He was in shock. I know that now, but at the time I didn’t. I thought he was dying. I was scared, terrified actually, and I wanted nothing more than to help him. But I didn’t know how.”

San’s lips pull into a thin line, as he understands Seonghwa’s message. The empath continues. “It’s horrifying when someone you love is in danger and you have no idea how to save them. I happened to know what was happening to Woo today and how to fix it, so I did. If you knew, you would have too. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

San seems to consider this for a moment, before he eventually smiles. It’s not much of one, just the corners of his lips curling upwards, but it is something. It makes Seonghwa smile too.

“I guess,” the swordsman sighs, before sucking in a tight breath. “It’s just… he’s been so… and then there he was just… and I couldn’t…”

San seems to be having trouble finishing a thought, so Seonghwa tries to help. “Does this have anything to do with what’s going on with you guys lately?”

“Maybe,” San begins, before pausing. When he opens his mouth again, it’s preceded by a deep sigh.

“But I don’t want to talk about it-

“But you don’t want to talk about it.”

Both of them speaking over each-other, San seems surprised by the unison of their words. Turning towards Seonghwa, he appears almost caught, mouth parted open as if to ask: “How did you know?”

“Because I know you,” Seonghwa wants to say. “And I know that you never want to talk about it.”

Instead, Seonghwa decides to bite the bullet. He won’t press any further, because it’s likely to make San even more evasive than he already is, but he can’t help but add: “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, the two of you always do.”

San smiles, but it quickly falters, as if he doesn’t quite believe him.

A moment of silence passes, and Seonghwa feels a bit useless. He’s meant to comfort them - or at least that’s the role he’s assigned to himself - and San doesn’t seem any less troubled than when the night began. Seonghwa doesn’t like seeing him like this.

So he extends out his hand. “Come here,” he says gently.

San stares at his hand for a moment, confused as his gaze flickers up to meet the empath’s own, eyebrows furrowed. When he realizes what Seonghwa is implying, the expression shifts into a scowl, and the swordsman physically recoils.

“No,” San states firmly, shaking his head.

“Come on,” Seonghwa says, extending his hand out with a little more fervour this time. “It’ll help.”

“I don’t want help,” San replies, tone perhaps a little too fierce. After a moment, he seems to realize this, and it softens. “You know I don’t like it when you do that,” he mumbles.

“I know,” Seonghwa starts, before giving him a small smile. “But it would make me feel better if you’d let me.”

Seonghwa knows that it will make the swordsman change his mind, because this way it is not him helping San, but San helping him. And San is the most selfless man he knows.

“Please,” he whispers, sliding down from his place on the log and onto the ground, inching towards the swordsman.

After a moment, San concedes. Twisting to the side, he sighs as he turns to face the empath, hesitantly extending his arm out towards him.

The way his hand shakes slightly as he does so casts a wave of familiarity through Seonghwa. Maybe the last time they were alone together was like this one, a quiet moment after Woo had gone to bed, and San was hurting more than Seonghwa could dare to let the swordsman bare himself.

It’s happened more than once. Not frequently, but enough that Seonghwa has noticed a pattern. With San, it’s the little things that run deep. A fight between him and Woo that Seonghwa didn’t know the details about, or following a nightmare surrounding Jay. Once there was a particularly close battle with a basilisk that left the swordsman on edge. San likes to bury his pain, Seonghwa wishes to dig it up and carry it himself.

Each time the swordsman contests it, but he eventually gives in. Seonghwa believes that on a subconscious level San knows that he needs it, even if consciously it isn’t something he lets himself want.

When San’s hand finally lands itself on his own, Seonghwa cradles it gently. Placing his other on top of it, he settles himself to face the swordsman, kneeling in front of him. Taking in a deep breath, he begins.

That’s the only word he can think of to describe using his gift: “beginning”. It’s not exactly something he has to do, like flipping a switch on and off. It just… starts. Like a tickle settling in his chest, it’s more a basic instinct, a calling from within rising to the surface.

This is what he’s meant to do. He craves it, revels in it, even if in the moment the sensation is… anything but pleasant.

San’s eyes flutter shut, lips parting open slightly as he drifts into subconsciousness. His head falls to the side, body tilting, and Seonghwa quickly extends one of his hands out to catch him, pulling San’s head to rest on his shoulder. The swordsman seems to relax even more as he does so, sucking in a deep breath, and Seonghwa can feel San’s smile through the fabric of his shirt.

For a moment, he is happy. San is at peace, surely flooded with some sort of pleasant memory that carries him gently through a dream-like state. Maybe the taste of his mother’s cooking on his tongue, or the smell of Woo’s clothing flooding his nose. Seonghwa is just happy that he’s happy.

Then it starts.

“Why aren’t they sending anyone?” Seonghwa asks. He is pacing back and forth, bare feet sticking to the cracking kitchen tiles. It is dark out. Yunho has already gone to sleep, which leaves only him and his mother beneath the dim light of the flickering candle that sits on the table.

“They won’t, Seonghwa.” His mother says. Her tone is exhausted.

“Surely Zaria could afford to send a few of their own medics, the kingdom has more wealth than they know what to do with! Or even just some decent medical supplies!”

“They won’t, Seonghwa.”

“Are they deaf to the news? The illness has spread to three different families, The Kim’s have sent what, a thousand letters to the royal family? Surely they must have received them, and should feel some sort of basic human decency and send-”

“Seonghwa!” His mother’s tone is sharp as she cuts him off, loud. She rarely raises her voice, but when she does he knows it’s time to listen. He stops pacing. “They won’t!”

He stares at her, incredulous. He doesn’t get it. “Why not? How can they know what is happening to us, and not care? How can they show such little empathy?”

His mother purses her lips. She stares at him, as if deciding something. Eventually, she speaks. “Why do you think the buildings were never repaired after the flood?”

He scowls, agitated by the change in topic. “What does that have to do with-”

“Why do you think we have to ration all of our crops every winter, and it is still not enough? Why did The Kim’s have to spend their son’s education fund to afford new bandages and Burberry salv? Why does Mayor Choi quietly sob everytime the tax collector arrives for the monthly quota?”

Seonghwa doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how.

“Because nobody cares about Maralya, Seonghwa,” she whispers, and tears well in her eyes. He hasn’t seen her cry since his step-father died, and that was years ago. “This sickness could kill us all, and Zaria would not bat an eye. Maybe they’d miss our tax fee, but certainly not us. Nobody spares a prayer for Maralya, except for us Maralyan’s.”

“No,” Seonghwa whispers, shaking his head. “They must… they must not understand-”

“You’re right, they don’t understand,” she continues, shaking her head, defeated. “But that is because they don’t want to.”

“But we’re a branch of their kingdom…” Seonghwa trails off. He’s sixteen now, practically a man by the town’s standards, but he feels like a child. “How can they care so little?”

“We are a branch of their kingdom, and yet we are not on any map,” she replies, and her words drop like a stone within his gut. “We are nothing. We are non-existent to everyone except ourselves.”

With this she leans forward and blows out the candle. The kitchen is shrouded in darkness. She casts him a glance, strands of untamed blonde hair cascaded messily over her face, dark eyes glistening in the moonlight. She heads up the stairs without another word.

Seonghwa doesn’t move.

He stands in the kitchen, staring at the burnt out candle, trails of smoke curling in the air. Eventually they disappear, twisting and turning until they transform into nothing at all.

Nothing. That’s what she’d said. To Zaria, to the world, they are nothing.

His fists clench at his side. In the distance, a bell rings, pounding into the night, a distant echo.

It’s from the medical centre, a signal that someone has died.

They are the first.

Seonghwa sobs, but his tears are not sad ones. They are furious. He sinks to his knees, the tiles cool enough to sting through his pants. Winter is coming, it will be cold. They will not have enough firewood for heat most nights.

He screams, loud enough to wake Yunho. Maybe even the town, if the bell hasn’t already done so.

All he feels is fury.

Anger.

“I’m sick, Hwa,” Yunho mumbles, looking up at him from his place on the bed, covered in a myriad of patch-work quilts and pillows. He coughs a few times, and blood paints the kerchief he holds to his mouth, like bright red rain drops. He’s only fourteen, too young to be like this.

“I’m going to die, whether you stay here or not,” his brother continues. Tears paint his cheeks, glistening against his sickly pale skin. “You have to go.”

“No,” Seonghwa says stubbornly. Clinging to the blanket at the foot of the bed. His mother won’t let him touch Yunho, she’s too afraid he’ll catch his illness. “I can’t leave you like this.”

Seonghwa stares at him, and tears sting from within his eyes. He does not let them fall. “I can fix this.”

“No,” Yunho says, and Seonghwa can tell he’s fading into unconsciousness. He’s been in and out for the last few days, every time Seonghwa fears that he won’t wake back up. “You can’t.”

“I can,” Seonghwa answers, frustrated. Yunho does not respond, he is already asleep.

“I can.”

Seonghwa knows that he cannot.

Desperation.

“Please, don’t make me go,” Seonghwa begs, fist pounding on the door. His knuckles are bruised from trying to break it down. It won’t budge. He can barely speak as he weeps, chest rattling, eyes blurry. “I can’t leave you both, not like this.”

“You have to,” his mother responds on the other end. Her voice is weak, a testament to how the sickness has infected her lungs. Her sobs are interspersed with violent coughs, and Seonghwa’s heart shatters with each and every one of them. “I am already going to lose one son, I cannot lose both.”

“Please!” Seonghwa blubbers. He presses his cheek to the door, feeling the wood scratch against his skin. He doesn’t care. “Please Mom, I can’t go. Please don’t make me go. This is all I have, I can’t leave you. Please, please don’t make me go.”

It’s after this she stops answering. Seonghwa knows that she is still there, he can still feel her presence behind the door. He knows that she listens, silently taking in the last words her son will ever say to her.

Still, Seonghwa doesn’t stop for hours, until his knuckles are not only bruised but bleeding, tiny splinters digging into the flesh of his skin. They paint the light brown wood red. And yet, he continues.

Even as the neighbours walk by, staring through their own tired and hollow eyes as they keep to themselves, muttering a prayer to the god’s in his name. Even as he hears Yunho crying from upstairs, begging under his breath for his older brother to not be an idiot and save himself. Even as the sun sets, and the night watches him through her single pale eye.

It is only once the chill sets in that he accepts that this is it.

He is alone, he is shaking, and if he doesn’t find shelter fast the cold will eat through his bones.

He thinks Zaria may be right, he is nothing.

He has no home, no family to turn to.

He is a ghost.

Picking up the things that his mother forced out with him, mostly just the bare necessities he’d be able to carry, he wraps them in Yunho’s old baby blanket. It’s a final departing gift, one that his brother had forced their mother to let him throw out the window, even if she worried it would be plagued with the sickness. Even as his younger brother grew into a teen, he’s never stopped sleeping with it. “So he won’t get cold,” Seonghwa had heard Yunho tell their mother through the door, delirious through his sickness. Seonghwa took it anyway. It is all of Yunho he will have left.

He turns towards the forest, towards the one half-beaten trail he’s never taken before, that will lead him deeper into Burovia. Towards the cities he’s only heard about it passing, the complicated world that exists beyond Maralya’s ocean banks and gentle breeze.

He trembles, and beneath his skin something stirs. An awful dreaded feeling, that scratches his lungs and suffocates his throat. That pounds within his head and beats minacially against the lining of his heart.

Terror.

He is afraid.

He is alone. He is a ghost. But more than either, he is afraid.

Fear.

Seonghwa’s eyes fly open, his hands trembling as the clutch onto San’s own. The swordsman’s head still rests on his shoulder, the smile of his lips still pressed against Seonghwa’s tunic.

Seonghwa attempts to steady himself. His mind swirls with those three entities: anger, desperation, and fear. Like dark figures surrounding him, they weigh upon his shoulders as if they are bricks stacked upon them. They crush his chest as if their hands are placed there, pushing and shoving him down. They pour their sick and twisted poison down his throat, choking him.

That’s how he’s learned to view these emotions, as beings. They plague the body, manipulate it. Like a sickness, they invade and multiply, and then they harvest.

He knows there are more, whirling around in San’s mind, beckoning him to take them as well. But if he absorbs anymore, he will break, and San will feel responsible for making him do so.

He has to stop now, before this goes too far.

“San,” he whispers, releasing his hand from the swordsman’s own and placing it on the man’s shoulder, shaking him softly. It takes a moment for San to stir, but when he does, it’s with a sleepy sort of groan.

He sighs, then after a moment, stiffens. Awkwardly removing himself from Seonghwa’s shoulder, he clears his throat.

“Thank you,” San whispers, and he looks embarrassed. Even so, he seems much better. His eye holds less of a darkness, his posture no longer so sunken and defeated. Seonghwa forces a smile, even though his throat bubbles with a rising sob, eyes stinging with tears that wish to fall.

He doesn’t let them, it’ll only make San feel responsible.

“Of course,” he replies, tone gentle. “Any time.”

And he means it. He will do this for him again at the drop of a hat, no matter how many times he is asked. His heart knows that it is worth it, even if his body and mind scream for him to stop.

He’s an empath, it’s who he is. It’s who the god’s wanted him to be.

Despite himself, he sniffles, his eyes still watering and nose stuffing itself in that annoying and pathetic fashion that always serves as a dead give away for how much this affects him.

It’s funny, Seonghwa never see’s tears as pitiful on anyone else, but he can’t see them as anything but that on himself.

San takes note of the sniffling, and his eyebrows furrow. He looks closer at the empath. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa replies, a little too quick, too obvious of a lie. He needs to work on that. “I’m good, really.”

San frowns, then sighs. “No. You’re not.”

“I am,” Seonghwa assures him, although a tear that manages to slip through after a series of frantic blinks speaks for him instead.

San reaches out a hand. He hovers it in front of Seonghwa’s face for a moment, as if considering whether he should wipe the tear away, before deciding better and settling on the empath’s shoulder. The safer option.

Seonghwa tries to not look too dejected.

San is always so hesitant to touch him. Whether it be a hug after a successful hunt or a moment where the other is down, San is always evasive. Seonghwa knows it shouldn’t, but it hurts. Only a little bit, but enough to make his chest tighten. Obviously he’s not Woo, but is he really that repulsive that the swordsman can’t even touch him?

He knows it’s his gift talking. His emotions are always heightened after he uses it, the little things enough to cut him deeper than they should.

But still… It hurts.

Seonghwa is only making this worse for himself, letting the absorbed emotions fester and infect him rather than expel them out. He’s gotten rather good at the latter, having had more than enough practice over the years.

And yet, something about the way San’s hand sits on his shoulder, remaining an entire arm-length away, makes him feel…small.

It’s what drives him to say his next few words, to finally let a fraction of what’s been building inside of him slip. To be selfish for once.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, San?”

He can physically feel the way San freezes, the way his hand seems to transform to marble atop his shoulder, providing an answer before the swordsman can offer a lie.

San’s eye shifts to meet his own, and his expression surprises Seonghwa. The empath had assumed that he would be wide-eyed, fearful as if he’d been caught. Instead he looks… dismayed.

He opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates. His eyebrows furrow, and for a moment Seonghwa can not tell what he’s thinking. His good eye swims with a strange sort of disappointment, an awfully sad expression.

“No, Hwa,” he says, and his voice is softer than the empath’s heard it in a long time. “Of course not.”

Seonghwa chews on the corner of his cheek, dissatisfied.

“Then I don’t get it,” he starts, and he hates the way his voice shakes. He shouldn’t bring this up now, while his gift has him too emotional, heart on his sleeve. But then again, perhaps that’s the reason why now is the only time he can speak about it.

“I feel like you’ve been so skittish around me lately. On guard. I know you’re a reclusive person San but just, you’ve been different. Over the last year you’ve started keeping me at an arm's length, and I just don’t understand what I did wrong to make you feel like you can’t-”

Seonghwa is cut off by the hand that rests on his shoulder pulling him forward. It’s only a split second, but suddenly his chest is pressed up against San’s own, the swordsman reaching around him with his other arm.

Seonghwa blinks. San is hugging him.

“I’m so sorry, Hwa,” San says, chin resting on the top of Seonghwa’s shoulder. “It’s nothing you did, I promise. I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way.”

Seonghwa doesn’t know what to say, as his brain is having difficulty stringing one thought to another. San is hugging him. Like, a real hug. Not a hesitant, half-embrace that leaves him feeling more awkward than anything else. An actual, both arms around him, hug.

“Okay,” he says dumbly, raising his own hands to hover behind the swordsman, before hesitantly placing them on his back. San doesn’t move.

“I’ll work on it,” San says, voice quiet. “It’s just…a me thing. It’s not you.”

Seonghwa considers this for a moment, then nods. Apparently this distance is something San is conscious about, whether that is a good thing or not Seonghwa can’t decide. He’ll have to wait and see.

“Okay,” he says again, this time with a little more sincerity.

San gives him a final tight squeeze, but as he goes to pull away, Seonghwa holds onto him a little tighter. The swordsman seems to understand, and stills.

Seonghwa smiles. For a second, it feels like he has his friend back. He has San back, and in this sacred moment, he does not dare let go.

“Okay seriously, what is up with you today?” Wooyoung asks, raising an eyebrow at the empath.

Seonghwa has been in an awfully good mood all morning. Far too cheery considering that they’d almost died of dehydration in the desert yesterday, or how they’d been way too close to being mind-controlled into throwing away all of their life savings at some wacky-ass tavern.

Yet, the empath walks with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. He even whistled a few moments ago, as the two of them made their way through the sand village. Whistled.

It pisses Wooyoung off.

If Seonghwa got laid last night, he doesn’t need to be so damn obvious about it.

Besides, Wooyoung doesn’t want to think about what Seonghwa’s like after sex. He doesn’t want to think about Seonghwa and sex at all, actually.

The thought repulses him, what the empath might be like. What he’d say or do. If he’d be more dominant. If he’d be loud, or bratty, or servicing, or-

Wooyoung is quick to put a lid on that jar before any more unwilling thoughts can spill out of it.

“We aren't going to die today,” Seonghwa answers him, gesturing to the sand village around them. To the people bustling about, and the buildings that contrast the barron landscape they’ve all grown used to. “Surely that would put anyone in a good mood.”

“I'll hire the party planners,” Wooyoung grumbles, and Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“Well, maybe not everyone,” he says, wrinkling his nose. Wooyoung huffs.

The two of them are currently in search of somewhere to spend the night, although Wooyoung believes he may never want to spend another night at a tavern as long as he lives. Fortunately, the village they’ve stumbled upon seems far too small to have anything remotely resembling a tavern anyway.

It’s nothing more than a group of houses, structured by a strange sort of clay material that Wooyoung doesn’t think he’s seen in any of the past villages he’s visited. It’s a nice tight-knit community and the people are kind, but as a result it’s also not much use for them. Nowhere to really stay, no real stores to buy supplies from. When asking where the local watering-hole may be, a sweet elderly woman quite literally brought them to a hole full of water, serving as the town’s well.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung have been going door to door, asking if anyone has some extra space for their group to spend the night. So far they’ve had no such luck, the houses are too small for the amount of children running around them, anyway.

However, third time’s the charm, and the size of the stable they approach shows promise.

“Are you okay, by the way?”

Wooyoung turns to face Seonghwa, caught off guard by the question. The elemental regards the empath warily. “Yeah, why?”

“We never really got the chance to talk since after the tavern,” Seonghwa explains. His tone is nonchalant, but Wooyoung can tell it's a facade. He’s concerned. “You were quiet.”

“Yeah, well,” Wooyoung laughs, brushing it off. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” Seonghwa admits. “But it was a lot, for all of us. If you want, you know that you can talk to me about it.”

“Sure,” Wooyoung snorts, rolling his eyes. “Maybe then we can hold hands and skip afterwards.”

Seonghwa lets out a groan, rubbing his face in exasperation as he pinches his nose-bridge. Wooyoung’s just glad he’s annoyed rather than concerned. When Seonghwa is annoyed it’s entertaining, when he's concerned it’s unfathomably difficult to get him off his ass.

“The gods forbid anyone try and help you,” he mutters. Frankly, Wooyoung agrees with the sentiment, and doesn’t bother with a response.

However, Seonghwa doesn’t quite seem to be done with the pity party.

“But physically, you’re alright? A seizure can mess with some things. Does your head hurt?”

Wooyoung considers this. “Actually, yeah.”

“Really?”

“No. Now would you relax? I’m fine,” Wooyoung pushes, twisting his head to face Seonghwa.

The empath is already looking at him, and his heart sinks. He’s wearing what Wooyoung likes to call the look. The look is dangerous. The look is a pair of puppy-dog eyes bearing into his soul that make him feel bad for giving the empath such a hard time. It screams: I want to help you. I want to help you and you won't let me.

The look says that the empath wants to use his gift on him, and that is something Wooyoung will never let him do. Never.

Wooyoung smiles, wide. Makes sure his teeth are even showing. “I’m good, Hwa. Okay? Don’t get yourself worked up over it.”

And he is fine. The tavern was… messy, yes. Complicated, definitely. But he just wants to move past it, forget it ever happened. He was being compelled, it’s not like he would have gone into the sauna otherwise.

It’s not like he wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t found him. He would have snapped out of it eventually. Find San and Seonghwa, get them out of there himself, surely.

He would have figured it out. He’s fine now, and he would have been fine then. No doubt about it.

His head does hurt a little bit though.

Seonghwa steps forward to knock on the stable door they approach. After being greeted with silence, he knocks again, only to receive no response.

“I don’t think anyone’s here,” Seonghwa mutters, before letting out a sigh. He’s prepared to turn around, but Wooyoung reaches out for the door’s handle, twisting it. It’s open.

“Come on,” he says, swinging open the door and walking inside. Seonghwa grabs hold of his arm, tugging him backwards.

“Woo!” He exclaims, incredulous. His voice is lowered into an angry whisper. “We can’t just break in.”

“It’s not breaking in if they leave the door open,” he shrugs, before letting out a laugh as he tugs his arm free. “We’re literally thieves, Hwa.”

Seonghwa blushes, embarrassed.

“Okay but this isn’t a castle,” he mumbles, still hesitant as he refuses to move through the door frame. “It’s a kind little town. The owner is probably just at the next building over, and likely wouldn’t appreciate us crashing in their stable without asking.”

“We’re not crashing in it yet,” Wooyoung replies, taking another step further inside. “We’re just taking a look around to see if we can.”

Seonghwa doesn’t seem convinced. Wooyoung grins. “Fine. Just wait for me and stand in the doorway. Hopefully one of the kids playing down the path doesn’t notice you. The girl with the pigtails was pretty intimidating, I wouldn’t want you to be scared.”

Wooyoung turns around, but he knows the exact face Seonghwa is making. A sort of half-pout, half-glare, that makes it no surprise when he hears footsteps follow after him.

“You’re such a dick,” Seonghwa mutters as he closes the door behind them.

The stable is bigger than Wooyoung had expected. Much larger than their one at home, more-so on par with Libaiya’s kingdom stable, where they’d once stolen a horse after a particularly risky expedition. They’d given it back, sending it out into the courtyard one night because they didn’t have the room nor resources to take care of it, but Wooyoung almost wishes they could have kept it.

He’s never wanted to give anything back to that disgusting, low-life of a king. Not after what he did to him.

This stable is a little smaller than Libaiya’s, but it has a similar number of horses. Well, not horses exactly, as these appear to be some sort of strange variation of mule, all with light grey hair and long pointy ears. They’re more miniature than horses, and there appears to be enough for each person of the village to have their own, likely for supplies runs over to more populated areas.

The air smells rancid, rotten. Like horse shit but somehow worse. Wooyoung does his best to not breathe in too deeply.

The elemental reaches out to pet one of the mules, smiling as it whinnies under his touch. “We should look around and see if there’s an open place to sleep. You want to go check one side, I’ll do the other?” He asks.

Seonghwa nods, looking a bit anxious as he walks to the other end of the stable, arms wrapped around himself. It makes him look smaller, even if he’s a good few inches taller than the elemental. An endearing sort of nervous innocence, almost shy.

Wooyoung ignores the way it makes his chest warm.

Fortunately, the empath turns around the corner and out of sight, and Wooyoung can bring his focus back to the task at hand. Walking down the hall of stalls, he doesn’t see much open space. The building is too small for the amount of mule’s alone, let alone the four of them.

He sighs at yet another disappointment. At this point, they’ll be spending another night with their tents dug in the sand. Wooyoung doesn’t want to. It’s miserable, the tarp falling down in the middle of the night as the wind picks up, mixed with San’s cold silence and the sand. So much fucking sand. The moment they step out of this godsforsaken desert, he never wants to even look at another grain of sand so long as he-

“What are you doing in here?”

The sudden voice causes Wooyoung to nearly jump out of his skin, fire automatically igniting in his hand as he whirls around to face the speaker.

“Woah, woah, woah,” the speaker says, placing both of their hands up to shield themself and rushing backwards. Now that he’s facing them, he can see that she is a woman. She’s tall, with long dark hair and piercing violet eyes. She’s also coated in mule shit, which stains her beige tunic and long red velvet skirt. “No need to kill me, I’m just asking.”

Wooyoung lets out a sigh of relief, clenching his fist to extinguish the flame. “Sorry, you startled me.”

“My mistake,” she quips, finally bringing her hands down as her scared expression settles into a scowl. “I should be more considerate when addressing strange outsiders who break into my stable.”

Wooyoung internally winces. “To be fair, I knocked and the door was unlocked.”

She snorts, motioning down at her ruined clothing. “Clearly I was busy.”

Wooyoung doesn’t respond, and following a moment of tense silence, she sighs. “Fine. What do you want?”

Wooyoung straightens his posture, trying to exude a bit more confidence in his proposal. “My group and I were looking for a place to stay the night.”

The girl raises an eyebrow. “And you decided a pile of hay would be a better option than a bed?”

“We aren’t picky.” Wooyoung reasons. “Besides, your village doesn’t seem to have many beds to spare for four people.”

She hums, considering this. After a moment, she rolls her eyes, letting out a defeated sigh. “Alright. I can offer you a place to stay, but it can’t be here. Rat issue.”

“Rat issue?”

“Place is full of them,” she explains. “Wouldn’t want them to bite one of your friends and give them some deadly rat-disease.”

“Well, maybe one of them,” Wooyoung thinks to himself, internally smirking. However, upon second-thought it causes a weird feeling to settle in his chest. Almost like guilt, which makes him feel even more uneasy. He brushes it off.

“My family is currently on a trip to Gloria for some supplies, so I have a few extra beds to spare. Of course, I’ll have to meet your group first, make sure you aren’t a pack of murderers.”

“At least upon first glance,” Wooyoung jokes, although it doesn’t quite land as she casts him a skeptical glare. He sighs. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t even know us.”

She shrugs. “I can’t lend you my stable, it’s the least I could do.”

Wooyoung isn’t sure if he agrees with that, as he would by no means ever willingly offer a stranger a bed in his house, even if for only one night. However, as it now works in his favour, he appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. He extends his hand. “Woo,” he says.

She wipes off some mule-shit on her skirt before accepting it. “Aisha.”

He nods in acknowledgement, before lifting his hand and pointing towards the wall Seonghwa had disappeared behind. “One of my party is over there, if you’d like to meet him?”

Aisha nods and the two walk to the other end of the stable. Upon turning the corner, they find Seonghwa. However, unexpectedly, he is on the floor rather than standing. Bent down on one knee, his gaze is trained on the low-hanging window to his left, clearly watching something as his eyes dart back and forth.

“Uh, Hwa?” Wooyoung says, casting him a confused glance. “What are you doing?”

Seonghwa’s eyes drift from the window to face Wooyoung, expression blank. After a moment, he blinks, as if coming back to himself. “Sorry,” he breathes, rising to his feet a little too quickly, brushing the dirt off the knee of his pants. “I tripped.”

“Alright…” Wooyoung responds, still watching the empath warily, although Seonghwa won’t meet his eye. Did he hit his head or something? “Well, this is Aisha. She’s offering a place to stay for the night.”

Seonghwa nods in her direction, granting a meek smile. “I’m Seonghwa,” he says, voice a little raspy, as if choked up. Woo tries to get a look at what he was staring at out the window, but he can’t crane his neck enough without appearing suspicious.

“Will we be staying in the stable?” Seonghwa asks.

“I’m afraid not,” Aisha replies. As if on cue, a loud scratching noise echoes throughout the stable, seemingly coming from beneath the floorboards. Seonghwa jumps, startled. “Rats,” she elaborates, and the empath wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“You’re welcome to have dinner at my place, there’s not much food to buy here other than ingredients. It’s just next door, if you’d like to grab the rest of your party?” Aisha offers.

Wooyoung nods. She turns towards the stable’s door, Seonghwa following after her. The elemental stops him, reaching out to grab the empath’s arm.

He makes sure to keep his voice low. “Are you alright?” Wooyoung asks.

Seonghwa doesn’t answer immediately. Instead his gaze drifts from Wooyoung’s eyes to his hand that clutches the empath’s tunic.

Then he laughs. A sharp exhale through his nose, almost like a scoff.

“I’m fine,” he says bluntly, pulling his arm free.

“Hwa, what’s up with-”

The empath pushes past him, before casting a glance over his shoulder that Wooyoung can only think to describe as…mean. A single eyebrow raised, lip drawn upwards into a smug smirk.

“I told you I’m fine. Get over yourself, yeah?”

With that Seonghwa follows Aisha out the door, and Wooyoung is left to stand there, dumbfounded. Twisting towards the window, he watches as outside Seonghwa approaches you and San, who appear to be deep in conversation by the watering hole.

When he greets you it’s with a firm kiss, to which you appear to be just as surprised as Wooyoung feels. Seonghwa is not typically so brazen.

“What the fuck?” He thinks to himself. He stands in the window, chest riddled with both confusion and an undeniable amount of hurt. What did Seonghwa see to make him snap like that?

Swallowing his doubt, as well as his pride, Wooyoung awkwardly exits the stable after him.

“How was your walk around the village?” Seonghwa asks you. Seated to your right at the dinner table, the empath regards you with a warm smile, mindlessly shuffling a deck of cards in his hands.

He’s been in a really good mood all day, surprising considering the circumstances of the previous night. You’d retired to bed early, following just after Woo in the opposite tent. You aren’t sure what San must have said to him, but it’s clearly lifted his spirits. After all, you and Seonghwa hadn’t so much as kissed since before the trials of the desert, and yet to greet you with such excitement? Perhaps Woo said something to brighten his mood as well.

“It was alright. People were nice, but there really isn’t much for us here beyond that,” you reply, and Seonghwa nods.

Behind the empath, you notice Woo standing in the corner of the room. He’s leaned up against the wall, eyebrows drawn together and mouth settled into a frown as he watches the two of you.

You lower your voice so that only Seonghwa may hear you. “Did something happen to Woo? He seems even more sour than this morning.”

Seonghwa laughs at this, shaking his head. “Are you really surprised? He always looks like someone took a piss in his drinking water.”

You frown. That was… harsh. You’ve never heard Seonghwa say something like that, even if warranted. Sure, he and Woo have the occasional shots back and forth, but something about the statement rubs you the wrong way.

“I mean sure, but I don’t know,” you start hesitantly. “Maybe something happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Seonghwa snaps, before sighing at the taken aback expression on your face. “He’s just getting on my nerves, that’s all. Nothing new.”

“Alright…” You trail off, before glancing back at Woo. You find that his eyes meet yours almost immediately. He doesn’t look away, but his expression is difficult to read. He seems mad, yes, but not at you, which is surprising.

“I’m going to help San with the stew,” Seonghwa says, rising to his feet. He plants a soft kiss on your cheek before heading over to the kitchen counter, placing himself next to San.

You waste no time making your way over to Woo. Leaning in close to him so that nobody else can hear, you cast him a glare. “What did you say to Seonghwa?”

Woo’s frown deepens at this and he scoffs beneath his breath. “What makes you think I said something?”

“Because you always say something,” You shoot back, and he rolls his eyes.

“Hey, don’t pin this on me,” he cuts back, raising his hands up in defence. “He was watching you and San at the watering-hole doing whatever it is you were doing, and then randomly decided he was in an piss-awful mood.”

“What we were doing?” You repeat, casting the elemental and incredulous stare.  “We were just talking and waiting for you.”

Woo raises an eyebrow. “Just talking?”

“Yes,” you repeat, and when he doesn’t respond, your chest tightens with annoyance.  “What is wrong with you?”

He’s no longer focused on your eyes, but directly behind you. Twisting around, you follow his gaze to land on Seonghwa and San at the kitchen counter.

While you want to snap at Woo for not listening to what you’re saying, you find that you can’t. Because you understand what the elemental is looking at, and you don’t blame him for staring.

Seonghwa and San are awfully close.

This meaning that Seonghwa has his elbow resting on San’s shoulder, and San seems to be uncomfortably enduring it as the empath whispers something into his ear. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but whatever it may be, it causes San to nearly cut himself with the knife he’s using to peel the potatoes.

Seonghwa doesn’t seem to notice you watching, but he does notice Woo, whose glowering is a little more obvious. However, to your surprise, this only causes the empath to smirk, as his hand snakes further around San’s shoulder. The swordsman tenses.

Your gaze shoots back to meet Woo’s, almost alarmed. “What the fuck?” You whisper.

Woo seems to contemplate something, watching you but not responding. After a moment, he sighs. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he pulls you after him around the doorway, out of sight of the kitchen. The two of you are pressed close together, the house’s entrance narrow and dark with the setting sun, so that when he speaks you can barely see him, just the outline of his lips as they move.

“Something is up with Hwa,” he mutters, and you snort.

“Yeah no shi- '' You say, a little too loudly for the secrecy of the conversation. You’re cut off as Woo cups his palm over your mouth, silencing you. You can see the outline of his eyebrows furrow together, annoyed.

“Just shut up for a second and let me talk,” he interjects, voice an angry whisper. When you don’t respond, he slowly removes his palm from your lips, before continuing. “I think I know what it is.”

“Alright, then what is it?” You ask, voice low.

“We’ve dealt with one of them before.”

“Them?” You ask, and Woo nods. His head tilts towards the light of the kitchen, and he sighs, a more worried than defeated sound. You can feel the exhale against your face, prickling against your skin and it dawns on you how close the two of you are. Strange, how the circumstances have brought you near something you would never otherwise permit. You’re certain Woo feels the same.

“If I’m right, which I usually am,” Woo begins, twisting his neck back to face you. Sight slowly adjusting to the dim lighting, you can see the outline of his expression. His eyes are dark, troubled. “We’re going to need a plan.”

For what might be the first time, you whole-heartedly listen to him.

Woo watches you from over the table, gaze darting over briefly to look at Seonghwa. The empath - if you can even call him that - sits with his head down, focus entirely placed on the bowl of stew in front of him. Well, perhaps not entirely focused, as his foot gently moves up and down against your leg.

Under normal circumstances, the gesture would have comforted you, maybe even excited you. Now all you feel is disgust.

Woo looks back at you, before subtly nodding. Aisha has left briefly, something to do with the mule’s, which means now is the ideal moment to act.

You take the cue, turning towards the blonde. “Seonghwa,” you murmur quietly, feigning a level of sullenness. “I’m not feeling well.”

His eyebrows furrow together, and he lifts his gaze from the stew to your face. It’s a gentle expression, kind, and it scares you that if it hadn’t been for his hostility towards Woo, you may never have realized that something was wrong.

“Really?” Seonghwa asks, covering his mouth as he talks through a bite. His hand drifts to rest on your own against the table, and you force yourself not to flinch. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m just anxious about last night, with the tavern and everything,” you reply.

Subtly casting another glance at Woo, he gives you a nod of approval, before slightly tilting his head in Seonghwa’s direction as if to say: “Keep going”  

You swallow hard, before gently squeezing the empath’s hand on the table. “I know I shouldn’t ask you this, but would you mind taking some? I could really use the help.”

Seonghwa stops chewing. “Right now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Yeji, I don’t think now is the time oof-'' San starts, but is interrupted by his own stifled groan, which you can only assume is a result of Woo kicking him from under the table. The two of you hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to San about your suspicions. You imagine he won’t be too surprised, considering he’s likely felt that something is off with Seonghwa as well. Well, you hope he won't be too surprised. Otherwise, what’s about to happen may be a little too shocking.

“I don’t know about right now, Yeji,” Seonghwa says, and although his voice is gentle, he retracts his hand from yours, settling it down at your side. “I’m not really feeling up to it.”

“But you’ve never said no before?” You ask, feigning innocence.

Seonghwa shuffles in his seat, but offers no response. Woo leans in, smirking at the empath.

“She’s right, you haven’t,” he says, tone a mocking sort of sympathetic. “Is there a reason you're suddenly so hesitant, Seonghwa?” Woo places emphasis on his name, dragging out each syllable in an almost sing-song fashion.

Seonghwa stiffins, his hand’s grip around the spoon clenching tighter. His gaze stares at the bowl in front of him, not daring to meet either of yours.

“Do you remember when I lit your old blanket on fire?” Woo asks him, and Seonghwa frowns, scowling at the bowl in front of him.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“We hadn’t known each other that long, and I was pissed at you over something I don’t even remember. I didn’t know why it mattered so much to you, how it used to belong to your brother, I just knew it would hurt you to burn it. So I did.”

“I don’t know what bullshit you’re trying to pull-”

“It was the shittiest thing I ever did to you. You should have yelled at me, cussed me out, beat the shit out of me. But you didn’t. You went to your room, shut the door, and didn’t talk to me for a week.”

Seonghwa doesn’t respond.

“Seonghwa and I have never really fought, not beyond bickering. Even when I deserved it, he chose to freeze me out. He’s never said words just to hurt me - let alone out of nowhere - and he’s certainly never tried to use San against me.”

Woo pauses on this, leaning in a little closer to the empath. The smugness in his grin only shines brighter.

“But you’re not really Seonghwa, are you?”

There’s a moment of tense silence, the only sound in the room that of a ticking clock. San’s eyebrows draw together, although he doesn’t say anything, gaze hesitantly drifting to face Seonghwa as he settles back in his seat, reluctant as he observes what may happen next. Meanwhile, Woo rests his chin in palm, expression smug. He’s won, as Seonghwa doesn’t move, simply holds the elemental’s gaze, eyes full of a strange sort of vacantness.

Then Seonghwa flips the table.

Launching upwards and out of your chair, you narrowly avoid the hunk of wood as it comes tumbling down next to you, chunks of stew flying through the air as the ceramic bowls hit the floor with a deafening “crash”. Woo reaches a hand out to stop Seonghwa, but the empath swerves out of the way with a shocking sense of agility, an almost inhuman sense. Fire igniting in his palm, the entire kitchen alights as Woo throws a ball of flame towards the empath, to which he avoids once more, this time with a little less ease.

“What the fuck is going on?” San hollers, good eye darting between you, Woo and his wrath, and the image of Seonghwa avoiding yet another ball of flame.

“He’s a mimic!” Woo shouts at him, and San’s expression lights up with an immediate sense of understanding.

You don’t know much about mimics, only what you’ve learned from one of the many books in your father’s library. They’re tricksters, skin-walkers that take the form of the people they choose to mimic, but you certainly don’t know enough to have divulged that Seonghwa - or rather, fake-Seonghwa - was anything more than a severely pissed-off version of the real thing. You have Woo in the corridor to thank for that.

“If I’m right, which I usually am,” Woo begins, twisting his neck back to face you. Sight slowly adjusting to the dim lighting, you can see the outline of his expression. His eyes are dark, troubled. “We’re going to need a plan.”

“And what do you think is wrong with him?” You ask, anxious.

Woo chuckles, each short breath tickling your face in individual puffs of air. “I don’t think it is him.”

“What?”

“I think he’s a mimic. Loathsome creatures. Like to cause trouble wherever they go, and take energy from the chaos they create. We dealt with one at a watering-hole in Stockholm a couple months back, and one further down South before that.”

“What makes you so sure?” You ask, skeptical. Woo is far too prideful, maybe it’s causing him to overlook something, or jump to conclusions far too quickly. “Maybe Seonghwa is just mad at you or-”

“No,” he says firmly, like what he says is fact rather than theory. He shakes his head. “I know Seonghwa. I know what he’s like when he’s pissed, and it’s not like that.”

As if sensing your disbelief, he groans, frustrated. “I also recognize the face, alright? That twisted grin? Every mimic wears that same expression, I’d recognize it anywhere.”

Woo’s jaw locks, gaze hardening. “He heard us bickering when we entered the stable, Seonghwa was probably annoyed with me at the moment, he overplayed those emotions. I know I’m right about this.”

“Alright, let’s assume for a second that you’re right,” you begin, still hesitant to jump to such a bizarre conclusion. “How can we know for sure? Just in case it is actually Seonghwa, we can’t just suddenly jump him.”

Woo considers this for a moment, chewing on his lower lip as he mulls over the question, before his eyes light up. “We get him to use his gift.”

You frown. “That takes a toll on him, doesn’t it? He’s done it too much lately as is.”

“Yes, but if he’s a mimic, he won’t be able to,” Woo replies, smirking at his own genius. “And I’m sure that he is, so we don’t have to worry about it affecting Hwa.”

When you don’t respond, Woo sighs. When he speaks, his tone is more serious than you’ve ever heard it. “Look. I know you don’t trust me - and don’t worry, the feelings are mutual - but begrudgingly I need your help here. You care about Seonghwa, right? So can we call a truce, just this once?”

You look up at him at this, and find that his eyes immediately lock with yours, visible even through the room’s darkness. The two of you are close, closer than you’ve ever been, as his hand rests on the wall just above your shoulder, his chest nearly pressed against your own. You can see a mole beneath his eyes, as well as one on his lip that you’ve never noticed otherwise. You’re sharing a breath, and you're certain that your own exhales tickle his nose just as he does to you.

If such an impossibility as a truce were to happen, you suppose that an impossible moment like this is the appropriate setting.

“Alright, fine.”You give him a nod, and the corner of his lips turns upwards ever so slightly. “Truce.”

San lunges forward at the fleeing mimic, shoving him backwards and towards the kitchen counter. The swordsman advances, attempting to grab the man’s shoulder and pin him against the counter-top, but he doesn’t get the chance. Instead, the mimic reaches to his side, grabbing the knife San had used to peel the potatoes and plunging it forward.

The knife is not large enough to deliver any sort of fatal blow, but it is certainly enough to wound. Embedding itself within San’s shoulder, the swordsman lets out a shocked gasp of pain, followed by a groan as the mimic delivers a swift punch between his eyes. The sickening “crack” that follows the break is enough to make your stomach twist in disgust.

San brings up a hand to cup the blood, and his next few words are garbled as he speaks them through his hand. “He’s going for the door!”

Woo throws another ball of fire towards the mimic, but it’s clear that the monster must have some sort of sixth sense regarding Woo’s gift, as he quickly bounds to the right to avoid the flame. Fortunately, the leap throws him off balance, granting you the opportunity to act.

Your seat had been the closest to the entrance into the kitchen, meaning the mimic remains only a few feet away from you. You aren’t sure what possesses you - perhaps the scheer instinct of wanting to both protect and find Seonghwa, as well as the desire of punishing the mimic for whatever he may have done to the real empath - but you throw yourself forward.

You immediately make contact with the mimic, who lets out a shocked gasp as the air is forced from his lungs. The two of you tumble backwards, and you’re once again sickened by the sound that emits from his head clashing against the first step of the staircase leading to the upper floor.

The mimic lets out a groan, eyes blinking dazedly, and you capitalize on the momentary delirium. Raising yourself up from your place next to him, you flip yourself over top of him, so that you’re kneeling over the mimic’s chest.

“Pass me a knife!” You shout at Woo, casting him a hurried glance over your shoulder. For a moment, the elemental stands there, jaw dropped as he stares at you pinning the mimic to the floor. He makes no motion to move.

“Woo!” You shout, and he seems to snap out of it, moving to the counter and sifting through cupboard after cupboard in search of where Aisha may keep the cutlery. After having no luck, San yanks the knife from its place in his shoulder, sliding it over to you on the floor before cupping his free hand over the blood that now springs from the open wound.

You grab the knife as it slides next you, clenching it in your fist as you bring it to the mimic’s throat, the cool metal pushing against his skin. Red blossoms around the area as it cuts him, not deep enough to kill, but enough to sting.

He winces, and the pain appears to return his mind to him. The dazidness leaves his eyes, and his focus settles on your face.

It’s not until now, with a weapon pressed to the monster’s throat, that you realize the extra difficulties surrounding the fact that he looks like Seonghwa. Exactly like him. The way those big brown eyes look up at you in fear is horrifying, the blonde’s lip practically quivering as his breathing escalates. It causes you to freeze, unable to press the knife any deeper.

“Please,” he begs, voice shaky. It’s so clearly Seonghwa’s voice, accent and all. It’s gentle and kind, but more than both, terrified. “Please Yeji, don’t do this. I-I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

An obvious lie. Pathetic, considering his escape attempt is blatant evidence of the opposite. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to finish this.

You can’t kill him. You just can’t. You’ve never killed anything, let alone a creature with the face of someone you’ve grown to deeply care about.

“Woo, he-he’s crazy! I thought he might kill me, I was scared so I just ran-”

“Shut up,” you spit through gritted teeth, pressing the knife a little deeper. The mimic groans, squeezing his eyes shut from the pain. “I know you’re not Seonghwa, don’t waste your breath.”

He doesn’t say anything, chest heaving as he attempts to steady his breathing. He manages to peek an eye open, watching you carefully. For a moment, he appears to still, as if contemplating something.

“Then why don’t you do it? Kill me.”

When you don’t respond, his face shifts. Teeth glinting as his lips curve upward, his quivering, terrified expression transforms into a twisted smirk. You suddenly understand how Woo was able to tell it wasn’t Seonghwa from this look in particular. The mischievous, evil nature emitting from this smile… he knows that you can’t do it.

“Awe,” he coo’s, and despite you being the one with the knife pressed to his throat, your control feels completely relinquished. “You can’t do it, can you?”

“Shut up,” you repeat again, but this time it is not nearly as threatening.

“What, is it this pretty boy face?” He says, followed by a chuckle. It’s surreal, the way you’ve heard that exact chuckle, following a joke you’d told the empath a few evening’s back. It was such a carefree, boyish sound at the time. Now it is nothing but sinister.

“Or have you always been this weak, Princess?”

Your heart jumps into your throat. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out, as if the mimic somehow managed to steal your voice. His smile only grows wider.

“I recognized you the moment I saw you,” he says, dropping his voice into a low whisper, out of reach of both Woo and San. “You’ve met me before, at a grand ball. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. I was wearing a different face.”

Your hand begins to shake around the knife, the simple act of breathing becoming difficult. “You’re lying,” you reply, because he has to be. He’s a mimic, he’s just toying with you. But then again, how else would he know that?

“You were prettier then,” he says softly, tilting his head as he looks your face up and down. “That awful scarring hadn’t ruined your complexion.”

You don’t miss the way the wound on his neck beneath the knife begins to repair itself. An impossibility, although you remember what Woo said about mimic’s gaining strength from the chaos and disorder they create.

This is his plan, to gain enough strength from your terror to relinquish himself from your grasp. Heal his head, heal his neck, then act. You’re running out of time.

And yet, you can’t make yourself move. The knife remains motionless in your hand.

“What’s he saying to you, Kuroken?” Woo calls out from behind you, his voice more worried than accusatory. You can feel the heat from the flame that ignites in his hand all the way from across the room.

“If you can’t do it, it’s okay,” San pipes up after him, tone reassuring. Caring. “We will.”

San, who has been nothing but kind to you, who has shown empathy while battling his own many demons, dealing with a past that would harden anyone. It would kill him to know the truth this monster speaks of.

“I could tell them, you know,” the mimic continues, eyes flickering back to Woo and San. His tongue snakes its way over his teeth, an almost animal-like gesture. “Make them stop calling you ‘Yeji’. What a joke.”

“You wouldn’t,” you bite back, and he chuckles.

“I will,” he says, voice cheery as he leans upwards and closer to your face, even if the knife presses a little further into his neck. He doesn’t seem to care. “You know that I will.”

And you do know that he will.

Minho told you that he would. The clairvoyant had said that the truth would come out, soon at that. He said that they would know, they being the two men standing behind you, and that it would change everything.

You know that this is it. This is the prophecy he spoke of, coming to fruition. The words are on the mimic’s tongue, prepared to feed off the chaos created by his admission.

Which is why you burrow the knife into the man’s neck, and sharply pull it sideways.

You think you should close your eyes, but you don’t. You can’t. You watch as the mimic’s own eyes widen, Seonghwa’s eyes. He lets out a sound, like a gurgle, but much worse. Thicker. The noise is soon accompanied by blood - not from the geiser that sprays from his neck, which drenches your hands and tunic in a warm, thick paste - but from his mouth. It pours from his chin, and he coughs, more blood spraying out and sprinkling across your face.

And yet, despite his state, you feel his hand grab at your waist. It’s weak, a useless attempt at trying to get you off of him, even though it’s far too late for that, but something about the gesture sends a jolt of terror through you. Of blind panic.

He’s not dead yet. You killed him, but he’s not dead. He should be dead.

You pull the knife from his neck and bring it down into his chest.

Then you do it again. And again. And again until you aren’t even registering what you’re doing anymore, absorbed in the motion of bringing the blade up and down. Your own eyes eventually scrunch shut, the ringing in your ears deafens you to the squelching noise of it exiting and re-entering the man’s bloody chest. With your eyes sealed shut, all senses nullified regarding your actions other than the feeling of the warm liquid coating your hands, and the metallic stench flooding your nose.

You don’t stop until someone grabs your hand on yet another ascent, fingers wrapping around your wrist tightly, not permitting any more plunges.

“That’s enough,” Woo says, and it’s hard for you to make out his tone. His voice is quiet, but not gentle. Neither hostile or sympathetic. He simply wishes you to stop. “He’s dead.”

Finally forcing yourself to pry your eyes open, the mess before you makes you want nothing more than to close them again.

The body is destroyed. His shirt torn to shreds, the skin beneath mutilated. Blood runs in pools through the cavities you’ve created, running down from his throat to the rest of his body, before dripping onto the floor. His eyes are wide, but entirely lifeless, staring up at the ceiling. Except that he is not staring, because there is no mind behind those eyes. They simply sit there, blank, eyelids stuck open.

He still looks like Seonghwa.

Staring at the body, you are unable to move. Unable to think. You feel San sit down next to you, hand settling gently on your shoulder as he pulls the knife from your grasp. You make no protest.

You stare down at your hands, they are painted red. Your shirt and trousers, they are painted red. The floor and stairs, they are painted red.

There is just so much blood.

You’ve never seen this much blood. When you watched your father die, there wasn’t this much blood. When escaping the castle, there wasn’t this much blood. When you were bitten by the scorpion, there wasn’t this much blood.

And yet somehow, you did this. You are responsible for this horrific scene.

You let out a sob, which quickly transforms into a wail. A scream of agony, that will surely cause the neighbors to rush over, thinking that you are in danger. When in reality, you are the danger.

While it may have been a mimic that you killed, it feels like you are truly the one who is the monster.

San’s hands wrap around your figure, and you try to push him away. There is blood all over your clothes, and you don’t want it to get on him. You don’t want to taint him with this. He holds you anyway, murmuring that it will be alright. You don’t believe him.

What feels like miles away, you hear Aisha’s voice, followed by a thud of Woo shoving her against the wall next to him. You hadn’t even realized she’d arrived home. You hear her call out in protest, but is quickly silenced by Woo’s growling voice.

“Rats, huh?” He spits, and when there is no response, he slams her against the wall once more. She whimpers. “Show me where he is. Under the floorboards, I imagine?”

The two of them make their exit, Aisha dragged behind Woo as the elemental storms toward the stable. You want to follow after them, find out exactly where Seonghwa is and help him, to perhaps pay retribution by rescuing him.

Yet, you can’t force yourself to move. Your legs are stuck, glued to their space on both sides of the mimic’s corpse, as if you are tethered to your crime.

“You need to go help Seonghwa,” you manage to choke out, the words garbled throughout yet another sob. San merely shakes his head in response.

“Woo can handle it,” San whispers in a gentle voice, his hand gently stroking the top of your head. It’s a foreign sense of comfort, something you hadn’t expected from him. Yet, as he holds you closely, shying away from neither the blood nor your trembling form, it feels right. Safe. You pull him closer. “Seonghwa will be okay. A mimic can only take another’s form so long as that person is alive. He’ll be alright, I promise. Woo will find him.”

You nod, but the tears do not stop. You continue to wail, no longer for Seonghwa, but for yourself. For what you’ve done. For what you’ve lost.

In this moment, a part of yourself is destroyed. An innocence of sorts, but of the highest value. In the eyes of the gods, your very soul is tarnished.

You have killed someone.

From your lies, to your repeated deceit, and now the mutilated body beneath you, it finally strikes you that through all of this, you may be the monster after all.

~~~~~~~~

next chapter

#ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #seonghwa fanfiction #san fanfic #san fanfiction #seonghwa fanfic #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #ateez fantasy au #wooyoung smut #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #san smut #san angst #san fluff #seonghwa angst #seonghwa smut #seonghwa fluff #ateez imagines #ateez headcanons #seonghwa x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #seonghwa x y/n #san x y/n #wooyoung x y/n #ateez poly #ateez polyamory #ateez series #ateez smut

[grapejuicegay]

OH FUCK I LOVED THAT

I'd laid out my ideal ending for the show a while back (clowns for me for getting so caught up in the time travel of it all that I forgot about this):

And my ultimate hope with this show - which is starting to seem likely to me now - is that Kawi decides to stay in the past. To actually live out a life instead of trying to jump to the happy ending. To fix what he wanted to and become his dream self

And we got exactly that! Excuse me while I go cry.

Also, @rocketturtle4 I'm convinced that the scene at the end of ep 10 with Kawi and Pisaeng's first time that got no explanation just got explained. It's not the timeline we saw that day with them at dinner, but the timeline we saw today, after Pisaeng returns to the future.

I've talked @waitmyturtles' ear off about how Kawi is afraid of the unknown and how so many of his actions are influenced by that fear (I expanded on that a little bit here). And we saw that play out today with Kawi at the amusement park. He was an entirely different person throughout their date today compared to their date in ep 10 and it's because of that fear of the unknown.

Kawi throughout ep 10 was afraid, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to mess something up and drive Pisaeng away. It didn't help how confident and forward Pisaeng was - all the while with neither of them actually talking to each other about it.

This time around, Kawi and Pisaeng were on the same page - scared and nervous and unsure of how to move forward with the situation they had found themselves in. For entirely different reasons, but this time around they actually talk about it. And this time, Pisaeng's scared of something Kawi is familiar with, something he has experience with - time travel. He's familiar enough with it that he can recognise what's off with Pisaeng within less than a day. And this Pisaeng? Who came back from 10 years in the future out of desperation to save him? Who came from a future where they're still together in 10 years? This Pisaeng is assurance that they're going to be fine, that him and Kawi stay together.

And that confidence is the change in Kawi throughout the date. He's not jumpy and nervous and grumpy because of it because he can be confident that in 10 years time Pisaeng still wants to be with him - an assurance he didn't have so far because he has not traveled to the future since the rockstar future (except for lottery ticket numbers, where I doubt he spent longer than the time he needed to search up the numbers). It's confidence that even if it's not perfect, it doesn't mean that he's going to drive Pisaeng away (again).

I think that confidence, and that talk with Pisaeng from the future where he tells Kawi that he wants to change absolutely nothing, that he loves their life together? That's what encourages him to do the thing that's scaring him the most right now - to hold hands and face the fears together. This was the missing conversation we talked about

(to be clear - Kawi has sex with Pisaeng from his time, not Pisaeng from the future. But it only happens because of his talk with future!Pisaeng showing up)

Back to the ending though - I cannot explain how much I loved it. This exceeds my hopes for how it ends, because it's not just being happy with your life and what you make of it. It's being happy with your life even when things don't go your way.. It's being happy in a future you never planned for yourself. It's being with friends and family and loving and supporting each other. It's Kawi leaning in to kiss PIsaeng at the beach with no hesitation just because he wants to. It's Max with his pride pin at Pear's wedding and it's people coming up to him to talk about it. It's making the most of the time you have because things can go horribly wrong.

Tagging @dribs-and-drabbles because I would not have watched this without your insistence, thank you for that 💖

#i teared up a little bit #this was such a good ending to this show #can't believe it's over but i'm so happy I was along for the ride #be my favorite #be my favorite series

[batrogers]

choose violence: 8, 12, 16

8. Common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

Tears of the Kingdom is a completely normal Zelda game, with plot holes big enough to drive trucks through, unexplained new races (anyone remember chicken tits Ooccoo??), failure to be an explicable sequel, and asspull macguffins to save the day.

Do I think it was amazing and deserved Game of the Year? No. But I think it did exactly what it meant to do, and it should be judged according to that and not according to the Sequel To Breath of the Wild built up in your head.

Criticizing it for another iteration of racist Gerudo stereotypes? Yes. Criticizing it for failing to keep the Sheikah tech in any meaningful way? They were never going to do that and any look at Zelda history can tell you that much.

Put on your big girl pants and wade into the mud-filled plot holes with the rest of us. It's fun down here! There's no canon to stop you, and it's a good consistency for throwing at the walls!

12. The unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

You're just baiting me to geek about Spirit Tracks, and you know what? Fine. Speaking of Zelda games that created by means of Nintendo having zero relationship to continuity, this is a fantastic game that, once again, did exactly what it intended to do and did it with flair.

I was extremely skeptical of the premise to begin with, but dug into a walkthrough (bc I own one console and am not patient enough for weird emulators) and honestly I really enjoyed it. The story set up is amazing. The characters are adorable. Byrne is my favourite butch and you cannot tell me otherwise. I love that Spirit Tracks Link is absolutely devoted to one thing and it permeates the whole game.

I ran a little wild with my characterization for him, but that's just what i do when I love stories. The gaps in the worldbuilding are again, wide enough to fit the entire Demon Train through with room to spare, but that's part of what makes it a Zelda game like any other. i filled in the gaps with some of my own experience with heavy machinery and historical knowledge, and its taken me some wild places.

16. You can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

Arson in Breath of the Wild. Like. What?

Not even remotely how I played the game. Probably it's very personal but IIRC it's not supported in LU which tends to feed into a lot of people's headcanons, it's just like a joke people tell and keep telling and I'm so very confused. There's not even that much shit to burn??

My Breath of the Wild playthrough was mostly spent going "Ooo what's over there" and getting myself halfway up a cliff and praying my stamina food would suffice, so just. Very not me, very not my thing.

Then again, I backclimbed from the boss fight in Tears of the Kingdom recently, and ballooned and climbed out of another pit for kicks (aka a No-Warping run) so...

I just have a thing for "Can I do it, though?" what can I say. That just doesn't include "Will it burn?" most of the time.

#ask games #don't mind me #Spirit Tracks #Breath of the Wild #Tears of the Kingdom

[astriiformes]

Poking and prodding at my brain now that I have another potential dose of context for why it melts down and spirals over things so often and like. Putting everything in a list there really is a pattern I should have been paying more attention to probably, but have always just identified as bad anxiety or neurodivergent quirks

That said, it is also making me feel immensely lonely because I have lots of neurodivergent and anxious friends I've gone to for advice over the years, but I'm realizing that my possible pure-obsessive OCD and scrupulosity tendencies may be why I've often responded poorly to their attempts at help. Which is good to understand, and ultimately may help me tell them what I do need but. Also means I am suddenly hyper aware of how irrational the stuff I can't help but meltdown over is, and feel really stupid for it and also like the people I'm closest to aren't going to have much advice for me.

Anyways. For my own connecting-the-dots purposes. Some very normal thoughts I have had breakdowns over before:

As a kid who was raised Evangelical, had a pretty classic case of the religious/blasphemous intrusive thoughts often associated with OCD that caused me an immense amount of distress. This one has calmed down entirely now that I have extricated myself from that environment, but also for a couple years after leaving the church I would have similar thought spirals literally any time someone mentioned the concept of the afterlife/hell.

Adjacently, the second part contributed to me having a fear of death so intense for a while that I once broke down crying in my mom's car during the 7-minute drive from my dad's place to hers on a night where there were no other cars on the road because I was so convinced we were going to die in a car crash.

Unfortunate fact: I was trying to get into Discworld at the time and read Mort while all this was going on and my opinion of the series has never quite recovered.

.......Have multiple friends very into Discworld and used to spiral any time it got mentioned because it felt like a moral flaw that it stressed me out so much because I shouldn't feel that way about something to important to my friends, and additionally felt like it would be, essentially, thoughtcrime to blacklist it.

(This is better now and I am probably going to give the books another try, but for a while I was very stupid about it)

Spent actual years searching for a place to buy gatorade powder that wasn't Walmart or Amazon even though I need it for actual health reasons, because they were the only places I could find it and I have an obsessive avoidance of both companies and couldn't bear the thought of buying from them for the first time in years. Over something I needed. For my health.

Opposite of the Discworld problem: some of my friends have problems with a TV show I like which means I have spent entire evenings crying myself to sleep with guilt because obviously I cannot like things that the people in my life are bothered by

I am not joking I missed class regularly as a result of the last one for several weeks, I was so distraught.

And like I also have dealt with a lot of other things over the years, including really upsetting intrusive thoughts (usually of the "what if something violent and gory happened to you and/or your loved ones," variety, with a side of self-harming and suicidal thoughts -- being a really visual thinker makes this particularly terrible) and constant spiraling over perceived social/moral missteps.

And I guess I'm feeling kind of frustrated because so many people have latched onto the more... hm... relatable I guess aspects of my anxiety in ways that have made me think the above are like. Normal for someone with really bad anxiety (and trauma too, I guess, though I think that really is the source of some of them) and I've fallen into beating myself up over not being able to overcome mine the way everybody else seems to. And now I still don't even entirely feel like I'm allowed to self-diagnose any of this as OCD specifically but I'm also realizing that there is something much more fucked up and irrational happening in my brain than I thought because I just assumed this was how mental illness was for everyone and I was just. Really bad at managing it.

#maybe there is. maybe there is something going on here

[sibyl-of-space]

It's almost midnight I spent literally my entire day working on ghost trick romhacking and I feel like I have Nothing to show for it. I fixed the approach issues from last time and spent So Many Hours painstakingly testing the chapter.xml.lz file and I am now 900% more knowledgeable about that file's structure than I was before, I know exactly which hex codes to edit to make it try to load a different stage than the one it's supposed to (in fact there are two different ways I can do this that have slightly different results and one of them sometimes causes crashes), but some things are breaking in ways that I simply cannot explain. And unfortunately everything that I did successfully learn has inevitably brought me to the conclusion: the data that I want is not here. I can change everything that there is in the code to change about a particular chapter, and it does not appear to impact how the progression for that chapter is loaded. It impacts everything else but that. I think that the progression data might just be pulled from a save file.

(on the plus side, I did SO much testing of the chapter file that I could probably publish a document on it, which I might do eventually. I spent literally an entire day on it so even though it's useless for my purposes I might as well put that out there.)

I am running out of places in this entire game's code for the data I'm looking for to be. Where the fuck is it. This shit is going to drive me insane.

I do think, however, that there is a good chance these last two Things may be considered part of the UI and not rendered at all like normal talk sprites despite looking the same. I have many reasons for thinking this.

- still present when the text files associated with them are removed (for all other talksprites in the game, the text and the sprite are defined at the same time in the same place)

- so far, basically none of the changes that I've made have impacted the overall game UI, so if this is a UI thing that would explain why I haven't found where it's modified yet

- one of the remaining sprites is animated which is not true for any other talksprite in the game so it's not hard to imagine that even though it looks like a talksprite, in terms of implementation it might look very different

- one thing I've been testing for the database and system files is replacing the English ones with French ones just to see what gets translated in the game when I do that. And I haven't found where the UI gets translated yet. This translates database entries and text bubbles but it does not translate the text on buttons, the menu categories, and such - if I can figure out what file translates those UI elements maybe I can figure out this final extremely infuriating piece of the puzzle I've been stuck on for so much longer than I have wanted to be.

There were at least four different things I tried today that I was like "this might legitimately solve the problem and if it does I'm going to be mad (because it's something I overlooked early on) but at least it'll be done"... and then none of those things panned out. I hate romhacking never let anyone tell you that it's a fun hobby they're lying

#leo tries modding ghost trick #just had an ADHD moment today where I was like I'm going to just spend my entire day doing nothing but this in super mega focus mode #which is great when that pans out and it sucks when it doesn't

[doctorofmagic]

Strange #4 review

This is actually the issue I’ve waiting for!!

Since I already post the preview and pointed out pretty much everything, let’s go a bit ahead, with the exception of this panel. It was missing from the website I first used as a source, but I think it’s important to discuss the relationship between Clea and Umar.

As I pointed out just yesterday, Umar isn’t a good mother. In fact, she has never even TRIED to be one. She developed a disgusting feeling towards Orini and by consequence, Clea. The sacrifice she talks about isn’t really out of love. She was forced to keep her human form after getting pregnant, and the experience was traumatizing to her. Besides, Orini was a SIMP, he’d rather follow Umar instead of taking care or even loving Clea. In fact, Clea was raised in a terrible environment, so it’s really beautiful and inspiring of her to seek love as a motivation unlike her entire family, whose utmost driving desire is power.

And the reason Umar paid her a visit is even worse. Let’s get there.

First of all, Clea confesses that she once wished her mother would care for her, be proud of her. But after EONS, it’s understandable that Clea grew past that need. And well, Umar isn’t here only to congratulate her daughter for being the Sorcerer Supreme of both Earth and the Dark Dimension. She thinks Clea schemed her way up to the top.

I know the concept of love is unknown to Umar, but so was it to Clea. And she learned it all the same thanks to Stephen, the literal manifestation of love. And I cannot stress how this is BRILLIANT because it’s always the other way around. It’s always the woman who’s sentimental and teaches love to her partner. And once more you can see how Doctor Strange has always been ahead of his time when breaking sexist standards, especially for a character conceived in the 60s, as well as the supporting roles. Of course, they’re not perfect, they do have problematic things, but when it comes to equality, he stands out in the hero community.

Now, back to the chapter. Here Clea tells Umar that the mantle of the Sorcerer Supreme is actually a burden. And guess who talked about this before? Yep, that’s me. Also more evidences to prove my point.

From Strange Tales #127 and What If Magik Became Sorcerer Supreme?

And finally Umar opens her heart.

I mean, yes. She strongly believed Clea achieved great things by conquering power, but no one saw what Clea truly went through and sacrificed to get there. That includes the decades she spent in the Dark Dimension being the leader of the rebellion against Dormammu, that one time she almost died to Imperator’s army, the horrors Dormammu put her through when she betrayed him for Stephen, the banishment to an alien dimension, the loneliness and pain, the self-doubt she struggled with when she only had Stephen, and even the many times she fought her own mother for the crown - or merely survival.

Clea’s life has been mostly a story of violence and loneliness, and it only changed when Stephen took her in. She found love, she made friendships (Val and Patsy, for starters), she honed her magic skills, and none of it was thanks to her family.

Maybe they can learn how to connect, but it will demand A LOT from Umar.

Unfortunately, their conversation was interrupted by the Blasphemy Cartel. I really loved this panel because it portrays the similarities between Clea and Umar. They are different, but also they’re mother and daughter. Some things are not avoidable haha.

From Doctor Strange Sorcerer Supreme #23.

The cartel unleashes a new revenant on them, in the shape of Moon Knight’s dead brother, Randall. Clea then tells Umar to deal with the cartel, taking the expression “slay, queen!” a little too literal.

In the meantime, and here’s my second favorite part of the chapter, we FINALLY, FINALLY see Clea’s magic skill at its peak. First, she casts the Images of Ikonn, one of the most important spells in Stephen's inventory!!

Then she summons the demon she captured in the last issues, only enough to buy her time and CREATE A NEW SPELL.

I cannot, CANNOT STRESS how this is breathtaking - and yes, I’m going full fanmode because magic is such a fantastic concept in the marvel universe!!

Clea explains why it is so hard to create a new spell.

“Which is why I am taking on the suicidal task of assembling a new, untested spell-formula on the spot.”

I WONDER WHERE SHE GOT THAT RECKLESSNESS FROM

From Avengers v8 #5.

Also these two pages are incredible.

If someone had any doubts Clea wasn’t powerful enough, here’s proof. There are few occasions in which she displays such power, but never like this. I’m really happy to see the extention of her abilities in a way that only a Sorcerer Supreme would.

The last page shows the second thing I’m really looking forward to, which is Harvestman and Clea’s team-up! I had months to reflect on their possible relationship - assuming he’s not Stephen. Plus the idea of Clea developing a bond with someone on her own really excites me.

PS: the page says "to be concluded”. Jed tweeted that it must have been a mistake. The title isn’t canceled (hopefully), we have more issues to come and we also need Stephen back!!

Overall, I think this chapter, despite the same feeling that I wish I had more, found the perfect balance between emotional growth and epic fights. First half gave a deep insight into Clea and Umar’s complicated relationship and it was enough for both of them to rethink where they’re standing and where they could go if they wish to heal and bond. Second half was epic in many senses, and I can’t wait to see Clea and Moon Knight teaming up!!

In short, this chapter was AMAZING. I really loved it.

Gods, this comic book is amazing, but it’s also such a torture to wait for 5 weeks to get a new issue. That’s not fair y’all :(

#clea strange #umar #harvestman #marvel comics #wednesday tomes #review #jed mackay #marcelo ferreira

[carpe-noctemseries]

Meet the Author

Hi, it occurred to me that I really should do one of these so y’all can get to know me a little better! Feel free to skip, but this one is a ride!

My name is Sam, he/him, and I’m a 28 year old trans man from the Nevada desert. I’m mixed race being half Filipino (my Dad immigrated to the US back in....like... I wanna say like ‘82?) and half Black, though I wasn’t really raised with either of my cultures so I’m learning more about both sides as I get older.

I’ve been writing since I was smol, originally because my adopted Grandfather (on my mom’s side) was a storyteller himself and I admired the way he could just.... spin an entire story at a moment’s notice. Coolest thing in the world to baby Sam. When he passed (can’t remember how old I was, but I was lil) I promised I’d keep telling stories the way he did to help keep his memory alive for me. He was the only member of my family I was genuinely close to, and being able to have a way of connecting with him was everything at the time.

All of my skills are self taught (I honestly cannot learn from other people without frustrating both sides, neurodivergents you feel me, right?) for that reason and primarily because I’m from a very poor family and I don’t have the means to reach out to higher learning even if I thought it might work for me. That includes any artwork I produce, any acting I do, any music I create, any writing I’ve made. All of it. I’ve spent a lot of time alone and it helped me keep my sanity to allocate that time to learning skills instead of chewing on the walls of my mental health.

I started writing the series I’m currently creating when I was in 6th grade. Yeah, it’s been that long. The first iteration of Carpe Noctem was actually called Eternal Knight and it featured Frost as the main character rather than Xinghua, but as I was in 6th grade it was a bit of a mess. There are a lot of things I’ve changed since then, but also a lot of Easter Eggs left in from that time. It’s grown a lot since then and I cannot state to you how much it means to me that I’ve gotten to the publication stage with it. I’ve been incredibly unlucky though life and due to one thing or another (My mother pawning my computer, or the computer just dying, having to move and losing the physical copy in the process) I’ve had to rewrite this story in it’s entirety four separate times.

It’s a labor of love but also probably a bit of a coping technique as, like I mentioned, I am incredibly unlucky. I’ve spent quite a lot of time homeless, and was so when I was working on making my publishing company and publishing the book earlier this year. My traditional publication attempts have been abysmal at best, and given the climate of the industry these days, I thought it would be better and ultimately easier to self-produce. Which is debatable, but it does put me in the driver’s seat of this whole thing. So if you’re looking to support an independent creator, know that there’s currently just me working on this story and I could really really use any support you’re able to give, even if that’s just chatting with someone about this crazy vampire novel you heard of online.

If I’m honest this story represents hope for me, the fierce, unfuckable belief that for as bad as things ever get, at the very least I can make something I consider beautiful and worthwhile. Something that might be able to let someone else escape whatever they’re going through for a while the same way it’s done for me. Above all, I think I write with that hope in mind.

Honestly most of my personal story is sad but at this point I think we’re all on that level. So suffice it to say, despite life throwing hands with me on sight, I’m a stubborn little dude with a lot of drive to make engaging and creative stories even if they never go anywhere.

I would say I’ve been inspired by works like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Underworld, Twilight, and The Vampire Diaries, but what I really mean by that is I constantly see work that’s just on the cusp of being really good that I end up frustrated by their failings (I’m sure you all relate to that) and then go write a story that subverts all of those issues. I was inspired by the MCU in the same way, but you’ll have to stick around to see what I mean by that.

Overall, I’m just a stressed out little guy doing his best to tell silly stories that let people have some fun and maybe cry a little tiny bit. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#about the author #get to know the author #carpe noctem #writeblr #this is probably slightly incoherent #but I was trying to tell my story without being horrifically depressing #which is HARD cause like it IS #so I pretty much left out anything not book related....

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Walker (Cox, 1987)

Ed Harris’ performance as William Walker in this movie might not be a “good” performance in the conventional sense, but it’s the kind of idiosyncratic performance that only a very good actor can give, making a number of deeply strange, possibly conflicting choices and committing to them 100%. (See also: John Travolta in The Fanatic, a movie that’s undeniably goofy but nowhere near as bad as its reputation. As stupid as the movie is, Travolta is undeniably compelling, and Devon Sawa’s role as a washed up celebrity has a certain authenticity to it. At the very least, Travolta, Sawa and director Fred Durst get what it feels like to be a washed up loser celebrity who nobody respects.) The result being a character whose belief in his own righteousness carries a certain religious fervour yet has no idea what his principles are. 

“I cannot help noticing Sir, during the time I've spent with you, that you've betrayed every principle you've had, and all the men who supported you. May I ask why?”

“No you may not.”

“What exactly are your aims?”

“The ends justify the means.”

“What are the ends?”

“I can't remember.“

In sketching out Walker as a character, this exchange is illuminating, showing him to be a man who speaks in grand declarations yet fails to connect them with any coherence. He feels less like a real person than an cartoonish, unstable collection of tics. Harris’ performance is a fork in the eye of every overly calculated lead performance in a prestige period piece. Other actors go for Oscar moments, Harris seems to be deliberately inviting Razzies.

That exchange is also illuminating in terms of the film’s satirical aims, in that it’s about the most subtle satirical jab in the entire movie. The movie uses Walker’s conquest of Nicaragua to attack America’s imperlialist, interventionist foreign policy, drawing parallels through speeches and sketch-like episodes that practically declare the movie’s themes. Walker’s speech, in the face of impending defeat, gives you an idea of the level of subtlety here:

“You all might think that there will be a day when America will leave Nicaragua alone, but I am here to tell you, flat out, that that day will never happen because it is our destiny to be here, it is our destiny to control you people. So no matter how much you fight, no matter what you think, we'll be back, time and time again. By the bones of our American dead in Revis and Granada I swear that we will never abandon the cause of Nicaragua.”

The movie adds further spice to the satire with the use of anachronisms, with the covers of Time and Newsweek seen throughout, modern vehicles appearing in a movie set in the 1800s. Such devices bring to mind the presence of generic products (”Beer” brand beer) in Alex Cox’s earlier classic Repo Man, but that movie, while more scattershot in its satirical aims, captures how the ‘80s fucking sucked shit in an almost ambient way. This has a narrower target, but the delivery is less sharp and more sledgehammer-like. And in case any of this went over your head, the movie drives the point home in an end credits montage cutting Ronald Reagan’s speeches with news footage of the conflict between the Nicaraguan Sandinistas and the Honduran Contras, emphasizing the conspicuous presence of American troops to “send a message”.

So none of this is shrewd satire, but it is very funny. Sorry, you show Ed Harris frantically hammering on a piano while his troops are getting slaughtered, and I’m laughing. I’m also laughing when Gerrit Graham pronounces Granada like Canada. I’m even laughing when Harris is mourning the death of his wife Marlee Matlin by frantically signing, although there’s a good chance I’m going to hell for that one. You just need to get on the movie’s exact wavelength for this to work, and I imagine it would be deeply annoying if you don’t. Cox has speculated that his effective Hollywood blacklist was the result of the political views expressed in this movie, but I think it’s more likely that the movie bombed because nobody gelled to its distinct tone. Movies with similar politics had succeeded with critics and at the box office earlier in the decade, although I suppose there’s a difference between a movie like Under Fire expressing sympathies for the Sandinistas and this being made in Nicaragua with the cooperation of the country’s government. (Harris stars in the other movie as well, turning in a deliciously psychopathic performance as a CIA advisor.) I remember an interview with Harry Dean Stanton where the actor claimed that Cox made a good movie with Repo Man while being completely out of his element. That’s likely even more true here, as the likely chaos of a large production made in such circumstances seems to spill over into the narrative, as Walker’s mission goes astray and he loses his grip on power.

And it accumulates into a certain hallucinatory power, as Cox, despite his other shortcomings, knows how to craft images that make an impact. The movie is bathed in a reddish haze, the dusty locales coloured by the explosive bloodsprays in a way that evokes spaghetti westerns and Sam Peckinpah, and Cox punctuates them with non sequiturs that almost rupture their reality. (As on the nose as the anachronisms might be from a satirical standpoint, they do prime us for this surreal atmosphere.) And the movie wheels out a murderer’s row of character actors, who might not be playing three-dimensional characters, but whose presences make a lingering impact, so that when things go south and they start dropping like flies, it stings more than you’d expect.

#film #movie review #walker #alex cox

[sophia-sol]

The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, Volume 3, by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

The third volume! It is here! And my main reaction is: aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!! I actually had to take a break partway through reading because it was so much and I needed to calm down. But now I am finished and I am a mass of emotions.

Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe spend this whole volume trying genuinely to reach out to each other, to understand each other, and doing a lot of failing but eventually they get there and I AM OVERCOME. God. I can't believe that the first time I read svsss (in the online fan translation) I genuinely believed that there was no evidence that sqq was genuinely happy with how things ended up between him and lbh and that he was basically just like "this might as well happen." Sure he's not very outwardly expressive but it is So Obvious how much sqq loves lbh and ahhhhhh. And lbh! Trying so so so hard to be a good boy for his shizun!! Until xin mo warps his obsession and trauma and leads him to follow his worst impulses, and it's SO UPSETTING but sqq is THERE for him no matter what, now that he finally understands what's driving lbh!

Anyway, this volume also contained a whole bunch of absolutely wild plot stuff that I had 100% forgotten had happened from last time I read it and it was a time and a half to re-experience it. Also I now understand Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang far better too. (and airplane's explanation for why he cut tlj is SO FUNNY. Tlj is like binghe but MORE SO and the readers wouldn't stand for someone stealing lbh's spotlight!!)

I also love this bit about sj!sqq:

"When written within the bounds of the original genre, this kind of character was extremely difficult to handle. You could say he was scum, but he was also pitiful. But if you tried to acknowledge his pathos, his ruthlessness was real too. Characters that were both scummy and tragic always drew aggro, and they were a hotbed for wank, leading comment sections to devolve into massive flame wars."

Hot damn. This is so accurate, to how parts of fandom treat characters who are both scummy and tragic at the same time; it seems like many people struggle to acknowledge that both aspects exist simultaneously, or are only interested in exploring one side. And there are characters like this in so many fandoms! I mean, I spent my youth in the depths of HGSS fandom, and like. Severus Snape. Oh boy.

And the statement at the end that the way svsss goes is what airplane's original outline had INTENDED for pidw, like, ALL of it?? Including the lbh/sqq ship?!?? INCREDIBLE. Real curious how that would have gone with sj!sqq instead of sy!sqq! How would a happy ending have still been reached? AIRPLANE TELL ME MORE about the lost non-harem version of pidw!!!!

Also every single illustration in this volume is an artistic masterpiece, I don't even know which one is my favourite because there are SO MANY perfect illustrations of important scenes.

This volume takes us to the end of the main story of svsss, which means that volume 4 will be entirely the extras, and I am PUMPED. I don't think I successfully managed to find translations of all the extras when I read svsss the first time, given how I've definitely heard references to things that happen that I haven't read, so I cannot wait for NEW BINGQIU CONTENT for me, and also to get to wallow in the airplane extras some more because MOSHANG.

As far as I've seen the publishing date for volume 4 hasn't been announced yet, and I want them to take the time they need to finish making it, and also I am on tenterhooks for more. I am made of nothing but svsss feels!!

#svsss #svsss vol 3 #mxtx #the scum villain's self-saving system #mo xiang tong xiu #book thoughts

[incarnateirony]

You know what this woman could have done to avoid all of this? The pain, the shattered pride, her broken world questioning everything she knows?

Nothing.

Both ways.

If she had done nothing (NOT stalking, NOT allowing her friends to harass me for years on her approval, NOT consciously investing six months of her life intentionally trying to fuck up both my game and business), as inconvenient as the astral aspect was for me, I would have tolerated it, just like I gave her all the time I did tolerating it, and seeing if she could grow up and process her grief enough to Do Nothing.

But there's also Nothing she could have done, because she cannot do that. Her cult attachment and shadow projection while attempting to call my persona and just getting the echoes has literally addicted her toxic obsession to me while she fell into delirium and psychosis her user "friends" and "boyfriend" encouraged for their own selfish reasons, because again, she can do Nothing, and has Nothing. Even her support network and supposed loved ones are fake as shit.

But all she had to do was Nothing, and she couldn't.

And now she's mad at me because she refuses to look at herself when she spent 17, 11, 3 years and six months driving herself into this car crash and now it's anybody's fault but her and the vampires around her. How dare we shatter her schizophrenic delusions and make her realize her entire life is fake, we were just supposed to bend over for her abuse and control.

Now we've reached a point they may have innocent blood on their hands from trying to fuck around with things they truly not only don't understand, but REFUSE to understand, and they won't even blink. It won't bother them one fucking bit.

We weren't supposed to TELL anyone that she's a fraud, she thought she could get away with it forever charging people for made up or stolen bullshit, so much she forgot that she stole what she stole. We weren't supposed to SPEAK UP about what she does to both me and him. We were supposed to be quiet little caged birds she occasionally throws acid on. We weren't supposed to be allowed to scream when she tries intentional torture and abuse. And we certainly weren't supposed to be able to fight back or defend ourselves, just be plastic toys on a mantle for her ego. Now she doesn't know how to shut us up. Much less stop her life from being destroyed on both sides, including her entire Essence Of Being.

I genuinely don't think there's the original person salvageable in her. When I say she has become a mess of warped ego and shadows misguided by psychosis a bunch of equally abusive user pieces of shit around her all encouraged for petty personal reasons, I mean it. I don't think she can come back from this in this lifetime. Because she literally has made herself too weak to face herself and rebuild into something that is real.

NO ONE that cares about this woman would have been encouraging her once they realized she built her BUSINESS of MYSTICISM off of PLAGIARIZED 23 YEAR OLD ANIME OCTOPUS JIBBERISH. The SECOND they heard she was talking to fucking octopus jibberish gods should have been an intervention, not a fucking encouragement to quadruple down into fursuit fetish schizophrenia land featuring the furry god of death and the kibble bowl.

You know why they let it happen? Because they hate me more than they "love" her. I don't know if they know what that word means really. But paying attention to her sliding into psychosis and ripping out her hair was secondary or even tertiary to like, their obsession with trying to annoy me and talk about me like a man's writing their story, because damn y'all fail the bechdel test bad.

They don't care. Her new hubby probably was running out of time being tolerated where they were at and attached like a parasite, not realizing they just attached to another parasite, and they're sucking each other dry.

If it was any more tropes of lazy man writing they were managing to pull off her posts would have started being about jiggling along boobily before logging off to talk to her copies of me she's praising on her altar and denying it's what it literally fucking is, because wow, that'd be fucking awkward for her husband to ever fucking have to face too. Like how does a marriage recover with "I spent our entire relationship pining after my ex and training you to replace him and Be Him."

Hope their fandom and roleplays were worth destroying her entire life and possibly her eternal existence. Cuz she's too fucking stubborn and self absorbed to ever admit she's fucked up. Like all the way, not trying to negotiate the edges. All the way fucked, root up, needs an entire system purge and restart to fix it, and she's too scared with no real supports to actually do that. Nobody left around her even knew who she used to be. She used up and left behind everyone that did.

Someone forgot what a certain entity was like when he, or his family, was being wronged. All they remember is their woobified body pillow recreation. The one she reblogged random tumblr things to try to erase her own memory, that a god could never have wrath or deny someone, much less start smiting or punishing them.

Bitch is HUNTED. Getting processed. A slow, painful deletion as everything she thinks she has is revealed fake and bleeds away.

She has no identity.

And it's her and their fault.

She wasn't ripping out her hair when she was with me. This should not be difficult to math out. If -> empty-> rip out hair-> attempt to replace emptiness->make cult->cult doesn't feel right->roleplays don't feel the same->why am I compelled to stalk an ex for 3 years that's trying to ignore me idk must not be relevant->the great octopus jibberish cocaine bear embarrassment of walking into the cosmic acme trap -> deny because oh my god this means my bf will realize he wasn't enough for me and is just the next toy in my toychest.

Bitch is so lost in her lies she even forgot what actual "magic" looked like. It didn't used to just to be thoughts inside her head she shared and put into third person. But she hasn't seen a real magician or real god in 3 years. Well she summoned one into her presence for like 30 minutes by force while trying to refuse to take accountability for her actions and trying to make me pay for her own therapy of realizing she's a horrible, abusive piece of shit with advanced psychosis, no gods, and a fake life, down to the origin of her relationship, and the end of the last one.

When she pined for a mystical hermetic experience so hard enough to fuck up her life like this, I don't think she expected a 3 month long gnostic experience of both the god and the man she deified trying to delete her from existence for being an irredeemable sack of shit. Like constant 3 months, for that matter. Because when you have actual divine connection, it's not a roleplay you can motherfucking log out of or pack away with your vibrator after making her or her husband pretend to be me. And the life she wanted is doing a fucking breakdance on her that she even ushered in with "you know, hermes and the dance moves..." while all she can muster is talking to disassociated voices in altar toys as an excuse to feed herself various candy.

indeed.

#Youtube