#The collector just makes me feel so many emotions

[civettea]

The puppeteer no longer holds the strings

#GOOD LORD its done this was killing me' #The collector just makes me feel so many emotions #the owl house #the owl house spoilers #toh #toh spoilers #for the future #the collector toh #the collector #toh the collector #toh raine whispers #raine whispers #raine whispers toh #belos the owl house #toh belos #belos toh #I'm terrible at tagging sorry #artists on tumblr #my art yo

[roodles03]

The First Kiss

Things have been rough for them for pretty much their whole lives, but especially recently.

For Willow, being trapped in the human realm separated from her fathers, not knowing if they're okay, having little to no hope of ever returning home, and knowing the Boiling Isles might be in ruin due to the Collector was a lot to deal with. Flapjack's death, Belos still being alive along with seeing the Isles in a apocalyptic state confirmed so many of her fears.

Boscha was the icing on the cake, sending her into a boderline panic attack/mental breakdown that nearly ended with her suffocating not only herself, but also her best friends.

Meanwhile, Hunter has lost his beloved palismen, Flapjack, after having his body controlled and getting possessed by his abuser, who he thought he was finally safe from. He had died after sacrificing himself to save his friends, and Flapjack is the only reason he's still alive to tell his story, but in order for Flapjack to save him, he had to give up his life essence to revive Hunter. Hunter now has to continue living on without Flapjack. He misses him every single day. He thinks about him all the time. He wishes he was still here every waking moment. But Flapjack is never coming back, and that is almost impossible to handle at times.

But what Willow and Hunter do have is each other. They love each other and want to get through things together. They can help each other heal and give each other comfort through their pain. And Willow wants to assure Hunter that no matter what, she'll be there.

Hunter feels the same way, and he assures he'll be there for her too. Half-a-witches like them always stick together.

The half-a-witch statement is what Willow needed to hear her whole life.

In that moment of love, without thinking, Willow cups Hunter's cheeks and pulls him in.

Hunter, meanwhile, has no idea what's about to happen until their lips meet. He's shocked at first before quickly embracing the kiss. His emotions overrun him almost instantly.

When Willow separates, she immediately realizes what she just did, and she freezes. Hunter feels like he has to say something, but his overwhelming emotions make that incredibly hard. He has no idea what to say. He's too shocked for anything comprehensable to leave his mouth, and even if he could formulate a sentence, just one word would make him burst into tears.

Willow can hardly scoundure up an sentence herself, but just saying one word causes Hunter to be overwhelmed with joy. He's never felt so loved before. It feels amazing. He starts happily sobbing as the two pull in for a hug.

(Wow, my inner fic writer came out, didn't it-)

Pretty much everything went right for this comic and I'm really happy with how it came out. It definitely took a very long time for me to finish this due to uni, but it was worth the time and effort.

#the owl house #the owl house fanart #toh fanart #the owl house hunter #hunter the owl house #hunter toh #toh hunter #hunter park #hunter deamonne #hunter noceda #willow park #the owl house willow #willow the owl house #willow toh #toh willow #huntlow #willow x hunter #hunter x willow #the owl house winter #winter the owl house #winter toh #toh winter #wintery junk #golden garden

[freuleinanna]

I'm still confused about Verna.. I thought she was a demon?? Because why would Death be going around making a bunch of deals with people? After Verna told Pym she decided to go "topside" I thought she was some kind of crossroads demon since it implies she came from below (hell)

Oh! I feel you, and I struggled with that a lot too. She does seem a lot like a demon. I'm not saying I'm 100% correct in my thinking either, but here's why I personally think she's Death. Kind of a long post, sorry. I hope I make myself clear, but feel free to follow up!

So, Verna. An anagram for Raven, that much is established. Ravens are wonderful - symmetrical even - creatures. Bringers of death in a wide understanding. Bringers of good luck in many cultures. The duality is amazing. To me, that also leans majorly into the theme of death being a concept of duality: an enemy for some, a friend for others. Each greets her differently. I'm not talking about the characters here, but people in general.

There's a proverb I came across a while ago that reads 'Death is a great leveller'. Meaning, everyone's equal before her. You have no leverage or buffer against death, and it doesn't matter if you're poor or blindly, feverishly, grotesquely rich (like our folks here). Everyone pays the last bill. For everyone, there's a day of reckoning. It's a major theme with the show, at least. Verna also says 'Buy now, pay the bill later' - although it can still read very demonic, I agree.

She's obviously ancient, and I was leaning toward the demon theory based on all of her talking. Yet - she also keeps ranting about Egypt and pyramids and Cleopatras and such. What's the one thing with Egyptians everyone knows of? They honored death. Death may have been a bigger part of their lives than life itself. The Usher Twins' obssession with all things Egyptian, antiquities, jewelry, swords and such, plays a nice parallel here too, because they're just collectors. They have no grain of honor for the real thing, for what these things are tied to. Kind of a nice thought, I guess.

Anyway, back to Verna. She says on multiple occasions how intrigued she is with us, 'adorable little things'. She saw the pyramids, the expeditions, and she wanted to see what else we do, she wanted to see what Roderick and Madeline will do (in her own words). It's all an experiment to her. She makes an offer just to see what we, people, do.

Here's where my beef with a demon theory comes in. No demonic creature I could think of, be it an actual demon, a trickster, or something else, is that sincerely intrigued. Something something death loving life something something.

Demons, in my understanding, are most interested in winning the deal. They come up with incredible challenges, they enjoy torture, emotional or physical, they never let anyone win. Verna has never once expressed this. Quite the opposite. She gives everyone a chance to step back. Even when the ink has dried and everything's decided, each Usher sibling is conditioned to make a choice: push forward, or step back. Neither of them steps back. Neither of them takes a long hard look at themselves (except Tamerlane, both literally haha and figuratively, as she's the only one to have realized how lost she was in her way - just at the end, when it didn't really matter anymore, but still). Verna is kind to those she takes (sincere pet names, regrets of having to do it this way, making sure they know it's not personal, etc). She grieves with them, just before. Grieving - 'The Raven' being about an expression of grief and trauma - ravens as synonyms for death... you get the gist. Oh! Except Freddie - cause Freddie struck a cord. Infuriated her. So he doesn't get an expressed choice. And he would've blown it like coke anyway, so meh.

And then Arthur Pym. Oh, Arthur Pym. I honestly couldn't imagine a demon kneeling and thanking someone who's refused them.

About Arthur Pym, by the way. It's the one story I hadn't reread, and I should have, it turns out! haha Anyway, a few notes about his travels:

In the story, Arthur Pym is expressedly afraid of white color (North Pole, yada yada, white being the absense of colors/life, and the absense of life is death).

Verna enumerates the moments she witnessed of his travels. Someone getting left in Sahara. Someone getting shot in the Arctic. Something bad that was done to an Inuit woman. Why would she follow Arthur so closely? She didn't know him, he wasn't her favorite. I think it's because she came to collect those deaths. If she is death, she would've been exactly there, where people died. She would have also seen Arthur not partaking.

Aaaaaaaand it makes her 'You saw me' line sound better, because he had sure seen death along his travels.

I think the part about a place of out-of-time, out-of-space creatures and hollow Earth was a bit unnecessary, BUT I can try and tie it in this way:

It showed us how Arthur might have coped with what he saw, and he 'saw a lot', even in his 70s it's difficult for him to recall, and it made him think of humanity as a virus, literally;

He might have thought up that ethereal realm simply because he was in an expedition? Exhaustive conditions for both body and spirit? Traumatic experiences? If he saw Death, he might have cloaked it in his mind to cope with it, thus came his stories;

Verna going 'topside' may just mean that she had to go take a look herself, actually be willingly present for the events - to see the brave little humans conquer the earth. 'Topside', as in, 'visible, present, participating'. If Death exists, I doubt it bothers with our boring human realm but lives downunder, among all threads that weave the world.

So that's that on Arthur Pym.

A few other references my mind is too exhausted to tie in nicely:

Death takes Lenore. THE Lenore from 'The Raven' (mostly) and 'Lenore' (secondary). That happened. Also, death talking to a child of life? Regretting having to take her? Not very demonic of dear ol' Verna, in my opinion.

Her mourning veil, her last toasts to the Ushers at the cemetery? Demons don't tend to grieve their players. Demons don't respect and love them enough, and 'what is grief, if not love persevering'?

Death is the last threshold. Before death, we look upon our legacy (major theme with the show), we remember our losses and loves (Annabel Lee!!!!! love the poem, brilliantly done), we get heavy with regrets. We face death as an enemy & fight, like Madeline did. As a friend, like Arthur did. We confess, like Roderick did. All that is too significant to me overall.

And the last thing. It's Edgar Allan Poe. The whole Death tribute is a giant, incredible, thought-through-to-the-bits hommage to his literature where Death, figuratively and literally, takes the throne.

I hope I managed to express myself alright there. Thanks if you read it through, and as I said before, feel free to follow up or elaborate on some ideas. There are oceans to discuss. <3

#tore a few veins typing it out ughhhhh the poetry #asks #long post #the fall of the house of usher #tfothou #tfothou spoilers #tfothou tv #netflix #carla gugino #verna #meta post #the fall of the house of usher spoilers #edgar poe #edgar allan poe

[ahundredtimesover]

Untitled | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: idolverse (no explicit mentions of BTS), strangers au; angst, smut

Warnings: foul language, inexplicit smut (making out, non-descriptive penetrative sex) (18+)

Word count: 16k

Summary: For years as a sculptor, you felt detached from your own work - unable to title them, describe them, name the most basic emotions that artists should be in tune with. A chance encounter with a man one winter night finds you in a journey of finding your own meaning. And as you slowly discover what it means to create and to feel, you find out that this might also be what pulls both of you far apart.

A/N1: It’s been tough being on a writing slump and not being able to come up with something new, but then Indigo happened. I’ve been so into Closer and been wanting to write something that would encapsulate the song’s emotions, but the more I listened to NJ talk about his album (especially Yun), the more I got to reflect on so many other things. So here we are. This was a quick write (and an experiment, too!) filled with my own ramblings and questions that only one Kim Namjoon would prompt me to have. Please enjoy.

A/N2: I’m not an artist, but I’m fascinated by them and what they create (Van Gogh’s Digital Art Exhibition in the LUME, Melbourne from last September just blew my away). In another life, I probably would’ve been a collector. But the essence of humanity in my professional work links to my own appreciation of art in that sense. All the things that I wonder about life and the essence of being human are reflected here. I’ve taken from Namjoon’s reflections and insights as well, and once again, I was reminded of his brilliance and his heart.

2020, early winter 

A little boy with a bucket painting stars in the sky.

That’s what this season’s artwork on the side of the building is. Just this fall, it was a girl raising a paper airplane on this exact spot; in the summer, it was another kid on a swing, and in spring, it was a child with an opened suitcase, their toys falling out and drifting into a stream. 

Lost childhood, perhaps. That’s what happens when the world stands still, Namjoon thinks. He’d written a song about it - the things we lost during the time when time froze, and maybe just like these paintings, life continued to go on. The yearning remains, though, and he can see it on the piece that he’s been looking at for minutes now. 

Maybe the artist is young, mourning their own youth that slipped from their fingers. Maybe it’s someone a little older, mourning it for others. Maybe it’s just a person who’s trying to understand the situation through a child’s eyes - with innocence, confusion, trust. Maybe it’s—

The sound of footsteps disrupts Namjoon’s thoughts. It’s 2AM and he’s a little surprised that someone is in the area at this time. It’s a busy street during the day and the crowd falls away early. It’s completely deserted by this hour; it’s why he likes taking this route from the office to his apartment. He’s always liked walking home regardless of the distance, but it’s at night when he feels most free, and it’s become something he looks forward to everyday. 

He’s about to turn away when he notices a figure run up to the small building where the painting he was just admiring is. The individual lays their bag on the floor and retrieves a paintbrush and a pail, seemingly about to continue their work that Namjoon didn’t even realize was still unfinished.

“Fuck,” the voice curses out. “Fuck fuck fucking shit. Why do I always forget my hot packs!”

The person removes their mask and blows into their cupped hands, rubbing them after in hopes of sustaining the heat from the friction. 

“Just a bit more,” they continue, gloved hand now pointing ripples by the boy’s legs as he stands in a body of water. “Just a bit more.”

As chattering teeth and the blowing of air on hands continue, Namjoon decides to make himself known. The stranger is clearly trying to finish their work - and he’s curious to see this all unfold, finding amusement in watching an artist in action - but the cold air is quite uncomfortable. 

“Hey,” he says, as the figure stops their movements. “I’m not a creep, I promise. I was just looking at your work but you’re freezing and I… I’ve got some extra hot packs with me.”

You slowly turn around with furrowed brows. This is the first time you’ve come across another person during the early mornings you paint on this specific building. You’ve gotten used to the emptiness of this street at this time, but somehow, hearing this man’s deep, rough voice is giving you comfort. Especially since he’s offering something you need.

“Sure, that would be great,” you say, blowing into your hands again.

He slowly walks forward - clad in a thick hoodie and beanie, his mask covering half of his face. He looks familiar, but you don’t have much time to place where you know him from. You take the hot packs he offers, squeeze one with your free hand while the other continues on with the piece that you want to finish tonight.

“Will it take much longer?” He asks, his voice kind. “I didn’t know it was unfinished and it’s quite interesting to see an artist complete their work. So, uh, can I watch?”

You turn towards him. On a normal day, you’d turn him away. You’re not too keen on anyone on your ass while you finish something, but he doesn’t seem like a creep and he was kind enough to give you hot packs at a time like this, so you nod. 

It doesn’t take long. It’s just some ripples and a few strokes left anyway; you were freezing too much last night so you put off the final details for tonight. And then the last bit. You sign your name on the bottom corner, and a gasp leaves the stranger’s mouth.

“Wait, you’re Blue…” he says, the realization dawning on him. “

“Surprise,” you reply, standing up from your squatting position. 

“I mean, I figured since you’ve been painting children and their lost youth this past year but… the man in the rain, the distorted face on the mirror, the hand on the neck… those were you, too.”

Namjoon can’t believe he’s finally face-to-face with the artist whose work has been haunting him since he first came across one on an electric post 3 years ago. 

They were in other parts of the city. He remembers seeing them on walls and buildings during his walks home or when he was in the car, and then some weeks later, they were gone, either replaced with a new piece of work or just painted over, as if it never existed. He’d seen the signature a few times, and seeing it again reminded him that it was you, too. The one who’d created those masterpieces that got him thinking, feeling, wondering.

“You have a good memory,” you simply smile at him, realizing at this point that you’ve left your mask off. You put it back on and take in his domineering form. “Those were years ago; I’ve almost forgotten about them.”

“I haven’t. I mean, sort of.”

“Good. That was the point,” you reply. “I mean, sort of.”

“The point being? That I find something that speaks to me and then the next minute, they’re gone?” He says, quite defensive. It bothered him for a time that he never got to see those pieces again.

“What did they make you feel?”

“Desolate? Alone? Confused? Desperate?”

“Then you forgot about them, didn’t you?”

“The paintings, sort of. Not the feeling, though,” he frowns. “I still think about them but… I think I’ve forgotten exactly what they look like. Is that what you wanted?”

“Pretty much,” you hum, starting to pack your things. “The stuff I leave on for a few weeks are mostly sad, and I paint over them because I don’t want people to dwell on them. I want people… to forget, to move on.”

“But they don’t, not really. I’m sure they’ve taken photos if it spoke to them so much. At least I did, but then I deleted them because…”

“Because you got over the sadness,” you smirk, knowing that somehow, he proved your point, and he lets out a chuckle at the realization. “It may be on their phones but it’s not the real thing. The image may be distorted, the colors different, the strokes a lot smoother. It’s not the same.”

“They should be preserved,” he voices out. “It’s art. Those things are meant to be immortalized, no matter how they make people feel.”

“Not always,” you counter. “At least for me, I make those to forget. The feelings fade once the art does. I created them that way.”

“Hmm,” Namjoon hums, taking this time to observe you, as you’d rendered him speechless. 

There’s this softness in your eyes that contrasts the words you say. He doesn’t want to imagine what you might’ve gone through to create hauntingly beautiful pieces inspired by feelings you want to forget. 

Whatever those are, he truly does wish you’ve let those go. He knows he has. But he still disagrees - he doesn’t think art ever fades. Perhaps feelings do, but he’s come to learn that visual art is eternal.

“So how long will you keep this up?” He asks, wondering when he’d see you again; the allure and intrigue from your words makes him want to know more.

“Until the next season,” you say, picking up your bag now. “It’s been a tough year and I hope the spring brings more hope.”

“But you also don’t want them to dwell on this… the loss of childhood, of youth,” he continues. “You want them to move on from this, focus on what’s to be gained after losing something important.”

“You’re a fast learner,” you wink, and Namjoon surprises himself by the way his heart jumps at the sight. “You must be a genius or something. Or an artist yourself.”

“Neither,” he lies. “I mean, I’m barely anything, really.”

“I doubt it. A guy like you being affected by all this means you’re something, whatever it is.”

There’s something validating about your words, and he smiles behind his mask, something you see, as you smile back. 

It’s odd, feeling a sense of connection with a stranger like this, something he’s never really experienced, most times because he’s always wary of who he meets, especially at this time of the night. But you don’t seem to know who he is. And if you do, you don’t seem to mind or want to make a deal out of it, something that he appreciates. 

There’s comfort in your smile, and he wants to discover what other things cause it. There’s a dearth of experience in your words, and he wants to know more. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that he wants to mirror; he wishes he can give comfort to someone just by looking at them. 

Maybe it’s the cold breeze. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the end of the year and he’s spending it alone again. Maybe it’s spending an entire day cooped up in his studio only to go home to an empty apartment. Maybe it’s knowing what a year it was and what’s about to come. He didn’t think that a stranger in a yellow puff jacket who cursed so crisply would be the one to make his walk back home not feel so lonely. That the woman who’d casually painted some ripples and splashes on the wall was the one who’d make him feel a little less alone.

“So, uh, do you usually paint at the start or end of the season?” He wonders.

“Are you trying to ask when you’re gonna see me again?” You look at him with an arched brow.

“Maybe,” Namjoon chuckles. He’s also just trying to delay your departure, seeing as you seem to be ready to leave. 

He doesn’t want to ask your name, not ready himself to share who he is. But perhaps the next meeting won’t be as serendipitous as this. 

“It depends,” you tease. “But maybe I’ll see you again, either here, or elsewhere.”

“I hope it’s soon,” he confesses. He’s being bold, but his eyes light up when you reply.

“I hope so, too.”

Namjoon walks the opposite direction of where you are headed, turning back once to look at you, and catching your eyes when he does. 

Winter passes. His busy schedule doesn’t permit him to take this route for a while, and it’s mid-spring when he sees a new painting that’s been completed - a young girl looking through a glass window to a world outside, her fingers holding onto the latch as she readies to open it. A small smile forms on his face; he at least sees something of you, even if it isn’t you.

The next time he’s able to pass by, it’s the end of summer, and all he sees is a gray wall - empty, undisturbed, as if there was nothing there to begin with.

2021, autumn 

The bell rings as Namjoon enters the building, an art gallery that he’s been frequenting the past few months. There are new pieces, he’s been told, and one of the curators that he’s become friends with informed him that some of the artists are in town. 

He nods in greeting at familiar faces - employees, artists, casual visitors. He walks around, taking in the new paintings and sculptures displayed. As he turns towards one of the smaller rooms, a piece catches his eye.

It’s something he’d seen before, a piece of ceramic sculpted in such a way that it looks like a flower in one angle, a seashell in another. And, dare he say, a vulva from a little farther away. 

He reads the label. Untitled 56, Samantha Lee.

Namjoon goes through the photos on his phone, knowing it was a trip to LA over 2 years ago where he’d encountered something similar. 

And there it is. Untitled 48, Samantha Lee. 

He took the photo from an angle that looked like flowers, thinking about the simplicity and beauty, the choice of colors, and how they hung on the wall as part of the installation. It was one of many pieces he documented, but was the only one he didn’t get much story from. There was no description, no background. He wasn’t quite sure what to feel.

“Find something that interests you?”

Mr. Hong is one of the founders of this gallery, and he spends much of his time getting to know the regular visitors and the artists. He’s definitely someone who knows when something strikes Namjoon, like right now.

“Samantha Lee,” Namjoon responds. “Are they a local artist? I think I saw their work in LA some time ago.”

“Ah, yes Ms., uh, Ms. Lee. She’s a local and has her pieces displayed in several galleries. She’s here, actually,” Mr. Hong excitedly shares, noting how important it is for the Kim Namjoon to meet one of the artists. “She was supposed to come yesterday but decided to drop by today instead. Would you like to meet her?”

“Ah, that would be great,” Namjoon smiles back. “If she is fine with that, of course.”

Mr. Hong is never sure if the said artist is, but Namjoon is a special guest, he thinks, so the older man nods. “I’ll lead you to her.”

Namjoon is led up a small flight of stairs and out to a patio with more installations displayed. He spots several people outside, and he tries to determine which one of them is the artist he wants to meet, perhaps ask why she’d untitled all her pieces, and why there’s nothing of her at all that she chooses to share.

He stops in front of two women as instructed by Mr. Hong.

“He’s a fucking asshole, that’s what he is,” a familiar voice spits out. “The next time he harasses you, I’m going to impale his dick with my heels and—”

“Ehem,” Mr. Hong clears his throat, prompting both women to look at him. “Ms. Lee, one of our patrons would like to meet you.” 

He shares a look with the woman before she nods and smiles. She turns to Namjoon where he’s met with familiar tender eyes, eyes he’s been yearning to see since that cold winter night.

“Blue?” He asks, surprised.

“My favorite color, yes. How did you know?” 

You look at the man in front of you, tall and broad with caramel skin and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. You’ve seen this smile before. Even behind a mask, you could tell it’s him, the man who’d saved your ass that one cold winter night with his extra hot packs and his calming voice. 

You thought you’d see him again, seeing as he seemed to want to, but he never came that spring. You even left a small, ridiculous note at the corner where your signature usually is, asking when he’d come, thinking he’d communicate with you there. But the response never came. 

The universe is tricky sometimes. You passed up on coming to the gallery yesterday because you felt dizzy when you woke up. And of all days that your winter night man visits, it’s the one where you’re here.

“I just figured,” Namjoon smiles, picking up your hints. “It’s one of mine, too.”

“Perhaps we should talk about the complexities of the color, then,” you smile back, nodding towards one of the sections in the large patio. 

You lead him there, leaving Mr. Hong and his warning gaze and your assistant, whose smirk and teasing laughter makes you glare at her.

“I’m guessing they don’t know about you being Blue?” Namjoon asks, feeling a little jittery standing next to you again and being able to see your face much more clearly, your hair tied loosely in a bun and your clothes a nice fit for the cool weather.

“Minji does. She helps me find materials,” you respond. “Mr. Hong doesn’t. He’s not much of a fan of street art.”

“That’s a bummer, especially since one of the artists creates amazing pieces on buildings and posts and then signs them, then abandons them, and leaves spectators like me to wonder where they’d gone,” Namjoon replies, hoping you don’t find offense with his tiny jab. 

Your chuckle tells him you don’t. “You never came.”

“I didn’t know when to,” he defends. “Well, more like, I stopped having the time. That place is so far from where I live and I only walk from my office because I like that time alone and I haven’t had that, but then I came back in the summer but you—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you assure him. “That was a chance meeting and I didn’t really expect I’d see you again in the same spot weeks later.”

“Did you expect to see me this time?”

“Oh, not at all,” you shake your head. “Why are you even here?”

“Why are people ever in art galleries?” He counters. “To check out the art. Maybe chance upon the artists if they’re here.”

“I guess,” you shrug, turning a corner to a small maze of an installation. “You wouldn’t have known it was me, though.”

“I didn’t. I was staring at Untitled 56 and realized I took a photo of Untitled 48,” he reveals, earning him a shocked look from you. “It was in LACMA. I saw it a while back. The name rang a bell because I don’t know anything about you. You leave so much to the imagination, Ms. Lee. There’s nothing about y—”

“It’s Han,” you correct him, feeling comfortable now. “I mean, Han ___. Samantha Lee is another pseudonym. Or like a stage name. You know, like you?”

You bite your lip at the slip-up, not wanting him to be uncomfortable at the thought that you clearly know who he is. But he just nods, affirming that he now knows that you know who he is, but he smiles right after, his eyes turning into the smallest, prettiest crescents and his dimples framing his strong-featured face that makes him even more handsome. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he hums. “But why blue? And why Samantha Lee?”

“It’s the simpler version of my favorite color. Aegean blue is too complicated to sign every time,” you chuckle. “And Samantha Lee… Well, she was my roommate back in college and she once told me she wanted to be famous and the only way that could happen is if I used her name as a pseudonym. I had a crush on her so I agreed.” 

There’s a long pause before Namjoon realizes that you’re not joking, and he comments that it’s interesting but he doesn’t ask again. 

“I’m Kim Namjoon, by the way,” he reaches out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say, internally melting at the feel of his warm and large hand. “So why did you take a photo of Untitled 48?”

“It looked like a clam.”

At this, you burst into laughter.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way, just to be clear!” He insists. “It was beautifully made. It was of a neutral color but it somehow stood out the most to me in that section. And it was the 48th; I wondered why they didn't have titles. And your 56th, which looks like—”

“A vulva,” you snort.

“Yes,” he chuckles, “and a flower, yeah - something I’ve been into lately. And well, it was interesting. And seeing your piece here reminded me of that,” he goes on. “And I just wanted to know… why.”

“Why what?” You furrow your brows at him.

“Why those pieces? Why are they untitled? What prompted you to create them that way?”

“We’d probably have to tour the gallery 4 more times if you want to know,” you chuckle.

“I have time.”

“Do you?” You ask, eyeing the phone in his pocket that's been vibrating for the last 5 minutes.

He smiles shyly and excuses himself. When he returns, he has a disappointed look on his face. “Turns out, I don’t have time. But I want to. I… uh, will you be here again anytime this week?”

“I will. I’m just not sure when.”

There’s something alluring with these coincidental meetups. Somehow you want more of those, perhaps to let the universe tell you that you’re meant to constantly meet this man whose time you know you’ll never have enough of, even if he makes it for you. 

“Let me see you again?” 

“You will.”

You catch his eyes when he turns back as he walks away. There’s a sparkle in them, and you’re afraid to want to see it once more.

**

The walk to the site of the lost youth is a long one, but not knowing when you’d see the tall man with the prettiest smile again, you head there. 

Your last piece was of a child at the brink of freedom, about to take the step outside the cage she’d been in for the past year and a half. You painted over it once autumn started; maybe the next time you’d paint over a building, you’re no longer yearning for lost things. Maybe you’d paint something about finding something new.

“I’m gonna start believing in a higher power if we continue meeting like this.”

The raspy voice is familiar, and you turn around to see Namjoon, clad in a hoodie and a baseball cap, leaning against one of the streetlights across the empty wall of the building you’d been staring at. It’s been 2 days since you saw him at the gallery, about 7 months since the first time you’d encountered him here. You’re unsure what this all means.

“Maybe you should,” you head towards him. “I missed the last bus so I decided to walk home. I’m still far away but this is on the way. Why are you here?”

“Stayed up at the studio,” he replies. “I’m incredibly exhausted but I don’t know, I got the energy for the long walk. Then there you were.”

“There I was, appearing so suddenly again, yeah?” You chuckle, leaning on the opposite side of the pole. 

Namjoon merely hums before he nods towards the direction of his apartment. “I’m heading there.”

“Me, too.”

With his hands in his hoodie pockets and yours crossed against your chest, you try to match his long strides.

“Painting came first,” you say, as if answering the question that he’s been thinking of asking. “Painting was everything. We had so many pieces in our home, and it’s as if they spoke to me. I mean, in a not creepy way, it felt like all of my parents’ own pieces spoke to me. And they always told me I wasn’t good enough.”

Namjoon turns to look at you with empathy in his eyes. He lets you speak, and he finds out that both your parents are the artists he’d been researching lately. Your father is a classical painter, and your mother does contemporary. He can’t imagine living in gigantic shadows like that. 

“When I was 15, my parents pulled strings to get some of my pieces displayed with theirs,” you sigh, recalling the mixed emotions then. “It was exciting at first, but the patrons wouldn’t mention my name unless they mentioned my parents’. And then one of my favorite pieces that I made was sold to a man who wanted it as a decoration in his summer home’s living room.”

Namjoon slows his walk and you match his pace. You meet his comforting eyes, and there’s that warmth you feel from, technically, a stranger that you didn’t expect.

“I made that piece at a time when I was frustrated living in my parents’ shadows,” you continue. “Someone once told me that art is meant to be shared, that there’s humanity in the community we create when it’s shared, that the meaning deepens when others make their own. That piece had so much of me in there; I felt like the meaning of that piece was stripped away from me the moment that stranger took home that canvas for a select few to look at. It wasn’t mine anymore, it was his; it was theirs. I stopped painting after that.”

There’s a certain kind of pain in giving up something that matters deeply to you, in losing meaning in the thing that’s given your life meaning for most of your life. Namjoon knows a bit about that pain. Many times, he’d found himself questioning all that he does, what he stands for, and what the world expects him to be. 

He sees that pain in your eyes, of losing a part of you as the art stopped meaning what you wanted it to. But he doesn’t think that all is lost. 

“But your street art,” he reminds you. “That’s still you. That still has meaning. And that’s something that you share.”

“That’s Blue, though,” you manage a smile. “She’s just a part of me.”

“She’s still you,” he insists. “Can you tell me about her?”

And so you tell him - how you argued with your parents about quitting painting, how you were going to turn down the scholarship in a prestigious art university to take up sociology instead, so they shipped you to a foreign country to fend for yourself, and that’s when you learned what loneliness felt like. But that’s also when you learned about people in their rawest sense, what it meant to struggle to survive, what it meant to lose something that mattered, because you studied them - you studied how humans grieved and how they persisted. You studied how they lived and how they died.

“Blue wants meaning, and she still struggles in finding it,” you explain. 

“Does she?” Namjoon questions. “I’m in my late 20s but your lost youth series resonated with me. All those paintings of the man in the rain, the distorted face… they’ve inspired me in ways I can’t explain. That’s meaning, ___. That matters.”

No one outside of Minji knows all these versions of you. Except Namjoon, the brightest star you never thought you’d ever meet. Hearing him speak about your work this way makes you feel something - a first in a long time.

“Thanks, I guess,” you say shyly.

“It’s a shame they’re not displayed in galleries and museums, though.”

“I don’t want them to,” you say, surprising him. “People intend to go to museums, but they pass these streets out of necessity. I want them to stop and look, to feel, to think for a few seconds before they go back to their routinary walk. And then I remove them, so they can forget what pain and sadness feel like.”

“Looks like you found your meaning, then,” Namjoon smiles, comforted by the fact that someone as talented as you had found purpose again, something he relates with at a deeper level than he imagined.

“The painter in me did,” you reply. “The sculptor, not so much. “

“Untitled,” he hums.

“Yeah. I don’t think I can name something I understand, or at least, feel,” you say. 

“That’s a lot of untitled works for you to not understand what you do,” he chuckles. 

“I’m prolific because there’s not much of me I lose when I create them,” you explain. “I just sit in my stool, craft something, then call it a day. Not to brag or anything, but it comes easy. They’re shallow pieces, Namjoon. They don’t even deserve to be in galleries but Mr. Hong insists they do for some reason. I wish this version of me, Samantha Lee, understood why it matters, why someone like him would believe in my pieces, why a Kim Namjoon would think that 48 stood out to him enough to keep a photo.”

Namjoon processes your words. As an artist himself, he believes in the meaning of the pieces that he creates, whether it’s a song or a poem or an album or a concert. There’s effort put into them even if it’s something created in 30 minutes. Your pieces are beautiful, and he wants to explore more - you and your meaning, you and your value. 

“Then why do you keep making them? What about it makes you keep sculpting?”

“The feel of the clay on my skin, the way my fingers get to mold and create the details,” you explain. “I get to touch it. I don’t get to do that with painting, you know? It’s the paintbrush and the canvas I feel but with sculpting, I get to mix the materials, I get to shape it, hold it.”

“There’s that intimacy,” he offers.

“Yeah. And it’s addictive because it’s closeness I’ve never felt before.” You turn to him before speaking the next words. “It's an intimacy I’ve never experienced before with anyone or anything.”

“Isn’t that your meaning, then?” He questions. “The piece itself might not have a story on its own but all these untitled works, the process of creating, of it being easy because you can’t get enough of the intimacy you get from creating… that’s meaning. That desire for closeness, for meaning… that’s meaning.”

No one’s ever put it that way for you, probably because you’ve never let yourself be this honest with someone about your art. All your friends aren’t artists because you wanted that world separate, you didn’t want to have to talk about it feeling as insecure and lost as you are. 

But Namjoon - he’s one of your generation’s greatest artists. He weaves words and sounds so beautifully to create masterpieces that people consume and hold so closely. He understands. 

“I’ve made songs that took me 30 minutes,” he shares. “But I’ve also made songs that took me to dark places, that broke me as I wrote them. But once they came out, once I’ve shared them to others who’ve shared what it meant to them… slowly, I started becoming whole again. Isn’t that an artist’s burden? To break to create, to feel whole after that, and then to break all over again?”

“You are truly one of a kind, Kim Namjoon,” you tell him. “I’ve lived with artists my whole life and they never let me understand art in that way.”

“I’m still figuring it all out,” he shrugs. “I still feel lost sometimes, but I think it’s natural to feel that way, to be unsure or confused. I guess what matters is that we’re still walking on some road to somewhere, even if we don’t know where we’re heading.”

“Is that where you are right now?” You wonder. “On a road to somewhere you don’t quite know yet?”

More than you know, he wants to say. He’s in this period of experimentation, of figuring out his signature style, of figuring out who he is and what he means to his teammates, to the industry, to the world. 

“Sort of,” he shrugs. “It’s hard sometimes. Walks like this give me a reprieve. Consuming other people’s art lets me understand things a bit more.”

“Yeah, I get it. I mean, conversing with strangers gives me time to breathe, too.”

“Ooh, so I’m still a stranger, huh?” He chuckles, shyly looking at you. “Our third unplanned meeting, an hour of walking home… and I’m still a stranger.”

“What would you want to be, then?” You turn to him, a little teasing smile on your face.

“A friend, for starters.”

“My nighttime friend?”

“Not just,” he shakes his head. “I would like to see you again, actually. And I don’t want to put this up to chance this time. Like, something planned or—”

“And how exactly would that work?”

“I, uh…” he thinks. “I’d invite you to my apartment. And you can invite me to yours?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay.”

“Are you always this bold?” You giggle, not missing the way your cheeks start to feel warm at the mention of visiting each other’s homes and him wanting to get to know you. 

He’s obviously handsome - you’ve known of him since his band made it to your TV screens, being young men who were around your age, singing songs that resonate so deeply with you. But he’s more than that, as you’re learning. There’s this passion for creating that's refreshing, something you seem to lack.

“Not always,” he looks away, the dips in his cheeks something you’re sure you won’t get enough of.

“You should be. It makes a girl flustered but it makes it so difficult for her to say no,” you smirk. Sometimes, you also don’t know where your own boldness comes from.

“You? Flustered? That’s quite hard to believe,” he teases.

“That’s true. But it happens, believe it or not, when a gorgeous, brilliant man asks me over.”

Your heart stops for what feels like a minute, but his sweet, child-like laughter melts away your worry.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” You ask. 

“Surprisingly, no,” he replies. “I appreciate your honesty. About everything. I hope we can give that to each other.”

“Okay then, your turn,” you challenge.

“Hearing you curse was kinda hot.”

You try to hold off your laughter, your defense to your true reaction, which is to smile like an idiot and feel like floating. 

“That’s interesting. I would’ve thought it’s something to do with my looks or my talent, you know?” You arch an eyebrow teasingly.

“It is. I think you’re beautiful. And I’m usually a forgetful person but I haven’t forgotten your sweet smile since I first saw it last winter,” he says, catching you off guard. “And your talent… there’s a reason why I have 48 saved on my phone, and why I sought out your street art these past years. I want to know what intimacy in art is like for you. I guess I’ve sort of lost that in creating my own.”

“Intimacy,” you repeat. “I think we both lack it in certain ways.”

“Maybe we’ll find it,” he says more confidently now, holding your gaze as your eyes trace his face. 

“Maybe we will,” you respond, feeling your whole body warm with embers of fire. 

He insists on taking you home, another 20-minute walk away from his. But you claim to enjoy that time on your own, assuring him that you do this all the time and the streets are safe.

“Let me know when you get home safely?” He asks, and you give him your phone for him to input his number.

“I will.”

It’s 30 minutes later when you do. It’s 1AM, but you and Namjoon spend the next 2 hours talking some more - about his songs and your pieces, about his plants and your collection of wind chimes. 

You didn’t expect to make him laugh as much as you did, and he said he didn’t expect you to think his ramblings are adorable and amusing. You most definitely didn’t expect your heart to beat as fast as it did when he told you, in his deep, raspy voice, that he’s glad he took that long walk that winter, that he visited the art gallery when he did, that the hopeless romantic in him pushed him to go to the place you first met. 

“I think I’m crazy but somehow I feel like I’ve known you for so long,” he muses. 

“I feel the same way,” you assure him, as you hug your pillow and slowly surrender to sleep.

“Good,” he hums. “That’s all I wanted to know. Good night, ___. And I’ll see you soon.”

2021, winter 

There’s a warmth in Namjoon’s home that’s hard to replicate. Filled with his favorite art pieces of all forms, he said he curated it to reflect his emotions just as much as his tastes. It’s clean and well-organized, with books on shelves and stacks on the floor, and an entire area full of liquor - his new interest, he’d said. 

He’s had you over several times already; the first one, barely a week after that long walk home. You both spent hours that day talking about his favorite artists, and it wasn’t enough, as he asked you back the next day. 

You often talk about your childhood, one that you weren’t always comfortable sharing, but being with him makes it easy. 

It’s easy when he looks into your eyes when you speak, as if he’s telling you that he knows you say more than words. It’s easy when he’s got his own stories to share - stories of vulnerability and honesty, of fear and confusion. It’s easy when he still stutters over words sometimes and then gets lost in his own ramblings, then he chuckles when he realizes he’s talked so much, and you tell him that it’s okay because his voice is calming and his thoughts are a breath of fresh air.

It’s easy when his presence is comforting, when his anecdotes about his friends and family make you laugh until your insides hurt. It’s easy when he makes you feel like you can question everything about your art and your purpose and your abilities but he never makes you feel like a failure. It’s easy when he smiles and laughs nervously, when he’s funny without meaning to, and when he makes sure you’re comfortable by always having your preferred tea and biscuits next to the wine you once said is your favorite.

The only time it gets hard is when he stands a little too close as you look up at a painting or a book on a shelf. You could feel the heat from his body; a slight movement and you’d be touching, mere cloths in between you. It’s hard when his arm brushes the slightest bit against yours. It’s hard when he gazes at you when there’s silence, and it’s like he’s studying your face before you call him out and he apologizes because he “can’t stop looking at pretty things.” 

It’s hard when he hugs you goodbye and he wishes you a safe ride home. It’s hard when he sends you a message right after, saying he wishes you both had more time.

Being attracted to Namjoon is hard; being attached to him is torture. 

“You’re looking for him again,” Minji states the obvious as you walk around the gallery, your eyes darting to the door every time the bell rings. 

“No I’m not,” you deny. “He just got back from his trip abroad and he’s tired. He won’t be coming here.”

“Doesn’t mean you wish he would,” she smirks. “But why rendezvous here? You guys go to each other’s houses. And no one goes to your house… aside from me.”

“We can’t exactly see each other in public, you know?” You glare at her. “But… I don’t know, it’s nice to see him look around and talk about what he sees. I feel like I learn more from him. And that’s weird, isn’t it? This is my field. The arts have been my entire life, but I’m learning more about it from him.”

“What is it about him?” She wonders. 

She doesn’t say that she’s noticed more life in your eyes since he came into your life. She doesn’t say that she’s noted that you take more time creating pieces, seemingly savoring the process unlike the way you used to. She doesn’t mention the smile that she hasn’t seen in all the years that she’s known you. 

“Passion is sexy, you know?” You giggle. “He has so much of it, it’s inspiring.”

“Is that all?” Minji smirks.

“He’s also fucking gorgeous. I try not to ogle him but I think he’s noticed. Fuck me.”

“Maybe he wants to.”

“Shut up. Don’t make me hope.”

“You do that to yourself,” she laughs. “Keep denying that you don’t want to see him or want anything more with him and let’s see how you do.”

The truth is, you know. You know that you’d fall hard if you let yourself go like that, but it’s human to know danger and then still want it, isn’t it?

The vibration from your phone ringing surprises you. 

“Hey,” Namjoon’s voice booms on the other end.

“Hey,” you reply. “How was your trip?” 

“Good. I just got home. We had to stop by the office for a bit. My place is a mess and we have something again in the afternoon,” he huffs, sounding incredibly tired. “Can I come over tonight?”

You almost drop the flute of champagne you’re holding. He’s been to your house twice, but this is the first time he’s specifically asked to come over, especially considering that he just arrived from a trip abroad. 

“Of course,” you hum. “Any dinner preferences?”

“Your cooking,” he says simply. “But wait for me, okay? I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”

“Okay,” you say, before dropping the call, unable to hide the wide smile that forms on your face, to your assistant’s amusement.

“Why don’t you try to let go this time?” She advises. “Maybe you’ll find the intimacy you’ve been longing for.”

**

Namjoon overestimates your cooking abilities. Truly, all you know to do is prepare ramyun and fry anything. But, compared to him, he’s said you’re chef level. “The guys” don’t even want him near the kitchen, he tells you all the time. 

But instant noodles and pork belly seem enough for him, as he eats with his mouth closed and hums in satisfaction. You take the time to savor the way he looks. A few weeks without him has started to feel like months. 

“It was overwhelming,” he finally says. 

He knew the moment he landed that he wanted to see you. There’s comfort in your presence that he’s begun to accept, and being with you allows him to be honest, to feel real, to feel human. 

“It was great to be able to perform again, to hear the cheers and the sounds and everything. It was also terrifying,” he continues. “I was nervous and excited, I was scared and elated. I felt so fulfilled and satisfied but I also felt like it wasn’t enough.”

“That’s a lot of conflicting emotions,” you hum.

“Are they? Conflicting, I mean.”

“It depends, I guess. They seem up and down to me. Does it bother you?”

“That I felt all that, all at once?” 

You nod in response.

“It used to,” he admits. “At the start of all this, I thought, I can’t be scared. Six other guys and an entire company are looking to me to succeed. I have to be strong and confident. And then, an industry is waiting for me to fail. And then, my own country is letting me - us - represent an entire generation, it’s asking me to carry on this cultural wave. It never ends. And I used to think I couldn’t be scared, that not wanting all this anymore means I’m ungrateful.”

“But you aren’t,” you try to assure him. You can’t imagine the burden he feels, leading a group that feels all kinds of pressure. “I’ve heard you talk about your art and your poetry and your brothers and your fans. You’re easily the most passionate, hardworking, and appreciative person I know. I don’t think you’ll ever run out of things to give.”

“It’s tiring,” he sighs.

“I’m sure. But you’re honest about it. You’ve always been. Doesn’t honesty unburden you, even just a little bit? Doesn’t it leave you space to feel more, to be more?”

Namjoon hums. For someone who claims to not know much about feeling, you seem to know what to say to make him stop and think, to remind him of why he does what he does. And why ultimately, he’s always going to love it.

“It does,” he finally says, sitting up straight to take a better look at you in your linen pants and soft sweater. “Do you do that, then? Unburden yourself by being honest?”

“I’m not good at doing that,” you chuckle. “If you don’t know by now, I say a lot of seemingly profound things that I don’t necessarily live by.”

“Why not?”

“Honesty scares me. Being vulnerable scares me. I don’t know how to return it.”

“Has anybody ever been all that to you?” He wonders, feeling the tension build a little.

“Once” you say, standing from the dining table and heading to the large window that overlooks your garden. “And I ran away.”

“Is that why you sculpt, then?” Namjoon asks, walking towards you. “Because you don’t know what to do with intimacy so you do it with your art? You want to hold and touch what you walk away from? You don’t give it a name because you don’t want to define it? Because you’re scared that if you do, you’ll realize that you actually want it - the closeness, the warm body, the rawness that you can only get from being with someone else.”

You look up at him, towering over you. He came from a short filming, donned in a white, buttoned polo with his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can see the darkness of his hazelnut eyes and the stubble on his chin. You spot the beauty mark on his neck and the smoothness of his skin, especially on his chest, as he leaves 2 buttons undone. 

“Reading me now, Kim Namjoon?” You cock an eyebrow, trying to break the tension that’s built up in the last few minutes. 

“I’m trying, because I want to get to know you more, find out what you’re afraid of and ease it somehow,” he admits. “Because I feel the same way. I’m honest but I’m scared, yet with you, I’m honest but I’m brave. I feel like I’m brave. I don’t know what it is, but ever since I met you, I just wanted…” he glances at your lips then meets your eyes again. “I just wanted to know more, to feel more. To understand what it’s like to be intimate with someone who doesn’t know much about it like me. I want to figure it out. With you.”

“How?” 

One word is all you get to verbalize, as you feel him come closer, the heat of his body intensifying with every second. You’re backed up against the window, the distance between you and him decreasing and decreasing. 

His eyes are boring into you, and you bravely gaze at him back. You mirror his desire, as you lick your lips when he glances at them again. Your chest is heaving as is his, and your heart races even more when he breathes out your name.

You palm his chest, and for a brief moment of uncertainty in his eyes at the thought of you stopping him, you instead grip the cloth that covers him, and you slowly pull him in.

His lips are soft. And the way he gently presses against you is tender, comforting, like he wants to savor it and go slow. He angles his head the same time his hand reaches for your waist, and you feel the slightest wetness from his tongue.

You grant him entrance, and the second you do, he takes control, tightening his hold on your body as he cages you, his one arm now propped up against the window. You moan into each other as tongues and teeth clash, and you can’t help your hand that travels to pull on the ends of his hair, brushing your fingers against the nape of his neck right after. 

It’s a little sloppy, needy, but there’s still gentleness in there. It’s in the way he cups your cheek, caressing it with his large fingers and letting it slide down your chest, back to your waist. It’s in the way he smiles into the kiss when you moan your pleasure; you can almost feel his dimples as he does. It’s in the way that he asks for more, not with dominance but with care, with understanding, with caution. 

You both pull away to catch some air, lips swollen and wet, but your smiles say you enjoyed it. The way your bodies haven’t completely detached from each other shows that.

“Would you let me stay the night?” He asks softly, as if it’s a request he’s afraid to ask. 

“Yes,” you breathe out. “Be with me tonight.”

Underneath the covers of your bed, you lay in his arm while your fingers trace patterns on his taut chest. You can hear his heartbeat still drumming, and you can feel the care in the way he caresses your cheek, your arm, your waist.

“I don’t know what I can give you, Namjoon,” you admit. “I don’t know how to be as honest and vulnerable as you. I don’t know how to share parts of me that I don’t understand. I don’t know what I can do to ease all your worries and concerns. I—”

“Just give me moments,” he interjects. “Nights like this, days at our homes, afternoons at the galleries, hours on the phone… I just want to feel something that I can actually touch, that I can savor. And I want it to be you, the one I get to hold and taste and kiss.”

He leans forward again, and you capture his mouth in yours. There’s no need to do more - much as you’re wet and he’s definitely hard, but neither one of you is rushing, neither one wants to scare the other.

He’s hot, the kind that burns. That’s how it is with people as passionate as he is - their touch can light a fire on your skin, and you won’t be able to stop it.

“I can give you moments,” you whisper. “Just tell me.”

2022, spring 

You can count the moments with 2 hands. 

Namjoon stayed with his parents over the holidays but he videocalled you everyday. You both went to a few galleries outside the capital but did so separately, spending hours after that talking about the pieces over the phone. 

You’ve come to appreciate your world much more deeply with his commentaries and reflections, and with you, he said he’d gotten to breathe a little longer, laugh a little louder, and feel a little more human. 

He stayed over your place 4 more times; you stayed over at his thrice. You debated over movies and recommended each other books. It was common to spend the day wrapped up in each other on the couch while you both read separately. He made you listen to a few songs he’s been working on - some of which were inspired by your many conversations and your own musings, and you’d showed him sketches of your upcoming planned series on sculpted landscapes.

It’s freeing, being able to share about your world with someone else like this, and being part of someone else’s, too. Whatever it is you both have is freeing - kisses included, which never went beyond what you first did. Despite the obvious desire to do more, neither of you ever tried, perhaps knowing what it would entail. There’s distance between you and him but there also isn’t. There’s enough comfort and intimacy that you’ve only scratched the surface of, but this seems to be just enough. 

“I have the weekend off,” he pants over the phone. It’s 11PM and they’ve just finished rehearsals for an upcoming series of concerts abroad. “Do you want to do something?”

“A trip to my parents’ summer home?” You wonder out loud. The spring air has come and you love going to the lake at this time. “It’s by the mountains and it’s really private. The estate is like their personal art museum with their works and others’. I visit every year. But if—”

“Yes, a hundred times yes,” he huffs. “That’s fucking amazing.”

“I know I got you at the art museum bit,” you laugh. 

“You got me at the really private bit, actually,” he says seriously, causing your heart to race. “And the art of course. And you. Always you.”

“Alright, Casanova,” you tease. “Just make sure I don’t get in trouble for taking you somewhere weeks before you leave.”

“We’re alright,” he responds. “I can’t wait.”

**

It’s a 3-hour drive to the estate by the mountains. In the far future, your parents want to open it up for private viewing, and so you want to make sure that your art lover more-than-but-not-really-friend gets a first peek. 

You spend the entire ride talking about a hundred topics, going off tangent when he rambles again, and you’re the one who circles him back to the original discussion. You hum tunes while he sings songs, and when you find private spots, you take the risk and take photos.

You make it to the estate in the late morning, and as you expected, Namjoon’s jaw drops. 

The fountain at the front is an art piece itself. The front door was shipped from Indonesia, and the furniture are a beautiful curation of pieces from all over the world that were gifted to or bought by your parents. 

You watch him gently trace the carvings and the details. You’re in awe as he absorbs the sculptures and paintings as you tour him around. And you melt every time he turns to you with the biggest smile on his face, like he’s discovering a secret that only both of you know. It’s breathtaking and absolutely precious. 

“Keep looking at me like that,” he says, as he catches you marvel at him. “I like it when you look at me like you want me.”

“Don’t fluster me,” you say, turning away. 

“You’re not denying it,” he counters, walking closer to you.

“I would be a liar if I did.”

“That’s good to know,” he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know I only asked for moments but can this weekend be filled with that?”

He looks nervous, like you’d turn him down.

“I… it’s been tough, dealing with a lot of things,” he continues. He’s mentioned some difficulties lately, and you know there’s not much you can do about it. Except, maybe this. “I just want something to hold onto, like being here with you, experiencing all these art pieces, being close…” 

He cups your cheek and gives you that look that you’ve become familiar with, his request for intimacy that you both continue to explore.

“Okay,” you respond, taking his hand and kissing it. “Okay.”

You eat lunch, explore the east wing of the property, and at mid-afternoon, you convince him to swim on the lake with you. 

“Isn’t it freezing?” He asks worriedly.

“That’s the fun part of it,” you insist. “There’s a hot tub we can stay at after.”

Namjoon gives in. It’s easy to, with a smile like yours that makes his heart race every time. Especially when you come out in your blue swimsuit, shaping your curves and all other parts of your body that makes his own react. He can’t help but marvel at you, even as you tease.

“Hey, big guy, eyes up,” you smirk. 

He blushes when you giggle, but he does tease back, removing his shirt to reveal his body that he’s been working so hard on. He does flex a little to give you a taste of your own medicine, and it works.

“Hey, eyes up,” he chuckles. 

You feel a shiver when his finger tilts your chin up, and you do the childish thing and bite it before you run to the lake and dive in. Namjoon follows, canonballing and then swimming over to chase you. 

You haven’t swam here in years. You merely used to watch the sun rise and then gaze at the sky and imagined doing all this with someone else. You didn’t really think you’d end up here with Kim Namjoon, but here you are.

Namjoon pulls you to him as you swim close, and you both float in the water with your arms around his chest and his arms around your waist. You’re obviously both drenched, and that just leaves so little to the imagination, especially with the cold water a little more overwhelming than you expected. 

His hair is swept back, with beads of water lining his face and sliding down his neck and his chest. He’s broad and incredibly built. It’s unfair that his body looks as amazing as his face. 

“Does Minji know you’re here with me?” He asks.

“Yes, teased me nonstop until I picked you up. What about the guys?”

“They do. They insist we are a couple.”

“And?”

“And I said that we aren’t,” he says cautiously. “We’re friends who spend a lot of time together and cuddle, and uh, sometimes do a little more.”

“What a complicated way to say we’re friends with benefits,” you laugh.

“I don’t see it that way, though,” he furrows his brows. “I don’t want to reduce what we are to each other to just benefits or something sexual or shallow. Do you see it that way?”

“No,” you say. “I… I’ve come to understand art a lot more because of you. I’ve come to appreciate what I do. That’s not just some benefit.”

“And I… can’t even explain all that you do for me,” he says. “We’re more than that. Less than lovers, but more than friends. And our moments shape this, whatever name we call it.”

“Untitled,” you wonder out loud. “Sometimes artists name their pieces as such when they can’t find a better descriptor.”

“So 58 sculptures in, and you still can’t find a better descriptor?” He teases.

“Shut up,” you smack his hard chest. “I titled them that way because I didn’t have a meaning for them. I just created them. But then I met this man, tall and built with a sexy brain, and he made me realize that the meaning is in the creation, too. So 58 works, 58 times I experienced intimacy, the only times I do.”

“Ah, so what about us?” He nudges you with his nose. “Aren’t we intimate?”

“It’s a different kind, I guess,” you say. You’re not my creation and you’re not mine, you choose not to say. “You don’t break. You’re the one that breaks other things.”

You pass it off as a joke, and he buys it. You don’t want to think much about what you and Namjoon aren’t; you just want to think about what you both are - something that may or may not be fleeting, but something beautiful nonetheless.

The sun shines a little too bright, and you take the chance to get out of the water and into the dock to soak up its heat. Namjoon follows and you both lay that way, just next to each other, catching your breaths.

“Are you feeling a little better?” You ask, wondering if he still carried over all his concerns here.

“Yes. It’s exhilarating,” he responds. “It’s nice to feel this way for a change.”

“I’m sure you’ve felt this way before, too.”

“Not this way,” he turns to you. “It’s different, I guess. It makes me think of all the other emotions I have yet to feel, the ones I’ve felt only briefly before, and the ones that I’ll never feel. I think life’s too short for a person to experience all kinds of emotions. I was it wasn’t.”

“Are humans built for that?” You question. “To feel every possible thing out there? To feel every variation of pain and sadness and joy and elation and pleasure and desire?”

Namjoon thinks. Surely, being able to have emotions and to truly feel is what makes us humans and what makes us different from animals. It’s what marks our humanity, regardless of what emotion that may be. But are humans really capable of feeling everything without breaking? Without it being too much?

“Maybe not,” he finally responds.

You think, too. You’ve often wondered why you were so scared to be vulnerable, to take risks, to love. You thought once that feeling things is overwhelming - what do you do with them? How do you handle them when they get too much? When you become too happy or too sad or too scared or too excited? 

You think maybe because like all things in this world, you can never have emotions. You feel them, but you can’t own them, they can’t be yours. Like your art. You can create them but they stop being yours once you share them. Like music, as Namjoon has told you, it stops being his the moment he releases it for others to consume. And it’s scary to not have that permanence; it’s scary to not have that assurance that you’ll always have that joy or that excitement or that elation. And in some way, it’s also scary to know that you won’t always have that pain or that sadness.

“Maybe humans are only built to try to feel everything,” Namjoon states, having thought about your question and his years-long quest of figuring himself out. “But we aren’t meant to achieve it. Maybe our life is about just feeling bits and pieces of it, sometimes longer than others, but we can’t feel it all, and definitely not all at once. It’s like truth; we spend our life seeking and trying to live it, but we might never be able to. Still, we have to keep trying.”

“Hmm,” is all you manage to say. “Do couples have deep conversations like this?” You laugh this time, needing his thoughts to linger a little longer.

“They should,” he laughs. “But it’s enough for me that I have someone like you to make me question things. It reminds me that I have more to discover, to feel.”

To feel. 

Sometimes Namjoon makes it seem so easy to just do that. He’s able to name what he feels, unlike you. You wish it was easy, like saying that the cold water on your skin is refreshing, like the sun’s heat is comforting, like the clouds in the sky are soft.

You don’t notice your hand reaching up, wanting to just touch them because you want something concrete, something more real than what your imagination says that clouds feel like. But instead, you feel rough, warm fingers interlocking with yours.

“If you want to feel something concrete, I’m here, you know?” Namjoon says, thumbing your hand to let him know he’s right next to you. Somehow he just knew what you were doing, what you were wishing for.

“But this is what couples do,” you tease, yet tightening your hold nonetheless.

“Friends hold hands,” he smirks.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. They kiss, too,” he hums, lifting himself up only to hover over you, catching you by surprise, but your desire trumps that, as the view of him - damp and natural-looking - makes your insides twist in circles.

“Hmm, like this?” You peck his lips, then his nose, teasing him.

“Sometimes. Other times it’s deeper. You know, like this.”

He dives in, and you welcome him immediately, your mouth already slightly open for your tongue to entangle with his. It’s long and deep, as how your kisses always are, and you feel him shift above you, fixing his position with his arms caging your head for support. He angles his mouth so he can have more of you and control how far he goes, how hard, and how fast. 

Your fingers, whose spaces were filled by his just minutes ago, ghost over his neck. They trail down to his chest, gingerly passing by his pecs and his abs, the tips now resting on his hips.

“Fuck,” he moans in your mouth, and you immediately know why he does, feeling his length getting harder by the second. 

It prompts him to grind on you, and you meet him halfway.

“Fuck, Joon,” you whine once his lips detach from yours, only to meet your neck when he sucks then licks over the sting. “Fuck.”

He hums in satisfaction at the sounds you make, going south now as he teases by giving tender kisses on the exposed part of your breasts before biting your nipple over your suit.The obscene sound you make turns him on, especially when you pull his hips harder against yours.

“Oh fuck, baby, yeah,” he groans in your ear now, and you might as well have just come from the way he said those words. 

And then you remember where you are - in the outdoors, in your parents’ summer home. Private as it may be, you’re still exposed, and you remind him of the fact before he slows down and agrees that you can’t be doing this out here. 

“I’m sorry I got carried away,” he says shyly now, as if he didn’t just devour you with his skillful mouth.

“Yeah, this is totally your fault,” you tease. 

He chases you back to the house where you both spend another hour in the hot tub, just talking like normal friends, as if you didn’t almost just cross a line. But it’s like that with Namjoon, you’ve come to realize. Everything is easy, everything is natural, like you can just forget that he isn’t him and you aren’t you.

You spend the rest of the day looking at all the pieces on the first floor, with you sharing as much about them that you can remember. You both sleep that night with his head on your chest and his arms around you.

He sleeps soundly, snoring even. And as you comb his hair, you think of how close you were to wanting so much more in the lake earlier. You think of how much you wanted his lips on your mouth, all over your body, and you wanted it everyday. With the way he held you close and breathed desperately on your skin, you had a feeling that so did he. 

Living in this dream-like state with him feels surreal, several months in. Because that’s what he is - a dream. Here’s a man grounded by his principles despite the fame that seems to shackle him, yet constantly propels him to new heights; a man whose search for truth and humanity shows you that he just wants to be a good person, and a person who does good. 

Beyond his unmatched talent and gift with words, beyond his strikingly stunning looks, is a man who cares deeply, who feels deeply, who submits himself to what he commits to, whether it’s his music, his brothers, his plants, or his interest in art and nature and even whiskey. You have a feeling he’d do the same to whoever he plans to be with. You don’t know if it’s you, and the more you find yourself wanting him, the more you wish it isn’t you.

Namjoon is a dream, and you know at one point, you’re going to have to wake up.

**

The gallery is buzzing, as it always is when there’s a new exhibition. You’re excited for this, too, as the featured artist is one you admire. 

Namjoon admires her as well, which is why he’s here, dressed in a black long-sleeved buttoned top, looking immaculate as per usual. He has a busy schedule but he made time, knowing how special this event is. 

The room holds its breath when he enters; as a well-known lover of art, everyone has come to expect him to be a guest in exhibitions and various art shows. He bows at the other patrons and artists present, and they fawn over him, being the famous man that he is. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this side of him. You’re used to him rambling, making jokes he doesn’t realize are funny, and being lost in his own thoughts. You’re used to him in his natural environment - in his home full of books and paintings, and in his studio, which you’ve seen dozens of times through your phone screen. He fits right in here, though - he can easily follow on with the conversations, whether it’s about business or culture or literature. He can charm anyone with his smile and his good looks, and too many times, guests awe at his presence, finding out that he’s much more commanding and handsome off the screen. 

You hide a smile as he glances in your direction. You’ve agreed not to talk much today; there are too many people around and any kind of interaction might be grounds for rumors that neither of you are ready to face, at least that’s what you think. You and Namjoon don’t really discuss those things. You always see him in your periphery, though, and perhaps just like you, he just wants to be where you are, even if no pleasantries or conversations are shared. 

But Mr. Hong pulls him aside to introduce to Ms. Suh, and you can see from afar how Namjoon is fanboying over the artist whose work he’s very interested in. 

It’s nice to see him in his element like this, too. Here, though still a celebrity in the eyes of everyone else, he’s a spectator. He’s told you several times how his trips to these places have made him think about the kind of legacy he wants to leave with his music, with his poetry. And how pieces in museums and galleries are timeless, permanent; they live on regardless, and each person is free to make their own meanings. You know he wanted to comfort you then.

You become involved in your own conversations until someone barrels inside the gallery and makes a scene, of all days. The slightly inebriated man is familiar; perhaps a patron you’ve seen before, but he comes in and starts yelling at the staff, going on about something you can’t understand.

Not wanting to be part of the scene and be involved in something you don’t know how to handle, you slowly step away, that is, until you see him storm towards the room where your art pieces are. He seems to be targeting someone as he looks around, but the security gets to him first and he flails his arms around, eventually knocking over Untitled 56, and the cracking sound rings in the entire building.

“You knocked over a precious piece, you bastard!” You hear Mr. Hong yelling. 

You start walking slowly to where you see the shards of ceramic have fallen on the floor, and you’re unsure what you feel. Is it loss? It doesn’t seem like it. Is it anger? Perhaps not. 

“It’s just some useless flower anyway,” the raucous man answers.

Shame. You think that’s it, maybe that’s the feeling. Insecurity, sadness. It’s all of that yet nothing at all.

You stand there over your broken piece, the one you created while the rain was pouring and you’d just finished a bottle of wine by yourself because you could. Everyone seems to be as shocked as you, especially with the man finally contained and led out the building. You look up to take your eyes away from the scene, but you see Namjoon’s instead - anger filling his, sympathy, care, all at once.

You shake your head once, instructing him not to say or do anything. And he follows, loosening his clenched fist and stepping away to the back of the crowd. You instruct the staff to sweep the broken piece away, not wanting to see how fragile and temporary your creation is. All that had been reduced to shards and pitiful looks of the crowd.

You don’t really want to be here.

**

You’re filled with emotions you can’t name. You’re afraid to feel them all, so you cower on your couch and cry to yourself. 

It’s just a piece of useless flower. It’s the 56th of untitled works that you couldn’t name yourself because you didn’t know what they meant, what they symbolized, yet it hurts you this much that it’s gone. Hurt. Is that it? You’re still not sure.

The banging of your front door startles you. It’s 9PM and it’s been 4 hours since the incident. Minji offered to tell you the whole story but you didn’t really mind. You wonder if it’s her this time, wanting to know how you’re doing.

But it’s Namjoon, panting on your doorway when you open it. And the first thing you think to do is bury yourself in his arms.

It’s immediate, the catharsis of being in his hold. It’s like you’re enveloped in a warm, protective blanket that you don’t want to get out of. He embraces you tightly, letting you cry on his chest as you try to make sense of what you’re feeling. 

“I’ve got you,” he says in your ear so that the words don’t get lost in the sound of your sobs. “I’ve got you. Don’t tear yourself. I’m here with you.”

You don’t know for how long you both stand there, but it’s long enough for the tears to stop falling. When you’ve calmed down, Namjoon tilts your chin up to face him.

“Hey,” he greets with a soft smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t follow you right away. I wanted so badly to punch that man.”

The shift of emotions is immediate, as you see his furrowed brows.

“He didn’t have a right to be there and to ruin what you worked hard for. I asked Mr. Hong to look into him and I’m so sorry, ___. That piece… that piece is–”

“A useless flower,” you shake your head. 

“Please don’t listen to him. Listen to me,” Namjoon insists. “You know what I feel about it. That piece led me to you.”

“And now it’s gone.”

The thought hits you hard. That piece led you to each other, and temporary as it is, it’s now broken. Maybe art isn’t timeless, you think. It can burn, it can break, just like all things. Just like emotions. Just like what you and Namjoon have.

“It may be but look what it did for us,” he challenges your thoughts. “A broken piece won’t change us, it won’t erase us.”

Tonight, this is what you want to hear. And with his fingers tracing your cheek, you think that tonight, he is what you want to feel.

You pull him close and crash your mouth onto his. It’s fervent, desperate, wanting. There’s this need in you, this animalistic desire that has you wanting him to prove you wrong again - that some things can be touched and felt and that they’ll stay and won't break, that emotions can be just as real and tangible, that they matter and that it’s worth it. You want him to prove it to you with his mouth, his words, his touch, his body.

He answers back, inhaling you completely, his tongue working on yours right away, doing that dance you’ve both memorized by now. Your moans are loud and needy. You want all of him, all over you, and with the way he groans your name and curses as you grind against him, you think he feels the same. 

You’re in a haze, falling into hypnosis as you feel his hands all over you. You guide them to your clothed breasts, down your waist where he sneaks underneath. His touch burns so deliciously, and it’s what prompts you to unbutton his clothes, to feel him bare and naked, his skin against yours - raw, vulnerable, honest.

Things you don’t know how to be. 

You pull away, feeling as if you’ve been snapped out of the spell.

And then you’re crying, as you look at Namjoon with his top undone, looking at you curiously before he’s walking towards you in concern.

“No,” you almost scream. “I’m sorry, I– I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t supposed to. We’re not supposed to do this. We’re just… we’re just something that’s temporary and–”

“No,” he replies, surprising you. “Don’t be sorry, please. I wanted it, I still do. I want you. Fuck what we said about being just friends. I want more. I–”

“You don’t mean that,” you insist, not wanting to hear his words. 

It should comfort you, shouldn’t it? You’ve known long ago that you’ve fallen for him, but you made yourself believe that all things are temporary, and this one time you wanted something permanent with him, you got scared out of your mind. 

“I do,” he counters. “Fuck it, all I wanted to do earlier was hold you in my arms. Fuck the other people around who’d see. I just wanted to be with you. Is that what friends do? Is that what they feel? I have to be honest, right? We said we’d be that to each other. I want you, ___. I want to be with you.”

“I can’t, Joon. I can’t,” you sob. 

“Be honest with me this once. Do you want me?”

“Yes, so fucking much.”

“Then why can’t you be with me? Why are you making it so hard for yourself, for us?” He yells.

“I–” you start, but you don’t know how to continue. You cover your face with your hands and fall onto the floor.

You don’t think you’ve ever cried this hard, and you’re unsure exactly what you’re crying over.

“Hey,” Namjoon softens, leaning down next to you as he tries to free your face. “I’m not mad, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t even… I can’t even say what I want to say because I don’t know. I don’t–” you sniff. “I don’t know what I feel, what I want. I–”

“It’s okay,” he says, taking you in his arms again. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow. Just get some rest.”

He calms you down again and leads you to your room. He waits as you wash up and then he tucks you in bed. 

“I’ll come over in the morning, okay?” 

“Okay,” you whisper. You watch him eye your lips, and then he looks away. 

**

Namjoon comes over the next day with a basket of pastries and coffee. He knows enough that you won’t have energy to prepare anything to eat. 

You can’t imagine losing all this, but that’s what’s about to happen.

You’d been so close to giving in to him, so close to letting yourself be vulnerable to him, but doing so in flesh isn’t all there is to it. You can make love to him, bare your body to him that way but you wouldn’t be able to do it with your soul or your heart. 

What does being raw and honest mean? You don’t know. He deserves someone who knows.

“I still don’t know what I can give you,” you tell him as you both sit across from each other in the seating area in your garden. “Months later, I should know but I don’t. Even just moments, I… can’t. They make me want you more and I can’t. I don’t know exactly what I want - with myself, with my art, with you. I don’t know what to give.”

“You act like you’re the only one unsure,” he says softly. “I don’t know if what I can give you is enough. I mean, with what I do? It’s tough, and I don’t know if it would be fair. But I want you. I don’t know how the arrangements would be but I want you.”

“At least you know what you can give, even as you shine as bright as you do, you know yourself and what you can give me, what you can give us. I don’t.”

“But what if we try?”

“That’s unfair to you, Joon,” you insist. “You put your all into everything, and this - us - won’t be any different. But that just means that falling short would break you, and I can’t have that. And then there’s me who can’t give much of herself to anything - not my craft, not my friends, not myself. And you matter too much to only get the barest parts of me. I don’t want to be with you that way.”

Namjoon sighs. It’s not an easy thing to accept. It’s something he understands - all he’s ever known to do was to give his all to everything he wants to keep. If that’s not something you’re ready to do yourself, he can’t fault you for it. 

It hurts so fucking much, though. He’s learned in the course of these months of knowing you that you’re another one of those he wants to keep, that he wants more of, that he wants to learn inside and out - you’re also the first person to ever be that for him. For you to slip away like this is a kind of pain that he doesn’t know how to get over.

“Continue to be raw and honest in everything that you do, okay? Live,” you say, and he nods in reply. “Don’t stop yourself from seeing other people, from finding someone else,” you add. 

You can’t even be honest with this. You hope he’ll always want you, but you don’t let yourself be selfish with him, not this time.

“I won't” is what he answers. 

It breaks your heart all over again and you let it. You deserve it. Who walks away from someone they want, especially when they want you back? Someone afraid like you, someone who doesn’t trust herself enough like you, someone who wants permanence so bad that she lets slip away the one person who’s made her feel it.

You give a half smile and he smiles back.

Namjoon gets up from his seat. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s a month later when one of the museums you frequent launches a new installation. A tall man catches your attention. He looks at you and smiles, his hazelnut eyes gazing at you the way they used to. 

He nods in acknowledgement and so do you. 

And that’s the last time you see him in a long time. 

2022, winter

You stare at the package in your hands - white, with words of comfort. He’s finally completed it, you think. A piece of himself he’s been working the last 4 years on, and it looks just like how he described it to you all those months ago.

You don’t know if you’ll listen to it. You haven’t heard his voice in so long. You’re afraid you’ll break if you do. 

Perhaps just one time, to get it off your system. That might be enough.

You open it, unsure when you’ll unpack this obviously beautifully curated work of art. But the note at the top leaves you no room to ignore it.

Nothing’s changed for me. Let’s find ourselves. And then let’s find each other. I’ll just be here. But please, stay where you are.

Namjoon

You let one tear fall and then leave the package on the top shelf of your closet.

Your bedroom door opens.

“Are you all packed?” Minji asks. 

“Yes, I’m all good,” you smile. 

She helps you with your luggage, down the stairs and into the van waiting for you.

“That’s a lot of stuff,” she hums, holding back her tears. “How long will you be away for?”

“Until I find myself.”

“That might be a long time.”

“It will.”

**

**

**

2025, winter

Namjoon has been to several galleries in New York, but this particular one is a place he’s never been to. It overlooks Central Park, towering at the 30th floor like the other buildings in the city. But it’s 3 floors and he thinks it’s stunning. It’s not overly grand, but it’s also not as simple and natural like the others he’s been to.

He may say it’s not entirely his vibe, but there’s a reason why he’s here. 

Some patrons recognize him and greet him. He bows in response, engaging in small talk when he needs to, but stepping away to get to the exhibition he flew here to see.

It’s nothing like what he expected, although years later, he doesn’t know what to expect anymore.

The first thing is, well, it’s titled. There’s a year and a description, too.

2023, swing in the summer home

The piece is beautiful, made in clay and metal. It’s familiar, too. He’s seen this on a lake house by the mountains, over 3 years ago.

2023, the piece that lost its meaning

It’s a painting, but one placed atop a sculpted frame hanging on a wall in what seems like a living room. This scene feels familiar as well.

2024, lost youth

A group of children look up at a plane, with opened suitcases and toys on the floor. The nostalgia hits him.

The rest of the sculptures are new to him. There’s one about a lady in red, one of a neighbor, one of a woman with an umbrella and clouds, aptly titled, what am i hiding from? Further down the room, the emotions become more pointed, straightforward, and a lot more focused. 

2023, coward

2024, i truly was sorry

2025, is this what regret feels like?

2025, i hope you knew i lied

2025, maybe someday

Someone from the outside who knows nothing about the artist might think that the pieces are a little over the place, although one can tell from the titles that they tell a story. The sculptures are made from the same materials - clay and metal, all free standing and in similar sizes. Each caption holds a narration, and all Namjoon can read are words describing emotions, of states of being - innocence, anger, confusion, fear, loss, regret, loneliness, pain, hope, and few more. 

There’s not much about joy or intimacy, though, and the thought saddens him. He had hoped that by this time, you already knew how those felt.

“So, what do you think?”

Namjoon didn’t think he’d ever hear that voice again. He’d cry if he could, especially as he turns to his side and finds you, dressed in a classy, aegean blue satin dress. Your smile is one he’s missed so much, and he wishes he could frame this moment, just so he doesn’t forget. He almost did, and he hated himself when he took so long to remember how you sounded like, how you looked like.

“Nothing like I imagined,” Namjoon replies. “In a good way.”

“I scrapped previous works and experimented with these ones. It took me years to complete,” you explain. “I almost stopped at one point, wondering if anybody would ever get it but then I figured, it didn’t matter. It’s a good thing that lifestyle magazine reached out for a feature. I think that was Mr. Hong pulling some strings. At least I got to say that for years, I didn’t know what I was doing, who I was, but now I do.”

“That’s how I knew about it, actually,” Namjoon hums. “It was in the art gallery because he was giving it away for free. It said your exhibition was here, so I flew in.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “I thought you had a show or filming.”

“Nah,” Namjoon sighs. “I came here for you. Otherwise I wouldn’t know where to find you, or how else to see you. You stopped… you stopped showing up. You just disappeared.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” 

It’s all you can say, really. You didn’t expect to see him here, but when you saw a familiar face enter through the doors, your heart stopped. You had a feeling Mr. Hong had told Namjoon about your exhibition - your first in 4 years. But nothing would have prepared you for this - seeing him again after you walked away from the one good thing you found in your life. You watched him from afar as he went through each of your pieces, perhaps savoring them, remembering them.

“Have you been well?” He asks, the concern still overpowering everything.

“I have.”

“You seem to have lost someone,” he says, nodding towards one of the pieces. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“She was my neighbor when I spent 8 months in Sweden,” you share. “She took care of me but then she passed away due to an accident. It was hard for a while.”

“I–” Namjoon reaches out his hand - for comfort, perhaps - but he brings it down. “I wish I knew.”

“It’s okay. And I’m okay. It’s been a year, but I wouldn’t have finished all this without her.”

You’d forgotten how silence sounded like with Namjoon, and you want to remember what it was like. You remember a lot of things, actually, like his laughter, his voice, his smile, the feel of his lips on yours, and many others. 

“How long are you here for?” You finally ask, as you both walk side-by-side past the rest of the artworks inside, with a bit of distance between you.

“I’m here for 3 more days.”

“I stay at the hotel next to the building,” you say, being bold. “I leave here in 2 hours.”

You fumble for your room key and discreetly hand it over to him. “3802, if you want to. I have more to say, and I– uh, shit. If you’re seeing someone, forget what I said.”

“I’m not,” he answers. “I’ll be there.”

**

Namjoon watches the city from your full-wall window, wondering when you’d decide to finally speak beyond a greeting. It’s been 10 minutes since he arrived at your suite with the key you gave him, and you haven’t said anything since then.

“The buildings aren’t the same here,” you finally say. “I’ve been here for 3 months and the sounds of the cars are too loud, there’s too much smoke, people don’t smile… I don’t have anyone here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I decided to finish some of my pieces in the city. I’ve been staying at one of my parents’ apartments not far from here.”

“And where were you before that?”

“Puerto Rico, Greece, Sweden,” you answer. 

“When I said to find ourselves, I didn’t think you’d actually leave, and then not tell me about it,” he laments. “I knew it was stupid to wish you’d stay close. You weren’t in any of the places where I used to see you, where we used to go. I… I asked around but they said you haven’t visited in so long.”

“I couldn’t stay,” you try to explain. “I couldn’t because it just meant waiting for you to come even if I was the one who walked away. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to find myself in a place where I’d always be looking for you, and so I had to go. I’m so sorry, Joon. I–” 

You drop the hand that reaches out to him, unsure if your touch would still be welcome. You clench your fist to stop yourself from doing it again, but he notices. He notices and takes your hand, uncurls it so he can hold it properly.

“How was it being away?”

“It was good. Hard. Terrifying,” you share. “I experienced a lot of new, fun things. I learned a lot. Made a lot of mistakes, too. I met so many people. I–”

“Were you with anyone?” he asks, turning away briefly.

“No, I… I couldn’t bring myself to,” you answer nervously. “And you?”

“No one since you. There was a reason why I asked you to stay right there, so that I knew where to find you.”

“You still found me, 3 years later, on the other side of the world.”

“I had to know if anything’s changed for you. I had to know if you made it, if you found what you were looking for. I had to know if you were happy. But you didn’t create it. There was no piece for it.”

“I found what I was looking for,” you say, looking into his eyes, glancing at his fingers that are softly exploring yours. “I realized that I could only gain whatever permanence I was looking for if I learned to let them go. Because if they come back, they stay. I walked away from you then, and I had to lose myself to all the emotions that I was so scared to feel. And I felt a lot of them, Joon. I felt a lot of things. I was going to go back home after this. But you came to me first. You’re the one always finding me. That hasn’t changed.”

“I suppose it hasn’t,” he cracks a smile. “Did I take too long?”

“You were right on time,” you say. “I would’ve come for you in a few days though. But I’m glad you’re here so that I can tell you that I can finally have this. I can finally give you everything without being scared, without it breaking me, without it ruining the ones I love.”

“Is that what you feel for me?”

“Yes. I guess I did then. I still do now.”’ 

There’s uncertainty in your voice, perhaps due to the fear of him no longer returning what you feel. 

“I found myself, too,” he says. “I figured out what I wanted to do for myself, what more I can give, what more I desired. And I guess you’re right. That permanence can come from losing something and then having them back. And then having them stay. So many times then I regretted that I wasn’t more honest. That I was denying what I felt for you because I was scared of losing what little of a normal life I was afforded. I wished I told you much earlier, but I guess things happen when they do, right?”

“Right, but you can also say them again now.”

“That I want you close, holding my hand, tracing my skin, kissing me? That I want all that everyday?” He smiles, as he pulls you towards him and places your hand on his chest. “That I want everything from you? That I haven’t stopped thinking of you, wishing for you?”

“Yes,” you say, sighing into the kiss you’ve missed too much. 

There’s that tenderness you expected, but the desire is unlike the times before. There’s more confidence now, more security in the way his mouth moves against yours. It’s as if he knows that he’ll always have this. That this time, he’s loving you in more than words, and that you’ve come back, and that you’ll stay.

Namjoon presses you against the wall, lets his lips trace down your neck and your chest. He undresses you, remarks that he’s starting to believe in a higher being who created a body like yours, and then proceeds to mouth more praises down your thighs and in between them.

He takes you slowly, amorously. He watches your face contort in pure pleasure, and you mention needing to add a piece for this, too. The way he goes in and out of you is out of this world, and you never want it to end.

You’d think it’s the intimacy you didn’t know how to feel. But it’s more than that. In fact, you find that in being with Namjoon, the intimacy is in everything - the way he holds your hand, the way he wraps his arm around you, the way he lets you bite his arm and tickle him just for fun. It’s in the way he kisses your forehead before he kisses your lips.

It’s in your bike rides together and watching the river whenever you catch a glimpse of it. It’s in your moments of calm - reading books, writing songs, sketching.

It’s in the deep, tender way that he says he loves you. 

You don’t have a piece for this yet. Perhaps it’s another series altogether. Perhaps it’ll require an installation. 

Or maybe, this is the one emotion you don’t need to put into art, the one that you’ll keep for yourself to hold onto because no clay and metal mixture, no tangible piece, could ever describe what this love and intimacy feels like. 

Permanent Taglist: @sherlynxx @di0rgguk @thequeen-kat @fan-ati–c @cravingforhotchocolate @adoraminie @helenazbmrskai @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @preciouschimine @gukssunshine @nch327 @kookxin @petuliii @yoursthv @libra04 @fancycollectormoon @twixxxpie @ignoretheskies @ohmydarlin-g @bids97 @minyoongiboongi @main-bangtansmauyeondan @bora-bae7 @investedreader @petalsofink​

#namjoon fic #namjoon angst #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #idol au #idol namjoon #namjoon fanfic #jim namjoon #namjoon x you #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon oneshot #untitled

[britcision]

Eeeeh it was WIP Wednesday… and I’m thirsty for attention, so have a snippet from chapter two of Danny Fenton, Dead and Loving it!

(And I had to check I could paste obscene amounts of words from my notes into tumblr, since I’m not writing this in drafts for now - I lost too many sections to not hitting ‘save’ before putting my phone down)

Prompt and First chapter! (I guess I cannot make neat links on mobile, woe is me)

And the fic on AO3

@welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith

@someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones

@starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost

@akikoyuii @rainbowbunny0159

@littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife

@serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf

————————

“Hang on a second, does that mean your ghost writer friend is also an actual ghost?” Because yeah, he had googled book collectors around Gotham and came up blank.

Danny took a moment to work out what he meant, then perked up and nodded.

“Oh, yeah! That’s his actual name too, I’m not sure he was ever a living person, and I wasn’t kidding when I said he had every book ever written. A lotta first editions too. I think he’s a spirit of literature?”

Jason took a quick peek around to see if any giant and possibly book shaped palaces had appeared.

Place was covered in floating islands and purple doors, there was a chance.

“Could we… could you introduce me?” Cuz he wasn’t gonna actually ask if Jane Austen was a ghost, not on his first day.

He had some damn self control. Even if the pit was fucking purring in the back of his head and this whole weird place felt more like home than anywhere he’d been before.

Flying beside him, Danny nodded cheerfully and shot him a thumbs up.

“Oh hell yeah, he needs more friends. Probably not today though, he’s not really around this part of the Zone, and we wanna make it to the Far Frozen and back before New Years. Next time,” he added before Jason could even begin to feel disappointed.

He’d known the odds of heading right there weren’t great. Fuck, he wouldn’t have wanted to; it was just hard to remember they were here to get the pit out when it was filling him with a buzzing, humming contentment down to his toes.

Part of him wanted to be a whole lot more suspicious. Did not like how easy it was to trust Danny, to relax into this undead realm.

But it was usually the pit that nagged at him not to trust anyone. And the pit was in heaven, and Jason had spent so long fighting that constant suspicion.

If things went as well as he hoped… well, he wasn’t gonna be going easy on any of the assholes fucking with his turf.

But being able to talk to the bats without the pit’s constant paranoia… yeah, he did a little hope he’d be a bit tighter lipped.

Feelings just kept spilling out of him around Danny, apparently literally if what the kid told him about his core was to be believed.

Jason could feel enough of Danny’s emotions in return to know the kid wasn’t lying. Hopefully that was what made him trust him.

Today, he nodded and looked around.

“So, the Far Frozen. Called that because it’s far?” He asked casually, definitely not letting on any concerns.

Flying hadn’t been hard so far, but he had no idea how long this was going to work. He couldn’t even tell if it was using a muscle, but it was sure as shit one he hadn’t used before.

Danny snickered and shrugged, clearly not even a little concerned.

“Well, I opened the portal pretty close in this case, but yeah, it’s far from the more populated areas of the zone. The yetis like it, it means they can keep to themselves.”

This was kind of the problem with Danny, Jason was coming to realise.

He’d told Jason where in the zone they were going, and why. They needed to see a guy called Frostbite, because he knew the most about ghost biology.

He’d probably know what to do about Jason’s pit problem, and what Danny and Jason could do to deal with the pits themselves. Fun, exciting, Jason was 1000% up for that.

Fucking yetis had not come up.

“The what?” He asked, striving for nonchalance and wondering again if he shouldn’t have shot someone a text before leaving.

And potentially never being seen again.

Danny hesitated for a moment, brows furrowing.

There was definitely more snow ahead than there had been behind.

“I totally mentioned the yetis?” Danny said carefully, like that would somehow make it true.

Jason stifled a snicker.

“You did not mention yetis. You mentioned ghosts.”

“Yeah, they’re ghost yetis.”

“That doesn’t actually make it any better, y’know? The yeti part is still kinda important.”

Not that Jason would be hugely surprised to find an alive yeti at some point. The world had a habit of saving up its weirdest bullshit to dish out onto him.

At least he wasn’t Constantine.

Danny pulled a face and shrugged, turning so he was flying backwards.

“Well, I mentioned it now? They’re yetis. So is Frostbite, but he’s like, bigger. And their leader. I mentioned that part, right?” Danny asked hopefully.

It was pretty clearly a fair question.

Jason nodded, scanning through what he’d been told so far.

“Yeah, and that they had the ghost hospital? I guess it’s a good thing as ghosts we’re not gonna feel the cold,” Jason added idly, glancing at their increasingly frosty surroundings.

He could feel the temperature dipping, sure, but nothing serious. They hadn’t even grabbed coats.

Danny stopped flying so quickly that Jason actually overshot him and had to turn, coming back to rejoin his guide. Who looked guilty.

Jason pulled on his best deadpan face.

“Let me guess. You definitely mentioned it?” He asked dryly.

Danny groaned and slapped himself in the face, then dragged his hand slowly free.

“Okay this one’s totally not my fault? I mean. I don’t need a coat there? And usually if anyone else comes with me, we have the Spectre Speeder, and it always has coats, so it’s not like we pack?”

He gave Jason a sheepish smile, half wincing like he expected a punch.

Jason did consider it, but not seriously.

“Okay, focus up Danny. What do we need to do? How cold am I gonna get?” Cuz the longer they were sitting still, the more the chill was creeping in.

Danny let out another lingering groan then closed his eyes, calculating.

“Okay… so I can call Frostbite when we get a bit closer, and he can come meet us, and he’ll have some spare coats? And I don’t think you can technically freeze to death anymore, but you don’t have a core? So I dunno.”

Jason took a deep breath of his own, fighting a half smile. Good to know he wasn’t the only one with a bad habit of rushing in.

But even he tried to be ready for everything.

“Great. Love this plan. Especially the part where I probably can’t freeze to death,” Jason snarked.

Danny squinted at him.

“Look, it’s better than my other plan, which is I freeze you solid in my ghost ice and tow you the rest of the way. You wanna show up walking and talking or in an iceberg?”

The fact that he seemed to be serious probably should have concerned Jason more, but he was having fun.

Just imagine, Jason Todd as the responsible one in a superhero team up. Dickie would be so proud.

It’d be just like his old Robin days, except that suit was thermally regulated out the ass.

“Ooh, frozen wastes or frozen in iceberg, I’m definitely seeing the difference. Let’s just get moving so you can call your buddy before I turn into a popsicle.”

Danny stuck his tongue out at Jason, but did indeed get moving again.

“Hey, both of those are still better than our last option,” he snarked back, and maybe Jason was imagining it but they were kinda going faster.

Lucky for Jason, apparently it was willpower that made you fly in the Ghost Zone, and being a stubborn bitch had always been his stock in trade.

“Oh gee, what’s the last option? Shoot ourselves from a catapult? Build a snowman and have it carry us? Or do we close our eyes real tight and wish ourselves there?” Jason asked as sweetly as he could.

Made Danny laugh anyway, before his expression became deadly serious.

“You’re literally wishing your way there right now, smartass, but no. The last option is we call my regent and he stops time and you spend the next eighty relative years of your life listening to lectures about why I need to be fully crowned.”

Which did sound pretty last-resort-y, in Jason’s opinion. And raised an important question.

“Why are you so against being fully crowned? You seem pretty in touch with all the king shit.” Certainly willing enough to talk about it, although now that Jason thought about it, mostly to complain.

Danny pulled another reluctant face.

“Just cuz I know I can’t get out of it doesn’t mean I gotta give myself up right away. The last king was a bloodthirsty tyrant, in an enchanted sleep for thousands of years. Do you have any idea how much paperwork that stacked up?”

Danny let out a shudder that had nothing to do with the increasing cold. Thinking to the amount of report forms he’d be facing if B found out about this particular jaunt, Jason joined him.

“Yeah, okay, that sounds like it sucks,” he agreed, and Danny shot him a relieved grin.

“Right? Like, I want to live my actual life first. Do something more than struggle through college and fight ghosts. Everything worked just fine while the other guy was in prison, so what’s the rush?”

They flew in silence for a moment, Jason struggling with an entirely unexpected lump in his throat.

Danny broke it, drifting closer until their shoulders bumped.

“Sorry man. Didn’t think.”

There was a perfect snappy comeback in there about it not being the first time, but Jason didn’t have it in him. He managed a nod and gentle bump back.

It was getting cold enough now that the moisture on his cheeks stung.

From condensation. Or air resistance or something.

The Ghost Zone had high humidity, explained all of the snow.

They continued in silence for a while, then Danny sighed and slowed to a stop once more. Jason copied a little more reluctantly, brushing trails of ice from his face.

“Okay so this is gonna be just, stupid loud?” Danny said with a slightly strained cheerfulness, like they’d never stopped bantering. “You’ll probably wanna put your hands over your ears.”

Jason complied, wondering just how literal the “call” part of Danny calling ahead was gonna be. Stupid loud implied it wouldn’t be on a cellphone.

He’d not had any messages since leaving Gotham actually, and it had been a couple of hours. He should probably check…

He clapped his hands back over his ears just in time as Danny sucked in a huge breath and bellowed like a thunderstorm.

“HEY FROSTY! PHANTOM INCOMING, BROUGHT A FRIEND. HE NEEDS A COAT!”

And then Danny gave Jason a cheery grin and nodded in the direction they’d been travelling as he cautiously removed his hands.

“He can’t get quite that loud, so we’ll have to get closer before we can hear him. Might as well keep going, right?”

Jason took another moment just to stare at the ghost. It was beginning to actually kick in that… yeah. Danny wasn’t human.

And Jason knew plenty of metahumans, people with powers. He knew Black Canary, so what the line should be is a bit fuzzy.

But.

Danny’s not fully human, not anymore. So what the hell was Jason?

The exact same asshole he was yesterday, obviously. Just with… well, his baggage compartment had already been overstuffed.

Even the thought of getting to dump the pit baggage meant that even if he was now a zombie or a ghost or whatever that was still a net loss unless he had to eat people.

Which, again, what the fuck was his life?

He almost laughed, but didn’t want to try explaining that thought process to anyone else, even if the odds were pretty good Danny’s life… existence was at least a little fucked.

He gave a smile instead, nodding and following Danny’s lead off into the frost.

Doing absolutely nothing to reassure him, Jason was no longer sure it was reflections off the ice now catching the corner of his eye.

The longer they were in the Ghost Zone, the more he kept thinking he saw stars passing across the black of Danny’s suit.

***

Frostbite did in fact come to meet them, and did in fact bring Jason a coat. The fact that said coat REALLY looked like it came from a yeti…

Well, Danny had long decided never to ask, and Jason was following his lead today. His new friend was all wrapped up again, and wasn’t even shivering anymore!

Yeah. Danny fucked up.

And he also felt a little bad even after Jason told him it was fine, a damnably cocky smirk on his lips. It felt like he’d been holding onto that “Not the first thing you’ve conveniently forgotten” line for a while.

Which, to be fair, they’d met twice ever, so how the fuck would Jason know?

Just because it was accurate didn’t mean he had to say it.

They’d had to make quite a trek back to the depths of the Far Frozen along with Frostbite since the yeti had come to meet them, but they’d made good use of the time.

Frostbite still understood more about ghost biology and even specifically halfa biology than Danny himself did, and he’d immediately seen something was up with Jason.

Reassuring him that Jason wasn’t actually fading and that his core just hadn’t formed yet hadn’t taken long; apparently, yetis could smell core formation.

Delightful fucked up information Danny wished he’d never learned, but at least he’d been right.

Surrounded by the ambient ectoplasm of the Ghost Zone, Jason’s core was already coming along in fits and bounds. Something which had alarmed Jason to hear too, but hey.

About half of his ghost problems were probably related to that slow forming core, and the other half…

Yeah. Frostbite had a Lot of questions about the Lazarus Pits. And Jason had basically nothing by way of answers beyond what he’d already told Danny.

Which, aww, he’d really been putting everything he had on the table, which was nice. The longer they spent together, the more Danny figured Jason hadn’t been honest with anyone in a while.

He kept getting this surprised look on his face, these moments where he stopped like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Like he thought he should be more careful.

Danny could relate. Frostbite was weirdly easy to share things with, even if Danny couldn’t get him to stop calling him Great One.

The second Danny had protested, Jason got a real sneaky grin on his face that Danny wasn’t sure he liked. He knew a Bastard Little Brother face from his mirror.

Jason being older than him? Meant nothing.

For now though, they’d made it to the medical center and Jason was looking at the scanning pods with a sceptical but weirdly unsurprised eye.

Danny still hadn’t stopped making Star Trek jokes when he saw them, but. Robin. What the fuck did Batman have access to?

Frostbite gave them both a very proud smile, patting the tube fondly.

“With this, we shall determine how much corrupted ectoplasm is within you, and how best to separate your mind from its affects. Already some of it is being purged by contact with our Saviour, but for it not to be gone already shows there is a deeper problem,” the yeti explained happily.

Jason shot Danny another shit eating grin at “saviour” and Danny bit back a groan, making himself smile at Frostbite instead.

Insistent and slightly patronising hero worship aside, he really did like the guy. He always wanted to help, and usually could, which was a nice change.

“Yeah, about that? Do we know what I’m doing that’d change his corruption?” Because it’s not that he didn’t want to help too, but it might be easier if he knew how.

Frostbite gave Danny a cheerful pat next, sending the smaller ghost stumbling a little.

“Oh, some of it will happen merely from your presence, Great One. As the King of the realm, you have far more ectoplasm and it is far stronger, which will help Jason’s ectoplasm to heal on its own. But we must find the root for the problem to be solved.”

Jason chuckled and shook his head, stripping back out of the thick yeti coat.

“There’s always a catch, right? Is this gonna hurt?” It sounded like he expected the answer to be yes, and even Frostbite looked suddenly concerned.

“You should not feel anything at all, young Jason. Perhaps the feelings from your contaminated source will become stronger, but they are not negative at present?” It came out as a question, mostly tied to that concern.

And Danny could kinda see why; from everything Jason told them, he was usually only swamped by rage. Neither of his auras felt angry now, but the pit’s had jumped to betrayal pretty consistently every time it spiked.

Needing to be told that something wasn’t going to hurt him sort of pointed where those feelings might have come from.

Danny nudged closer on impulse, letting his own trust-reassurance-done this before wash gently over Jason’s aura.

#dp x dc #danny fenton dead and loving it #woe for my formatting is lost #the wiki says frostbite should do yoda voice #i have not seen anyone else doing him yoda voice?? #does anyone care if frostbite does not yoda voice?

[probablyhuntersmom]

For the sleepover ask game, share some owl house headcanons about what happened during the time skip. As many as you'd like. :)

Ayyy finally answering this, friend! Sorry that it took centuries to get to!

The one thing I don't shut up about is Hunter's ensuing depression after Belos's death, contrary to the Hollywood kind of ending where everything becomes sunny and everyone can easily move on. We would see the stuff that a therapist would tick the checkboxes for in a mental status exam: slowing down psychomotor-wise e.g. slower speech, flat moods which are the unsettling polar opposite to the earnest emotional expression we love him so much for, distracted attention span, less tidy appearance, and he'd be sleeping excessively for some time. (full mental health meta on this subject here: link) Camila would be making sure he has plenty of movies to watch on the couch so that he isn't locking himself too much in the basement T_T Darius would be monitoring how he helps to rebuild the Isles so that he doesn't overexert himself.

Amity, the twins and Alador would go for walks to the store, in the woods etc, and this bonding time in restoring their relationships would be so important.

Luz's two main challenges would be: 1. becoming more aware of the domino effect of teaching Philip the light glyph spell in the timepool, especially now that everyone is coming out of survival mode, 2. the guilt surrounding Flapjack...I don't think she'd just move on from puppet!Hunter's words "And then I lost him, helping you. But you still get to have your own palisman?!" God this makes me wonder...what was it that the Hexsquad went through in their minds which led to the beautiful decision to get their red tattoos together? I'm gonna sniffle, jfc.

Gus might be the first person to broach the subject of Flapjack again, since he verbally put the same subject out in the open in For the Future (working with Willow, who took the flyer derby photo off the wall to show to Hunter and trying to reach out to him). It's also in line with how he was the first one to express sadness after they became trapped in the human realm i.e. he broke down crying right away. I love this about him whereby he may excel in Illusion magic but he gets down to the truth right away.

Willow is utterly exhausted and there's still some remaining upset from her breakdown about how much she missed her dads, shouldered things on her own and kept things bottled up. She approaches Camila not long after they leave The Collector's Palace to say that Camila was right, and to say thank you. And she needs a bit of space alone for the upset feelings to run their course.

Mattholomule has more surprises up his sleeve for Gus, lol. Gus just doesn't stop being flabbergasted.

The first person to say anything to Kikimora, who is moping and stewing away somewhere, is of course Luz.

Luz and Hunter more or less switch places emotionally if you compare their TTT and WaD demeanors (in FtF, they were both under somewhat similar emotional strain, in their own arcs). In TTT, Luz was very far from her vibrant self, ruminated on her guilt and slowed down so much, while Hunter was on the move: excitedly exploring his self and interests while being in his comfort zone of wanting to help others (he still had the capacity to do so!). Luz wasn't out exploring and connecting with others: she was in the dark prison of depression. If we flip this for the pre-timeskip era: Hunter would slow down by gradually running out of steam to even help others, and isolate himself before getting better...struggling with the absence of Flapjack and Belos, being frozen in time in terms of this bereavement. While Luz, 1. became unfrozen from her long-term bereavement by beginning to accept that her dad and Papa Titan were gone (an emotional place which Hunter simply cannot reach until many months later), 2. was reunited with Eda and King and on the same page as Camila, and would be on the move seeing what she can do to contribute for the Isles. There is a parallel between both of them wrestling with guilt: Luz's guilt about how her encounter with young Philip led to Belos's regime, Hunter's about the impact of his actions as the Golden Guard.

God this one is tough to lay out in clear detail but...the sleeping arrangements for the Hexsquad during the first few nights...emotions catching up to them...I really wonder what it was, and who would want more of their own space and not trouble others (yet definitely not being at peace with whatever was going through their minds) versus who expressed their need to not be alone at night.. Maybe Luz wanted to be with Eda, Raine and King in the Owl House, Amity would have her space back in Blight Manor, and we have Willow, Gus and Darius extending invitations to Hunter. There's no way I can predict which choice Hunter made, coz he may have gone with an arrangement that would've left the others concerned. Whether he obliged out of politeness or was firm enough to say that he didn't want to burden them...hard to tell. OMT, what if he slept alone BUT the palismen secretly huddled by his side in the night like in this beautiful fanart which is one of my faves??: link

Contrary to Hunter, Vee's response to Belos's death would be far simpler closure because she had zero attachment to Belos. Hell, she wasn't raised by him for an entire childhood. And while she would've had some survivor's guilt, we know that the other basilisks eventually came back to life, unlike (ughhhhh) the Grimwalkers who can't be brought back. These are the clues as to how Vee could open up more, smile brightly, and begin to explore the big wide world around her:

Which means she would've definitely been an important influence for Hunter's recovery.

Like...

How long till he could freely smile again? Camilaaaaa...take care of your three precious kids.

These are the first headcanons that came to mind. Might reblog this and add more over time. Thanks for the ask :)

#loz's ask box #toh s3 headcanons #the owl house #answers for ask games

[teaberrii]

Chapter Fifteen: The Forum

Alhaitham has the looks and the smarts. He will also be the stand-in CEO for his grandfather's company for a year.

But, he's been mysteriously cursed to turn into a cat every night since his eighteenth birthday… until he meets you, an employee at his grandfather's company, who rescues him as a cat and changes him back with one kiss.

Alhaitham/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on AO3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

When your alarm goes off that morning, Alhaitham and Childe are the first to pop into your mind. Did Childe turn back? Is he okay? Did Alhaitham learn anything new about the curse? You've just finished getting dressed when you hear a loud knock at your door. Once you open it, you see Childe and Alhaitham. Childe's wearing Alhaitham's clothes and seeing him in an aesthetic different from his usual colourful style is a little strange. Alhaitham, on the other hand, looks fine as always.

“Mornin', Ms. Cat Collector."

“Very funny,” you deadpan, letting the men inside. Then, you and Childe give each other a quick hug. “Glad you’re back.”

“Well, I was under good care.”

You look from Childe to your boyfriend. Then, with a slight smile, you say, “I guess you two bonded last night.”

Childe puts a hand over his heart. “It was an emotional moment."

“I told him everything we know so far,” Alhaitham says in his usual calm voice.

You nod and turn to Childe. “Did you talk to Lumine?”

“I sent her a text this morning."

“So… what happened yesterday night?”

“Beats me.” Childe sighs. “I told your CEO boyfriend I was talking with my mom when it happened.”

You glance at Alhaitham, who subtly shakes his head. Guess he didn’t find out what the conversation was about.

“...DId you call your mom back?” you ask. “She called you multiple times yesterday night, didn’t she?”

“It’s nothing important,” Childe says, not looking at you. “Don’t worry about it.” Then, in a cheerier tone, “So, shall we head to work?”

You raise a brow. “Someone's eager.”

“Well, it’s not every day you get a ride with the CEO.”

A short while later, you, Alhaitham, and Childe are in the lobby and are joined by Alhaitham's secretary. As you make your way to the car, you can't ignore this feeling that you're being watched. You stop and turn around, but there's no one in sight.

“Is something wrong?” Alhaitham asks.

"...I think we were being watched." Then, as Alhaitham subtly looks around, you say, "Maybe I'm imagining things."

“Hey!” Childe calls from the car. “What’s the holdup?”

Alhaitham follows you toward the car, occasionally looking over his shoulder. Yet, he sees nothing out of the ordinary.

◆◆◆

Lumine is finishing her design assignment when Childe's message from this morning comes back to haunt her: Sorry, Lulu. I was caught up with something yesterday.

She'd asked if everything was fine. When the only reply she got was a smiley emoji and a thumbs-up, she didn't reply. It's not like he told her what was happening, so she has nothing to say. Lumine remembers what you told her over the phone yesterday night. Childe wouldn't treat someone he's interested in the same as everyone else. Well, Lumine doesn't feel any different from everyone else. She doesn't feel that much different from… you.

Over the years, she'd seen how close you and Childe got. She was sure that Childe had a crush on you, but he would deny it every time she'd asked. While that doesn't matter anymore, Lumine wonders why Childe bothers still hanging out with her when he's already in the workforce. She's a poor graduate student working part-time. There are so many sophisticated women out there.

“Should I be surprised you’re still reading in the same spot where we first met, Lumine?”

She quickly turns around at the familiar male voice. “Kaeya?” Her senior smiles at her, and she smiles back. “What in the world are you doing here?”

Kaeya was in his last year when Lumine entered her first year of graduate school, and they met in this campus library. They both wanted the same book, and he eventually let her have it first.

“I’m here for a seminar.” Kaeya sits in front of her. “I thought of texting you, but why not a surprise visit instead?”

“And what if you didn’t find me?”

“I took a chance. And, I guess luck is on my side today.” Lumine starts putting away her laptop when Kaeya asks, “Are you free right now? I’d like to treat you to coffee.”

Lumine smiles and nods. At least it’ll take her mind off of Childe.

Kaeya takes Lumine to a nearby campus coffee shop, the place where they once had a group study session with mutual friends. Despite Lumine's insistence, Kaeya still paid for their drinks. 

"I'm your senior," Kaeya laughs. "I should be treating you, not the other way around."

Once they sit across from each other with their drinks, he says, "This place brings back memories."

“Don’t tell me you miss the poor student life.”

Kaeya shrugs. “Being a student has its pros and cons.”

Lumine sips her drink. “I think it has more cons right now.”

“Something bothering you, little junior?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well… you don’t look too happy. Call it a hunch, but it seems something’s on your mind.”

Lumine has never opened up to Kaeya about her personal problems. Sure, she sought him out when she was having trouble academically. But she isn’t sure if she wants to open up to him about… boy problems and maybe even her insecurities.

“I’m always happy to lend an ear, Lumine,” Kaeya continues. “Whatever it may be, as long as you’re comfortable talking about it.”

Well, maybe it won't hurt to get a guy’s perspective.

However, just before she can say anything, her phone buzzes. She quickly looks at it and sees a message from Childe: We had Takoyaki at the office today. Reminded me of the ones we had together a few nights ago. Want me to save you some and drop it off for you?

Unbeknownst to Lumine, Kaeya glances from her and then to her phone. He can't see the message, but he takes a guess. “...Is it a guy?”

Lumine quickly looks up and slips her phone inside her pocket. "...He's my sister's friend. And mine too. But I guess I've been getting some mixed signals from him. It's been kinda bothering me since I'm not sure what to think about it."

“Do you like this guy?”

“...I don’t know. But when I’m with him, it feels like it’s going in that direction, and I’m not sure what I really want.”

“I’m just speculating… but maybe both of you are unsure.”

“You think?" Lumine asks. "But, I thought that if a guy likes a girl, it’s rare they would be aloof about it.”

“That’s true. What I just said was thinking from a positive side. You could also think that this guy is keeping his options open.”

Childe wouldn’t do that. Would he?

“How well would you say you know this guy?” Kaeya continues.

“We pretty much grew up together. But he knew my sister first.”

“Ah…”

“But she’s with someone now."

"Could it be that you're unsure because you don't know how he feels? If this guy confessed to you, what would you say?"

As soon as Kaeya sees a faint but visible blush on Lumine's cheeks, he has the answer he needs. But, regardless, he waits for her answer.

“That’s way too sudden. I… I would need time to think about it!”

To her surprise, Kaeya smiles. "Listen, I'm hosting a beach party next weekend. So why don't you come down and have a little fun? Diluc will be running the bar, and you'll see some other friends."

Kaeya pulls out his phone. Soon, Lumine hears her phone buzz. This time, it's a message from Kaeya. He sent her a bright, colourful poster of the evening beach party.

“Bring your sister and Aether along, too.”

A party, huh?

◆◆◆

That afternoon, Alhaitham is pacing around his office with his phone in his hand. His wireless earphones are snug in his ears.

“What do you mean you’re not going to have a say in the company’s next project?” his grandfather asks.

It’s almost time for the leadership team to review the idea submissions for the company’s next big film project. Alhaitham is supposed to be a part of it, but he decided to drop out.

“Ah… is it because she is participating?”

The last thing Alhaitham wants you to think is that he's favouring you because of the relationship. Besides, it's not like your relationship will remain a secret forever. Rumours would spiral out of control if you got chosen and people found out he was part of the judging panel. Alhaitham knows no one can control what other people say, so don't give them a chance to say something you don't want them to.

"Yes. It would put both of us in an uncomfortable and awkward position if people found out that I was on the team that decided the next project."

His grandfather sighs. “That’s true. I suppose people will look back and say you were favouring her if she got chosen.”

“I don't want to give her a hard time.”

“Well, I understand. It’s a logical reason. But, I guess that would mean you’re seeing her with the intention of marrying her.”

“Is that all you can think of?” Alhaitham deadpans. “Marriage?”

“Is it wrong of me to want a grandbaby?”

No. But Alhaitham also has an agenda of his own. “I’m seeing her with the intent of taking this relationship seriously. If we do get married, we’ll let it happen naturally.”

After getting off the phone with his grandfather, Alhaitham heads out of his office and takes the elevator to the lobby. Once he does, he sees Childe, Ayato, Thoma, and a small camera crew. Ayato must've been here for a project. As soon as the men see each other, Ayato waves him over.

“What a nice surprise,” Ayato says.

Once the camera team leaves, Childe says, "Well, the cat crew's all here."

“...I guess you told him everything,” Alhaitham says to Childe.

"Not quite," Ayato says, looking at Childe. "Frankly, I'm still interested in the conversation between you and your mother. That could be the key to why you changed."

Childe crosses his arms. “Since both of you think that’s so important, long story short, my parents are moving back to Snezhnaya. I’m not going with them. If that’s all it takes for someone to turn into a cat, we're all screwed.”

“Oh, wow. What’s everyone doing here?” You’ve just walked into the building with a cup of coffee. “Secret meeting?” you joke.

Alhaitham swears he sees something move out of the corner of his eye. When he looks in that direction, nothing seems out of place. Maybe he imagined it, but then he remembers you mentioning the feeling of being watched this morning.

“Something like that,” Ayato says, playing along. “The Strays are thinking of their next move on what to do with the curse.”

"Didn't think you'd come up with our band name that quickly," Childe says. He nudges Alhaitham. "But this guy ain't a stray. I guess you can say he's already adopted."

Alhaitham looks at him. “I guess I’m the secret member.”

Ayato laughs. "I never expected you to play along, Alhaitham. I guess you have a sense of humour behind your icy facade, after all."

Childe snickers. “He’s definitely a tsundere.”

“Sounds like someone watches too much animation," Alhaitham says.

“What? I’m a proud geek,” Childe huffs.

“Seems like The Strays have good chemistry,” you say, looking at the three bickering men in front of you. “That’s a good sign.”

“Ayato, we should go,” Thoma says. “You have a schedule coming up.”

“Right.” Then, Ayato smiles at the group. “Well, if you’ll excuse me.”

Thoma walks beside Ayato as they leave the building and asks, "It seems like you're getting along well with them."

“I would say so. All of us have a common goal, after all.”

“...But, regarding her, are you… okay?”

Ayato glances at his friend. “...Are you asking if I’m okay being around her?”

Thoma nods. "To be honest, I wanted to ask her to stay away. I was afraid she would bring up bad memories."

Ayato admits there's still a sense of… nostalgia when he looks at you. But you're not her. Besides, he knows he cannot live in the past forever. He needs to move on.

“There’s no need for her to stay away,” Ayato says calmly. Before he gets in the car, he looks Thoma in the eyes. “She is a friend.”

Thoma gives him a small smile and nods.

Back in the building, you and Childe part ways with Alhaitham. However, it doesn’t take long for you to receive a text from him.

Catman: If you sense anything strange, call me.

Anything strange? You suddenly remember the feeling you got this morning. Did Alhaitham sense it just now? After you hit a reply, you notice an uncharacteristically serious expression on Childe’s face. He’s staring at his phone.

“Hey,” you say. He looks at you. “Everything okay?”

Childe slides his phone into his pocket. “Do you know someone named Kaeya?”

It takes you a moment, but the name finally rings a bell. “Oh, yeah. He’s Lumine’s senior. Why?”

“...He invited her to a beach party. She also said that he invited you and Aether, too.”

“And is that something to be all down in the dumps for?” You chuckle. “Hang on a minute… are you… are you jealous, Childe?”

The elevator doors open, and you and Childe step inside just as he points to himself. “Me? Jealous?" He presses for yours and his floor. "I’m not that petty." The doors close. "I’m not your CEO boyfriend who didn’t want his girlfriend to hug a cute, innocent cat.”

You smile. “Well, someone’s defensive.”

After a moment of silence, Childe sighs softly. "Who is this Kaeya guy anyway? I’ve never heard of him, and I’ve been friends with you and Lulu for years.”

"I only met him a few times, so I don't know much about him. But from what I remember, he's a fun guy. He tutored Lumine at one point."

“He tutored her?”

You glance at him. “Yeah… They had a few private sessions.”

“Private sessions?” Childe quickly clears his throat. “Are… are you going to go?”

"A beach party does sound fun. Why don’t you go with Lumine?”

“...It’s an evening party.”

“...Ah.”

A pause.

“Do you think I should tell her? About… the situation, I mean. I don’t want to tell her because I don’t want to risk the secret getting out. I know Lumine can keep a secret, but I'm afraid it might accidentally slip out, you know.”

“Answer me honestly, Childe. Do you like her?”

Childe likes being with Lumine. He enjoys her company just as much as yours. He also likes teasing and messing around with her. However, Childe has never heard Lumine talk about other guys besides Aether, so this is a foreign feeling. But maybe he's bothered by Kaeya's intentions; maybe Childe just wants to look out for her. Whatever it is, Childe admits he feels a little annoyed by Kaeya. Does this mean he likes Lumine in a different way than he likes you?

"If you like her, you should tell her. Or else she will get the wrong idea, and then it'll be too late. I don’t think you want to be a part of The Strays forever.”

The elevator doors open on Childe’s floor.

Childe smiles. “Who knows? Maybe I’m going to be the Professional Bachelor now.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

Childe gives you a wave and steps out. Then, the doors slide shut.

◆◆◆

It's almost time to get off work, and you've been feeling accomplished for what you've done. Your team proposal for the company's project is almost complete. It just needs some finishing touches. You're heading to the lounge to get snacks when you see some employees coming down from the opposite hall. You happen to overhear their conversation.

“Yeah… it’s scary. There’s apparently some people from our company on that forum.”

Forum? What forum?

“Do you think it’s run by some noisy tabloid reporter?”

“I don’t know… but some of the rumours on there turned out to be true!”

Their conversation is now out of their earshot, and you feel a little uneasy. That’s when you hear Alhaitham say your name. 

“What brings you here?” you ask, smiling.

“I had a meeting.” He hands you an expensive drink and a snack you recognize from one of those high-end bakeries. Then, he gives you a soft smile. “I thought you might like this on one of your breaks.”

You take it from him. “Why thank you, Mr. CEO. You read my mind.” Then, you say jokingly, “I don’t have to give anything in return, right?”

Alhaitham slides a hand inside his pocket. He has a slightly mischievous smile as he quietly says, "Your love is all I need."

You pretend to gag. “Cliché.” But then, with a smile, you say just as quietly, “I would gladly give you all my love in the world, Mr. CEO.”

Alhaitham is clearly not expecting this flirtatious response, and a faint but visible blush appears on his cheeks. He quickly composes himself, however. Then, his expression turns serious. “The text I sent you earlier today.”

“Ah, right… did something happen?”

“...I thought I saw something. I wouldn’t have thought much of it, but I remembered you told me you felt like you were being watched this morning.”

“...I really hope it’s nothing.” A slight pause. “I overheard something about a forum… apparently there’s some information about people from the company?”

“I’m aware. The most recent incident is what brought it to the leadership’s attention.”

“...What happened?”

“There was a statement that a company employee was stealing funds for illegal activities.”

Your eyes widen. “...Did they have evidence?”

“There was. So, we’re looking into it.”

“Putting it positively, it sounds like this person did the company a favour.”

“It does sound like they did a good deed,” Alhaitham says. “If only there weren’t other information on that site.”

“That doesn’t sound good….”

"We had the security team look into this site, and information, including the private lives of employees, have been leaked. Employees at this company aren't the only ones being targeted."

You raise a brow. “It would be too much for one person. Sounds like it's a group effort. But what are they trying to accomplish? Employees aren’t celebrities.”

“...That’s a good question. But whatever their motives are… not all of them are with good intentions.” Alhaitham almost takes your hand but stops himself in time. “So… be careful.”

You nod. “You as well.”

◆◆◆

“Have you thought about what you want to do after graduation, Lumine?”

Lumine came to seek her professor's help for an assignment that evening when her professor brought up an unexpected question. Well, maybe it isn't that unexpected, considering she's in her last semester. So, it's definitely time she starts thinking about her future plans.

"Sort of… I'm interested in making character designs for games and stuff. So it's a little different than what I'm doing now."

Her professor takes out a colourful poster from her drawer. “Well, you’re in luck. The university’s participating in a regional design competition where your work will be evaluated by renowned companies looking to hire. It’s the latest initiative to help graduates get jobs.”

“A competition?”

“Are you interested?”

Lumine looks down at the poster. She is. But… what if she's not good enough? While she doesn't think she's bad at what she does, she definitely doesn't think she's amazing like her classmates. Lumine describes herself as average. Just talented enough to get by or at least… survive.

"You don't have to answer now," her professor says. "But let me know by the end of the week if you're interested."

Lumine nods and puts the poster and her assignment into her bag.

As she heads for the bus stop, she glances at her phone. Aether had already said he was going to the party. You've also agreed. The only person who hasn't said anything is Childe. It's strange, she thinks. She thought he would jump at the opportunity to attend a party. She never thought he would be silent.

Just as she gets to the bus stop, her phone buzzes, and her heart suddenly beats a little faster. But one look at her phone and her jitteriness turn into an entirely different feeling.

Isn’t this your sister?

It's a text from one of her classmates. When Lumine opens the message, she sees a screenshot of two women. Lumine has to look closely to see which one you are, as you and the other women look like twins.

She looks SO much like Ayato’s ex. Omg.

Ayato’s…ex? Before Lumine can even question or process what’s happening, she sees another message.

Is she dating Ayato?

And then comes another photo. Lumine wasn't there, but she's sure this is taken at the Awards Night with how everyone's dressed and the venue. But this time, it's you and Ayato, with him holding your hand and you looking back.

What is going on?

Chapter Sixteen

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @seirenspinel @sakiimeo @ash-in-lavender @ceylestia @forsh4dow @deathkat657 @kalpie @elernity @sentieence @chichibleeps @sunsethw4 @hjjks @tanspostsblog @nqctre @just-simping-over-genshin @uchihaeirin @vynbin @ayanokomu @dksfl920 @alatus1808 @itztaki @thetwinkims @imkaaayy @angeilix @starlighttotheleft @letthewindlead @thelonelyarchon

#alhaitham x you #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #genshin impact alhaitham #genshin al haitham #al haitham x reader #al haitham x y/n #al haitham #al haitham fluff

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Simmer (The Long-Awaited Reply to a Lingering Kiss)

Aziraphale Fell is an accomplished food writer and book collector who leads a quiet life. Anthony Crowley owns the Grand Duke Distillery, maker of Wanton Sinner Whisky, and has a reputation for living on the wild side. As former culinary school classmates, they share a love of food and drink — and a long ago kiss that neither one has ever quite forgotten. Are they just too different to ever make it work? (I bet you can guess.) Aziraphale rises from his chair, takes a few steps towards him, then hesitates. Crowley knows a hundred different emotions must be flickering across his face, reflecting all the turmoil between his head and his heart. His heart is loud, insistent, nudging him to see the earnest hope in Aziraphale’s expression, to remember the beatific boy who lent him a pen and kissed him on a stair step, urging him to not let go of this man with ink-stained fingers and rare books who constantly surprises him. His shoulders tense as his breath hitches, his voice hoarse. “You need to tell me exactly what you want.”

Length: 28,364 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, Human AU, Romance

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by LemonTart

*Minor Spoilers* I really loved this version of Aziraphale and Crowley. In this AU, they had known each other in culinary school many years ago and one night shared a kiss that neither of them could fully forget. I love how we meet them in the future, as more than acquaintances but not close enough to know anything about each other's personal lives. But it's written all over them how much they both want to reconnect.

The tension between them simmers slowly as they begin to spend more time together. I absolutely adore food AUs because it allows them to be experts and intellectual equals, which I appreciate in a Human AU. It's important to me that they can keep pace with each other! When emotions finally reach a boiling point, they must be brave and honest about their desires. Then, they need to put in the effort to make it a reality. I would love to spend more time in this specific AU. I want to follow them as they visit new restaurants, sample whiskies, and cook together. I want to see how they manage their schedules and integrate into each other's lives now. The pacing was excellent, and it ends on a very satisfying note, but I can't help feeling greedy with this one. I want an extra helping.

Mostly safe in public, the sex is not too explicit and they're shorter scenes, so you could get away with it. But I think it makes a perfect binge read if you can settle in and read it in one go.

Read it here, fic by LemonTart

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #Simmer (The Long-Awaited Reply to a Lingering Kiss) #medium #human au #three flames #food au #romance #love confessions #mostly safe in public

[cute-bag-of-bones]

Can't Trust A Supe

Part 6: Angel face

Masterlist

⚠️warnings: Gore, Threats of violence, Threats of injury. General dark theme.

        

    I had to think or something quick, I had to come up with something, anything. Could I pretend to faint? Like the goats who sacrifice themselves for their herd. Would Homelander believe that? Would he just get annoyed and kill the man himself? How strong was Homelander's will? How strong is my own?

       "Please Homelander. I have learned my lesson, I swear I won't try something like that again. Don't make me do this." Emotion didn't appeal to him, it's a long shot but maybe reason would. He looked down at me with a trademarked scowl I was getting so used to. 

       "Prove to me you have learned to listen. Do it." He said his expression softened ever so slightly. He looked back to the man and smiled as he folded his hands behind his back again and stood up straight. You could tell he was enjoying the power he was wielding around like a club. 

       "I-I can't, H-homelander I won't." I stutter out feeling the walls starting to close around me. 

        "I-I-I don't care." He mocked. "You'll do it or I will go back to that shity homeless shelter and bring you back every last one of their heads." He says, his cool demeanor slipping as he bared his teeth while speaking. 

         "Just do it God damn it!" Maeve yelled, her eyes still closed tight. Homelander had a cocky grin as he glanced down at me out of the corner of his eye. Even Maeve was begging me. This man looked so scared he had to know what was coming. 

         I had to do it. Looking inside of him I could see his heart racing like a hummingbird's. I did all I could to try and make sure he felt no pain without Homelander realizing. I flooded his brain with as much dopamine it could possibly produce in these short seconds. The nervous system gives me the most trouble. So many threads that are all tangled so I have to focus on the ones around the spine. I paralyzed the nerves to try and prevent any pain, a luxury I didn't afford to Homelander last night.

        As his legs gave out I took the opportunity to grab the top of the spine and tear it from his skin. It wasn't as clean as I wanted it to be. Half the bones didn't come out because the spinal cord broke but the poor man was long dead before it snapped. His expression never changed. I have to tell myself he didn't feel anything but I'd never know for sure. The body slumps fully. The spine and all the attached nerves and tendons dropped with him. Once the body part loses connection to a living human I can't control it anymore, something I just learned and I wish I didn't know.

        "That's my girl! That was brutal wow!" He said as he clapped. Maeve opened her eyes and stared straight ahead trying to not look at the man who's back was ripped open. The blood pooled under him and moved outwards. It creeped towards my feet. I stepped back to avoid it but Homelander put his hand on the center of my back to stop me. Soon the blood met the rubber soles of my shoes and his boots. I hadn't realized I started to cry until I saw myself in the reflection of this innocent man's blood.

         Maeve walks off without a word. Homelander pats my back proudly. 

        "That wasn't hard now was it? Don't worry about her, she has a whole harem, what's one less?" He said with a chuckle. Without warning the Chinese I had less than an hour ago forced itself back up. Homelander pulled away his hand and rolled his eyes. "You are so dramatic! You did it, how are you going to puke over it? That's your handy work, be proud of it, angel face."

        "Don't call me that." I bark as more comes up. He laughs and walks over to the body. 

         "This really is something else. I think you will make a perfect sidekick for your old man. The bone collector no wait, that's a movie. I'll think of a name for you don't worry." 

       "Fuck you." I say in between gasps. I wipe my mouth and look up at him. He pushes the lifeless body out of the way with his foot and walks back over to me. His grin gone, he grabs my jaw and squeezes so hard I hear a pop. I thought he was trying to break my jaw until he moved his hand up slightly to force my mouth to open. 

         "Having a tongue is a privilege young lady. I'll chalk that up to you not feeling well. Nod if you understand." I nod up and down looking at him wide eyed. He nods with me slowly. He lets my chin go and steps back and looked back at the body.

         "You need to brush your teeth, you smell like shit." He says with a curled upper lip. He wipes his gloved hand on his thigh. For someone who killed so many people and seemed to enjoy the violence he really couldn't handle bodily functions. We took the elevator back to his penthouse which I was thankful for but I knew it was just because he didn't want my puke breath near his face. He pointed me to the bathroom to clean myself up. He had a tooth brush in there and everything for me already. The decked out kids room and the feminine products in the bathroom made me wonder how long he had been planning to kidnap me? 

         I brush my teeth and rinse my mouth out. I stared into the mirror for a long while. I had always liked how much I looked like my mom but he's making me start to hate my own face, hate her face. I know every complaint he gives me on my looks is meant for my mother. It gave me the creeps. What if one day I reminded him too much of my mother.

         I step out and hear Homelander having a conversation over the phone.

        "Just calm down Deep. What do you mean you found a box? No actually I really can't come check it out right now. Why?! Because I'm busy that's why!" I step closer to see if I can hear the other side of the conversation. A floorboard creaks and Homelander turns to face me. "No, don't take it to Stillwell. I'll be there, just hold on." Homelander says as he hangs up the phone. 

       "It's alright if you have to go. I ca-"

       "Oh save the Miss. innocent act. I know you can't wait till I leave." He looks around for a second as he thinks. "I'm calling someone, he'll watch you. I need to handle some superhero business." He says as he types on his phone angrily. He seemed really worked up about something. I wonder what's in that box. 

       "I wasn't going to run, I know not to try. I know you'd find me." I was trying to stroke his ego, soften him. No telling what maniac he was calling up here. 

        "Damn right I would but you're desperate, in shock even maybe. People make very dumb choices when they are desperate so I'm protecting you from your own poor decision making. Thank me later." He said as he fixed his hair in one of the mirrors on the wall. He was so hard to get a grip on. One moment he is perfectly lucid, almost rational about it all, the next he is telling me how much I'll love it here. He was right about one thing though, I am desperate.

       "I'm 17, I don't need a babysitter. The halls are full of people who either fear you or love you. I'm not going anywhere. Do you think I can fly? I'm not gonna open the window and fly away." 

       "No but you just might jump out the window." He says under his breath. Honestly it hadn't occurred to me. He wouldn't believe me. Does he realize what he's doing is wrong? He has to, he doesn't seem to be hiding it though at least not to the ones close to him. 

        Homelander opened the door before there was even a knock. Standing there about to ring the doorbell was Black Noir. 

         "Hey Noir, thanks for coming by." Noir walked. Out of all the 7 members, why in God's name would he ask this guy to watch me. Was it an intimidation play? Homelander is intimidating enough. "Don't be rude, Simone say hi." Noir just stood there looking down at me. To be fair I couldn't actually tell if he was looking at me but nevertheless I was scared. 

        "Oh um hi." I say softly. Noir cracks his knuckles then rolls his shoulders before taking a step closer to me like he was ready to charge. Homelander put his arm out in front of him to stop his charge. 

       "I didn't mean take care of her like that. Watch her for me, like a babysitter. " Homelander clarified. "I'll tell you all about it later, just be nice." He whispered to noir who nodded. Rather than charging me he holds out his hand for a shake. I jumped when he extended his hand. He looked at Homelander like I was the crazy one here. I reluctantly take his hand and shake it.

        Homelander left without saying much else he must have been in a real hurry because he didn't even threaten me one last time before taking off.  

        Noir sat on the sofa. Hands on his knees like he was ready to get up at any moment. I was desperate but I wasn't desperate enough to try and escape with this guy hanging around but maybe I could soften him up as well. If Homelander intended on keeping me here for a long time It would be a good idea to make friends. People who will ask questions if I go missing. I knew Noir wouldn't be asking too many questions about anything but you never know who might be an unlikely ally.

        "You don't talk do you?" I ask as I sit down in an armchair. He shook his head no. "Is that because you don't want to or can't." He just looked at me and gave me no answer one way or another. "If you want you can take off your mask. It's kinda freaking me out." I say with as sweet of a smile as I could muster. He looked down almost like I hurt his feelings. "You aren't freaking me out, it's just the mask, you seem um nice." It was a lie, all of him is freaky but he seems loyal to Homelander so I was pretty sure I was safe for now. He still seemed kinda down. "You know I bet you are a real looker under there. You have a great build." I was desperate enough to see if flattery would work. I just had to be careful, I don't want to give this guy the wrong vibes. He didn't seem to have any reaction at all, probably for the best.

        We sat there for about 10 minutes and out of nowhere he pulled out a deck of cards. I look at him surprised. "Do you normally keep cards on you?" I ask with a laugh he shook his head yes and tapped the deck and handed them to me. "Oh you wanna play a game? Yeah we can do that…. Go fish would probably be a little hard with the no talking thing. Ever play War?" I ask as I split the deck. He makes a gunning motion with his hands. "No, not that kind of war, here I'll teach you." 

       We played with the cards for at least half an hour. Homelander returned and he thanked Noir for watching me. He took his cards and left. Homelander was quick to get him out. He looked frazzled and calm all at once.

      The whole evening Homelander was just staring at me. Not a word was spoken. What was in that box? Was Homelander mad? Was he deep in thought? Maybe he was scared. It made me wish I could see thoughts written on the inside of someone's brain. I hated being the last to know something. 

       "You feeling alright?" I ask, finally breaking the unbearable silence. He chuckled a little which wasn't a good sign he knew something. He sat down across from me on the sofa and grabbed the outside of my thigh. I jumped and on instinct tried to pull his hand away from me. He was too strong. He stared into my eyes. His expressionless face took up my full field of vision.

        "I'm gonna ask you something and if I think you are lying to me I'll break your Goddamn leg, Understand?" I nod quickly, still holding onto his hand. "Did you kill a supe a few nights ago? An invisible guy." His grip tightened on my leg. No amount of pulling from me was going to break his hold.

       My heart was pounding, I knew the heart rate would be what gave me away if I didn't relax. Too relaxed and he'd know I was trying to hide something. I slowed my breathing the best I could. He squeezed harder, making me yelp. "Angel face, just tell me the truth. I won't be angry." I hated that fucking nickname something about it made me viscerally angry. I knew he was lying. I didn't have to look at his heart to see that.

#billy butcher #homelander #the boys #fanfic #hughie campbell #oc stuff #frenchie #mothers milk #the female #yandere homelander #platonic homelander

[chalkrevelations]

One of the criticisms I've repeatedly seen leveled at Dangerous Romance is that it doesn't engage with issues of socioeconomics and class the way it ought to, and I think that's a little unfair, because sure, it doesn't engage with those topics to the extent that some other bls have done, but it also engages with them to an extent greater than many, many other bls have done and do. I've posted before about how I think DR tackles issues of bullying, its fallout, recovery and reconciliation better than many other, sometimes beloved, shows have done. Is it perfect on this front? No. But it's a step forward, and I think it's one of the places where not only has it not gotten recognition, but criticism has been leveled at it that makes it sound like it did less than it actually did. Similarly, I don't think DR gets recognized for the work that it is doing on issues of socioeconomics and poverty. Again, is it perfect? No. But something really caught my eye this week, something that struck me when I watched Kanghan give his little speech to his grandmother about "poor people," which I and so many others found utterly vile - vile enough for some people to consign him back to the irredeemable category, if some responses in the tags are to be believed. Vile enough for some people to be disturbed enough that they don't know how they feel about the show anymore. Which, just. :hands: Do we want the show to tackle these topics or not? Because right now, it looks like it can't win, no matter what it does.

Here's the thing: We find Kanghan's comment vile because we're supposed to, because when the show puts those words in Kanghan's mouth, it's making a deliberate comment about poverty and the way it's viewed by people privileged enough to never worry about where their next meal is coming from, whether they'll have a roof over their head, and if that roof provides a modicum of safety - or if your door might as well be open to anyone who wants to walk in, whether it be a pissed-off classmate with a gun, or debt collectors willing to kick the shit out of a high-school kid. It's making a comment about the way low-resource populations are viewed by the people who profit off of socioeconomic systems that create poverty in the first place - because where does Kanghan's money come from? Where does Sailom and Saifah's debt come from? Is it even theirs, or did they inherit it? Does a just socioeconomic system give Kanghan more money than he knows what to do with, while Saifah is stealing rice from his patients to feed his little brother? How do we, as the audience, feel about the fact that benevolent Grandma Ging's solution to the Homchan debt was to have Sailom essentially sell himself to her family in indentured servitude until Kanghan is able to get into university? No, the show doesn't spoonfeed us these questions, but they're there, woven through the narrative, and Kanghan's comment - and Grandma's acquiescence to it - throws them into sharp relief. And once they're exposed that way, they're suddenly so ugly the audience is reluctant to look at them?

Anyway, my immediate response to Kanghan's comment was

I have done a superhuman job of maintaining my emotional equilibrium so far ... only threatening once to reach into the screen to strangle him when he pulled out that completely noxious little speech about "poor people" and what they'll do for money, because yeah, fuck you and the coddled little gremlin that's rearing its ugly head back up again.

I think that "again" is important, because it not only shows the way Kanghan defaults to what's comfortable and familiar to him when he's suddenly thrust out of his depth - and when he feels profoundly betrayed - but it also shows that attitudes and prejudices about low-resource populations are deeply ingrained. The fact that this is the ugly thing Kanghan automatically falls back on in an attempt to maintain a wall between himself and Sailom reminds me of the way misogynistic slurs are pulled out and used against women in the heat of anger by people who would never classify themselves as misogynist. This is the thing about prejudices - they're part of the culture, we're swimming in them, and they take work to undo. I would actually rather have Kanghan explicitly show this attitude than act like it's magically resolved or like it doesn't exist. I been sayin' - none of these issues just disappeared in episode three when the cuteness started creeping in. They continued to exist alongside and underneath, and the show was only waiting to pull them out again at the right time. Appropriately, that time is when Kanghan is under stress.

I also think it's pretty smart writing to pull this back out now, after a stretch of episodes that first, made the audience complicit in the same kind of mindset Kanghan displays - come on, how many of us were convinced Saifah was sketchy from the beginning, when he was taking rice from his private patients to feed his little brother? How many of us took one look at Name and knew he was Bad Fucking News, full stop, and not worth the time Saifah so obviously wanted to spend on him, before meeting the Bigger Bad behind him, the one who keeps him on a leash? - and then deconstructed those attitudes, spinning out sympathetic characterizations from questionable first impressions. The very same episode in which Kanghan spouts this awful stuff about "poor people" and how they'll do anything for money also shows explicitly ... well, first of all, it shows that Sailom won't do just anything for money - he'll escort, providing services for payment, but he won't steal. But more thematically, the episode emphasizes the near-inextricable web that people with limited access to resources - including, yes, money - find themselves tangled in when they're pushed into survival work, be that stealing, sex work or violence, as we see with Saifah, Sailom and Name.

Stealing is survival work. Escorting is survival work. Violence is survival work. It's also all dangerous, and it's all illegal. None of it is something that most people would do by choice if they had other options. In some cases, it's really damn hard to walk away from, and not because you're enjoying it, but because it might get you killed. DR shows-not-tells us all of this. It shows us that it's real easy to say poor people will do anything for money, but money actually translates into food and clothes, a roof over your head, survival. (There's a reason we're introduced to the scene of Sailom escorting again with a plate full of food being set down in front of him - it's a callback to the spread of food Kanghan orders when he's playing sugar daddy in Korat. Now, we're smacked in the face with the reality of needing a sugar daddy.) Poor people will prey on each other to survive, as Name does to Saifah and Sailom. They'll also help each other, like Saifah does with Name. Meanwhile, Kanghan, who's never been food-insecure a day in his life, sneers about what other people have to do to survive and makes himself out to be the victim, and we as the audience are repelled. That's on purpose. That's the show's commentary on socioeconomic issues.

Do I like that it happened in the same episode that Sailom The Magic Poor solved the rift between Poor Little Rich Boy and his Rich Dad? No. But I'm also not going to let perfect be the enemy of the good. And here's the thing about Kanghan and his ugly comment: That deconstruction that the show does on a meta-level of audience attitudes about Saifah and Name? That's an assurance that Kanghan, himself, can deconstruct his attitudes and prejudices about "the poor."

Meanwhile, this attitude of Kanghan's - They want Our money - this ties into his deepest fears and insecurities. Would you like me if I had no money, he asks Sailom (and meanwhile he knows that he has no money, he has his dad's money), despite the fact that Sailom has been telling him since he punched Kanghan in the face with a fistful of Kang's cash that Sailom doesn't care about Kanghan's money and some things can't be bought. It also means that Sailom knows immediately the worst way to hurt Kanghan - the way he's been hurt when the boy who Sailom has given everything to, the one who was supposed to protect him, the one who just promised he'd be with Sailom through everything, instead turns on a dime and throws him out like garbage. Sailom is smart and he knows just where to hit, he knows what it's going to do when he tells Kanghan he's only ever been interested in his money - it's not the least bit true, and it's still the most painful thing he could ever say.

#sailom homchan #kanghan krittin #saifah homchan #name thanadol #dangerous romance

[roseofcards90]

please tell me your mappi headcanons <3 and hmhmm... have u thought much about amane or 0608 interactions? :3c

Oooh!!! I HAVE ACTUALLY OMG I feel like people should focus more on their relationship, it’s so sweet!!! ��� here are some of them!!!

Mappi headcanons:

- This one isn’t originally mine but yeah I believe in Filipino Mahiru supremacy HONORARY PINOY FR

- To me she seems like the kind of person who would have little habits/ticks she likes to do like twirling her pencil around, bouncing her leg while she’s sitting, skipping around in place those sort of things!!!

- She also likes to gesticulate with her hands a lot so she can get her point across, and it helps her keep track of her thoughts too when she’s speaking to someone

- Her, Kazui, and Mikoto like to hang out occasionally! I feel like they would volunteer together at an animal shelter to help out! :D

- She would show up to Haruka, Yuno, and Mu’s high school graduation and make a whole banner for them! She would make the biggest deal out of it because she’s just so proud of them you know 🥺

- Loves to bake, is really good at it actually (she would definitely do those pie competitions some people have you know whoever makes the best pie gets a ribbon yeah that, she has so many ribbons :3) , but struggles sometimes with cooking, Shidou helps teach her some skills and come up with easier recipes for her to make!

- I also think she would totally stress bake just so she could vent out all her emotions djfjfkfk which results in a lot of cookies and cakes being made. She gives all the extra ones to Amane!

- This is the dumbest one but I headcanon that she’s just extremely good at DDR, SO MUCH SO that one time she was at the arcade with Kotoko, she attracted so much of a crowd with how high her score was while everyone else cheered her on. It was at that moment that Futa Kajiyama, who was also at the arcade at the time, swears to beat her at this game one day LMAO

- Is the sole focus of the majority of the pictures on Kotoko’s camera, has a polaroid picture of them together in her phone case, also they have matching charms on both of their school bags—

Amane headcanons:

- She would definitely do color guard in school! It’s one of her main passions, along with band! I want Amane Momose to play a trumpet I think it would be amazing

- Kazui, Shidou, Futa, Mahiru, and Kotoko are at her games often, they all cheer her on ofc <3

- Shidou always loves to celebrate after her games with giving her pancakes! Ofc she denies them and lets the others eat them, but she’ll save one pancake for herself just to show her appreciation (cue Shidou crying in the corner while Kazui tries to comfort him LMAO)

- I feel like she would be an avid collector of pokemon cards, or just like any trading card game for that matter. Futa always takes her to card game stores so she can pick out the newest packs and they can build decks together. Sometimes Mikoto joins in but he has no idea what he’s doing jhdfbhjd

THIS IS HOW I IMAGINE AMANE AND MIKOTO PLAYING CARD GAMES TOGETHER LMAO

- In the beginning, she wasn’t that good and Futa would always beat her, but now they're evenly matched, and she always revels in the victory whenever she wins in a game against Futa >:3

- Yuno would help with picking out new outfits for her! I feel like they would frequent the mall often lol. Haruka also joins them on occasion, and him and Amane love to look at all the stuffed animal and book stores together!

- Her, Haruka, and Mu would probably take an art class over the summer together and all of them would be so invested in it that it becomes a hobby!

- Once Amane gets to high school, I think it would be cute if Mu gave her a hand me down uniform with custom stitching and everything. The uniform has embroidery all around it where everyone contributed to something on the uniform

- Kotoko takes her to martial arts training classes, which she enjoys a lot. She tries out the new kicks she's learned on Futa and Shidou <3

- Kazui always gives her piggy back rides 🥺

- Amane has a pet cat named Sango, whom she loves very much 🥺 she is very sweet and spoiled, and loves cuddling with her. It helps Amane when she has trouble sleeping, or if she has a nightmare

0608 interactions!!!

- I said before how Mappi would give Amane all the extra sweets she's made, but I also think that Amane herself would try to learn how to bake, so Mappi offers to be her taste tester! Sometimes she creates inedible things and Mappi suffers but it's with a smile as Amane smiles back at her and continues on baking! :D (she'll tell her what she did wrong later dfkjnfd)

- Amane always loves to help out with cooking dinners! She would help Mahiru peel and cut all the vegetables! They would also frequent the food market together I feel like, and Mahiru allows Amane to pick out a few sweet treats like candy that she can take home

- Mahiru buys a little cat charm for Amane's bookbag! She also helps cat sit Sango whenever Amane is busy

- Around the holidays, her and Amane would go to all the festivities around town! Looking at the Christmas lights, drinking hot chocolate, all of that! Amane would start snowball fights with Mappi, and they both get competitive really quick lol (spoiler: Amane always wins <3)

#also sorry if these are boring I’m not the most creative person rip 😭 but thank you for asking!!! #I should really put these in my university au thingy I have floating around in my head #eh I’ll main tag this why not rjfjfjfj #0610 #<- only so moot of mine can filter it #asks #Creature

[r0semar1esp1ce]

Yandere Collector x GN Human Reader

(I couldn't resist writing some yandere headcannons for this character ! Along with a small scenario of course !)

⚠️Warning for obsessive behavior , depicitons of violence and emotional manipulation . Also slight spoiler warning for the gifs .⚠️

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

• This child-like deity gets attached way too easily . After being alone for so , so many years it's only natural for them to cling to the first person they see . So , as soon as they saw a lost little human wandering around desperately , they couldn't help but snatch them up as a new playmate .

• Of course , the Collector wastes no time and immidiately starts making his new "playmate" play various games with them . Well ... despite the Collector constantly calling their human a "playmate" , they are more of a toy that's constanly being dragged around .

• Whenever they play with you , they like to pick you up and swirl you around with ease . They also like to throw you in the air and wait for you to fall so they can catch you . It's a sort of subtle way for them to show how much more powerfull they are compered to their defenseless human playmate .

• For an entity with an unimaginable amount of power , capable of causing destrauction at will the Collector can't really tell the difference between a game of tag and a genuine escape attempt . After all , what would be the point of you trying to escape when they are infinetely more powerfull than you ? They could track them down in a heartbeat .

• However when they do figure out their "friend" is trying to escape , the Collector becomes very unstable , especially when they suspect that their "playmate" is trying to leave them . The can't handle the though of being betrayed once more , and that often causes them to get very violent and throw tantrums .

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

Scenario time :

You ran through the mysterious mirror realm you were in , desperately trying to find an exit . "Get back here ! You promised you would play with me ! " The voice behind them sounded infuriated and betrayed . A small part of you couldn't help but feel sad and a little bit guilty for leaving them like that .

But you had no other choice ...

Suddenly , as you desperately ran a pair of arms wrap around your waist and pull you up in the air . As you felt yourself being lifted into the air , you couldn't help but let out a shriek of terror . Something that caused the Collector to chuckle in delight . "Got'chu friend ! Heh , I thought I had told you to stay behind and wait for me , silly !" He said , his voice already back to it's cheerfull and childish tone . "I sure hope you weren't trying to do something bad , like leaving ~" His voice momentarily dropped to a menacing growl .

"You aren't going to betray me like my other ... playmate , right little human ? Because if you betray me , I might just have to ... make you disappear ~" The sudden cheerfulness in their words caused you to shiver . Nonetheless , you shook your head and tried to say something but nothing came out of your mouth . "It's alright , little human ! I will give you one more chance to behave yourself ! How does that sound ?" He smiled , causing you to shiver once more before nodding slightly .

"Good , now let's go back ! "

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

#yandere #yandere x reader #fanfic #yandere the owl house #yandere toh #yandere collector #yandere owl house collector

[le-trash-prince]

Ray fans look away because I’ve got to vent a little.

One thing that particularly rubbed me the wrong way in regards to Ray using Sand as a surrogate caretaker was the comment about the nurse because it shows that Ray is not as helpless as he makes himself seem—he just wants to be spoiled.

And this is coming from personal bitter experience of having wealthy friends use me for both physical and emotional labor :| I had a friend tell me that she didn’t need to bother getting therapy because I could just repeat everything my own therapist was saying (even though she would then argue with every statement because she didn’t actually want to get better lmfao). I had a friend whose parents were Multiple Houses Rich tell me that therapy was “too expensive” as an excuse for constantly trauma dumping on friends—and then later that year drop 25k in cash on a car lmfao AHDJFJD JUST TO PUT IN PERSPECTIVE THE PERSONAL SALT I HAVE. I hate seeing rich ppl take advantage of someone less wealthy just so they can get something for free.

Because Ray has the audacity here to act like he’s helpless and uncared for, even though he has the money to meet his own damn needs! And Sand is rightfully commenting on it, just as he did earlier when he told Ray to save his money for a shrink.

Because yes, therapy is expensive. Rehab is expensive. Not everyone has access to those things, but Ray does! But instead he demands that Sand be the one to put in the work to make Ray feel better about himself.

Things like that can make a person feel really devalued. You feel obligated to help a friend because you want them to feel cared for, but when they manufacture these situations in order to demand labor from you, it makes you feel like they don’t care about the reason you’re doing this. No matter how much you bend over backwards to make sure that they’re okay, that they’re healthy—they don’t respect that effort by trying to take care of themselves. All they care about is getting attention.

And when it comes from a rich person, it’s like, what the fuck man? Why do you feel so entitled? You think your life is so stressful? You’re going to say that your life is stressful when Sand is working multiple hustles in order to pay off his family debts and get through school? Sand needs a roommate in order to be able to afford his apartment, meanwhile Ray is benefitting off of his dad’s second home. Ray can afford to have a nurse take care of him, but instead he asks Sand to take time away from making money that he needs.

Ray has never had to deal with the stress of paying for rent or food or dealing with debt collectors banging on his door. The only stress in his life is that people want him to care about himself! It really bugs me when rich ppl act like their needs are the only ones that matter 😠

The only thing standing between Ray and sobriety is Ray himself. And I’m not saying this to devalue how difficult it is to climb out of that pit, because I have fought depression myself for many years. But the barrier for a poor addict to reach sobriety is so much higher and the judgment they face for not being able to afford help is so much worse.

And I can’t believe Ray had the audacity to complain about his dad wanting him to get rehab. Like, this kid would prob be set up in the nicest rehab center in the country, going on nature walks and doing pottery, but he acts like it’s a sign that his dad doesn’t give a shit.

I’m not going to pretend like his dad is a great parent, but I’ll be honest—I’ve seen worse from people with alcoholic kids. I’ve seen people refuse to visit their kids in the ER when they’re at deaths door because it would be too much of a blemish on their reputation to acknowledge they’ve got an alcoholic kid—so I was honestly surprised Ray’s dad even showed up. The way his dad acted wasn’t great, but wanting his kid to get better is above the bare minimum of wanting his kid to disappear. 🤷‍♂️

I’ll also say this, but people who love Ray wanting to see him love himself is not a bad thing. No, it’s not easy to love yourself, it takes a lot of fucking work, but that doesn’t mean you should just avoid the work and push it off onto other people. He has people in his life who see enough value in him that they want him to feel the same way. And this episode has shown that no matter how much work someone else puts into loving and supporting a broken person, it will never make a difference until that person learns to love themselves.

Anyways I’m glad that the Poor Boy shirt returned to Sand this episode because I am done with feeling sorry for the rich boy. I don’t think this show is brushing over the class difference between Ray and Sand—it’s just Ray and Sand who have been trying to ignore it.

#only friends the series #only friends #only friends spoilers #em post

[bubblekidaesthetics]

Baby gays be gayin 💚💫💖

When we first got introduced to Valentine in the Monster High universe he was just another villain. His whole spill was kinda cool tho.

Collecting the hearts of girls in love as trophies, thus making it impossible for them to ever love anyone again??? I was immediately hooked. And it was a Draculaura-centric movie too, so there was a bonus.

However it wasn't till many years later that I discovered Valentine's diary and boy did it deliver.

If that sounds kinda like the gay archetype, well, put on ur listening ears for a sec, 'cause we've got a story for you. Apparently, according to the creator of Monster High, his diary was supposed to have him come out as gay. It was a collector's item anyway. Kids wouldn't have had a chance to buy it as it was a convention-exclusive doll, but Mattel said and I quote "It is not the right time"

An extract from the original post of the creator which just goes to show how little influence they truly have over their own creations.

Well, the gay route was a no-go, so instead they had to be sneaky about it. If you read the diary, the core, the framework of the original idea is still there. Evident especially in the May 3rd entry:

"I now know that what I did - stealing love - was because I thought that's what emotional vampires were supposed to do. But it never felt quite right. I thought if I kept doing it, it would eventually feel right. Then when Draculaura called me - well, Toralei really - I thought that if I could get the heart that got away, it would change me, and everything would be fine. But I was just a real pain in the fang to everyone and made a fool of myself. So I've come to the conclusion being myself has to be easier than not being myself, right? Back then, I hated the thought of who I really was, and that conflict made me become someone who wasn't me. It's time to be true to myself, but it's scary."

Like come on!!!! How can it get queerer than that?!? He is one foot away from coming out of his coffin with glitter make up and rainbow hair!

But then the diary had to go the sneaky route. They knew they couldn't make him gay... At least directly. They had to be increeibly sneaky about that. Just then Spelldon Cauldronello steps onto the scene.

Written into the diary as a blink you'll miss it moment, Spelldon is Casta Fierce's younger brother. Up to that point there was no mention of the character in Monster High cannon. but his interaction with Valentine, well... It was short for one. But a lot was packed into that very short meeting. Keiran Valentine upon first meeting him spaces out, after which they spend some time together gettin to know each other better, ultimately ending with Valentine asking Spelldon for his number.

You'd think there'd be more, yet sadly that is where Spelldon's part in Valentines story arch stops. There was clear intent there to create a more inclusive Monster High, for which I am grateful. Despite not giving us a look at Spelldon's design, the fandom took it upon themselves to create designs and fanart, thus keeping his character alive.

The design I used in this piece actually belongs to my incredibly talented friend @i-have-serious-brainfreeze . He created this design of the nerdy Spelldon on a whim, and since then I have been utterly obsessed with it. So much so that I choose to create a fanart piece of the two bby gays.

As of now, Gen 3 made no current mention of either Valentine or Spelldon, so it's safe to say their story has been shelved for the time being. However, things are moving on the Monster High representation front. Twyla has been cannonicaly made autistic, Frankie nonbinary, and Clankie steered slowly towards a canonical romantic relationship.

If there ever is a better time to bring back Keiran Valentine, it certainly is now.

I'll be here waitin Mattel. I'll be here💖

#nostalgia #drawing practice #monster high #monster high drawing #monster high fanart #monster high icons #Fanart is better when gay #gay art #gay babies #monster high art #baby gay #digital art #monster high dolls #doll art #i can't believe i did this #Mini essay time #I apologise I only write mini essays but when I get over- excited about something this is what I end up with🤣 #Keiran valentine #monster high valentine #valentine x spelldon #spelldon cauldronello #Man the gay force is strong with this one

[ichigostellaglynn]

Hi everyone, sorry this post isn’t about ikevil or jude but I just want to say something.

Is any jude fans got anonymous ask that contained hate speech like me and @/judejazza ?

If yes, pls don’t let them affected you ! you're a wonderful fan no matter if you are F2P or P2P. you have different way to love and support jude and I believe you all don’t deserve that kind of treatment and harsh words.

Pls don’t mind that hate speech that contained body-shaming or something that said you all don’t deserve jude. That will be them who don’t deserve jude love, cybird will have shame to have them as fan actually lol.

So pls don’t depress just bc shitty random people that envy of you who can voice your adoration to jude ! They just low life and I bet jude will hate that kind of person who step on other. I believe yall deserve jude’s love more than her, bc she’s just waste in this world. A person who allergic to kindness and never cant appreciate people.

I pity you for not having a good lives like the rest of us, my condolence that you must live with all hatred and negative emotion inside of you. Actually I don’t mind getting your hate speech, bc I actually enjoyed whenever I see people struggle bc they jealous to me. My life is too blessed to mind your hate speech.

I don’t want to make enemies but I welcome you as my hater bc well... i’m quite interested in you tbh lol.

Also I would love to able to talk and be friends with all amazing cybird fan. So allow me to do simple introduction.

Hello, my name is Livi (23yo). I have pink haired Oc named Ichigo イチゴ (you can see her only in IG). I played all ikeseries game and Themis. I speak English and Japanese, I worked in japan division so my specialty is Japanese business language, I’m not familiar enough with Jude kansai dialect. But now I’m learning it bc I have clients from kansai. So yeah, I can understand Kantou/Tokyo Dialect well, but still learning for Kansai dialect.

My num 1 fav is Arthur from ikemen vampire, ive been his fan for almost 4 years (july 2020). I started loving Jude as my second April 2023. I’m a sharing person or 同担歓迎, so I definitely don’t mind if you love Arthur and Jude ! in fact, I love that we have same fav charas !

I’m a yumejoshi 夢女子, means I have an OC as myself to interact with charas I love. I’m also a merch collector, I collect both Arthur and Jude merchs. I’m P2P in ikevil and pls don’t ask how much I have spent for that damn new game :’). As a yumejoshi, I also have many commissions from amazing artist to draw my Oc with Jude and Arthur.

Feel free to be friends in game or follow each other in various social media !

I hope ikevil can gain more fans after ENG released.

And nice to meet you guys !

Lets support CYBIRD together from now on !

Best regards,

Livi

Ig : Arthur_Shrine22 and Jazzjude_13

#ikemen villain jude #イケメンヴィラン ジュード #ikevil #ikevil jude #jude jazza #イケメンヴィラン #イケヴィラ

[robinreflects]

Hi, I want to ask you what are your thoughts on the "mentor/mother figure" tropes that surround Eda and how the show handled them, because to me it fell flat. Sure, Eda does count as a mother figure to Luz and King, and my disinterest in this found family, could be writen off as just that - me being disinterested in them.

I have a small gripe with how the show calls the tropes Eda has in the story itself by the characters naming them, that I get the feeling the writers are telling me how to view Eda and to love her character.

And this more fandom related, but am I the only one who doesn't get the whole "Eda is a Mama Bird" thing? Because outside of Luz and King, the only child she has this mentor/parental dynamic with would be Edred.

She doesn't have many moments with Willow and Gus, even back in season 1. I would say, Willow and Gus have more of that "parent/child" dynamic with Camila.

Eda and Amity do go on a dventure together for the Titans Blood, but nothing about their dynamic screamed "parent & child". The same goes for Hunter, but I will acknowledge that their lack of interactions is because of the cut on season 3.

I know my criticism mostly stems from me not clicking with Eda's character like many fans of the show do, so my view on Eda will differ from theirs.

First off, I totally get not clicking with Eda as a character, even if I liked her. I also know most of my liking of the character actually comes from Wendie Malick's performance, I think she did a splendid job, especially in the more emotional scenes (like the fight scenes in s1 with Lilith). I also knew her as Beatrice Horseman before I watched The Owl House, so seeing her play a good mother figure was very engaging to me. 

THAT BEING SAID, the moment when Luz and Eda’s relationship didn't feel as special to me was when the show was trying to portray Eda in a motherly way with any other kid. I don’t mean just the main team, I mean, if there was a child character, they’d find a way for Eda to mother them. I think this started in season 2 when the show already had a decent-sized fanbase and was making their own interpretations and headcanons for Eda. Mainly the one you mentioned, her being a “mama bird”. Multiple (even background) characters call her “Mama Eda”, which seemed like excessive fan service. Many things like that were done in excess or amped up because the show's fans were responding to it well and a lot of those amped-up/excessive moments felt out of character for Eda. She didn’t even want to take care of Luz in the beginning, that alone would be enough for me to believe she wouldn’t be willing to adopt everything that lives and breathes. 

Willow and Gus definitely have more of a "parent-child" dynamic with Camila, which I think was very nicely done, same with Hunter. I see him having more of a "mother-son" dynamic with Camilla than Eda. The season 3 being cut short is an argument I see a lot, however, if they managed to create this dynamic between Willow/Gus/Hunter and Camilla within the first episode of season 3, I don't see how them not doing that with Eda can be attributed to the shortening, precisely because they had either 2 or 1 season (Hunter I believe met Eda in season 2) to write this dynamic, unlike with Camilla who only became an interactable character with the main cast in season 3, while Eda was there from the beginning.

The "self-aware", breaking the fourth wall-esque humor you mentioned, is one of my biggest pet peeves with the show. Pointing out tropes in the most fandom way imaginable will never fail to make me cringe. Show, don't tell is one of the most basic, easiest ways to make a story interesting, and somehow, for the sake of "incorrect quotes" type of humor, they keep failing at it. A few quotes that instantly come to mind are the "cool aunt vibe" from Collector and "What are those stupid kids doing? Wait, those are MY stupid kids" said Eda herself. Most of the characters are written very quirky, almost falling into the MPDG territory. Often reducing them to one character trait for the sake of, as I said before cheap jokes.

I also have an issue with Luz and Eda’s narratives, in that the writers can’t seem to decide if Eda is the character Luz relates to or Camila is. Camila’s speech about understanding Luz in season 3 felt very haphazard because we’ve spent 2 seasons of Eda and Luz’s narratives paralleling each other in the points Camilla is bringing up. Being unaccepted, feeling isolated, having no one understand them, being seen as dangerous at times, messing up all the time, and not liking conventionality. These points are a big part of Luz and Eda’s characters and are parallels to each other. Camila’s speech would’ve been so impactful, if it was Eda instead, not only because of the fact their stories parallel each other (and this scene was exactly what their storyline was going towards) but also because of the fact that we know Luz looks up to Eda, seeing her as weirdly perfect, exonerating her at times even. Luz, not seeing Eda for who she really is, realizes they are much more alike after the speech, and that Eda understands her.

Thank you so much for the ask! I love talking about this! So if you want to hear my thoughts on anything else, just shoot me an ask! <3 I also just woke up so this might be a little over the place and I apologize for that.

#i also dont know how to tag so if I cross tag I'm so sorry #please let me know #toh critical #toh criticism #robin reflects asks #robin reflects on toh #the owl house criticism #eda clawthorne #luz noceda