#My sibling's name sounds weird in english

[kira-s-cat]

Me: *re-reading alberu & cale convos*

Alberu: *going nuts*

Me: lmao this is so funny, cant wait to read the other ones

also me, when my siblings are acting up: albert- yoU DID WHAT!? holy shit im so fucking screwed-

Me: when can this enddddddd aaaaa

#Albert is my dead cats name #My sibling's name sounds weird in english #i usually call him banana though #but like #I feel you alberu #i feel you #like fuck you man #Stop copying my old deeds #i dont wanna deal with those teachers #Be grateful i dont tell mom #tcf #totcf #cale henituse #lcf #cale #trash of the count's family #lout of count’s family #trash of the duke's family #alberu #alberu crossman #Alver #alver crossman #poor alver #lol #totcf novel

[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

[incorrectbatfam]

i just read the wayne family adventures chapter that released yesterday and i'm in need of some steph and damian headcanons

They've gotten into the most arguments over who gets to drive the Batmobile

Damian: "I'll drive"

Steph: "You're twelve"

Damian: "And yet I still drive better than you"

Bruce sides with Steph and ten minutes later Damian is gripping for dear life as she goes twenty miles over the speed limit

Steph sends a multiple-paragraph story about her mission abroad with pictures, emojis, and a hundred exclamation points, only for Damian to reply, "k"

Having food around is legitimately stressful because Damian is a growing boy who will eat everything. Steph gets up to grab a drink with her muffin and comes back to a wrapper and crumbs

He offers to pack her lunch when Alfred's hands are too full. Steph takes him up on it, thinking Alfred already made something. She doesn't check her lunchbox until later, when she finds a brick of tofu and Tupperware full of grapes

Steph reminisces about an old TV show and for the rest of the day Damian copies everything she says in an old person voice

Then Damian asks what a Walkman is and it's Steph's turn to pinch his cheeks and talk in a baby voice

Steph: "Robin's the worst"

Goon: "Yeah, he is"

Steph: "You take that back!"

He sold her high school essays online and gave her a 10% cut of the profit

Damian gets a rat and Steph names it Remy, knowing he hasn't seen Ratatouille yet

She uses his head as an armrest

Steph and her friends go out to celebrate finals being over. Damian follows them to the restaurant and keeps sending milk to their table every five minutes

Damian rickrolls her through her AirPods

Steph has a special type of anger set aside for when Damian jams the carnival port-a-potty shut while she's in it

Damian gives her a misshapen rock and says, "It's the egg that hatched you"

Steph: "This is my little brother, Damian"

Damian: "We're not siblings"

Steph: "…As I was saying, this is my little brother, Damian"

She sticks a picture of Damian on the icebox to guarantee it stays cold

*After a big meal* Damian: "I cannot eat another bite"

Steph: "Same. Wanna get ice cream?"

Damian: "I'll drive"

Steph: "Like hell you are"

Damian: "Then I call shotgun"

Steph: "Bold of you to assume we're inviting the others"

Damian has a creative writing assignment for English and Steph offers to look it over, but instead of giving him feedback, she gaslights him into thinking he plagiarized Game of Thrones

However weird the Rogues may be, Damian can guarantee there's something in Steph's camera roll that's even weirder

Jason teaches Damian to swear and Steph un-teaches him by playing the bleeping sound effect every time he does

Steph rents half her storage garage to Damian to store the canoe he found. They're still trying to figure out what to do with it

Damian: "I have to infiltrate a horse ranch and I need you to communicate with your equine brethren"

Damian asks Steph to come to Career Day. She's confused at first because at the time she's a student working a part-time retail job, but shows up anyway. When it's his turn, he brings her up to the front and says, "This is my sister, Stephanie. She doesn't have a degree yet, gets paid minimum wage for a job I can do with my hands tied, and is the only one in my family who doesn't know what she's doing." Steph starts to get annoyed, but then Damian says, "I brought her today because she doesn't let her lack of direction hold her down. She has taught me that it's okay if you don't have a destination and life happens on your own terms, not someone else's."

Steph comes to the Manor one day to find everyone crowded around Damian's door. Dick explains that the person Damian asked to the 8th grade dance ditched him last minute and no one's been able to coax him out—not even Alfred with cookies. Steph goes in and after a while, he tells her about the work he put in (for a middle schooler, aka an ironed shirt and reservations at a place rhyming with Bolive Darden) only for it be a setup to make fun of him. Steph asks when the reservation is and he says it's in twenty minutes. She says she only needs ten and emerges in her old homecoming dress. Then they grab dinner before skipping the dance altogether to go bowling and destroy some unsuspecting 9-year-olds at laser tag.

#damian wayne #robin #stephanie brown #spoiler #batman #batfamily #batfam #batboys #batbros #batgirls #batkids #batsiblings #batman family #incorrect quotes #incorrect batfamily quotes #incorrect dc quotes #dc comics #headcanon #ask #anonymous #tw food mention #tw swearing

[maidragoste]

Worry

Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Aegon is worried about Jaehaera's future.

This is part of the universe of "The Queen and her husbands" but it can be read independently without having read the series. The only thing you have to know is that Helaena is dead, as are Jaehaerys and Maelor. And Reader is Aegon's second wife.

Aegon and Jaehaera are very important to me so I wanted to write something related to them for a long time. I hope you like it 💖💖

REBLOGS, comments and likes are always greatly appreciated 🥰🥰💖💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

You entered the cameras you shared with Aegon and Aemond. You found the king with a glass of what you supposed to be wine and watching through the window like Jaehaera flew with Morghuel while she was followed by her siblings and they dragons. You weren't surprised to see Aegon alone and thoughtful. You knew that the last meeting with the Council was not to his liking. Nor was it from yours.

Aegon turned for a moment when he heard the sound of the door open but his attention soon returned to his daughter.

"Do you think I'm a fool to refuse?" He asked.

During the last meeting, Jaehara's possible nuptials had been discussed. After the last day of his daughter's name, they began to receive proposals for her hand. Now that Jaehaera is sixteen, the court thinks she is ready to marry but Aegon could disagree more. Or maybe he was the one who was not ready to see her leave.

Jaehaera was the last thing he had left of Helaena. Aegon may haven't loved her sister romantically and her marriage may have been unwanted but he loved her just as he loved all of their children. He had to protect Jaehaera as he had been unable to protect Jaehaerys and Maelor. He owed it to Helaena.

If Jaehaera married, she was expected to go live on her husband's lands. If his daughter was away how was he supposed to protect her? He couldn't trust her future husband to take care of her. He couldn't trust anyone. Years ago people whispered about how strange Jaehaera was, how she sometimes seemed immersed in her own world, how she rarely smiled. Now those same people were fighting for his attention so they could marry his daughter, the same girl they didn't want to be around before because of her supposed weirdness.

Aegon wasn't stupid, he knew that they only wanted Jaehaera because they thought the house she married would get more power, they assumed that he would get them more lands and receive more favors from him.

“Of course not,” you responded as you hugged him from behind. You felt your husband's body relax a little. “I would be more worried if you had said yes” you confessed, resting your cheek on his back.

Aegon took one of your hands from around him and kissed it before placing it back on his chest, where your hand was before.

“If Jaehaera gets married, people will expect her to give her husband children. I don't want him to go through the delivery bed. She's too young,” he declared and took a long drink of wine, trying to get the image of her daughter bleeding on the delivery bed out of her head.

He also didn't like thinking about Jaehaera having a baby. She was only sixteen years old—the same age as him when she and Jaehaerys were born—she shouldn't have to worry about raising a child when she was still a child. He wanted to continue watching her grow, he wanted to continue seeing her flying carefree with her siblings, he wanted to see her making flower crowns with her siblings, he wanted her only worries to be taking care of Morghul and taking care of her gardens. Jaehaera didn't need a husband. She was happy as she was.

"I don't want to lose her or for her to end up hurt. I want her to always continue enjoying her freedom."

You frowned as you heard the defeat in your husband's voice. As if he thought that it wouldn't matter what he wanted, Jaehaera would end up getting married and suffering because of it. You couldn't let him continue thinking that so you took the glass out of his hand and then left it on the table and took his face in your hands to get his attention. "Remember that you are the king, love. You have the power. Not the court or the council. No one can force you to get Jaehaera married" you reminded him with determination in your eyes "Don't let yourself be carried away by the pressure. Don't make the same mistakes as your father" you advised him.

Aegon couldn't help but grimace at the mention of Viserys but still valued your words. He was grateful to have you by his side, you always helped him open his eyes and come to his senses. The truth is he wouldn't know what he would do without you. If it weren't for you, it would surely take forever to find the solution to his problems or he would be making mistake after mistake. Taking you as his wife was the best decision he had ever made.

"Please don't mention Viserys again. I can't stand it," he complained and feigned retching exaggeratedly.

"You needed to come to your senses" You defended yourself with a shrug "Desperate situations call for desperate measures" you joked.

Your husband laughed before kissing you. You hummed happily and satisfied that you had gotten him back into a good mood before kissing him back, pulling him closer to you.

At the next meeting with the council, Aegon announced that Jaehaera would not marry anyone unless she wanted, not knowing that his daughter at that very moment was on Dragonstone having a Valyrian wedding. But that's a story for another day.

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@noisyinfluencerstrawberry @bajadotcom @woodandwaxwings @mendes-bae @sustisama @imjustboredso @remuslupinwifee @sarcasticking9 @melllinaa @letsloveimagines 

If you want to be part of my taglist

hotd masterlist

#the queen and her husbands #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #aegon x you #aegon x y/n #aegon ii x y/n #aegon targaryen x you #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #dad!aegon #dad aegon #jaehaera #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd imagine #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii fic #aegon ii imagine

[weirdmarioenemies]

We localized the names of all the Super Mario Land enemies, too!

Yeah! If you don't remember, a few years ago, we came up with localized names for all the Super Mario Land 2 enemies as a sort of Christmas gift from us to you! But did you know? There's a Super Mario Land 1 also, and very few of its enemies have localized names either...! With another holiday upon us, we're making this the gift that keeps on giving, with a whole new set of clever enemy names just for you! I hope you enjoy!

Goombo -> Goombie the Shroom Fish

While "Goombo" has always been a fine name, it lacks a certain je ne sais quoi that other localized Goomba relatives like "Galoomba," "Goombrat," and "Goombud" have. With this new name, which is a clever homage to Hootie & the Blowfish, now it should fit right in!

Bombshell Koopa -> Koopie the Boom Fish

Another enemy that technically has a localized name already, but once again, this fairly boring name lacks the ceci n'est pas une pipe that truly great localized names have. It might seem weird to call a turtle a fish, but when you think about it, all tetrapods are fish, so it's fine!

Bullet Biff -> Shootie the Bullet Fish

You know the drill by now! A name that lacks Allouette, je te plumerai turned much more memorable by one simple yet effective reference! Bullets look kind of like fish, you know!

Since we've spruced up all the enemies with actual localized names, now it's time to Get Creative! The rest will be under the cut!

Fly -> Fruity the Fly Fish

While not explicitly a fruit fly, we figured that for the sake of the homage, this name gets the job done. And don't worry, I checked. He's allowed to reclaim it.

Bunbun -> Stabyoutie the Bee Fish

The Japanese name is an onomatopoeia for the sound a bee makes, but because we couldn't think of an English equivalent, we decided to name it after what it does instead. Watch out! It's gonna stab you!

Gao -> Mewtie the Lion Fish

"Mew" is a common onomatopoeia for a cat, which fits Gao pretty nicely, given a lion is a type of Big Cat! Of course, to remind people this is a lion rather than your typical housecat, we've appended it with "the Lion Fish" for good measure.

King Totomesu -> Roary the Zebra Turkeyfish

I'm pretty sure one of my siblings once had a plush lion named "Roary the Lion" so I've decided to rename King Totomesu in their honor. And see what we did with the descriptor, eh? Eh? Pretty clever, huh?

Honen -> Hootie the Bone Fish again

Yeah, I know we used "Hootie the Bone Fish" for Honebon during our Super Mario Land 2 project, but can you blame us for the repeat? It's a good name! And since none of these names are official, either one can have it. I don't mind.

Yurarin Boo -> Hottie the Blow Fish

Yurarin Boo is a seahorse that blows fire at you, and you may not know this, but fire is Hot! I know it's a seahorse and not a pufferfish, but since it's a fish that blows fire, I figured "Blow Fish" would be a good pun still.

Mekabon -> Rebootie the Bot Fish

As an enemy in the Muda Kingdom (the game's signature water world!) with a fish-eyed stare and arms that look more like flippers than anything else, this enemy's fishy appearance was not lost on us, and we figured we should reflect that in its name.

Torion -> The Blue Fish

I know I said some of the already localized names lacked omelette du fromage or whatever, but some enemies really do just deserve a name that's simple, straight, and to the point. Torion is one such enemy.

Yurarin -> Nottie the No Fish

As a relative of Hottie the Blow Fish without the ability to blow fire, we decided to give it a similar name, but this time specify it can't really do anything special at all. Serves as a nice parallel to the Yurarin/Yurarin Boo naming convention, huh?

Gunion -> Octootie the Blue-Ringed Fish

"Oh, those rings are clearly yellow!" I hear you say, but consider: Super Mario Land was in black and white. Or. Dark green and lighter green. Maybe the official art made a coloring mistake, huh? Huh??? Some people would object to me calling it a Fish also, but at this point it's been well-established that every sea creature is some kind of fish.

Tamao -> Tammy the Jelly Fish

See what I mean? The English instruction manual called this thing a jellyfish, and I'm sticking by it!

Dragonzamasu -> Haughty the Boss Fish

As the boss version of Hottie the Blow Fish, I figured to give it a name that parallel's Hottie's as well! As a boss, you'd expect it to be pretty haughty, huh?

Bataon -> idk man give me a break the Flying Fish

this is really hard you guys

Ganchan -> Cheeky the Stone Fish

What a Cheeky fellow we have here! I think it's fun they decided to give this rolling rock a personality with eyes and cheeks, and we've decided to emphasize that with the name we came up with for it!

Tokotoko -> Scooty the Dude Fish

Tokotoko looks like it's running very fast, but it doesn't even have legs, so it kinda just. Scoots all over the place. And I'd be foolish not to call this guy a Dude, what with the Cool Cool Glasses! And since Batadon is a Fish, Scooty shall be too. Simple as that!

Suu -> Suutie the Arachno-Fish

Decided to stay pretty faithful to the Japanese name with this one, but I figured a clever reference to Hootie & the Blowfish would make it more relatable to the American youth of today.

Kumo -> Kumootie the Arachno-Fish

oh man do i really have to name two separate spiders in a row

Hiyoihoi -> Brutie the Rude Fish

Hiyoihoi has always had sort of "cool delinquent" vibes to me, hence calling him rude, and as a boss, you gotta assume he's a bit of a brute. The name also rhymes with "Scooty the Dude Fish," which this is the boss version of!

Pionpi -> Spooky the Boo Fish

This frightening fishy fiend is sure to give you the heebie-jeebies!

Pompon Flower -> Rootie the Grow Fish

Plants are pretty well known for having roots and growing, and thanks to Hootie the Blue Fish helping us learn that plants can, indeed, be considered fish, that makes every part of this name legally Clever!

Nyololin -> Spewtie the Blow Fish

Look, I know this is the second enemy that we've named "the Blow Fish," but it blows poison at you, and on that note, it is poison like a real blowfish! It all comes together flawlessly!

Chicken -> Tweetie the Crow Fish

Yeah, I know we technically changing its species, but it looks nothing like a chicken! Can you blame us? And the Mario franchise has a long-running tradition of connecting birds and fish (see Cheep Cheep!) so calling it not just a "crow," but a "crow fish" makes it fit in better.

Roketon -> Grutie the Banana Fish

minion joke

Chikako -> Floatie the Glow Fish

Hi the Mod formerly known as Mod Chikako! I hope you like your new legal name going forwards...!

Pipe Fist -> Punchyoutie the Pipe Fist

This one may seem like we're grasping at straws, but being a big hand, I think Punchyoutie the Pipe Fist can grasp straws very easily, thank you very much.

Biokinton -> Cumulootie the Atmosphish

This one's self-explanatory.

And last, but certainly not least...

Tatanga -> Evil Mario

That's it for Super Mario Land! "Like" and "Subscribe" and "Hit the Bell for Notifications" if you want to see us localize the names of every enemy in Wario Land: Super Mario Land 3!

#super mario land #april fools #mod hooligon

[spadesolace]

the idea of yoo - 0.6. what do you like about jimin? (half-written)

previous | next

in 2 weeks time, you’ve gathered information about karina that it feels like you could write a biography for her. at the same time, you’ve been talking to her about everything and nothing. although this has consumed your time to the point that ms. choi, your english teacher had to check up on you only to find out about your other business. to say the least, she was not pleased.

here you are, putting your bike onto yeonjun’s truck that was parked in front of the yoo household. first thing he could think of was food, you couldn’t blame him, he grew up with a tteokbokki shop.

“not now.”

“come on, we gotta eat at some point.” you were a bit irritated by it, abruptly about to leave only for him to come clean and discuss music theory along with art appreciation. clearly, he has been doing his assignment.

“well, you are quite serious about this.” yeonjun was fidgeting with his hands on the steering wheel, a habit you’ve noticed whenever he was nervous.

“yeah, but for real. can we eat dinner?”

“... fine.” yeonjun continues fidgeting with his hands as he looked at you with a hint of uncertainty.

“can we eat at your place? my siblings are causing a bit of ruckus at home right now…?”

“you know what, sure.”

that’s how you ended up with yeonjun cooking dinner for you and your sister, rei. trying his cooking which surprisingly ended up with you enjoying it despite calling it weird. the first time in a while you tried something new…

yeonjun was such a chaotic force in your life, having peace and order in your system only for him to come crashing and making it more exciting. teaching him how to maintain a conversation by table tennis, helping him get more information regarding yoo jimin, and simply also conversing with jimin in hopes of learning something new.

it was the week of the next date, the date that determines it all. sitting on the basement of their restaurant where bean bags and a mini fridge is placed. the sound of ping pong balls hitting back and forth could be heard.

“let’s practice this one more time.” starting the game, hitting precisely for him to hit it back. “where were you born?”

“here, in kwangya.” precisely hitting it back, making its way back to you.

“good. what do you like about kwangya?”

“i grew up here, haven’t left since i was born.”

“… yeah.”

“how about you?” a sudden curveball, one that almost made you miss it. it’s not a bad thing, but only a few would ask about you.

“what about me?” what is it about you?

“it felt as if the conversation is too short.” why can’t you open up?

“i don’t need practice.” sort of a lie, you simply didn’t want to talk about yourself.

“come on, just tell me about yourself.” a little bit won’t hurt, right?

“i was born in tokushima, japan. i have a younger sister named rei, and we’ve been living in kwangya ever since she was born.”

“what about your parents?” that’s a can of worms that even you can’t seem to open up.

“well, my dad works in japan. funny, talkative, and protective.”

“your mom?”

“lovely, caring… buried six feet under.”

he misses the ball, the game ends there and so does the conversation.

as everything dies down, your thoughts, drinking a bottle of yakult as you sit down on the beanbag and look at the scattered ping pong balls. yeonjun in his own world, you start to wonder.

“yeonjun?”

“hm?”

“what do you like about jimin?” silence, yeonjun looks you in the eyes and think of what to say. what’s there to even say when he had told you before what he likes about jimin.

“well, she’s pretty and smart. and she’s not mean to anyone and she smells like fresh daisies whenever you would walk by her, why?” a part of you wasn’t satisfied, as if something isn’t right.

“just wondering…”

“how about you?”

taglist [CLOSED]:

@1luvkarina @beawolfbealionbeyou @pandafuriosa60 @txtbrainrot @rinapomu @limbforalimb @yoontoonwhs @noascats @thefckghost @petruchiosstuff

#aespa x fem reader #karina aespa #aespa smau #aespa x reader #aespa karina #aespa #karina smau #karina x reader #karina imagines #karina #the idea of yoo smau #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin

[httpfrr2]

So guys...

MY DAD has just got watching Bungou (Because he loves literature (he was always a huge book nerd at heart)) 🩵

So he really can't think of the characters with with original author's name, he thinks calling hot anime boys with IRL author's name sounds weird... (luckily he doesn't know what fan fiction is...) So he either calls them by the main character of their respective novels , for example he sometimes calls dazai, yozo or fyodor, raskolnikov. Or he just comes up with funny nicknames or phrases for the characters... Here are some of them.

Atsushi: The kitty cat with soul crushing trauma

Dazai: The run away egyptian mummy.

Kunikida: WILL die a virgin despite having the best ass know to womankind (Yesss, he literally called kunikida that a few times, it sounds weird in english tbh)

Chuuya: Has not emotionally matured since the age fifteen / anger issues / has a swearing problem / probably popular with the ladies [no that's dazai, dad...] / ginger bread guy / puss in boots

Akutagawa: had an emo phase, still not over it / the asthma dude with a hot sister

Yosano: FINE, she is FINE AS FUCK... (he says she reminds him of my mom... lmao)

Kyouka: The most badass fourteen year old to ever exist

Higuchi: She is a BLONDE and knows how to use a GUN? Akutagawa has no taste, I would've gone crazy...

Gin: Best girl

Tachihara: Suffers from bipolar

Hirotsu: Average mafia baby sitter.

Kenji: Walking talking breathing nightmare (He is so scared of kenji for some reason...)

Fukuchi: Nasty old man / Put this grandpa in a Fucking Nursing House and give his old ass sword to a museum where it truly belongs.

Fyodor: He is to blame for literally EVERYTHING

Nikolai: He is so concerned with the fact that I love nikolai, he was speechless / Murderous bird keeper / A literal kakatoo (Nikolai looks and behaves similar to a kakatoo in his opinion)

Sigma: He needs to adopted into a good family / three year old girl play Uno with a bunch of terrorists

Fukuzawa: Is His Favourite Character...

💙💚💕

He just silently observed the tanizaki siblings...

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai #bsd headcanons #bsd memes #bsd funny #bsd fyodor #bsd sigma #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs dazai #detective agency #Doa

[absolutebl]

Thai Names & BL

Why SO Weird (to Westerners)

You're looking for information on the Thai chue len.

We might say "nickname" but the actual translation is "play name." And it's what an anthropologist might call a "use name." So this is the name you go by IRL, not necessarily your legal name.

First I should say that this is a lot more common than westerns realize, even in our own past. Many Roman women, for example, we know operated under what amounts to a chue len. And it was probubly quite common among the lower classes in Ancient Egypt and Greece, too. But since the poor and females are chronically understudied there isn’t a ton of data (or written records, for that matter).

The chue len has to do in part with the history of names in Thailand, and the fact that until relatively recently most people only had a given name and a chue len, and then when government regulations went into effect mandating a last names it quickly became really complicated.

You can read a great article on Thai naming conventions here. It’s fun to learn about. I highly recommend it. And I am going to assume you did read it and now talk only about the bits left out and odd. 

The bit most BL watchers ask me about is answered in this statement: 

“Many Thai nicknames are derived from English words. They may be English sounding names (such as ‘Anna’) or more obscure words that are chosen for their meaning, e.g. Book (symbolising intelligence), Bank (symbolising wealth).”

However, like most English words used in Thai, they aren’t pronounced the way we would pronounce them. (Hell when have you ever heard an American pronounce something like a Brit, anyway?) 

One amusing example is “bur” which is Thai for “phone number.” It’s our word, but they made it... better. You can watch Dean ask for Pharm’s digits using just this one word (in the scene where he drops him off for the first time in UWMA). 

What the article doesn't say about chue len is that sometimes they are chosen for fun/silly as a baby name (like fatty) and then changed by the person themselves at any point in their life. 

You can opt to change your chue len whenever you want, since it's not a legal name. Also its not uncommon to have different ones with different groups (so one for friends, another for family, one for the public if you’re a celebrity, another for your lover). 

Daonuea (literally starnorth AKA Polaris or the Northstar) in Star in My Mind does this, he uses two: Nuea with friends, Dao with intimates.

I hope you can see how in a language where you use your OWN NAME for the I pronoun regularly, this is VERY easy to do?

Also, the article doesn’t say that a chue len can also be based on a popular band/idol/actor at the time of birth. I understand from my Thai bestie that Golf/Gulf was one of these for a while back in the 90s? I think.

Anyway, I also found Thai names odd to start, now I barely notice or register. Partly because what we read in English captions often doesn’t really sound like what’s being said.

For example, both Tine & Type sound the same to me, like Tyyyyee.

Also I amuse myself with wondering how they got that name. Like if a baby is named Bbomb - erm, did they blow out their diaper all the time? Probubly not because that’s very English culture specific, but I’m still amused. Was War a really violent child? Are all those Flukes happy accidents? Why is Gameplay called Gameplay? Was he a big gamer who chose it for himself? Or did his parents get together because of an in-game romance?

It’s fun to think about the reason, because there usually is one. 

There’s another naming convention the article doesn’t really talk about, which is all the chue lens amongst siblings often either rhyme (e.g. Win & Lin in Cupid’s Last Wish) or start with the same letter. Thai BL Kpop idol Bambam of GOT7 talks about this (he and his sibs all have B names). And also, hilariously, the fact that he actually doesn’t know his own brother’s given name because they have always just used the chue len with each other so he never had to learn it.

Some actors will take and go by (at least for a time) a more western sounding name (Phoom --> Pavel) but you’ll hear their Thai friends using their Thai name or a different chue len (much like some Korean idols). Others will go by a Thai name for in country work (Stewart --> Perth). 

There is an episode of 2022′s Safe House where GMMTV actors all talk about their use names and where they come from and their siblings names etc... but no one ever translated it and I’m a dumbass who didn’t save that ep to link, sorry.

Here on Tumblr we tend to tag actors by their chue len + given name, partly because many actors choose that as their social media handles on IG etc... 

Finally, you can watch Perth talk about some of this here on his YT channel.

from a question from @doorajar​ 

(source)

#thai bl #thai names #why are thai names so weird #thai given names #chue len #thai cheu len #thai nickname #war wanarat #gameplay garnpaphon #tharntype #Gulf Kanawut #pavel phoom #Perth Nakhun #Perth Stewart #thai linguistics #thai language

[sakura-chan-25]

(OBEY ME!) MC ASK GAME

(Feel free to use for your own MC; English isn't my first language, so some sentence structures might be weird)

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

How does your MC look like?

Your MC's pronouns & name?

Your MC's personality described in a few words?

Is your MC human?

When is your MC's birthday?

Your MC's height?

Does your MC's appearance change as the game progresses?

Does your MC's personality change as the game progresses?

How does the relationship between your MC and Lucifer look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Mammon look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Leviathan look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Satan look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Asmodeus look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Beelzebub look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Belphegor look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Diavolo look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Barbatos look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Solomon look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Simeon look like?

How does the relationship between your MC and Luke look like?

Does your MC have any scars? How did they get them?

What is your MC most afraid of?

Does your MC have any disabilities?

Does your MC have mental health issues?

Does your MC have siblings?

Does your MC have any pets?

How would your MC react if they had a nightmare?

How would your MC react if they were all alone in a dark room and couldn't see anything?

How does your MC cope with stress?

How did your MC react to the Lesson 16 accident?

What are your MC's hobbies?

Is there a secret of your MC that the boys don't know about?

Is your MC a private person or do they tend to (over)share?

Is your MC more quiet or do they talk a lot?

Does your MC prefer to observe or do?

Does your MC think about it before doing something?

Is there something your MC is obsessed with? (e.g. a show, books,...)

Does your MC have some kind of symbol (e.g. flower, colour, animal,...) they often get associated with?

Does your MC have a favourite colour?

Does your MC have a favourite flower?

Does your MC have a favourite animal?

Does your MC play any instrument?

How does your MC's voice sound like?

A human thing your MC did that confused the demons/angels?

Did your MC apply for the exchange program or were they kidnapped chosen without knowing? How did they react?

Is your MC a heart or a brain person? (Do they listen more to their heart or their brain?)

What does your MC do when they're angry?

What does your MC do when they're crying?

Is your MC religious?

What kind of music does your MC often listen to?

#obey me #mc ask game #my mc #my obey me mc #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me brothers #obey me side characters #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me barbie #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke #please #ask me something #i don't know how else to introduce them

[teecupangel]

I saw that box ask and I'm wondering what would happen if the other ancestors also had a box

The “Altaïr and Desmond find boxes that lets them send stuff to one another” ask.

So, since the ask above is AltDes, I’m gonna assume this would be EziDes and ConDes to be fair XD

Ezio:

Ezio would be used to sharing things with his siblings and, even if the Auditores were quite wealthy, Ezio still received some hand-me-downs from Federico. So, in this situation, the best way to ensure Ezio would keep the box a secret would be for him to get the box during a time when he hates the idea that his old stuff will be given to Petruccio. By the time he’s warmed up to the idea of Petruccio having his hand-me-downs, the box has been in his possession long enough that he believes it’s his alone. (also, while this wasn’t stated in Altaïr’s version, Ezio and the others become quite possessive of the box and they think of Desmond as their ‘most treasured secret’)

Desmond’s side remains the same, he finds it the same way, he writes about it the same way. The only difference is that Ezio isn’t all that well-verse in the English language but he is curious about the notes in the box so he looks it up. There’s a few teasing from his siblings about how he’s studying something none of his tutors even tell him to study about and he just laughs it off because teasing is pretty much part of their ‘love language’.

So, because Ezio’s English was barely existent, it takes him a while to write back. He learns that the box does get more notes inside it and he believes he found a magical way to talk to a stranger from far away. The more his English gets better (although it’s quite different from the English the writer of the notes uses), the more he realized how lonely and sad the stranger is so he writes back to him in his broken English but he writes in Italian first, adding the broken English below. In Italian, he writes “I’m sorry I’m not good at English but I just want to write this letter. I hope you’re doing well today.” and then cringes because he’s super polite in the letter ‘cause that’s how he was taught to write letters.

Still, it gets the job done and the next letter sounds less sad and more curious when Ezio read it “Who are you?”

From there, Ezio and Desmond start exchanging letters. Later on, they start exchanging small gifts like candies (Desmond) and little trinkets (Ezio) that could fit inside the box.

It’s when Desmond tells Ezio that he plans to run away that they… start understanding when each other is. Because Ezio’s English is still not that good and Desmond doesn’t know enough about world history, Ezio assumes the weird words Desmond says at times (like microwave) are words from Desmond’s dialect that is not used by the books they have at home while Desmond assumes Ezio is a rich kid and doesn’t understand the importance of names like ‘Medici’. So, in this scenario, Desmond runs away and Ezio is just like “Okay, Desmond! Come to Firenze! I will ask my parents to take you in as our ward!”

Then Desmond gets to Florence (it takes a few months because, well, he’s a kid) and follows Ezio’s instructions while Ezio tells his parents about a friend of his that ran away from a ‘bad place’ and their parents are like “a friend? (raised eyebrow)” but they agree to let the friend stay for a bit, more to check who this friend is. All this ward business… they’ll think about it.

Anyway, Desmond gets to Florence but he can’t find Palazzo Auditore so he starts writing to Ezio and they keep exchanging notes while trying to find one another. Then an old lady that hears Desmond looking for Palazzo Auditore tells him that she had heard legends of that name, an old fallen noble family that had its records destroyed long ago.

And Desmond and Ezio continue to write to one another and Desmond finally asks the question “What year are you from?”

And that’s how they learn that they’re centuries apart from one another.

In this scenario, Desmond stays in Italy for the next couple of years, trying to find out what happened to the Auditores because Ezio is freaking out (They disappeared from records? They’re a fallen noble family???) and that leads him to Villa Auditore because Ezio was like “Maybe it’s just our family. I have an uncle in Monteriggioni. Maybe his descendants are still there.” and then… silence. Ezio doesn’t hear from Desmond until…

Ezio got into a fight with Vieri de' Pazzi on the Ponte Vecchio. He habitually opens the box to check if Desmond would ever send anything, sometimes he would send notes just asking if he’s alright, to please talk to him, anything. After getting patched up by the dottore, he checked the box and his heart skips a beat when he sees the folded paper inside. He opens it and…

“Ezio, your father and brothers will be executed in a few days. Leave Florence now.”

So, in this scenario, all of the checking Desmond did got him in the eyes of Abstergo who captured him wwwaaaayyy earlier. He and Ezio are both the same age and are experiencing the same ‘time’ in the sense that they grow older at the same rate. So Abstergo captured him while he’s 17, a month or so before Ezio gets his face hit by a stone that scars him. And because it’s Abstergo that captures him, they have a bit more information of Ezio’s life which Vidic’s assistant (who is not Lucy) was okay with telling Desmond, thinking it will help him synch with Ezio better. Security isn’t all that big deal at the moment since they think Desmond is a child who would cooperate better if they give him a bit of freedom so he has access to paper and pencil.

In this situation, they skipped Altaïr entirely and went straight for Ezio’s memories.

The butterfly effect on this one starts super early because of Desmond’s warning and only Desmond and Ezio are ‘protected’ and keep their memories even as they change the past which changes Desmond’s present.

Also, because this is super early in the timeline, the Assassins might be able to save Desmond earlier too. Maayybbeee.

Ratonhnhaké:ton

For this one, Ratonhnhaké:ton finds the box in the charred ruins of his village after he failed to save his mother. It was underneath the same log that had pinned his mother and he thought that perhaps it belonged to his mother.

The notes were already there by the time Ratonhnhaké:ton found them and he actually thought they might have belonged to his father instead, perhaps notes that his mother had kept about how his father didn’t like their village at all. Then, the notes disappeared and were replaced by new ones, and Ratonhnhaké:ton starts to wonder where these notes are coming from.

So, at this point, Ratonhnhaké:ton was curious about whoever was sending these notes and he brings them to the clan mother who is his grandmother. The clan mother thinks it is a curious thing and she does not remember her daughter ever having one. She encourages Ratonhnhaké:ton to try and contact the one sending the message. Perhaps they could provide guidance to Ratonhnhaké:ton in some way as it did appear underneath the village.

In this one, Ratonhnhaké:ton and Desmond talk to each other in English although Ratonhnhaké:ton is teaching Desmond Kanien'kéha. Ratonhnhaké:ton mostly sends little trinkets like feathers from birds he hunted himself and Desmond usually sends candies as well. Desmond's most prized possession is a necklace Ratonhnhaké:ton made himself. A very similar one to the one he has on his neck where the box is. He made it for Desmond so Desmond could wear the box like him (and because he heard of this thing called 'friendship bracelet' from Desmond and wanted something similar to share with Desmond)

Unlike the Ezio version, Desmond has a vague idea that Ratonhnhaké:ton’s words were strange so they realized they’re not the same time period early on.

Now, here’s where the butterfly effect hits Desmond instead because Ratonhnhaké:ton tries to become an Assassin… at the age of 13. Desmond is still on the Farm by that point and reading the training Ratonhnhaké:ton goes thru…

You guess it.

This is a timeline where Desmond never left the Farm. Instead, Ratonhnhaké:ton’s earnest wish to be an Assassin to protect his village pushes Desmond to do better. Not for his father but because it makes him feel connected with Ratonhnhaké:ton.

In this setup, Desmond starts his ‘next training’ the same time Ratonhnhaké:ton becomes an Assassin (and there’s some light teasing about how Desmond is lagging behind, just friendly banter that makes Ratonhnhaké:ton and Desmond smile) and he learns that his father had acquired an Animus (a very early iteration) and wants to use it to speed up Desmond’s growth. The plan was for him to relive the legendary Ezio Auditore’s memories but something happens.

When they try to load Ezio’s memories, it fails and loads a different memory…

A memory from an unknown ancestor with the date in the Animus saying November 6, 1773.

So… the main point is… Ratonhnhaké:ton and Ezio got fucked by the narrative super early so Desmond gets fucked by the narrative earlier as well. Altaïr, while his life did sorta suck early on (Umar died at 11, Abbas threw away their friendship during their teen years, Adha died, etc), he actually didn’t really get fucked by the narrative until later on?

#i realize that this can be read as ezides/condes or gen #but i tagged the first box ask as altdes #so no usual tags because this will end as #ezides #condes #ask and answer

[g4ythur]

Ben Hargreeves x gn!reader

pairing: Ben Hargreeves x gender neutral reader

warnings: fluff

notes: English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for any stupid mistakes :')

summary: You really wanted to ignore the very handsome ghost that followed you through your life, before he said something that you just couldn't ignore. (I suck at summaries)

Part one? I don't know

You had a very lonely life. You didn't have many friends, at least not many that lived in the same country and you weren't really on speaking terms with your family. It would have been a very quiet life, if not for the person that was always by your side. 

"I wish we could talk properly, you know? It's sad to never get an answer." You were on your way to your apartment. Any person that crossed your way would think you were alone, but the ghost that followed you on every step wasn't going to leave you in your miserable silence. He grew on you. He always kept you company, always talked about random stuff he had on his mind and honestly, it was comforting in a way. It wasn't often that the silence that followed you was broken through a voice.

You also got to know many things from him. Besides childhood stories and very weird stuff you couldn't even completely recall, you got to know his name, his siblings names and much information about his brother Klaus. Ben loved his brother very much, even if he had never admitted it out loud to you. Siblings didn't do that normally, almost never if you were precise. They just knew they were loved - or they knew they weren't, if their siblings weren't the nicest. There was a thin line between love and hate and siblings just knew most of the time on which side they were on. 

"Klaus got even more annoying than before, you know? He just won't shut up about this new power thing he got. We didn't even notice, but I was so mad that I punched him in the face. What he deserved by the way," he justified quickly, "And now he is mad at me for disappearing the whole time." He sighed as you both reached your apartment. You weren't sure why he was so sad every time you entered your home. The thing was he never followed you inside, something very many ghosts did and it was more than uncomfortable for you every time you saw people in your bedroom or living room. He was respectful and you thought it was really adorable.

You began to search for your keys, while Ben slid down the wall and sat down next to your door. He watched as you fumbled in your pockets, before you loudly groaned and put your bag on the ground. You hated it that you always forget where you put your things. The ghost chuckled quietly at that and hugged his knees to his chest.

"You should always put them in one place so you don't lose them all the time." You surpressed the urge to respond to him and hid the small smile that made its way on your face. It was hard to ignore him. At first you did it because you weren't sure how he ticked. Many ghosts were real idiots and you just hated the way they tried to force themselves on you, but Ben wasn't like that. He tried so hard to not bother you in any way and only talked about things you would be comfortable with - if you could hear them. There existed many ghosts that could learn from him. You searched through your bag, until you finally held your keys in your hands.

"I wish you could hear me. If I was alive, maybe we would even be friends. I mean talking to you is like a break from Klaus anyway, so I guess it doesn't really matter." He watched as you unlocked your door and took your bag that had rested on the floor. You ran your fingers through your hair and turned around, getting stopped by the quiet voice that sounded very loudly in your head. "God, you are so beautiful." You froze on the spot and turned your head to the man. Your face grew hot as you just motionless stood there. He was staring back at you, his cheeks covered in a light blush as your eyes locked.

"What did you say?" He raised a brow in question and looked to the side, searching for a person you could have meant. You weren't talking about him, you couldn't be. He was sure you weren't, but at who were you staring then? It wouldn't be that surprising if you went crazy, so maybe you were hallucinating or-

"Wait, do you mean me?" It took a while for you to nod slightly, not really prepared for any of this. But who was prepared to have ghosts in their life? He jumped to his feet, on his face appearing a grin at which you couldn't help but smile softly.

"You can see me?" he asked again, "Like, you really can?" You nodded again. He buried his hands in his hair and just looked at you with slightly parted lips. A chuckle erupted from you at his antics. You should have done that sooner, way sooner.

"That's- that's amazing- Wait, wait, wait- does that mean you heard everything I've ever said to you?" You pressed your lips together into a tight lipped smile and nodded. He leaned his head against the wall and cursed quietly, which only made you grin. He was being adorable and you could punch yourself for not talking to him sooner. Maybe you would be sitting on your couch and would be gossiping about people you both met that day. He would be a friend that wasn't only good looking, of course that wasn't really important, but also the most lovely person you've ever met. 

"That's- shit- Oh, come on, I've said so many embarrassing things, this is- I don't even know what to say." He groaned and pulled lightly at his hair. "Well, at least you can hear me. It's great that you are the one I can talk to. I mean, I don't..." You laughed at his rambling, making him stop. His face got even redder as he scratched his neck flustered. There wasn't a reason for him to do so, more likely a habit from when he was alive. It was cute anyway, so you weren't giving it a second thought.

"Wanna come in?" He just stared at you, blinking confused. "Well, then I'm going in alone." You casually sent him a little wave and entered your apartment, a moment later hearing the footsteps of Ben in your home. 

Maybe you could get used to company that you could actually talk to.

And maybe you could only get used to it when your company was a black haired ghost that just couldn't shut up.

#Ben Hargreeves #ben hargreeves x you #ben hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves x gender neutral reader #tua #the umbrella academy

[chibivesicle]

Daniel Law thoughts and observations.  Why is his last name so bloody difficult to figure out?

This is a quick and frivolous post as opposed to my normally long form ones.  I’ve got it hard for Daniel at the moment; I’m wade through the vast expanse that is the internet looking for merch for him.  Steven merch is like shooting fish in a barrel with how popular he is.  K.K. merch is also easy and super cheap second hand.  But Daniel merch.  Hoooo boy, it takes some time and effort to find.

The first issue around him is his bloody last name.  Which Japanese isn’t equipped to deal with.  This shows in my merch quest as I’ve scrolled through pages and pages of items.  But first:

The Darkhorse translation calls him Daniel Low.

The Funimation translation settles on Daniel Law.

When you listen to the sub and the dub, both the Japanese VA and English VA both clearly say “Law”.  I’d like to also note that the Japanese VA for Steven, Mitsuru Miyamoto, has really good pronunciation for all of the English terms/names he says specifically which makes me really think “Law” is the intended spelling.   The credits also reflect this.

Both versions also settle on the title of Lieutenant.  While the literal translation is Assistant Inspector (keibuho - 警部補).  I’m not sure why they didn’t go with Detective which sounds like the most American term and Inspector being British.  I guess Detective is a role while, Daniel would still have a police rank associated with him. But I know squat about American policing terms and job titles.  Maybe, I should go back and watch some Law and Order and cringe?

Where is this total weirdness around Daniel’s name coming from?  Especially if we get a season three and Marcus also shows up for the Calamity Auction arc.

Now, we all know that having an equal transfer of Law into Japanese can’t happen since there is no way to make say a “La-wa” etc.  The best you can get is to drop down in the r-line to the “ro” combo.  But then you’ve got that pesky “w” you need to do something with.

If you wanted “Low” this would be the easiest way to get it.  Go with “ro” and add the long vowel dash making it “ro-oh”

But we can see this reading of “ro” with a long “o” can be [sighs] Rho, Lau; Low, Loo, Rau, Raux, Roe or Roh.

Okay, this isn’t what happens in the credits.  The Japanese credits write his name out this way.  “ro” with the “u”.  Now, the first hit is “Law”.  Yay!

But then we get also; Loew, Low, Lowe or even Rowe!  Argh! 

So, how does this tie into merch?  Well, how his name is spelled on KKSS merch of course and how to search for it!

For Back 2 Back full color acrylics that were Jump (Festa Specials I’d guess), we get him and Marcus being referred to as Lowe.  ‘Cause they are twin brothers and Daniel is the older one! Another issue with Japanese language mechanics versus English but that’s for another time.  I’d read Daniel to be several years older since he’s referred to as “older brother” in B2B but since you have to place your sibling in age relative to you - Marcus has to say older brother in the original Japanese.    

There is also a small special badge set with Steven and Daniel here, where he is also referred to as “Lowe”.  Did I impulsively buy this?  Yes, yes I did of course!

Yet when we look at other items music/band themed (acoustic guitar) , the American heroes (fighter pilot? why?), ice skating, saloon barkeep/western. he’s got a last name of “Low”.

You might begin to think - okay, it is clear that 1.) there is no official spelling of his name down on paper.  2.) merch designers see ロウ and make an educated guess 3.) his name can’t be “Law”.

Buuutttt let’s go to the actual search function of a Japanese site like Goods Republic.  And what do we find in the character list on the left hand side?  Daniel Law.

Additionally,  you go on Zen Market and access JP Mercari directly, searching with the terms of ダニエル and 血界戦線.  You will get merch that not only pulls up Daniel but all the translated descriptions will always refer to him as Daniel Law.

What have I learned from this?  That until we get season three and Daniel gets a floating info box like below, we will never truly know how his name is spelled.  However, with the sense of humor that Nightow has and his wordplay in English, I really still think the original intent is “Law” because he’s a fucking cop.  Come on, easiest cheese joke ever.

And if he doesn’t get a floating info box in a season three, it means they aren’t giving him full justice due to his increasing role in the series.

#kekkai sensen #kekkai sensen manga #kkss #blood blockade battlefront #daniel law #lieutenant daniel law #inspector daniel law #your best is as good as mine at this point

[scarisd3ad]

Found you | rewrite Steve harrington x f!hopper!reader

Decided to post this weeks posts on Saturday and Sunday so expect hp fanfic tomorrow!

Masterlist

Next

"Pulse is gone!"

"Start compression! We're losing her!"

Freshman year 1982

"Hey you alright?" I blinked back awake from my daze. Why was I thinking about it again, why now? Well I knew why now. it was almost the 5 year anniversary of her death. She had been gone for 5 years.

It's weird losing a younger sibling she was most definitely supposed to live longer than me, a long healthy life. She was supposed to grow old with me.

"Y/n?" My best friend Michele asked waving her hand in front of my face. "What?" My brows furrowed together as I cocked my head to the side a bit. "Are you alright?" She asked again. I nodded "yeah of course I'm alright shell" I replied.

I had known Michelle since elementary school her and her family were like my second family. We went to most of elementary school together until my family and I moved to New York for my dads job. But I obviously eventually moved back to hawkins after…well my sister died.

"Mkay, you're going to need to get into groups of two for this assignment so go ahead and figure that out for yourselves." Mrs. Bixton said as she wrote down the details of the assignment up on the bored.

Both Michelle and I looked up at each other almost as if we were reading each others minds.

"Nope, nope, nope, nope!" Most of us looked up at mrs. Bixton brows furrowed as she made her way towards of the back of the room. I looked back to see her walking over to steve harringtons desk. Steve was a sophomore but failed English the year prior causing him to have to retake the entire class. He sat at the back with some of his popular freshman friends talking his little life away, having no care in the world. Even though he would most likely not even graduate if he failed the class again.

"You're not working with Amanda again, Steven" He rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his seat, with his perfectly styled hair. God he looked so gorgeous but somehow totally stuck up at the same time. I had harboured a good long probably life long crush on Steve harrington since the end of middle school I would say. He just looked at me with his perfect chocolate brown eyes, and I was instantly hooked.

"Last time you guys had a group assignment you and Amanda talked through the entire class time. I AM NOT DOING THAT AGAIN!" She said raising her voice which just made him and his friends laugh. "You're gonna go work with y/n, who ever y/n's partner is will work with Amanda."

Michelle groaned as she looked over at me. I sent her an apologetic smile as she lazily got up grabbing her stuff and walking towards the back of the class. I guess this is what you get for being a good 'model' student. I wasn't necessarily a good kid I had my moments of course but I did definitely know how to sit, shut up, and listen while in class.

"Soo.." Steve said as he sat down in Michelle's seat. "Y/n, I'm y/n" Steve definitely had known me Michelle's girlfriend Liv was definitely a well known girl at hawkins high and even middle. They had been friends since they were in 7th grade and I even hung out with them from time to time. "Yeah y/n that's right, um do you think maybe I could come to yours? Tonight maybe?" I nodded as I leaned back in my seat. My dad wouldn't be home till late anyway so the 'No boys rule" would barely even be broken.

"Yeah so I guess we could do some planning I guess" he said with his signature 'pretty boy' smirk on his face as he pushed Michelle's desk towards mine. I nodded as I ripped a paper out of my notebook and began to write our names on it.

Y/n hopper, Steve harrington              9/10/82

"So do the project about how the main conflict between the two main characters impacted the story? That seems easy enough for you huh?" I asked not really trying to sound rude but it definitely did. "What'd you mean by that?" He asked with a chuckled. My cheeks flushed as I laugh "nothing, anyways is that fine with you"

"Yeah sweetheart it's fine" I rolled my eyes, "don't call me sweetheart" I said as I wrote down what we were going to be doing this assignment on. "Awe what's wrong with sweetheart? Huh? What about babe?" He was just teasing me something every teenage boy did if they definitely wanted to get laid or any type of female attention. I rolled my eyes and continued to write. "Oh you're ignoring me now huh?" He laughed, making me in turn giggle a bit.  

-

Once the bell rang I quickly gathered my things "okay so I'll be at your house at, 5:30? Is that alright?" Steve asked as I began to walk towards the door were Michelle stood waiting for me. I nodded not answering verbally as I continued to walk towards Michelle.

"He's coming to your house?" Michelle whispered as we began to walk down the loud hallway. "Yeah how else would we finish our project?" I asked shrugging as we stopped at my locker. I took the lock in my hand and began to put in my code.

2065

"How's you're dad gonna handle it?" Michelle asked as I opened my locker and grabbed my jacket I had stuffed in there earlier. "He's not gonna know" I replied as I shut the locker and put the lock back on. "You're bold as hell y/n. You're dad is literally chief of police." I rolled my eyes, she was saying this as if I haven't spent my whole life with my fathers, I've definitely learned a few tricks to make getting away with things a bit easier.

"Hey shell" Liv said as she walking up to us and grabbing Michelle's hand. "Hey y/n" she said with a smile. Liv had light blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She was also a cheerleader which made her the literal definition of popularity in high school, and she definitely was popular. Michelle pressed a kiss to liv's cheek as she muttered "hey babe" against liv's skin. Living in a small town in the 80s wasn't the best place to be gay. Most people were Christian or just plain old homophobes so they weren't very liked in hawkins community of older folks and parents. Liv was bi so she liked girls and boys while Michelle was a lesbian. I didn't really know what I was, I had only really had crushes on guys well one guy, but I didn't know if that was really all I was attracted to.

"Y/N's gonna hang out with Steve tonight" Michelle said as we walked towards the front of the school. Guys hooted and hollered as Liv walked by she was the 'Steve harrington' to the guys. Popular, well liked, and well everyone wanted her.  "Harrington?" Liv asked her face scrunching up in a confused look. "Yeah harrington isn't that crazy?" Michelle asked. I rolled my eyes "were not hanging out were finishing a project" i said as I pushed open the large metal school door.

I instantly spotted my dad who sat in his police car. My dad always picked me up even when he worked late, he'd leave work for 20 minutes to pick me up so I wouldn't have to walk.

"Bye guys love you!" I said as I began to run towards my dads car. Michelle and Liv both waved goodbye as I began to turn around so I wouldn't get hit by a car. "Hi dad" I said as I opened up the passenger side door and threw my bag onto the floorboard. "Hey kid how was your day?" He asked I shrugged as I got in the car and closed the door. He sighed as he shifted the gears and began to pull out of the parking spot he was parked in. "I'm not getting off till 10:30 tonight, so there's tv dinners in the fridge" dad sighed as he leaned his head back on the head rest. Dad hated working late.

"Don't wait up either" I nodded slightly even though I was definitely going to wait up. I always did even when he said not to. "Nobody over either" I nodded again.

We started down the street toward the cabin trees and houses flying by at how fast he was driving.

When we first moved back to hawkins we moved back into our old house, but quickly after mom, dad, and I moved back they divorced causing my mom to go back up to New York and dad and I to move into a trailer. I guess mom didn't care enough to at least try to take me with her. The trailer just didn't work out so we ended up moving into our cabin which we've been living in for about 3 to 4 years.

Just within a few minutes after he turned down the dirt road that led to our house, we arrived in front of the house. "There's dinner in the fridge,..and lock the doors right when you get inside" I nodded as I grabbed up my bag "I love you y/n I'll call as soon as I get to the station."

I pushed the car door open and slung my backpack over my shoulder as I stepped out. "I love you too dad" i said with a smile as I slammed the door shut. I ran up towards the house my shoes making a clomping noise as I ran up the first few steps up to the porch. I dug the house key out of my pocket and stuck it into the key hole. I twisted the key and pushed the door open before walking into the dark house, I pulled the key out of the door before closing it back and locking the door. I sighed as I heard dads blazer start up again and drive off. I pushed my shoes off of my feet before walking toward my room. I pushed the door open and turned on the light to reveal my twin bed the pink bedding draped over the bed. I dropped my bag onto the floor before falling back onto my bed.

I sighed again as I reluctantly got up from my rather comfortable bed and over towards my desk. I grabbed my backpack by the top loop of the bag and dragging it with me. I sat down and hiked the bag up into my waist, before unzipping the largest compartment, pulling out my math binder, and placing both down on the desk. I zipped my bag up, and placed it back on the ground before opening up my binder and pulling out my math homework.

Right as I closed my binder and pushed it to the side I heard the phone ringing from the kitchen so I quickly got up sprinting to the kitchen. I picked up the phone and held it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hey honey just callin' to make sure you're alright" dad said on the other line. I smiled and hummed an "mhm."

"Did you lock the door?" He asked "yep I did" he hummed "good, I've gotta go, I love you."

"I love you too dad" I replied as I hung up the phone.

Somehow ten minutes of me sitting at my desk trying to figure out math problems turned into 30, then into and hour, and then somehow it was 5:30 and Steve harrington was knocking at the front door.

I quickly looked back at the alarm clock that sat at my desk to verify the time. It was 5:25 he was five minutes early. I sighed as I stood up fixing my hair in the mirror that hung about my dresser before sprinting towards the door shouting, "IM COMING!"

I unlocked the 4 locks installed on the door (by my door overprotective father) before opening the door. There stood Steve harrington his hair styled to perfection as he held his backpack in his left hand. I spotted his car parked out next to the large sum of trees. "Hey" he said his lips tipping up into a smile as he leaned against the door frame. "Hi" I said a smile also appeared on my face as my cheeks flushed.

I pushed the door open a bit more with my body as I made room for Steve to walk in. He walked in moving his eyes from side to side examining the house. "Nice place, where are we gonna work?" He asked.

"I..um just my bedroom it's the one opened" I replied as I closed the door and locked it back. Once I turned around he wasn't there anyone. Already in my room. I quickly walked back into my room to see his sat on my bed, his shoes sitting next to my door. "So where should we start?" He asked biting on his lip subconsciously. I shrugged as I sat down in my bed. "Maybe the poster first?" I asked, Steve's lips tipped up into a smirk as his eyes flickered from my eyes to my lips. My cheeks flushed. Then he leaned in pressing his lips to mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck playing with the hair at the back of his neck. He pulled away both of us panting a bit. "Do you wa-" I cut him off nodding before pressing my lips back against his.

-

Steve rolled off of me panting, "that was-" he cut himself off with another pant. I turned looking at the alarm clock that sat on my bed side table. It was 8:30 now. I turned back towards Steve who was now laying on his side, his bare body under the comforter. Then the realization hit, wasn't he dating Tammy hughes? Just last week I saw them making out at his locker, they had been dating since the end of last school year. "Wait" I whispered he hummed in response as he wrapped his arm around my waist pulling my bare body closer to him.

"Aren't you dating Tammy?" He chuckled before shaking his head. "M'not dating anyone" I furrowed my eyebrows "but I saw yo-"

"We broke up" he said with a laugh before leaning in for a kiss. He pulled away rather quickly before hiding away in the crook of my neck pressing kisses and sucking at my neck.

I let out small wimpers and moans as he sucked and bit at my neck. My fingers weaved themselves into his hair pulling slightly as he moved down slowly towards my breasts before moving right back up to my lips. He pressed a passion filled kiss to my lips.

Right when I pulled away to catch my breath I heard the phone ringing from the kitchen.

I sighed as I got up quickly grabbing my underwear off of the floor and pulling them on before walking out and picking up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, y/n I'm leaving a bit early so do you want me to bring you anything to eat?" Dad asked.

"Shit" I muttered under my breath. "What was that?"

I felt Steve come up behind me wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing kisses to my shoulder blade. "Nothing, nothing. Um I'll just eat what we've got here" i replied. My dad hummed in response "well alright I'll see you in a bit love you."

"Love you too!"

I quickly hung up the phone. "Who was that?" Steve asked as he let go letting me turn towards him. "My dad he's coming home soon you've gotta leave" Steve rolled his eyes a bit before replying with an 'ok."

We both returned to my room getting fully dressed before I walked him to the door. Steve wrapped his arms around my waist pressing a kiss to my lips. "You're so beautiful" he whispered as he peppered kisses on my lips. I giggled as I tried to push him off "you've gotta go my dads gonna be here any minute" I giggled. He sighed "mkay I'll see you tomorrow sweetheart" my cheeks flushed as I pressed one last kiss to Steve's lips. "Yeah tomorrow, now go!" I said pushing him out of the door before locking all the locks so my dad didn't have any reason to be suspicious.

About ten minutes later I heard my dads blazer pull in. I sighed as I stood up over looking my room one last time making sure Steve left nothing. Once I was sure nothing was left I walked out into the living room and fell back onto the old couch sat in front of the tv. I heard each lock unlock before the door opened. Dad sighed as he kicked up his boots and unbuckled his belt. He threw his keys onto the coffee table and draped his work jacket over the couch before sitting down next to me.

"Movie?" He asked and I nodded as a reply.

-

The next day at school I walked in with a jacket on to hide the light purple hickeys lining my shoulders and lower neck. I walked confidently up to where Steve stood with his friends Carol Perkins and Tommy hagan.

"Hey steve!" Steve furrowed his brows as he turned his head from Tommy to me. "Who are you?" I looked at him in confusion there was no way he'd forgotten so quickly. "Wha- y/n we..you came to my house ye-"

"Oh my god!" Carol laughed loudly. Her laugh alone tore out any of the self confidence I had mustered up just to walk up to him. "You hooked up with a freshman?!" Carol laughed. Steve rolled his eyes before scoffing "I don't even fucking know who she is."

That hurt. He tore my heart out and stomped on it right in front of me. Tears welled up in my eyes "who the hell are you I don't know you" Steve said. I quickly walked away blinking back the tears as I heard the roars of laughter emitting from them. "You made her cry oh my god!"

I quickly pushed opened the nearest bathroom door and ran to the first stall. Luckily no one was in there so it let me freely sniffle and cry as loud as I wanted. I wiped at my cheeks as I sat my bag down on the ground and sat down on the toilet seat. How could he do this to me? After all he said to me yesterday.

How did I even trust him?! He won, he had won. He got another naive girl to fall for his underhanded tricks. He got another girl to hand over their heart to him so he could destroy it. He humiliated me.

Once I heard the late bell ring I unlocked the stall door and walked out. I wiped my tears as I walked out of the bathroom and down towards the first entrance I saw. I pushed open the large metal doors and walked over to the payphones that sat outside of the school. The door slammed shut as I took one of my backpack straps off pushing the front of the bag towards the front of me. I unzipped the smaller pouch as took out a quarter. I took the phone off of its hook and pushed the quarter into the coin slot.

I punched in the number I’ve learned to memorize by heart from the ripe age of 12 years old. After a few rings the secretary at hawkins police, Flo answered. “Hawkins police this is flo how may I help you?”

“Hey flo” I sniffled as I wiped at my nose “can I speak to my dad?” She hummed “of course sweetheart I’ll send you over.” I could tell she had her signature comforting flo smile gracing her lips even though I couldn’t see it.

After a few seconds my dad picked up the phone. “Hello? Y/n why aren’t you in class?” Dad asked as soon as he picked up. “C-can you pick me up?” I stuttered out as I wiped my eyes. “Wha- y/n what’s..what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing alright just please come get me” I said tears threatening to spill over and down my cheeks. He sighed “oh..alright fine I’ll be there in 3 minutes” then he hung up. I sighed as I placed the phone back on the hook and sat down on the curb wiping my eyes. Why did I let Steve harrington of all men upset me. He was just a 16 year old boy who would probably have an std in the future if he kept to his reputation.

I wiped at the tears falling down my cheeks as I saw my dad pull up.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he rolled down the window closest to me. I wiped the last remaining tear before saying “I’m fine, nothing happened” as I stood up getting into the car. “There’s obviously something wrong. Did someone say something?” He asked as he laid his hands ontop of my knee. I shrugged my usual response for questions like this which meant ‘yeah, someone did.’

“Who? I swear I’ll beat the ever loving shit out of them”

“Steve harrington” I whispered. It almost looks as steam was coming out of his ears he was so pissed. “Mother fuck me” he whispered under his breath as he pushed open his car door and stepped out. “Wait! No don’t say anything dad”

He shook his head as he said “I’ll take care of it don’t worry stay in the car.”

The next day steve harrington walked in sporting a brand new shiner on his left eye, and my dad was banned from the school for two months.

Taglist

@kleeixe @teddyylicious @band--psycho @fixtionlover @sbeve-chairington @hellojameshowyadoin @write-from-the-heart @sagejin @burn1ngw00d

#fanfics #joe keery #x reader #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #el hopper x reader #jim hopper x reader #hopper!reader #fem!reader

[sofarsofastmp3]

15 people, 15 questions!

thanks for the tag @couthbbg i can’t think of the last time i did one of these it was super fun :)

1. are you named after anyone?

no! i’m actually the only one of my siblings who doesn’t have a family connected first/middle name. and i do NOT have a complex about that

2. when was the last time you cried?

i get misty eyed once every 5-7 business hours as is my nature as a pisces, but i last properly cried on new year’s eve. it’s tradition!

3. do you have kids?

nope!

4. what sports do you play/have you played?

i played soccer for like three years as a kid and hated! it! like “cried putting my cleats on” hated soccer. but i played softball up until my freshman year of high school. i’ve been wanting to get back into hitting recently? i found a batting cage near me i just gotta go. i dabble in tennis casually but i’m not good at ALL i have a fifteen dollar racket and a dream

5. do you use sarcasm?

more than i’d like to. had a very sarcastic upbringing but it doesn’t sound good on me (inherently earnest and lame)

6. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

hair i think? especially “post” covid, it’s got to either be hair or eyes. even when someone isn’t wearing a mask it’s what i see first

7. what’s your eye color

brown, babeyy

8. scary movies or happy endings?

i like both! across all art, the two genres i consume most are weird/gory and Romantic Comedy. to have a real answer, i’ll say happy endings only because scary movies are my least favorite type of scary media. i am VERY easily startled so i’ve always hated jump scares and was actually really horror averse until college because of it

9. any talents?

i think i USED to be a solid writer, but in the last three years i’ve gotten really out of practice. i miss it. i’m really good and fast at shuffling cards! which is a fun random one. i’m also really good at guess that song? if you’re in a do or die “guess this song in ten seconds” situation i am your girl

10. where were you born?

south florida!

11. what are your hobbies?

i read a lot. i go through phases where i play a lot of solitaire. like with a physical deck of cards. lovee a puzzle! i want to try needlepoint!

12. do you have any pets?

“my dog” is technically my sisters dog but we’ve lived together for like 6 of his 9 years on this earth and i’ve cleaned poop crusties off him when he was sick. so i feel like he’s mine too. his name is kona, which people always mishear as coda (of brother bear fame) which i actually think is a better name

13. how tall are you?

much like your average nhler, i claim to be slightly taller than i am. i’m 5’6 but usually try to say i’m close to 5’7 because i’m one of the shortest people in my family. my twelve year old cousin just passed me. it’s so rough out here.

14. favorite subject in school?

english and latin! i’ve actually been wanting to get back into latin as a hobby which is maybe the most insufferable thing i could add to my list of already insufferable traits. but i miss it

15. dream job?

i want my own bookstore so bad it makes me look stupid. a store opened up like a half hour from me that’s kind of my ideal. new/used books/music AND they’ve got a cafe! i haven’t been yet but really want to go. i’m on a hard book buying ban until june with 3 pre-determined exceptions, one of those being my birthday in march (the other two being the pub dates for my most anticipated releases), so i think i may check it out as a treat to myself then!!

i think the bulk of people have done this, but if you haven’t i would love to hear what you have to say!!! :)

#love a venue to ramble! #about me

[emotionally-eager-assistant]

[The sound of laughter, soft but brash and excited. Someone loud but mindful. The camera shifted, focusing on a woman who swung on the heels of her well- heels. She was looking past the camera with a goofy look in her eyes.]

"Que tu haces?" [A voice, feminine by nature, chirred happily. A voice that was chirpy and amused. Another voice pipped in quickly from behind the camera, also feminine.] "Look at the came- Eduviges!" [The second voice yelped.]

"Sorry, sorry! Hi!" [The woman in frame waved at the camera, a closed eye smile on her face before she popped her eyes open and looked behind the camera again waiting for instructions.] "Describe what your job is. But! Introduce yourself first!" [The woman behind the camera instructs with a sigh. 'Eduviges' brightens up and nods her head eagerly. She shuffles to stop from swinging on her heels.]

"Hi! My name is Eduviges Girão, I am 38 years old! I am like, I dunno, maybe 5'9? I think yeah! Oh and I work for-" [The camera cuts out for a spilt second, jumping ahead.] "-I assist Miss Pauling," [She motions behind the camera] "in running errands!"

[She moves around with a little bounce.] "That means I will do paper work for Miss Pauling, I will give or send things to others and/or Miss Pauling when asked and I will also do physical work! I will kill, hunt, assasinate whoever Miss Pauling wants me to!" [She lists off, counting on her finger to keep up.] "Also everyone calls me Miss Gi!"

[The camera cuts off with a hiss.]

»»———-　ooc under cut　———-««

Rabbit here again!

I couldn't help but have to make Mimic a sister BAHAHA

Alright so basics! I'm going to say rules first and then we can dive into fun facts about Miss Gi!

Magic anons allowed!

No NSFW! The mod is a minor who will publicly shame if weird asks are sent /srs

Messages/asks are fine as long as they aren't straight up nsfw!

Interactions/threads are open to anyone and everyone! Send an rp in!!!

Basic DNI: Don't be homophobic, racist, if you're against Palestine, known to like problematic creators.

The mod uses tone tags, if anything that doesn't have a tone tag to imply things that might come off as aggressive the message will be deleted. Please use tone tags!

Anons with sign offs will be tagged! I will collect y'all like Pokemon /lh

Basics on Miss Gi include!

Miss Gi is unaware that Mimic, her brother, works with the mercs. She is confident they are dead. Nobody should know the two are siblings unless with their files!! Aside from anons that is!

Just like Mimic, Miss Gi is Puerto Rican and primarily speaks Spanish alongside English.

She is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns however her sexuality is questionable, she isn't aware of what or who she loves.

Miss Gi works for Miss Pauling specifically, of course she works under the Administrator but specifically with Miss Pauling.

SHE ISN'T A MERC!!! (/nm) She is just an assistant and almost never interacts with the mercs unless asked to by Miss Pauling!!!

Miss Gi's log includes!

Ask tag: #Folders

In character post tag: #Assisted Hunt

Rp response: #Organizing papers

Reblogs/character reblogs tag: #Prey

Open thread/open for interaction: #Scattered papers and weapons

Mod/ooc tag: #a rabbits response

Her ref!!!

#team fortress 2 #emotionally xyz mercs #emotionally eager assistant #tf2 #tf2 oc #a rabbits response #tf2 rp blog #rp blog #ask blog

[brightstvrlights]

𝐃𝐘𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓 : 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘;

❝ Set my body free, the silver tigers in the moonlight running... ❞

❥ welcome to marina, dylan frost ( cismale, he/him ) ! they are a twenty-eight year old werewolf who resides in locke row. They work as a musician & bartender at widow and are said to look a lot like chase stokes. People around the island find them to be +honest and +adventurous, but also -sarcastic and -temperamental. what do you think?

Full Name: Dylan Brody Frost

Age: 28

Date Of Birth: 15 September 1995

Zodiac: Virgo

Species: Werewolf

Parents: Steven Frost and Michelle Dixon

Siblings: Three step-siblings

Orientation: Heterosexual

Occupation: Musician/Bartender

Languages: English

Positive: Creative, honest, adventurous, courageous

Negative: Sarcastic, temperamental, stubborn, hot-headed

CONNECTIONS | PINTEREST

BACKSTORY

Dylan Frost was born into an almost underwhelmingly normal family, in a completely normal neighbourhood in Kentucky. His mother was a primary school teacher, his father a bank teller (and to Dylan’s bitter amusement) a high-functioning gambler. He wasn’t a troubled child, but his parents used to say to all of their equally normal friends and colleagues that he emerged from the womb with an attitude, and that attitude stuck with him all through adolescence (often getting him into fights, much to the abhorrence and tired frustration of his mother). He was a nightmare in classes, being a nuisance and making smart mouth comments wherever possible. He hated school, except for one subject. Music. He wasn’t sure why, but he took to it from an early age; it serving as his only real enjoyment in his boring reality.

As he grew up, Dylan’s father became more of a memory than a presence, spending more and more time away from home; telling his wife and son that he’d been promoted and had to take on new responsibilities that required longer hours. Dylan’s mother being a firm advocator of burying her head in the sand chose to believe him, but Dylan knew the truth. It came as barely a surprise to him when he woke up one morning to the sound of his parents arguing and then his father rushing out the front door and speeding away, never to return. He later discovered through eavesdropping his mother’s phone conversations that his father had stolen money from his workplace to fuel his addiction and when he’d gotten caught, had withdrawn almost everything from the family savings and run away to evade police. Dylan wasn’t the smartest fifteen-year-old on earth, but he knew that his mother’s grade school teacher wage wouldn’t get them far. He quit school immediately, almost looking for an excuse to leave anyway, and got a job packing boxes at a local warehouse. It wasn’t much but it helped, plus he’d also started to hold acoustic sets in people’s basements and backyards for a little extra cash on the side.

It was always his goal to get out of his hometown - as far as he was concerned there were no prospects for him there. He saw his opportunity at seventeen when his mother met a businessman who had been a widower for several years and had three well behaved children; who to Dylan resembled lifeless robots. He was the tarnish on a now perfect image; the black sheep. He didn’t need anyone to spell it out for him, he wasn’t wanted and not needing any further persuasion, packed up his things, took what little money he’d saved for himself and left. He started travelling with his guitar; couch surfing from city to city, letting life dictate where he stopped off next.

Dylan was six months into his new life when everything he knew got flipped upside down. Finishing up late at a dive bar on the outskirts of Colorado he was attacked from behind; the suddenness of it all disorienting him. Before he was given a chance to retaliate his assailant was gone, not before having left a large bite mark on Dylan's side. He was mildly freaked out but chalked it up to some weird drunken behaviour until a month later when he turned for the first time. Having no prior knowledge of the supernatural, the event came as a monumental shock to him and if it wasn't for Asher Winston finding him and teaching him control, he would have most certainly been found and put down by hunters for being a liability to human safety.

HEADCANONS

Dylan's most prized possessions in his life are his two guitars and his old Land Rover Defender 90 that makes a strange rattling noise every now and then, but is easily drowned out with loud enough music.

Has made a habit of collecting tattoos in every town his visited, a lot of them holding no particular meaning but rather the result of a alcohol-fuelled Friday night.

(TW Drugs) Has an aversion to feeling pretty much anything real and as such, has developed a longstanding, co-dependant 'friendship' with drugs and alcohol to stay as numb as possible.

Despite Dylan's overly sarcastic, assholish and disinterested demeanour, there is a softness deep, deep down in him that not many people have seen, but if taken the time can be discovered. He just has to know that it's worth him opening up and being vulnerable.

Has never seen Teen Wolf, don't fucking ask him about it

#marina:intro #( dylan | biography. )