#this is why death of the author exists i guess | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr has 411 employees.

#this is why death of the author exists i guess

i-cant-sing · 1 month

Text

TIME TRAVELER AU PT 2

Original post/idea here. Part 1 is here. Part 3 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

I fucked up.

You thought as you sat on the bed, holding your head in your hands.

I fucked up so baaaaaad.

Not only have you healed Baldwin of his leprosy, forever changing history of the LEPER KING, but also managed to somehow be his bride. To make matters EVEN worse, you cant just up and leave right now because you dont know the disastrous effects it'll have on the future now that Baldwin wont die of leprosy, which means that the kingdom of Jerusalem wont fall to Salauddin and his muslim army and after that its just a domino effect.

You tried to view your options here.

I stay here, marry Baldwin and fuck up the fabric of time and space because how can someone from the future marry someone from the past? Wouldnt I cease to exist?

I leave, return to my time where authorities arrest me for fucking around with time- that is, if I even exist in the future now that I've altered history. Who knows if my ancestors survived/were born after this?

No. Neither option is good. I need to stay here and fix this. But in a way that i dont draw too much attention to myself so that im so insignificant that nobody remembers, let alone writes about me in the history books.

You were drawn out of your thoughts with someone knocking on your door. "Come in." You said, straightening yourself.

A couple of servants walked in, all women. "Princess Y/n." They all courtesied. "We've been sent here by his majesty to prepare you for dinner with him."

Princess? Ah yes. Only a couple of hours ago, Baldwin had proposed to you, I guess the concept of asking wasnt a thing here as he just slipped on the big beautiful ring on your finger.

You narrowed your eyes at them. "First of all, Im not a princess. You will address me as Y/n only. And secondly, Im not going to join him for dinner, so there's no need to prepare me" The maids all shared a look of confusion before the head servant spoke.

"But we cant address you as anything else until you wed the king, after which you will be our queen, princess."

"Didnt I just tell you not to call me princess? Just call me Y/n!" The head maid shook her head. "Princess, we can not do that. If we do, then we would be punished. And we must prepare you for dinner with his majesty!" The maids moved ahead to start helping you but you raised a hand, halting them.

"I said, no." You said sternly.

"What... what will we tell the king, princess? He's expecting you-"

"Tell him i cant come because Im sic- no, Im not feeling well and Id like to be alone." You cant say "sick" in this era, because that means "death sentence" here and you dont want to be fretted over and bring attention to yourself as "the king's fiancee got SICK!". Besides, you do need to be away from Baldwin as much as possible and have some time to plot your moves.

You had pulled out your notebook and began writing out dates and historic events of this era to plan your escape. You're trying to find some sort of shortcut where Baldwin gets sick again and dies, leaving his kingdom in the hands of his sister and brother in law, who will bring its downfall-

Someone knocked on your door gently. "Princess?" You quickly hid your notebook. "Come in."

Baldwin walked inside and towards you, eyes worried as they scanned you up and down.

"I heard you're not feeling well?" He asked and before you had a chance to back away, he had cupped your cheeks in his hands tenderly. "What's wrong? Shall I fetch the royal physician?"

"No." You replied with your face smushed in his hands. "I'm fine." You pulled your face away his large hands.

Confusion spread through his blue orbs. "Then why did you not join me for dinner?" He asked, using a hand to push your hair over your ear, not taking the hint that you didn't want him touching you.

"I just-" what possible excuse could you come up with that would be both effective and not insulting enough to have your head chopped off. "you- you dont care about me."

Baldwin looked at you in bewilderment. "I dont... care about you? Princess, how can you say that?" He tried to cup your cheek again but you backed away before he could, putting on a face of hurt.

"How can I not? You dont care about what I want, or even ask me what I need?" You feingned pain in your voice, turning away from him for dramatic effect.

He grabbed your shoulders and turned you towards him, his pupils grew wide as if trying to search for what it is that you need. "My love, what do you want? Just say the word, and I'll give it to you."

You looked down, again for the theatrics, and Baldwin lifted your chin. "Go on."

"You never- never asked me to marry you."

"Huh? But I did today-"

"No, you stated it- demanded I marry you." You furrowed your brows and looked down again.

Baldwin smiled. Of course, how could he have not asked you? You were a girl after all, you want to be courted the traditional way. Its not your fault that you dont know that kings do not ask permission for things. They just get it, because who would refuse to marry a king?

He kissed your forehead, lifting your chin again to meet his eyes. "Im sorry, princess. I shouldve asked." He took your hands in his and had that charming smile again. "Will you marry me, Y/n?"

"No." You shook your head. "I... I cant marry you, your majesty." You said, adding tears into your eyes. His brows furrowed in concern.

"What? Why?" You tried pulling your hands away but he didnt let go, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

"I-" well, you could say that youre not catholic and the church would never let you two get married, but you also dont wanna be tortured for being a "heretic". Maybe religious differences could be the last plan. Taking your silence as hesitance, Baldwin spoke. "I can offer you everything and more. Jerusalem would be yours. What is it that I lack that anyone else could offer?"

"I am not a good match for you!" Ah yes, lets do the typical "its not you, its me." You bit your lip as you yanked your hands out of his and walked towards the window, your back to him (theatrics). "You and I are not equals- no we are nowhere close! Youre a king, your father was a king, your family is royalty. I come from nothing, as did my ancestors. There will never be stability in our marriage when we come from such different backgrounds!" You never thought that you would be putting yourself down and call yourself "inferior" to break up with a man.

Silence hung in the air, as you held your breath.

"Youre right." You heard him say behind you. "We are not equals, we never will be." For some reason, instead of being relieved, a chill ran down your spine. Baldwin wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "I may be a king, but youre far superior to me. You're an angel, sent to me by God, and you saved me. I wouldnt be king anymore if you werent here, princess."

Warmth spread from your cheeks to the tip of your ears, both due to the close proximity and his words. Sensing your bashfulness, he chuckled, kissing your cheek as he turned you around to face him. You could hear your own heart beat at how close he was.

Baldwin tilted his head, half lidded eyes staring at you. "Youre everything and more that I could ask for, princess. Never put yourself down and compare yourself to me, hm?" He said, giving your arms a gentle squeeze before moving away, but not detaching himself completely as he took ahold of your hand and looked back at you.

"Now that this is settled, let us go eat. I've had the servants prepare a feast for us and then we can discuss wedding arrangements-" shit shit shit shit shit fuck it!

"I'm not catholic!" Baldwin halted at that. You've already said it, might as well dig yourself a deeper hole. You let the tears form in your eyes. "Im... Muslim. I didnt tell you because I didnt want you to think I was working for Salauddin and spying on you for him, you know I wasnt! I really did only want to know about you. Please believe me, I wasnt-"

"I believe you."

What? Just like that.

"You- you believe me?" You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Once again, Im sorry i didnt tell you I was a Muslim, but dont worry, I'll pack my things and leave tonight-"

"Why? We still have to get married."

You blinked slowly. "But... Im Muslim?"

Baldwin shrugged. "So? It doesnt change anything."

You looked at him in bafflement. "It does! It changes everything! We cant get married! Im a Muslim! The church wont allow interfaith marriages, and I dont intend on converting to catholicism either if thats what youre suggesting!"

"I am not suggesting that. You can be a muslim if you want to, but we're still getting married." Baldwin stated matter of factly.

"The church wont allow it-"

"The church will do as I say. I am the head of the church. Besides-" He smiled.

"I dont remember angels having to prove themselves to be a catholic. You saved my life, you cured my incurable disease. As far as the church is concerned, youre a miracle sent to me by God. Youre the Chosen One!"

Is he... is he hearing himself? Can you try to convince him?

"But... but Jerusalem deserves a Catholic Queen-" you tried weakly, but he cupped your cheek and smiled gently at you.

"I am Jerusalem, Y/n. And I deserve you." Was all he said before pecking your forehead.

He tugged you along with him. "Now, we have to eat."

You dont want to eat. You want to stay behind and think of another strategy because clearly you cant talk yourself out of this wedding.

"I'm- I'm not hungry." You said, making him frown.

"How is that possible? You havent had anything since morning. I dont want you getting sick before the wedding." Baldwin continued to pull you along.

Does he not listen?

"I dont want to eat- I- dont feel like it." You said a bit harshly this time, hoping he'd take the hint.

And he did, finally stopping. He sighed and let go of your hand. "Okay. I suppose if you really dont want to, we can skip dinner tonight." Fucking finally. "Its just... I seem to have developed a habit of enjoying meals with you. And now that my leprosy is cured and I have no more diet restrictions, I just- I had the kitchen prepare some of my favourite dishes that I was able to enjoy before my disease disabled me."

You stared at him. Is he- is he trying to guilt trip you? Baldwin once told you that due to leprosy he had ulcers in his mouth, and he couldnt eat different types of food, and was only able to have bland, soft goo.

You looked away from his big sad eyes. He's not getting to you. You need to go back to your room, make yourself scarce, be far away from him as often as possible.

"You can still go and eat dinner alone."

With one hand, he cupped your cheek. "Princess, you know I cant eat until you eat too. But its okay, if you dont want to eat, then I wont too. I guess I'll just have the servants finish the chicken roast and oh-! They even made strawberry cream cake for dessert. But- maybe another day."

You looked into his eyes, those blue orbs that were filled with sadness, resembling a kid who was just told "no candy!"

Sighing, you held his hand. "Maybe I can have a few bites."

His face lit up. Ah, he knew you'd come around. "Lets go!"

The next day, youre helped by the maids to get ready for the day. Apparently, Sibylla wanted to meet you and discuss some things, and you suspect she wants to talk about the wedding preprations.

The maids had prepared your bath and were very insistent on washing you themselves but you made them all leave the bath chambers. Finally, they compromised when you told them that they could dress you up if they wait outside.

Setting your old clothes on the bed, you entered the bathroom and settled into the warm water. The essential oils and flower petals soothed your mind and body, and you finally had some desperately needed silence to hear your own thoughts.

Last night at dinner, Baldwin was very- well, "happy" would be an understatement to how he felt near you. And all those forehead kisses and skin contact doesnt go unnoticed by you either. You suppose that since he had leprosy, he never really had or was allowed to touch anyone else. But now that hes cured, all thanks to your dumb ass, he craves the physical intimacy.

You closed your eyes as you sank deeper into the warm water. Gosh, did I really have to give him the water? Had I not done that, he would still be ridden with lepro-

Your eyes snapped open. Thats it. You just have to make sure he never drank your water in the first place! Yes! You can go back in time and sure, its always dangerous to go back in the same time period more than once, but you really dont have any other option now, do you?

After half an hour, you finally exited the bathroom and the maids practically ushered you to sit in the chair as they finally, FINALLY got to dress up the future queen of Jerusalem and after a whole hour, they're finally done. And... well you look good. Your hair has been done nicely, and a delicate golden headpiece, almost like a elegant hair band sits on top of your head. They added some color to your cheeks and lips with crushed berries. As for your clothes, they dressed you in a dark blue tunic with loose, flowing sleeves. The tunic itself was made of silk, probably brought in from the Byzantine empire and was only available to the upperclass of this time.

"I am not wearing those!" You said when they opened the jewellery boxes. There were diamonds and other precious stones adorning the earrings and necklaces.

"But princess, you must wear these. It is royal protocol for the king's bride to be, and the future queen to wear the royal jewels." The head maid said. She doesnt know that you dont plan on sticking around and if you leave wearing these jewels, who knows what havoc would that cause?

"No. I dont want to wear them."

The maids shared a look of concern. "What?" You asked them.

"Its just... his majesty picked these out for you himself. He would be mad at us if you were not wearing these." One of the younger servants spoke as she fumbled with her fingers. Through the mirror, you looked at everyone's worried expression. You doubt that someone as calm and collected as Baldwin would lose his marbles over his fiancee not wearing jewellery.

"I dont think the king would be mad at you if I dont wear some jewellery. He isnt one to get angry that easily, you know?" You said chuckling, but it died when you saw them share the same concerned looks again. This time, you turned away from the mirror to look at them directly. "What? Go on, no secrets."

Another maid mustered up the courage to mumble. "Well- it's just- the king- I mean- his majesty is calm but um-" she paused to look at the other maids for help but they all avoided eye contact. "Out with it." You said a bit sternly.

"His majesty... gets... emotional- yes, emotional! When it comes to matters concerning you."

"Emotional? What do you mean? Speak clearly, no word will get out of this room, I promise." You spoke all while glaring at the other maids to make them silently comply to not tattle on their friend.

The maid bit her lip. "His majesty... gets mad when he thinks that you're not being treated well." You gave her a look to continue. "A few weeks back, while you were strolling out in the garden, his majesty reprimanded some of his knights for not escorting you. He asked them why they weren't guarding you?"

A few weeks back? It may have made some sense for Baldwin to be protective of his bride to be, but you two weren't engaged until yesterday. And before that, his relationship with you was barely platonic, more like a king-servant thing.

"Tell her about the kitchen incident too." Another maid whispered.

"What kitchen incident?"

"Um, 2 months ago, when the kitchen had prepared a feast for his majesty, he almost fired the entire kitchen staff for serving olives with the entree." You gave them a quizzical look. "Well, his majesty had told them that you can't eat olives and had told them not to include it in the palace's food. But it was a feast to celebrate his victory and the staff thought it'd be best to add olives because the king likes them."

Your eyes widened at that. He almost fired the kitchen staff because you said you can't eat olives? I mean, it's not like you're deathly allergic, you just didn't like how tart they were and when Baldwin saw you picking them out on your plate, all you could manage to blurt out was that you can't eat them. Perhaps, he thought you had diet restrictions like him.

You huffed. That still didnt warrant such a reaction from him. "That isn't nice. Don't worry, I'll talk to him."

The maid looked at you in horror. "No! I mean, his majesty would not like that we- um..." she tried to come up with appropriate words that wouldn't be insulting. Her scrunched up face as she thought hard made you giggle.

"Fine, fine. I won't say anything to him. You have my word." You said, smiling at them assuringly.

The head maid then held out the pearl necklace to you. You sighed and nodded, and they all cheered as they started picking out the jewels for you.

Its okay. You told yourself. I can always drop them somewhere before time travelling.

As soon as you were dressed, one of Sibylla's lady-in-waiting came to fetch you. She hurried you, saying something along the lines of "you must see princess Sibylla right away!" And you couldn't stop her from pulling you along, so time travelling will have to wait.

"Princess Sibylla needs to see you right away, princess!" The maid said as she pulled you towards a room. Knocking on it, the door swung open and you were met with the sight of different gowns hanging on dummies with maids tending to them, and right in the center of the room was Sibylla, practically jumping on her heels.

"Y/n!" She yelled out as she ran towards you and engulfed you in a hug before her lady in waiting, the same one standing beside you, cleared her throat. It caught Sibylla's attention who gasped softly before backing away and immeadiately giving you a courtesy. "I mean, princess Y/n." You gave a nasty look to the lady in waiting before shaking your head at an embarrassed Sibylla. "You don't need to courtesy to me, princess Sibylla."

She immeadiately beamed. "Of course I do! You're not going to be just my sister in law, you're also going to be Queen of Jerusalem! Of course i bow to you."

Me, a queen? Yeah, we'll see about that.

"Still, I consider us friends before anything else." You offerer her a small smile. "You called for me?"

"Oh? Oh, yes!" She immeadiately grabbed your hand and pulled you further into the room. "I didn't know what colours and material you preferred, so I ordered them to bring everything with the best seamstresses in kingdom!" She pointed at the seamstresses, who bowed to you.

"But... I don't need clothes. I already have a wardrobe." Your statement made Sibylla laugh as did a few of her hand maidens.

"Ahh, you're so naive!" Sibylla giggled. "That wardrobe doesn't exist anymore. You're a princess, soon to be queen, you need a royal wardrobe!" She said as she dragged her hand over one of the gowns, feeling the material. "And! You still have to select your bridal gown!"

For the next 3 hours, Sibylla had the maids show you different gowns and materials, even helping by giving her input as to what would suit you.

"I still like my old clothes, they're quite comfortable." You sighed. Designing your new wardrobe was not something that needed your urgent attention at the moment. You need to return to your room and get the time machine from your old dress and leave this era.

Sibylla nods. "I understand what you're going through. I still remember how they burned away my entire wardrobe when I married Guy. But I suppose its poetic in a way. Since you're starting a new life, so why not start one by getting new clothes!"

Wait.

"They burnt all your old clothes?" Sibylla nods. "Mmhmm! In a way, you're burning away your past! And starting a new-" You didn't stick around as you immeadiately rushed out of the room and made your way towards your own.

You can't- your old clothes has your time machine. If they burn it, you can't ever leave!

You burst into your room, looking at the empty spot on your bed where you'd left your clothes before going in the bath.

"No." The maids, they must've put it in your closet. You searched it, searched your entire room but to no avail.

A maid walked into your room, watching you tear apart the bedroom. "P-princess? May I help-"

"Where are my clothes?!" You walked upto her, the poor maid's fright apparently on her face. "WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES!?"

"They- they're burning it-"

"WHERE?!"

"The gardens!"

You ran out of your room, and made your way towards the royal gardens as fast as you could, but with how huge this palace was, getting there took a while. Not to mention when you did get to the gardens, you didn't spot anyone there, but you did notice the smell of something burning, which lead you to the back of the gardens, that was away from everyone's sight.

There you found them, two maids burning your clothes in a small bonfire.

"PUT IT OUT!" You yelled as you rushed towards them, startling them.

"Princess-" they began bowing.

"Didn't you hear me? PUT THE FIRE OUT!" They scrambled about trying to find some water, but of course, they didn't have it.

"I'll get it from the fountain!" The two maids ran to get a bucket of water for you, but it would be too late by the time they came. So when you spotted your old dress burning, you pulled it out with bare hands, not caring about burning yourself.

The dress was mostly burnt to ashes, while only few bits remained that were still on fire. You managed to wrangle out your time machine out of it, the small metal box that was burning hot and left marks on your skin as you tried to hold it.

But even from here, you could see the damage was done. The area that displayed the year had now completely melted off, as did some of the buttons.

No. No. No. No. No. NO!

You couldn't help but cry as reality began to set in. You're stuck here.... you're stuck here forever.

Heart wrenching sobs wracked your body as you tried to hold the hot metal machine in your hands, your skin burning as you tried. Even when the servants came and poured the water on the fire, you still kept on crying, clutching your machine to your chest, partly to conceal it, partly from helplessness.

The maids looked at each in worry as they tried to console you, tried to pacify you, lest you had them executed. But it didn't matter, you were inconsolable. While one of the maids sat by your side, trying to soothe you, the other one ran in to get help.

Moments later, when you were able to hide the machine in your clothes again, someone came up and touched your shoulder from behind.

"Y/n?" You looked up through your tears. It was Baldwin. For some reason, seeing him only made you cry harder as you finally realised that you were stuck here with him. That you fucked up permanently.

"Oh princess. What's wrong? Don't cry- shhh, I'm here." He pulled your body towards him, letting you sob into his chest heartbreakingly. Exhaustion, frustration and shock must have overtook your body, as you fainted in his arms.

"Princess? Y/n?" He tried waking you up before collecting you in his arms and rushing back into the castle.

Hours later, you woke up to find yourself back in your room, lying in your bed. Your eyes looked down at your hands which were now wrapped in bandages. They only served as a reminder of what youd lost- your time machine.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. Am I- am I really stuck here? You sniffled.

A hand came up to caress your cheek, startling you.

It was Baldwin. "Princess? Do you want to tell me what happened?" His soft tone made you even more sad, and you raised your bandaged hands to wipe your tears, but he caught your wrists and lowered them back gently, using his own hands to wipe away the tears.

"No, you cant use your hands for sometime. The burns need to heal." His hand remained on your cheek, thumb caressing the area under your eye. "What happened, Y/n? Why were you so upset?"

You cant avoid the topic for long, and now that your way of escape is gone, you need to be careful of what you say and how you act around the king.

You let out a shaky breath. "They... they burned my clothes."

"Mmhm. Dont worry, I will have them bring in the fanciest clothes for you. Sibylla will make sure of it. Only the best for my princess." You shook your head. "Its not- its not that... They were my clothes... they burned away-"

"I know... but its a tradition. The maids burn away the bride-to-be's old clothes to signify that youre detaching yourself from the past and starting a new life." He explained, watching as you sniffled. Clearly, you were still upset over this.

"But the maids, they still should've informed you of this tradition before doing anything. I know how emotional of a transition this could be for girls." You nodded sadly, heart still sinking at the loss of your machine. "Dont worry though, they will be punished harshly for it. I have them in the dungeons tonight, and tomorrow-"

"What? Punished? No!" You cut him off. You dont want anyone to die because of you, especially when you dont know if anyone these people could potentially be an ancestor of yours.

"But they caused you harm. You burned yourself due to their-"

"No, no. Please, don't punish anyone- I- it was my fault for not knowing about royal traditions! Please, your Majesty, I beg you- don't do this- i- i-" You pleaded.

"Shhh, okay. Okay. I won't punish them for it." He patted your hair. "On one condition."

You looked at him in confusion.

"You call me Baldwin from now on." He grinned. "We are to be husband and wife soon, I don't want us to use royal titles with each other."

Your eyes widened. Is he- is he really giving up titles? You're not that blind to see his attempts at intimacy, but what you don't understand is why or even how you came to be on the receiving end of it.

What exactly is it about you that has made him want to marry you? Surely, Baldwin would've preferred to marry someone of this era, someone who is more compatible with him. Despite you trying to blend in the past months, you allowed Baldwin to see how you're not... as Conservative as most people of this time period are. One could say that he may be impressed by how intelligent you are than others, but it also brings up the factor of being "threatened" or "insulted" by the same intelligence.

Even though you consider beauty to be a "subjective" thing, the whole "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", you're not blind to how attractive others are. So why not them?

Did he only like you because you're intriguing? Does he still think you're a spy? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?

Probably. Or maybe he really does believe all that mumbo jumbo about you being "an angel sent to save him."

"As you wish... Baldwin."

Last night, after Baldwin had left you to rest, you stayed up and tried to figure out if you can fix your time machine, and if not, then can you built another one?

Fucking hell. You closed your eyes. I made it once, I can build it again. But it's easier said than done.

Back in the present, you had the technology to build it. Now? You have to first make the technology and the tools from scratch before you could even get on making your time machine, all while keeping your science project discrete, which was easier before because you weren't going to be married to a fucking King!

Right now, you're sitting in Baldwin's private dining room (yes, there are more than one dining room. He's royalty, what did you expect) having breakfast- well, being fed breakfast.

"You really don't need to do this." You said as Baldwin fed you another spoonful. He smiled as he wiped your lips with a napkin. "I don't need to, I want to. Besides, I don't want my princess starving."

Involuntary, your face flushed. "I- the maids could've fed me. And im not a princess." He frowned slightly. "Why would you- open wide, princess- why would you want the maids to feed you when you have me?" He pushed the spoon to your face as you parted your lips, but then he pulled it away and brought his face close to yours. "Do I make you nervous?"

You backed away immediately. "I- no- I mean-"

He burst out laughing. "I'm- I'm sorry princess, but you are just too endearing!" Baldwin chuckled as he grabbed the spoon again and fed you.

Your cheeks reddened, this time more out anger than embarrassment. "I don't want to eat anymore." You muttered, turning your face away.

He smiled as he brought the spoon to your lips again. "Ah ah, but you still haven't had enough." However, you rejected again, looking away instead of replying.

He sighed, placing the spoon back on the plate. "I'm sorry, princess. I shouldn't have laughed at you."

"You shouldn't have." You mumbled, face still turned away from him.

His lips quirked up a bit. "You know, for someone who insists that she's not a princess-" He turned your face to him gently. "- you sure have all the blandishment of one."

"Blandishment?"

"Flattering actions of a princess." He nodded.

You frowned. "Are you calling me a spoiled princess? A brat?"

"I would never!" Baldwin gasped. "I enjoy you acting like royalty, demanding respect and attention. You deserve it and more. Besides-" He picked up some food on the spoon again and brought it to your lips. "Even if if you were a spoiled, bratty princess, I wouldn't mind. I would enjoy spoiling you, hm?" He nudged the spoon to your lips softly.

You parted your lips, making him smile. It really is hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you with his baby blue eyes. They just- they draw you in.

"Also, before I forget, I will be leaving the castle today to meet Salauddin. So you can either hand out with Sibylla, who still wants to help you design your wedding gown, or your can-"

Salauddin? "Why are you meeting Salauddin? Isn't he your enemy?"

He chuckled. "Only on the battlefield. He and I have developed a friendship, or a mutual respect over the years. As to why I'm going to meet him, is... well, you."

"Me?" He nodded. "Since you told me that you're a Muslim, I thought that we could perhaps have a discreet Islamic wedding- what is it called? Nikkah? So, I could go and learn more about it from Salauddin."

You opened your mouth to protest. You don't need to be part of history as the "king of Jerusalem's Muslim wife" or "the Muslim-Christian wedding that took place during the Crusades", even if it might make the world more progressive.

But then, you didn't protest. "Can I come?"

Baldwin raised a brow at you. "You want to meet Salauddin?" You shook you're head. "Well, no, not really. I mean, I don't mind meeting him, but I just want to get out of the castle for a bit. It's been months since i left this place, I just want to get some fresh air." This could be the perfect opportunity for you, because if memory serves you right, Muslims of this era had made significant advances in science. Maybe you can use their help to get some tools to make the time machine again.

Baldwin looked unsure. "I don't know if it would be safe for you-" you held his hand with your bandaged ones. "Please, Baldwin? Can't you take me with you? And wouldn't I be the most safe when I'm with you?" Ah yes, stroke the male ego.

Finally, he smiled.

"Alright. I supposed it would be fine, after all, you should see the kingdom you're going to be the queen of."

Thoughts? (Also, I need to go shower rn, so I'll put the read more later. Doing so much effort for u guys, my spoiled greedy children)

Part 3 is here.

#yandere baldwin #yandere king baldwin #male yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x #yandere x darling #yandere #baldwin iv

945 notes · View notes

thesirenisles · 18 days

Text

Pluto’s Sirens 🦂

beauty, love astrology observations ✨

scorpio sun, scorpio moon, scorpio mars, scorpio ascendant , Scorpio lilith, Black moon lilith

8th house placements including Lilith

Lilith aspects, Pluto Aspects, Venus Opposing Trine Conjunction Square Pluto, Ruled, Dominant

Pluto in the 1st house, Pluto in the 8th house

“She knew death quite well. She often drowned. But, never in fear. The storm waters of love, pain, and sorrow filled her lungs and from their depths, she rose metamorphosed — a captivating phoenix of the sea.”

please do not steal any of my original work.

🦂Child of Pluto,

The stunning dark beauty that disappears intermittently, only to reemerge a brand new person.. having lived another full life to it’s completion.

You have walked the Valley of Death and your essence was fortified by means of eternal hellfire. There’s really no wonder why you’re so intimidatingly hot. 🔥

As a water sign, this is similar to the siren-like energy of Neptune. However, a Neptunian might unwittingly lure suitors to their death, but you, Plutonian Goddess are the siren who wants the kill.

🥀You are the siren they fear.

You are a mistress of the deep, a beacon of light through the annals of life’s taboo topics like sex, death, occultism, and mystery.

When considering Plutonian energy, I imagine the scorpion deep within a fierce ocean of emotions, burrowing deeper and deeper into the sand… searching and feeling…

Deep within these depths is where you thrive. The drowned woman… I say this because Scorpio is a fixed sign, meaning its energy can be stagnant.

So, it is literally fixed water or stuck water. Being stuck underwater can symbolically connote to drowning.

This is also where the big misunderstanding of Scorpio comes from because… a scorpion does not belong underwater?? Yup, you’re an anomaly.

But, hence this is literally why you cannot stay under water for too long. You’re meant to dive deep beneath the surface, transform yourself, others, and your surroundings BUT only for a little while.

If you try to resist and stay submerged, life literally pushes you to transform and resurface for fresh air. By the end of your journey, you come out reborn anew, carrying nothing but the wisdom you’ve gained.

At your core, you are here to transform yourself and others.

With this energy, you are always digging and craving depth wherever you go, whether you realize it or not just like the scorpion. This could be for emotions, the truth, or other extremes.

Your plutonic vibrations sometimes does this for you and easily charm souls into revealing their darkest and deepest desires to you.

Pluto has gifted you with a gaze that certainly helps to compel information, while also commanding authority and exuding power. (It’s giving Vampire Diariesss)

🥀A fierce siren, you wish to take hold of your romantic partners, friends, and families and lead them to the deepest depths of human existence.

But, this is only an attempt to free them from the confinement of the human ego and mundanity.

🦂The Misunderstood

The Scorpio/ 8th house slander is endless. But, I feel it’s just misunderstood. I love Plutonian energy. I find it refreshing, possibly because I have Scorpio 11th house & Scorpio Mars lol.

But, I get them. My longest friendship is with a beautiful Scorpio Sun and I have never had to second guess her loyalty.

She has been through more than anyone would guess, but maintains a heart of pure gold. Her shell is hard to crack though.

This is because you guys have seen the other side of life… death. You are aware most people aren’t living their truths or even knowledgeable of the truths of this Earthly realm… and it infuriates you at times.

It’s not easy being the one who sees a liar in a fake smile or an enemy within a friend. You see people without their masks and you call them out when needed… including family.

This can ruffle many feathers, of course. We all know how truth tellers are deemed in society.

And to some, your intense need to dive deep can terrify them and trigger them because in some way they are not living their authentic truth.

But, it’s meant to!

Pluto in the 1st house natives know this reaction well, as they wear the hellfire mark wherever they go. This triggers those who are not comfortable with darkness or their own shadow self.

Significant Lilith placements can resonate with this energy. Your presence and rebel energy triggers those whose identity is based upon a facade.

A Plutonian is a friend with their shadow self. They have seen the likes of all darkness.

You are the wounded warrior with these placements, (and honestly deserve so much more and so many hugs for what you’ve survived🥹) But, you seldom allow anyone to see you sweat or any weakness.

This need to conceal weakness hides your incredibly, loving heart and loyal spirit.

You can come off a bit brash at times. (Think, Jade from Victorious… Marlo from The Wire.. Matthew McConaughey’s character in True Detective) But, Its hard to empathize with those who seem ungrateful for their less challenging life paths or who refuse to make simple life changes out of fear.

You are like a butterfly. You have lived several lives, experiencing completely new things at each stage of life, but ultimately improving yourself each time.

While painful at times, that’s your superpower. ✨

The ironic part is that people see you in your Butterfly phase, ornate wings and beautiful colors, and assume you have not had it hard.

Until you sting. 🦂🩸

Absolutely incredible and yet so misunderstood.

Believe me when I say, it is such a GIFT to be able to transform in a world where Saturn’s energy reigns supreme.

🥀A piece of advice I leave to you all is… while understanding death.. DON’T forget to LIVE. Take a page out of the book of your sister sign, Taurus or Planet Venus… pamper your soul. 💅🏾

You are allowed and capable of just as much happiness and soft living as any other soul. Do not be afraid to open up and love or allow yourself to be loved.

You ARE loved over here! ❤️🫶🏾

🦂La Petite Mort “Little Death”.

To possess significant scorpio or 8th house placements is to live through many small deaths to be born anew.

Ironically, while Pluto rules sex, the French saying for an orgasm is Le Petite Mort … or “Little Death”.

Perfectly fitting.

With these placements, you can transform yourself and others through your sexual encounters.

🥀Your sex is transformative!

The sexual energy exudes from your pores, thanks to Papa Pluto and those around you can smell the fragrance.

When a suitor spots you, perched upon a rock amidst the chaos of the ocean… they can’t look away.

They don’t know what it is about you, but they are drawn… hooked and captivated by your watery siren gaze.

You call to them on the shore… and they approach only to be grasped and delivered to the bottom of the ocean for an unforgettable awakening.

This is why Scorpios/ Plutonians/ 8th housers rule the sack. There is less inhibition, less hesitation, and your goal is sink your prey… to the depths… and transform them. (This gives me chills to think about… very powerful stuff!)

Both men and women of Pluto have this quality. Even if they aren’t perfectly symmetrical or dreamy, you have to admit they are HOT AF & their raw sexual energy caught your eye and made you wonder if you even possess the endurance to swim in their waters…

Keep transforming the world Plutonians! We need you!

Thank you for reading! Wishing you blessings💋

Neptune Energy Observation is here. ♓️⬅️✨

MERCURY energy observation here. ♍️♊️

Mars Energy Observation ♈️♏️✨

Other planets coming soon!

Alton Mason (Scorpio Sun) and Kofi Siriboe (Scorpio Pluto, Moon, Jupiter STELLIUM 😮‍💨)

@thesirenisles

482 notes · View notes

dream-a-little-bigger-x · 8 months

Text

There's a 100% Chance I'm Gonna Marry You | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The team doesn’t even know of her existence but when Spencer can’t get a hold of her, he gets worried. Now he has no other choice than to tell his coworker about her.

Warnings: worry, guns, kicking down doors, mention of Maeve & Haley's death, fluff!

Author's note: I kinda love this like a lot???

Words: 3.4K

Spencer was happy. Considering the things he had gone through in the past ten years, no one had expected him to ever come back to his incredibly happy and constantly smiley self. No one had ever seen him so giggly and teasing his colleagues every single day.

If you asked his coworkers, all of them would say something different. JJ, Alex and Penelope all swore he was simply in love. Hotch and Rossi knew what was happening – years of profiling in their back pocket that would catch onto the tiniest signs and being his boss had its perks. Morgan believed he was just getting laid, finally.

If you asked Spencer, he’d simply shrug and say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The truth was that he was in love, just like his female coworkers had guessed.

He had met her a few years earlier at a bookstore. The two of them had reached for the exact same book at the exact same time, causing their hands to bump. Apologies floated through the air, followed by their awkward giggles when their eyes locked. Spencer offered to buy her the book that day and she insisted they read it together over a cup of coffee. Of course he didn’t decline, and neither did he alert her that he read as fast as lightning. For her, he’d read at her pace.

Ever since that day, the two of them had been hanging out non-stop at bookstores, coffee shops, and eventually at each other’s apartment. It took them a good six months before finally sharing a searing kiss that sealed their relationship.

That kiss was about a little over a year ago and now, the two of them were living together. Albeit, she kept her old address, with the help of Hotch who had called in favor, just to throw anyone that snooped into their personal affairs off.

Without any of his colleagues knowing.

At first, he didn’t want their relentless teasing, but then he was reminded of how the BAU’s family and partners were put in constant danger over being even slightly connected to them. Spencer almost wanted to break up with her over it, just to keep her safe. And they did, for a good week, until Spencer realized he couldn’t live without her.

She was fine with being his little secret. Though sometimes, she wanted to get to know his colleagues after all the stories she heard from him. The gruesome details about those stories, however, she’d rather forget immediately.

That was why the two of them kept in touch as much as they could during his cases. Quick phone calls, just to check in with one another, constant text messages, … There was never a moment where the two of them didn’t hear from one another.

When one day she didn’t answer him, he grew immediately worried.

That day had started early for Spencer. He'd been woken up at five am by a call from JJ, telling him to come into work as soon as he could, but not to bring a go-bag. Her eyes had fluttered open ever so slightly, but he shushed her and kissed her forehead.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered and tried to pull away, but her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him back.

The girl whined and though her eyes were closed, her lips were pursed. “Gimme kiss first.”

Chuckling, Spencer leaned down and kissed her on the lips sweetly. “I love you.”

“Mmh, love you too. Come back to me in one piece, Doctor Reid.”

She tugged at the duvet to cozy up and doze off again. For a couple seconds, he watched her with a tender smile plastered on his face. He hated leaving the girl he loved behind. He’d much rather cuddle up to her underneath the covers.

“I promise,” he whispered and kissed her head again before finally turning on his heel and walking out the apartment. It was always with a heavy heart that he left the apartment, but his mind was quickly occupied by the case at hand.

It wasn’t until 10am when he received a text from her. The initials “L.G.” flashing onto his screen. It was her contact name that she had added. It stood for Lover Girl, she had told him, while putting his contact name as P.B.; Pretty Boy.

L.G.: I actually slept until now. Got any statistics on that, Doctor?

A smile took over his entire face. She often asked him for any statistics about whatever she was thinking about. It was her favorite thing to do, listening to him ramble off facts and statistics, which was why she’d asked for it. Even if it was merely through text.

P.B.: 55% of people oversleep at least once a week and 75% of those have missed work. A little over 30% said they oversleep once a week and 24% do it multiple times a week.

He waited a minute, she usually answered within a couple minutes and he and Morgan were waiting for their colleagues to compile their theories anyway. When her message popped onto his screen, he couldn’t help but smile even wider.

L.G.: You never disappoint. – Thank GOD for bank holidays. ;-)

Spencer chuckled before starting to type up a response.

P.B.: What are you up to today?

Before her reply came in, their colleagues filed into the briefing room where he and Morgan resided. He quickly chucked his phone in his pocket and focused on what his coworkers were saying. It took a couple of minutes as they put their heads together and piece together some of the evidence they had found.

“Morgan, Reid, I’m gonna need you to go to the apartment building and ask around if anyone has seen Peter in the hallways that night. Alex and Rossi, you’re on the new crime scene. JJ and I will head to the M.E.”

Everyone nodded at their assignments before they got up and filed out of the briefing room. As Spencer followed Morgan out to the SUV, he grabbed his phone to check her message she had sent.

L.G.: Just going to run some errands. Do you need anything from the grocery store?

P.B.: Can you get me some of those rice crispy treats, please, angel?

He put his phone back in his pocket before turning to his coworker next to him, who was sneaking glances at him whilst driving. “I do still wonder who you’re always texting with that dopey smile on your face.”

Spencer coughed. “My-my mom.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me the truth?” Derek asked, his thick brows raised. There was no answer at the top of that genius brain of his, so he simply grimaced and nodded his head.

The two of them focused back on the case and went door to door at the apartment building, asking everyone if they had seen who they were looking for. None of them were much help and when they were done interviewing the inhabitants, one hour had passed. On the way back to the car, Spencer checked his phone again, but no messages from his Lover Girl this time.

He frowned and sent her another text.

P.B.: Back from the store yet, L.G.? Did you remember my rice crispy treats?

It wasn’t usual for her to take this long to reply, especially when she had a day off. Her phone’s sound was always on and she had it closeby at every moment. Worry settled on his chest. He couldn’t act on the anxieties swirling around in his mind as he couldn’t just rush home mid-case.

When there was no answer another hour later, Spencer knew something was up. He tried to call her when he and Morgan were waiting on the rest of the team to regroup, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Hiya! You just missed me, but leave a message and I’ll call you back when I can.”

The sound of her voice calmed him down a little bit, but the fact that it was her voicemail only made his worry grow. Two steps forward and one step back, it felt like.

“You okay, Reid?” Morgan asked when he noticed his coworker in distress.

Spencer internally groaned at the fact he couldn’t tell Morgan what was stressing him out because he had decided to keep his girlfriend a secret. Especially at a moment like this when there could be something wrong with her. For all he knew, she could be hurt. The exact reason for keeping her a secret in the first place.

“Uhm, yeah,” he lied. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

It was crystal clear that Morgan didn’t believe his coworker but with the height of the case nearing, he decided not to press any further. It was only hours later, when they closed the case, and Spencer was clearly spiraling that he decided to ask further.

“Reid, seriously, what’s going on?” he asked when Spencer hung up his phone for a fifth time, not getting the answer he wanted.

Spencer sighed and chucked his phone in his pocket, his hands trembling as he did so. “I-I need to go home. Something’s wrong.”

“With your mom?” Morgan asked as he watched Spencer rush out the BAU. The resident genius didn’t even bother to answer, which left Morgan with no other choice than to simply follow behind him. “Hey, Reid!” he called when he caught up to Spencer near the SUV. With furrowed brows and trembling hands trying to unlock the car, the younger man looked up. “Let me drive.”

And with that said, Derek and Spencer got into the car and drove off to Spencer’s apartment. Derek wasn’t even sure what he was in for, but he trusted Spencer enough to follow him blindly. The two of them entered Spencer’s apartment building and rushed up the stairs to apartment 23.

A scream echoed through the door and reverberated in Spencer’s chest, causing his heart to plummet to his stomach. Derek and Spencer both reached for their guns, ready to shoot whoever’s hurting this screaming person. Another scream came from inside and Derek quickly and swiftly kicked down the apartment door.

Another scream, but this time because of the sudden disruption. Once Spencer was certain there was no immediate danger, he holstered his weapon, as did Derek. His eyes scanned over his girlfriend. She had her hair scraped back into a messy bun, an old CalTech shirt of his that reached just beneath her bum and underneath it the tiniest of shorts that were barely visible.

Once her heart had calmed down from the near-heart attack, she tugged the earphones out of her ears. “Fucking hell, Spence, way to give a girl a heart attack.” She threw a cushion from the couch at him.

“Me?! You weren’t answering any of my calls or texts! I thought you were kidnapped,” he argued before stalking up to her and taking her into his arms into a much-needed hug.

She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I’m sorry, I was too wrapped up in that new Taylor Swift song and singing along.”

“Ah, that was the screaming about,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head with a chuckle.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Spencer whispered and kissed her head before remembering there was someone else in the room. Coughing, he looked up at his coworker and only slightly let go of her, keeping an arm around her shoulders.

“So, you’re ready to tell me the truth now?” Derek asked, a smirk on his face.

Spencer smiled down at the girl. “Morgan, this is y/n, my… girlfriend.”

The girl reached out a hand for him to shake and Derek did, but not without eyeing her up and keeping that teasing demeanor. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Spence has told me so much about you.”

“Wish I could say the same about you, but unfortunately, Boy Wonder never mentioned you once,” he told her, chuckling. “How did you keep this a secret from all of us?”

Spencer shrugged. “I thought it would be better to keep our relationship a secret from everyone to keep her safe. We all know what happened to Haley, I don’t–” He inhaled sharply, unable to get the words across his lips. Noticing his sudden tensed shoulders, she interlaced her fingers with the ones on the hand on her shoulder, squeezing them reassuringly. “She kept her old address, just so no one could trace her back to me. Only Hotch and Rossi know.”

“I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances,” she told him, gesturing to her appearance.

“Shut up, you look cute,” Spencer reassured her and kissed her temple again.

The smile never left Derek’s face as he looked at the sight in front of him. “I’m happy for you, Reid, you know that, right?” he asked happily, a hint of pride in his tone that caused her insides to grow mushy.

From Spencer’s stories, she could tell the team cared about him a lot, but hearing it in real life and seeing it in Derek’s eyes and face meant the absolute world to her. She knew he was safe whenever he was with them, she knew she didn’t have to worry too much when he was out at work. They would protect him no matter what.

Sensing Derek wanted to talk to Spencer alone, she excused herself and removed herself to the bedroom where she looked for something more appropriate to change into. All while keeping an ear on the conversation between the two coworkers.

“I know,” she heard Spencer mumble. “I’m just scared, you know? She’s the best thing that has ever happened to me and I don’t want that to be taken away from me… again…” Heat crept to her cheeks as she listened to her boyfriend talk about her.

“I get that,” Derek said. “She’s important to you – she’s family. Family of yours is family of ours, Reid. You don’t want anything to happen to her, and neither do we. We’d do anything in our power to protect her.”

“Like we did Haley and Maeve?”

She knew all about Maeve and Haley. Spencer had explained everything to her. It scared her to death that something like that could happen to the family of the BAU agents as much as it scared her something terrible could happen to Spencer.

“You know that was out of our control, Reid,” said Morgan.

A short silence fell and she knew Spencer inhaled deeply before continuing. “I know, but what if the same thing happens to her? I can’t lose her, Morgan. I wanna keep her safe, out of harm’s way.”

“Don’t you think your best shot at keeping her safe is to have us informed about it? At least then, we can keep her safe and help you protect her,” he explained and she couldn’t help but agree with her. With her heart a little heavier and her outfit changed into jeans and a top with her hair down, she walked out into the living room.

“He’s right though, baby,” she mumbled, capturing the boys’ attention.

Spencer sighed, “Y/N.” He shook his head.

“Don’t “y/n” me, Spencer. Your little family sounds amazing and I wanna be part of that, too.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, placing her head against his chest. “I know you wanna protect me, but don’t you think we both got a better chance if we got them in our lives, too?”

Another sigh heaved Spencer’s chest, causing her head to move along with it. “Okay, you’re probably right.” He kissed the top of her head before looking at Morgan again. “Text everyone to come over here for dinner.”

“We don’t have enough food for that many people, honey,” she gasped, almost in a panic.

Spencer shrugged. “We’ll order Chinese.”

Within half an hour, the entire team had arrived at Spencer’s, one by one getting acquainted with the one he had kept secret for so long. Neither one knew why they were invited to apartment 23 but when they did find out, their reactions melted y/n’s heart.

First, it was Penelope. The chirpy, colorful blonde she had heard so much about.

“What’s the emergency? Are you okay, Reid? I–” she stopped in her tracks when her eyes landed on the girl beside the resident genius. “Who–Wha–” she stumbled over her words, her brain short-circuiting.

With a smile, she reached out her hand to shake Penelope’s. “Hi, I’m y/n.”

“Reid’s girlfriend,” the brunette that had come up behind her moments after, deducted.

Penelope’s eyes widened before taking the girl into her arms. “Oh, my God! I knew it! I knew our Boy Wonder was in love!”

Giggles filled up the apartment. Spencer and y/n couldn’t help but lock eyes, happy this was the reaction from his coworkers to his news. “Happy to meet you, too, Penelope.”

“Hi,” the brunette greeted when Penelope pulled away. “I’m Alex Blake.”

One by one, the team filed in, greeting y/n as though she was part of the family. With Chinese food scattered around the dining room table, the whole family sat, ate and asked the couple all the questions they needed answers to.

“When did you first meet?” The blonde y/n has come to be known as JJ.

Y/N glanced over to Spencer and took a hold of his hand, entwining their fingers in his lap. “We met at a bookstore, we were reaching for the same book–”

“Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver,” Spencer interrupted.

“That one,” she concurred with a giggle. “He insisted on buying it for me and I insisted we read it together.” Her nose scrunched up while her lips pressed together, remembering how adorable Spencer was that day, and still was.

“Damn, boy,” Derek commented. “Didn’t know you had game.”

“What do you do?” Alex then questioned, moving on from their meet-cute.

“I’m a primary school teacher,” she responded. “I try to mold and form these brilliant little minds to become something that somewhat resembles this genius’ mind.” She placed her free hand on Spencer’s head and lovingly squeezed.

A collective bubble of laughter spread through the apartment, causing y/n’s heart to flutter. She loved being around Spencer’s friends. They were lovely and brought out the best in Spencer. While he always had his guard down when he was with her and showed her his soft side, his friends brought out a completely different side in him. A side she had seen before, but never with people other than her.

For an entire night, the team asked the couple questions, told stories about Spencer even she didn’t know yet and she easily returned the favor. It turned out to be a lovely night that would be grafted into the couple’s minds for a long time.

“I enjoyed spending time with your friends,” she told him when they were cuddled up in bed afterwards.

As soon as they hit the mattress, their limbs entangled and her head ended up on his chest. While his hand trailed up and down her back, hers was drawing patterns on his chest. A position they had found themselves in almost every night.

“Mmh,” he hummed. “They loved you.”

She let out a giggle. “Of course they did.”

A laugh rumbled Spencer’s chest, reverberating through her head. It was her favorite sound and feeling in the whole wide world. She lifted her head from his chest to properly look at him, finding him looking up at the ceiling. From this angle, she had a perfect view at his sharp jawline, his curls sticking out here and there, and his long lashes fluttering to keep himself awake.

“Got any statistics, Doctor?” she then asked, putting her head back in place, right over his heart to hear it beat just for her.

She could feel him turn his head to look at her. “About what?” he asked.

“Anything,” she answered.

He sighed. A content sigh, one where you could hear the smile in his breath. “There’s a hundred percent chance I’m gonna marry you,” he muttered and kissed the top of her head.

A smile curved her lips upwards while her eyes slowly shut. Her body was completely relaxed, her heart fluttering in his presence. She could see their entire future flash before her eyes. Spencer getting down on one knee at the bookstore, her father walking her down the aisle while his friends and coworkers and his mom sat in the pews. She could see ten tiny toes and ten tiny fingers.

She could see forever with him.

“There’s a hundred percent chance I’m gonna say yes.”

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @littlemissaddict @n0wornever @wanniiieeeee @unnowhatthisistbhh

Criminal Minds Taglist:

@boimlers-gonna-boimm @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips @magstheslayer @astess

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds

744 notes · View notes

baiwu-jinji · 2 months

Text

I received a very thoughtful anon ask about Qi Rong and in the process of doing research for the ask, I came across a meta about Qi Rong on the Chinese website Zhihu that I absolutely loved, so I translated the meta into English - anon I will answer your ask ASAP, in the meantime I hope you're interested in this excellent meta:

I think Qi Rong's feelings for Xie Lian isn't that of a fan for his idol, but that of a child for an imaginary "father". So he wouldn't try to understand and study XL's character like Hua Cheng; he's only looking up to this "father figure".

This isn't a baseless conjecture - the relationship between father and son has always been a topic that can't be averted when it comes to Qi Rong. I'm guessing that when he was bullied and excluded by other kids in his childhood, it didn't occur to Qi Rong to hate the circumstances of his family; instead he wished for his father to stand up for him and help him teach those nasty kids a lesson. This wish had always existed in Qi Rong's heart and became a traumatising shadow of his childhood.

Whereas his cousin, the prince Xie Lian, who suddenly appeared in his life to help him, was unconsciously used by Qi Rong to fit his expectation of the "father". XL did what he expected a father to do, so he placed XL in his fantasies about a father. Since his abusive and useless father doesn't cut it, then someone as gentle and strong as XL must be the standard for what a "father" is like. Subconsciously Qi Rong had this idea.

Therefore I think a lot of the dumb and horrible things that Qi Rong did for XL is only due to the anxiety that a son feels towards the indifference of the "father", so he tried to do something compensatory to win the father's attention and approval; but this didn't work out at all.

This is also why he's good to Gu Zi, because Gu Zi is just another Qi Rong - he's abused by the father but still begs for the father's love and doesn't allow others to hurt his father. It's probably because Qi Rong understands what this feels like that he'd pretend to be a seemingly decent "father" for Gu Zi.

(Here the author also points out the connection between Qi Rong and Gu Zi based on their names, which needs to be explained to English readers in more detail - Qi Rong's name "Rong," in Chinese "容", is comprised of two parts: 宀 and 谷. The latter part is "Gu" (谷) as in Gu Zi's name, and the former part 宀 stands for a house or a home - in this sense the character "Rong 容" (Qi Rong) incorprates the character "Gu 谷" (Gi Zi) and provides a "home" or "shelter" for "Gu".)

Qi Rong shows off all kinds of places to the kid that he's never been to, deliberately bigs himself up, and protects the kid at the dire moment, because all of these are what Qi Rong hoped his father would do for him. However, Xie Lian was only a kid himself; how could he answer Qi Rong's expectations for a father?

Qi Rong undoubtedly loathes his biological father, because when Qi Rong was a kid, his father was useless and crass, made a laughing stock of Qi Rong and his mother and became the reason Qi Rong was mocked by other kids. But when Qi Rong needed his father and needed him to scold those kids, his father didn't care about him at all (probably only the father could accomplish this sort of task since Qi Rong's mother was depressed and sickly; this plot is repeated later on in Feng Xin and his son).

When the entire country was being destroyed, his other "father," Xie Lian, became a laughing stock too. XL didn't manage to help him before and after his death. For Qi Rong, this is a replay of the events that happened when he was five years old; this perfect "father" proves no different from his biological father.

So fundementally Qi Rong hates Xie Lian for the same reason that he hates his biological father. He indeed projected too many wishful fantasies on XL, but I think it's more about the son's disappointment towards a "father" instead of a believer's disappointment for a "god". In fact, whether XL activated the human face disease or whether he managed to saved Xianle is of secondary importance to Qi Rong; the complaints someone could voice out loud usually aren't what he actually cares about.

Of course, Qi Rong is possessed by the idea of avenging Xianle to some degree, otherwise he wouldn't have plotted revenge with other Xianle descendants. But what Qi Rong really cared about, he only managed to speak when his soul dissipated - it's what he always wanted to say to Xie Lian and his biological father but never could: "I worship and need you so much, but you don't care about me at all". This is more the case of a son who craves the father's love and complains about it. The relationship between Qi Rong and Gu Zi is comparable to the relationship between Jun Wu and Xie Lian. At least Gu Zi received some paternal love and won't grow up to be like Qi Rong, which is nice.

(For anyone interested in reading the original Chinese, here's the link: https://www.zhihu.com/question/372905885/answer/1735047946?utm_psn=1754070720630493184&fbclid=IwAR0eSI0gya5ERovl1C1Fphv2ZjnXGuKUalA378VWcZjoCj4NiUD7Pw6BDS0)

#qi rong #xie lian #tgcf #tgcf meta

189 notes · View notes

kingofbodyrolls · 5 months

Text

Learn to Love Again (m) | myg

Summary: People always leave. They become beautiful stars shining bright in the night sky. When life hands you lemons, you’ve been told to make lemonade, but that is hard when your soul and heart is breaking apart. When you rescue a tiny cat and meet a handsome stranger in the cafe, you finally feel yourself healing – but when they too leave, how are you going to learn to love again?

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, mainly called pet names so no ‘Y/N’).

AU + genres: Hybrid!au (shapeshifter!yoongi), strangers to lovers, slice of life, heavy angst, a lot of sadness and grief (I’m sorry!), dark vibes, smut and fluff and some humor sprinkled in there too.

Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.

Word count: 19,4K

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings (general) + triggers: Heavy angst, extreme heavy sadness and grief, death of minor characters, mention of previous character death (parents and siblings), mentions of su*cide, mention of m*rder, su*cidal thoughts. Mention of past car accident. Mention of past domestic abuse. Mirrors 👀👀

Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please stay safe!), choking, oral (female receiving), nipple and breasts play, one-time use of a degrading word (otherwise petname), hair pulling – I guess it’s pretty vanilla with a slight sprinkle of spice 🤭

Author’s note (1): I know it sounds hella sad (and it is), but it is also very sweet and heartwarming too 💜 I wanted to venture into the darker stuff again, and embrace all the feelings and sadness that I felt a few weeks ago (I’m fine, well I’m getting through it at least).

If you are triggered by any of the warnings, I suggest that you skip this. It’s not that explicit though, but the heavy subjects are still there and they feature in it a lot.

Also, the quote “people always leave” features a lot in this and I only now realize why I find it so familiar – it’s a famous quote from Peyton Sawyer from One Tree Hill.

Author's note (2): It’s only partly edited, so I’m so sorry about any mistakes or weird wordings (English is also not my mother language). When I read it again, I felt sad and like the whole thing is crap (why do I also feel like this adgadfjkhs), BUT, I still like it, it’s a piece of my heart in there… I can’t just let it sit in my docs to collect dust. So – I’ll just post it early and never look at the thing again (expect for the cover, because damn I’m so happy with how that turned out 🥹).

Taglist: @keshiadeija @viankiss @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad If you prefer to read on AO3 you can also find it there 🙂

The heavens are weeping again, unleashing a torrential downpour that drums heavy on the windows. Just like the heavy beating of your heart and the tears that just won’t stop falling down your cheeks.

For days now, the world has languished in this disquiet, a foreboding atmosphere that has draped itself over every moment, casting a shadow even before the haunting ring of the call that echoed through the silence.

A searing, heart-wrenching call that etched itself into the fabric of your existence, standing out as one of the most agonizing moments life has ever dared to deliver.

Caught off guard by the unexpected twist of fate, it blindsided you, sending shockwaves through your core and leaving you utterly rattled, as if the very ground beneath your feet had shifted without warning.

Your conviction in her well-being crumbled as swiftly as a sandcastle against the tide.

In your last encounter, she radiated joy—her infectious happiness casting a brilliant glow over her words as she spoke about her new job, her blossoming romance, and her boundless love for life.

A tear, heavy with the weight of the contrast between then and now, traces a lonely path down your cheek.

The echo of her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, and the unbridled excitement that made her hands tremble with anticipation haunted your memories.

It's a heart-wrenching juxtaposition between the happiness she projected and the sorrow now etched into the fabric of your own emotions.

She wasn't just a friend; she was your confidante, a steadfast companion through the labyrinth of years and experiences. Your best friend.

In the tapestry of your friendship, she emerged as the resplendent thread, the one who consistently outshone the rest.

Even on her darkest days, she radiated a brilliance that surpassed the ordinary, a celestial glow that left an indelible mark on your heart. To you, she wasn't just a friend; she was a luminous star, a breathtaking celestial entity whose untimely descent felt like a cosmic supernova, casting a blinding light that left everyone in its wake awestruck and forever changed.

Like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, the day she chose to end her own life blindsided everyone.

The abruptness of her decision, the finality of calling it quits, left a haunting question echoing in the hollow chambers of your soul—why?

The puzzle remains unsolved, the enigma of her despair a perplexing maze you can't navigate. Outwardly, her life seemed like a canvas painted in hues of contentment, yet the invisible struggles eluded comprehension.

Despite the deep conversations that usually wove through the tapestry of your friendship, the darkness she harbored never surfaced in her words. Her choice to shroud her pain in silence remains an unfathomable mystery, a tragic paradox that still elicits a profound sense of bewilderment.

The haunting ‘what if’ lingers, an elusive specter of regret—what if she had shared her struggles with you?

The possibility that your words could have been a lifeline is an uncharted sea of sorrow. The uncertainty, the unfulfilled potential for intervention, claws at your conscience like a relentless tempest.

In the wake of this unanswered plea for connection, tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop bearing the weight of unspoken conversations. The dampness on your collarbone, where your shirt clings uncomfortably, is a tangible reminder of the storm within.

A mere few days have crawled by since that fateful call, the kind that alters the very fabric of reality.

The echo of your friend's voice reverberates through your memory—a seismic revelation that shattered your world. As the words unfolded, you crumpled to the floor, the phone nearly slipping from your trembling grasp.

A gasp caught in your throat, a palpable surge of emotion crashing over you like a tidal wave.

In that harrowing moment, your heartbeat quickened, each thud resonating with the weight of sorrow and anger. The air itself seemed to constrict, tainted with the bitter aftertaste of an impending storm. The onslaught of emotions clawed at your chest, a tumultuous dance between sadness and anger, each one vying for dominance in the chaotic symphony of your soul.

Powerlessness wraps around you like a suffocating shroud, the absence of your brightest star leaving a void that seems insurmountable.

In this moment of staggering loss, the future unfolds as a vast expanse of uncertainty. How do you navigate a world without the radiant glow she once brought to your existence?

Yet, as the weight of grief presses down, a resilient ember flickers within. Acknowledging the inexorable march of time, you realize that her memory, like a cherished constellation, will be a guiding light in the night sky of your life.

In the tapestry of your emotions, she, alongside your parents, becomes one of the celestial beacons you look up to during moments of sorrow or when life's burdens become too overwhelming.

You step out onto the balcony, enveloped by the velvety embrace of the dark blue sky.

The resplendent moon takes center stage, surrounded by a constellation of bright companions that twinkle in the vast expanse of the night. The beauty of the cosmos is a bittersweet solace, a celestial dance that captivates your gaze.

The night sky has always held a captivating allure for you, but in the wake of the profound loss of your parents, it transcends mere beauty.

It becomes a sanctuary, a cosmic tapestry where memories linger among the stars. Each celestial beacon now carries the weight of cherished moments, transforming the night into a sacred canvas where the brilliance of your loved ones continues to shine, casting a radiant glow that lingers in the quiet moments of contemplation.

The subtle hum of your phone reverberates in your hand, a clandestine messenger that disrupts the tranquility of your thoughts, setting loose a cascade of emotions.

The screen lights up with a message from a friend, its arrival like a seismic tremor in the landscape of your contemplations, shaking loose the delicate balance you've tried so desperately to maintain.

Yuna [20.31]: Iseul’s funeral is on Saturday. We’re all going. U coming?🌹

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach like a heavy anchor – the thought of attending the funeral feels like navigating a tempest of emotions you're not sure you're prepared to weather.

The prospect of confronting tears, raw emotion, and the grieving presence of her family looms before you, casting a shadow over the already somber occasion.

Yet, duty intertwines with reluctance; you were her best friend, after all.

The expectation to pay your respects becomes an unspoken mandate, tugging at the seams of your resolve despite the storm of discomfort that brews within.

Tears have become an unwelcome torrent on your phone, transforming the smooth surface into a slippery terrain that complicates every attempt to type.

The screen blurs beneath a watery veil, mirroring the tumultuous cascade in your own eyes. Distraction clings to each droplet, making it not only challenging to navigate the phone but also to see through the emotional downpour that clouds your vision.

But against the deluge of sorrow and the weight of grief, you summon the strength for a brief reply, a fragile lifeline tossed into the turbulent sea of emotions.

You [20.46]: Yes🌹

With a heavy sigh, you gently lay your phone face-down on the nightstand, as if shielding the illuminated screen from the weight of the world you've just momentarily set aside.

How do you navigate this desolate landscape that life has become?

The void feels more palpable now, a haunting echo of emptiness that had lingered even before.

It's as if the very essence of existence has been drained away, leaving you grappling with the profound question: What is the point when the world around you continues to crumble, and people around you just keep dying?

At Iseul's funeral, you navigated the somber scene alongside your friend group, bracing for the emotional maelstrom that awaited.

The atmosphere unfolded exactly as you had anticipated — a tableau of tears, grief-stricken family members, and the embrace of mournful hugs. Conversations echoed with memories of Iseul's radiant spirit, each word a bittersweet tribute to the bright and bubbly soul that once graced your lives.

Amidst the collective sorrow, the air hung heavy with the weight of loss, weaving a tapestry of emotions that spoke to the indelible impact Iseul had left behind.

It was agonizing, bidding farewell in the harsh reality of acceptance. The harsh truth of life unveiled itself – an unrelenting cycle of departures.

Yet, amidst the crushing finality, you find solace in the enduring promise that even though everyone leaves, the stars above will forever bear witness to her presence, a cosmic constellation of memories that will continue to illuminate the canvas of your nights.

Work persists in its mundane rhythm, the monotony punctuated only by the forced smiles you offer customers as you brew their coffee or recommend delectable treats in the cafe.

For you, work has forever remained a sterile landscape, devoid of passion or purpose. The unfulfilled yearning for a meaningful career tugs at the edges of your consciousness, a persistent ache exacerbated by life's unrelenting cruelty—your unfinished degree in astrophysics stands as a testament to dreams deferred. Maybe you’ll go back to school – you don’t know.

Your thoughts are abruptly shattered by a brash intrusion, a man’s voice slicing through the ambient noise with an unwarranted familiarity. “Hi, pretty,” he drawls, snapping your attention to the present, “can I get a black coffee, a muffin, and your number, please?”

The audacious request hangs in the air, leaving a charged pause that crackles with a blend of amusement and annoyance.

You stifle a silent scoff, a careful veil to conceal the simmering irritation within, though the indignation is palpable.

This flirtatious interlude is far from novel—far from the first time someone has attempted to weave charm into the fabric of your workday. Yet, a discomforting truth lingers beneath your composed exterior: you disdain these unwarranted advances, a sentiment you've carried with you each time such encounters stain the ordinary canvas of your work.

Forcing a smile that feels more like a fragile mask, you locate a muffin, navigating the familiar routine with practiced efficiency.

As you approach the coffee machine to craft the requested brew, you gather both items and, with a subtle sigh, slide them across the counter.

Your words, delivered with a polite cadence, carry a hint of firmness as you say, “Here you go. Apologies, but my number isn't on the menu.”

Turning men down has become a skill honed through the crucible of experience, a necessity etched into the fabric of your being, especially after the wreckage of your last relationship.

It wasn't just a breakup; it was a tempest that left you bruised, not only on the surface but also in the recesses of your soul.

To declare a dread of relationships, despite the quiet longing that flickers deep within, would be an understatement—the mere thought evokes the echoes of a tumultuous past, a cautionary tale etched in both physical and emotional hues of black and blue.

Despite the man's disapproving frown, he begrudgingly parts with his payment, snatching his coffee and muffin.

As he vacates the space, you extend a tight-lipped greeting to the next customer, the forced smile a delicate masquerade concealing the intricacies of emotion churning beneath the surface.

Day after day unfolds in this relentless routine, a relentless loop where, despite the suffocating weight of depression, you muster the strength to haul yourself into work.

The struggle is an unspoken battle, fought in the silent recesses of your soul, and each morning becomes a victory against the persistent darkness that threatens to engulf your spirit.

You maintain a lifeline to your friends, weaving a narrative of your somber mood and emotional tumult, acutely aware of the significance of vocalizing your feelings rather than succumbing to the perilous grip of silent suffering.

Recent conversations with your friends have taken an unexpected turn, steering into the realm of your dating life or, more accurately, its conspicuous absence.

Their fervent advocacy for you to reenter the world of romance echoes in your ears, their well-intentioned pleas urging you to cross paths with someone great and amazing.

However, you find yourself standing at the crossroads of uncertainty, unsure if you're ready to navigate the labyrinth of love once more.

Despite your reservations, you indulge them, allowing their words to wash over you like a waterfall of unsolicited advice, all the while steadfast in your understanding that a man is not a prerequisite for happiness or the completeness of your life—you've long recognized your ability to stand firm and flourish on your own terms.

An entire season has unfurled its tapestry, and while the vast void persists within the caverns of your heart, there's a subtle transformation underway. Amidst the lingering shadows, a sliver of the sun's warm rays threads its way through, gently illuminating the emptiness.

The caress of warm weather and sunlight manages to coax a faint lift in your mood, a subtle thawing of the emotional frost.

Yet, amidst the burgeoning warmth, there's a yearning for the crispness of cold, the kind that invites the comfort of wool sweaters and socks, beckoning a desire to cocoon on the couch and lose yourself in the embrace of solitude.

After withstanding the relentless onslaught of your friends' persistent prodding into the realm of your love life, you've yielded to the chorus of their well-meaning badgering. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, you've made the bold decision to reenter the intricate dance of the dating game.

The prospect of discovering 'the one' remains shrouded in uncertainty, a delicate balance between the promise of profound connection and the potential peril of heartache from those who might not treat you right.

However, the ambiguity of the journey doesn't deter your resolve. To remain passive is to forfeit the chance at something extraordinary.

The echoes of Iseul and the silent encouragement from your departed parents reverberate, urging you to embrace life with all its intricate hues. Their unwritten wish for your happiness becomes the compass guiding your path, compelling you to take the plunge and give it your all.

You yearn for a life where the pursuit of happiness isn't punctuated by the haunting inevitability of departures and loss. You grasp the harsh truth that people leaving or departing through death is an inescapable facet of existence, a relentless current in the river of life.

Yet, the recurring tide of sorrow that washes over you each time someone departs feels burdensome, a weight that anchors your spirit. It would be a cherished reprieve if the ebb and flow of life's transitions didn't carry with it a relentless undertow that threatens to drag you down each time.

Your dating escapades have unfolded like a series of misadventures, each rendezvous more perplexing than the last.

One suitor wielded an aggressive tone that eclipsed any potential connection, while another was so absorbed in self-interest that your voice seemed but an echo in the conversation. Then there was the one who sought solace in your company to mend a broken heart, an unwitting participant in their quest for emotional repair.

With every disappointing encounter, your hopes wane like the dying embers of a once-bright flame. Yet, undeterred, you persist in the pursuit of connection, a resilient soul navigating the unpredictable seas of dating with unwavering determination.

Amidst the tumultuous sea of advice from your friends, the suggestion of a night out clubbing emerges as a potential remedy to jumpstart your dating life—a one-night stand, a shortcut to reclaiming agency over your love life.

However, the proposition fails to align with the essence of who you are. The neon-lit allure of the club scene doesn't resonate with your soul, and the idea of a fleeting encounter doesn't hold the promise you seek.

Nonetheless, you find yourself engulfed in a pulsating sea of sound, the music in the club roaring, the bass reverberating through the floor and into your bones.

The atmosphere is a maelstrom of heat and sweat, a suffocating embrace that intensifies your regret for being there.

Yuna, exuding an air of confidence, takes charge and orders a round of drinks for the group. Meanwhile, Nari's eyes scan the lively chaos of the club, a vigilant matchmaker on a mission to uncover potential matches for you.

Her finger extends with a pointed certainty toward a mysterious figure—a dark-haired man sporting a sleeveless shirt, the canvas of his arm adorned with an intricate tattoo sleeve. His dark eyes, scanning the crowded expanse of the club, carry an enigmatic intensity, hinting at a captivating allure that goes beyond the surface.

Your laughter carries a blend of amusement and skepticism as you dismissively remark, “Nah, he's giving off major fuckboy vibes.”

Amidst the cacophony of pounding music in the club, Nari practically shouts in your face, her words punctuating the beat as she insists, “Maybe that's exactly what you need!”

The intensity of her proclamation, a fervent plea for spontaneity, reverberates in the air, a challenge thrown into the whirlwind of the night's possibilities.

You shake your head, a firm yet polite rejection lingering on your lips, “No, thank you.”

Just as the tension subsides, Yuna appears with a tray of drinks, a timely distraction. Gratefully, you accept your drink, savoring the sweet and sour concoction that dances across your palate, momentarily providing respite from the charged atmosphere of the club.

The night unfolds in a rhythm of measured indulgence—a few drinks to chase a gentle buzz, steering clear of the edge of intoxication. Your gaze scans the crowd in search of potential matches, but amidst the pulsating lights and swirling music, none captures the elusive spark that ignites a genuine interest.

As the night deepens and the rhythm of the club starts to fade, you bid farewell to your friends, the weight of the evening settling in your bones.

Stepping out into the nocturnal air, you're greeted by the relentless cascade of rain, a torrential downpour that catches you off guard. Damn it, you realize, a surge of annoyance coursing through you, you didn't bring an umbrella.

Embracing a sudden burst of defiance, you make a split-second decision, a resolute ‘fuck it’ echoing in your mind.

Stepping onto the sidewalk without the shelter of an umbrella, you surrender to the unrelenting rain. In mere moments, your hair clings to your skin, and your clothes succumb to the downpour.

As you navigate the labyrinth of alleys and pass by numerous apartments, a peculiar low noise infiltrates the ambient hum of the rain. What is that sound?

It's a subtle yet persistent calling that arrests your movements, compelling you to strain your senses in an attempt to decipher its origin.

It's not just your slightly tipsy mind, is it, playing tricks on you?

The cadence of the noise feels like a desperate plea, an ethereal call for help that beckons you into a mysterious dance between reality and the unknown.

Undeterred by the absence of street lamps, you navigate a shadowy alleyway nestled between looming apartment complexes. The darkness cloaks the path ahead, but you press on, an intrepid explorer drawn to the mystery that lies beyond the veil of obscurity.

As you draw nearer, the enigmatic noise crescendos in intensity, a haunting melody that pierces the quiet of the alley.

Your steps quicken, and with each stride, the source becomes clearer. Could it be emanating from the depths of the dumpster?

A sense of déjà vu wraps around you, as if this eerie scene has been lifted from a cinematic reel. The dilemma tugs at your curiosity, tempting you to peer into the abyss of the dumpster, a choice that hangs in the balance.

Yet, before you make a decision, a glimmer of relief washes over you.

Nestled snugly beside the dumpster, a small ball of fur captivates your attention, its presence a stark contrast to the ominous shadows.

A silhouette emerges from the darkness, and as you inch closer, the mystery unfolds into a shivering, meowing figure—a black cat.

The frailness of the tiny creature tugs at your heartstrings, and you find yourself hunching down, extending a tentative invitation with soft calls, coaxing the small, ebony bundle to bridge the gap between its vulnerability and your outstretched hand.

The black cat fixes its gaze upon you, eyes mirroring a blend of uncertainty and wariness, as if it's attempting to decipher the intentions behind your outstretched hand.

The black cat stirs from its initial hesitation, uttering plaintive meows that seem to echo its distress. As it rises, the stark reality becomes evident—malnourished and shrouded in fear, it moves tentatively towards you. Each step seems to echo a history of abandonment and struggle. With aching slowness, the feline inches closer, navigating the wet ground with trepidation.

Softly, you beckon the malnourished feline closer, the words “Come here, you poor thing” carrying an invitation laced with compassion.

As the tiny creature inches nearer, its pitch-black eyes become an intense focal point, a gaze that transcends the physical realm, peering into the depths of your soul. In that poignant exchange, a silent pact forms—an unspoken promise of comfort and understanding between two beings, each seeking solace in the other's company.

As the fragile black cat draws near, an echo from your past resurfaces—the cautionary words of your mother reverberating in your mind. ‘Black cats bring omen and death,’ her voice, etched in childhood memories, had warned.

Yet, confronted with the stark vulnerability of this shivering, lost creature in the cold summer rain, you find your resolve tested.

Against the weight of your mother's superstitions, compassion prevails, and you make a conscious decision to offer refuge. You haven’t got anything else to lose, but yourself.

The cat's purrs resonate in the quiet alley, a melodic response to the tentative connection forming between you. Meows become a symphony of trust as it finally caresses your hand, a delicate dance of vulnerability.

With a newfound intimacy, it leans into your touch, climbing up your arm to find refuge in your lap. Despite your jacket's damp embrace, you pull the shivering creature closer, enfolding it tightly against your chest.

“I’ll take you home and get you some food.”

Rising from the damp alley, you cradle the tiny black cat in your arms, an intimate embrace that transcends the physicality of the moment. As you navigate the journey home, each step becomes a testament to the newfound connection—its fragile heartbeat resonating against your chest.

As you finally reach the sanctuary of your home, both you and the shivering cat are thoroughly drenched from the relentless rain.

With a twist of the key, you unlock the door to your small apartment, ushering in a breath of warmth that contrasts sharply with the damp chill outside.

In a choreography of relief, you kick off your sodden shoes, the cat nestled at your feet. Unburdened by the weight of the rain-soaked coat, you hang it on the rack, a visual symbol of the transition from the stormy world outside to the comforting refuge within the four walls of your home.

“I'll find you a towel and dry you off,” you promise to the cat, your words a tender reassurance before your feet. With a sense of urgency, you hasten to the bathroom, a quest for a towel becoming a mission to provide comfort to your newfound companion.

As you return, traces of wet footprints mark the path from the entryway to your living room, leading to the sight of the cat perched regally on your couch.

The unexpected image elicits a sense of awe within you, a silent marvel at the fortuitous encounter that has unfolded. With the fluffy towel in hand, you join the tiny creature on the couch.

With gentle strokes, you tenderly dry the cat with the fluffy towel, the rhythmic purrs and meows resonating like a melody of gratitude.

In this intimate act of care, a bond forms between you and the feline, its response a testament to the shared understanding that has quietly blossomed.

The dampness of the storm may linger outside, but within the confines of your home, a warmth permeates, forged through the simple yet profound act of offering comfort to a fragile soul.

Persistently, the cat continues its chorus of meows, its nearly obsidian eyes fixed on you with an intensity that transcends mere feline curiosity. In the silent exchange, a profound question lingers in the air—what does it want?

The gaze carries an almost pleading quality, an unspoken plea that invites you to unravel the mysteries hidden within those enigmatic eyes, and in doing so, embark on a journey of connection and understanding with this small, mysterious soul.

A revelation flickers in your mind like a sudden burst of light—food!

The realization washes over you, and a spark of understanding illuminates the unspoken hunger behind those pleading eyes. “You're starving, ain't ya?” you murmur, the words a bridge between the two of you, an acknowledgment of shared needs and the beginning of a silent commitment to provide not just shelter but sustenance to this small, hungry soul.

In a hurried dance between care and necessity, you dart into the kitchen, swinging open the fridge door to unleash a blast of cold air.

The realization that your wet clothes might lead to an impending cold nudges at you, urging a brief pause for self-care. As you contemplate changing into dry attire, the cat, now a nimble companion, weaves around your feet, a symphony of meows echoing its anticipation of the impending feast.

As your gaze sweeps across the contents of the fridge, a flurry of questions dance in your mind—what do cats like?

In a moment of culinary improvisation, you spot the remnants of yesterday's fish. A hopeful assumption takes hold—cats like fish, right?

Without a second thought, you snatch the container, crack it open, and ceremoniously place it on the floor.

The cat descends upon the fish with a voracity that borders on desperation, consuming it in a whirlwind of seconds.

You observe in silent fascination as the cat devours the fish with an almost primal fervor, each bite a testament to the depth of its hunger.

As the cat lifts its gaze, those dark, fond eyes fixate on you, a silent expression of gratitude that transcends words, forging a connection that lingers in the air like the sweet aftertaste of an unexpected bond.

You retrieve a bowl, fill it with water, and place it on the floor. The cat, having satisfied its hunger, wastes no time. It immediately dips its tongue into the water, each lap a testament to the thirst that had accompanied its hunger.

In the quiet aftermath of the cat's meal, you find yourself engaged in a one-sided conversation. While it laps up the water, you speak to it with a hint of longing, as if expecting the feline to reveal its name with a mere glance. “I don't know what your name is…” you muse aloud, your words hanging in the air like a silent plea for connection.

In the exchange, a profound yearning takes root—a desire not just to care for this creature but to unravel the mystery that shrouds it, beginning with the revelation of a name.

Hmm... A whimsical idea takes shape in your mind, and with a voice full of hope, you share your musings with the feline companion. “I don't know, maybe I'll give you one!” you exclaim, the words tinged with the excitement of a newfound connection.

Testing the waters, you propose a couple of names with a hopeful lilt in your voice. “Shadow?” you venture, eyes fixated on the cat, seeking any flicker of recognition.

Yet, met with a stoic demeanor, you playfully offer another option, “Licorice?”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, but the cat remains unfazed, engrossed in its culinary pursuits.

Embracing a sudden surge of inspiration, you think of a name that dances on the edges of whimsy and mischief. “You look like a 'Loki,' like a God of Mischief!” The words tumble out with a playful chuckle, a nod to the elusive charm that shrouds the feline.

To your surprise, the cat interrupts its feast, casting what seems like a dumbfounded expression your way.

A moment of shared acknowledgment hangs in the air before the cat resumes its meal, leaving you to wonder if, in that fleeting pause, you've glimpsed the spark of recognition in its enigmatic eyes.

An impromptu burst of enthusiasm seizes you, and with an abrupt yell, you christen the cat in a moment of whimsy. “Kitten!”

The exclamation is so sudden that it startles the cat, prompting a small leap in surprise. “That's your name. You're so small, like a little kitten,” you playfully jest, mimicking the affectionate cooing one might give to a baby.

In the imaginary realm where cats understand human whims, you half-expect a hypothetical eye-roll, as if the creature were a miniature human indulging in the theatrics of a quirky naming ceremony.

In the wake of your spontaneous naming ceremony, Kitten darts away, a streak of fur and energy leaving you in its playful wake. A fleeting attempt to follow its swift movements reveals the futility of keeping pace with this agile companion.

An earnest plea escapes your lips, “No, don't run away, Kitten!” A plea that halts not far from your bedroom, where a sudden idea takes root. “We're going to bed, and you can even sleep in my bed.” The promise hangs in the air, an invitation that sparks the cat's curiosity.

Without hesitation, Kitten races back to you, weaving through your legs and darting into the bedroom. It watches itself in the mirror in front of your bed, before it in a graceful leap, lands on the bed, transforming this impromptu offer into a shared moment of warmth and companionship.

A soft chuckle escapes you as Kitten, with a graceful twirl, transforms into a snug, fluffy black ball. It settles onto the bed, a picture of contentment and trust, the rhythmic rise and fall of its breathing echoing in the room.

In the sanctuary of your bathroom, the day's residue fades away as you delicately remove stained makeup and indulge in your nightly skincare rituals.

With a sense of quiet reverence, you return to the bedroom, mindful not to disrupt Kitten's serene repose. Nestled in bed, you prop yourself up, the rhythmic routine a prelude to the tranquility that envelops the room.

As you surrender to the embrace of sleep, the ethereal presence of the black cat becomes a silent companion in the journey between waking and dreams, a guardian of the night's secrets.

In the intimate company of Kitten, you find solace in the honesty of your own reflection. “He wasn't really for me, Kitten. I don't know why I keep going on these dates. They amount to nothing.” A sigh punctuates your admission, a subtle echo of the unspoken search for connection that seems elusive in the realm of human encounters.

As you delve into a shared meal with your newfound family member – Kitten, you stuff your face with delicious food in an attempt to keep your minds off your failing romantic life.

Kitten responds to your words with a series of gentle meows, a seemingly agreeable chorus that resonates in the room.

Over the past few days, he has transformed into an impeccable listener, absorbing the tapestry of your thoughts with silent grace.

In the quiet moments of your soliloquies, a yearning surfaces—a desire for more than a feline confidant, for words that echo back with advice and wisdom.

Yet, despite this unfulfilled wish, Kitten's silent companionship remains a source of profound comfort, his presence weaving seamlessly into the fabric of your daily life, a testament to the unexpected connections that emerge in the quiet interludes of solitude.

Consistent as the rhythm of a heartbeat, Kitten is there, a patient sentinel awaiting your return from the hustle of the day.

His presence becomes a cherished routine, an embodiment of comfort that transcends the mundanity of the everyday.

As you settle in front of the television, Kitten gracefully claims his place in your lap, his form snuggling into the contours of your warmth.

The scene unfolds like a silent ballet, a dance between two beings finding solace in the quietude of shared moments—a testament to the profound bond that has blossomed in the intimate spaces of your daily life.

On a day marked by what you'd deem a successful date, you decide to bring the guy home to your apartment.

Kitten welcomes you with joyous meows, but the moment his obsidian eyes lock onto the man, a palpable shift occurs.

The cat's once-hospitable demeanor morphs into a display of territorial assertion—he hisses, claws unsheathed, a guardian of the sacred space that has become both haven and sanctuary.

Unfazed by Kitten's display of discontent, the man follows you into the bedroom, a trail of unresolved tension lingering in the air. However, as you attempt to navigate the fragile balance between human relationships and the silent protests of your feline confidant, Kitten stalks in with palpable anger.

Kitten's claws assert their protest on the man's pants, a silent plea echoing through the room. “I'm so sorry about my cat. He's not usually like this,” you hastily apologize, attempting to navigate the tumultuous intersection of human connection and feline territoriality.

In the midst of the uneasy dance, the guy gently guides you down onto the bed, a kiss bridging the gap between words left unsaid and the uncharted landscapes of desire.

In an unforeseen twist, Kitten catapults onto the bed, launching a surprise attack on the poor man's back with unbridled ferocity.

The room erupts with a sudden commotion as the guy yells in pain, Kitten swiftly retreating to the shelter of your startled embrace.

Frustration and pain tinge the man's voice as he vehemently declares, “Fuck this. This isn't worth it! Your cat is a fucking psycho!”

The words hang in the air, a bitter testament to the unexpected turbulence that has unraveled in the wake of Kitten's feline intervention.

With an angry storm, the man storms out of your bedroom and through the front door, leaving behind a charged atmosphere and the unresolved echoes of a connection unraveling at the seams.

As the storm of emotions settles, Kitten finds solace in your lap, a contented purr resonating through the room—a feline sovereign basking in the aftermath of his territorial triumph.

Meanwhile, you remain seated, mouth agape, an image of stunned disbelief etched across your face.

You address Kitten with a scolding tone, attempting to impart a sense of reprimand into the air. “You can't do that, Kitten!” you assert, a firmness in your voice attempting to breach the language barrier between human and feline.

Amidst the aftermath, a hesitant chuckle escapes your lips, a soft attempt to diffuse the tension that lingers in the air. “Also, you're gonna leave me single forever if you do that,” you jest, the words bearing the weight of both humor and a subtle unease.

In the ambiguous space between laughter and contemplation, you grapple with the conflicting emotions stirred by Kitten's unexpected display of protectiveness—a complex blend of gratitude, amusement, and the uncharted territories of understanding the intricate dynamics of companionship with a creature whose language transcends the boundaries of words.

A solitary figure with raven-black hair occupies a corner table in the cafe, his presence shrouded in an air of quiet mystery that tugs at the edges of your memory.

Intrigued, you've stolen glances at him, an unspoken connection sparking curiosity within you.

The man, seemingly lost in a world of words and sketches within the pages of his journal, emanates a strange familiarity that dances on the fringes of your consciousness.

As he sips on his coffee, a poignant picture of solitude and anticipation, you can't help but wonder about the untold story woven into the fabric of his contemplative gaze. Perhaps he's a poet awaiting inspiration, or maybe, like you, he's caught in the delicate dance of anticipation, waiting for someone who may never arrive.

His long, pitch-black hair cascades in soft curls, framing a face adorned with dark, expressive eyes. The fair and creamy complexion of his skin, paired with lips tinged with the aftermath of fervent bites, adds an air of mystery to his features. His hands, adorned with prominent veins, move with purpose across the pages of his journal, translating the thoughts within his mind into tangible strokes. Clad in a black leather biker jacket and ripped jeans, he emanates a ‘bad boy’ allure that might not align with your usual preferences, yet there's an undeniable handsomeness that transcends the surface. As you observe, the truth unfolds—looks can be deceiving, you know.

As the hands of the clock inch towards the conclusion of your shift, you notice the enigmatic man with the pitch-black hair has vanished, leaving only the echo of his presence lingering in the now vacant corner.

The air is charged with the unspoken allure of an encounter that slipped through the fingers of time.

Packing up your belongings, you carry the weight of curiosity with you as you embark on the journey home, where the enigmatic enigma of Kitten awaits.

Kitten, sensing your return, greets you with a symphony of affectionate meows. Your hand instinctively reaches out, weaving a tapestry of gentle pats and strokes, an unspoken language shared between human and feline. With a contented sigh escaping your lips, you murmur, “Happy to be home.”

In the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, you find yourself recounting the day's enigmatic encounter to Kitten, the words lingering in the air like a shared secret between kindred spirits. “I saw the loneliest guy today, Kitten. It felt like he was waiting for someone, but destiny stood him up.”

As the words escape your lips, Kitten's attentive gaze reflects an unspoken understanding, a silent pact shared between you and your feline confidant.

Your fingers delicately dance behind Kitten's ears, a gesture that elicits a symphony of contented purrs, resonating within the confines of your quiet haven.

The next day unfolds like a familiar scene, the cafe's atmosphere steeped in the aroma of coffee and the rustle of pages turning.

Once again, the mysterious black-haired man graces the corner with his presence, accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee and the enigmatic dance of his pen across the pages of his journal.

Your curiosity, a flame flickering in the recesses of your thoughts, draws you to the edge of decision — to approach and unravel the mysteries that cloak him. Yet, an invisible barrier holds you back, a silent pact with yourself not to disturb the solitary poet whose verses remain unread.

The elusive man, shrouded in the mystery of unread words, remains a realm unexplored, as each coffee order becomes a bridge guarded by your coworker.

As the day unfolds, the mysterious man persists in his corner, a captivating enigma that draws your attention like a moth to a flame.

The rhythmic ballet of your daily routine continues, an intricate dance of serving customers while stealing glances in his direction.

In the quiet recesses of your mind, a burning question simmers – who could possibly stand up this captivating soul, adorned with the allure of dark hair and an air of mystery that commands the room?

After days of observing the silent saga of the man and his solitude, a week of unbroken routine, your empathy swells like a rising tide.

A magnetic force compels you to bridge the distance, and against the backdrop of the cafe's ambient hum, your feet, as if guided by an invisible hand, carry you to the table where he patiently awaits an absent companion.

With a mix of curiosity and compassion, you settle into the chair opposite him, breaking the invisible barrier that held you apart.

As your presence disrupts the solitude he had grown accustomed to, his intense gaze, reminiscent of a predatory feline, lifts from the pages of his journal to meet your own. The sharpness in his eyes feels like a calculated assessment, causing a subtle tremor to course through you. You gulp.

“Hi,” you start, the uncertainty palpable in your voice. Attempting to mask your nervousness, your fingers run through your hair, a feeble defense against the anxious tide.

“I’ve noticed you here alone for the past few days, and I just—” Your words stumble, caught in the rush, but before you can continue, he interjects with a voice sharp as a blade, his eyes piercing through you like he can unravel your deepest secrets.

“Are you stalking me?” The question hangs in the air, and his gaze feels like an X-ray, laying bare your darkest thoughts. Your body seizes, frozen in the penetrating gaze that seems to pry into the very recesses of your soul.

Why does his voice carry a hint of familiarity, resonating through the air like an echo from another time?

His very presence, too, feels like a distant memory, even though you're certain you hadn't laid eyes on him before he entered the cafe a week ago.

A subtle smirk plays on his lips, a realization dawning on you that he's asked a question. As you attempt to gather your thoughts, you find yourself choking on air, grappling to string together a coherent response.

“I'm kidding. I know you work here,” he chuckles, and you release a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Your shoulders ease, and in an instant, you respond with a soft smile, a subtle connection forming in that shared moment of relief.

“Are you waiting for someone?” you inquire, and a smile graces his face, revealing gleaming white teeth and pink gums. He looks cute. Dangerously so.

“Nah. She just arrived.” Your eyes light up. Finally, his date has shown up! You start to rise from your chair, eager to make space for his companion. He looks up at you, a curious expression on his face, and asks, “What are you doing?”

“Making room for your date?” you quip, utterly dumbfounded.

“Date?” he asks with a raised brow. You nod, adding, “The one you’ve been waiting for.”

“But I’m already looking at her.” Your mouth hangs wide open; did you just hear him right? Is this a pickup line? And why on earth is it working?

You chuckle nervously, the sound a stark contrast to his calm and cool demeanor.

You ease back into your chair, and the conversation flows so naturally that you feel like you've known him for years.

Upon returning home, you excitedly share the details of your day with Kitten, recounting the encounter with the handsome man with his curly hair and piercing eyes. While you stroke Kitten and he purrs contentedly, you express your perplexity about the strange sense of familiarity the man emanated, despite being certain you've never met him before.

Kitten twirls and purrs in your lap, savoring the gentle strokes as you recline on your couch.

“I can't help but wonder if he'll be there again tomorrow,” you muse, your voice a soft melody to the room, accompanied by Kitten's content purrs.

He returned to the cafe the next day, and the next and the next turned into weeks.

He dedicates every moment to his secluded corner, and during your breaks you find solace in the cadence of your conversations. His name, Yoongi, resonates with the soulful poems that he breathes life into with his well-worn guitar. You’ve never heard him play or sing, but you look forward to the day you might.

His question pierces through the hum of the café, abruptly pulling you from your reverie as you delicately nibble on your muffin. “Are you heading home for the summer break?” he inquires, the unexpected interruption leaving a sweet and curious taste lingering on your lips.

As his question hangs in the air, you lock eyes with him, realizing he might not grasp the gravity of his inquiry.

There's a momentary sag in your shoulders, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lies beneath. Gathering the strength to respond, you share a piece of your past, “No. My parents died when I was young.”

Regret casts a shadow over his striking features in an instant, and you witness a profound apology escaping from his lips.

“I'm holding up okay. It's a tale from a while back. A car accident took my parents, leaving just my little sister and me as survivors,” you share, a poignant sadness threading through your words, your eyes misting with the memories.

He tenderly offers words of comfort, a soothing balm for your weary soul, and you allow him to lift the heaviness that clings to your spirit.

You beam at him, grateful for the warmth that radiates from his kind soul, a presence you've grown to cherish over the past few months. “And you, any exciting plans for the summer?”

“I might have to go home to my parents for a bit, but I’m not sure yet,” he shares, absentmindedly running his fingers through his soft black locks, a gesture that makes you yearn for the touch of your own hand in that sea of darkness.

“I'm telling you, bitch!” Nari slaps Yuna's thigh, a bit too enthusiastically, causing her to flinch in pain, as Nari adds with a sly grin, “She's head over heels in loooove.”

You roll your eyes at both of them, their playful banter fading into background noise as you savor the drink that Yuna ordered for you.

You've navigated downtown, finding refuge in a cozy establishment where the ambient tunes, board games, and drinks create the perfect backdrop for reconnecting with your friends.

“I swear, I'm not head over heels or anything,” you insist, batting away their teasing with a playful smirk, all the while sipping on the drink that Yuna ordered for you.

“He’s just nice,” you add with a soft smile.

“You sure do talk about him a lot,” Yuna adds in a chuckle as she rubs her thigh.

“Well, he's an interesting person, and the conversations just flow,” you reply with a grin, downplaying the significance, but your friends exchange knowing glances that hint at their suspicions.

Nari takes a sip of her drink, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Speaking of crushes, your little companion, what's his name again? Kitten?”

You passionately defend Kitten, your eyes sparkling with affection. “Don't bring Kitten into this! I adore him,” you gush, wearing your love for the little furball as a badge of honor.

Nari shares her romantic wisdom, her words dripping with affection. “Cats are fine companions, but you should find a man who can bring you warmth and happiness,” she says, her eyes practically turning into hearts if this were a cartoon. You can't help but chuckle at her earnest advice.

Yuna playfully nudges your shoulder and suggests, “You should totally ask out this Yoongi guy. I mean, come on, you practically light up every time you talk about him.”

You pause, a moment of uncertainty hanging in the air. “Maybe,” you finally reply, your words carrying the weight of contemplation.

Nari's enthusiasm rings in your ears, a bit too loud in the cozy ambiance. “You don't have anything to lose, only more to gain!” she almost shouts, her excitement reaching its peak. Her words, fueled by a touch of intoxication, linger in the air, leaving you to ponder as you consider whether it's time to call it a night.

“Okay. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

As you step into your apartment, Kitten greets you with an extra dose of affection, weaving himself between your legs and trailing you with heightened attention. Tonight, he appears more attuned to your every move, purring and twirling around your legs with an endearing neediness. Settling down, you can't resist his charms and find yourself seated, offering gentle strokes to his fur-covered frame.

As you wrap up your nightly routine and slip into your comfortable pajamas, you turn to Kitten with a question that has become a familiar part of your routine.

“I'm heading to bed, Kitten. You joining?” Kitten promptly leaps onto the bed, taking his customary place by your side.

However, tonight, there's a lingering sense of affection in his actions. He showers you with gentle licks, a gesture that brings a smile to your face. As sleep gradually claims you, your dreams are adorned with vivid images of obsidian eyes and a dark, star-studded sky.

As you awaken from a restful sleep, the absence of Kitten by your side strikes you like a sudden jolt.

Your initial response is to sit up, calling out for him, yet there's only silence in return.

The quietness, once comforting, now carries an eerie weight as you realize the profound impact Kitten has had on your daily life.

The room feels emptier, and a sense of unease settles in, disrupting the peace you've grown accustomed to.

A wave of melancholy washes over you, creating a heavy ache in your chest as you scan the familiar corners of your apartment, desperately searching for any sign of Kitten.

The unanswered questions pile up in your mind, a torrent of worries threatening to drown you. Did he, too, decide to leave, slipping away like others from your life?

The uncertainty gnaws at you, pushing you to venture into the quiet streets, hoping against hope to uncover the fate of your feline companion. Each step is a mix of trepidation and determination, a journey into the unknown to retrieve the missing piece of your daily existence.

A sense of desperation tightens its grip as you scour every nook and cranny, but Kitten remains elusive, leaving you with the bitter taste of vanishing hope.

The echoes of your unanswered calls hang in the air, blending with the growing unease that clings to you like a shadow. The once familiar spaces now feel like a maze, and you can't shake the sinking feeling that your luck is slipping away, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. The haunting question persists: where could he be, and what could have taken him from your side?

With a mixture of determination and trepidation, your feet instinctively carry you back to the cafe.

The familiar chime announces your arrival, drawing the attention of your coworker, who casts a puzzled look your way. The early hour has caught them off guard, their raised eyebrow mirroring the questions that dance in your own mind.

As you scan the cozy confines of the cafe, a subtle panic begins to creep through your veins. The absence of Yoongi creates an uneasy knot in your stomach, but you reassure yourself, clinging to the hope that he might stroll in later, as he often does.

The hours drag on, each passing moment heightening the anticipation. As the door chimes with every newcomer, a flicker of hope dances in your chest, only to be extinguished when it's not Yoongi.

The day becomes a symphony of disappointment, and the subtle hope you clung to begins to dissipate, slipping through your fingers like elusive grains of sand. The cafe, once a haven of warmth and comfort, now feels eerily empty without the presence of his familiar silhouette.

As your shift draws to a close, a heavy sadness settles over you like a thick fog. The absence of Yoongi, who always brought a touch of warmth to the cafe, leaves an emptiness that echoes through the familiar surroundings. The unanswered questions linger in your mind, and a nagging worry creeps in — what could have kept him away?

The air is charged with uncertainty, and you can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him.

A sudden realization hits you like a wave, as you recall Yoongi mentioning the possibility of traveling to his parents for the summer break.

The initial sting of disappointment transforms into a pang of concern. Questions swirl in your mind like a tempest – did he leave without saying goodbye? Why didn't he share his plans with you?

The uncertainty gnaws at your thoughts, and you grapple with the unknown, desperately seeking solace in the memories of your time together.

A disquieting sensation twists in your stomach, an ominous premonition casting a shadow over your thoughts. The unease tightens its grip, leaving you with an unsettling sense that something may have befallen Yoongi.

Your mind races through various scenarios, each more distressing than the last, as you grapple with the haunting uncertainty that looms over his absence.

Regret echoes through your thoughts like a haunting refrain. The absence of contact details with Yoongi leaves you grappling with the repercussions of a missed opportunity, a seemingly insignificant detail now carrying the weight of your uncertainty.

A sense of loss and yearning wraps around you, intensifying the void created by the absence of a farewell. The realization dawns that in the midst of budding connection, you failed to secure a bridge to traverse the distance that now separates you.

Each step on the journey home feels like a weighted march, the heaviness of unspoken goodbyes sinking into your bones.

Sorrow, like a relentless tide, floods your heart, consuming it with an ache that echoes through each footfall. Familiar pangs of longing claw at your chest, constricting breaths into fleeting gasps.

It's as if the very air you breathe carries the weight of an unfinished story, leaving you to navigate the foggy terrain of uncertainty, the poignant residue of an incomplete connection lingering in the spaces between each step.

A tempest of thoughts unleashes in your mind, a whirlwind of self-doubt and abandonment. The notion that he, too, might have slipped away like others before him wraps around your heart, squeezing it in an unforgiving grip. The ache is palpable, resonating through every fiber of your being. It's an anguish that cuts deep, a symphony of hurt orchestrated by the haunting possibility that echoes in the chambers of your wounded heart.

In the intricate tapestry of your time knowing him, he wasn't just a passing figure; he had etched himself into the mosaic of your life, becoming a fragment that held the essence of friendship.

You step into the sanctuary of your apartment, liberating your feet from the constraints of shoes, and collapse onto the couch, surrendering to its plush contours that cradle you in a cocoon of solace.

In the midst of trying to regain control of your racing breaths, a subtle vibration resonates from your pocket, drawing your attention like a lifeline. Retrieving your phone, you cast an intrigued glance at the illuminated screen, revealing an incoming call from Yuna.

With bated breath, you answer the call, the familiar cadence of Yuna's voice instantly arresting your senses.

An unexpected wave of emotions surges through you, freezing you in the moment as her words weave a narrative you weren't prepared for.

The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air, a heartbreaking tremor in her voice as she struggles to regain composure.

“Babe,” she utters, the tearful plea slicing through the silence like a dagger.

You can feel the gravity of the situation intensify as she reveals, “It's Nari,” the name echoing with a sense of foreboding that pierces through the air, leaving you breathless.

Dread hangs thick in the air as you muster the courage to ask, your voice trembling with fear and concern. “What about Nari?”

The words escape your lips, each syllable a hesitant step into the unknown, and as you sit up on your couch, a sense of urgency grips you, rendering you more alert than ever before.

The weight of Yuna's words crashes over you like an unrelenting wave, drowning your senses.

“She's gone,” Yuna sobs, her cries echoing in your ears.

A sudden chill grips your entire body, and the world around you blurs as your vision turns white.

Tears well up, threatening to spill over, and an indescribable ache settles in the core of your being. It feels as if the ground beneath you has shifted, leaving you suspended in a surreal and devastating moment.

Your voice quivers as you manage to break through the numbness, the question escaping your lips like a fragile whisper.

“How?” you repeat, the word catching in the tightness of your throat. Tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of an ocean, a torrential release of the overwhelming emotions within you.

Your friend's voice wavers with sorrow as she delivers the painful revelation. “Apparently, she was sick and didn’t tell anybody…”

Each word, heavy with the burden of the unspoken, echoes in the emptiness of your apartment.

The truth, a bitter pill to swallow, lingers in the air, and you find it hard to comprehend the reality of the situation.

The walls of your sanctuary, once comforting, now press in on you, transforming your home into a claustrophobic cage of grief. The world outside seems to blur, and all that remains is the weight of disbelief settling on your shoulders.

The longing to share your grief with Yoongi intensifies, yet the barrier of not having his contact details becomes a painful obstacle. Your emotions, already tumultuous, now surge like a tempest within.

Frustration and sorrow intermingle, a chaotic dance that you try to contain.

As the weight of the news presses down on you, your nails unconsciously dig into your skin, seeking an outlet for the overwhelming emotions that threaten to consume you. The physical pain becomes a tangible manifestation of the emotional turmoil churning within.

The abruptness of Nari's illness and passing hits you like an unforeseen storm, leaving you grappling with disbelief.

Memories of her last moments flash vividly, and you question the cruel twist of fate that snatched away someone seemingly healthy. The sounds of inconsolable sobbing echo in your ears, and only then do you realize that the mournful cries tearing through the air belong to you.

“Are you alright?” Yuna asks you in sobs.

The weight of grief presses down on you, suffocating and relentless.

As the tears stream down your face, each one carries a piece of the pain that now resides within you.

“No,” you whisper, the word a feeble attempt to encapsulate the magnitude of your despair.

Your body curls inwards, seeking solace in the fetal position, as if you could fold away the anguish.

The phone lies beside you, a lifeline to Yuna's distant sobs, but it offers little comfort compared to the absent warmth of Kitten, whose presence could once bring solace to even the darkest moments.

The weight of Yuna's words hangs heavy in the air, a shroud of truth that you're forced to confront. “Babe, she had cancer and didn't want us to know… She wanted to live a happy life until the end,”

Yuna sobs again, and though her intent is to offer solace, the revelation feels like a cascade of heavy stones on your already burdened heart. The bitter sweetness of her desire for a joyful life juxtaposed with the pain of her silent struggle adds another layer to the grief, leaving you to grapple with the complexities of Nari's hidden battles.

“Yuna…,” you cry, the anguish in your voice echoing the profound pain that seems to squeeze the very life out of your heart.

“Why does everyone leave?”

The question hangs in the air, more rhetorical than expectant, as if you're not seeking an answer from Yuna but grappling with the cruel patterns of departure that life has woven into the fabric of your existence.

Each departure, like a thread pulled from the tapestry of your world, leaves an unraveled piece that never quite knits itself back together.

“I–, I don’t know,” she stammers through her tears, the weight of the unknown echoing in her voice, mirroring the uncertainty that now shrouds both of your lives.

“Promise we’ll be there for each other,” you declare, the weight of the words hanging in the air. It's a poignant plea, an acknowledgment of life's unpredictable twists. You understand that you can't ask for an eternity, but in this moment, you're determined to hold onto each other as tightly as time allows.

“Count on it,” she vows, her response flowing effortlessly, a testament to the unspoken bond between you two.

Despite the tightening in your throat, a glimmer of happiness sparks within you at the assurance she just gave.

Why must life be so fucking cruel, robbing you of everyone you hold dear?

An overwhelming urge to reconnect with your sister washes over you, a deep yearning fueled by the ache of prolonged silence between you.

“I want to call my sister,” you manage to say through your sobs, a desperate plea lacing your words. “Will you be alright, Yuna?” you ask, your concern breaking through the waves of grief that surround you both.

“Yeah. I mean, I'm fucking sad, but go ahead and call her. Can I come to your place tomorrow?” Yuna's voice carries a subtle plea, a shared understanding that neither of you wants to be alone in the midst of sorrow.

“Yeah, I'd love that,” you respond, your voice carrying the weight of grief and the faint glimmer of gratitude for the companionship that awaits tomorrow. As you attempt to dry your tears with a throw blanket on the couch, the room feels emptier than ever, and the ache in your heart persists.

“See you tomorrow,” she says before the call ends.

The hollowness in the room deepens, and you draw in a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on your phone. The background image captures a moment frozen in time, featuring you, Nari, and Yuna.

God, the ache of missing her intensifies, and you can't shake the heaviness in your chest.

You tighten your grip on the phone, each tear that escapes your eyes a silent testament to the pain in your heart. Determination wells up as you locate your sister's number, fingers tracing the familiar digits, ready to bridge the gap that time and distance have carved between you.

The rhythmic ringing echoes through the emptiness of your apartment, each tone a reminder of the solitude that now envelops you.

Anxiety gnaws at the edges of your thoughts as you anticipate the warmth of your sister's voice, a comfort you desperately need. Yet, the unanswered calls amplify the distance that separates you. With a heavy heart, you decide against leaving a message, the weight of unspoken words settling as you slump back onto the couch.

The sudden vibration of your phone startles you, and as you glance at the screen, the sight of your sister's name sparks a mixture of relief and anticipation. With a soft sniffle, you muster the strength to answer, “Hey, sis,” your voice laced with a blend of vulnerability and longing, reaching out across the digital expanse to bridge the emotional gap that separates you.

A chill courses through your body, rendering you motionless, as a deep, resonant voice resonates through the phone, catching you off guard.

“Hey,” his voice echoes through the phone, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your trembling hand clutches the device, and you find yourself holding your breath, caught in the sudden intensity of the moment.

“I'm Detective Kim,” he introduces himself, his voice echoing through the line. It carries a calm demeanor, yet beneath its surface, you detect a subtle undertone of sadness, adding a mysterious depth to his words.

This can't be good, you murmur to yourself, the words barely escaping your lips as a chill courses through your veins, turning your blood to ice once again.

“Are you Jiho's sister?” The detective's voice remains steady and calm, but beneath the surface, you sense an undercurrent of gravity and anticipation.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice catching in a sob as you struggle to contain your tears. The ominous feeling intensifies, and you can't shake the sinking realization that a detective is the one answering your sister's phone.

The air becomes heavy with uncertainty and fear.

“I'm deeply sorry to be the bearer of this news,” he begins with a sympathetic tone.

You inhale sharply, bracing yourself for the impact of the words that follow.

“Your sister has passed away.”

The world seems to shatter around you as the weight of his message settles in, leaving you breathless and heartbroken.

In that devastating moment, it feels as if the very foundation of your existence crumbles.

Your body and soul plummet through a void, each passing second an agonizing countdown to the inevitable impact that will shatter you into a million irreparable pieces.

The weight of grief bears down on you, and you're suspended in a free fall of despair.

You become acutely aware of your breath, or the lack thereof, as if the air itself has turned into a suffocating force, triggering a torrent of violent inhalations, each one a desperate attempt to grasp onto a reality that has just slipped through your fingers.

A heavy silence envelops the room as the detective imparts the devastating truth, each word landing with the weight of a sledgehammer on your fragile emotions. “She was killed,” he utters, the somber notes in his tone resonating like a funeral dirge, casting a pall over the already dim reality of your world.

A suffocating wave of panic crashes over you, rendering your extremities numb and your breath caught in the grip of invisible hands.

The room seems to close in as the detective's voice on the phone becomes a distant echo, his words lost in the disorienting whirlwind of your own mental tempest. It's a struggle to comprehend the standard condolences and procedures he details, as if reality itself is slipping through your trembling fingers.

Fucking hell. Is this hell?

In the wake of your parents' departure, you believed you had tasted the bitterest sorrow, yet today eclipses that agony without a shadow of a doubt.

You cast your phone aside on the couch, retreating to your bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. The anguish within erupts into violent sobs, an unrelenting torrent of tears flooding from your eyes, your entire frame convulsing with the weight of your grief.

You bury your face into the softness of the pillow, muffling the guttural scream that tears from your lungs.

The sound, a primal release of anguish, reverberates within the confines of your room. Screw the neighbors; right now, the universe needs to bear witness to the rawness of your pain.

What the fuck is up with this world? Everyone around you dies! Everyone leaves!

You can’t take it anymore.

As you surrender to the torrents of grief, you hope that tears might offer solace, a fleeting relief that could pave the way for much-needed sleep. Yet, despite your desperate attempts, the embrace of slumber eludes you, leaving you trapped in the clutches of your sorrow-soaked thoughts.

In an impulsive surge, you opt for a nocturnal stroll. Snatching your jacket, you step into the silent night, the residue of dried tears blending seamlessly with the ones that refuse to cease.

The moon above, a silent witness to the turmoil within, as your footsteps echo the rhythm of a heart weighed down by grief.

As you traverse the familiar streets of town, a magnetic pull guiding you to a cherished park, your sanctuary. Swiftly, you arrive and gingerly settle your weary frame onto a weathered bench, the cool night air offering a gentle caress to your battered soul.

As your gaze ascends to the enchanting tapestry of the night, a celestial dance of stars unfolds above. Tonight, the cosmic expanse seems to cradle the spirits of your sister and Nari, their luminous presence illuminating the vast darkness, a celestial reunion among the constellations.

As your tears persist, you fix your eyes upon the star-lit canvas above. Each gleaming star appears like a radiant jewel, casting an ethereal glow across the night. The beauty is undeniable, yet a poignant sadness lingers in your heart.

Compelled by an unspoken yearning, you embark on the solemn task of counting the stars, each one a celestial tribute to the cherished souls who now adorn the heavens.

The question echoes in your mind: Why?

Why do they blaze with such brilliance, akin to a dying star igniting in a final, magnificent burst before consuming everything in its cosmic embrace?

Your heart pounds violently against your ribcage, each beat echoing through your chest, and the air feels elusive, slipping away as if you're caught in a suffocating grip.

Life reveals its cruel nature, leaving you to grapple with the relentless question: Why does everyone leave? Why does the world around you crumble, stealing away those you hold dear?

An emptiness envelopes you, a void so profound it swallows every ounce of light. Darkness creeps in, and an irresistible urge emerges, coaxing you to surrender to its consuming embrace.

Perhaps it's time to release your grip on reality and join the celestial dance of those who have departed before you?

As the tears flow, perhaps this haunting void within will dissipate, bringing an end to the relentless ache that permeates every fiber of your being.

As the weight of loneliness bears down on you, an insidious desire to surrender, to slip into an eternal slumber, creeps through your shattered heart. The yearning for an endless sleep, where the fractured pieces of your soul find solace, consumes you. It's as if the very essence of your being is crumbling into irreparable fragments.

The fragments of your soul lie scattered, and the daunting question echoes in the hollow chambers of your despair—can you summon the strength to mend them once more, to piece together the shattered remnants of your being?

In the depths of your despair, a resolute realization surfaces — a quiet but unwavering knowing that, despite the relentless cruelty, you're not ready to surrender to the void. Life, as brutal as it may be, still holds threads of resilience within its intricate tapestry, and you find an ember of strength glowing amidst the shadows.

You divert your gaze downward, focusing on your hands nestled in your lap, choosing the tangible reality of your own existence over the distant allure of the star-studded night.

You harbor too many aspirations to surrender to despair. Your desires paint a vivid canvas of dreams: to find solace in the embrace of a kind-hearted partner, secure a fulfilling career, and relish the simple joys that life offers. Nari's silent battle with illness inspires you to embrace life with the same gusto, celebrating its moments without the need for validation.

In the midst of your fragmented existence, amidst the shattering pain, you crave it all. Yearning for the entirety of life's tapestry, even when it feels like it's unraveling.

Despite life's cruelty, there's an undeniable allure in its intricate beauty, compelling you to seek solace and embrace the stunning contradictions that define your life.

Amidst the tear-stained path, your resolve solidifies.

The decision made, you tread back to your apartment, the silent witness to your inner turmoil. Each step echoes with the weight of your emotions, a symphony of sorrow playing in the background.

The sanctuary of your home beckons, promising the respite that only sleep, albeit restless, can bring. Sleep, like a long-lost friend, embraces you swiftly this time. Grateful for the solace it brings, you sink into its comforting arms, the reprieve from the turmoil of the day unfolding like a gentle lullaby.

The chime of the doorbell resonates through your apartment, and you're roused from the depths of sleep. Yuna, true to her word, stands on the other side, a beacon of support in your time of need.

Embraced in a tight hug, tears stream down both your faces, the shared weight of grief transforming the silent embrace into a powerful testament of mutual understanding and shared sorrow.

Seated on the couch, you engage in a heartfelt conversation about the unpredictable journey of life—its highs and lows.

As a comforting silence settles between you, you reach for the remote and, with a flicker of distraction, decide on a mindless show. Wrapped in the embrace of shared grief, you find solace in the soft glow of the television, its images casting a gentle veil over your weary souls.

That night, Yuna stays over, a comforting presence that feels like a blessing in the midst of your overwhelming grief.

In the vulnerable hours of the night, you pour your heart out to Yuna.

Tears flow freely as you share the ache of losing your sister, the void left by Kitten's absence, and the fear that Yoongi might be gone forever. In the solace of shared sorrow, you find a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows.

In the tender embrace of Yuna, you find solace. Her comforting presence is a lifeline in the storm of grief, holding you close as tears cascade. Though she's often your pillar of strength, tonight you yearn to reciprocate, to be the support she's always been for you. It's a quiet understanding, an unspoken pact between friends navigating the unpredictable currents of life.

In the quiet depths of the night, as you share your pain with Yuna, a flicker of determination ignites within you. You yearn not just for solace but to become the architect of your own joy. The realization dawns that your happiness lies in the unwritten chapters of your own journey, waiting to be explored and embraced. It's a moment of self-discovery, a commitment to forge your path to happiness, independent and resilient.

With the dawn of a new day, you decide to embark on a journey of self-discovery.

Despite the weight of sorrow lingering in your chest, you resolve to savor life in all its transient splendor—embracing its beauty, acknowledging its ugliness, and reveling in every nuanced shade in between.

Each moment becomes a canvas, and you are determined to paint it with the vibrant strokes of resilience and newfound appreciation.

With unwavering determination, you approached your boss at the café, advocating for a shift in your work hours. The goal? To rekindle the pursuit of knowledge, to step back into the world of academia and reignite the spark of astrophysics that had once fueled your passion.

As the prospect of returning to school looms on the horizon, you recognize that the journey ahead is both a challenge and an opportunity—a chance to sculpt a future that you can genuinely be proud of, with each completed course marking a triumph over self-doubt and a step closer to the constellations of your dreams.

In the wake of that poignant night where two cherished souls departed, a few months have quietly slipped away.

In a tender gesture of support, Yuna encourages you to embrace the prospect of love once more. Unlike before, hesitation has no place in your heart this time.

With newfound courage, you step into the realm of dating, a journey tinged with both vulnerability and hope, as you navigate through the tapestry of emotions woven by the threads of the past and the promises of the future.

Life, a relentless journey, doesn't yield to simplicity, yet within its intricate folds, a subtle transformation occurs. It doesn't unravel swiftly, but with each passing day, it stitches together a mosaic of improvement, a gradual emergence from the shadows into the dappled light of a better tomorrow.

With each sunrise, a symphony of healing orchestrates within you, crescendoing into a melody that resonates louder, and you find solace in the fact that every dawn gifts you a version of yourself stronger and more resilient than the preceding day.

As winter unfurls its icy embrace, you find solace in the familiar touch of your cherished wool coat, the cozy sanctuary of fluffy sweaters enveloping you like a hug from a dear friend, and the softness of warm socks cradling your every step.

With a steaming cup of tea in hand, you dive into your studies, the brisk air outside contrasting with the warmth that courses through your veins.

Embarking on the journey to reclaim an unfinished chapter of your life, returning to the hallowed halls of academia, you revel in the triumphant echoes of resilience as you strive to complete the narrative you once set in motion.

As you tread homeward, the city draped in the melancholy hues of twilight, a fleeting silhouette dashes through the alleys, a phantom of darkness.

For the briefest moment, memories of Kitten's playful escapades dance in your mind, a bittersweet symphony of nostalgia.

A sigh, heavy with the weight of longing, escapes your lips, yet you trudge forward, navigating the shadows toward the warmth of your home.

In the intimate glow of your kitchen, you conjure a culinary masterpiece, a symphony of flavors orchestrated only for yourself. The sizzle of ingredients harmonizes with the rhythmic beat of your heart, a ritual of self-love that has become your refuge.

Many a time, you've crafted these delectable creations, some shared in the company of fleeting dates whose presence, like autumn leaves, brushed briefly against the canvas of your life, but leaving no lasting imprint on your heart.

Midway through the mundane task of stowing away dishes, a subtle and mysterious hum reverberates through your abode, originating from the vicinity of your door.

The air is suddenly filled with a familiar, distant melody—a soft and rhythmic meowing that sends a jolt of excitement through you.

Abandoning your chores, you rush to the door, fingers fumbling with the lock, and there, in all his glory, stands Kitten!

In a flurry of warmth and relief, you scoop up the cold, shivering Kitten into your embrace, quickly closing the door behind him. His meows echo gratitude, and a tender lick against your cheek seals the unspoken bond that time and distance failed to break.

In a million moments, you never fathomed seeing him again. Now, as he rests in your arms, elation courses through you like a celestial symphony, leaving you over the moon with sheer happiness.

His return is a testament to a bond beyond time, a friendship that defies the measure of days. It's not about the duration of his absence; it's about the joyous truth that he returned to you, stitching the fragments of your heart back together.

You rush to your cabinet, your heart pounding with both relief and excitement. Grabbing a can of cat food, you swiftly prepare a feast for Kitten, watching as he eagerly devours the meal, his hunger echoing the void his absence left in your life.

As you stroke Kitten's fur, you can't help but ponder on the mysteries that shroud his disappearance. His body, while not emaciated, carries the silent tales of his adventures.

You yearn to unravel the chapters of his feline escapades, wishing you could converse with him, share the unspoken hardships, and assure him that he's found a forever home in the warmth of your embrace.

In a breathless whisper, you confess, “I've missed you so much,” the weight of your longing carried in the tenderness of your voice.

A solitary tear, a testament to the emotions flooding your heart, escapes and dances down your cheek, mirroring the joy of a reunion long yearned for.

As the echoes of your affectionate words linger in the air, Kitten responds with a gentle purr, a harmonious melody that intertwines seamlessly with the sound of him relishing the meal.

Amidst the soft cadence of Kitten's purring, you find solace in the familiar presence of your feline companion. With a sigh, you decide to share the intricacies of the tumultuous journey you've undertaken since his absence. “So much has unfolded, Kitten,” you whisper, your voice a gentle reassurance, “a lot of shit, but also a lot of good.”

As Kitten finishes his meal, he responds with a symphony of content purrs, gracefully padding over to where you crouch. With a playful nudge against your legs, he seems to convey a silent acknowledgment, a shared moment of warmth and connection between old friends.

In the span of a few days, the void that Kitten's absence left has been filled with the comforting rhythm of his presence. You've poured out your heart to him, recounting the events and emotions that unfolded during his time away, as if catching him up on the chapters of your life.

Kitten, with his attentive eyes and soothing purrs, seems to understand more than most, providing a silent anchor in the storm of your experiences.

As you sink into the soft embrace of your couch, a contented smile plays on your lips. With Kitten nestled beside you, you share a profound realization that has taken root in your heart: ‘I live, so I love.’ The words hang in the air, a testament to the resilience you've found in the face of life's unpredictable twists. The TV hums with background noise, but in that moment, the simple joy of companionship fills the room.

In the quiet solitude of your apartment, you confide in Kitten, the loyal companion who has witnessed both your joys and sorrows. “I don't think he's coming back,” you murmur, a tinge of sadness lingering in your voice. As if attuned to your emotions, Kitten responds with a gentle meow, a feline reassurance that transcends words.

In the rhythmic cadence of your words, a sense of vulnerability emerges. “I know, I know. I don't need a man in my life. I get that,” you confess, your voice carrying the weight of self-awareness.

The clinking of utensils against pots and pans provides a subtle percussion to your thoughts as you continue, “But Yoongi was special, you know? Like he just got me... and I just wish for him to be happy doing whatever he's doing.” The aroma of dinner fills the air, mingling with the unspoken sentiments swirling in the room.

As you delicately feed Kitten some steamed broccoli, the notion of reuniting with Yoongi lingers in the air. “If he comes back, you should meet him – I'll introduce you!” The words spill from your lips, carrying a hopeful melody.

As you reminisce about Yoongi, a fond smile plays on your lips. “He's such a wonderful person. And handsome? Oh, his hands,” you begin, tracing the air with your fingers as if you can feel the texture of his presence. Memories flood back, each detail etched in your mind like a cherished photograph. “Long fingers, veiny hands,” you murmur, the words infused with a hint of admiration that even surprises you. The love for this man reverberates in your voice, a quiet confession to the depths of your feelings.

Kitten's melodic meow serenades the room as he gracefully weaves between your feet, his tail coiling affectionately around your calves like a comforting embrace.

“If you meet him, please don’t claw his back out like you did with that other guy. Yoongi is nice.”

With a heavy heart, you confide in Kitten, the weight of your worry evident in the rhythmic tapping of the spatula against the sizzling vegetables. “It's been nearly half a year, and I can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him,” you murmur, the crackling sounds of the kitchen offering a somber backdrop to your uncertainty.

As the warmth of the meal envelops you and Kitten, you sit together, a silent companionship settling over the room. The simplicity of this moment strikes you, and a quiet realization unfolds – you love your life just as it is.

In the shared silence, you feel a sense of wholeness, a testimony to the goodness found in life's simplicity. Though your heart may still ache at times, you've come to accept that, too, as a part of the beautiful complexity that makes life what it is.

You're keenly aware that time is the remedy for healing, a gentle but persistent force that gradually eases the ache until one day, the pain will be a distant echo of what it once was.

Your weary limbs protest against the demands of a full-time class schedule and cafe shifts, revealing the hidden challenges of your daily grind. Fatigue clings to you like a shadow, and an involuntary yawn escapes.

With a wearied sigh, you address Kitten, your loyal companion in fatigue. “Ah, Kitten, today's been a battle. I'm going to bed early today,” you murmur, dragging your exhausted body to the bathroom in a nightly ritual.

Upon returning to your sanctuary, you find Kitten, already nestled in his customary spot, a comforting presence in the silent embrace of the night.

Sinking beneath the cozy duvet, you surrender to its tender embrace, the fabric cocooning you in a haven of softness. With a gentle pat, you acknowledge Kitten, “Thank you for being here,” you murmur before succumbing to the enchantment of dreamland.

As consciousness tiptoes back into your awareness, the remnants of dreams linger like elusive whispers in your mind. Gently awakening, you open your eyes to find the absence of Kitten.

Your eyes widen in astonishment, and your body tenses as you absorb the scene unfolding before you—a man, peacefully lost in the realm of dreams.

Your gaze follows the cascade of long, slightly curly, obsidian hair that drapes over his shoulders, tracing the contours of his creamy white skin. The play of morning light reveals a well-defined back, drawing your eyes down the elegant curve of his spine until they come to rest on a small, soft, plum-like ass. The realization hits you like a bolt— he's completely naked!

Why is your heart orchestrating a rapid symphony, each beat echoing in your ears like a thunderous drumroll? And what in the world is a naked stranger doing sprawled across your sheets as though he belongs there?

He slumbers in serene oblivion, emitting soft, melodic sighs that weave through the air, his chest gracefully ascending and descending in rhythmic dance with each tranquil breath.

Wait.

He seems familiar.

A gasp escapes your lips as you take a closer look, and the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning – it's Yoongi!

Shock and disbelief intertwine in your chest as you stare at his peaceful slumber.

Confusion and a hint of panic surge through you as your mind races with questions.

Why is Yoongi in your bed, and why on earth is he naked?

How did Yoongi end up here, and where is Kitten?

A myriad of questions spins through your mind, a turbulent storm of curiosity. As you ponder the mysteries, you belatedly notice Yoongi stirring, gracefully shifting to lie on his back.

Your face burns with embarrassment as the realization dawns that he's still completely naked. Heat rises to your cheeks when his half-erect dick brushes against his stomach, prompting you to instinctively shield your eyes, flustered by the unexpected sight.

You wrestle with the dilemma of whether to disturb his serene slumber or let him continue resting peacefully. The soft innocence in his sleeping form makes the decision more challenging, and you lean towards allowing him to bask in the tranquility of his dreams undisturbed.

Gently, you drape the comforting warmth of your duvet over him, a shield against the chill of the room. With nimble movements, you extract yourself from the bed, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of his slumber.

Confusion seizes your thoughts as you grapple with the surreal scenario—Yoongi peacefully nestled in your bed. You wrack your brain, questioning every sober memory, desperately trying to unearth the missing pieces that would explain his presence.

You step into the kitchen, a fleeting sense of unease prickling at your skin as you scan the room for Kitten, but he remains elusive, leaving a trace of uncertainty in the air.

A twinge of melancholy washes over you as Kitten remains elusive, but you console yourself with the hope that he might return, his absence merely a temporary void in your otherwise comforting routine.

You embark on the simple yet intimate act of preparing two steaming cups of coffee—one for yourself and one for the unexpected visitor who occupies your bed.

You seize a handful of aromatic coffee beans from a vintage jar, letting the rich fragrance envelop you as you crush them under the steady hum of your machine. With precision, you measure out the perfect amount, combining it with hot water, allowing the concoction to brew into a comforting elixir.

While the coffee brews, your mind races with bewildering thoughts about Yoongi's unexpected presence in your bed. Puzzlement clouds your senses as you contemplate every conceivable scenario.

Did he let himself in? Was there some mysterious way he could have gained access?

With a touch of anxiety, you even venture to your front door, checking for any signs of unauthorized entry, only to find it securely locked, shrouded in an eerie silence.

You're grappling with the perplexing mystery of Yoongi's appearance in your bed, as if he materialized out of thin air, defying all logic and reason, leaving you spellbound by the inexplicable magic that seems to have woven its way into your ordinary reality.

In the quiet chaos of your thoughts, Yoongi's presence offers more questions than answers, an enigmatic puzzle that seems to defy the ordinary. The absence of Kitten only adds another layer of mystery to the unfolding scene.

As the coffee machine dings, disrupting the contemplative silence, you're left grappling with the surreal conundrum before you, seeking clarity in the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

With the warmth of freshly brewed coffee in your hands, you reenter the bedroom to discover Yoongi, now alert, draped in your duvet, a captivating silhouette in the soft morning light.

Your greeting falters as you nervously stammer, “H–, Hi,” setting the two mugs of coffee on your nightstand. Yoongi's gaze, sharp and feline-like, traces your every move, creating a palpable tension in the air.

An unfamiliar nervousness grips you in his presence, an unusual sensation considering your usual ease around him. Perhaps it's the fact that he's naked, his gaze akin to a predator eyeing down its prey, intensifying the air with an unspoken tension.

“Hey,” finally breaking the silence, he greets you with a low grumble, scratching his head and letting out a lazy yawn.

His body exudes a captivating blend of softness and defined muscles, a captivating sight that—

His voice, laced with a teasing smirk, breaks the tension. “Can't stop staring at my dick, huh?”

Your throat tightens as you realize you've been caught in the act, silently observing him. Panic sets in – does he think you're a freak now? Fantastic.

You let out a nervous chuckle, deliberately shifting your gaze away from the obvious bulge in the duvet around his lap. “What are you doing here, Yoongi? And why are you naked?” you inquire, genuinely puzzled.

He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but feel a tinge of unease. “You haven't figured it out yet?” he teases, his words hanging in the air, leaving you in suspense.

You must resemble a walking question mark, because his chuckles only intensify. It's as if he finds your confusion amusing, and you're left standing there, desperate for answers in the midst of his enigmatic laughter.

In a soft tone laced with a smirk, he utters, “Kitten.”

Your gaze fixates on him, bewildered. Kitten? Is he referring to your cat?

Your jaw drops as he gracefully emerges from the bed, the duvet cascading off his frame. In his unabashed nudity, he strides toward you.

He inches closer, the proximity almost causing your lips to collide. A surge of warmth courses through you when he delicately tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” his revelation hangs in the air, the weight of it palpable, and as he locks eyes with you, searching for any flicker of discomfort, the truth settles. Before you can process it fully, he leans in, capturing your lips with an irresistible surge of passion.

His lips, soft and inviting, embark on a slow yet passionate dance, as if reuniting with a long-lost lover. Responding eagerly, you part your lips, allowing the kiss to deepen, and in that electrifying moment, your entire body succumbs to a sensation akin to melting butter.

You yield to his touch, molding your body to his as you sense the undeniable hardness of his arousal intimately pressing against your core.

Fuck.

In the midst of the heated moment, you draw back slightly to meet his gaze, the question hanging in the air, “So... you're Kitten?”

He offers no verbal response, just a low, affirmative hum, before plunging back into another intoxicating kiss.

You surrender to the sensation, feeling the firm grip of his hands on your waist as they journey upward beneath the fabric of your well-worn shirt.

His touch ignites a trail of sensations, tracing a path across your body, sending electric shivers as he lifts your shirt, gently grazing against the contours of your breasts.

Under the intensity of his gaze, your body responds, a flush of heat spreading through you, your nipples hardening in response. He emits a low, satisfied hum, as if relishing the effect he has on you.

Effortlessly, he works to level the playing field, swiftly undressing you as if in a race against time. With a purposeful tug, he eases your shorts down, a silent declaration of his desire.

Bare before him, clad only in a simple black panty adorned with delicate pink hearts, you can't shake the vulnerability coursing through you. A sudden urge to conceal yourself washes over, a reaction to the raw exposure in this intimate moment.

“Don't shy away, you're stunning,” Yoongi murmurs, his firm grip on your hips drawing you closer to his naked body. The undeniable heat of his arousal presses against your core, a tangible reminder of the desire smoldering between you.

Gratitude escapes your lips in a hushed tone, your cheeks tinged with a warm blush.

“Now, let’s get these off you, yeah?” with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he hooks his fingers inside the fabric of your panties, teasingly tugging them down. He pauses, seeking your consent, before sensually sliding them all the way down your legs.

As he slides your panties down, a sudden awareness of your arousal hits you, intensified by the cool rush of air against your heated core.

As they fall to the floor, Yoongi swiftly snatches up your panties, bringing them to his face to inhale the intoxicating essence of your arousal, his eyes darkening with desire.

Why does that look so utterly sinful, setting off a delicious rush of arousal coursing through your veins, leaving you breathless in its wake?

As the intoxicating scent of you envelops him, he murmurs, “Damn, you smell good,” his eyes dilating with an unmistakable hunger.

“I wonder if you taste as good as you smell.”

In the raw vulnerability of your shared nakedness, he guides your body back to the bed, gently laying you down, his presence a magnetic force, hovering above you.

He immerses himself in the expanse of your neck, a symphony of sensations unfolding – a delicate ballet of tender kisses, followed by the electrifying nip of his teeth grazing the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

You moan in unabashed pleasure, your hands instinctively seeking refuge on his chiseled pectorals, anchoring yourself amidst the rising waves of bliss.

Yoongi's gaze shifts to the mirror positioned strategically in front of your bed. “I've been meaning to ask,” he smirks, locking eyes with you, “why do you have a mirror in front of your bed?”

You squirm beneath him, breath catching.”'It's part of my wardrobe panels,” you admit, your voice a fragile melody.

He chuckles, a low and enticing sound, his smirk dancing on his lips. “I don't think that's why the whole panel is mirrors,” he says, sitting up slightly. His finger traces a slow, teasing path from your collarbones to your breasts, sending shivers of anticipation racing through your body.

He leans in, his breath sending a shiver down your spine, and in a deep, low voice, he murmurs into your ear, “You're a dirty one, aren't you?”

His degrading words make your breath hitch instantly, and you involuntarily clench your thighs together. As you shake your head in disagreement, he just smirks, unconvinced.

His chuckle resonates in the room as he asks, “Do you enjoy watching yourself in the mirrors?” Sitting up, he moves to the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark.

He gracefully steps out of the bed, casting a predatory gaze as he hovers over you, an aura of irresistible allure surrounding him.

With unwavering determination, he declares, “You're going to watch yourself in the mirror as I fuck your pussy with my tongue.” In a single, fluid motion, he seizes both of your thighs, pulling you to the foot of the bed, sending a thrilling jolt through your senses.

Despite the heat coursing through your entire being, a light chuckle escapes your lips. However, the mirth dissipates as you lock eyes with the intensity in Yoongi's dark gaze.

“Sit up,” his command echoes through the room, and as he gracefully lowers himself between your legs, a thrilling anticipation courses through the air.

From your elevated position, you admire the tousled chaos of his hair, a disheveled masterpiece that only enhances his captivating allure. His eyes gleam with a mischievous spark, a silent promise of the intensity that is about to unfold.

You seize his cheeks with urgency, your voice dripping with desire, a fervent plea escaping your lips, “Fuck. Yoongi, please eat me out.”

He moistens his lips with a teasing chuckle, descending eagerly towards your already soaked center.

He expertly widens the gap between your legs, creating a perfect haven for himself before delving into your pussy with fervent devotion.

With a tantalizing finesse, he starts with a subtle stroke of his tongue along your folds, gradually ascending to the apex of your clit, eliciting a fervent moan that echoes in the room.

As waves of pleasure cascade through you, your fingers instinctively entwine in his tousled locks, gently pulling as he skillfully devotes his attention to the exquisite dance of his tongue and lips on your pulsating core.

Gasping for breath, your anticipation mounts, every nerve tingling with pleasure, as Yoongi's rhythmic strokes across your intimate folds propel you toward a climax, your toes curling in ecstasy.

Pausing momentarily, he murmurs in appreciation, “You taste even better than you smell, Kitten,” his words sending a shiver down your spine.

You're on the verge of asking him about the nickname ‘Kitten,’ but his tongue explores your folds, leaving you breathless and unable to form words.

Your question dissolves in the heat of the moment, the building climax taking center stage as you lose yourself in the pursuit of pleasure.

Lost in the waves of ecstasy, you can't resist the urge to surrender, closing your eyes as Yoongi works his magic with undeniable expertise.

“No, no, no. Look at yourself in the mirror, Kitten.”

“Why do—” before you can finish your question, it fades away on your tongue as Yoongi plunges back into pleasuring your core with a renewed intensity, leaving your thoughts swallowed by the whirlwind of sensations.

As you glance at the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your own blissful expression, framed by Yoongi's tousled black hair nestled between your thighs. The sight is nothing short of breathtaking, a sight of pleasure that leaves you utterly captivated.

The provocative scene unfolding in the mirror intensifies your arousal, your breath hitching in tandem with the escalating desire pulsating through your veins.

“Yoongi, I’m—” your plea catches in your throat as Yoongi skillfully responds, his hand finding your pulsating clit, heightening the pleasure while he continues to ravish you with his insatiable tongue.

His fingers dance in rhythmic circles over your throbbing clit, coaxing the tension from your core. As the knot unravels, a wave of blissful release washes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in its wake.

Ecstasy courses through your veins, your toes curling, muscles tightening, and in that moment, an unexpected surge of pleasure hits you like a sneeze that never comes. You release a symphony of moans, surrendering to the intense climax that Yoongi skillfully orchestrates with his talented tongue.

He continues to suck, savoring every drop of your essence, an insatiable thirst in his eyes matching the fervor of the intimate dance between your bodies.

As the intensity peaks, you gently tap his shoulder, signaling him to withdraw. He complies with a sensual slurp, leaving you breathless and tingling with the echoes of pleasure.

A mischievous grin stretches across his face as he licks his lips, “You're incredible, Kitten.”

You arch an eyebrow, curiosity coloring your tone, “Why do you keep calling me ‘Kitten’? You’re Kitten.”

He erupts in laughter, a symphony that resonates through the room, his chest rising and falling with the melody of mirth, and in that moment, he's a captivating masterpiece.

“Do I really look like a Kitten to you?” he inquires, a playful glint in his eyes as he gently nudges you back onto the bed.

Your words stumble as you search for a response, “Not really,” you admit, offering him a small yet tender smile.

“But you look cute and sweet, like a good Kitten,” he murmurs, his hands exploring the curves of your breasts.

A low moan escapes your lips as he teases your nipples with a playful twist, igniting a fresh surge of desire that pools in the growing heat between your thighs.

As you ache for the feel of his throbbing length, you attempt to grab hold of him, but like a fleeting mirage, he skillfully eludes your touch, leaving you yearning for the intimate connection that inches away with each evasive movement.

“Nah. I just want to fuck you silly,” he rasps, eyes tracing every bead of sweat on your flushed skin, reveling in the primal rhythm of your hurried breaths.

“If you want to, that is?” he teases, his voice a sultry whisper, as he takes control, guiding himself between your legs with a confident hand that promises a morning full of pleasure.

As you feel the weight of his gaze, you gulp, wondering how, in that heated moment, he could question what you crave. It's undeniable – you want him, and the intensity of your desire hangs in the air between you, palpable and unspoken.

Your breath catches as you respond, the words tumbling from your lips in a heated rush, “Fuck, yes, Yoongi. I want you inside me, now,” the urgency in your voice betraying the intensity of your desire.

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he replies, “Please” with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“‘Please’ what?”

“Say ‘please’.”

You huff, incredulous at his audacity. The desire in his eyes is undeniable, and he seems to enjoy the game. Part of you rebels, tempted to be a brat just to irk him, but the need for his touch overrides any resistance. You crave his intimacy, aching for his dick despite the defiance lingering in the air.

“Fuck this,” you grumble, frustration evident in your voice. In that fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of Yoongi pulling back, as if reconsidering his stance.

“Please! Don’t leave,” you plead desperately, your sincerity laid bare. The smirk on his face deepens, as if savoring the intensity of your plea.

“Please fuck me, Yoongi.”

His satisfaction evident, he rewards you with a swift kiss before aligning himself with your eager entrance, anticipation humming in the air.

Your arousal has reached a point where there's no discomfort, just a perfect fit as he slides into you, your wetness welcoming and enveloping him seamlessly.

He hisses as he eases into your warm, tight walls, and you can feel him doing his best to restrain himself.

You release a breathy huff as he fully penetrates, his balls gently meeting the warmth of your folds.

He lets out a guttural groan as he steadies himself, withdrawing only to plunge back in with an intensity that sends shivers through your body.

In this intimate position, with him above you, every nuance of his pleasure is on full display—the way his nose scrunches in delight, his soft lips occasionally nibbling the bottom one in sheer ecstasy.

Between each thrust, he can't help but express his amazement, his voice low and husky, “Damn. You're so tight.”

You know. It’s been awhile.

As he moves within you with an increased rhythm, his hands find your breasts, skillfully massaging them in sync with his fervent thrusts, creating a symphony of pleasure that courses through your entire body.

Ecstasy courses through you, and in the midst of your fervent pleasure, you can't help but release a breathless exclamation, “Fuck, Yoongi!”

Every skillful thrust seems to find its mark, synchronized with the enticing dance of his fingers on your hardened nipples. Pleasure envelops you, clouding your thoughts in a haze of ecstasy.

Your pleasure intensifies as Yoongi skillfully pinches your nipples, eliciting a symphony of moans that harmonize with the rhythmic dance of his passionate thrusts.

Sensations ripple through you, and the desire to reciprocate Yoongi's pleasure builds within you. You yearn to give him the same ecstasy he's generously bestowed upon you.

Amidst the rhythmic cadence of Yoongi's thrusts, a bold request escapes your lips. Your gaze, laced with desire, meets his, and with a subtle plea in your eyes, you softly murmur, “Yoongi—, I want to ride you. Please.”

With a devilish grin, Yoongi withdraws from your embrace, reclining on the bed, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

His voice, laced with desire, sends shivers down your spine as he commands, “Then you're gonna watch in the mirrors as you fuck yourself on my dick,” reclining with his head angled towards the mirrors.

Mounting him, you position yourself strategically, both of you reflected in the mirror—a tantalizing image of entangled limbs, the intensity of the moment etched in your heaving, sweat-glistened bodies.

Grasping his throbbing dick, he hisses in anticipation as you deftly align your eager entrance with his cock.

With a fluid motion, you descend onto his rigid cock, your velvet walls enveloping him in a tight, intoxicating embrace.

From below, Yoongi savors the view, his gaze lingering on the contours of your face, as if committing every detail to memory.

You guide the rhythm, your hands finding stability on his sculpted chest, setting the pace as you ride him with a mix of determination and desire.

Your movements cascade, a slow dance that gradually builds momentum, each rise and fall carrying a symphony of pleasure and anticipation.

As you gaze upon your reflection, the flush of arousal paints your cheeks, your disheveled hair framing your face like an unruly halo, and your breasts dance in perfect harmony with the rhythm of your passionate movements.

The person in the mirror seems like a stranger, a sensual revelation you never knew existed within you. The mirrors, always present but never before utilized for sex, now reflect a version of yourself that’s both thrilling and new.

Heat courses through your veins, an intoxicating blend of arousal and empowerment, as you observe your own uninhibited reflection. With newfound vigor, you escalate the rhythm, riding Yoongi more vigorously. His appreciative groans and tender gaze mirror the intensity of the moment.

Unbridled desire takes over as your hands instinctively find their way to Yoongi's neck. Without a conscious thought, your fingers glide over the warmth of his skin, gently encircling his throat.

An electrifying jolt courses through you as you sense Yoongi's involuntary twitch within you, and you catch the ragged rhythm of his breath.

Panic courses through you, and you hastily retract your hands, realizing with a shock that you had unintentionally exerted pressure on Yoongi's throat. “Oh my God! I'm so sorry!” you blurt out, your apology a mix of concern and embarrassment.

“It's fine, Kitten. I like it,” he reassures you with a devilish grin, seizing your hands and guiding them back around his neck, his eyes sparking with a hint of mischief.

You shoot him a concerned glance, pausing your movements to ensure he's okay. Once he reassures you with a nod, signaling his approval, you dive back into the rhythm you had before.

With a newfound boldness, you tighten your grip around his throat, drawing out another satisfying twitch from him. His reaction sends a surge of pleasure through you as he hits that sweet spot, causing a kaleidoscope of sensations that make you see stars.

Your unrestrained moans fill the room, a symphony of desire that intertwines with the rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding. The sight of Yoongi unraveling beneath your touch fuels a primal arousal, and you revel in the raw passion that courses through every fiber of your being.

“Fuck!” you pant.

“I’m gonna come,” you confess, the words escaping on a ragged breath, as you impale yourself on his dick. You’re body trembling as you hold the moment, savoring the anticipation before the inevitable plunge into ecstasy.

With a tender touch, you withdraw your hands from his throat, leaning down to kiss him. Your lips meet his in a dance of passion, tracing a path from his mouth to the very spots your fingers had claimed on his neck moments ago.

His low, guttural groan harmonizes with the rhythm as you ascend, reclaiming your perch on him. The dance begins anew, your body moving with purpose, riding the waves of pleasure set in motion by each calculated bounce on his throbbing length.

Yoongi's hands eagerly envelop your breasts, his fingers dancing with the rhythm of your fervent movements. With each descent onto him, you feel a surge of pleasure building, the shared pursuit of ecstasy driving you both towards the brink of blissful release.

His fingers deftly find your sensitive nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The sensation is so intense that a fractured, high-pitched man escapes your lips, your back arching involuntarily in the exquisite dance of pleasure and pain.

As your walls instinctively clench around his pulsating dick, you witness the pleasure etched across his face, a delightful scrunching of his features that mirrors the ecstasy coursing through both of you.

“Yoongi, I’m com—,” you gasp, a desperate plea laced in your voice. Your words are unnecessary; the vice-like grip of your walls and the erratic cadence of your breath already convey the impending release that hangs thick in the air.

“Come all over my dick,” he smirks through a groan, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Watch yourself fall apart in the mirror.”

How can this man ignite such an intense flame within you? The knot in your stomach tightens once more, and as you surrender to it, a primal, drawn-out moan escapes your lips, echoing the depths of your desire.

With unyielding eyes, you lock onto your own reflection in the mirror as ecstasy courses through you, marking the moment you climax on his d*ck. Your rhythmic bouncing falters, but Yoongi, sensing your need, seizes your hips and propels the pace, driving you deeper into the intoxicating whirlwind of pleasure.

Your mouth hangs open, breaths rapid and erratic, akin to the aftermath of a sprint, while every inch of your body throbs with the residual heat of a fervent blaze.

“So beautiful—FUCK!” he moans, powering into you with an astonishing velocity, sending shivers down your spine.

His hold on your hips tightens, your hands finding refuge on his sculpted chest for support. Your body teeters on the edge of weightlessness and grounding, as if you'd unravel if Yoongi's firm grasp on your hips faltered.

Despite the fatigue washing over you, a surge of determination courses through your veins. Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you entwine your fingers around his neck once more. You sense the impending release in Yoongi's every movement, and you're determined to be the catalyst that propels him over the edge.

The moment your grip tightens around his throat, a powerful surge reverberates through his dick within you, sending intoxicating waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It's an electrifying sensation, making every touch between you more intense and satisfying.

With an intense squeeze, you lock eyes with Yoongi, a plea in your gaze. “Fill me up, Yoongi.”

In a primal release, he surrenders to the moment, thrusting into you with an erratic rhythm, coating your walls with the warmth of his climax.

“Ahh,” he pants, the rush of air filling his lungs as you release your grip on his neck, both of you engulfed in the aftermath of shared release.

You watch him in amazement as his fervent thrusts subside, and he eases into the embrace of your bed, a portrait of passion painted across his beautiful face.

As he gradually softens within you, you take the initiative to lift yourself off him, both of your essences clinging to your skin, a residue of your shared passion that you welcome without reservation.

As you recline beside him, a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a shared breathlessness enveloping both of you. The air in the room is charged with the echo of passion, leaving a tangible energy that binds your entangled forms together.

Breathless and sporting a satisfied grin, he turns to you, his eyes filled with a post-passion glow. “Fuck that was incredible,”' he murmurs, capturing the shared intensity of the moment in the curve of his smile.

An undeniable contentment colors your voice as you respond, “Yeah,” savoring the echoes of pleasure that linger in the air.

Suddenly, a spark of realization ignites within you, propelling you to move with swift purpose. You crawl back on top of him, a burst of energy that startles him, like a surprise in the midst of shared afterglow.

“Why did you leave me?” you inquire, a tinge of accusation laced with the bitter notes in your voice. “Without a word or a farewell. Why did you disappear without a trace?”

His eyes widen momentarily before giving way to an expression of anguish and sadness. A tug at your heart intensifies, as his face alone tells a story you fear can't be good.

He begins with a heavy admission, meeting your eyes with earnest sincerity, “My brother died.”

Your words stumble out in a rush, “Oh, God! I'm so sorry!” The unexpected revelation leaves you fumbling for the right response.

His words flow, carrying a weight of anger and grief, “It's alright. ButI felt so much anger and grief, you know?” he explains, “so much so that I couldn't shapeshift and was stuck in my cat form.”

You exhale a soft ‘aha’ at his words, and the realization washes over you— he was grappling with his own demons, just as you were.

“When I'm consumed by intense emotions, I lose control of my ability to shapeshift, and, and—” You witness a tearful welling in his eyes, prompting you to gently cup his cheeks, reassuring him that it's okay.

“I just wanted to be alone and I didn’t want to burden you…” A few tears spill from his eyes, and you tenderly catch them with your gentle fingers.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, finding solace in the curve of his neck, where his soft minty scent envelops you like a comforting embrace.

“I am so fucking sorry you had to endure that. I understand, truly. But you would never be a burden to me,” you express, gazing into his eyes with a tenderness that echoes your sincerity.

“I want to be there for you,” you declare, your own tears mirroring the empathy in your eyes.

“Ah, shit. I didn’t mean to cry. But, you know, I understand,” you say, your words accompanied by a wry smile as tears trickle down your face and onto Yoongi’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Kitten. I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

He seizes your cheeks, tugging you into a tender and unhurried kiss. Time loses its grip, and you're oblivious to the remnants of his seed mingling with your essence, creating a slippery trail between your pussy and his still-slick pelvis.

Lost in the rhythm of your kisses with Yoongi, you surrender to the moment, where every touch feels like a missing puzzle piece seamlessly falling into place.

The two cups of coffee are long forgotten.

Authors note (3): Thank you so very much if you have made it this far 😭 I know this story is a lot – I’ve been dealing with a lot of different stuff for many years, and some of it just got to be too much a few weeks ago, and this story popped into my head. It was therapeutic to write. I don’t know if people will like it or not, but in the end, that’s not what it’s about. It will just exist here.

If you struggle with any of these subjects or emotions, you’re always welcome in my inbox – I’m not a trained psychologist or anything, though! But sometimes it is better to voice your feelings, than struggling in silence. Everybody’s welcome 🫂

I hope you’re doing well. Thank you for you 💜

264 notes · View notes

triflesandparsnips · 6 months

Text

Lot of takes going around the internets about certain "deaths" in the ofmd season finale, so, uh-- guess it's time for me to try and lose some followers on tumblr dot com with

Some Thoughts on Why I Am Not Particularly Bothered or Concerned about Izzy's Apparent "Death"

Laying the groundwork first...

1. Narratively speaking, Izzy's been a dead man walking since the start of the season. Babe shot himself and got a rebirth-- but he still definitely intended to die. Every minute he was still around was borrowed time.

Did he have to die? Maybe not. I know I could've written a version of the show where he didn't. But then that would be my show-- not theirs. I can't know exactly what themes, bugbears, bête noires, catharsis, or artistic Vibes are driving that writers' room, and until the credits run on the finale of the third season, none of the rest of us can either.

2. Izzy spent the season being in a liminal state-- and there's nothing in the story saying that he can't continue doing that. Izzy spent the season having one foot in one space, one hoof in the other, and himself halfway through the door, a chimera of mirrored things right up to his "death": pirate and ship, hard and soft, old ways and new, etc etc. But "the gravy basket" is a weird little liminal space between life and death, a place that both Ed and Buttons have found (and returned from) before. We don't know where Izzy "is" right now-- he could be there.

(tbh, I wonder how much poor feeling we'd be having about all this if we'd gotten a final tag of a blue-washed Izzy staring down at a bowl of soup while helplessly saying "but this isn't gravy, what the fu--")

3. I think there is an unfortunate belief that "it's not real unless you see the body" is a universal -- or perhaps inarguable -- "fact" of storytelling. But it's not. It's just a bit of narrative shorthand that got popular, and now we're too ready to fall into the trap of believing the inverse is true too-- that if there is a body, then there must therefore have been a "real" death.

This season has spent quite a lot of narrative time and effort telling us that its story is using a different model, with different shorthands; specifically, that magic is real, that there is at least some kind of existence after death, and that the dead can be resurrected.

And that brings me to the meat of why I'm not particularly bothered or concerned about what, at this stage of the story, could still very well be just a minor setback--

4. This whole show, and particularly this season, is a fairy tale. It's a story that works with fairy tale logic and tropes, and it's in conversation with other fairy tales too, ones that the OFMD audience is likely to know well enough to spot their narrative beats in action. So "Pinocchio" gets mentioned a lot? Cool-- the audience applies what is commonly known of that story to this one ("a real boy", the mirror-opposite being a puppet with no nose, etc), and finds some Cool Shit. Then they're primed to keep looking for fairy tales, even unnamed ones, in case there's another little nugget of reward-dopamine for finding a connection.

So the fact that we saw a mermaid? Suddenly, I personally am noticing "Little Mermaid" motifs all over the place. That Ed was in a "sleep like death" -- after fucking around with a spinning wheel -- until his prince came to wake him? Well fuck, man, that's Blackbeard playing "Sleeping Beauty" for us all.

And bringing it all back to a "dead" Izzy Hands... when I add up a "dead" body surrounded by a bunch of laborers mourning the person who nominally kept their living space nice AND who was wanted dead by an authority figure for the crime of being the "better" version of what that figure wanted to be...

...well fuck, idk about the rest of you, but to me that all adds up to Izzy's story being Snow fucking White. Waiting for someone to come pull the bullet poisoned apple from his body so he can live again.

5. This is a second season. Of three. And Izzy Hands is the writer's favorite chewtoy, so there is lots of time, space, and incentive to bring him back. If there's a third season, we have a pile of ways he could be brought back over the course of hours of literal viewing time and possibly months of in-narrative time. That's ages.

And the solutions don't have to be difficult! For instance, we still have canonical hallucinations from Stede-- that's one route. Or fuck it, we could have Izzy's (very solid-looking) ghost be the embodiment of their being haunted by the Sea, that would work too.

And even barring all that-- his grave is right there with our heroes. The ship is out there hunting down his murderer. Even if you're happy he's dead... bad news, friend. He's all over the third season landscape. (uh oh, it's GNU Izzy Hands)

But those are just a few options that leave his body rotting but his character still alive. I happen to think we could all dream a little bigger, darlings. For instance:

A. You cannot tell me that these writers, on this show, with these actors, would not absolutely go all in on a zombie-esque hand thrusting out of the dirt mere hours after burial. Look me in the eyes and tell me Con O'Neill wouldn't pull off an entire digging-out scene only to end with himself panting beside the hole, looking around, hearing Ed and Stede being weird in their haunted hut, and wearily say, "Are you fucking kidding me."

B. Don't like zombies? Want to stay closer to the Snow White vibe AND introduce a love interest for him? One hyphenated word: body-snatcher. Gotta dig those bodies up fresh for the Definitely Historically Accurate anatomists of the time! But oh, says this New Guy, this corpse is-- wow, it's weird that they buried him with a rose and really amazing makeup and a truly extraordinary number of whittled whales, plus what's with that horsey leg grave marker, this guy must've been fucking fascinating, man, I wish I could've met him-- --at which point Izzy's hand shoots out and chokes the guy half to death and the lads come tumbling out of the house and ta da, mission accomplished, Izzy resurrected in 5 minutes or less with his horsey leg conveniently beside him and an entire season for himself and everyone else to Deal With It, amazing, fantastic, no notes from me.

C. Come to think of it, there is genuinely a non-zero chance that the crew just. Fucked up the burial. I mean... even though I was just arguing why we shouldn't see it as Law, we didn't actually see the body. We saw a grave. What did they bury him in? Was it a box? Was it some canvas? Did they definitely pick up the right one when it was time to bury him? Or did they maybe carefully make him an ahistorical safety coffin just in case a cat demon came to bother him and his corpse wanted to make a fuss about it, y'know, very common, could happen to anyone, and Frenchie just so happens to have Blackbeard's old collar bell right here--

6. Here's the bottom line, imo: The only thing that would keep Izzy really actually dead and completely removed from the story is a lack of narrative time and space-- and we have plenty of both. Stories are like Lego. If you've got enough time and you're willing to play with pieces from a whole lotta different sets, it's not hard to put the same elements together in different ways to get new, exciting configurations. It's why I'm actually rubbish at predicting exact details of stuff-- there are a lot of ways something could go, there are infinite doors out of problems the narrative seems to throw at us, and no two people will come up with the same thing because we're all different.

That, to me, is one of the big ways I personally enjoy and engage with stories. And it's why I genuinely can't be fussed about Izzy's death, not when we're only two-thirds through the story as a whole; observing someone setup and then try and execute a complicated narrative trick is my jam.

But my way of engaging with all this is by no means the best or only way. How we all interact with art, and what speaks to us, is extremely personal. If how this season and Izzy's death went just didn't work for you, that's okay. I'm sorry it wasn't the story you wanted it to be. That blows.

I just know I can't say yet that it didn't work for me. I won't know until I can take in the entire picture, just as I can't judge a finished Lego set by the one piece I step on midway through construction. I can see different ways Izzy's death/rebirth could absolutely work, but will the writer manage it? I dunno.

But I'm willing to wait and see if the stupid puppet can pull it off.

#will it be the content or the length that causes the unfollows?#WHO CAN SAY #but every day is Unfollowing Amnesty Day #farewell and be free #our flag means death #our flag means death s2 spoilers #our flag means death seasons 3 rampant speculation #izzy hands #engaging with stories #and curating your own experience #(but for real - I had to stop myself at just the few possibilities I gave for a resurrection)#(real talk if you ask me for more I can just-- come up with more)#(it's my party trick)#(for very certain kinds of very nerdy parties)

153 notes · View notes

wwinterwitch · 1 year

Text

questions — joel miller x fem!reader

summary: after a night at the bar, joel walks you home and you finally confess what has been on your mind since the night everything fell apart pairing: joel miller x fem!reader word count: 3.9k warnings and tags: doesn't really follow canon but sill minor spoilers for ep. 6 i guess?, angst with a good ending, alcohol consumption, reader is drunk, joel being joel, miscommunication, sharing feelings go wrong, i'm not used to write angsty fics i'm sorry if this sucks author's note: omg omg happy finale day!! i wrote this listening to question...? by taylor swift so that's what inspired this concept, also this was supposed to be a tiny little blurb idk how we got to almost 4k words but okay i guess

a reblog and/or comment on my posts really help me out as a content creator so thank you in advance if you take the time to do either!

navigation | pedro's characters masterlist

Before tonight you were fine.

You barely even thought about him in that way. You barely remember the way his skin feels against yours, or the way a simple kiss from him would leave you begging for more. It was like all those nights you two would stay up talking about whatever, his arms around you and your back pressed against his chest, never existed.

Training your heart not to long for him and your brain to keep him out of your thoughts was no easy job at first. It was almost impossible for your body not to want him close. Not being able to talk to him about whatever was on your mind and knowing he no longer will reach out to share even his most profound secrets was absolute torture. Walking next to him all day without being able to reach out for his hand or stop for a quick second just to hold him close to you was a living nightmare that you couldn't wake up from.

Because how could he be so easy to forget? Joel Miller. The first and only person you've fallen in love with. That special someone that opened up a door to a whole new world that you never realized you were dying to discover until he was standing in front of you, his extended hand being an open invitation to walk all these unfamiliar roads and witness the beauty of it all together.

It was new and scary and beautiful. You were addicted to loving him before you even realized exactly what it was. From the moment you were able to put a name to this new feeling he taught you, you vowed to be his for as long as he'll have you- but what a shame it was to realize that the ending to a seemingly long story was already written at the very back of the page.

Perhaps your love blinded you enough to believe he had fallen just as hard, only to realize he was still standing at the edge of the precipice, staring down as you fell into the darkness of the abyss. Perhaps it's the fact that death is all around that makes it impossible for anything to be born. Why would you be able to live a fairytale in the middle of a horror show? What could possibly make you so special?

At least he doesn't seem to be affected by the fact that you two drifted apart. It's not like he's the best at sharing his feelings to other people, his ever-frowning gaze always present in his face no matter the circumstance, but you were still hoping that maybe he cared enough to show you he's hurting even just a little bit.

That should be comforting, right? To know he's perfectly fine and that you never cross his mind in that way. He doesn't have the need to apologize or make it right. He doesn't regret what happened and it never plays back in his head as he curses at himself for not doing things differently. You and your...relationship? are that easy to forget.

No. It's not comforting at all. If anything, it makes everything worse.

You can still remember the night you told him you loved him. A moment in your painfully short history together that you wish you could erase. A disappointing ending to what could've been an absolute masterpiece.

Ellie was already asleep and the two of you were keeping watch. He insisted you should get some sleep but you wanted to stay with him. He wasn't a fan of showing you any type of affection since Ellie joined the two of you, so the nights are the only chance you have to be closer. It was like the moon and stars were your best of friends at that point, because they meant he could finally be yours.

The confession slipped from your lips in a quiet whisper. A simple and timid "I think I'm falling in love with you" was all you offered. It's not hard to remember the way your hands would slightly tremble, or the rapid beating of your heart. It's as unforgettable as the confidence you were feeling because despite being so nervous, you were certain that he'll say it back.

He never did. He didn't say it back that night, or the morning after, or any other morning that followed.

It was embarrassing to look back on it now that you know what happened next. You were snuggled up next to him, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders. His eyes were fixated on the fireplace that helped to make the chilling air of the night a little more tolerable.

Staring at his handsome complexion without his permission was probably one of your favorite things to do. He had confided in you a couple of times that he couldn't understand why you enjoy it so much. That he's not this breathtaking sight that deserves to be contemplated in the way you do.

Truth is, he's the most hypnotizing sight of all. You didn't care about the roughness of his features or the years visible in the corner of his eyes, hair and beard. He's gorgeous and unique and yours. You could stare at him for hours and never get tired of it.

Like many times before, he caught you staring at him. And just like those times before, he made a gesture that should tell you he disliked that habit of yours, only to be betrayed by the smirk timidly forming on his lips not so long after.

It was then, with his eyes staring back at yours, that the verbal proclamation of your love for him invaded the quietness of the night.

And that's when his smirk magically disappeared. His eyes became dark with something you couldn't quite decipher at the time, still staring back at you but not really. It was clear he wasn't there with you anymore, too lost in his own thoughts to truly acknowledge your presence anymore.

Before you could even think of saying something else, he surprised you with an almost robotic "I think you should get some sleep".

Feeling more heartbroken and confused than ever, you did exactly that. You got up and joined Ellie, cuddling up in your sleeping bag with your back facing him. It's still a mystery to you how you were able to cry yourself to sleep that night without making a sound. How you were able to control the hurricane of emotions after telling the love of your life how you feel and him not caring about it in the slightest.

And suddenly, being in love was still new and scary but it had turned into something horrible.

You had to spend every second of every day with him after that, pretending nothing ever happened. He never brought it up either, so you decided to ignore it to avoid making a fool of yourself again. His reaction was enough to let you know he never really loved you, so you ran with it and tried to continue knowing whatever you two had or could have was no more.

But it was still difficult at times. Ellie kept asking you questions regarding you and Joel even weeks after the incident. She's not stupid. She could see you two weren't exactly friends, no matter how hard Joel tried to convince her otherwise. She's also not someone who settles for made up excuses or half truths, which made her push the subject until she got a good enough answer. That's why she continued coming to you for answers, because she knew he'll never talk about it.

It was only when you explicitly confirmed you two weren't just friends before quickly telling her it was completely over that she eventually let it be. After that, she also started to pretend nothing happened.

Jackson became pretty much the light at the end of a pitch back tunnel you thought was never-ending. You were excited to meet new people and have new things to do during the day, knowing it'll help to keep you busy, forcing Joel out of your head.

It was so exciting in fact, that it helped to make it seem as if the quick "she's the one I've been traveling with" that Joel used to introduce you to his brother wasn't that terrible.

Tommy, who much to your luck was nothing like his big brother, made sure to show you around and introduce you to a few people. He got you a house so you and Ellie could settle in and helped you find a job at the local library, officially starting your new life that didn't revolve around Joel.

In time, you found your place in the commune (as you and Ellie love to call it to tease Tommy). Joel was slowly becoming just a bad chapter in a much bigger story that you started to write for yourself, and you're loving the new plot that's unfolding across the blank pages.

However, all of that progress came crashing down tonight. Tommy's birthday was being celebrated at the local bar and there was no way you would ever miss it. Not only has he become a very good friend, but you also needed the distraction.

The familiar faces, the food and drinks made you forget about Joel's presence for most of the night and you barely made the effort to acknowledge his presence. Without being able to prevent it, your eyes accidentally met for a few seconds. It was almost sickening that everything about that half-a-second-look was so much like a movie. You were laughing at something a friend had said before you finished your third drink of the night, casually scanning the room to catch Joel already looking your way.

He smiled and you barely smiled back before focusing on the conversation with your friends again as if nothing happened. The alcohol might have motivated you enough to just not care anymore. To show him you really couldn't care any less to try to be nice after he was such an asshole when you were completely vulnerable before him.

The idea of not caring seemed tempting. Thinking the alcohol was helping, you continued drinking until you forgot about pretty much everything- which didn't take that long considering your alcohol resistance wasn't that good after a long time without drinking. You don't care about Joel, or the hours passing by, or the fact that you're probably making a complete fool of yourself giggling and dancing with a few friends that are probably as drunk as you are, if not more.

All the hype from being intoxicated started to wear off after a while, becoming more and more sleepy until you were practically dragging your feet towards the exit, putting on your coat and hat to prepare for the cold night outside.

"Looks like you had a good time," you hear Tommy comment in a mocking tone, sending a sympathetic smile your way.

"I did! Thanks for inviting me. And happy birthday to you again!" you exclaim cheerfully. "I hope I didn't make a fool of myself tonight."

"Oh, you definitely did," he mocked, chuckling lightly. "But hey, those dance moves you were pulling off back there? Best birthday gift I'll ever receive."

You looked positively embarrassed after his comment, but managed to laugh it off. "I guess that's good."

"It is," he immediately reassures you. "Let's get you home now, okay?"

"Oh, you don't have to go with me. You can't leave your own birthday party. It's okay, I got it."

"I want to make sure you get home safe. It's fine."

"Tommy, please. You should stay and have fun."

"I won't have fun if I'm worrying about you all night."

"I can take her," you suddenly hear Joel's voice behind you, which immediately made you roll your eyes because you really didn't want him around. He noticed the gesture but didn't seem to care about it in the slightest, putting on his jacket. "I was heading out anyway."

Tommy couldn't have known you really didn't want to be around his older brother, completely unaware of your history with him. Perhaps if you told him, he'll insist on going with you or find someone else that could walk you home. But you never told him what happened, so you're stuck with Joel. "Okay, great. I'll see you guys tomorrow. Thank you for coming," he says, allowing the two of you to leave.

The first few minutes outside in the snow have got to be the most awkward minutes of your entire life.

You tried not to stumble despite still being a bit drunk, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of him. You're mad that he's here with you and you can't stand being alone with him.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

Oh, and of course he had to open his mouth. Because when has Joel ever done what you want him to do? It seems like he'll always do exactly the opposite of what you expect from him.

"Yes," was all you said.

"Just yes?" he tried again.

"Yes."

You heard him sigh. "So, no talking?"

"I'd really like that, actually."

The tone of your voice would've been enough to make him shut up for the entire walk. Even he seemed to be a little taken aback by the honesty of your answer because you could feel him staring at you for longer than usual before he focused on his boots as they left marks on the snow.

He didn't ask what was wrong because deep down he must've known. He can't not know. And in that drunken state you allowed yourself to be pity as you wished that he thinks about it every single day. That it tortures him. That he despises himself for breaking your heart and not doing something to make it right. That he looks back on it and hopes that he could go back.

But does he? Does he actually think about it every single day? Does he regret what happened? And if he does, why is he not trying to say he's sorry? Does he even want to say something at all?

It was almost as if the alcohol betrayed you. Or maybe it was your head that just allowed every barrier you have built these past few weeks to crumble down. Not caring turned into caring way too much and it was like you couldn't stop thinking about a hundred questions without being able to find a single answer to any of them.

Joel turns to look at you once again when he notices you stopped walking. Your head is spinning as more and more questions fill up your mind and you get frustrated because you know there's only one person who has all the answers.

Should you say something? Should you make a fool of yourself once again? It shouldn't be you. Why is he not doing something? How come you're the one who has to speak up about this? It's not fair.

But it was late, cold and you were just so drunk. And you know that no matter how much you try to move on, you'll never be truly okay until you hear an explanation as to why he broke your heart in such a vicious way. Even if he lies or tries to sugarcoat it, you deserve even the tiniest of explanations.

"Is everything okay?" he eventually asks, which only frustrates you more.

"Do you ever think about that night?" you let out almost immediately after, feeling the way your heart was beating faster than ever. As fast as the time you confessed your love for him.

He was quiet, so you decided to continue. "Do you ever wish you could go back and change the way it ended? Does...does it ever cross your mind or you seriously don't care?"

After those questions, Joel seemed to finally react. "Are we seriously doing this now?"

"If not now, when? You were clearly not going to say anything," you accused him, leaving him completely defenseless because he was very much avoiding ever bringing this up and you just called him out on it. "I just need to know why, Joel."

"I don't- let's get you home, okay?"

"Stop doing that! Stop trying to avoid this!" you exclaimed with obvious exasperation, feeling the corner of your eyes burning due to the tears that would surely roll down your cheeks at any point. "I was in love with you and you weren't decent enough to at least tell me you didn't feel the same way! Don't you think I deserved at least that?"

"We can talk about this tomorrow..."

"No, fuck that. I waited long enough," you quickly interrupted. "I was so patient with you. I gave you your space when you said you weren't sure about us, I respected your decision of being discreet in front of Ellie, I stood up for you countless of times when I shouldn't have. I did so much for you and you can't even look me in the eye and give me an explanation!"

"It's not-"

"You've got to be the biggest asshole I've ever met. And you know what's the worst part of this? That I'm still expecting shit from you. I still hope that you'll say you're sorry for breaking my heart and acting like you never did something wrong. I'm so fucking stupid to believe that you actually-"

"I was afraid!" he practically shouted, hoping that would stop your rambling. It seemed to work, because you were silent as soon as he said that. "There. Are you happy?"

"Don't put this on me," you immediately snap back.

Joel sighs yet again and takes a second to calm down, knowing that if he gets defensive this will end much worse. It's time to accept he fucked up and stop trying to act like he didn't.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "For this and for what I said that night. I should've been honest with you."

Now it was you the one who was silent, taken aback by his reaction. Usually, he'll try to come on top by creating any type of argument until he's able to get the last word. An actual apology was definitely not something you were expecting.

"I don't like people. I keep my distance and everyone else stay away from me in return. I like distance," he explains. "But then you came along and it was impossible to stay away. No matter how hard I tried, I'd always come back to you. I started to need you and it was scary because I should be keeping my distance."

Silence. Absolute silence. You were surprised to hear him being so honest with you, but you were also feeling a bit nostalgic because deep down you missed being the person Joel would go to when he needed someone to talk to. Even when it was difficult for him to open up, he always tried his best to rely on you whenever he needed it. Needless to say, it made you feel very special.

"When you said you loved me I didn't know what to do. It felt so...definitive. Because I knew that deep down I was falling for you too and if I said something that'd mean I'd never be able to let you go. And it was so scary to think of giving in to that feeling because...because I couldn't allow myself to care again."

You knew exactly what he meant by that. His daughter is not a topic he particularly enjoys bringing up, but you've heard a few things about her. And honestly, you couldn't really blame him for being scared. Despite all these years, losing his kid in the way he did has got to be the worst pain he'll ever experience. Of course he'll want to run away in the opposite direction when he starts seeing the similarities.

It doesn't excuse the fact that he avoided you, but you would never pretend like his feelings weren't valid.

He was scared of loving you because with love comes the inevitable attachment to that person forever. You care so deeply, the mere idea of ever losing that person shatters your world completely. And he knows what that loss feels like. He couldn't experience that again.

"Besides, you know me. You know I'm a mess. I couldn't let you ruin your life by loving me, because I'd just let you down- which I did, so I was right. So instead of saying something, I just said what I thought would help to make you not love me anymore. If I couldn't keep my distance, I had to do something so you'll want to stay away from me."

Once again, Joel was doing exactly the opposite of what you expected. He poured his heart out to you, sounding so honest and vulnerable. You've only heard him being this sincere whenever he would mention Sarah or that one time when you both stayed up talking in depth about your relationship with Ellie.

Tears started to roll down your cheeks as predicted as you stared at him. You don't know whether to hug him or punch him at this point.

"You're such an asshole," was all you could say.

The comment made him chuckle, but it was evident he was holding back his own tears. "I know."

"But that's exactly why I loved you. I know what you've been through, I knew you were a challenge and I was willing to work on it for as long as it would take us. The decision of whether I wanted to love you or not was never yours to make."

"I was trying to save you from having to deal with me."

"What if I didn't want to be saved?"

"Well, I think it's already too late for that," he replied. There was another pause that encouraged him to ask, "Is it? Too late?"

"I don't know," you replied. It was the truth.

"I can work with I don't know."

"What does that mean?" you asked curiously, wiping your tears away.

"It means I'm willing to make it right this time," he replied. "If you let me."

You frowned just a little, failing to hold back the smile that appeared on your face just seconds later. "You know you'll have to really try if you want to fix this, right?"

"I know. It's okay. You're worth it."

So far, so good, you thought.

"This means no more hiding, no more trying to push me away, talking about your feelings..."

"I can handle it."

"Can you?" you asked in a much more serious tone. It sucked not being able to fully trust his word, but you both know you had your reasons not to. "I just don't want to get my hopes up again over nothing."

You watched as Joel took a step closer to you, reaching out to grab one of your hands. He examines your face, making sure you're okay with him touching you before he brings it up to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles. "I promise you this time will be different," he says, and he's looking at you with so much affection, it's impossible not to trust him.

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller angst #pedro pascal characters

359 notes · View notes

crystallizedday · 9 months

Text

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS AN OUTDATED VERSION OF THE DOAI CD AU. I WILL GET TO WRITING UP THE NEW ONE EVENTUALLY ONCE I HAVE ILLUSTRATED SOME NEW DETAILS & SUCH.

So…

I made a new AU.

Simply calling this the DOAI CD AU cause that’s how a lot of my AUs are.

So here’s the rundown of the AU I have so far.

Story-wise, Winfrey gets captured by Dr. Lankmann & is used for his asylum. Clyde eventually finds where its partner is, but hesitates to simply charge in & find them with all the security precautions that have clearly been put in place for the lil guy. Ultimately, Clyde decides to do a lil sneaky & surrender itself, knowing it’ll be kept alive for testing purposes.

Once its inside, it finds the perfect time to break out of its confinements to go find Winfrey.

Without spoiling too much since I wanna actually WRITE OUT what happens, all I will tell you all is that Clyde finds Winfrey & escapes with the big guy. With Clyde keeping them on track & pushing them forward to ensure both of their escape, Winfrey doesn’t consume too many people after the incident, pretty much only killing any security that got in their way. Dr. Lankmann is also kept alive, which will quickly become a problem for the both of them once they escape.

After fleeing the asylum, both Veldigun later discover that their existence is becoming increasingly known across the country, thus forcing them to flee from place to place to avoid capture &/or potential death (because even if they COULDN’T die via bullets, neither of them would want the other to take that chance). They find themselves traveling all across the country in a seemingly endless chase from the authorities. Despite this potentially being their new life now, they are simply glad to have each other throughout it.

Additionally, because Winfrey was (mostly) unaffected after escaping the asylum, there was no need for their clothing to be stitched to them directly. Instead, Clyde decides to make Winfrey something a lot more comfortable to wear that can easily be taken off, just like its own orange onesie. This is why Winfrey’s outfit looks so different in the image from earlier.

AH!

As for how these fuckin goobers are written, it goes a lil something like this…

Clyde: Despite the circumstances, Clyde is often quite chirpy & is often the one seen with a smile on its face. It is constantly moving in place, rarely ever standing still. It also tends to find fascination in certain small things, often trinkets & other human junk. It came across the LEGENDARY Captain Quackers during one of its scavenges for said trinkets, & is by far the most prized piece of man-made items it has ever collected.

Despite how adorably silly this version of Clyde is, it is STILL scarily clever. It can quickly formulate a plan & execute it almost flawlessly, sometimes even using some of its various trinkets as a part of said plan (such as a distraction). While it usually id not all that afraid of direct confrontation, under dire circumstances, it will remain in the shadows & carefully think through its actions.

Winfrey: Even when the two are completely safe, Winfrey cannot help but feel concerned, perhaps even a bit paranoid. Everything they do for the both of them, Winfrey does it with care & caution. They used to be so fascinated with the creativity of humans, but after the Asylum incident, all they care about is keeping themselves & Clyde (mostly Clyde) safe. Although, this does not stop them from occasionally indulging themselves by singing a tune every now and again or even playing a little song if Clyde ever finds them an instrument (mainly the violin, of course).

While they are usually quite cautious with their actions, they WILL resort to rampaging their way through a problem if the situation is dire enough. They certainly have the strength to do so at any time, but they will most of the time second guess such a method if it could result in putting themselves or Clyde in unnecessary danger. However, if Clyde is already in danger, that second-guessing goes completely out the window. If it ever came down to the two of them, they would want Clyde to be safe over themselves (& vice versa, which often leads to a few points of conflict).

Before the asylum incident, Winfrey was a LOT more upbeat & playful while Clyde was just a little bit more serious & focused. While Clyde is content being far more energetic & easy going than it used to be, it feels guilty for Winfrey losing a lot of their bouncy personality from the good ol’ days & will repeatedly try to get Winfrey to let themselves enjoy life again. While Winfrey just wants to keep Clyde safe, all Clyde wants is to help Winfrey heal from the ten years of torment that scarred them. However, Clyde has no idea JUST how much that decade has affected Winfrey & how tough it will be for them to feel fully comfortable again…

The other Veldigun ALSO are characterized differently, but I have not fleshed them out all that much yet. Regardless, here is what I have so far.

Klaus: All he cares about is seeing others suffer, not because he feels wronged in any way, but because it genuinely feels euphoric to him. Rarely will he ever eat his victims & only does so when he starts showing signs of starvation. His cruel demeanor also extends to his relationship with his supposed partner Jack, who he often abuses if things do not go his way or if Jack even slightly gets on his nerves. Despite Jack being essential to Klaus, he does not care about his Jack-in-the-box partner in the slightest. If anything, Jack’s death would simply be an annoyance to him.

Jack: Everything is just so damn funny to them, but not in a sadistic way like their partner is. They genuinely cannot help but laugh whenever something even POTENTIALLY humorous occurs, much to Klaus’ displeasure. Despite how their partner treats them, Jack is happy to be used as a living murder weapon. They feel content with their only purpose being to help Klaus. They are well aware of how poorly they are being treated but feels that abandoning Klaus will leave Jack without a purpose, & is too fearful of that reality to take that chance. In other words, they just laugh off the idea.

Both Klaus & Jack have been traveling across the country even before what happened at the Lankmann asylum, but the Veldiguns’ revealed existence has only made it harder for Klaus & Jack to stick around too long. Klaus absolutely blames Clyde & Winfrey for this, & would not be shy of giving them a piece of his mind if they ever crossed paths.

Simon & the Flock: Both live at an abandoned farm somewhere in the country, feeding purely off of the wildlife that would be found there. This is due to Simon having consumed the people that once resided at this residence, gaining empathy for humans & swearing off of ever consuming another human mind ever again. The Flock follows this vow, not because Simon asked it to, but because it understands. Both Veldigun can vividly understand each other without ever uttering a single phrase or gesture. Simon can rarely ever be heard speaking because of this. The two do not bother with the other Veldigun or escaping the authorities. Whatever happens, they will remain pacifistic toward human life & show kindness to others, even to their own detriment.

As for Lankmann…

Well, you’ll just have to wait & see for yourself, won’t you? ;)

Well, that’s just about it for now! Hope y’all like what this AU provides so far!

140 notes · View notes

lbulldesigns · 25 days

Text

AITAH FOR GHOSTING MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS FOR THREE YEARS, FOR MY OWN MENTAL HEALTH?

Posted 7th of January, 2024

Disclaimer: mentions of self-harm, violence, and attempted suicide.

Please bear with me. This post will be long.

I (21f) have been estranged from my family for the past three years.

I want to start off by saying that my family aren't bad people. They were never abusive, and they did care for me, but they could never understand me or the full extent of my issues.

Some background. When I was around five, my sister (26f), we'll call her V, and I witnessed our parents' death at the hands of some trigger-happy Enforcers. We don't know why they decided our parents deserved to die, but they did, and we were left orphaned when the authorities couldn't find any other family to take us in.

We bounced around in the system for a while, fearing being torn from each other at any moment, before a family friend was able to foster and then officially adopt us. Our AD (adoptive dad) was a godsend, he was and still (to my knowledge) is the most patient and gentle man I know. Despite looking like a wolf LOL.

Along with gaining a new father we also gained two brothers (twin 23m) the older twin (C) takes after our dad, Kind and patient. The younger twin (M) however is a little nasty bitch, who took upon himself to make my life in particular an ongoing hell. He was never physically abusive, but he was verbally abusive. It felt like not a day would go by when he wasn't putting me down and treating my existence like it was something insignificant. He never had a problem with V, just me.

For the first six years everyone else would defend me, put him in his place, and overall hold him accountable but at some point, they stopped holding him accountable and just expected me to grow a thicker skin. I still remember the day when I went crying to my sister and rather than comfort me, just rolled her eyes and asked if I could maybe not take him seriously because she needed to finish her group project. To her credit, she apologised for that but it was hard to rely on her after that.

Long story short, M made my home life unbearable, and I had bullies at school that made it unbearable. Especially once I was in high school and my best (and only) friend started making friends of his own. I want to say that I was cool with this, but in reality, I turned into an absolute brat and refused to get along with any of them. I wish I didn't, but I just couldn't help but feel betrayed and genuinely acted on those emotions.

And this is how I was with everyone. Constantly betrayed and acting out. It was no wonder everyone I knew got sick of me.

My Dad was constantly worrying about me.

My older brother avoided me as much as possible, to avoid my outbursts.

My sister was just constantly swinging between feeling guilty, angry, and just done with my constant outbursts. Especially when these outbursts were directed at her girlfriend, who constantly talked about how she wanted to be an Enforcer to protect others (take a wild guess why I couldn't like her). V even slapped me for something I said (I can't remember what) to her GF that made her cry.

And my best friend... hates me.

It's my own fault, obviously.

What led to the title of my post is this.

I told my (former) best friend that I loved him and wanted to be with him, and he just raged at me. Apparently, he was seeing someone and thought that I was pulling something in order to break them up. He didn't believe me when I said that I didn't know he was in a relationship (I genuinely didn't know) but he wouldn't hear it and called me an AH and said he was done with me.

I felt humiliated and heartbroken, when I got home that day I was crying and M was the first person, unfortunately, who I came across. And the first thing he does is scoff and roll his eyes, and said "fucking crybaby".

I don't fully remember what happened, I blacked out, but I remember my dad pulling me off of M and his face was a bloody mess. I'm pretty sure that I broke his nose and then some, my dad was so angry. The angriest I've ever seen him; he actually shook me by the shoulders and demanded what was wrong with me. And when I couldn't answer, they told me to get out. Which I did.

I just bolted from the house, the sound of shouting behind me, and just kept running until I got to the Bridge of Progress.

I was just so empty and lost, and the water below looked so tempting. I was about to end it all when my guardian angel showed up.

Ez (21m) was walking by when he saw me about to jump and, without hesitation, climbed up next to me and asked what we were doing.

He saved me that day, without even trying. He listened to my whining and rather than offer me empty promises of "it'll be okay" instead said "girl you messed up. Wanna go on an adventure with me?"

We've been friends ever since.

I took him on his offer and went home to collect some things, when I got there the lights were off so I climbed up to my bedroom window and let myself in. I grabbed my clothes, some saved up cash, my laptop, and my documents (in case I needed them) and left a note for my family saying "bye".

And that was three years ago. I haven't been in contact with them, I don't follow them on social media, and I left my mobile behind so they were never able to get hold of me.

I completely and utterly. Ghosted them. And I don't entirely regret it.

In the last three years I have gained close friends, experienced new things, seen interesting things, and have felt well enough to actually want to seek therapy. My mental health improved greatly, although I still have issues but still am lot better than I was before.

However, I can't help but feel like an AH. My family weren't bad, just fed up. They are genuinely good people (even M) it's just that I bring the worst out in people. But recently I've been wondering if I should reach out or not.

What if doing so disrupts their lives? What if my leaving improved their lives?

I don't know.

AITAH if I reach out to my family after ghosting them for three years?

(This is a fanfic. Please read tags)

52 notes · View notes

charmikarma · 4 months

Note

hallo it's me. (crookedgrifter) I'm back and I want your davejade / davejadekat thoughts. gimme

my thoughts huh ... i sure am a rambler so you're gonna get a whole essay on this

i guess in thinking abt davejadekat it always starts with jade. which is well enough because davekat has been talked to death at this point, hasn't it? i don't think i could tell you anything new or interesting about that dynamic at this point.

ANYWAY. jade. i kind of get into this in my polar express fic which ik you've read, but she is SO lonely. what the fuck are you supposed to do for ~10 years alone on an island with just a dog?? a dog who could take you somewhere else, somewhere with people, but he won't. and maybe jade knows why because of her dreams on prospit, but also maybe not! either way i think she puts a lot of faith in her dreams. it's kind of the only hope she has for the future.

i think she also has some hope in dave, this really cool dude she has this awkward internet middle school crush on. and dave is super cool to her too! i think it's implied he furry roleplays with her even?? cutest shit ever. i think this is the thing that has made me always love davejade ... they are just. so sweet to each other. dave clearly cares SO much about her.

the other thing about jade is... she's kinda fucked over repeatedly by the narrative, isn't she? she's the last beta kid introduced, so she has a lot less time to develop. the closest she really gets to developing is being really pissed off at karkat after her dreamself dies (i'll talk about this in a sec). her arc basically ends at cascade. her character arc ends in the dead middle of the comic, in a flash animation that contains exactly 0 character development. hussie says so himself in the author's notes. (don't even get me started on the author's notes jesus christ.) everything that happens on the boat is pretty much irrelevant, because it gets retconned out. instead she spends 3 years completely fucking alone, and we like... barely unpack this in canon.

so her life story up until this point is basically: raised by grandpa till ~3-5ish > living on her own till 13 > meeting dave briefly in the game > DAVE FUCKING DIES IN FRONT OF HER, WITH HER OWN BULLETS > she meets john briefly > JOHN AND DAVESPRITE FUCKING DIE > she spends 3 years alone with no solace except "yeah they had to die but you'll see them again in the new session" from alt!calliope and i guess a bunch of sprites and consorts and chess dudes. she says it herself: as nice as it is to have these folks around, they're not able to relate to her. they're not fellow thirteen year old kids. she may not be technically alone, but she is essentially alone, and she just 1. died twice in one day and 2. witnessed the deaths of several of her friends.

more on being fucked over by the narrative - jade actually has a kind of interesting dynamic with karkat in the middle of a5a2! what happens with this dynamic later on? fucking nothing!!!! like seriously i am so interested in this whole. self-hatred parallel that gets drawn between them and then how jade puts her foot down and is like you are fucking nuts. no more yelling at yourself. and it goes nowhere!! this dynamic exists for like, maybe 1% of the comic. it's really fucking sad honestly. even at the very end of homestuck, she has to be sidelined for being too powerful, thereby excluding her from all the endgame convos. like we cannot win with her

ok anyway, here's where i get into the stuff i think is really interesting. at the end of homestuck, alt!calliope tells jade that she's suffered enough, and that it's time for her to live her life how she wants to. we don't see how this plays out in homestuck proper, BUT...... the epilogues. sighs heavily.

i may be an epilogues lover but even i have to admit that jade's portrayal is.... a mess. i don't think it's wildly out of character, exactly, but it definitely toes the line... and it's definitely extremely fucking uncomfortable. it does, however, give me some insight into how i think about jade now, because while the minutiae don't really feel in character, i do think the broad strokes of what they were going for make sense.

jade took alt!calliope's words and said, fuck it. i will take charge! i won't wait anymore! i am going to have what i want. and she does get a lot of that! she gets to hang out with her friends, hang out with her brother, meet a ton of people, have a bunch of sex (presumably when she's older), and so on. but see... doing a lot of things doesn't really fill the emptiness she feels. she has so much love to give and not enough outlet for it. she needs all the love in the world and has nobody to give it to her. and she still has this big fat ten-year-old crush on dave strider that never went anywhere. but the approach she takes to life now is just... so incompatible with what dave needs. same for karkat. they both need a LOT of patience to come out of their shells, and jade is living life in the fast lane. the more she pushes, the more withdrawn they become. it is a disaster.

i want to fix it so fucking bad.

jade needs a lot of character development for all this to work, but the dynamic is absolutely there. some of their convos in early meat are so fucking funny dude, they are such good friends. it is absolutely not for lack of caring on either dave or karkat's part that things don't work out in the epilogues. it's this disconnect between what jade thinks is helpful and what dave and karkat need. i really want jade to find the balance between living at breakneck speed and waiting ten years for something to happen. i want her to feel loved for once in her damn life. and i want dave and karkat to stop being such depressing shut-ins. please guys you could balance each other out if you would just figure out how to communicate

anyway. there's your essay. it's mostly about jade. hope that's ok. i love jade harley so much my ultimate goal is to see her happy and mark my words i will figure out how

#homestuck #homestuck meta #jade harley #davejade #davejadekat #I GUESS??#this is basically me rambling about jade for 3 hours let's be real here #ask #mine #jadepost

60 notes · View notes

blood-orange-juice · 8 months

Text

So.

Why I think Sandrone might be Mary-Ann Guillotin. Spoilers for Fontaine side quests.

Smoke and mirrors

As we have noticed in Liyue, Inazuma and Sumeru (and to an extent in Mondstadt) we do not normally *see* Harbingers until they appear for the final act, only the mechanisms they set in motion.

(Childe is an outlier and it's not like he's done anything productive yet)

Also most of Harbingers' lore so far has been dropped through things in the overworld (Signora's and Scaramouche's stories are in artifact sets, and Dottore's research notes are all over Sumeru). Somehow we have nothing on Arle's and Sandrone's backgrounds so far, which means we likely have something and we just don't know it yet.

Also Arlecchino is all over the plot, so I assume the important Harbinger in this chapter is Sandrone, everything else is an entertaining show to distract us. If she only appears in the final act, it would make sense if her exposition is done through lore tidbits scattered across the map.

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Now another angle.

I'm almost sure that the contradictory verdict is caused by a certain someone's connection to the Primordial sea. (I'll eat my HoD artifact set if it's not. not like it's a good set but eh)

So whoever framed that certain someone needs to: 1. Know how the Oratrice works (either an engineering genius or they know an engineering genius) 2. Know about the Primordial sea and the Abyss (a gentle reminder that Vaucher knew about its properties through Jakob) 3. Have a motive

Idk, the combination of the first two *screams* Narcissenkreuz to me. I assume the motive is destabilizing Fontaine's energy system. It furthers Harbingers' goals and it would be too lucky a coincidence if it was someone else. So... A Narcissenkreuzer and a Harbinger. Noice.

We have Mary-Ann disappearing during that accident in Elynas without a trace. No body was found. Sus. We know Alain founded the Research Institute and worked on his own projects until death from old age. He could have transfered his consciousness into a robot. Also someone else could have.

(maybe the big robot is Alain then. as they say in Mondstadt, ehe)

(from Enigmatic Page XII, I can't guess who the author is)

Other characters' voicelines

Since Scaramouche's line about her says Sandrone is nowhere near an engineering genius and has produced a "copious amount of garbage", I assume it's not Alain. Mary-Ann it is then. She has her brother's old designs and theories but that's it.

Then there's Childe's voiceline about Sandrone:

When it was added I assumed it was about how clueless Childe can be about the consequences of his actions, but also what if he really didn't do anything (poor boy. everyone is so quick to suspect the worst about him).

We know that Mary-Ann and Alain had a big falling out with Rene and Jakob because of the Abyss research and what they did to Carter. If Sandrone is in fact Mary-Ann, it's possible that whatever Childe is just reminds her of Jakob. Or of Carter. Sorry Childe, your existence is just a trigger for the poor traumatised girl.

Summarising all that: guys, gals, fellow Romans and other forms of life, it's Sandrone. Everything in Fontaine is about Sandrone.

Things this theory doesn't account for unless you squint really hard.

- They don't look much alike but then a lot of years have passed and we have Herta from HSR and the way her appearance shifts slightly with each new puppet.

However, they also don't look that different.

- Why did Lyney need to investigate the Oratrice? If at least one Harbinger knows how it functions then what is left there to investigate? Maybe he was trying to tamper with it, of course. Or maybe they know the Gnosis is in there.

But then the Harbingers aren't exactly known for good communication between coworkers.

- If Mary-Ann is alive, why did she leave her brother behind? Why didn't she go back for Seymour?

I have no good answer for this, so this is likely proof that Sandrone is not Mary-Ann then.

(maybe she doesn't know Seymour is alive and he will recognize her sometime later in the story, of course)

- Who was the familiar voice Lyney heard near the Oratrice? It's not familiar enough to recognise but someone known to him. I doubt he knows Sandrone subordinates or met Sandrone herself. Or maybe he's lying and it's someone he recognises and wants to protect. Or maybe, as Cricket says in their post, that was a distraction too.

- Also there's Rene who happily dissolved into collective consciousness and no one heard of him after that. He could know any kind of things (including how the Oratrice works and what's happening with the primordial seawater) and it's a stretch of course, but any of the Harbingers (Arle included) could be working with him. Anyway, where's Rene?

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#sandrone #fatui #fontaine #childe #tartaglia #oratrice #narcissenkreuz #I wrote a dissertation again #crackpot hc #i have connected the dots #I have connected them #or maybe she's just reincarnated guizhong #there have been rumours about reincarnated guizhong in 4.X #then we already have her lore #and it would be hilarious

92 notes · View notes

esmeriandreamer · 2 years

Text

Just saw someone call AO3 a "cp-website" and I'm gonna just-

Like I know every time the Archive has a fundraiser some people will crawl out of the woodworks and spout bullcrap, but geez-

If you don't like AO3, fine, that's your opinion. But don't call it a "cp-website", nor demonize people who donate to their fundraiser, from which a large part of the funds goes to KEEPING THE SERVERS AND HAVING PROPER LEGAL PROTECTION.

You know one of the main reasons why AO3 was created? Because in the "old days", if someone didn't like the fact that you, I dunno, wrote some wholesome gay fic online, they could report it and you might just lose your whole fic without warning, because think of the children, right? And to really put icing on the cake, your account might be deleted too. 🙃

Or, like I experienced, it won't just be one or three reports that get your fic taken down. Critics United for example was a group of these ~lovely~ people who would go on people's fics and suggest (harass) the author on how to change their fic to be "improved upon" (aka sanitize the fuck out of it so there is no trace of what they saw as gross/bad/wrong/cringe/sinful/etc.). If they didn't manage to harass you into deleting, they'd just mass report you.

I got literal death and rape threats for writing a Spamano version of Beauty and the Beast, told I was a criminal and that my parents should've killed me in my crib.

ALL OVER A STUPID LITTLE SELFINDULGENT FIC.

They even went so far as to track my username down from Fanfiction.net to Wattpad, and only once I got it on AO3 was the story able stay up because they had no way of harassing or reporting me like they could before, because I could easily turn my comments off to "registered users only" or even to "moderate comments." and that scared them off.

This was in 2016 by the way. Not even a decade ago. Now I could even block people if I want on AO3, so it gets harder to harass me, even if I did care.

But like yes, I agree on the fact that fics with cp are allowed on the site is rather gross. I would never write nor read it. But you know what helps with this?

AO3 HAS THIS TAGGING SYSTEM IN WHICH YOU CAN TAG AND FILTER OUT THE THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE, SUCH AS FICS WITH THE UNDERAGE WARNING :D

And guess what? It works great! I never have to see fics with cp in it, because I filter my fics. And even if I see that I accidentally clicked on a fic like that? I click out of the page and move the fuck on.

People on AO3 can and have written the most repulsive shit known to man, but more often than not, it's tagged with big warnings in the description. I have read cringy and horrifying fics that still made me nauseous to think back on, that have changed how I look at certain characters. And guess what?

THEY STILL DESERVE TO EXIST AND BE READ BY OTHERS.

Besides, there is a very fine line as to what some people define concepts like cp. Like I define it as minors being forced/manipulated into sexual situations, while others might look at an adult anime character who looks like a little kid and say that they shouldn't be sexualized. We are both correct in our own digital space there.

I don't like "shota/lolita" nsfw stuff, others do, and so I am just letting those people be and I avoid that content. Same with scat, or watersports, or cnc. Avoid, click away, goodbye. I don't demand that all "they look young but they're actually an adult!" types of media should be banned, nor that people who enjoy (reading about) sex with bodily fluids should be publically shamed, or that people who consentually enjoy the dark fantasty of being forced should be treated like an actual rapist.

And that's really what this is about. Don't like it, don't read/look at it. This whole "but they are allowing xyz and I don't like that!!" argument is basically becoming the same right-wing argument as "but I see xyz as wrong/bad/a sin and therefor nobody should be allowed to enjoy it."

If AO3 were to be forced to ban one thing, like people dealing with their childhood SA by writing a fic about it, who is to say they won't be forced to ban something like CNC next? What about kink? Queerness? Because that is the road a lot of right-wing people want you antis to take.

It's a main reason AO3 has fundraisers. For the servers to stay up. For legal support when a company claims fanfic is bad. For times that those things might get more expensive to maintain.

And because AO3 is of the few websites that allow everyone, especially queer people, to make art and have that art be protected from those that wish to destroy anything they do not like. And yes, that protection includes protecting work made by "bad" people.

So chill, skip over that fic you don't want to see, don't donate to or interact with AO3 if you don't want to, and maybe touch some grass? That would be great.

Rant over uwu

#marije rants #ao3 #ao3 fundraiser #long post

607 notes · View notes

secretmellowblog · 2 years

Text

One important thing about Les Mis that I feel a lot of people miss is that...... Javert is not the novel’s symbol of justice. Enjolras is.

Javert represents authority, which is often cruel and unjust. Enjolras represents actual justice, social justice, he represents the laws of conscience/love that are superior to the flawed and bigoted laws of mankind (which is why he’s literally compared to Themis, the goddess of justice.) Lots of adaptations write Javert as someone who cares about making society better and protecting the innocent, but he isn’t and he doesn’t??? Javert cares about authority. His entire personality is built on “respect for authority and hatred of rebellion.” Javert doesn’t care about “having compassion or making tough decisions to protect people;” he cares about submitting to authority at all times. The government is right because it is the government. Any crime or rebellion is wrong because it is against the government. Anyone who is treated badly by the government deserves to be treated badly, because authority is always right. Rich people are always morally superior to poor people, and the outcasts of society deserve to be beaten down because they are outcasts -- and the thing that’s tragic about his horrible violent mentality is that he is a part of the same class of outcasts he’s beating down, and doesn’t value the lives of other people because he doesn’t value his own. If mercy is kindness you don’t deserve, while justice is the treatment you do deserve-- then Javert isn’t just merciless, he’s unjust.

He can’t be a symbol of justice because all he cares about is blindly obeying authority and calling that “justice.” Sending Valjean to prison for stealing a loaf of bread and a coin isn’t just merciless, it’s unjust. Tormenting Fantine until her death for acting in self-defense isn’t just merciless, it’s unjust. They didn’t deserve what he did to them, and the only reason he can believe it’s right is because he canonically Refuses to Think about it-- because he’s literally so Brainwashed by authority as a result of his tragic past that he believes any independent thought is a form of rebellion that must be suppressed.

Thought was something to which he was unused, and which was peculiarly painful. In thought there always exists a certain amount of internal rebellion; and it irritated him to have that within him.

Enjolras, meanwhile, actually cares about helping people and creating a better world. Enjolras cares about uplifting the people around him, he cares about giving people the help and the support that they deserve. He wants the world to be free. The goal of the rebels is to replace the monarchy, a dictatorship, with a republic where people can vote for their leaders. They want to eliminate poverty, fight for universal education, and give people the dignity they’re entitled to.

Meanwhile Javert is a tragically brainwashed authoritarian whose only goal is to punish anyone who doesn’t keep their head low enough-- including punishing himself. He’s motivated entirely by fear and hatred; the hatred of people like Valjean and Fantine, and the fear that he’ll become like them. (Javert cares so little about protecting people that it’s a plot point multiple times that he’s so busy Punishing the perpetrator of a crime that he doesn’t talk to the victim at all. He respects authority, but he doesn’t love it, and doesn’t care about protecting people. He only cares about punishing the people who the government has told him to hate.)

I guess the thing is: adaptations are in love with the idea that Valjean represents mercy while Javert represents justice. But I feel like Enjolras is a much better counterpoint to Valjean’s philosophy than Javert.

Valjean and Enjolras are like:

Valjean: I think that it’s important to focus on mercy above justice.

Enjolras: But we can’t have forgiveness until we’ve had accountability. I agonize over every decision I make, but sometimes there is absolutely no way to create a better world without causing harm to the people who are currently abusing their power to hurt us. True justice can only come when the people in power are making reparations.

While Valjean and Javert are like:

Valjean: I think that it’s important to focus on mercy above justice Javert: You THINK about things??? Even when the government hasn’t ORDERED you to think????

Valjean: uh

Javert: *rocking back and forth in the fetal position covering his ears with his hands* The government does all the thinking for us, so we don’t have to!! Anyone who has their own thoughts is a rebel who should be shot. The State says that poor people are bad and deserve to suffer! Disagreeing with the government makes you a rebel!!!!!! Having thoughts of your own makes you a rebel! Any “kindness” that goes against the orders of the state is FALSE KINDNESS that will turn the world inside out!!!!!!! Supporting poor people against rich people, the people who are low in the world against the people who are high-- that is FALSE KINDNESS!!!!! Real justice is when you shut off your brain, accept your place, and blindly obey the government without thinking!!!

Valjean: hmm

#les mis #ANYWAY #but yeah #insomnia les mis posts #my discord buddies and i have had lots of conversations about this lol XD #just wanted to throw this out there before i start Javertposting again #my complicated emotional relationship with javert

2K notes · View notes

fromtheseventhhell · 9 months

Note

Saw a Sansa fan say this about Arya when ranting about how unfair it is how everyone is treating Septa Mordane. "Ned gave her the impossible task of making a lady out of Arya, but he indulges his daughter when she rolls on mud or behaves in a socially unacceptable way. So Arya obviously doesn’t listen to Septa Mordane (or Catelyn, for that matter) when she tries to correct her behavior. Why would she? Septa Mordane’s power comes from Ned, and with his behavior he’s taking away her authority to establish rules and to enforce discipline". They just want to completely ignore the fact that Septa Mordane bullied Arya to the point of tears, attempting to embarrass her in front of Myrcella.

The "Septa Mordane was trying her best" takes are always hilarious because they always ignore the context of the situation. They act like she was some poor, frazzled old woman who was at her wit's end when it came to dealing with Arya.

First, nowhere is it that Arya routinely disregards Septa Mordane. I know people have this idea that Arya was just running around Winterfell doing whatever she wanted, but it's clear she was subject to very structured learning practices. The two major examples of her disobeying Septa Mordane are both under uncommon circumstances. If Arya was truly so disobedient and never faced consequences for her actions, then she wouldn't have been in her sewing lesson and attempting her work in the first place. Instead, she is working on her lesson without issue until the moment when Mordane remarks negatively on her work and embarrasses her to the point of tears. Arya's remark that she's going to "shoe a horse" is in response to Mordae telling her she has the hands of a Blacksmith, so it's obvious that her insulting Arya's work and making an example of her was a fairly common occurrence. She also uses her as a measure of bad behavior; she tells Sansa that she is "as willful as Arya" when she's behaving "improperly" and Sansa internalizes this + later thinks she felt as "wicked as Arya".

The second time is when Arya leaves a meal without permission. The lack of empathy for Arya is just so blatant because moment's before we have Arya's internal monologue of mourning her friend's death and thinking she doesn't feel safe among her father's men like she used to. All of this gets ignored and this moment is reduced to Arya being difficult. This person used Ned's quote about Septa Mordane turning Arya into a Lady but apparently, they neglected to read the entire conversation.

"I wasn't playing," Arya insisted. "I hate Septa Mordane." "That's enough." Her father's voice was curt and hard. "The septa is doing no more than is her duty, though gods know you have made it a struggle for the poor woman. Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady."

This moment that they quoted is Ned doing exactly what he, supposedly, never does and supporting Septa Mordane + disciplining Arya. This entire conversation between the two is Ned telling Arya that she has to grow out of her wild behavior and listen to her teacher. And the only reason that they're having that conversation in the first place is because she went and told Ned of Arya's behavior. So I'm really lost on this logic. There is not a single moment in the story where Septa Mordane is undermined by either Ned or Cat. She has their support in both instances of Arya disobeying her. She isn't even ever faulted for Arya's lack of progress. She is allowed to be incompetent at her job with full authority. So I guess??? Ned and Cat were just never supposed to be nice to Arya or allow her to have fun??? I'm not sure what their idea of Ned "properly" supporting Septa Mordane looks like since we already have that in the story.

Septa Mordane as a teacher, and an adult, has authority over Arya. Whether or not her every word is being directly enforced by either Ned or Cat, that power dynamic still exists. And again, both times that Arya disobeys Septa Mordane she faces consequences. I'm not sure how Arya playing on the way to KL is an example since literally nobody but Sansa remarks on such as an issue, but it's obvious this person is just in the camp of "Arya's behavior is unacceptable". That's why they want her to be constantly corrected by everybody and think it's a failure on Ned's part that he *checks notes* allows his daughter to have fun while they're on a very long and tedious journey. I'm sure this person was also upset when Ned comforted Arya after her emotional outburst. As for Septa Mordane's abilities as a teacher, I think the fact that we never actually witness her teaching anything says it all.

#ask #anon #arya stark #septa mordane #ned stark #asoiaf #Septa Mordane was an incompetent teacher who let her own bias cloud her from doing her job properly #she was fr beefing with a fucking 9 year old and throwing her authority around to try and brow-beat Arya into place #/what did you expect her to do/ uhhmmmm her job?? maybe actually try and teach instead of just berating a child?#you don't have to be a certified teacher to know that's a horrible method that's not going to produce results #people are too busy justifying characters actions without looking at /why/ they're written that way though

83 notes · View notes

seriousbrat · 2 months

Text

sorry for the essays but what's also legitimately fascinating to me tbh is this mass delusion about there being no information in canon, and the poor marauders fandom being forced to come up with their own ideas to fill in the perceived blanks lest they starve. Ik it's been a while since the books and people have forgotten details but it feels like going insane, I guess SWM and Prince's Tale were just fever dreams that I had lmao.

Despite JKR's obvious shortcomings as a person I don't think there's any denying that characters are absolutely one of her strong suits as a writer. Characters that are much more minor in the narrative still feel very fleshed out, like I feel like I've got a pretty good sense of, say, Dedalus Diggle even though he has probably 3 lines. But we're constantly being pelted with information about the Marauders; enough to have a whole legion of fans obsessed with them for decades. If they're just blank slates why are they so interesting to so many people?

authors aren't required to explain EVERY facet of their worlds, that has never been the case and in fact I think hp is unusual in that we've received a lot of extra content over the years.

I think it must be a (juvenile, imo) expectation for everything to be over-explained and lain out for the audience in the simplest, most straightforward ways-- otherwise, it might as well not exist. I mean basic reading comprehension in younger generations is obv declining significantly but the fact that people have no ability to tie together the simplest ideas and draw inferences unless they are EXPLICITLY STATED is wild. it reminds me of this post about the house-elves in hp.. the fact that it's a commonly held view that jkr's intention was to excuse slavery lol. like I as a 12 year old easily picked up on the fact that kreacher's tale and dobby's death were supposed to be lessons for harry-- it's pretty explictly stated in the books idk-- the fact that fully grown adults cannot comprehend ideas meant for children is sooo embarrassing

#it's like theyre expecting a character to turn around to face the camera and go #'and the moral lesson we must learn from this is that slavery is bad'#wrt to the marauders yeah there is obviously information missing but that's because they're secondary characters #and james and lily are literally dead. lol.#like ok there is not a LOT of info about lily bc as i said in a diff post her character is so important tothe central mystery #but they're never talking about lily when they say this anyway lol.#and even so i feel like there is enough info to draw reasonable inferences. certainly there is with james

28 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

spunkymaster

18+ please!

climberjedi

ClimberJedi

trailofrainbowcarnage

sugar daddy, bring it home

legroslut-1

Bearzanddollz

hyperfixating-on-ur-mom

*->Denny