#But it is mainly just my thoughts on reading fiction in general

[mollyrealized]

How Michael Met Neil

original direct link [MP3]

(Neil, if you see this, please feel free to grab the transcript and store on your site; I had no easy way of contacting you.)

DAVID TENNANT: Tell me about @neil-gaiman then, because he's in that category [previously: “such a profound effect on my life”] as well.

MICHAEL SHEEN: So this is what has brought us together.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: To the new love story for the 21st century.

DAVID: Exactly.

MICHAEL: So when I went to drama school, there was a guy called Gary Turner in my year. And within the first few weeks, we were doing something, having a drink or whatever. And he said to me, “Do you read comic books?”

And I said, “No.”  I mean, this is … what … '88?  '88, '89.  So it was … now I know that it was a period of time that was a big change, transformation going through comic books.  Rather than it being thought of as just superheroes and Batman and Superman, there was this whole new era of a generation of writers like Grant Morrison.

DAVID: The kids who'd grown up reading comic books were now making comic books

MICHAEL: Yeah, yeah, and starting to address different kinds of subjects through the comic book medium. So it wasn't about just superheroes, it was all kinds of stuff going on – really fascinating stuff. And I was totally unaware of this.

And so this guy Gary said to me, "Do you read them?" And I said, "No."  And he went, "Right, okay, here's The Watchman [sic] by Alan Moore. Here's Swamp Thing. Here's Hellblazer. And here's Sandman.”

And Sandman was Neil Gaiman's big series that put his name on the map. And I read all those, and, just – I was blown away by all of them, but particularly the Sandman stories, because he was drawing on mythology, which was something I was really interested in, and fairy tales, folklore, and philosophy, and Shakespeare, and all kinds of stuff were being mixed up in this story.  And I absolutely loved it.

So I became a big fan of Neil's, and started reading everything by him. And then fairly shortly after that, within six months to a year, Good Omens the book came out, which Neil wrote with Terry Pratchett. And so I got the book – because I was obviously a big fan of Neil's by this point – read it, loved it, then started reading Terry Pratchett’s stuff as well, because I didn't know his stuff before then – and then spent years and years and years just being a huge fan of both of them.

And then eventually when – I'd done films like the Underworld films and doing Twilight films. And I think it was one of the Twilight films, there was a lot of very snooty interviews that happened where people who considered themselves well above talking about things like Twilight were having to interview me … and, weirdly, coming at it from the attitude of 'clearly this is below you as well' … weirdly thinking I'm gonna go, 'Yeah, fucking Twilight.”

And I just used to go, "You know what? Some of the greatest writing of the last 50-100 years has happened in science fiction or fantasy."  Philip K Dick is one of my favorite writers of all time. In fact, the production of Hamlet I did was mainly influenced by Philip K Dick.  Ursula K. Le Guin and Asimov, and all these amazing people. And I talked about Neil as well. And so I went off on a bit of a rant in this interview.

Anyway, the interview came out about six months later, maybe.  Knock on the door, open the door, delivery of a big box. That’s interesting. Open the box, there's a card at the top of the box. I open the card.

It says, From one fan to another, Neil Gaiman.  And inside the box are first editions of Neil's stuff, and all kinds of interesting things by Neil. And he just sent this stuff.

DAVID: You'd never met him?

MICHAEL: Never met him. He'd read the interview, or someone had let him know about this interview where I'd sung his praises and stood up for him and the people who work within that sort of genre as being like …

And he just got in touch. We met up for the first time when he came to – I was in Los Angeles at the time, and he came to LA.  And he said, "I'll take you for a meal."

I said, “All right.”

He said, "Do you want to go somewhere posh, or somewhere interesting?”

I said, "Let's go somewhere interesting."

He said, "Right, I'm going to take you to this restaurant called The Hump." And it's at Santa Monica Airport. And it's a sushi restaurant.

I was like, “Right, okay.” So I had a Mini at the time. And we get in my Mini and we drive off to Santa Monica Airport. And this restaurant was right on the tarmac, like, you could sit in the restaurant (there's nobody else there when we got there, we got there quite early) and you're watching the planes landing on Santa Monica Airport. It's extraordinary. 

And the chef comes out and Neil says, "Just bring us whatever you want. Chef's choice."

So, I'd never really eaten sushi before. So we sit there; we had this incredible meal where they keep bringing these dishes out and they say, “This is [blah, blah, blah]. Just use a little bit of soy sauce or whatever.”  You know, “This is eel.  This is [blah].”

And then there was this one dish where they brought out and they didn't say what it was. It was like “mystery dish”, we had it ... delicious. Anyway, a few more people started coming into the restaurant as time went on.

And we're sort of getting near the end, and I said, "Neil, I can't eat anymore. I'm gonna have to stop now. This is great, but I can't eat–"

"Right, okay. We'll ask for the bill in a minute."

And then the door opens and some very official people come in. And it was the Feds. And the Feds came in, and we knew they were because they had jackets on that said they were part of the Federal Bureau of Whatever. And about six of them come in. Two of them go … one goes behind the counter, two go into the kitchen, one goes to the back. They've all got like guns on and stuff.

And me and Neil are like, "What on Earth is going on?"

And then eventually one guy goes, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't ordered already, please leave. If you're still eating your meal, please finish up, pay your bill, leave."*

[* - delivered in a perfect American ‘serious law agent’ accent/impression]

And we were like, "Oh my God, are we poisoned? Is there some terrible thing that's happened?"  

We'd finished, so we pay our bill.  And then all the kitchen staff are brought out. And the head chef is there. The guy who's been bringing us this food. And he's in tears. And he says to Neil, "I'm so sorry." He apologizes to Neil.  And we leave. We have no idea what happened.

DAVID: But you're assuming it's the mystery dish.

MICHAEL: Well, we're assuming that we can't be going to – we can't be –  it can't be poisonous. You know what I mean? It can't be that there's terrible, terrible things.

So the next day was the Oscars, which is why Neil was in town. Because Coraline had been nominated for an Oscar. Best documentary that year was won by The Cove, which was by a team of people who had come across dolphins being killed, I think.

Turns out, what was happening at this restaurant was that they were having illegal endangered species flown in to the airport, and then being brought around the back of the restaurant into the kitchen.

We had eaten whale – endangered species whale. That was the mystery dish that they didn't say what it was.

And the team behind The Cove were behind this sting, and they took them down that night whilst we were there.

DAVID: That’s extraordinary.

MICHAEL: And we didn't find this out for months.  So for months, me and Neil were like, "Have you worked anything out yet? Have you heard anything?"

"No, I haven't heard anything."

And then we heard that it was something to do with The Cove, and then we eventually found out that that restaurant, they were all arrested. The restaurant was shut down. And it was because of that. And we'd eaten whale that night.

DAVID: And that was your first meeting with Neil Gaiman.

MICHAEL: That was my first meeting. And also in the drive home that night from that restaurant, he said, and we were in my Mini, he said, "Have you found the secret compartment?"

I said, "What are you talking about?" It's such a Neil Gaiman thing to say.

DAVID: Isn't it?

MICHAEL: The secret compartment? Yeah. Each Mini has got a secret compartment. I said, "I had no idea." It's secret. And he pressed a little button and a thing opened up. And it was a secret compartment in my own car that Neil Gaiman showed me.

DAVID: Was there anything inside it?

MICHAEL: Yeah, there was a little man. And he jumped out and went, "Hello!" No, there was nothing in there. There was afterwards because I started putting...

DAVID: Sure. That's a very Neil Gaiman story. All of that is such a Neil Gaiman story.

MICHAEL: That's how it began. Yeah.

DAVID: And then he came to offer you the part in Good Omens.

MICHAEL: Yeah. Well, we became friends and we would whenever he was in town, we would meet up and yeah, and then eventually he started, he said, "You know, I'm working on an adaptation of Good Omens." And I can remember at one point Terry Gilliam was going to maybe make a film of it. And I remember being there with Neil and Terry when they were talking about it. And...

DAVID: Were you involved at that point?

MICHAEL: No, no, I wasn't involved. I just happened to have met up with Neil that day.

DAVID: Right.

MICHAEL: And then Terry Gilliam came along and they were chatting, that was the day they were talking about that or whatever.

And then eventually he sent me one of the scripts for an early draft of like the first episode of Good Omens. And he said – and we started talking about me being involved in it, doing it – he said, “Would you be interested?” I was like, "Yeah, of course."  I went, "Oh my God." And he said, "Well, I'll send you the scripts when they come," and I would read them, and we'd talk about them a little bit. And so I was involved.

But it was always at that point with the idea, because he'd always said about playing Crowley in it. And so, as time went on, as I was reading the scripts, I was thinking, "I don't think I can play Crowley. I don't think I'm going to be able to do it." And I started to get a bit nervous because I thought, “I don't want to tell Neil that I don't think I can do this.”  But I just felt like I don't think I can play Crowley.

DAVID: Of course you can [play Crowley?].

MICHAEL: Well, I just on a sort of, on a gut level, sometimes you have it on a gut level.

DAVID: Sure, sure.

MICHAEL: I can do this.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Or I can't do this. And I just thought, “You know what, this is not the part for me. The other part is better for me, I think. I think I can do that, I don't think I could do that.”

But I was scared to tell Neil because I thought, "Well, he wants me to play Crowley" – and then it turned out he had been feeling the same way as well.  And he hadn't wanted to mention it to me, but he was like, "I think Michael should really play Aziraphale."

And neither of us would bring it up.  And then eventually we did. And it was one of those things where you go, "Oh, thank God you said that. I feel exactly the same way." And then I think within a fairly short space of time, he said, “I think we've got … David Tennant … for Crowley.” And we both got very excited about that.

And then all these extraordinary people started to join in. And then, and then off we went.

DAVID: That's the other thing about Neil, he collects people, doesn't he? So he'll just go, “Oh, yeah, I've phoned up Frances McDormand, she's up for it.” Yeah. You're, what?

MICHAEL: “I emailed Jon Hamm.”

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And yeah, and you realize how beloved he is and how beloved his work is. And I think we would both recognise that Good Omens is one of the most beloved of all of Neil's stuff.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: And had never been turned into anything.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And so the kind of responsibility of that, I mean, for me, for someone who has been a fan of him and a fan of the book for so long, I can empathize with all the fans out there who are like, “Oh, they better not fuck this up.”

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: “And this had better be good.” And I have that part of me. But then, of course, the other part of me is like, “But I'm the one who might be fucking it up.”

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: So I feel that responsibility as well.

DAVID: But we have Neil on site.

MICHAEL: Yes. Well, Neil being the showrunner …

DAVID: Yeah. I think it takes the curse off.

MICHAEL: … I think it made a massive difference, didn't it? Yeah. You feel like you're in safe hands.

DAVID: Well, we think. Not that the world has seen it yet.

MICHAEL (grimly): No, I know.

DAVID: But it was a -- it's been a -- it's been a joy to work with you on it. I can't wait for the world to see it.

MICHAEL: Oh my God.  Oh, well, I mean, it's the only, I've done a few things where there are two people, it's a bit of a double act, like Frost-Nixon and The Queen, I suppose, in some ways. But, and I've done it, Amadeus or whatever.

This is the only thing I've done where I really don't think of it as “my character” or “my performance as that character”.  I think of it totally as us.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: The two of us.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: Like they, what I do is defined by what you do.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And that was such a joy to have that experience. And it made it so much easier in a way as well, I found, because you don't feel like you're on your own in it. Like it's totally us together doing this and the two characters totally complement each other. And the experience of doing it was just a real joy.

DAVID: Yeah.  Well, I hope the world is as excited to see it as we are to talk about it, frankly.

MICHAEL: You know, there's, having talked about T.S. Eliot earlier, there's another bit from The Wasteland where there's a line which goes, These fragments I have shored against my ruin.

And this is how I think about life now. There is so much in life, no matter what your circumstances, no matter what, where you've got, what you've done, how much money you got, all that. Life's hard.  I mean, you can, it can take you down at any point.

You have to find this stuff. You have to like find things that will, these fragments that you hold to yourself, they become like a liferaft, and especially as time goes on, I think, as I've got older, I've realized it is a thin line between surviving this life and going under.

And the things that keep you afloat are these fragments, these things that are meaningful to you and what's meaningful to you will be not-meaningful to someone else, you know. But whatever it is that matters to you, it doesn't matter what it was you were into when you were a teenager, a kid, it doesn't matter what it is. Go and find them, and find some way to hold them close to you. 

Make it, go and get it. Because those are the things that keep you afloat. They really are. Like doing that with him or whatever it is, these are the fragments that have shored against my ruin. Absolutely.

DAVID: That's lovely. Michael, thank you so much.

MICHAEL: Thank you.

DAVID: For talking today and for being here.

MICHAEL: Oh, it's a pleasure. Thank you.

#neil gaiman #michael sheen #david tennant does a podcast with... #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #sushi #whale #the cove #oscars 2010 #coraline #mini secret compartments #howneilmetmichael #howmichaelmetneil

[kingofbodyrolls]

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 💜

#yoongi x reader #myg x reader #min yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts fic #bts x reader #bangtan x reader #bangtan smut #yoongi fic #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi #yoongi #min yoongi smut #yoongi x you #bts yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x oc #myg fic #myg smut #myg angst #myg #myg x you #bts fanfiction #bts x reader smut #bts x you #bts smut #bts fanfic

[jentledaisies]

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . You're Attacked But They Think You're Trying To Escape

[ gif by @lisanamjoon ]

→ ❝ in which you’re attacked and run away but they believe you’re trying to escape them ❞

Warning: Stockholm Syndrom, manipulative behavior, blood/injuries, weapons[knives, guns], murder(semi-graphic), profanity, yandere

- fully got this idea from @ninetailedfoxmanchi post here ! it’s for bts n when i read it i was like “wow, kinda wanna write a version of that for our girls” no but really, for all my fellow army's here, pls check them out!

disclaimer: This is not in any way shape or form a representation of Jisoo, Jennie, Rosè, Lisa, or Blackpink as a whole. All reactions, actions, thoughts, words, and general emotions are fiction and created by me. The behavior shown in these reactions is toxic and unhealthy, but fantasized in a romantic way for simply that, fantasy. None of this should be taken seriously or sought after in real life, or performed. please do not romanticize this behavior/mindset in real life as it is unhealthy and toxic, and if you or anyone you know is in such an environment, should be taken out of immediately. Again, this blog is purely fiction, and all acts taken place in this blog should remain so.

↳ None of my characters, yandere or otherwise, will ever nor would ever perform, act, or consider sexual activities of any sort without consent. full stop. Any and all sexual acts are done with the full consent of all parties taking place. i will never, ever, ever write otherwise or even consider writing otherwise. disclaimer 2: as this is a reaction for all four separate members of blackpink, there will be discrepancies in the length of each. not all will be the same length and this is for no other reason than that i as the author attempting to prevent run-ons and unnecessary additions to that part of the story. the length of each reaction in no way shape or form a show of favoritism or dislike towards any member. literally ever. pls stop putting those ridiculous accusations in my inbox, it's a vv far reach. ↳ some AUs for the yandere!blackpink reactions will be based on other folklore/mythology. (yandere!goddess , etc) these reactions will not be accurate to the true mythology/folklore but rather variations and adaptions made to assist the reaction/world of the reaction.

『••✎••』

The apartment is quiet, save for the soft sound of flipping pages, coming from the book you're currently reading. Your lover had to head to work early today due to a significant issue brought up at last night's mission. She didn't tell you when she would be home, but she said she could either be home early or late. You were hoping for early because as much as you hated to admit it, her presence around you and with you is more than something you're used to, it's something you crave.

And the silence with her gone was deafening. You have never hated being alone so much before.

The book in your hands loses your interest as you take to just flipping the pages, eyes trailing over the extremely large penthouse. According to her, this was the very first house she had purchased in which she lived alone. Before then she had mainly lived with the other three inner circle members, whom she considered her true sisters. It's large, much too large for one person, or even two, but she was mature enough to admit she enjoyed showing off her wealth in her house. According to her, when you became her lover, you made this more than just her house, you made it your home.

But since then, the two of you had been looking at other places to move to, not because you disliked this apartment but because you both wished to move somewhere that you could begin to truly build your life together. After all, she had more than enough money.

The list had narrowed down to four properties, based on all of the things you said you liked and wanted, and then she turned the responsibility of picking the final home out to you, so she could know that you truly love the home the two of you would go to.

And as the book starts to reach the last of its pages your eyes are drawn to the folders on the coffee table with the location pictures, interior pictures, dimension sizing, building rating, site history, etc. All the information you needed to make the most informed decision possible without leaving your current home. Of course, sans the pricing and all. She stated up and down that she would simply buy the building (and possibly the land it's on) and leave it all signed to you in a contract, that way should anything ever happen to her she could still take care of you.

The last page flips and the cover joins the rest of the book. You frown at the now closed book for a second -you forgot to put a bookmark in your spot- before setting it on the table to grab the folders instead. Since you have the time to kill, you may as well start looking over these.

You're unsure how much time passes with you flipping through each folder and creating a pro/con list in your notebook but you do know that you've gone over all of them twice when the door to the apartment starts to turn, the distinct sound of the lock clicking open causing you to stand and turn eagerly.

"Hey! I'm glad you're back because I think I know which one I like..." Your voice trails away as an unfamiliar woman steps through the door, shutting it softly but not locking it.

"Sorry," The corner of her lips curve up. "I don't think it was me you were expecting."

You're immediately taken with a sense of uneasiness and dread, your girlfriend had never introduced you to any other member of her gang. Only the other inner circle members. In fact, she always swore that she'd never bring any other member into your home.

"W-Who are you?" Your voice is shaky as you figure out the answer to your question before she answers. Though the slight drop in her mouth lets you know that she notices.

"I'm a friend of-"

"That's a lie." You cut her off before she can say your lover's name, unsure of what you were doing in exposing her lie. You were one person who had never really been trained past basic self-defense against a possible enemy gang member. "I asked who you are."

She just smiles wickedly as she slips a small blade into her hand. "Jung Ji-Ho wishes to simply say hello. It's not you who he wants, but I suppose you will do."

With that, she lunges toward you, faster than you expected, and creates a large cut on your arm as you attempt to run away. Your notebook flies under the sofa and the pictures go everywhere as you make a mad dash to the front door, the woman fast behind you. She reaches out and yanks you back by your hair, a scream leaving you as you pull away, leaving strands of your hair in her hand. She goes to cut you again and you don't think as you grab the knife with one hand and hit her face with the other.

"Hit between the eyes," M/N had told you. "It'll stun them enough for you to get away. Don't worry, I'll be there to save you then."

She flinches away, dragging the blade painfully across your palm, which leaves a bloody imprint as you throw open the door and rush out, heading to the private elevator. And just to your luck it opens, and you run in, not to an empty elevator, but into the arms of your love.

She was here to save you now, but you look up into her eyes, and you're only met with burning anger and bitter betrayal.

Kim Jisoo

[ gif by @intolisa ]

"And where do you think you're going, Darling?" Jisoo always looks cold but somehow she manages to look even more so as she stares at you, locking her hands onto your arms to hold you in place.

"Jisoo! You're here!" You shout in surprise, ready to tell your lover about the situation, but she misunderstands your rush to be fear of being caught.

She pushes you back with force, albeit gently, her hands locked tightly on your forearms. Her eyes bore into your own and you're frozen in place, forgetting everything as fear creeps up your spine. The elevator lets out a soft ding and the doors start to close behind her, snapping you from your stupor.

"We need to go!" You shout and lunge towards the buttons, stopping as she yanks you back, eyes steely and blank.

"Excuse me? We are not going anywhere but back into our home." She punctuates her words by tugging you closer.

"No, you don't understand-"

"I think I understand pretty well." Jisoo's voice is cold, devoid of any emotion although you can tell she's hurt. "What, you didn't think I'd come home on time? Were you wishing I stayed late? You thought you could just, slip away, and I wouldn't notice that my heart was gone?!"

You jump as she shouts the last words, hands reaching for her on instinct to calm her, and blood smears on her white t-shirt, the red handprint almost seeming like paint.

"I'm so sorry!" You blurt, your hands reaching forward in an instinctive attempt to wipe it off, but to no surprise, you end up smearing it more and reminding yourself of the situation. "Shit. Ok no, Jisoo please, we need to go now. Please."

Jisoo raises an eyebrow at your pleading, finally taking a moment to survey her surroundings once your blood smears on her shirt. The small, lines on the wall from where you stumbled through, the way the apartment door isn't even fully closed. The panic in your eyes and the injuries on your body.

Finally understanding she pushes you behind her gently, reaching for her brass knuckles as the door opens and the attacker steps out. Her glare sets deeper into her face, pushing the guilt of how she spoke to you away to focus on this scum that thought they could hurt her girl.

"Your name. Now." Jisoo simply demands, not in the mood to hear any excuses from the woman's mouth.

Clearly, the lady wasn't expecting the calm and almost bored demeanor that Jisoo had, given that she was standing so defensively and with her knives held tight. Your blood shines on the blades and catches your lover's eyes.

Jisoo glares so intensely at the woman that her knees start to shake, but it's not enough. She steps forward, scoffing as the attacker takes two steps back, and does it again. The dance continues until the attacker is up against a wall, holding out her knives as a pitiful defense. She can barely even blink before Jisoo punches her, breaking her nose immediately with her brass-enforced knuckles.

"What? You're not happy to see me?" Jisoo teases with a cruel pout, laughing slightly. "I thought that's what you wanted."

She doesn't wait for any response before she hits again, this time the woman's stomach. The screaming huff that leaves her makes you wince, but you don't move from the spot you're in, and try as you might you can't seem to tear your eyes away either.

"You know what? I don't need your name," Jisoo slams her fist into her face again, knocking her down. "I'll get it out of you later. Little bitch. Thought you could break in and hurt my girl? MY GIRL! Consider yourself very lucky I don't kill you here. Or don't, a faster death may be more merciful than what I have planned for you."

Jisoo slams her fist down again, but the woman is unresponsive, only her shallow breathing alerting the two of you to her undead state. Blood is splattered on your lover's hands and all over the unconscious woman's face. She huffs as she sits back, staring in amusement at the blood-covered woman, before remembering you.

"Darling," Her voice is a quiet sort of remorseful as she turns to face you, eyes saddening as you flinch. "I'm sorry. I should have listened to you."

"I-It's okay." You stutter, not even believing in yourself.

"No, it is not 'okay.' You are injured and bleeding and without even taking notice of your pain I inflicted more. Forgive me, please." This time Jisoo's voice wavers, shame filtering in.

You step forward, hesitant, and then move more surely until you can wrap your arms around her waist and bury your head in her neck. The tears come quickly after.

"I was so scared." You sob shocking Jisoo who has her hands in fists at her side. Scared that it's her you're speaking of. "When she came in I thought it was you but then she-"

You shake as you cry, Jisoo now wrapping her own arms around you, realizing the terror that must've stricken you at the intruder. She doesn't let you continue, holding you close by your waist and your head, placing kisses on the side.

"I'm here. I'm here and your safe, my darling." She soothes your hair, shuffling to move you both into the penthouse. Her neck strains as she hides the anger in her voice at the damage, knowing you were the one attacked during it. "I'll always protect you. I swear."

She pulls away once the two of your reach the staircase, helping you up while texting some members to pick up the woman in the hallway. She'd take care of the mess after she took care of your injuries.

You didn't want to sit on the expensive couch, your arm and hand still bleeding heavily so the two of you enter the en suite where she has you sit on the counter. Pulling out the emergency aid kit that Lisa left at all the members' houses she chuckles wryly.

"I never thought it'd be you being patched up with this. Or ever." Jisoo jokes wryly, regret lacing her voice as she finishes washing the wounds, wincing when you did.

The cuts aren't as deep as she thought, all the blood just making them seem to like it. Jisoo's eyebrows scrunch as she focuses on disinfecting the wounds, keeping your mind off of the pain as her lips part a little. Even when she's pouring rubbing alcohol over open wounds of yours, she remains beautiful.

Jisoo recalls how Lisa told her that cuts that are big enough to bleed but not too deep like yours don't need stitches. Just a wrap. The white gauze makes Jisoo feel sick.

The fact that you're bleeding under there makes Jisoo even sicker.

"No offense but, shouldn't we ask Lisa to do this?" The question makes Jisoo laugh.

"I've done this plenty of times too! Just because I never went to med school." She grumbles as she helps you down and onto the bed. "Wait here for a moment."

She pecks your cheek as she leaves the room to fetch some tea, slipping a bit of a sedative into it, just to make sure you rest well. Walking back into the room she finds you already fluffing the pillows and in your pajamas.

"That's not waiting." She 'tsks' as she hands you the cup, raising an eyebrow as you down it like a shot. "Try and get some rest, Darling."

"Aren't you staying?" With the way your face freezes in fear, Jisoo can't bring herself to tell you that she was in fact leaving, just for a little bit.

"I'm just going to clean up the apartment before I join you. Too much adrenaline." So instead she smiles sweetly while lying. She'd leave after you slept and be back before you awoke anyway.

"Ok. I love you." Your eyes start to shut and your voice slurs as she pecks your forehead.

"I love you too, Bunny."

----

Your eyes feel weighed down when you rouse from your slumber, the room pitch black except for the light streaming in as the door opens. Jisoo walks in and in your hazy vision, you can make out the way she shrugs off her jacket, throwing it into the trash. Her dark red shirt followed soon after.

As your eyes give in to the weight a nagging voice in the back of your head reminds you that she was wearing a white shirt when she left.

Kim Jennie

[ gif by @jaennie ]

"Well, hello my love." Jennie just stares at you in surprise, but her sweet smile still spreads across her face, even though her eyes don't reflect it. "Quite funny meeting you out here...when you are meant to be in there."

Jennie's grip is gentle on you, but firm as she holds your waist and one of your hands as though leading you in a dance.

"Although, why you didn't just say you wanted to go out," her voice is chilly despite the twinge of love hidden within. "I would've taken you anywhere you asked."

"Jennie!" You know the shock on your face probably makes the situation look worse given how her face falters.

"Y/N," She starts a deep sigh escaping her. "What are you doing? And, please, just tell me the truth."

You can tell exactly what Jennie thinks you were doing and your heart breaks at how hurt you know she must feel. How her smile is so so sweet, but her eyes are cold to hide how she really feels.

"It's not what you think." You wince when you say that, you don't even know why you said that. "No! I mean, it's not...that."

"It's not what?" Jennie's smile tightens. "Tell me what it is."

"It's...There's someone in the apartment!" You can't understand why it took so long to get the words out, but Jennie's reaction is immediate. Her smile falls and her eyes dart to the door that's closed only partly.

"I don't know who she is b-but she said she knew you. I figured that was a lie but she attacked me when I went to leave! Please, I would never do that to you. I promised." Your words start to jumble as you speak as fast as you can but she understands, she always understands you.

"Where are you hurt, my love." Jennie's voice becomes soft, her shoulders loosen and her eyes sweeten. Her eyes are drawn to your bloody arm and the cut on your hand. Quickly, she sheds her blouse, leaving her in just a tank top, so she can quickly wrap it around your arm.

"Do me a favor and go in the elevator. Close the doors and wait for a bit." She tells you quickly as the door starts to open. She pulls out her gun and checks the mag before placing a kiss on your head. "Go."

"Please don't get hurt." The lady steps out of the apartment, her hair a mess and eyes glaring. Your blood stains her hand and the knife that she grips tighter when she sees your lover.

You turn quickly, dashing into the metal box, and hit the button that closes the doors before crouching in the furthest corner and hiding your ears in your hands.

You can hear Jennie scream something, but her voice is muffled by both the doors and your hands, but the slam against said doors causes the box to rattle, and a small shriek to escape you. Another shout comes but it's not from Jennie, you assume it's the other woman. A gunshot finally rings, and this time you know it's from Jennie's gun, and another bang follows. Two more ring out in quick succession, and the other woman's wails ring in your ears.

You flinch back, trying to almost dig yourself into the mirror backing of the elevator as more screams ring out. you can almost make out the pleas in them from your hands over your ears, and you feel a chill creep up your back as a faint sound of a laugh comes through.

All too soon there is another very loud slam against the elevator doors, and more gunshots ring out until a trickle of red liquid drips through the cracks. Bile rises in your throat and you scoot as far as you can into the mirrored wall, slipping as the blood pool inches closer and closer.

Ding!

The doors open and you see Jennie kick something away, and with the large thump that follows you realize it was probably the body.

"My love," She sighs as she sees your curled-up body scorching away from the blood, her eyes soften into gentle flames and her lips pout. "I am so sorry. Oh, you're hurt and I didn't even notice-"

"Please just hug me." You cut her off as you stand up, eyes still trained on the devilish red liquid on the floor. She doesn't hesitate, stepping directly into the puddle to engulf your in her arms, causing you to look away.

With much ease, she picks up your legs to have them wrap around her waist and carries you simply down the hallway until she can enter the apartment, being met with the flipped-over table and papers everywhere...and your blood covering the handle of the door. Her heart sinks as she sees the damage and feels your soft breath on the crook of her neck from where your head is hidden. She steps over the scattered pictures to enter the guest bathroom, softly placing you on the counter with a kiss on your head.

She silently pulls out her aid kit, avoiding your eyes in shame as she pulls out a cloth to wipe the excess blood away. You don't flinch as the wet cloth turns red but the rubbing alcohol is different. You're clumsy but you very rarely have such large cuts, so the stinging sensation, while not new, is still quite painful for you. At the whimper that leaves your lips, Jennie pulls away as though being burned, hands resting at her sides as her fists clench.

"I'm sorry." Her lips thin as she forces herself to continue disinfecting. "I'm so sorry."

The trace of tears on her waterline shocks you but at the same time, you almost expect them. They hurt you more than the alcohol finding its way into your open wound though so your reach your unharmed hand up to brush them away.

"Stop saying you're sorry." You make her look at you, meeting her eyes gently. "You saved me. Just like you promised me."

"Always. I'll always save you. But you're hurt and I tried to make assumptions before I helped ease the pain."

"But you understood anyway. So stop saying you're sorry." She looks back down as you smile reassuringly and you figure it's time to move on from the topic. "I think I picked a house."

"What?" Jennie looks up, puzzled at the topic.

"From the four you brought me. I think I know which one I like the most." You smile at her before frowning. "Oh, but I had written it all down in my notebook, but I don't know where it went after I threw everything."

"That's fine! I can go find it!" Jennie turns to go look but you hook your arm around her waist.

"Can you finish wrapping my arm? I don't think I'll be able to tie it on my own, then we can look at them again together."

Jennie turns around with a sheepish smile, quickly finishing the wrap on your arm, and pressing a kiss to your hand after. She rushes out of the bathroom after ordering you to stay in there for a bit longer and when you do come out the living room looks like nothing happened. Jennie pulls you to the couch and has you sit on her lap while she opens your notebook and the pro/con lists.

Every now and then your eyes drift up to look at the shoes that still have blood covered on them, waiting for the gang's cleanup crew to come to grab them. Jennie steals your attention away with kisses when you do.

Park Chaeyoung｜Rosé

[ gif by @jaennie ]

Chaeyoung's face is much calmer than her eyes. In fact, if you didn't know her so well you wouldn't think anything was wrong.

"Well aren't you in a rush? Careful, Sweets, you might hurt yourself." She leans down as she says that, almost mockingly. It's not hard to guess how the dots connected for her, it'd be hard to see the scene as anything else. Especially so soon after you had told her that no matter what, you would never leave her.

"Rosie, help me. Please." You're shaking though, from the complete terror of the person who entered your home, so you can't seem to focus on anything but asking for help. For begging your hero to save you the way she always does.

Rosie raises an eyebrow, taking in everything in the hallway, calmly and violently. Her sweet love, so soft and kind was shaking in her arms, bleeding and crying. Oh, she would burn whoever did this to the ground.

"Where?" Rosie calmly pulls her gun out and changes the clip, having emptied it earlier at 'work'. "Where is the dead man walking?"

"S-She's inside still. I pushed her a bit hard." You flinch away from your girlfriend as you say that scared at how quickly she arms herself with two guns and brass knuckles.

Rosie places her gun behind her back again, instead reaching forward to place her hands on your face and meet her eyes with yours. "Sweetheart, breath. I am here and no one will touch you like that again. I can promise you that."

You meet her eyes with shaky panic, shivering as though it was snowing though the hallway was heated. "Do you promise?"

"I swear on my life, I will personally see to the destruction of anybody who dares harm you," Rosie answers you with unwavering confidence and the trembling in your body stops. Your shoulders are still tensed like a brick wall and with the way you flinch into her when the door to your apartment opens again, Rosie almost falls over.

She pulls you behind her and pulls her gun out, making the woman across the hall freeze. Rosé aims her gun at her, turning her body to face you when she sees that the attacker isn't going to make a move. She places a soft kiss on your forehead, brushing away a tear as she pulls away.

"I'll just be a moment, Sweets."

She turns around and before she can even blink shoots a shot into the attacker's right knee. You don't see, but a cruel smile crosses her face as she hears the scream tear itself from the woman's throat. For her, it's her favorite noise from her enemies, and that woman was currently enemy number 1.

She tucks her gun away as she steps closer to the woman collapsed on the ground, she wanted to make her suffer and a gun was much too...clean.

She stands over the woman who's struggling to save face, attempting a glare at Rosé but struggling to hold the scream behind her lips. Without any feeling, Rosé brings her heeled boot back and hits a strong kick to the woman's ribs. This time you can see the faint shake in your girlfriend's shoulders as she chuckles.

Rosé bends down from the waist to look the lady in her eyes, not wanting to kneel and get her clothes dirty.

"What? Can't look me in my eyes now?" Rosé pulls out her gun again, pressing it to the woman's left foot, putting pressure when she tries to pull her leg away. "Afraid of blood? But you weren't when you decided to harm my girl."

Another shot rings and despite her wishes blood splatters on Rosé's pants. With her arm pulled back she slams her gun into the attacker's head, creating a large gash and causing her to go sprawling.

"You got my pants dirty." She stands straight and then proceeds to kick the attacker again, this time on her knee. "Oh, did that hurt? Sorry."

With a roll of her eyes, she steps on the profusely bleeding left foot, putting most of her pressure on the wound for maximum pain. No longer having the will to scream the attacker just writhes on the floor in pain, like a dying fish.

"Sweetheart," Rosé's call catches your attention, dragging your terrified eyes from the bleeding woman. "What would you like me to do?"

"What?" Your voice is hoarse, and your eyes wide, not understanding.

"With her. What would you like me to do, since she attacked you? I'll do whatever you say." Your lover's eyes soften as she looks at you, as if gently telling you it's ok. Distracting you from how she stepped on the woman like a dart holding its target.

"Do what you do." You say before quickly adding on. "But not here! Please, do whatever it is you do with...that. But don't make me see it."

Rosé hesitates for a moment before nodding, turning quickly to bash her gun handle into the attacker's head again. This time knocking her out and stopping that god-awful writhing. She steps off of the woman, kicking the unconscious woman once before turning back to you. Gentle smile back on her face like she wasn't laughing at screams earlier.

"Come, Honey." She holds her hand out for you, lacing your fingers and basically holding you up when you collapsed into her arms to walk with her back into the apartment.

She sweeps your legs up to carry you up the stairs, laying you gently in the bed as she leaves the room, returning minutes later with tea and an aid kit.

"I'm sorry. For the pain, this is about to cause and for the pain, you endured without me here." Her voice is laced with shame, soft and hesitant, but her hands work deftly in wrapping your wounds. Although she winces much harder than you don when the alcohol stings the cuts.

"Just, please don't let me be hurt again. Please."

"Never." She responds quickly, hardly even letting you finish the request. She helps guide the tea to your mouth. "I put some pain meds mixed into the tea as it'll help you relax more. They have sedation effects so you'll fall asleep quickly. I'll be here when you wake up but I will be gone while you're asleep to deal with the trash."

You nod, finishing off the chamomile tea, and placing the cup down to reach for a hug. She holds you securely, feeling the effects the sedation has on your limbs as you start to drift off. "Just, promise me, you won't tell me what you do to her. I know no matter what, you'll always protect me. I don't want to know how. I don't need to."

Your eyes close but you can feel her nod against your shoulder, and place a kiss before tucking you in. The door closes behind her.

Lalisa Manobal｜Lisa

[ gif by @sefuns ]

"You said you loved me."

Lisa can only look at you, eyes filled with betrayal and hurt, so much so that she doesn't even notice your trembling and wounds.

Her voice is strained like it pains her to make the accusation. And for a moment you forget about the current situation. Because her eyes are burning, filled with pain and betrayal stings her eyes in the form of tears and all you know is this extremely strong woman is crying and it's because of you.

"I do," You pledge to her again but your voice is pleading as you speak frantically. "I do love you. I do. But-"

"No!" Lisa cries out as you go to continue, misunderstanding what you were about to say. She pushes you then, out of the elevator and into the wall behind you, gripping your arm hard. "You told me- swore to me- that you love me. That you'll stay with me. You can't just leave! Please."

Your heart hurts as her voice cracks and how the obsessed look in her eyes takes over. But her hands pushing against the cuts on your body hurt even more. You could fix the relationship in a second but all you could say right now was:

"You're hurting me."

Lisa looks down then, finally noticing your blood, which was coating her hands. She lets you go immediately and meets your eyes, shock, and confusion covering the betrayal in them for a moment.

"Why are you bleeding?" She asks calmly, but with a new sense of panic coming over her as she spots the cut on your arm and the even deeper gash on your palm. Luck is clearly on your side today because as soon as she asks that, the woman who attacked you steps out of the apartment.

Her eyes open wide at seeing your lover with you and she freezes, giving Lisa enough time to comprehend the scene in front of her. You don't blame her for needing a second longer than normal to react, just before she was thinking you tried to leave her. Her heart just broke in two and is now in the process of unbreaking from nothing.

But naturally, your sweet lover acts with ease, entering her mafia persona and standing in front of you. She's a tall person, but as she stands with her fists clenched and shoulders back and, you assume, a glare on her face, she looks ten times taller. You can see the muscle in her jaw jump from behind her defensive position.

"Who are you?" She asks the same thing you did, voice strained but calm. A chill, however, crawls down your spine at the detached cold tone you've never heard before. Not even on that day she rescued you, she had only sounded annoyed at your former captor, the man who sends his hello through the woman standing at the end of the hall.

"Miss Manobal, I'm here to-"

"I asked who you are." Lisa interrupts her, similar to what you had done, although you assume that the woman is telling a truth instead of a lie this time. "Actually, don't bother. I remember you from that day. What does Jung want this time? We're not interested in any deals and he's too incompetent to launch any successful attacks against us."

She looks mildly offended across the hall and Lisa lets out another cold laugh.

"Oh, is that what this is? An attempt at an attack? Of course, it is. A stupid plan really, you're not talented enough to get away with a single assassination." At the girl opening her mouth to argue Lisa lifts a finger and clicks her tongue. "No. I'm right. You wanna know how I know?"

As Lisa toys with the woman across the hall, a sense of dread fills you like never before. The woman is frozen, in fear or curiosity you don't know, you're not too sure for yourself either. All you know is Lisa has her gun in her hidden hand and a devious smile on her face. You can tell she's angry from the tone of her voice, yet it still sounds cool and calm. Lisa has her prey in the palm of her hand, and if the prey is you or the lady, you can't tell.

"I can tell because," Lisa is close to her now, but instead of attacking she finishes her story. "That meeting, the one you were at, was set up for an alliance, to give the Jungs access to our assassination teams. He knows he can't give a good attack, so he came running to us for help. Of course, nobody in that idiotic gang can come up with a good plan, although I'll give you props for this seemingly ok one. Now, Y/N, turn around and cover your ears."

Lisa points her gun directly at the woman's forehead before twisting her head to look at you. At the blatant fear paralyzing your body, she softens her tone, eyes sinking back into the pools of love that they used to be, betrayal fading away. "Baby, please. Trust me."

You stay looking for a moment longer at her, and how the woman's eyes flit back and forth between the two of you before widening at the realization of who you are. You turn then, missing the desperate turn she makes in an attempt to salvage any possibility of staying alive that she had.

Had Lisa captured her for just attacking a plaything, she would stay alive to be interrogated, and she would find a chance to escape. But she had seen that look before, the one Lisa had given you, on other very powerful mafia leaders. You were the reason she would die today because Lisa would never let anyone hurt you.

You turn around, eyes shut closed tightly and hands clamping down over your ears. The bang of the gun is still loud like you don't even have your hands over your ears, and you flinch, shoulders curling in. The second bang takes you further by surprise and a gasp leaves your lips, but then the shots continue. You lose count after ten. But somewhere around there your gasps turn into small screams. A much louder scream leaves you when arms are wrapped around you, or it may be because you know exactly whose arms they are, and it can't be the lady who broke into your home.

You flinch forward, attempting to get away from the arms but Lisa walks in front of you so that she can instead hold you against her, your most touching her collarbone so she feels your shaking breaths.

"Please don't." You plead with her without recognizing, the words spilling like blood from the wounds on the woman behind you. "Please don't hurt me. I'll be so good, I promise."

"Shh hey," Lisa shushes you quickly, pulling back slightly to look you over, her eyes only showing love and concern now that she understood. "You are good, you've always been good. I'm so sorry I scared you, baby. I never wanted that to happen. Let's just go inside, your cuts must be hurting."

You nod and go to turn around but she pulls you back. Murming a soft 'Close your eyes' she picks you up bridal style. After some steps and shifting, the front door to the apartment closes behind the both of you. You risk opening your eyes and are met with the bloody footprints your lover leaves.

You close your eyes again.

『••✎••』

jentledaisies © 2022. no translations, reposting, or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

#blackpink yandere #yandere blackpink #blackpink jennie #blackpink rosè #blackpink jisoo #blackpink lisa #yandere jisoo #yandere rosé #yandere jennie #yandere lisa #yandere reactions

[tarotwithlove]

PICK A CARD ⋆ romantic compatibility between you and your fictional other

a fictional other is defined as: f/o usually stands for fictional other, which is a term often used by self-shippers, mainly on tumblr. you can have romantic, familial and platonic f/os.

the 18+ extended version of this pac can be found on patreon! click here to read about the sexual compatibility between you and your fictional other

reminder that this is a general reading and messages found here may not apply to everyone. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, and don't force anything if it does not fit.

BOOK A READING WITH ME · LINKTREE · 18+ PATREON · SEXUAL COMPATIBILITY BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR F/O · SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC · TIPS ♡ tips, bookings, and feedback are highly appreciated!

GROUP ONE

cards · knight of cups, ten of wands, justice, the tower, ten of pentacles, shallow grave: you miss someone. 

channelled songs · easy by stray kids. hold each other by a great big world & futuristic. paradise by txvq. cherry by lana del rey. 

my dear group one ♡ you and your fictional other are highly romantically compatible. your f/o will be the who pursues you, initially, and for some time -- even while you are in a relationship with another person. in fact, this relationship is likely with another one of your fictional others. 

this f/o is patient. slightly methodical. they are playing the long game until you notice them as not just a friend but as a potential romantic partner. you may have seen this fictional other as a close friend, until, one day, something between you shifts. 

it may be that your partner may forget your birthday, only for your f/o to show up with a bouquet of your favourite flowers and a thoughtful gift. and this isn’t even them taking the opportunity to get into your good graces, this is just who and how they are. they don’t have any ulterior motives with showing you kindness, and would show you such love and kindness even if you one hundred percent turned them down and told them there would be no romantic future between you two. 

i’m thinking of one of the raimi spider-man movies, where peter never makes it to see mj on broadway but harry has, multiple times. 

your fictional other will show up for you in ways that your partner doesn’t. and is likely unable to. 

and, after this one eventful day, you will realise that what you’ve been looking for in love has been right in front of you this whole time. with this f/o. 

GROUP TWO

cards · knight of wands, knight of cups, king of pentacles, four of pentacles, the fool, autumn is my last chance: please don’t lose hope!

channelled songs · je pars by dalida. blink! by bbymutha & flyanakin. sprinter by dave & central cee. angel by onlyoneof. 

my dear group two ♡ you may be overlooked by your fictional other for some time. this may be because you tend to minimise yourself around them or because you are so insecure around them that you always present yourself in the worst light when in their presence. 

however, you will go through a bit of a transformation. i’m thinking of the movie ‘the hottie and the nottie’ -- which i don’t necessarily recommend. but this makeover aspect is what is relevant for you. you glow up. this change doesn’t have to be drastic and this is not me saying that you are a ‘nottie’ now, but rather, despite how attractive you may be, your insecurities cloud over all of that. you are so insecure about your body so you wear shapeless, colourless clothes all the time, for example, or you don’t cut your hair a certain way or wear your makeup a certain way. 

but with this glow up, you start dressing how you want to dress. living how you want to live. being who you want to be. and this makes you more confident. and the more confident you become, the more attention your f/o starts to pay you. 

they may lavish you with attention from this point onward, but you may still feel dissatisfied. even as they spoil you and love on you, you’ll be in your head like, “this is everything i ever wanted,” while in your heart you’ll be like, “this… can’t be it…”

it would be best to say that you and your fictional other are just not romantically compatible. because no matter how much love and attention they give you NOW you’ll find yourself wondering, constantly, why they couldn’t have given you this same attention before your transformation. why you had to become a completely different person to earn their love. 

for this reason, you may choose to walk away from this connection. though you and your f/o may still remain friends.

GROUP THREE

cards · page of cups reversed, the tower, ten of pentacles, king of pentacles, the world, sea storm: calm amid chaos. 

channelled songs · love story by mariah carey. gucci flip flops by bhad bhabie. hiss by megan thee stallion. interpol by lous and the yakuza. 

my dear group three ♡ i actually typed out my initial channelled messages and notes for this pick a card a few weeks ago, so imagine my surprise when i come to your group and am immediately met with the words “your life is falling apart, or there may be a lot of chaos around you.”

anyway. the fictional other you are asking about may be from a fantasy world. ‘game of thrones’ in particular comes to mind. even if not, there may be a war taking place around you both. with your relationship being dwarfed by the cruel realities of your life. 

you and your f/o will piece together a romance amidst this chaos -- whatever this chaos is, because for some of you i’m also thinking of a ‘cheaper by the dozen’ type of situation, where you just get no privacy. 

you and your f/o will be highly romantically compatible, though the ways you express love are practically opposites. their love language may be gift giving while yours is physical affection, for example, and you may fight to find quiet moments together to share in fleeting minutes of romance. and now ‘the lobster’ comes to mind, how the main couple secretly had their romance in a community where romance wasn’t allowed. 

so your relationship may have to be kept secret. but you will fight to be together. you may even, eventually, decide to run away together so that you can have your happily ever after. 

#** #fictional other #romantic fictional other #fictional other community #tarot #pac #pick a card #tarotblr #witchblr #witch of color #tarotcommunity #tarotcreator #tarotonline #spirituality #spiritualism #channelled message #channeled message #channeled reading #divination

[666writingcafe]

The Home Theater

Satan

"I don't remember the House of Lamentation having one of these," MC notes as they take in their surroundings. "Whose idea was it to put one here?"

"It was mine," I answer. "Barbatos helped me set everything up. All the equipment, the acoustics...it's all top-notch."

"By human world standards, or Devildom ones?" I've forgotten how observant they are. MC seems to enjoy taking in all sorts of information, even if it seems insignificant to other people. That's one of the things I like about them.

"According to the employee at DevTech--I mean, Best Buy--we have the top-of-the-line equipment, and the quality is comparable to some of ours." I hate that I keep swapping human world names with Devildom ones. I personally feel like I'm better than that.

"Have you guys used it yet?"

"Funny that you mention that, because we just started a zombie movie marathon last weekend."

"Was that your idea as well?" I nod my head.

"The idea of zombies has interested me for a while now. While there are diseases and curses that can induce a zombie-like state in demons, it's usually a temporary problem that can be solved with medicine. That doesn't seem to be the case with humans."

"Are you solely basing that on our movies?"

"Of course not. I've also read books."

"Fiction or non-fiction?" Oh, I'm about to blow their mind.

"Both, actually."

While the human world seems to focus on the fantastical elements of zombies, the Devildom has meticulously recorded all zombie outbreaks that have occurred throughout the centuries. You see, sometimes a human zombie accidentally stumbles in the Devildom, and we have to deal with that situation properly in order to prevent chaos.

While we've certainly dealt with the stereotypical zombies--the ones that are slow-moving, crave brains, and are more or less dead--those aren't the only ones that we've come across. Some are capable of sprinting, others aren't too keen on brains, and there's even those that appear perfectly fine on the outside but have some kind of parasite in their brain that's making them carry out orders with no thought whatsoever.

Although, sometimes the parasite doesn't have a physical form and is instead created as a result of rather intense brainwashing.

"I see," MC states once I've completed my mini lecture. "Somehow, that's never come up in any of my classes."

"That's because you've only taken general knowledge ones. RAD offers majors, and with those comes specific classes for particular areas of study. Although, in order to declare a major, you have to prove that you have a solid understanding of the fundamentals first, since you might get pulled to teach a class or two."

"Has that ever happened to you guys?"

"Lucifer and I are the only ones out of our bunch that have declared a major. Belphie's been offered, but he doesn't want to deal with the responsibility of teaching, so he just takes whatever interests him. The others simply haven't proven themselves yet. Levi struggles with attendance, and Beel has difficulty concentrating. As for Mammon and Asmo, I think they're content with where they're at right now, so they're not going to push themselves too hard."

"What do you and Lucifer major in?"

"He does potions and curses. I focus on history and literature. Somehow, despite my sin, I tend to be a more patient teacher than him. At least, that's what I've heard from other students."

"That's really interesting." MC appears deep in thought. "Do you think I could major in something?"

Honestly, I don't know how to answer that question, mainly because we've never had beings outside the Devildom attend RAD before Diavolo implemented the exchange program. It wouldn't surprise me if he did allow MC and the others to declare a major eventually, but I don't know how long that would take. Would MC be alive by then? Or be in a good physical and mental state to take in additional knowledge, let alone teach an entire classroom? Personally, I think they have the best chance out of the initial exchange students of eventually declaring a major, but that isn't for me to determine.

"That would be something to ask Diavolo. I don't think I'm qualified to answer that question." MC nods their head.

"So, changing the subject...wanna watch a movie together?"

"Like, right now?"

"Yeah!" I sigh.

"As much as I would like to, I doubt the others would be happy if I kept you all to myself before they've even had the chance to say hi to you. I will have to take your offer some other time."

"Sounds good. I'll try to find a good movie for us to watch together in the meantime."

"You bring the movie, and I'll whip up something nice for us to eat." MC snorts in amusement. "Do you not think I'm capable of cooking, MC?"

"It's not that at all. Just reacting to an idea I had, that's all."

"What kind of thought?" Interesting. My question has made them tense up all of a sudden. Usually they only get that way if someone catches them doing something that they think they're not supposed to do. Like fiddling with strange objects.

Or having dirty thoughts.

I keep coming across the phrase "Netflix and chill" in the media I've been consuming, and it appears to be referring to hooking up with someone as a movie's playing in the background. Is MC wanting to do that with me?

Are they afraid I'd find the idea silly? Because I don't. I mean, if it was something that I was invested in, then I'd want to pay attention to whatever was playing, but I'm more than capable of choosing something that I can tune out as I focus on something else.

Especially if that something else happens to be MC.

I lean in closer to them to whisper,

"You know, I went ahead and assembled a collection of movies I thought you'd like." I plant a kiss right below MC's ear, making them shiver slightly. "I really enjoyed picking them out, actually." I begin moving down their neck. "It was fun thinking about what might appeal to you. There are so many genres that are worth exploring."

#obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me satan #welcome to me randomly creating lore that wasn't there before #was not what i intended to do at all #in fact #i thought of it on the spot as i was writing this #like some other things that i've posted #in my head it makes some degree of sense #i mean #how do you keep individuals like lucifer and satan interested in going to school #both of them are extremely intelligent after all #basic classes just wouldn't satisfy them #also #i know the whole 'satan assembles a movie collection for mc' is canonically innocent #however #i felt like adding a bit of spice to it

[rui-drawsbox]

halo halo this might be out of blue but may i ask how’d you fall in love w Baxter? I wanna hear the story of like how you started to like him if you don’t mind sharing . tysm!!and i love all your artworks!!!!

AGHHHHHHH i was about to go to sleep but healty schedules are overrated. Take a sit cuz this is gonna be LONG bc i dont know how to get to the point (jump right to the end to get the 3 lines resume lmao)

if you ask me why i like right now: he's a dramatic loser. But that was when i finally understood his character! you wouldn't be surprised if tell you that i'm an idiot right? i'm super slow to read between lines and understand people, that applies to fictional characters too lmao (+add that english isn't my first language) So! at first i didn't actually understood what was going on with -well- anything :D.

Took me a few playthroughs to actually understand the game in general, i started to play before step 4 was out so all i could do was play and replay different ways to fall in love with Cove (starting to crush at step3 was my fav) but tbh he was never my *type*, Derek was interesting but just bc he like us by default. Even after playing his dlc i felt like he was just a really good friend (which was kinda weird bc to this point i've just played his romantic route). So, what's different with Baxter?

To begin with! he's... he's....... huhh my first impression wasn't actually strong tbh, i was like "huh new guy to date yay". I didn't actually understood his character the first few playthroughs ngl. I started in fond ofc to get into the dlc but *I* was pretty indifferent, probably in Drinks where we finally see Morning Baxter was that i said "oh shit he's cute" and cuteness+gapmoe is enough to make me fall for any character tbh.

But! that was not enough to provoke a brainrot like this right? i'm the "Oh i love this *forgets about in a week*" type. What sealed the deal (badum tss) was probably bc of the fandom? Once i was done replaying the dlc 5 times in a row i went straight to tumblr to feed of headcanons, fanarts and fanfics. My favorite way to understand a character is thru the fandom tbh, my favs are the long aa essays talking about a character personality.

Long story short, he was dramatic troubled flirty gap-moe guy (my fictional type, coincidentally) with an excellent storyline. I still wasn't 100% into him but he was top1 romatic choice for me (sorry Cove and Derek, love ya but platonically), so i made 2 fanarts for his dlc in may and let the hype die... only for 6 months otherwise we wouldn't be here, would we?

AH-HA-HEM the day 28th of november, beginnings of summer, i went out in the morning to do some errands with my mom, we stopped to buy vegetables in our way home and she bought a small watermelon bc i love them. That same afternoon i was eating it and thought "watermelons are finally here, summer it's officially here!" and got struck with Olba memories like a sleeper agent. (made a minicomic abt that, that's why i have the exact date lol) SO i replayed the game again, reading everything again, and oh boy i finally understood so many things, one of those things was Baxter himself!

A lot of stuff made sense once i actually took the time to comprehend his character with the information i gained out of the game (mainly all the asks ppl sent to gb). Add the way that i always played like *me* on my first playthroughs of anything and then you'll notice why he hit me so hard, it felt like i wasn't giving him enough credit before dasjkfas.

Tbh his dlc is my fav bc it has such a strong storyline, you get to know him and his insecurities thru all step 3, and have a lot of sweet moments too! (and that night goodbye?? omg it hits me so hard bc it's right after the ending song) and because step 4 it's right after you go with all the fresh memories of your summer together and seeing him so cold towards you it's so painful but also so funny because HA I CAN SEE THRU YOUR FACADE YOU STILL LIKE ME HAHAHA and i finally knew the perfect word for him: loser.

Anyways i also did a deep dive in the Olba and Baxter Ward tag here in tumblr and eat pretty much everything, also helped me to get a better grasp for all the little details i didn't noticed before bc haha i told you im an idiot?

sO yeah i made a few drawings of my Mc interacting with the characters, surprisingly it got a lot of attention from the fandom so i made a few more and when i noticed i was deep into the brainrot and i wasn't able to draw anything besides my Ruri and Baxter being cute lmao

Funfact. Ruri is a variation of Rui (duh) that i used in games when i didn't feel like i wanted to be called my name directly, now that she expropriated me of that name i use Ruru, i'm so creative right?

Long story short: it was mix of the game itself, fandom content and people actually liking my oc content. The fandom is super welcoming with everyone's oc's i love that akjdlfhask

ajksdfhasjk WOAH THAT IS SO LONG i def went over the top didnt i? I tried to explain my train of thought and fill the spaces where my memory is blurry with stuff i think i would've thought at the moment, it's also 3am so im- not entirely here tbh hjadfhkj

ANYWAYS THANKYOU ANON FOR LETTING ME RAMBLE I LOVE TALKING TO NO ONE IN SPECIFIC ABOUT THE THINGS I LOVE LOVE YAA<333

#rui thinks loudly #gonna upload the drawing i actually was staying up late for and go to sleep #took me 2 hours to write this omg im so lost #idk how much i wrote but i still feel like it wasnt enough. i need to ramble and be redundant about olba for another 3 hours

[la-pheacienne]

I find the women as victims so fascinating, it’s definitely not only a Got or Hotd issue, I read an essay in college(I hope to have a link) about this topic, it was something like giving the misogyny in our society men writers and general audience have problems to write or identify with female characters unless they make them suffer or being abused so then they can give them power and agency as a prize,that was the gist of the essay, and I think that’s exactly the problem with Sansa,Alicent,etc they had to make Alicent an abused bride child so them and the audience can sympathized with her when she wanted to gain some power at Rhaenyra’s wedding for example.

I also find this topic fascinating and the entire discourse over House of the Dragon really got me thinking hard on this.

Women as victims is a very fine line. Generally, as a whole, me personally, I really really dislike watching sexual violence in cinema or television. I don't like it, period. I think it is mainly torture porn and there are very few instances when I don't consider it one. That's why I had such a big problem with the Handmaid's Tale and I never watched it, for that very reason : seeing women in such horrendous circumstances being raped and beaten and victimised continuously in order to provoke feelings of horror and disgust to the audience is not my thing. It is not nuanced at all, and I hate that. I don't see anything empowering in that. I don't feel more feminist, I just feel broken. But ok that's the topic of the Handmaid's Tale, it's not for everyone.

Now let's go to more controversial adaptations. Alicent and Sansa are two women who weren't raped in the books. In the show they were. I don't understand why people like that, and what is so exceptionally feminist in drowning in despair at the thought of it. All these tumblrinas that are obsessed with Alicent wouldn't be so obsessed if she wasn't a ChiLD BriDe (she wasn't) and maritally raped by a reaaaally old Viserys with a rotting body. But being a victim of sexual abuse is not a personality trait. That's my problem here. This is not real life. This is fiction. In fiction, a character needs to have a purpose and an impact in the storyline and they should be judged for that impact. If a character is reduced to being a victim, they have no impact anymore. I don't care about them, respectfully. The writers really reduced Alicent to being a child bride and a rape victim, and now any chance of assessing her character and her choices is gone. She's a victim, plain and simple. How can you talk about a victim? How can you judge a victim? How can you think critically about a victim? You can't. The only thing you can do is cry at the thought of her being victimised and scream at everyone who tries to attack her, which is essentially what her stans do. This is very, very, VERY bad media. This is not nuance, this is the opposite. Since the very moment you present one woman as a victim and nothing more, she's not a person anymore. She has lost the quality of a person (in the philosophical sense), she's just an abused woman ( I repeat that this is not real life, we're talking about fictional characters here).

It's the very opposite of a female-centric narrative. It actually annihilates women by reducing them to their victimised womanhood. Dany was sexually assaulted too, but that's not the focus of her story. Nobody likes Dany because she was sexually assaulted. Being a woman or a rape victim is not a personality trait. Women are people, not symbols of martyrdom.

I do believe the choice of making Alicent and Sansa rape victims in the show is a misogynistic choice for the fact that it debases the characters, and ends all possible debate on a character's actual personality and choices, which is the very reason why I'm watching this medium, to see characters act and make choices. (Again I don't believe real life rape victims are debased, or have no value, people, I am talking about fiction here). Especially in Alicent's case the consequences are very damaging : the big antagonist of the show being reduced to a rape victim, the protagonist of the show who wasn't a rape victim suddenly doesn't feel very justified in what she wants. She's spoiled, she's entitled, she's a whore. Why?

'Cause this one wasn't raped.

Imagine the implications of that thesis. Do I need to spell them out? Don't we see them everyday in the tags? Alicent didn't choose this, she was raped, she was forced. Rhaenyra chose to have sex that wasn't allowed. She deserves to die. She is judged for simply having a personality. She is judged for being a real character instead of a moving hologram for Tumblrinas wallowing in self pity. How can you win this argument? There is no argument to be made here. One was raped, the other wasn't, so the one who was raped is in the right. The other can burn in hell because she wasn't raped so she's a self serving whore.

That's a really really nice female-centric and feminist narrative. Congratulations to the whole team.

#hotd #house of the dragon #anonymous #rhaenyra targaryen #fire and blood #feminist #misogyny #tw rape

[amerricanartwork]

More Love for Lilypad

Hi! To be honest, I don’t know why I’m writing this, I guess because reading everything has moved me more than I probably thought.

I don’t know how much text he let me put

I have read the current Lilypad publication and I honestly loved it, otherwise I would be here writing like an excited silly girl.

How do you connect the story of Luna and No Harassment with Sleeping Beauty (From the Disney movie because the original story is horrible, believe me, you wouldn’t want to use it if it were the original), it’s so beautiful that it moved me and connected me more with the ships. how much I love them and lilypad mainly sadly for my part I don’t see much art from them (I think it happens to me with ships that generally are not so popular or so loved, it happens to me with the message of love from SpearmasterXHunter, Godmode SaintXEnot, lilypad and PebblesXSun )

The topic, I loved reading these ideas that come from your ingenious and beautiful imagination, I want to read more of this and that would be all! Nice day/night :3!

PD: As a warning, I don’t know where I had to send this and I’m sorry if I didn’t have to send it here, and I take this opportunity to say that your ArtiXGourmand is simply beautiful and I adore it!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Oh my, @amaerumeru, thank you so much for this submission!!

I’m so glad to see someone enjoy those ideas so much, and to hear my essay has inspired some more love for these two sweethearts! Seeing people sympathize at least with the fairytale stuff is a very pleasant surprise!

Regarding the lack of content, I feel you, I’ve had my fair share of rarepairs across my fandoms too (heck, I’m even considering adopting a super rare RW ship right now...), and not being able to find content of them is always pretty rough! Although for me, the struggle doesn’t always come from lacking any content of the ship, but lacking the specific kind of content I want for it. 

Part of the reason why I began that extension of the Lilypad essay by listing the ship tropes I love and particularly explaining the main two was because, to me, how a ship is depicted is just as important as which ship is depicted. It’s so much so I actually won’t like content of a ship I normally love if I don’t like the way the characters are and act within it, or if I don’t like the ideas being shown through the characters enough. 

Both situations exist with Lilypad, and although I can excuse the lack of content as Rain World generally not having much canon ship potential, the portrayal struggle is one I have faced in basically every fandom I’ve been in, where no one seems to really appreciate those traditional dynamics I love with the ships I enjoy the most. Most of the time I still enjoy the content because it’s pretty cute and romantic, and I don’t dislike anything about it enough to cancel out that cuteness/romance factor, but it’s still not what I love most, tailored to what I identify with the greatest; I’ll eat it, but it’s not my favorite flavor. And with the New Year and self-improvement being a common focus this time of year, I figured I’d finally get the courage to take my classic art approach with these themes now; if I can’t find someone else who’s made the content I want, I’ll make it myself (like this sketch I drew up for this post), and just maybe they’ll find me!

And find someone I have! Once again, I’m so glad someone appreciates these older fairytale tropes, and I really do feel inspired to openly make more content including these ideas! I’ve always had a habit of thinking about not just ships, but fiction in general through the lens of the poetic significance characters, scenes, and plot points do or can have, and recently I’ve developed a habit of linking characters and ships back to songs and previous characters from other cartoons (like I did with Sleeping Beauty here), and trust me, if you want more content of this sort, I could both write similar essays deriving these themes within other ships AND make a lot more Lilypad content like this! I mean, after posting that addition I realized somehow forgot to talk about “Once Upon a Dream” specifically and how it so perfectly fits this ship, so I’m already probably gonna do a post and drawing on that sometime soon — !

And one last thing, thanks for liking the Artimand stuff too! Artimand is probably a better example of my “I like this ship in general, but I really wanna see more of these traditional themes in content for it“ attitude, so it’s nice to see that’s enjoyable to other people on some level too!

 Big thanks for the submission, a reason to ramble even more about Lilypad and my favorite ship tropes, and inspiration to make that drawing, Meru! And hey, I love hearing the deeper reasons why other people ship what they do too, so if you ever wanna ramble about your own ships, I’m all ears!

#submission #others:amaerumeru #art #artwork #drawing #sketch #wip #digital #digital art #fanart #rain world #iterator #rw iterator #looks to the moon #LttM #rw lttm #no significant harassment #NSH #rw nsh #rw lilypad #rw lifeline #rivulet #rw rivulet #hunter #rw hunter #quetzalli draws #quetzalli pairs #quetzalli's thoughts #maybe i'll finish this if i find the time #I really love how this sketch turned out

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas 2023: Day 12. Giver of Gifts | Steven/Reader

AN: I thought twice about writing for Steven as he was a real person but I read that the real Steven said the character was nothing like him, so this is entirely based on the fictional character played by Alan and is nothing to do with the real Steven Spurrier or his real wife at all.

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Being married to a world-renowned wine connoisseur wasn’t always as fun as it sounded. Of course, you loved being married to Steven, but as far as his status in the wine industry went, there were some downsides. Other people, mainly.

Some people - and these were the types to always order the cheapest white on the menu at any restaurant they went to - couldn’t fathom how Steven made a living out of his passion for wine. “I wish I could get paid for drinking wine!” they’d laugh, as if they were the first to make that joke. “Do you get free wine?” Yes, you’d say, sometimes he brought home a bottle or two of his favourites from whatever wine competition he’d been off judging. “What’s the difference between a £5 bottle and a £500 bottle?” Ask him, not me, and be prepared to listen to the answer for a long time.

And Christmas… well, your family and friends had their hearts in the right places. But when you sat down to open the presents under your tree on Christmas Day, you did sometimes wish for a bit more variety than endless bottles of wine as gifts - especially as the wines were usually generic supermarket-shelf bottles.

They were usually nice wines, and before meeting Steven you’d have loved to be given a year’s supply of free wine every Christmas. You liked Moët, and to the average person £50 was a lot for a bottle of wine. And at least Steven let you drink it - the higher the price of a bottle he brought home, the less likely it was he’d ever actually open it. His wine cellar was like a dragon’s cave, rows and rows of unopened fancy wines that were made to be drunk but he’d never dream of opening them because they were so fancy.

But there was more to Steven than just wine. And there was more to you than the wife of a man who loves wine. But whenever anyone thought of the Spurriers, they thought of wine, and so that was what you got.

And you couldn’t complain really - not since you’d actually bought him wine too. But you’d gone all out on this one. You were fortunate enough to earn a healthy amount of money in your own career, so although it stretched the budget a bit, it didn’t break the bank for you to buy him a £4,500 bottle of JS Terrantez.

Steven opened your present last, and his eyes lit up when he pulled the 200-year-old bottle from the bag you’d presented it in.

“[Y/n]!” he exclaimed with a gasp, turning over the bottle in his hand carefully, as if worried it might explode. “What on earth has gotten into you? You can’t give me this, it’s too much!”

“Don’t be silly, Steve,” you replied, nudging him. “I know how irritated you get at how many Barefoots and Echo Falls we get every year. I thought it was about time someone got you a good wine.”

“Good? This is the sixth most expensive wine in the world, [Y/n].”

“And it’s not even French, would you believe it?”

Steven rolled his eyes at you. His famous 1976 wine tasting had taken place years before you’d met, but you still liked to tease him about it.

“This is such a thoughtful gift, [Y/n]. Thank you.”

He kissed you on the cheek, and you blushed. He wasn’t the most affectionate man in the world, and you’d come to terms with that a long time ago - it just meant that when he did show affection, it meant all that much more to you.

“Can I open my present now?” you asked, eyeing up the one single gift under the tree that wasn’t in a wine bag.

“Alright, but I wish you’d opened it earlier, it pales in comparison to this.”

Steven carefully set aside the bottle to take down into the cellar later, and retrieved the last present from under the tree for you. You pulled back the wrapping paper to reveal a framed photo of the two of you from your wedding.

“Oh, Steve, I love it!” you exclaimed. You wrapped your arms around him, surprising him, and kissed him on the cheek.

“You do? I know we don’t have a lot of photos of us, so I thought it’d be nice to have something to put on the mantelpiece.”

“You mean other than the photos of you with important wine people?”

“Precisely. You’re far more important than any of them. But I feel bad now, it’s nothing compared to that Terrantez —”

“Well, I think it’s my favourite present this year. I’m going to put it right here on the mantel, and we can look at it while we drink these cheap wines and you tell me all about why they’re so terrible even though they taste fine.”

Steven smiled, your enthusiasm infectious, and he was grateful to have a wife so loving as you, who understood his passion - even if you didn’t quite understand the difference between a Merlot and a Shiraz.

#alan rickman #rickmas2023 #steven spurrier #bottle shock 2008 #steven x reader

[passerkirbius]

Rusty Quill Saga - 24 Hour Follow Up

Hi everyone! I appreciate all the new follows! Might actually get me posting more about stuff!

So, it's been about a day since I posted my response to the Rusty Quill article, and reading some of the tag comments I wanted to respond to a couple, again in the interests of helping those who aren't within the audio fiction community get a little context that you might not otherwise have had.

But I also wanted to put my cards on the table - why should you listen to me? Hi! My name is Lee Davis-Thalbourne, I'm Australian, and I'm one half of the Fiction Podcast Production team Passer Vulpes Productions. We're the creators of a number of fiction podcasts, including Love and Luck and Supernatural Sexuality with Dr. Seabrooke. I also have a reasonable resume of small VA roles with a lot of different podcast production teams, I have a history of theorycrafting around podcast production, and I'm currently engaged in some part-time independent research around fiction podcast production that, if people are interested, I might actually get around to finishing one day. Myself and my partner Erin were the founders of AusFicPodMakers, which was/is an informal group supporting audio fiction producers in Australia, and as part of that support, I currently curate a list of Australian Fiction Podcasts (which I encourage you to take a look at!). In terms of affiliations, PVP is not associated with any podcasting network (though a few have knocked on our door), and I'm not currently producing audio fiction right now - I have no projects on the boil, so to speak.

So, I think I can say, with some evidence, that I'm a part of the audio fiction production scene, that I care about audio fiction in general, that I might have some thoughts worth listening to about it, and that I'm a mostly disinterested party regarding this - I have no particular stake in Rusty Quill's fortunes one way or the other.

Tag Responses

Okay, so I wanted to quickly respond to a few of the tag comments that have popped up in response to yesterday's post, mainly because I feel like it's worth expanding on some of them:

#i also feel bad because i was always kinda wary on tma2#now it feels even more like a cash grab

Look - as a podcast producer, I can respect a cash grab. If you can grab that cash, I'm a strong believer in doing so, because making audio fiction without cash is kinda sucky. It's like any other big endeavour - when you get nothing out of it, it eats away at you. That's part of the reason why PVP isn't producing at the moment - We tried to scale up to multiple productions and it damn near killed us. We weren't really getting the income we needed to do more than just barely break even - we, as producers, weren't making a dime off of our podcasts, even with Patreon and crowdfunding. Rusty Quill is actually an extreme outlier regarding their ability to get cash from their audiences. How extreme? Well, before the TMA2 kickstarter, the most successful Audio Fiction crowdfunding campaign was Unseen, from the producers of Wolf 359, one of the seminal audio fiction shows of the modern audio fiction renaissance, and it hit a little over US$40,000. Which, just to note, was significantly higher than any other audio fiction crowdfund project before it - very few audio fiction crowdfund campaigns get more than around US$5,000-10,000.

So, sure, it's a cash grab. It might still be good anyway though! Don't disregard it just because they're making financially-dominated decisions.

#Adding onto this while the evidence isn't conclusive (because as many people have said it is conjecture and opinions and stuff)#and also the author's credibility is...in question

So, first things first, Newt Schottelkotte is an extremely credible journalist in the Audio Fiction space - they've broken a number of big stories, and written a lot in support of the audio fiction production scene. Wil Williams, who helped edit the piece, is also a highly respected critic and journalist within the space, while Tal Minear is a very prolific audio fiction producer of good repute. Personally, I have absolutely no concerns about their integrity or credibility - they've all done incredible work.

But it is worth noting that Audio fiction is kinda odd, in that journalists, critics and producers all pretty much come from the same group of people. The honest fact is that Audio Fiction, as a beat, has pretty much no prestige, there are (currently) no publications that are dedicated to audio fiction coverage, and the whole sector is mostly considered an afterthought to the real podcast industry. So, the few people who do create audio fiction meta-content, even if they begin as separated from the industry, don't stay separated for long - they will start making contacts with producers, they may start finding people offering cameo roles in shows, and eventually, they'll consider moving into podcast production. If your requirement for a "credible" voice within audio fiction journalism is one that has absolutely no connections with any actual production, I'm sorry but that ain't happening - the scene is too small, and people move between production and commentary so often, that "true independence" isn't a thing.

With that said, these journalists do a lot to make their affiliations visible up front, which is the other way to manage conflicts of interest within the scene - by declaring them. I'd be a lot more suspicious of a journalist that doesn't put their affiliations up front, honestly.

The Rusty Quill Response

So, I wrote yesterday that I wasn't expecting a response from Rusty Quill for a good three days - they are a group, it takes time to coordinate a response, I figured I could relax for a bit. However, Rusty Quill has already produced a response, and that alone says something - it says that a single person has dictated this response. Considering the record speed, I also doubt that it has been looked over by anyone else. Knowing these things, I find it very likely that this is Alex Newall's response specifically, speaking for Rusty Quill, rather than one that that the leadership at Rusty Quill has worked on together.

I'm not going to go through the whole thing point by point - I don't have the time, and this post is already too long for most Tumblrites to consider going through it. But on a more general level, I find it interesting that the response contains not a single link, not a single pointer towards contrary evidence. Almost certainly this is due to the timeframe - were I in RQ's position, I would be going through our paperwork to find some boilerplate contracts to provide some counter-evidence to the article, or providing some financial details to show where the money is going, but finding, redacting, and publishing these things takes time. RQ has done none of this, and this isn't necessarily a point against them, but it does mean that Rusty Quill hasn't done much more than shout "Am not!" into the audience.

To talk about one specific point, I also find it interesting that, having been attacked on the subject of crew pay rates, they talk about how their cast have very good pay rates. This might be true, I don't have the resources to fact check that, and I hope it is - actors do deserve pay. But it is worth noting that actors are on a production for very little of the time - it's the editors, sound designers, musicians, transcribers, etc who put the most time on to a production. In general, you'd expect that the crew would be getting more money than the cast, because the crew is going to be putting in more time (although, fair's fair, the vast majority of audio fiction out there doesn't do this, because the only "crew" is the producer, who is usually financing the production out of their own pocket).

Questions?

So, I figure that if I'm putting myself out there, I might as well offer the opportunity for people to pick my brain. Have a question about Audio fiction production? Want to hear my explicit comments about something someone has said? My asks are open, I'll do my best to come back and answer any asks that come my way.

#tma #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #rusty quill #rq #industry explainer #audio fiction

[penny-hartzs]

Let's talk more fashion: who are your top ten fictional characters with the best style 🥰

Right off the bat I have to go with Carrie Bradshaw. She annoyed me to no end for most of the series (apart from that one episode where she went to a house party and someone stole her shoes and she insisted that the guests pay her back for them) but I'd be lying if I said that her outfits don't continue to be iconic and they are always going to be a huge chapter of costume design and fashion. Patricia Field really is THAT woman.

2. Rachel Green my forever girl has to be number 2. I love so many things about her style and how it evolves throughout the seasons. In the early days it was jeans, T-Shirts and overalls but in such a chic and 90's way and then as she starts working in fashion and growing more into a more grownup version of herself she has an amazing office wardrobe that I still take inspo from. I also love all her slip dresses.

3. Meave Maisel. I started watching The Marvelous Mrs Maisel mainly because of the clothes and the fact that it was written by Amy Sherman Palladino and I stayed for as long as I did for the clothes as well. I believe the plot got a bit tired and the creators got distracted by the fact that the budget kept getting bigger so therefore they thought the show should be getting flashier instead of more human and funny but you'll never catch me complaining about the costumes because, well look at them!

4. Lisa Fremont. LISTEN. The costumes in this movie (which is Rear Window, directed by Alfred Hitchcock) are my Roman Empire. Especially the black and white dress combined with Grace Kelly's incredible beauty makes it one of the most iconic fashion moments in cinema history and we should give Edith Head (the costume designer) her flowers.

5. Fran Fine. It took me a while to realize what an absolute fashion icon this woman is because I didn't watch The Nanny as a kid or teenager (I still haven't watched all of it and I plan on making it right eventually) but omg the absolute serve after serve after serve AFTER SERVE. Plus, that body is bodying. And a special mention to this particular outfit which is all of my dreams coming true:

6. Issa from Insecure

This show's entire costume department deserved all the Emmys, Oscars, Tonys, just everything but Issa's style was always my absolute favorite because it was so versatile and reflected on her character journey as well. Plus I loved the fact that even when she had a casual look on, there were still so many smart details about it. Argh I miss Insecure so much I need Issa Rae back on my screen immediately.

7. Daisy Jones. This character has had a tight grip on my heart ever since I read the book and I knew I'd love her when I watched the tv adaptation but I didn't expect to love her to the point I spent all of last spring trying to find pieces to recreate her entire cool girl hippy wardrobe. And also I just have to mention this "gold dust woman" moment because it was arguably the most iconic outfit of them all

8. Holly Golightly

I don't think I need to say too much about her to be honest do I? Audrey Hepburn is literally a work of art, in this movie and in general. My maybe somewhat unpopular opinion is that the pink outfit is my favorite one :')

Honourable mentions:

Monica Geller/ Blair Waldorf/ Cher Horowitz/ Zoe from Grownish (I hate the show though)/ Devi from Never Have I Ever/ Hilary Banks from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air

#flora THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING ME THIS LET'S KEEP TALKING ABOUT FASHION FOREVER :') #also lmao it ended up being top 7 instead of top 10

[4am-enha]

☕️ .・📖・。. 🖇 ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 🧸・。. 🎞 .・🫧

ello ello my luvs! thank you for visiting my page. here you will find enhypen related writings! i only write on here. extra and general stuff will be on my main blog: @4amwon. wattpad coming soon~

you can find the full master list & more below.

fem reader ✩

gender neutral reader ☼

masc reader ❅

ㄴ please let me know if i made a mistake. i may not always catch it.

! currently on a tight life schedule & slow at posting !

OT7

⌲ OT7 text scenarios

ㄴ screenshot format text messages with enha in a certain scenario. (most popular!)

enha when you start your period ☼

enha when you lowkey confess (but you’re drunk.) ☼

enha when you ask them to be your valentine☼

enha when it’s storming ☼

enha when you send them a selfie [snapchat pic format] ✩

enha when you cry over a sloth video (ask) ☼

enha when you forget it’s gfs day ✩

enha when you have an interview ☼

enha when you have a pretty bad argument ☼

enha when you’ve had a pretty bad argument pt.2 (anon ask) ☼

⌲ OT7 short scenarios

ㄴ similar to the above but one-shots in written format.

enha when you’re not feeling well ✩

enha when you go to a haunted house ~halloween special~ ☼

enha when they find you crying ✩

⌲ OT7 bullet points/notes

ㄴ short but sweet bullet points/thoughts on the members.

enha as love tropes ☼

enha as love languages ☼

enha as feelings ☼

enha as your group in a zombie apocalypse ☼

enha reactions when you’re a boxer ☼

⌲ OT7 fic

ㄴ longer one-shots with all enha members together in one.

enhypen eve ~ christmas special ~ ✩

cabin fever (anon ask) ✩

HYUNG LINE ONLY

⌲ text scenarios

ㄴ screenshot format text messages with just hyung line in a certain scenario. only hee, jay, jake, hoon !!

hyung line sending a bold text. ☼

SPECIFIC MEMBER

⌲ 정원 - jungwon

ㄴ usually longer one-shots on just reader x jungwon unless stated otherwise!

$3 coffee ✩

a kick in the heart (anon ask) ☼

⌲ 이희승 - heeseung

ㄴ usually longer one-shots on just reader x heeseung unless stated otherwise!

late summer lovin’ ☼

late summer lovin’ alternative ending (anon ask)

⌲ 박종성 - jay

ㄴ usually longer one-shots on just reader x jay unless stated otherwise!

pouring ☼

⌲ 심제윤 - jake

ㄴ usually longer one-shots on just reader x jake unless stated otherwise!

~ coming soon. ~

⌲ 박성훈 - sunghoon

ㄴ usually longer one-shots on just reader x sunghoon unless stated otherwise!

sweet (in)convenience ☼(ask)

⌲ 김선우 - sunoo

ㄴ usually longer one-shots on just reader x sunoo unless stated otherwise!

studying you (anon ask)☼

puppy bunny love (ask)☼

⌲ 니키 - niki

ㄴ usually longer one-shots on just reader x niki unless stated otherwise!

return home ✩

SMAU SERIES

~ nothing here yet ~

MORE

* this is my first time writing on tumblr, and my schedule is insanely packed so please be patient with me!

* practically none of the pictures are mine. almost all pictures i use are from pinterest! all creds go to the owners!

* i will not write smut on minors so don’t even ask! i am also not very skilled in the smut portion of writing, so expect mainly fluff and angst in here!

* feel free to leave requests in my asks, i may not always respond but i promise i look at all of them and will occasionally write them. i’m always looking for inspo!

* feedback is always appreciated, but please be kind. i don’t usually respond to reblogs on here to avoid spam and make my page easier to navigate, but again, i really appreciate and read them all. they matter to me :)

* all fics on here are reader x enha/enha member, if i ever write any member x member fics they will be on my wattpad! i will announce that separately. please remember it has nothing to do with the real enha members and you shouldn’t involve/relate them with fan fiction. don’t be weird and make them uncomfortable, keep it to yourself and the authors. fan fic ≠ reality. xoxo

* my main blog @4amwon is where i will post updates and random things related to enha and probably also bts & nwjns! i reblog on there too. prepare for jungwon posts galore. i love that man.

* asks will be replied to under the #ask 4am!🧸

anon symbols already taken: 🐴 .

my ults bias list: jungwon (enha), taehyung (bts), haerin (nwjns).

languages: english (fluent) & korean (intermediate)

timezone: KST (Korean Standard Time)

#welcome #4am!🧸 masterlist #masterlist #enhypen

[eosincuffs]

Welcome sweets, darlings, honeys, I’m Cuffs! I am an 18 year old novice writer here to write the things I can’t find online. I am currently frothing over the COD fandom and mainly enjoy the darker aspects of romance. But I DO NOT ENDORSE OR CONDONE the behaviour I write about irl, this is purely my fictional sandbox.

Also don’t you dare plagiarise and claim my work as yours. I absolutely do NOT consent to posting my work without credit!

I love you all but first and foremost I created this blog mainly for my own enjoyment and to share dopamine with likeminded moots. I write for me and only for me, and will very rarely take customised reader asks/scenarios that aren’t dark. You are welcome to feast on my thoughts as long as you remember this.

Please be aware that I repost, create and interact with works that in some shape or form include DARK CONTENT. Usually it involves !TW noncon, !TW dubcon, TW! kidnapping, !TW stalking and just general gross behaviour both sexual and non. Which is why MINORS DNI, ageless blogs will be blocked and if I find out you are a minor you will be blocked as well. Idc how mature you think you are this is about basic respect.

If that is not your cup of tea, scroll or block me <3.

If I get a message chastising me on the contents of my blog I will assume that you are an illiterate single celled organism and kindly advise you to shove your moral righteousness where the sun doesn’t shine. I will post your message and call it out. SCROLL AND/OR BLOCK.

- I will NOT be answering every ask.

- If you ask me to write any kind of fluff it will probs involve Stockholm Syndrome. But hey I might, cuz even my heart needs some softness

- I do not fulfill personal asks e.g. how would this character react to reader with {…..} condition/body type/skin type/race e.c.t. (unless it tickles my brain in a good way) You are all beautiful and valid but it’s literally in MAIN RULE.

- Zoophilia/Beastiality

- Stepdad stuff (others are fine, but this one just makes me feel a lil off, but maybe someday)

- Pedophilia

- Ageplay/Infantilisation (but like age gaps with 20s and like 40s+ is ok, i just dont like it when they are forced to act like children)

- Male reader (at least not yet)

- Hard Scat (so anything involving faeces)

Sure hope you read all of the above before scrolling here ЮwЮ

Maul the Hand that Feeds - Multipart

- Dark! 141 x Wealthy Reader

Dishonourably discharged, the lives of the 141 quartet are arguably ruined. Until Soap meets you.

Pipping Gone Wrong - Multipart/One-shot drabble idk yet

- Dark! 141 x Recruit! Reader

Joining the army out of desperation, you look awfully different from your fierce and independent colleagues. Soap takes notice.

Puppy Presents - Multipart

- Ghoap x Ragdoll Hybrid! Reader x PriceGaz

Ghost saved your wealthy owner’s son and his reward is the perfect, pampered, pliable you! But uh oh, Soap hates your guts.

New Year Troubles - One-shot

- Nasty! Soap x Colleague! Reader

What’s he doing?

Inspired by ceilidho’s Coworker Soap series!

Will be added:

Brazen Bull - Multipart

- Bastard! König x Royal! Reader

König’s an illegitimate child, an unwanted existence sent as war fodder turned hero; fighting valiantly for his mother’s honour. You’re the sole princess of the Empire. Spoiled and perfect, with your eyes on that galant, diamond throne.

??? - Multipart

- Hybrid!CoD x Hybrid!Reader

Your unwelcome visitor is quite lovely, actually. But you need to get him out! Quick! There’s something else lumbering towards your den.

#pinned post #masterlist #dark!codxreader

[blehblarghblah]

wait wait wait, what about "Like Father, Like Libby"?? What are your thoughts on THAT dad episode? Especially bc what you said about alador. I cried 😭

^ me at that sleazy Matias

This is one of those moments where I meant in my other post TGaMM does a good job of balancing humour with serious tones, but evidently not making it a cheapened moment. Libby is a great character who has visibly grown out of her shell thanks to Molly's influence, and when we see her be passionate we can see/relate to a lot of aspects of her child-like glee. Granted, she is still a kid, but the way her excitement of lost time/potential takes hold of her here in this episode is even something Leah was surprised by. Which makes it very real and relatable!

To briefly pull away from the focus of the episode, I loved the B plot with Molly and Scratch because of the gags and one-liners. One of my favourite tropes in fiction, especially in sitcom series, is a character who is suddenly doing crosswords for the entirety of the episode which basically tees up punchlines and gags. I don't care if it's cheesy, I always find it hilarious. It's a simple way to set up jokes, but TGaMM did great with their deliveries and had me and my sister cackling.

Which is good! As undercutting serious tension can be needed to add levity. I feel as though if I had watched this episode as a kid, a lot of Leah's behaviours would've gone over my head then. But as I am now, seeing how she is, having moments of laughter adds great balance to the main story. And additionally, more moments of Libby and Molly's BFF nature is great: the fact that she knew Molly already messed up but was just playing it off just goes to show how well she knows her friend (I headcanon she asked Molly to put Simon on the phone just to troll her).

Now, the dad.

I love that Leah wasn't disheartened or jealous with Libby's sudden affection for her father. She had discomfort, but mainly because she knows what kind of man Matias really is. Seeing how she subtly places herself in support of her daughter throughout the entire is a great detail in how she is the parent that stayed and truly loved Libby, but also that Libby is aware of her mom's presence. As when the moment happens, she immediately knows she can rely on her mom again.

She just misses her dad.

And that, is wonderful storytelling in the way that not even Libby was aware how much she wanted her father in her life until the opportunity presented itself. I don't think she wanted to become a writer because of him, but I bet that had a small influence in her outlet with her poetry and such. Much of his lack of presence takes a toll and is finally let loose here, which enhances Libby's expectations. She asks her mother if his personality is basically anything like the stereotypical dads she's no doubt read/heard about.

Though I believe even Libby started to suspect something at the moment she met him too, as when her dad gave her a signed copy it felt like she recognized his signature was more general than personalized for her. Seeing that after all the expectations and build up, he turns out to be exactly as Leah suspected, was a gut punch but also very raw. Letting Libby soak in her moment for a bit was nice, but having her come out of it and recognize her mother's value in her life made it all the better.

All in all, a great episode and definitely up there in my top five faves so far.

(P.S.: Matias book series is gonna flop, what kind of publisher decides to make a book into a trilogy after a book is released?)

Until next ask,

- Bleh

#the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm #molly mcgee #scratch mcgee #libby stein torres #leah stein torres #matias torres #tgamm memes #review #i guess #like father like libby #tgamm season 2 #tgamm spoilers #the ghost and molly mcgee spoilers #pete is the only father figure libby will need #love pete mcgee

[77cc69]

Overthinking

Synopsis: Yoongi asks you out and reassures you about your inexperienced love life.

Pairing: Hybe!Employee!Female!Reader!Y/N X Idol!Yoongi (BTS) (Mentions of other members too)

Genre: Fluff (There’s a slightly angsty theme and suggestion/mention of smut if you squint). Borderline benign obsessive and possessive thoughts from Yoongi, I guess?

Warnings: None.

This is a fictional work. I generally prefer that minors do not interact in case I decide to write about sensitive themes at a later stage. Please read sensibly.

Word count: 3021

This is Part 1 of the Thinking AU. Part 2: Just Thinking (to be added) Part 3: Not Thinking (to be added)

If you wish to be added to (or removed from) the taglist please comment below. 

I’ve used some basic Korean words in transliteration in italics in my writing. In case you don’t know what they mean, here are the translations for all Korean words used: Annyeonghaseyo (안녕하세요) - Hello Sajangnim (사장님) - president / CEO / boss -Ssi (씨) - a term of respect similar to Ms/Mrs/Mr Ne (네) - Yes

Author’s Notes: This is mainly descriptive writing with minimal storyline, but there are other parts that link to this theme that are in the making. I edit my work every now and then, so if you see a new chapter, perhaps consider reading the previous one(s) again in case I edited something to make more sense for the next chapter. This is my very first posted piece of writing, so I’d love to know your opinions. Don’t hesitate to contact me please. Let me know if you have any suggestions too! Just specify which work you're referring to if it's not a comment on the post. If you message anonymously, please provide a reference, alias or emoji for me to differentiate you from others. Last Edited: 25/03/2024

‘Knock knock’. It was gentle, but loud enough for him to hear through his muffling headphones. Patiently, you wait in the passage while other Hybe staff members walk by, bowing their heads as they pass. You’re gripping the papers and the late morning cup of coffee tighter than you should, leaving indents in the pages you’re supposed to deliver. 

There’s a buzz, signalling that the door is now open. You slowly push the door ajar, quietly to not disturb him while he works on his masterpieces that you’re not yet privileged enough to witness. The fact that he lets you enter into his dimly lit studio is honour enough. The only two people who know the key to this room are Jeon Jungkook and Min Yoongi himself. 

There’s a window on the left side of the room, tinted to be able to see outside and into the offices, but no one could see in. That must be how he’d known your name, seeing your labelled desk through the mirrored glass. You hadn’t expected him to notice you, let alone know your name and strike up conversations with you in the company cafeteria. He was one of the world’s best musicians and one of the most desired men on the planet. You were a little nervous to enter. Needless to say, the heartthrob made your heart throb. You always remained polite, respectful and professional as best you could, regardless of the mini developing crush you had blooming inside.

You see him lift the headphones off his ears and drape them around his neck before minimizing the file that was open on his computer screen with a click and spinning around to face you lingering in the doorway. “Annyeonghaseyo.” You bow, careful not to tip the coffee cup. He just nods in response from his spot across the room. “I brought the files that you requested,” you say softly as you gingerly place them on his messy yet somewhat organized desk. He gives a low pitched tired grumble in response. “Mmm.” 

“Sajangnim said that you’ve been in here for quite some time, so I figured I’d bring you some fuel to keep you going too.” You gesture to the warm cardboard cup you’re holding and raise it slightly, steam escaping from the tiny hole in the plastic lid. Has he really been here all night? He looks at you, dumbfounded. You're so sweet. He’s thankful for your kindness.

You stand there awkwardly, holding the coffee cup and searching for a place to put it down that won’t disrupt his mountains of sheet music and chaos. He leans forward and gratefully receives it from your clammy hands. You feel slightly out of place, wondering if you should have ditched the coffee idea and remained entirely professional with him. You fight back the urge to coo at how cute he looks with his saggy eyelids and puffy cheeks. He looks utterly exhausted, like a cat that’s searching for a place to curl up and sleep for the next 20 hours straight.

He takes a sip from the coffee cup, wondering how you knew exactly how much sugar he liked. None. His stage name was Suga, but ironically he takes no sugar in his coffee. He enjoys the taste and appreciates that it’s still hot, but not hot enough to scorch his tongue. Savouring the flavour, his droopy eyes close as evidence of his sleep-deprivation begins to surface. He's not complaining though. He'd work an endless number of hours more if it meant you'd visit him with coffee more often to help with his stamina.

He senses you overthinking about your friendly gesture, but doesn’t show it, opting to lighten the mood instead. He decides to use this opportunity to talk to you alone while he has the chance. “Y/N-ssi?” You look away from his lips on the coffee cup to make eye-contact. “Ne Yoongi-ssi?” “Are you busy tonight?” he asks cordially. You slowly shake your head from side to side, wondering if you should be busy with something. Is this a trick question? Is there a project that you’ve forgotten about? 

“Would you like to go out for dinner this evening?” he asks, all traces of emotion hidden from his face, Daegu dialect pulling through. “Sure,” you accept politely, smiling slightly and internally questioning if that was the correct response or not. “Which of the other colleagues will be there?” you enquire. His face morphs into an unidentifiable expression after you ask what seemed like a perfectly reasonable question to you. 

You’re so naïve.

Your innocent mind and purity almost makes him swoon. He nearly shows it, but tries to stifle the giddiness in his chest. He pretends to be unaffected. “I meant just the two of us. Together. On a date,” he says plainly, awaiting your response.

He observes your pretty face and watches the calculations go off in your head as the final realization in your eyes set in and your lips move to form the word “Oh.” He fears that you might change your mind and waits to hear if your answer to his question changes. 

It doesn’t. 

He watches your beautiful features contort ever so slightly as you hesitate. “I’ve never been on a date before,” you say earnestly. His face relaxes, relieved that that was the only worry plaguing your brilliant mind and he lets out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That’s ok. I’ll teach you. I haven’t been on many dates recently either. The K-Pop idol lifestyle isn’t really conducive to it.” He lets out a little chuckle as you huff out a small laugh of relief too. He has successfully made you feel better about your inexperience, he thinks. 

You squirm and fidget with your sleeve, “But –” Apparently not so successful he realizes, “– I don’t know what’s socially acceptable. I-I don’t know how to kiss. I don’t know how to…” you rattle off, stumbling over your own words. It is in that moment that he knows you’re just as insecure about this as he is. You’re overthinking as much as he is, maybe even a bit more, judging by the stutter that just slipped out your pretty mouth. He leans back in his chair, pale fingers clasped together around the cup in his lap, the cardboard warm. There’s a faint gummy smile tugging on his lips as he takes another sip from the coffee. Amused eyes peer in your direction from behind the cup to see the cogwheels churning in your head. You’re adorable. Your face is tinted slightly pink to match the thin ribbon bow in your hair. He’s about to reassure you again when your rambling continues.

“Yoongi-ssi, I don’t know how to… I-I’m a virgin,” you admit. There. You said it.

He immediately splutters the liquid in his mouth, covering it with his sleeve, bending over and placing the cup on his desk without caring if it spills as he gasps for air in his coughing fit. Wow. Ok. It’s Yoongi’s turn to blush now. You really are getting way ahead of yourself. Next thing he knows, you’ll be contemplating marriage and telling him that you don’t know how to be a mother. He doesn’t mind. It’s endearing. He chuckles, gummy smile now on full display as he averts his gaze. The corners of his eyes crinkle and flatten slightly as his small pearly square teeth are clearly visible in a straight line.

You wonder if he’s laughing at you. Have you gone too far? Have you put him on the spot? You cringe. You’ve said too much. 

He’s received millions of proposals before. Quite literally, millions. Yet, somehow, yours would be the only one in consideration. You’re the only person on Earth that Min Yoongi would fear rejection from. He hopes you don’t know that if you had actually asked about marriage, he would have said yes in an instant. If you’d actually verbalised your insecurity about motherhood, he would have held your hand through all of it, regardless of how hard you’d squeeze, even if you’d crush his hand in the process. 

He grips the armrests of his swivel chair, using his legs to push the chair’s wheels out from under his desk and hoists himself up to stand. He glances down at your cute closed espadrille sandals with pink straps and a slight platform. He's wearing socks, shoes kicked off haphazardly at the door, but he towers over you nonetheless. He strides toward you, socks padding against the dark carpet, and you think he’s about to escort you gracefully out of his studio. He’s so close to you now, peering down at your flushed face with a fond look and a twinkle in his feline eyes. 

He cups your cheeks with both of his hands and continues to stare into your soul while you innocently stare right back. His fingers are rough, callouses from a lifetime of guitar practice, grazing your cheek. The string tied around his wrist tickles your ear as his hands push your hair back, framing your face. 

Your eyes strain to look up at him, struggling to focus when the dim lights above you create a blinding halo over his head. Your arms dangle aimlessly and lame at your sides, not knowing what to do or how to react. You think he’s about to take back his offer to take you out for dinner. You understand. It’s ok. You know you’re awkward. 

He tilts his head closer to yours, the proximity making you question your decision to wear less perfume today. The next thing you know, you feel his eyelashes on your cheeks and his bitter coffee breath fanning over your top lip before you register what’s happening. Your eyes are wide open from shock, his doll-like lips pressing into yours while you’re frozen in place. Realization hits you and you close your eyes, soaking in the unexpected sensations flowing through you. All those thoughts swarming in your head a minute ago have come to a halt and you just enjoy this feeling of closeness. You let your natural instincts take over and slowly move your mouth to mould with his, relaxing against his touch. You’ve never experienced this before. You’re happy it’s with Yoongi. 

Yoongi holds your face still, channelling all of the energy that he’s had pent up, into his first kiss with you. He wants this intimate moment to be memorable. For both of you. He’s actually glad that he’ll be your first. Your first kiss, your first date, the first man to hold your hand with the intention of never letting go, and your first… well, your first partner. He hopes to be your last and only. You’re pure, innocent and untainted. He likes that.

You have no idea how much courage it took him to ask you out. Yoongi has the confidence to be able to perform in front of millions of ARMYs, but it was nowhere to be seen when it came to asking you this big question today. His confidence had vanished into thin air and all he was left with was his usual calm demeanour which he hopes did the trick. He hopes it sounded casual enough even though he could hear his heart pounding in his throat. 

He’s been observing you for a while now, seeing as you pass by while running your errands each day. He had been admiring you since the day you started working at the company, thanking the heavens for Bang PD placing you in the same section of the building where his studio was located. The perfect view of your desk was visible through his window where no one could see him being distracted every single day. 

He’d noticed a lot about you in the last few months that he’d known you, like how consistently hard working you are and how you always pay attention to detail. He watched you pouring coffee for Namjoon the other day, swirling a floral pattern into the foam before capping the plastic lid on the paper cup and being careful not to spill a drop. He hopes that one day, he’ll be the only man receiving coffee from your dainty hands. You're clever, beautiful and have a heart of gold. How could he not want to be selfish and keep you all to himself?

It was strange how quickly he'd warmed up to you considering how long it usually takes him to become comfortable with strangers. He's usually so introverted, but holding your face in his palms and having you close to him just felt so normal, so easy, natural and just so right.

As he slowly and reluctantly releases your face from his passionate grip, he realizes there’s something that he hasn’t admitted to you. 

Your eyes flutter open. Neither of you know how long the kiss lasted. Time itself had stopped. Nothing else in the world mattered in that moment. He’d caught you off guard, but you didn’t mind one bit. In fact, you quite liked it, even though he’d left you feeling slightly light-headed. There’s a faint coffee bitterness lingering on your lips, but you can’t bring yourself to wipe the sweet aftertaste away. He’s smirking and you wonder if you’re dreaming. Did he, Min Yoongi, really just kiss you, or are you standing there dumbfounded while he smirks at you after you’d imagined the whole thing? No, you couldn’t have imagined it. You don’t think your mind is capable of being creative enough to come up with something so vivid. Could he hear what’s going on in your head? No, that’s not possible. Right? 

He clears his throat awkwardly, removing you from your dazed state. “Don’t worry Y/N. We’ll get to the other things you mentioned at a later stage, but for now, I think you’d better get back to work.” It is an unsaid promise that there is more where that came from. You look up at him shyly, not knowing what to say, but slowly nodding in acknowledgement, his words left lingering in the coffeed air between you. His smile brightens before disappearing entirely as if it was never there, making you believe that this was, indeed, just a dream all along. “We’ll leave work at seven,” he says flatly, no traces of his adoration shining through anymore like the warm words shared before. He then walks over to his desk and plonks himself back into the swivel chair, slouching lazily once again, wishing you’d stay, but he’d never show it. 

You notice a soft smile peeping through his unphased facade, but it might just be in your imagination again, so you don’t say anything. It still warms your heart to think that maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way you do. 

You bow, flustered, unable to wipe the blush and smile off your face, and turn around to exit. Just before closing the door behind you, you peek back in to see his back facing you, headphones on with dark fluffy hair bopping to the music as before like nothing had happened. You prefer his natural hair colour. You giggle to yourself like a schoolgirl as soon as the door is closed, quick to try neutralize your face when you see someone approaching in the hallway. If this was what your first kiss was like, you couldn’t wait for your first date later this evening.

What you hadn’t seen when you looked back into his studio to see the back of his head, was that Yoongi had the brightest gummy smile plastered over his face with the rosiest doughy cheeks that no one else would ever see. You had energized him, not with the coffee that you’d brought with you, but merely with your presence. As much as he should use this new found energy to get his work done before your date together, he was not going to be able to concentrate for the rest of the day. He’d end up writing ballads instead of the hardcore rap that he’d intended. He thinks, one day, he’ll show you his lyric book, littered with scribbles and confessions all about you. You are his muse after all.

He closes his eyes to picture your reaction from earlier that he’d done his best to memorise. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It’s both a blessing and a curse that you are so blissfully unaware of his feelings for you. You don’t notice the fondness in his gaze when he stares at you. You’ve never noticed that he can’t pry his eyes off of you no matter how hard he tries to look away. Even after he’d silently committed his life to you, blatantly asked you out on a date, and kissed you like you were his life support, you didn’t know that he wanted you to be his, forever. You probably thought of him as a guy who just hit on you and kissed you to shut you up. You don’t know that he had kissed you to shut himself up. He needed a way to stop himself from saying the most ridiculously cliched poetry and to stop him from proclaiming everything to the world. He needed a way to show you how much he cared about you without embarrassing himself. He needed a way to reassure you and to settle the insecurities that he witnessed roaming around in your head. 

He doesn’t know when his feelings for you started to develop. What he does know, is that they are diamond strong, and that everything with you just feels right. While you were frantically confessing that you didn’t know how to kiss or go on a date, there was only one thing going through his head. There was something that he didn’t know how to do either. You thought that you were getting ahead of yourself. Compared to him, you were nowhere close. The thing that he didn’t admit to you while he let you babble on, was that he, Min Yoongi, didn’t know how to say the words ‘I love you’.

#bts #yoongi #bts yoongi #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #bangtan #suga #bts min yoongi #min yoongi fluff #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan suga #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #Thinking AU #Overthinking Part 1

[cuubism]

If you don't mind me asking - what do you think Dream's attitude/reaction towards Tolkien's works (including the legendarium!) would be? (I'm asking a lot of Sandman bloggers this, because I'm extremely curious regarding your takes on this.)

oh! hang on i gotta brush up on my tolkien because i haven't actually read any of the books since like. 2011.

i guess my main thought would be about how dream missed like, 95% of his work when he was stuck in his Jar. my understanding (read: google search) is that tolkien was building up the mythology for his stories before 1916 (when dream was captured), but most of it was not finished/published until a while after.

(this became an insane and mostly unrelated rant i am so so sorry)

i think a lot about how much of his own... area of work and power dream missed when he was trapped. the 20th century, generally speaking, was a time of rapid growth in storytelling methods and media more generally. dream missed almost all of radio, particularly radio as it became a medium for stories. radio was invented in the late 1890s but didn't see a proper rise into a storytelling medium, rather than mainly a direct communication one, until around the 30s. so dream missed the creation and growth of the first, i guess you would call it, networked storytelling, and technological storytelling, and what was... probably? the biggest return to an auditory type of storytelling since the original oral tradition, folk tales, great epics etc, for radio at its peak of cultural relevance (at least in the US and probably the ""West"" more generally, alas i can't speak as knowledgeably for other parts of the world, obviously plenty of other parts of the world had radio in the early 20th century and onward, but i don't know much about its use as a fictional storytelling medium versus for news and government broadcasts. something to look into! part of why radio became such a medium in the usa was because of our rampant capitalism and commercialism lol, so less capitalistic places might have approached it differently - here, advertisers wanted to figure out a way to monetize radio better, but obviously people aren't going to just listen to hours of ads, so they packaged them around stories, live music performances, and variety shows. that's where soap operas as a form come from -- they were originally sponsored by soap companies! also serials, though of course books have also been serialized in the past. and sponsored radio programs also birthed the sort of episodic comedies that eventually evolved into the half hour TV comedies we know today)

which also means - as a direct result of missing radio, dream also missed the rise of television as a medium - it grew directly out of radio, even the big networks we know today, CBS, NBC, and ABC were originally radio networks. television has ended up being a huge change in visual storytelling, not only in its inception, but especially in its more recent years - it's probably the only long-form audiovisual storytelling medium, which is something that didn't really exist before. huge shift in storytelling possibilities. he also missed the development of comic books, and the internet, and the resulting increased accessibility of art and storytelling to both artists and art lovers. he missed an absolutely huge, HUGE shift in the democratization of art and the ability to share it. and, once again, the development of totally new methods of storytelling in the form of internet video! not to even mention the accessibility of MUSIC, music recording and sharing was still in its infancy when dream was imprisoned and now you can get, and make, and share pretty much any music imaginable! and the new genres! and the intermediality of everything and the cross-cultural awareness!

this is not even getting into the new ease of photography, or film, which was also relatively new in 1916. imagine going into a coma when there were only silent films, and waking up to everyone and their mother making tiktoks. the last film you saw was one of chaplin's or something and then you come back and see interstellar in imax 3d. i think i'd explode. (dream would love film, too, it's very dreamlike)

dream returning to the waking world in 2022 and immediately having the entirety of tiktok beamed directly into his head:

(another thing i think about a lot but won't get into because i'm already rambling - hob witnessing the entire development of accessible writing from the printing press to fucking social media. insanity. i want to pick his brain on it

what pushed hob over the edge, do you think. what's the one thing he saw written online that briefly made him regret ever getting involved in printing at all and wish everyone was illiterate again. it was not porn, btw, mr. monsterfucker gadling can handle anything, ok. no, it was something much worse...)

anyway. rambling over. this is all to say that i am not a tolkien expert and haven't read much of his stuff anywhere recently - though i was quite obsessed with it in middle/high school - so my main thought is in relation to dream getting cut off from all of these great stories. it must have been like, to put it flippantly, your favorite tv show getting cancelled halfway through after a cliffhanger XD. he has all these stories from great storytellers - tolkien included - storytellers who are building their whole own worlds in his realm, storytellers he's nurturing and supporting in his own way - and gets ripped away from them. and when he returns, they're all gone.

here's hoping someone who knows more about tolkien can give you an answer more specifically relevant to that. that's all i got for now 😂

#never get me started talking about media history. then again i kinda started myself on it this time #thanks for the ask! sorry for the lack of relevant answer lol #dream of the endless #tolkien #hamelin-born #ask #i think dream would actually like tiktok after he got over the sheer volume of existing content lol #like i feel like the endlessness and interconnectedness of the internet is similar to how it already feels in his mind #media history #belatedly thinking AGAIN about all the stuff dream missed like all of the cultural changes? the story genres? the new poetry and new style? #NEW ART MOVEMENTS? THE MOVEMENTS HE MISSED. DREAM MISSED FUCKING SURREALISM THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE IT WAS LITERALLY INSPIRED BY HIM #all the subcultures of story and art creation he missed. i'm gonna lose it actually