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wolfvmin · 2 years

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does it hurt?

title: does it hurt? pairing: pierced!jungkook x injured!reader genre: just fluff, a little angst, high school, wc: 1,627 warnings: awkward hugging, oc is awkward, jungkook is kinda weird, one mention of cancer, unedited again (come on i don't even edit my essays) note: adapted from this manhwa bc i can't stop seeing jungkook as the main lead. also i miss jungkook's piercings so here we go.

summary: in which you ask the infamous jeon jungkook if his piercings hurt when you accidentally touched them.

While everyone saw Jeon Jungkook as a social reject and a good-for-nothing student, you saw him as a mystery.

He was hanging around with the wrong crowd, they were known for getting wasted and high at the back of the school. He had multiple piercings in his ear, a steel rod on his brow, and a lip ring on his ridiculously plush red lips for someone who smoked a lot. Everybody knows he was dangerously beautiful. But it was the rumors that kept him meters away from everyone.

Although in the same year, you never crossed paths with Jungkook. You were too busy perfecting your records, making sure that you get to go to college on an athletic scholarship.

That was until junior year.

You have been stuck in a cast for a week now, having to use crutches as you walk. There has been an accident that included falling and breaking your leg that left you in this situation. You were scared and angry that it would affect your life plans but what can you do? Nothing. It’s better not to be focused on your emotions and just carry on.

That would be easy to do if it weren’t such a pain having to fucking walk home from the hospital.

Sighing, you decide to take a breather and sit down on one of the benches in the garden.

You plop down your body on the wooden bench with a groan and gather your crutches together on your side, making them lean on the bench. Thankfully, the weather was nice. It was cloudy and the wind was cool. The blazer of your school uniform wasn’t too hot to be in like some days. Still, maybe you should’ve brought spare clothes for the check-up.

There weren’t many patients or visitors hanging around either. Needless to say, it was a good idea to sit down before having to walk around with barely working legs.

You rest your back, tilting your head upwards to the sky with your eyes closed. You take a deep breath, taking in the fresh air provided by the nature around you.

Ah. This is so—

“You go to Hybe High?”

Your eyes snap open when something blocks the sunlight seeping through your eyelids. The action reveals an upside-down face just a few inches away from yours, making your eyes widen in shock. Still, you were unable to move away, suddenly scared and reminded of the rumors about the boy in front of you.

The face was too familiar for you not to know who he is. Jeon Jungkook, you weren’t in the same classes with him but he was currently in the same year with you as he was held back once.

From afar, his face and ears were covered with multiple piercings, making him look intimidating and tough. And he was exactly that. You heard of him hanging out with the boys who wanted nothing to do with learning. They would skip classes and hang around smoking at the back of buildings and if not, they’d jump over walls to get out of the campus and spend time somewhere more fun.

They exude fear and respect from everyone they walk past. But behind them, people were laughing, saying they were too troubled and stupid for high school. In short, they don’t really have the best reputation on campus.

But looking at him closely as his face is over yours, you realize how pretty and big his eyes are. Beneath all the steel adorning his face, he was actually adorable. In fact, if he didn’t have all that piercing, he would probably be famous for being a pretty boy.

There was still something so attractive with the way the piercings complemented his face. He still looked pretty, but way cooler.

At that moment, you realized how beautiful Jeon Jungkook is.

“Hey!” He scolds.

You snap back to reality when he snaps his fingers in front of your face. Embarrassed for zoning out while staring at his face, you scoot away from him in a swift motion.

You land on the other side of the bench, cheeks blushing and eyes avoiding his gaze as you sit down with your back as straight as your hands on your lap.

“I am. From Hybe.” You answer finally.

“Hm.” That’s all he reacts.

When you gain the courage to look at him again, he was still behind the bench with his hands inside his pockets. He stands leaning on one foot, giving you a sly smirk as he back stares at you.

How is he so attractive?

You watch as he walks over and sits beside you. Since your crutches were at the other edge of the bench, the only space was the middle part where you previously sat. He sits there with a sigh and then turns to look at you. “You’re that Taekwondo girl that fell from the second floor, right?” He asks.

You don’t answer the question, thinking it was pretty obvious anyway. Plus, you don’t know why but you feel nervous around this boy.

“Hm. I get it. You don’t want to talk about it.” He sighs again and rubs his thighs with his palms.

You just stare at him again. He has sighed two times now and he looks a bit anxious but is trying to hide it. What was he doing here anyway?

“You can ask.” He suddenly speaks. In contrast to his smirk earlier, he gives you well-meaning smile. He crosses his arms on his chest.

“What?” You ask, confused about what he was going for.

“You can ask why I’m here.” He repeats with an explanation this time.

“Okay, why are you here?” You hesitate, wondering if you really can even if he has given you permission. You didn’t really want to pry especially since this is the first time you’ve talked to him. But you do so anyway.

“My grandma. She’s being confined here. They suspect it’s cancer.” He says like it’s no big deal.

You take a moment before you react. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

He takes a deep breath and releases with a loud “Aaah. Don’t be.”

There was silence in the air for a few minutes. You don’t dare to speak because you don’t even know how to comfort him or if you even have to. Does he want that?

You were still thinking about your next move when a head plops on your shoulder. All the goosebumps rise from your body as you can hear Jungkook’s breathing in close proximity.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles. “Can I hug you? You can say no.”

There was vulnerability with him that you hadn’t heard of before and you ask yourself why you have to be the one here to witness it. As you look at him closely, you see how his forehead was crunched even with his eyes closed. He looked tired and distressed. With that, you had already made up your mind.

Besides, you kind of need a hug too.

“Yeah.” You respond.

As soon as you say it, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, the same hand from that arm reaching and resting your other shoulder. His face was now beside your head and you can hear his breathing by your ear. His other arm was just limply laying on his side.

It wasn’t really the hug you expected, but you guess that as long as it works for him it’s fine. It wasn’t uncomfortable to you anyway.

“Thank you.” He mumbles again.

“Am I doing a good job at comforting you?” You tease. You can’t believe yourself. Are you really joking around with The Jeon Jungkook?

He chuckles and you can feel it on your neck. “You could do a little bit better.” He teases back.

His other hand reaches for yours which was still on your lap. His hand stops mid-air, not really touching your hand. “May I?”

You weren’t really sure what he was asking for but you nod anyway.

He grapes your right hand in his and brings it over to the side of his face. “This would be better.” He whispers in a low voice and makes your hand caress his face.

You let it happen.

He was a stranger just fifteen minutes ago–just a man from the whispers you’ve heard in the classroom halls. Now, he has his arm wrapped around you in a side hug as you caress his hair and face with your hand in an attempt to comfort him.

When your fingers brush over a slight cold apparatus on his ear, you flinch.

“Oh, sorry. Was that your piercing? Does it hurt?” You ask, now looking at his face again.

His hand flies to your hand again, holding it in place. His thumb caresses your palm.

“It’s fine.” He assures you.

He lets go of your hand and leaves it hanging by his face. Then, he turns his face and shows you his ear. After that, he begins playing with the silver earring on the upper part of his ear. If you weren’t wrong, it’s called the helix or orbital, whichever is lower.

He pushes the earring from behind with his thumb and presses it back with his forefinger, you could see the tiny rod from this action. You smile, finding it cute as he shows it to you enthusiastically.

“See? It doesn’t hurt at all.”

He gets your hand again and places it back on him.

“So you can keep on going. It feels nice.” And so you did.

The two of you sat there quietly, letting the newfound warmth speak for itself.

And that was your first encounter with Jeon Jungkook, someone who would then become an equation in your life that you can’t just solve.

#jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfiction #bts drabble #bts fluff #jungkook x y/n #jungkook high school

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evren-sadwrn · 5 months

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i wanted to rant to you about smthhhh

so basically we know that john wicks wife was called helen right? and so basically i found the name kinda odd for some reason because they could've named her anything else with a more prominent meaning or a more obvious meaning so smth like 'faith' hope' or 'angelica or whatever that name is'

but they chose helen. then just from a google search we see that the name means light. but also in the iliad helen is known as 'the face who launched 1000 ships' when she was stolen from her husband causing the deaths of meany soldiers and men.

and i find that really interesting because after helen died it does seems like jw was lost and stuff because his light basically went out. then if we look at the '1000 ships bit' he goes back into a huge war which is what i guess you can call him fighting a shit ton of people and stuff

idk i just found it really interesting that the name that they gave his wife was the name of what was known as 'the most beautiful woman in the world' and 'the face who launched 1000 ships' because she is kinda the reason jw goes back out into 'war' and ive already said this-

good byeeeee :))))

helen wick!!

I know for a FACT that the director(Chad Stahelski) and the writers themselves chose the name “helen” on purpose because of the many references to greek mythology within the first movie(for example: casted alfie allen as iosef who was in game of thrones i think?)

and the fact that helen in the illiad was stolen away and then in turn caused her husband to quite literally commit mass murder just ties in to the fact that helen in john wick is quite literally based right off her(helen illiad)

there’s even references to the fact that helen was john’s hope to keep moving forward which is why(as i mentioned in a prior character study) john wick dies in sunlight which is how helen is symbolized

now that you’ve brung up that helen means light she definitely was john’s light and continues to be his life even past death. the fact that every single flashback to her has her surrounded in light only adds to the fact that she is and was always john’s hope. just like in the illiad, HELEN WICK is the one that sends john into “war”. helen in the illiad was “stolen away” and helen IS just like that however instead of being taken, it’s being taken via an unexplained illness that has been implied to have been looming over her for a very long time by now. and because of her death, she sends in daisy to comfort john(who then dies bc of iosef) and daisy being taken away through dying is helen dying a second time to john— hence the next events about to unfold. and back in the entire john wick movie series, he’s always plunged in darkness. john is basically drowning in shadows and the night over and over again BUT helen isnt. she’s coded in golden yellow and yellow is the opposite of blue which is what john’s coded color is

helen is indeed based of helen in the illiad, because time and time again, john has proven that he will do anything for her and the events of john wick 4 have him dying in front of a church in paris in the sunrise.

to me, that last part feels like a symbol of helen— like she’s waiting for him on the other side.

helen is john’s light, and he is lost. she was the reason that he made it out of the criminal underworld through an impossible task given to him by viggo.

#helen wick #john wick

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 1 year

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Follow-up with writer Vanessa Grigoriadis who investigated Meghan Markle and her family in 2018 and published: Meghan Markle’s Family Breakdown: The Untold Story

It's 2023 and Vanessa is revisiting those twenty (20) conversations she had with individuals and groups from Meghan's past. Although she could not have predicted the current events, she says that she knew "this is going to go someplace real strange.” Vanessa believes the 5 (five) Friends People Magazine Article was a public rebuttal to her Vanity Fair Article. "Meghan obviously authorized her friends to speak on her behalf."

Criticism for her Article: Several media outlets refused to print Vanessa's story, but she said "you just wait and see." Vanessa knew that Meghan Markle was a "grasping, striving woman" who had connected herself to a group of people in Toronto who had everything but (still) wanted everything.

There was no outpouring of vitriol from the media towards Meghan Markle, but there was a genuine curiosity. The media was curious about her as an unknown actress involved with Soho House and an actress who might eventually become Harry's wife. She should have been content that people liked her but it wasn't enough. Her singular vision is to be "sainted." She wants the world to see her as an "oprah."

What we now know about her: She has a strange relationship to objective reality. She has a warped reality and she marshals evidence underneath it to support (lies) a thesis that may not be the case. She very much thinks that everyone is too dumb to figure out what she's doing. She tells a lie, then uses image management "PR crisis calm" in an attempt to dupe the public.

From the Suits Cast: MM did not relate well with them. "She's just not somebody you can be friends with...she'll be very nice but you never actually get to know this person. You can't touch her. Someone you can hike with but you can’t get through her glass wall. A large number of people on the set did not jive with MM."

From an anonymous writer (my guess is the CUT) who spent a full day interviewing Meghan Markle in California: MM is a person who does not know how to relate to human beings. She’s not on the level. She is not real.

The Wedding and Family Drama: She could have just invited her own family to be wedding guests but instead she chose to create her own CAST to show that she had people there for her. MM didn’t invite her family bc she couldn’t control what might come out of their mouths. If only she had invited both parents to the UK to meet the royals while she was dating Harry. Unfortunately, a female journalist moved to Mexico and intentionally befriended Thomas Markle. She took advantage of him.

Meghan wanted the world to see her as an "independent woman" but that was not true. There is something a little off with the entire family. Her family is a typical Hollywood weirdo family. She had an imperfect childhood where her dad did what he could but he had to work, and a mom who was chill but not around. Her parents were actually content with their "class," but MM was the strident one. From a young age, her ambition was to be in a higher class.

Middle class but Meghan grew up wanting to be in a different class. (like Jussie Smollett)You wish people could see but there is more evidence against what you think you see

Like Smollett---who was looking to be a national symbol. Moral authority True victims just want justice Jussie wanted to be a martyrThe poster boy for activism, hero for gay people, hero for black people---jussie smollett

Meghan and Harry pretend to hate the press but they are hypocrites who desire to promote their warped vision of reality free from criticism. She sends Harry to the EVIL media to push their victimhood by repeatedly mentioning Diana to make them “untouchable and unmentionable.” All their manipulation is justified because they are the victims fighting the monster. An imaginary monster for MM but in Harry’s mind it is real. It is clearly a lie for MM because she did everything possible to get attention from the press including drinks with Piers Morgan. She was desperate for the press to be interested in her.

The Future: She's playing at membership in the circle of the rich and famous (oprah, bezos) for whom reality doesn't matter and no one would ever say anything negative towards you. Her entire life is a scene where no one is telling you the truth.

Justine Harman (a magazine editor) met Meghan at a women's magazine meet and greet (for b level actresses). During their chat, Justine mentioned to Meghan that she was planning her wedding and Meghan offered to address the wedding invitations. The next time she saw Meghan the first thing she asked was "why didn't you call me to do the calligraphy for your wedding?"

She is a love bomber and likes to give extravagant gifts, but unlike Kim Kardashian, no one would refer to Meghan Markle as an authentic, kind person. Meghan is lovely to meet in-person but she's not authentic. She's extremely canny. "In her heart of hearts, does she know exactly what she’s doing?" She is robotic and does a lot of pop psychology. On a podcast people want to hear from a human being and not an android. She sounds like a robot. There is a gratitude gene missing from her.

Meghan Markle’s Family Breakdown: The Untold Story | Vanity Fair

NO ROSE WITHOUT A THORN-Inside the Markle Family Breakdown

Meghan Markle, a.k.a. the Duchess of Sussex, has become the darling of the British press and a royal Cinderella story. But her American family presents a more complicated story. Vanessa Grigoriadis digs deep to uncover the untold truths that turned one of the year’s biggest stories into a fractured, Kardashianified royal fairy tale.

BY VANESSA GRIGORIADIS DECEMBER 19, 2018

Meghan Markle will never, in all likelihood, be Queen. But among the many benefits of marrying Prince Harry and becoming Duchess of Sussex is that she and Harry will have their own domain, a special relationship with the 53 Commonwealth countries, in many of which Meghan’s mixed-race American background will be an asset. On her intricately planned 16-day tour of a few of these formerly colonized territories in the South Pacific, her first trip as an H.R.H., she ruled with her characteristic, almost magical mix of micro-management and moments of authenticity, exhibiting the type of spontaneous human interaction with which the royals have long struggled. In Sydney, she fell to her knees to greet a wheelchair-bound 98-year-old war widow, and in New Zealand, she directed underlings to distribute petits fours to a passel of children in a town square. In Dubbo, New South Wales, she labored over a baked banana bread, then presented it to a family of fifth-generation farmers. “She said if you go to someone’s house, you always bring something, so she did,” said the farmer’s daughter, overwhelmed by the honor of eating princess bread. “She said she was worried about the bananas, that she’d put too many bananas in it,” except “the Duke said there’s never too many bananas.”

But when Meghan arrived at the University of the South Pacific, in Suva, Fiji, this perfection was pierced. She was on hand to deliver a speech about the importance of funding girls’ education, her clavicle swathed in a ceremonial necklace resembling a dozen calves’ feet sprouting orange and pink peonies, and she proceeded with humanizing detail and flawless diction: “As a university graduate, I know the personal feeling of pride and excitement that comes with attending university,” she explained, her raven tresses gently pulled back from her face. “It was through scholarships, financial-aid programs, and work-study where my earnings from a job on campus went directly towards my tuition that I was able to attend university,” she continued. “And, without question, it was worth every effort.”

Within a day, a dissenting voice piped up from a world away, part of what has become Meghan’s own personal chorus: her American family. Her half-sister, Samantha Markle, a 53-year-old blonde with M.S. who is confined to a wheelchair, began tapping out tweets, soon to be converted into headlines. Insisting “Dad paid for her college education,” Samantha added, “I love my sister but this is ridiculous.” She also called Meghan “delusionally absurd.”

And this week, the most important voice in the chorus, Meghan’s father, Thomas Markle, went on Piers Morgan’s British morning TV show to complain about his daughter’s “ghosting” of him, and to ask the queen herself to intervene in the family squabble.

Even if she’s not the monarchy’s most important princess—this honor goes to the assiduously pleasant Kate Middleton, one day to be queen consort—Meghan is the princess of the moment, as transformational in her way as Princess Di. She is the only female self-made millionaire in the royal family, her fortune coming from her work on Suits and on film; one of the oldest pregnant royals in a century (she’s 37); and the first bi-racial person in a family of people who used to powder their faces to make themselves whiter. As a royal, she’s not allowed to make political statements, but she’s an acknowledged feminist who advocates for gay rights, and for her first charitable endeavor, she collaborated with the mostly Muslim survivors of the Grenfell fire.

This soon-to-be mom to the first (known) bi-racial baby in the history of the monarchy represents the new and modern, all that America has given and will, if our politicians let us, continue to give to the world. She’s like the one percent Gal Gadot. Even her gaffes are merely evidence that she’s shaking up the royal family, which is dedicated to conservatism and self-perpetuation. When she refuses to wear nude-colored stockings to official events, as royals tend to, and goes bare-legged in the summer humidity, we cheer. When she closes her own car door, instead of waiting for a valet, it’s fraught with down-to-earth, woman-of-the-people symbolism. Her public performance has been near-flawless. She came from nowhere, and re-invented the way the British royal family could behave.

But of course Meghan didn’t come from nowhere, exactly. She came from the American hinterland, from an aspirational, peripatetic, and, yes, dysfunctional family, with whom she shares many traits, even if she sometimes seems to want to deny them. Where the British have generations of Plantagenets and Tudors, Americans have Jay Gatsby, a man who loved clothes as much as any princess (“I’ve never seen such—such beautiful shirts before”) and a past he liked to keep hidden. Meghan isn’t Gatsby, exactly—she hasn’t expunged her background. But there’s something of Fitzgerald’s antihero in Meghan’s preternatural American re-invention. She comes from a family of acolytes of motivational speakers and reality shows (Tony Robbins and the Kardashians are touchstones), people who believe that the future doesn’t at all have to be governed by the past. According to a Hollywood source, when her star was rising she threw herself a party at her home unofficially billed as a “Sayonara Zara” party and gave away the lower- priced clothes in her closet to her guests.

The blowup between Meghan and some of her biological family has been a rare fiasco for the Duchess, aided and abetted by elements that include the British tabloids’ dexterity at fomenting race- and class-based discord, the royal family’s usual resistance to change, and the unbridled loopiness and more than occasional meanness of some Markles (her half-sister has called Meghan “the Duchess of Nonsense”). It has also pointed up an essential difference between our two countries: Brits often can’t escape their families, or even their class, whereas our myth is based on striking out on one’s own.

Beneath the performance, Meghan, reporting indicates, is a solitary, emotionally guarded perfectionist likely carrying scar tissue from her tumultuous background. The story of her biological family is a sprawling American epic, both up-by-the-bootstraps and shirtsleeves-to-shirtsleeves, generations’ worth of new beginnings, of which Meghan’s is the most spectacular. There are appearances by slaves and slave owners, cross-country journeys in pursuit of the American Dream, and the eventual attainment of a middle-class Angeleno life that played out for most of her family like a stoner shaggy-dog tale.

Royal historians have dug deeply through the ancestry of Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, as with anyone newly incorporated into royal lineage, and located her first known ancestor: a slave born in 1830 in Jonesboro, Georgia, the setting for Gone with the Wind, named Richard Ragland (the surname most likely came from the man who enslaved him). A generation later, during Reconstruction, many Raglands lit out for Southern California; in the 1950s, Doria’s parents moved from Ohio to Los Angeles, too. Her father ran an antique store, ‘Twas New.

Doria, gentle and loving, met Meghan’s father, Tom, in L.A., though he had been raised on the East Coast. He was the youngest of three sons in a creative family in the small town of Newport, Pennsylvania. One of his older brothers joined the air force and became an international diplomat. The other is the bishop of the Eastern Orthodox Catholic Church in America, which is a church that I, as a practicing member of the Eastern Orthodox religion, was surprised never to have heard of before. At one point the church had a few hundred parishioners, though the Association of Religion Data Archives’ listing for the number of today’s flock is blank.

Tom, taciturn but lighthearted, enjoyed making practical jokes and putting on plays. After high school, he moved to the Poconos to work in theater, then to Chicago, eventually becoming a lighting designer. He married for the first time at 19, having two kids—Samantha and her brother, Thomas junior—before divorcing in the early 1970s and setting out for the West Coast, sans famille, to try his luck in Hollywood’s big leagues. When he met Doria, he was working as the lighting director of ABC’s long-running daytime soap General Hospital, on which nurses and doctors have lusty affairs while also performing heroic heart transplants. Doria, 12 years his junior, was a trainee makeup artist for the soap. The groovy couple was married at Sunset Boulevard’s Self-Realization Fellowship, shrine of the Hindu guru Yogananda, located down the street from the compound of the Church of Scientology.

Doria and Tom moved in together a couple of years before Meghan was born, along with Samantha and Thomas junior, who had relocated to L.A. after living with their mom. The teenage siblings were unruly. Samantha was auditioning for film and TV parts, or working the Lancôme counter at the Beverly Center and as an extra on A Different World, Lisa Bonet’s spin-off of The Cosby Show. According to a biography by Andrew Morton, Meghan: A Hollywood Princess, Thomas junior spent time smoking weed with his friends at the family home in Woodland Hills, a burb in the Valley. Ragland, who eventually opened a small boutique selling sundresses in a Topanga mall, wasn’t averse to joints, either, according to Samantha. They were a family of the type of low-level creatives who abound in Hollywood, enjoying an offbeat life in the sunshine. When Meghan would pitch a tantrum in her high chair, scattering peas on the floor, her dad would encourage her and even get in on the action himself, throwing more peas. Once, when Thomas junior and his friends were smoking weed in the living room while she cried in her room, Tom senior left to tend to her, then reappeared with a full diaper. He pulled out a spoon and began eating the contents, later revealing that he’d filled the diaper with chocolate pudding.

The startling and sensational descended in Meghan’s life with some regularity, though even as a little girl she was centered and ambitious. Tom and Doria divorced when Meghan was two. (Samantha and Thomas junior were on their way out of the house.) Meghan lived with one parent, then the other, until her adolescence, when she lived with Tom full-time. In what must have been a dissonant experience for Meghan, after her day at an all-girls Catholic school, he would pick her up and bring her along to work with him on the set of Married . . . with Children. Meghan loved girlie things, and had well-honed methods of dealing with the chaos and uncertainty of her dysfunctional family. She kept her closet neat, and even as an adolescent stored her Betsey Johnson shoes in their original boxes, wrapped in tissue paper, until she was ready to wear them next. “I remember busying myself and being the president of every club,” she has said of her schooling. “Not because I actually wanted to, but because I didn’t want to eat alone at lunchtime. This overachiever mask I wore was really just the way I battled feeling displaced.”

It was far from a perfect childhood, but magic always hovered nearby. In Los Angeles, the American Dream isn’t only made by grit, but rather by moments of luck. If there is an altar to which Hollywood bows, it’s the one of serendipity. And in 1990, Tom, who already made a TV salary, reportedly bought a winning lottery ticket, a stroke of luck not dissimilar to the one required to transform a California girl into a British princess. Meghan attended private school and Northwestern, majoring in international affairs and theater. She was the first person in her family to go to college.

It’s certainly a partial explanation for the current conflict that, while Meghan’s good fortunes only multiplied from her father’s doting, poor investments and family feuds led to a diminishment of Tom’s bank accounts. Samantha maintains that Tom paid Meghan’s tab when she enrolled at Northwestern and that if Meghan worked at all, as Samantha has tweeted, “it was only for extra shoe money and party money.” In 2016, Tom filed for bankruptcy. And Meghan did omit mention in Fiji of Tom’s contribution to her college education—she attended college supported by her parents and also financial aid. Though hardly “delusionally absurd” not to mention them in her Fiji speech, she could have made the choice to include them.

Meghan followed her father back to Hollywood after a short stint working at the U.S. Embassy in Buenos Aires (her diplomat uncle has claimed he set her up), making her way from roles as suitcase girl on Deal or No Deal to guest spots on CSI to a female lead in Suits. Her starter marriage to a fast-talking movie producer broke up soon after it began, partially because the two had to spend months apart when Suits began filming in Toronto. Meghan dated a popular Canadian chef and started the Tig, her lifestyle blog; it was one part Goop and another Martha Stewart, with a consistently eloquent tone and a dollop of social justice before the topic became trendy. The image Meghan created for herself was free-spirited and earthy—but not entirely consistent with who she really was, according to those who know her. “Meghan’s goal was always becoming a household name,” says an acquaintance in the television world. “She’s insanely smart and poised, but very, very guarded. She’s not a person you can actually be friends with. She’s the type of person who is best friends with her stylist.”

In Toronto, Meghan became a regular at Soho House, an exclusive club drawing the city’s film, social, and banking set. She began hanging out with an international crowd, including a power stylist—Jessica Mulroney, best known for styling Justin Trudeau’s fabulous wife, Sophie Grégoire Trudeau—and Bahrain-born Misha Nonoo, at that time married to Alexander Gilkes, the British founder of online auction house Paddle8 and a close friend of Harry’s. “Meghan was socializing with foreign heiresses—upper-crust, smart, ambitious,” says a friend of Nonoo’s. “They have everything and they want everything.” Meghan also alighted on her fairy godmother: Violet von Westenholz, a British Ralph Lauren public-relations director whose father, an Olympic skier, is besties with Prince Charles. Von Westenholz knew Harry was looking to become serious with the right woman, and passed him Meghan’s contact information.

The trajectory of her family was moving in other directions. They stopped having holidays together and some eventually stopped speaking to each other. Money problems were a near-constant. Samantha filed for bankruptcy in 2003, joined by Thomas junior in 2012. He claimed at the time that he had $10 in cash and $88,000 in debts. After running into problems with a boutique she’d opened in Los Angeles, Doria also filed for bankruptcy.

Meanwhile, the royal family’s personal wealth, which encompasses castles and endless swaths of British countryside and crown jewels, including a 530-carat cut diamond, the world’s largest, to squabble over, has been estimated at $85 billion. So it’s no surprise that, to some of her family, Meghan’s ascension was viewed as an opportunity to play the Kardashian game while acquiring their own measure of royal wealth and fame.

“The Kardashians and Anthony Robbins do this sort of thing—why can’t my dad?” says Samantha.

This fall, I sent Samantha a number of messages on Facebook, but she was slow to respond. Reading the tabloids, I realized that she was in Britain doling out interviews to TV talk shows. Her boyfriend—they live together in Bellevue, Florida—also accompanied her to Buckingham Palace and Kensington Palace, where she delivered a handwritten letter for her sister to a bobby in his flat cap. The guard did not open the palace gates. The next set of paparazzi photos depicted Samantha proceeding in her motorized wheelchair to a nearby store, where she checked out a life-size paper mask of Harry’s face with the eyes cut out, stocked as a souvenir. Samantha put the mask to her face and smiled for the camera.

Royalty, to Samantha, may merely be another type of lottery—a hereditary one. It doesn’t seem that she thinks royalty is worthy of a great deal of respect, and certainly doesn’t receive its right to rule from God. Most Brits don’t believe in divine right anymore, either, but many agree that the royals provide a useful societal function. One I spoke with discussed the royals’ dependability in attracting tourists, and quoted the great 19th-century British political writer Walter Bagehot, who defended the monarchy on non-religious grounds. “A royal family sweetens politics by the seasonable addition of nice and pretty events,” he explained. “It introduces irrelevant facts into the business of government, but they are facts which speak to ‘men’s bosoms’ and employ their thoughts.” Bagehot further believed that to cement the success of the nation the royals had to remain high status. “Our royalty is to be reverenced, and if you begin to poke about it, you cannot reverence it,” he wrote. “Its mystery is its life. We must not let in daylight upon magic.”

It’s part of Meghan’s patent gift for her current role that she appears to let in daylight—hugging babies and grannies, baking a banana bread for a family of farmers—making it part of her magic, while maintaining her royal reserve. But her family, not so respectfully, calls bullshit.

If the royal family is merely a group of well-dressed celebrities, then Samantha not only doesn’t need to take them seriously, but she has as much right to be a celebrity as they do. Perhaps this point of view, combined with the fact that Samantha’s daughter has claimed Meghan put Samantha in paroxysms of jealousy for many years prior to her engagement to Harry, meant that she didn’t shy away from tabloids’ phone calls when they began to poke around Meghan’s family history. Talking to the British tabloid The Sun, she cast Meghan as a social climber: she said Meghan was shallow and superficial, had always wanted to become a princess, and had “a soft spot for gingers.”

When I got in touch with her, Samantha insisted that she was misquoted, and that the first comment she made about her sister was, “She’s got the eloquence of Condoleezza Rice and the grace of Princess Diana,” but this time line does not hold up. Samantha has also announced that she is writing a book entitled The Diary of Princess Pushy’s Sister, a strange choice of nomenclature given that “Princess Pushy” is the nickname for Princess Michael of Kent, who, at the luncheon at which Meghan was formally introduced to the royal family, appeared wearing a blackamoor brooch (a type of 17th- and 18th-century jewelry depicting black people wearing turbans or in subservient poses). Samantha later said she was misquoted on her title, and in any case the book’s real title was the still somewhat inappropriate In the Shadows of the Duchess.

Samantha struck me as less a wicked stepsister than a special kind of trickster, a proficient storyteller with deep emotional intelligence who was adept at reading my cues. “This story is about a very normal family thrust into the spotlight,” she said to me a couple of times, seeking to portray herself as a misunderstood mom of three who was provoked by her sister. She spoke delightfully about the moment Meg was born: “She was beautiful and pink, with little teeny fingers that would wrap around my finger,” she said. “For us, it was very humbling because we were teenagers freaking out learning how to be young adults in the world, and adults were doing their career thing outward, but when a baby comes, there’s an inward focus and fascination. I think it really did pull us all together.”

If the sisters lost touch down the line, couldn’t that happen in any family? Samantha says that she planned to support Meghan (“Is London wheelchair friendly? excited!” she tweeted before the wedding), but became angry not only when Meghan didn’t invite her to the wedding, but also because Prince Harry commented to the press that Meghan was enjoying spending time with the royal family because the royal family was “the family she never had.” Says Samantha, “Consistently, my family was being isolated and ignored, like we’re nonexistent.” She adds, “Like the uncle who got her the internship in Buenos Aires. He’s not trailer trash. It got back to me that Meg had said about her uncle, ‘I don’t know him,’ and I’m like, ‘What is this, Joan Crawford speaking?’ ”

The more Samantha talked, the louder the cheering from tabloid reporters on both sides of the pond. The British reporters were excited for Samantha to play the role of the uncivilized, low-class American who was not at all P.L.U., people like us; the American reporters knew their readership would appreciate her most if she was simply wackadoodle, another outrageous semi-celebrity for our outraged era. Samantha learned that a story could be worth $1,500, perhaps $3,000, or even more. Reporters began lobbing devilish questions her way, such as “Do you feel your sister is a humanitarian?” and “How does Meghan compare to Diana?” Invoking the name that Harry and the royals least wanted to come out of her mouth, Samantha answered, “Diana would not isolate family.”

Though Samantha and Tom have what one member of their family calls an enabling and dysfunctional relationship, Tom and Thomas junior, a choleric professional glazer, were estranged. But now Thomas junior wanted in on the celebrity action. Arrested in 2017 for allegedly holding a gun to his fiancée’s head before being released without charge, he began telling increasingly bizarre stories to the tabloids and even agreed to submit to a lie-detector test to prove the truth of a story he told about Tom using the services of a prostitute when Thomas was young. (Tom strongly denied these claims.) He also reportedly gave the paparazzi Tom’s address in Rosarito Beach, a tourist town 15 miles from Tijuana where Tom had retired a few years past. A handful of British paps descended on Tom’s neighborhood, taking up residence in Airbnbs along the road to his modest home and capturing him as he visited a convenience store for cigarettes and a four-pack of Heineken.

Thomas junior’s estranged son also began speaking out, seeming like the rational one in the bunch. Tyler Dooley, a strapping 26-year-old who lives in Grants Pass, Oregon, said that he doesn’t even go by the name “Markle” anymore “for obvious reasons.” His childhood in Los Angeles “wasn’t a fantasy or fairy tale by any means,” he tells me. “Drinking has led to so many problems in my family members’ lives.” He talks about leaving home as a teenager, being broke, not having any water or power in his house, and making his own way in the world. One day in the mid-2000s, he saw a friend of his with a sports car and asked how he got it. “Servicing federal debt” was the answer, and Tyler did that for a couple of years, studying the teachings of Tony Robbins and Brian Tracy to learn how to target customers’ hot points. Having a duchess in the family had commercial virtue, and Tyler never thought that becoming famous himself and hurting Meghan were the same thing: he hasn’t spoken poorly about her in the media, and tells me that the truth is he has few anecdotes to tell about her—he doesn’t remember their relationship much, except she was very nice to him when he was younger, lost, and ready to join the army.

In the past few years, Dooley had a marijuana business in Oregon with his mother, Tracy. He named it Royally Grown and marketed a strain of weed named Markle Sparkle (“sweet, silky, with a hint of blueberry”). Tracy once told a newspaper, “We plan to build a global empire like the Kardashians.” Today, Tyler tells me it’s important to note that he’s moving on to CBD. The weed market is flooded, and it’s no longer a growth crop.

Things didn’t exactly go well for the last American duchess. Wallis Simpson, whose husband, Edward VIII, abdicated the throne when the family shunned her, once said of her royal in-laws, “You are either with them or dead.”

Meghan is adept at walking fine lines, but handling her biological family and her new one—the royals—was an extraordinary balancing job. She considered Samantha and Thomas junior part of her ancient past—she claimed to have seen neither in years, and thought of herself in some ways as an only child—but she does not seem to have wanted to dis her father, whom she wrote about in loving terms on the Tig in 2014. In a post for Father’s Day, she wrote about “our club sandwich and fruit smoothie tradition post my tap & ballet class—classes, which by the way, he religiously took me to on Saturday mornings after working 75+ hours a week as a lighting director.” He put “gas in my car when I went from audition to audition trying to make it as an actress,” she wrote, and “believed in this grand dream of mine well before I could even see it as a possibility.” She lauded “the blood, sweat and tears this man (who came from so little in a small town in Pennsylvania, where Christmas stockings were filled with oranges, and dinners were potatoes and Spam) invested in my future so that I could grow up and have so much.” Tom would later describe her in similarly admiring terms, saying “my daughter has been a princess since the day she was born.”

In the run-up to May’s big royal wedding, though, the relationship hit a major snag. Knowing that a story about vulgar Americans sells papers, the British tabloids built a case by capturing Tom’s quotidian American-retiree life in Rosarito Beach. One day, they photographed him buying a toilet, potatoes, and paper plates at Home Depot and Walmart. Though Tom had been silent on the topic of his daughter for months, Samantha, perhaps feeling her oats as a media mastermind, thought she could change her father’s profile. Working with a paparazzo, Samantha crafted a plan for a pap to capture Tom visiting a tailor to be fitted for a suit, and then casually relaxing reading a book about British landmarks. “The Kardashians and Anthony Robbins do this sort of thing—why can’t my dad?” is the way she sums up her thinking to me. Needless to say, this harebrained scheme backfired when the pictures appeared in The Sun and a pap working for the Daily Mail—who was also following Tom—realized that the outings were a setup.

Tom reportedly received a call from Meghan and Harry explaining that they were confused as to why he had taken such bizarre action, and asking him please not to speak to reporters or participate in any more photographs. Of all the royals, Harry is known to absolutely revile the press for both its role in his mother’s death and the continuing breaches of his privacy when he traipsed the globe in his 20s drinking much too heavily, in part to deal with his unresolved trauma. Tom claims he offered to make an apology, but the couple said an apology would only fuel the story, which was running on a 24/7 loop on British TV. (Sources have raised questions about this account.) Instead, the couple, concerned for Tom’s welfare, directed a press regulator to issue a privacy warning to the papers to back off. Embarrassed, Tom stayed in Mexico and pondered his mistake. Then, four days later, the international news began broadcasting headlines that he’d had a heart attack.

“Throughout the heart attack, I feel my dad was ignored,” says Samantha. “Meg and Harry should have been on a plane, and been there at the hospital, minimum. They should have taken him back on a plane to Kensington, and had him meet Charles, and included him in the big picture.” But that didn’t happen. “I think they might have believed it was a fake heart attack,” says Samantha.

In England, the 92-year-old Queen, whose primary purpose in life has been promoting the longevity of the monarchy, was watching. She had lived through unpopularity, particularly during the saga of Princess Diana and Charles (loneliness, bulimia, Camillagate, Squidgygate, divorce, death by paparazzi). Much magic was lost. But in recent years, via the classic P.R. maneuver of replacing negative stories with new stories—the romance of William and Kate, plus Pippa’s bottom, the addition of Prince George and two spare heirs, and now Meghan and Harry—people fell in love again. Even in America, where today’s rich are decidedly “out”—they reek too much of MAGA—the royals, who embody a faraway fantasy of being rich, are hugely popular. And these days the royal family allows their every step to be photographed and calculated, like the world’s richest reality-show stars. The episodes run until the end of their lives.

The Queen knew that Harry worshipped Meghan, and also that the House of Windsor didn’t need another busted-up fairy tale. “She was very concerned that it [the Markle situation] was spiraling out of control, which it was,” says one observer. “Buckingham Palace wanted to be able to do something and be proactive and make the situation go away. It was a direction from the Queen, so her courtiers were under strict instructions to sort it out. But Kensington Palace was not singing from the same hymn sheet, and that was because the message was coming from Meghan. She didn’t want to engage and thought that she could handle it on her own.” Both palaces’ aides whispered and planned, to no avail. “There was a lot of tension between courtiers within the two royal households, and I think it just got to a point where it was stalemate and, you know, neither could move.”

For years, Meghan has publicly declared that she does not read her press, a usual tactic of Hollywood stars to seem above the messiness of image-making. It’s a contention that sophisticated communications folks find laughable. She may not be a press addict, as Diana was—Diana read every page that mentioned her in the tabloids, and exulted or worried over them—but Meghan herself was handling this fracas, or not handling it. “This is her family, and no one at the palace would make a move without her,” explains Patrick Jephson, Princess Diana’s former private secretary and author of The Meghan Factor, a book weighing Meghan’s impact on the monarchy. He pauses, then adds, “In talking about Meghan, I wouldn’t say that her advisers are doing a good job or a bad job. It is one of the perks of royalty never to be held responsible for their actions.” Regardless, the observer says, “Meghan and Harry made efforts to make sure Tom was properly kitted out for the day, so that level of care was there, but it wasn’t enough care. He needed an equerry to go out there and take him back to England, put him in Sandringham or Balmoral in a small cottage where no one knew where he was, and where he would have been very happy. That’s what should have happened.”

Meghan did what she could. By refusing to speak publicly about the fracas, or have someone speak on her behalf, Meghan was trying to maintain her famous elegance; her silence meant she was above the fray, plus she was more than a bit busy planning a wedding to be watched by billions. For Harry, and Meghan, the situation was deeply concerning as a security matter. Harry felt that the paparazzi had placed Thomas under extraordinary pressure—and they could destroy another parental relationship.

But at this point Tom seems to have been hurt and frustrated. His sense of himself as a loving and generous patriarch was unpleasantly rattled. He responded by talking to reporters at TMZ and later granting a nine-hour interview to a British tabloid. He called the royals a “cult,” compared them to Scientologists and the Stepford Wives family, and added, “They’re just like a Monty Python sketch. Say a few critical words about the royal family and they put their fingers in their ears, cover their eyes, and pull the blinds down. They don’t want to know about it.” He was annoyed by the way he’d been treated and said a courtier told him to make an apology. “Suddenly I’m being told that I needed help apologizing, as if there’s a special way to apologize to the royal family,” he explained. “Perhaps you do it with gravy and flowers on the side? I was taken aback to be asked if I needed help apologizing, like I was a child.” He also swung from despair —“If Meghan never speaks to me again,” he said, “I don’t know how I can go on without my heart breaking”—to anger, saying, “I’ve about had it with Meghan and the royal family.” He added, “I feel for Meghan, because she does have a difficult family. But it’s still her family.”

This sad and embarrassing incident culminated in Tom missing his daughter’s wedding, which he watched from an Airbnb in Rosarito Beach to escape the paparazzi staking out his home. In his stead, Prince Charles walked the new princess down the aisle, her silk tulle train (in a powerful symbol, she had the official flowers of the 53 Commonwealth nations embroidered on its edges). Doria, now a social worker, was the only family member in attendance, and Meghan paid deep respect to her African-American roots. Before the ceremony, according to the observer, thinking of her father’s absence, she broke down in tears.

At the end of the Brothers Grimm’s “Cinderella,” the original rags-to-royals story, Cinderella’s wicked stepsisters accompany her to her wedding, but in revenge, pigeons peck out their eyes. This is not quite what has happened to Samantha, who talked to me about wanting to use her platform to educate people about M.S., but in the past few months, she has disappeared into a netherworld of Twitter wars. There, she does battle with a clan of pro-Meg forces calling themselves Megulators (Samantha’s supporters call themselves “Megexit”). They resent Meghan on the grounds that she “thinks that now since she has a title and a ring on her finger, she can do whatever she wants,” which is “nothing but an insult to all normal people,” if you can follow the logic. After the Megulators harassed Samantha on Twitter in November, she called the F.B.I. and asked agents to investigate death threats, but to me she plays this off like no big deal. “It’s just a small group of people who just want to rattle the cage,” she declares.

For a while, Tom realized that talking to the press was a losing game, one in which he could possibly lose his daughter forever. For now, the observer says that the two aren’t speaking, but Meghan is interested in a probationary period during which he wouldn’t speak publicly, and then perhaps the two would be able to mend their relationship. The real drama is this: Will Meghan insist that Tom cut ties with one daughter, Samantha—who’s been, by far, the most hostile of the Markles, to clear the way to rebuild the relationship with Meghan? Tom is caught between two daughters.

The papers in London are full of new stories about Meghan, not all of them positive. Some are outlandish: Meghan wanted a certain emerald tiara for her wedding and the Queen made her wear Queen Mary’s diamond bandeau, and Meghan asked for air freshener to be sprayed in St. George’s Chapel before her wedding because she thought it smelled musty. Understanding what’s going on behind castle walls is always a game of reading tea leaves, but the posh Brits I spoke with said they’d heard that some stories were correct: Meghan’s staff is annoyed by her waking up at a Californian five A.M. and texting about various initiatives she wants them to pursue, and Meghan is callous toward staff in general. One thought it was “peculiar” that her mother was the only family member at her wedding; another even said she’d heard Meghan was dubbed “Monster Markle” at Kensington Palace. I can’t vouch for any of that, but when papers began reporting that Kate and Meghan had feuded before the wedding, and then Kensington Palace issued a statement denying a feud, I thought about Tina Brown’s comment in The Diana Chronicles, her outstanding biography of the princess: “The palace only bothers to deny something that’s true.”

Still, in fairy tales, magic always hovers in the distance. Far from being snobbish about Meghan’s family and excoriating Harry about the perils of marrying a commoner, Prince Charles, perhaps the most important arbiter of Meghan’s stature in the royal family, is taking her side in the scandal. Of course, Charles gains a benefit from the new spotlight on a younger generation of royals, or the “Fab Four,” as the British have dubbed Meghan-Harry-William-Kate. Their reflected glory makes Charles seem like a man of substance, a patriarch, which is good, because polls show that only a quarter of Britons want him to succeed the Queen, who, at 92, could expire rather soon. But to the less jaundiced observer, there’s another reason he would back Meghan, and that’s because his own upbringing wasn’t exactly the stuff of Hallmark Cards. When his mother, before she was crowned Queen, returned from her own tour of the Commonwealth—similar in shape to the one taken by Meghan and Harry—cameras captured her solemnly patting three-year-old Charles on the shoulder. He knows from difficult families.

“Let her go conquer the world,” says Meghan’s entrepeneurial nephew, Tyler Dooley, when we talked about his feelings toward her. “There’s big stuff in store. I know she can make the world a better place.” Including for Dooley. Today, in addition to getting into CBD, Dooley has taken a role on MTV’s The Royal World, a new spin on the Real Worldformula: one castle and 10 genuine royals, including a baroness, a count, and a royal Instagram influencer nicknamed Zsa Zsa. To those who might think he’s cashing in on his aunt’s name, he said, he sometimes makes as much in a day as MTV paid him for the whole shebang, plus “everybody in the house I lived in, the whole cast, is there because of a family or a connection of some sort.” He added, “At the end of the day, everyone dies. They might die with their titles, but they don’t even get to keep that. You die with no money, no friends, nothing. People are just people in the end.”

Toward the holidays, the chatter among royal correspondents was about Meghan’s mother, Doria, who might be the first non-royal member of the extended royal family invited to Christmas at Sandringham in the history of the monarchy. “Kate did not go to Sandringham before she married William in 2011, and the Middletons are still not invited,” declares etiquette expert William Hanson. “To have a partner’s mother come is a huge seismic shift.” During Christmas, the royals will play charades, particularly those that involve impersonations of world leaders, but the Queen likes to win, so everyone will need to make sure their impersonations aren’t very good. They may play soccer against their maids and butlers. They will eat dinner in black-tie, and they will not go to bed before the Queen decides to go to bed. They are possibly weighed before and after the meal, a royal tradition that was once meant to demonstrate how well they’d been fed, though Meghan, who is fond of light cooking and organic food and also pregnant, probably would rather she didn’t have to do that. The rest of the Markles won’t be there, which is sort of a shame—and makes perfect sense.

youtube

#megxit #spare us #like a spare #brf #waaagh #revenge #2018 #BY VANESSA GRIGORIADIS DECEMBER 19 #vanity fair

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waterloggedsoliloquy · 7 months

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18 & 20 for the ask game. i need to hear how this hypothetical drama would unfold

you picked the GOODIES

18.) what aspect of the story would get you #canceled on twitter?

this is a toughie is the thing. while im not one of those creators thats terrified of being offensive or problematic, i also dont pay that much attention to elements of work that might offend. im more interested in being genuine and trusting my message rather than relishing in having #problematique content.

that being said i think a lot of people would not like that sicely isnt a g*ld st*r lesbian or that lucerne doesnt use labels, bc twitter is really hung up on what characters "really" are or what stories "really" mean.

i think theyd also do that thing where theyd be like ugh look at these children currently in abusive situations why are they not acting 100% perfectly, the author clearly has no idea what theyre doing with portraying abuse, this is just torture porn and fetishizing ptsd/osddid. bc theres no way that the things that happen in CW could ever happen to people, bc abuse happens to other people and never in anything i might have to interact with.

20.) your ocverse just got a movie trilogy a la hunger games style. how have they horribly mangled your message/theme so that the movies are now a showcase of what the original was condemning?

This ones also a toughie actually bc a large part in why the hunger games movies contributed to showcasing what the original work condemned is because the media circus and bloodsports as vapid entertainment were directly being condemned in the original and #Media isnt really a huge part of carousel waltz. i think in order to really turn carousel waltz on its head youd have to be simultaneously very victim-blamey to the children but also prop up the adults as the ones who must "save them", bc children cant do anything on their own and cant be trusted to have legitimate grievances with the adults in their lives. flattening midas into either a villain who never cared about the people he abused or apologizing for him as a well-meaning patriarch who was just led astray and by proxy flattening the abuse into depictions more palatable to the wider consumer audience would do it i think.

but i dont know if it being a movie trilogy would necessarily cause those changes to occur-- movies are visual and sequential like comics but usually have to be 2 hours or less and are overwhelmingly held hostage at the whims of distributors, executive boards, investors, etc. so the influences it would have over carousel waltz would be along those lines. i think that with the time crunch it'd probably be really easy to make the story less subtle, and to have to hammer home points. certain characters necessarily would not have as much screentime and focus in a movie trilogy, which i think WOULD contribute to being an example of what im trying to condemn, and a movie might inadvertently say that some abused children are just collateral damage and we can move past them, some abused children dont have interiority or anything to draw attention to them, some abused children are more important or worth rescuing more. its also very important to me that most of the carousel waltz kids r not white, and that the grownups are, but casting would probably whitewash them or try to make the story colorblind instead of keeping in how midas' abuse takes advantage of his identity of whiteness over them. combine this w the idea that there needs to be adults to save these kids and u get a white savior araceli. if this concept makes you want to gnaw your leg off at the ankle to get the shackle off, that just means youre still human! try to hold onto that feeling.

since magical girl isnt a big genre in the west theyd try to reflavor it as some other thing like superheroes or a dnd party or something. or theyd want to age up the kids so the bad things happen to a more acceptable age group bc the idea that kids might have bad things happen to them is a scary thought so theyd completely miss the point abt it being a story abt child abuse and now its a buncha late teens-early 20s bullshit.

im actually debating how much swearing i want in carousel waltz (it was really hard writing guardians dilemma without zizi swearing) but executives would only let me have one fuck and would not let anthea call anyone a cocksucker :(

#cecil drawls #carousel waltz #making up a guy to get mad at is fun sometimes #plaguery #THANK U OPHELIA

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subway-tolkien · 2 years

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u sure the problem isn’t gonna be izzy stans harassing the creators when izzy doesn’t inexplicably become the main protagonist and love interest of the show bc I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be that

Okay, extrapolating from your ask I’m guessing you are irritated that Blorbo X is enjoying a popularity surge, while you prefer Blorbo Y. It’s not fair that Blorbo X is getting attention that rightfully belongs to Blorbo Y, because Blorbo Y is morally superior in every way. Even worse: Blorbo X is evil, and evil characters are bad characters and the people who like them are also bad. So, you've decided the constructive response is to hate Blorbo X and Blorbo X’s fans for “stealing” the spotlight from Blorbo Y, and the way to do that is with online bullying and snotty, anonymous asks aiming for inflammatory but falling short and landing firmly in cringe.

That’s my theory, anyway, because I felt the same about Krycek being more popular than Mulder for a while, when I was fourteen. I didn't bully people because I wasn't raised like that, but I sure resented them, for no real reason, until I grew out of it and moved on.

At any rate, here's a little remedial lesson in storytelling: the purpose of a villain is to supply conflict to the plot by opposing the hero(s). Villains are also compelling because good villains are complicated people with their own set of morals and motives. For some folks, they are just as interested in the villain’s arc as they are in the hero’s. Additionally, some people enjoy villains more than the heroes or side-characters, and there is nothing wrong with that.

Punishing other fans for enjoying the same show because they focus on a different facet of it than you do is, in a word, stupid. In thirty years of fandom, I’ve never understood the need to target, harass, and bully internet strangers—and the cast and crew of the show!—because of a difference of opinion regarding fictional characters that do not exist.

This is not unique to OFMD; this behavior is a cancer on every fandom it touches and has gotten so much worse over the last ten years that I barely recognize modern fandom anymore, but OFMD is the latest victim of entitled fan behavior, blind ego, and a distinct lack of critical thinking skills, so I'm focusing on it right now.

I don't know anyone who thinks Stede will be replaced by Izzy as the protagonist of OFMD; you're exaggerating in an effort to antagonize me/other people, but you just sound impossibly young and, frankly, very boring. You really don't warrant a reply, but I seem to have Opinions on this subject and since you felt the need to share yours, you get to enjoy mine. 🎉

Anyway, I've no dog in this fight. I like Izzy as a villain just as I like Ed and Stede as the heroes, and the Revenge crew as the supporting ensemble. I trust David et al to know what's best for their own show. I wish everybody could. I don't care what characters people like or why, I care what characters I like and why. I read the fic I enjoy, I look at the fanart I like. I make good use of filters and blocking. I also know how to scroll past things I don't want to see. What other people like about the show has no effect on what I like about the show, because I don't take other people's opinions of the show personally. Their opinions have nothing to do with me.

Let people like what they like, and step back and analyze why you resent the opinions of one segment of a broader fandom to the point where it threatens your enjoyment of the show enough to drive you to attack strangers on the internet and harass an actor for just doing his job.

We are all on the same boat, heading in the same direction. Stop trying to sink it.

#our flag means death #ofmd #i figured on a frisky little heckler or two #and i was not disappointed

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byuljoonie · 1 year

Text

please give me a remedy. (m) knj. my.

Somehow there are a million people around us and you’re all I can see.

pairing: namjoon x reader x yoongi

genre: smut, angst, fluff, yearning?

pt: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

word count: 3k+

warnings: thickening plot. give it a chance bcs she’s being polished. slight aggression. slow build up for yearning yoongi. namjoon is a dork in love. slight angst. him or me? friends to lovers. no smut yet.

summary: 2 of your 7 best friends have a secret…

note: sorry about my love for lowercase letters.😅I started this story in 2020 while I was a senior in high school…great plot but the writing?? definite no. older me with more experience as a published author is here to take control. still deeply in love with joon after 9 years so let me yearn in peace. Please feel free to leave feedback, I love constructive criticism and listening to your opinions! word count will increase drastically by chapter 2! have a listen to the playlist in my bio while you read the story! enjoy!

I sat back on the leather couch in the practice room absorbed in the way he looks while dancing. His black hair sticks sparsely to his forehead and his brow is furrowed in concentration. He hits each move perfectly, feeling the music as the song approaches its climax. How could he possibly be this sexy right now? The thought sent my mind into a frenzy of unrealistic fantasies. I would never want to ruin our bond but I can’t help but wonder how his soft hands would feel against my sensitive skin. Namjoon is definitely just my best friend, nothing more…sadly.

We met during my junior year of university and bonded over our love for books and art. Philosophy being my major and his minor, we ended up in the same required logic course to graduate. Our first interaction involved a forgetful Namjoon leaving all of his writing utensils at home, sheepishly tapping my sweater-covered shoulder to borrow a pen.

I'm suddenly pulled out of my reverie when I hear Hoseok loudly complain about being hungry. I was so caught up in my mind that I didn’t notice the song finished. He falls back into a nearby chair with sweat dripping from his forehead, glistening in the yellow-tinted light.

"I'll go grab some food just tell me what you want boys," I said quickly standing up and pulling on Namjoons black hoodie.

"How about I go with you?" Yoongi suggested calmly.

"NO, I mean no I'll go with her since I'm the leader you guys just take a break," Namjoon nervously reassured everyone. I heard Jin and Jimin snicker at his quickness to accompany me. Yoongi shifted unfazed by the younger members’ interception. We’re almost inseparable at times but my smile widens as my heart still flutters for the skilled rapper. Feeling the same as I did when I first met him. I gave Yoongi a small smile but he turned away. I frowned confused by his sudden mood change before we could finish talking.

"Y/N I want chicken," Taehyung said, pulling on the sleeve of my- I mean Namjoons hoodie.

The other boys agreed so Joon and I set off to the nearest open restaurant, hoping to stumble upon a hole in the wall. We walked in comfortable silence the street lights illuminating his honey skin, casting a glow around us. I always felt so safe when I’m with him. I feel safe with all of the members of course, but there’s a special soft spot for Joonie. I guess you could say my slight infatuation has developed into a crush, but nothing more can happen between us. The more being a secret drunken kiss from this past new year celebration.

Thinking about the members causes Yoongi’s face to flash through my mind. He seemed kinda hurt earlier and I should have said something. I don’t want them to think I only care about Namjoon. I love and appreciate all of them, especially Yoongi and Hoseok. Yoongi was the last to warm up to me, but the first to spoil me. His kindness and gummy smile always melt my heart. I turned to Namjoon hoping to spark conversation and ignore my persistent thoughts.

"Namjoon what are you thinking about?" I asked catching him staring off into space.

“Nothing you have to worry about Y/N,” he said dimples making a special appearance as he smiled at me.

I felt a chill run down my spine and the wind blew my hair into my face. I noticed a line of people waiting outside of a restaurant; the bright, neon yellow sign lit up the block with the words "열두시 치킨 집" (12am chicken house).

"Let's go here Joon it's fairly close to the company," I suggested.

"Sure I don't mind pet,” he stated turning away from me, missing his words.

"What?" I questioned with burning cheeks.

"I said yes Y/N let's go before the line gets too long." He stuttered at his slip-up.

I felt my face getting warmer at the pet name. I've never been called that before, I think I like the way it rolls off his tongue. His voice was rough from rapping all night and his eyes glimmered in the moonlight. I felt like a buzzing ball of energy and hormones. I might as well exhibit how many butterflies frequently inhabit my tummy. I was once again snapped out of my redundant fantasy world when Namjoon appeared beside me with 2 bags of food and a soda.

"Come on Y/N it's getting colder and the boys are probably starving,” he said.

"That was fast, did you skip the whole line, Monie?” I asked while trying to keep up with his usual fast stride.

"Maybe,” he said flatly.

I was now laughing at his seriousness all of a sudden. I can’t handle how these men switch moods like they do wardrobe changes. It was so cold at this point I couldn't feel my hands. I shivered and rubbed my hands together, teeth audibly clattering. When we finally made it back to the building I called Taehyung to buzz us back in.

“FINALLY," Hoseok screamed at the top of his lungs startlingly.

The boys gathered around the table which had been placed in the middle of the coffee-colored floor while Joon and I had been gone. I absentmindedly bit into the chicken, dropping crumbs on my new hoodie.

“Y/N seems like hyung's hoodie is looking very comfortable on you,” Jimin said smirking with grease-covered lips. I noticed how he glanced at Jin and Jk, weird but I kept that to myself.

“Matter of fact it's mine now and there's nothing Joonie can do about it," I smirked at Namjoon who seems to be ready to attack.

I was about to stop him when he grabbed my arms and pulled me into him. I was staring into his eyes embarrassingly hard when all of a sudden he-

“AHHHH NAMJOON STOP STOP,” I screamed laughing furiously as his hands tickled my stomach and sides.

“Address me properly Y/N and I'll stop," Namjoon said laughing with the rest of the members.

I didn't want to give in to his sick game but I was almost out of breath. The boys laughed loudly in the background, still enjoying their food.

“FINE FINE NAMJOON SSI NOW STOP,” I screamed giving up on my stubbornness.

"Good girl,” he cooed as he stopped his almost unwanted assault.

I quickly gathered myself off of the floor missing the close contact already, but not forgetting to give the boys the finger in the process. My ears get warmer as Namjoons words echo through my mind.

｡ₓ ू ₒ☆ * ✲୧( ○ ╹ ╹ ○ )୨✲ * ☆ ₒ ु ₓ｡

I start cleaning up the empty chicken boxes. Wiping off the table and pushing it back into a random corner. As I announced my departure Yoongi walked up to me quickly. Almost as if I would disappear in a split second if he didn't grab my arm. I felt goosebumps rise on my skin, but he must have felt them too because he swiftly released my arm. Rubbing the back of his neck slowly.

“Hey can you stop by my studio tomorrow to help me with something, I need a bit of inspiration?" Yoongi questioned.

“Hmmm, sure I'll be here at around 10 if that's okay," I said smiling softly. I gave him a hug and walked out the door before he can even respond. Was I being avoidant because of earlier or am I just tired? I choose to blame it on the array of confusing events and emotions that took place tonight.

“HEY! Y/N let me walk you home!" Namjoon grunted busting through the door.

I nodded and let him catch up to me; pushing my skirt down a little. Fuck. I should have talked to Yoongi, I blew him off just to let Namjoon swoop in and walk me home in light of my circumstances. Maybe I’m thinking too deeply about the situation but hopefully, things will be hashed out during our session later. My apartment wasn't very far from the big hit building so I already saw the convenience store that was placed next door to my place. The wind started blowing harder so we picked up the pace until we reached the door of my place.

"Maybe you should um text the boys to go home so they won't wait on you. Since it's really cold. Do you um want something to drink?" I stuttered out meekly.

“Sure Y/N." He said lowly.

I shivered at the tone of his voice. The way my own name crested my ears like a harmonious symphony, this man can seduce the devil. I walked to the fridge pulling out 2 beers. Trying to calm myself before I walked back. My palms started to sweat and I can hear my heartbeat increase with each step back.

“Here Monie," I said passing him his beer and sitting on the loveseat across from him. I popped mines open staring at the ceiling as I drank.

"Slow down babe you're gonna choke,” he playfully interjected with a grin.

"Make me," I said articulately throwing my pillow at him.

“Why are you sitting so far, there's a better seat right here." He said patting his lap.

My heart started racing again as I nearly choked on my beer. Did I hear him right?

"Ha... Namjoon quit joking around," I said producing a strained laugh.

"Who says I'm joking Y/N hm?" He questioned with his eyebrow quirked. I’m at his mercy and he knows it.

I squirmed in my seat for a second thinking of what made him so bold all of a sudden. I know I talk a big game but I’m already under his spell. He got up and walked towards me for what felt like a millisecond with those long, muscular legs. I was about to say something when a knock on the door interrupted me.

"Uh I-I'll get it," I said jumping up but not failing to nearly trip over my own feet. Very classy I thought to myself.

I open the door in surprise when I come face to face with 6 sleepy Bangtan members. They all shivered in the crisp air, their noses turning red.

"OH MY GOD GET IN HERE I THOUGHT YOU ALL WENT HOME!" I yelled while dragging them into my apartment. I locked the door and stared at them with a look of suspicion laced on my face. Taehyung looks very guilty as he shields himself behind a shorter Hoseok.

"Well, we missed you so much we wanted to have a sleepover with you and WE BROUGHT YOUR FAVORITE SNACKS!" Jungkook said lowly with Jimin chiming in to enthusiastically scream the rest.

"At this point, I'm accustomed to you guys showing up randomly, but a little warning would be nice next time," I said with a small smile, taking the snacks from Jimin.

"HOW COME NAMJOON HYUNG GETS TO STAY BEFORE WE DO!?" Taehyung yelled while running to jump on the couch.

"Because he walked me home and it was cold," I answered calmly. A breviloquent sigh slipped past my lips.

"I CALL DIBS ON WALKING Y/N HOME NEXT TIME!" Yoongi screamed chaotically.

"NO, I DO!" Seokjin said raising his voice.

The boys started arguing and I couldn't help but start laughing. I plopped down next to Namjoon almost sitting in his lap, seems like I missed my chance for that I thought. He must have noticed because he placed his hands on my hips to brace me onto the couch.

He stared into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity until Jimin brought us back to life with a piercing scream. My head snapped up only to see Taehyung picking Jimin up from the ground and shaking him.

"GUYS STOP IT BEFORE YOU BREAK SOMETHING, I will be walking myself home in the future if you don't relax," I admitted angrily.

Taehyung dropped Jimin to the floor with a thud and hung his head low. I stood up and asked Namjoon to come with me to get Blankets and pillows for the boys. Everything continued normally as Jungkook turned on the gaming console to begin his everlasting reign on Overwatch.

I walked down the hall and felt Namjoon's eyes burning holes into my back. We walked up to the closet and I grabbed a hearty amount of comforters and dropped them in front of me. I tried to reach for the pillows on the top shelf, but as I was struggling a strong pair of arms reached over my head and easily pulled me down the mountain of fluff.

"You know I can't help but find you so cute shorty." He said while smirking at my obviously warm face.

"I'm not short, I'm average height!" I said pouting with my arms crossed. He gently laughed and told me to pick up the pillows and go. I could listen to that sound all day.

When we walked back into the living room Yoongi was already asleep on the couch, Taehyung was playing a game with Jungkook, Hoseok, and Jimin emerged in watching the 2 other boys, and Jin was in the kitchen searching for God knows what.

"Here you guys go, I'm gonna head up to my room and inhale the snacks you brought me then sleep," I said while smiling.

“We think you should stay awake with us y/n, " Jin added from the kitchen.

"Let's play truth or dare," Jimin said with a sinister smile etched on his face. Oh no.

｡ₓ ू ₒ☆ * ✲୧( ○ ╹╹ ○ )୨✲ * ☆ ₒ ु ₓ｡

"Okay, truth or dare it is gentlemen. Let the game commence." I said with a light hesitant chuckle.

I sat next to Namjoon by habit. I felt his muscles tense when I sat close, but he relaxed when he felt my hand graze his thigh. The heat radiating from him warmed my skin in a way no has ever made me feel.

A couple of questions went by and it was Jimin's turn to ask. "Y/N truth or dare?" I thought about it for a second. "Truth,” I said rubbing my hands together nervously. "Ugh boring," he groaned. His eyebrows dipped in deep thought. Then he snapped, "I got it. Would you ever date Namjoon Hyung?"

My heart began to palpitate and I could feel the mist growing under my arms. All eyes were on me anticipating the answer to my question. "No, I don't think so. I mean we have a great friendship that I refuse to ruin. I’m not even his type." I mustered out as calmly as I could. The room was silent and the air grew dense around all of us. Namjoon looked visibly upset at Jimin. I shifted uncomfortably, silently begging God to take me right then and there. Why would I say that!? He thinks I’m an idiot I know he does.

"Well, who's next?" Taehyung asked. "ME!" Jungkook said breaking the silence quickly.

The questions continued for another hour before I decided to head to bed. The boys happily did any foolish dare that came to mind. Moments like these really help you cherish your friendships with those around you. A shattering pain erupts from my heart as I think about Namjoon’s mood shift during the rest of the game.

I rubbed my soar eyes before turning over and checking the time. 3 AM beamed in white on my alarm clock. The breeze from my opened window caused a shiver to course through me. I could hear faint voices and cars going along the road. I’ve always loved the sound of common nightlife. I assumed the boys were spread out wildly on my couch and floor. Even though the awkwardness cleared up, I still wanted to punch Jimin in the arm. My thoughts soon traveled to Namjoon and the mixture of surprise and frustration in his eyes when he stared at Jimin intensely. I wanted to know what was going on in his mind and why he seemed so serious earlier. The tricks my mind torture me with started to drive me crazy; I really need to talk to him and finally see if he feels what I feel. This empty yearning feeling can only be filled by my person. He is my person.

I tiptoed to the living room ever so quietly. I was greeted with the interesting sight of the boys wrapped in giant fluffy, white blankets. All of them looked so peaceful as their snores bounced off the walls of the room. I looked for Namjoon and he rested peacefully on the couch. His arms crossed over his broad chest, his lips parted slightly. He looked so beautiful I didn't want to wake him. I stepped over Taehyungs foot to sneak around to the front of the couch. I whispered Namjoon’s name quietly and he let out a half-hearted grumble.

"Joonie wake up, we need to talk please," I whispered one more time before he slowly peeled his almond-shaped eyes open.

"Y/N...what's wrong? Did I do some-"

I placed my manicured finger over my lips in order to hush him. He got quiet and stared at me calmly.

"Come with me," I said grabbing his big hand.

Just the feeling of his fingers entwined with mines made me quiver a little. The blanket slipped from his body as he got up, revealing that he was wearing only short, grey joggers that didn't do much to disguise his bulge. His skin was glowing as he stared at me with dreamlike eyes and his muscles looked so intoxicating that I almost passed out right there. If anything, it made me pull him up the stairs and into my bedroom expeditiously. I closed the door and sat him on the bed. He was staring at me as I stood by the door like a madwoman.

"Y/N why'd you bring me in here? Is everything alright? If this is about earl-"

Before he could finish his sentence I crossed the small space between us and kissed him. I felt him hesitate before he relaxed into the feeling. I perched myself on his lap finally breathing in his scent. He deepened the kiss and started to caress my back.

He lightly grabbed the back of my neck and pulled us apart. "I thought you didn't like me as much as I like you...but I guess you have other plans hmm?" He asked me with a smirk on his face.

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me please," I begged and pushed him so his back was resting on the bed. My knees were placed on either side of his hips, I grinned down at him and then continued my attack on his swollen lips. Not how I ideally imagined our first, non-intoxicated, kiss would be but still worth every second.

I smiled as the cool air graced my face. Legs sprawled out in an entangled mess. Soft shocks circulated through my body as Namjoon gently rubbed my thigh. The buzz of forgotten TV resonates in the back, but now only a mere thought. Cars pass by, honking at whatever they have going on. “A million,” he said. “A million?” I questioned confused at the aimless outburst. He sat up legs crossed pulling me closer away from the opposite side of my bed. “Let’s say there are a million people outside right now. In their own world doing whatever life has destined for them. They go to work, cook, and clean just like we do. Shit, some may even have servants and have never worked a day in their life, but they’re here right now. Just like we are. Somehow there are a million people around us and you’re all I can see y/n.”

｡ₓ ू ₒ☆ * ✲୧( ○ ╹╹ ○ )୨✲ * ☆ ₒ ु ₓ｡

12 pm, I slowly stirred in bed as the sun pierced through my window abruptly breaking my sleep. I felt around for the warm presence of a certain black-haired man but was met with an empty space. I heard a loud yell come from the kitchen and I knew the boys were awake and chatting away. I carefully threw my legs to the side of the bed to quietly get down. I crept to the kitchen entrance trying not to make a sound. I listened to them talk and make bets over if Joon and I fought. I covered my mouth trying not to laugh. Still, in a daze because of this morning's events, I didn't notice Namjoon sneak up behind me.

"Good morning beautiful." He smiled and his dimples appeared on his cheeks. I couldn't help but smile at the sight. He looked so handsome and disheveled in this natural morning state. I delicately covered his face in feather-like kisses before pulling him into another passionate kiss, which he gladly reciprocated. His hands rested on my hips and I wrapped my arms around his masculine shoulders. I felt him smile into the kiss; I giggled on his lips, the lips that said the most erotic things just a few hours before we made it to this point. Suddenly we heard a camera click and the boys screamed exposing the two of us, all giddy and shy in the hallway.

"I KNEW IT, YOU FUCKERS OWE ME 5 THOUSAND WON!" Jimin screamed and threw up a fist of victory in the air.

You all erupted in laughter but what you didn't notice was Yoongi grimacing in the corner.

#namjoon x y/n #rm #namjoon x reader #yoongi x y/n #namjoon x reader x yoongi #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #friends to lovers #bts suga #joonie #i love you but we can’t #bangtan ot7

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eric-the-bmo · 9 months

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Neighborhood Watch S2ep5: Open Wounds

A week after the session and I'm finally uploading the recap with bullet points, here we go:

[Summary: Ken tries to join the group /hj. The Cast fully reuintes at Emmett's. Markus gains an ally, while John tries to be a good friend. Song tries to clean up her place, and Louis goes on a rant.]

• Picking up a bit after where we left off: Ken tells Louis he's had the Sight ability ever since he was born, getting visions from touching objects and people— he says he's a psychic. Louis corrects him: Clairvoyant, actually. Ken's like "hm whatever psychic sounds cooler" • Ken shows Louis some drawings of monsters he's spotted, including one he calls the PantherHawk- it's the Hunter we killed in the Season One finale. Louis tries his best to explain what it was. • Louis elaborates, saying he and a group of others hunted down the kind of monster the PantherHawk was- Ken picks up on the "we" aspect, and asks if there was an official group, and if he can join— Louis said it was more of a neighborhood watch, finally dropping the title of the show after thirteen episodes. • Ken says the grocery store keeps restocking even though no one does that, according to Harold the bagger, and suggests its a ghost. Louis suggests it could be the fae– Jewel the Only Employee laughs over at the register– and tells Ken to see if the employees are doing anything like leaving offerings to the fae. • The cats all surround them in a semi-circle when its time for them to leave- Louis asks Ken if he thinks thats weird, and Ken's all "idk i thought they were trained to do that" (Louis: "keneth do you know how hard it is to train cats") • Some point in this conversation it was revealed Ken's lived in Greenville a few months before he got a house in the raffle- one of the places he stayed at was above the pizza place, after whoever lived there moved out (John and Shelby's old place!!! he lived where they lived!!!)

• Karen opens the door to see Markus, who sees the cop approaching and Really dones't wanna get arrested, because why else would a cop be walking over here? They push past her to run to Bob, and says they know where the monsters are; if they get arrested, Bob will never know where the monsters are. Markus uses a Luck point to successfully do this. • Bob tells Karen (whos being helpd up by their son aka the cop) the reason Markus ran her over was bc they were just excited about a camping trip he promised they would do together— Karen is confused bc they seemed to hate each other, and Markus is all "dude im not a kid, im 27," but the lie works. • (Turns out Markus wasnt going to get arrested anyway, since Bobby Jr was only heading over there to say hello since he was in the area) • Markus starts to head over to Emmett's house to speak to the AI inside. • Theres this whole bit about firefighters heading over and interviewing Song, and Louis being Flustered by them all and giving them giftbaskets. Song gathers a bag of stuff [aka, hidden weapons] that werent ruined from the explosion and plans to give them to Louis later, because where else would she store them? Her house is gone.

John and Clara are walking back to City Hall, where she asks if he'd like to grab dinner together- she's essentially asking him out on a date. John, however, knows Shelby wanted to try making him dinner to celebrate (and has never been asked out before so he's Oblivious), so he mentions this. Clara's "like oh yeah maybe your roommate can join us, if he's chill with it," John mentions his roommate is a girl, and Clara just goes "...oh." And like. Walks away.

Shelby shows up to pick up John and she looks so tired. John's like "hey bestie are you okay"

• Shelby tells John how she's just really focused on completing the Lego set she got earlier- the way she talks about it, like how Focused she is on getting it done, prompts the other players to theorize the Lego set is partially haunted or cursed by the dead son of the neighbor she got it from (I, meanwhile, assumed Shleby was just having an ADHD hyperfocus moment). John goes Protective Friend and convinces her to to go bed, also revealing her full name (Shelby Nicole Waters). There's a Bit about John not knowing if he has a middle name (he doesn't). • John learns Song's house exploded and he's like "it fucking what-" • He makes sure she gets to sleep, and after she does, he watches her for a few moments to make sure she's okay. Unlike the other times he's done this, he doesn't think about killing her this time.

• We all head to Emmett's— Louis chases Ken away when he tries to join us. When we get down there Markus tells John to quit his job, and Song is GLARING at the monster man, who's absolutely looking down at the floor, he Does Not want to look at her. • Louis goes on this Giant Rant to Emmett about how everything in this town is weird, have you noticed that? Like this town was made to keep all the weird stuff inside it. Literally nothing and no one about this town is normal. • Emmett says he knows this, and says he's spent years studying the town because of it. Wild. [as this is happening, John glances over at Song to make sure she's okay] • When Markus asks Emmett if he found out what the plastic was about, and Song is all "Oh I can explain that actually." She lies and says that some of her uh. Toys, got ruined in the explosion. [• We get very distracted for a moment because of this, both out-of and in-character] • We learn about the plants. Theyre venomous, highly adaptive, invasive, etc. They almost seem like Hunters, aka what John is, but as plants. • Markus tells everyone to meet them at their house since theyve got something to show the rest of the Cast. We split up. • Song and Louis hang out and the crooked's place as Song looks up a place to stay and gives him the weapons. Louis gets a message from Lestat, and heads over. • Going against a meaningful conversation he and Song had literally less than five minutes ago, Louis falls to Lestat's manipulations and lets the vampire feed upon him. • John is the only one to show up. Markus refuses to show him what they were gonna show the cast, bc then theyd have to show it twice and they dont wanna do that. John and Markus have a conversation that starts with him asking why they thought he didn't to be fixed. Markus tells John he's caring, strong- nothing's wrong with him, he just needs to work on self control. They end up becoming friends again, and John helps them feed their bugs. • When he gets home, he sees the partially-built Lego set on the kitchen counter, and feels the Urge to continue building it. He turns away, not wanting to interrupt Shelby's project– a Luck point is spent, and his Monstrous side will be worse when it emerges next.

Notes:

I FUCKED UP I LOCKED MYSELF OUT OF DATING CLARA NOOOO [John my beloved he's going to ask her what he did wrong next week (and then he's going to quit his job. bc really he Also really doesn't like the plant thing)]

JOHNS CANONICALLY THOUGHT ABOUT KILLING SHELBY BEFORE, WE STAY WINNING /hj

Something about how John feels guilty about almost killing Song and how he wants to make it up to her

That conversation where Song explained the plastic? I was like "GIRL REMEMBER YOUR GEAS ABOUT NOT TELLING US, YOU'LL D I E" and then she Lied, killing me instantly

John wanting to be a good friend to Shelby is continuously fucking up his life /JJJJ (I can't wait for him to go all Monstery again it'll be so so fun)

Louis takes a break during his rant to mention how he has No Idea how Markus has even survived this long, and everyone agrees that Markus is literally the most normal person in this group. There's great dramatic irony here, given how Markus is in fact Full of Bugs and made everyone forget about that

I didnt say anything about it in-game but hello? Markus? self-control??? John had avoided killing humans by eating forest animals for three years he was doing such a good job. why do you Think he's so torn up about hurting Song

LOUIS. LOUIS IM GOING TO KILL YOUR EX BOYFRIEND. God that scene was so. ougghughghghgjh. fucking christ

#eric finally speaks #motw campaign #motw #the neighborhood watch #the neighborhood watch recap #motw oc

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manofmanymons · 2 years

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No one asked but I feel like talking about them so I will

I could go on all day about all the different reasons I really love Miu and Kaito as characters, but I could also do the same for literally every other character. Bc I love the entire cast of Survive to death and have more to say about them than anyone would ever want to hear.

But the main reason these two stand out to me above the rest despite the fact that I wouldn't say they're BETTER by any means is just that...they're so relatable to me, it almost hurts.

Starting with Miu, I'm both a younger sibling and the youngest in my friend group. So like, I'm no stranger to being coddled to death. Even people who I've specifically asked to stop treating me like a child still act like I'll somehow accidentally kill myself if they leave me alone for ten seconds. I'm an adult and literally earlier today my roommate freaked out that my hand was too close to the stove even though I've been cooking and baking for us for the past week. And it's infuriating! I know they mean well and I know it's because they care but ffs it makes me feel like everyone thinks I'm some kind of weak useless idiot. I digress (spoilers for the harmony route) I also know what it's like to have parents that won't believe you when bad things happen to you and try to blame you for things that can't possibly be your fault. I ALSO also know what it's like to have a special interest that means a lot to me but that other people think is weird.

And with Kaito

Boy I don't even know where to start with him

Guess I'll start with saying even though I just said I'm a younger sibling, my family dynamic is a little weird. My sister has always been a bit of a troublemaker, while I was the "so mature for your age" kid, so for as long as I can remember, I've been the one looking after her. I've always felt so responsible for her, and when some shit happened to her in our old town that was bad, well...it kinda felt like I failed my one (1) job. Our parents didn't take her side in what happened; in fact they were pretty pissed at her for getting into trouble. And she didn't wanna tell her friends. So I was really just...all she had. If I wasn't there for her, then no one was. We moved to a new town, she started acting up more, things got difficult. I hated my classmates and my family and I was just so goddamn angry all the time that I was constantly getting in fights at school. It's a lonely experience, feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders and no one even notices or cares. And it wasn't until YEARS later that even my sister looked back and was like "holy shit I would've gone insane without you" and even acknowledged that I did a lot for her. So yeah I guess you could say I know how it feels to love someone and want to do anything you can for them even if you're not sure they love you back.

It's exhausting and frustrating and you get PISSED a LOT. Sometimes at them. Especially when they get mad at you when you're just trying to keep them SAFE goddammit why don't they GET THAT. But you don't just stop loving them, ya know? And yeah that makes me a hypocrite considering earlier I said I hate when people feel like they need to protect me, but also my 5 foot 90lb sister tryna go out ALONE with telling anyone where she's going is not the same as me having someone pull a box cutter out of my hands because "sweetie be careful that's sharp"

ANYWAYS

The hyperspecific circumstance of being an edgy 14 year old suddenly adopted into a friend group where people are baffling kind to you and now you have to learn how to communicate with words is just comically relatable like Kaito gives me so much secondhand embarrassment with his shitty communication skills. Like I, the player, understand exactly what he's TRYING to say. But then what he actually says is just so far off the mark that I cringe at the flashbacks of teen me doing the same thing. Like okay spoilers for the wrathful route and dracmon's mega evolution but FOR EXAMPLE

The time he tried to tell Aoi that he understood that she felt responsible for Saki's death but that it really wasn't her fault and she did all she could but he accidentally made her feel 10x worse instead

And the time the sentiment of "please leave so I can go all out in this battle knowing that you are safe because you're important to Miu which makes you important to me and I need to protect you" just came out as like "get out of my way"

He tries so hard to do good but he fails so much at conveying his intentions that it always comes across as bad and it makes me so sad for him because like...MOOD, little buddy.

Even though the violent cringey little bastard that was 14 year old me doesn't exist anymore and hasn't in a very long time, Kaito is just such an intensely personal character to me—to an almost terrifying extent. He occupies a very special place in my heart, even over characters I've loved for years. He's my favorite little guy!

#this got so personal and ranty should I even tag it #kaito shinonome #miu shinonome #you know who else is embarrassingly relatable #fucking #shuuji #i graduated highschool at the top 3% of my class and my dads unironic genuine response was why not 1%#placed 5th in a state wide competition and nearly broke down crying bc it wasnt good enough #ily shuuji #digimon survive was fucking PERSONAL for me yall dont understand #catch me kinning half the cast #DID I MENTION MY ENTIRE WARDROBE WAS BLACK AND RED AND I FUCKING DYED MY HAIR BLOND #BECAUSE YEAH THAT WAS ANOTHER THING TEENAGE ME DID #my friends kept calling me kenma bc of my pudding hair kskdkf #fuck it i tagged it anyways tumblr let my interests connect me to my people lmao

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eumenidaes · 1 year

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I posted 14,506 times in 2022

That's 2,162 more posts than 2021!

157 posts created (1%)

14,349 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most: (breaking the @ so I don't have to show up in people's notifications lol)

@ possum-tooth

@ gxldandpurple

@ aspiringwarriorlibrarian

@ pinkyshy101

@ caspercryptid

I tagged 2,857 of my posts in 2022

#video - 336 posts

#kitty - 282 posts

#tag game - 215 posts

#space - 158 posts

#my posts - 114 posts

#chae-yeong - 102 posts

#ask meme - 94 posts

#ironwood - 81 posts

#rohan - 75 posts

#about - 57 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#james watching his wife beat the hell out of a man for disagreeing with her war crimes: hmm. think this might have awakened something in me

My Top Posts in 2022:

Rest of this is under the cut because some of them get LONG

gxldandpurple: Have you ever traveled to a different country? If you haven’t, which one would be the first you would go to?

eumenidaes: Technically I left the US once bcs I went on a cruise when I was like 5 and we stopped at one of the islands in the Caribbean, but I don’t remember any details of it or even where specifically we stopped. I’d like to go to South Korea one day tho, I’m part Korean but have always felt kinda disconnected to that aspect of my culture for a number of reasons (I’m a quarter Korean and white, American assimilation means I didn’t learn pretty much anything about my background growing up, etc). idk if going there would really help with that, but it would be cool to get to go there and like. Learn more about that part of my background, if that makes any sense

5 notes - Posted September 28, 2022

22 for the Spotify ask meme!

It didn't take nearly as long as I expected it would, but the short story's finished! Thanks for exchanging requests for art with our number 22 songs with me lol, this song is Oh No! by MARINA (tho for some reason it looks like spotify moved around some of my songs and it's not there anymore??? idk, I'm not changing it to be another song when that other one was also requested lol)

I tried to incorporate themes from the song of things like neglecting personal relationships due to a desire to succeed and make a change in the world/life. This is focused on my RWBY OC, Chae-Yeong Vermeil, and you can also read it on ao3!

“Miss Vermeil! Chae-Yeong!”

Chae-Yeong turns at the sound of her name to see the familiar cheery face of Ashley Linden making her way through the first floor of the Vermeil Foundation building.

The musician has become a familiar face at the charity’s headquarters over the past couple of months, and as much as Chae-Yeong’s inclined to believe people are good, she can’t help wondering if Ashley’s just here out of a desire to help people in Mantle. She’s well aware that Ashley insists on making her donations to the charity with Chae-Yeong personally, and that she’s been known to leave upon finding out that Chae-Yeong isn’t there today. It's clear that she doesn’t like staying in Mantle for long. That combined with how even now, Ashley casts a quick glance downwards towards Chae-Yeong’s chest makes her main intention for being here clear— she’s attracted to Chae-Yeong, and she wants to get close to her.

If she were twenty years younger and not used to people who don’t even know her pining after her, Chae-Yeong might be flattered. But she is forty-six, and Ashley is twenty-eight, and Chae-Yeong has long since moved past enjoying people she barely speaks to wanting to date her. There are far more important things in the world, like running her company, working on developing space travel, and trying to improve Atlas and Mantle for everyone in it.

But Chae-Yeong knows how to play nice. She has an image to upkeep, and whatever feelings she holds privately don’t need to be shared with anyone.

“Hi, it's Ashley, right? How are you?” Chae-Yeong asks. She knows exactly who Ashley is, but pretending she’s bad with names is all part of the act. It also might deter her from continuing to pursue her.

She hopes this won’t take long. She has work to do. Neither the Vermeil Foundation of Vermeil Industries run themselves, and even if her job as CEO isn’t meant to keep her involved with what’s happening in her company, she likes to be. Chae-Yeong would rather sit through mind numbingly boring meetings and seemingly endless emails than do nothing but play golf and only ever interact with people that are inordinately wealthy. Besides, her involvement in her company’s practices and its charitable offshoot means that she can make sure that everyone working for her is getting treated well.

“I’m great, for sure,” Ashley says. She fiddles with the end of some of her long blonde hair. “Actually, I was just looking for you.”

“Yeah?” Chae-Yeong prompts.

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

And there’s the question Chae-Yeong had been waiting for. Honestly, she’s impressed. It usually takes even less interaction with her for someone to get bold enough to ask her out.

The answer will, of course, be no. The question is how to phrase the rejection without upsetting Ashley too much or letting her get far enough to feel humiliated.

“I’ve actually got a date later tonight. I don’t know how well it’ll go, but I might be, ah, unavailable for a long while after that,” Chae-Yeong says. It’s a complete lie, but those can make the best excuses. Plus, it helps her to maintain the playgirl reputation she’s cultivated over the years.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in a relationship,” Ashley says, and she’s mastered the Atlesian art of burying your feelings deep inside. There's disappointment clear in her eyes, but her expression remains bright as if she hadn't been hoping that Chae-Yeong was single.

Chae-Yeong is in a relationship, but that’s not something that anyone is supposed to know about. Everything between her and James is supposed to be private. If she were telling anyone about it, the last choice would be a pop star that would tell the tabloid’s that Atlas’ general and the CEO of Vermeil Industries are dating.

“It’s nothing too long term, just our second date,” Chae-Yeong says. It’s best to keep these made up relationships short, that way it’s harder to fact check.

“Yeah, that’s pretty early on,” Ashley agrees, and Chae-Yeong recognizes the way her eyes regain their light at the thought. With a short relationship, she sees opportunity. If they’re only in the getting to know you phase still, it could be brief. Maybe Ashley won’t try to ask Chae-Yeong out now, but she will again in the future, after this fictionalized relationship has fizzled out.

Chae-Yeong knows that she’s only creating an endless cycle with this by lying and acting like if she was single, Ashley would have a chance with her. But outright rejecting Ashley would only upset her. At least this option gives her hope, even if it is a false one.

“Sorry if you wanted to do something, though,” Chae-Yeong says.

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I hope your date goes well!” Ashley says, even though she definitely doesn’t hope it goes well.

“Maybe we can get a rain check?” Chae-Yeong suggests. “I should be free at… some point. I’d have to check my schedule, it’s hard to keep track of everything.”

It isn’t, and Chae-Yeong knows exactly when she’s free. But this is another part of her public persona, and it gives her a good way to postpone any future attempts by Ashley to ask her out.

“Yeah, we can figure it out later,” Ashley says. She rocks back on her heels. “I guess I should let you go, huh?”

“If you don’t mind. I have a lot going on, well, pretty much all the time,” Chae-Yeong says with a laugh. That’s not a lie, but it’s also a good way to get out of this conversation.

“No worries,” Ashley assures.

“Thanks so much.” Hoping to avoid getting caught up in more conversation if Ashley thinks of anything else to say, she starts walking towards the elevator. “See you later!”

With a press of a button, the elevator is called to the first floor. It arrives with a ding as Ashley says her goodbyes, and Chae-Yeong steps in, waving one last time before the doors close.

See the full post

5 notes - Posted December 2, 2022

If anyone wants to know how unhinged about Ironwood I am, I did a sporcle where you were supposed to write out his entire ultimatum and I was stumped bcs I had literally one word of it that I couldn’t figure out bcs the word I thought was supposed to go there was said to be wrong. It turns out it’s bcs I knew the monologue better than the quiz did

5 notes - Posted November 3, 2022

See the full post

5 notes - Posted April 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Love tumblr ads that clearly were not supposed to be published

29 notes - Posted February 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #my posts #here's hoping this doesn't still annoy people in their mentions despite me breaking that lol

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noro-noro-noro · 1 year

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okk what was the dream i had during my nap today....i had alarms every 10 minutes bc i wanted to get up earlier than i did so it was all in slices. i only remember 2

1. psychic girl upset turns into keeping an eye on little kids 2. the kids are still there but we are now in a different environment 3. i’m at some kind of plant hotel preloaded with memories of some auto-assigned boyfriend that i wasn’t too pleased with & then i ran into my friend who was being MEAN TO ME

- smth about supervising some younger kids who were kinda troublemakers. i was psychic also? idk. it wasn’t ME at first i was just spectating this psychic teenager girl who had like shoulder length fluffy red hair & dark eyes & moderate acne & she was crying bc there were people on like. a pilgrimage? through the forest. these people were generally considered victims somehow like they were rendered homeless either through a natural disaster or other people’s actions & they were walking through the field next to the forest. they might have also been psychic idk but like a different kind of psychic

- oh yeah the area...all mostly shades of gray. the girl was wearing like a faded yellow dress. the grass was like that pale yellowish gold color when it’s dying in fall, the sky was like soupy with white clouds, the trees were tightly packed. i remember pine bark but there were also trees with leaves...i think tulip trees? idk. also pale yellow. the people walking were all in thick dark gray shawls over their clothes.

- anyway the redhead girl i was spectating asked them to please take a detour. go a different way. she was really upset. i’m not sure why - if it was unsafe, if their psychic thoughts grated against her brain, if she jsut didn’t want them in the yard. idk. it didn’t work well. she kept crying.

- eventually she did manage to relocate? not sure how. there were some cliffs and they took the path of least resistance & made a right turn across the field to the other rim of the forest. the sun was setting now, or maybe everything was just redder. there were kids being mean to each other on top fo the cliff daring each other to jump or to shove somebody else off, i became an entity allied with the redhead girl, who stopped crying & i grabbed some of the kids at the edge & bounded down the side of the cliff, & the redhead girl now had powers of imagination of some kind & did as well. some of the kids were crying & freaking out but i was like you know what this is better than? & they were like what? & i was like being a you pancake! & they all just looked at me & i went ooohh tough crowd huh...the air is so suffocating...gack...& fell on the ground &^ some laughed & started shaking me around.

- the psychic girl created some kind of imaginary cowboy scenario & kabang! we were off! riding off into the sunset (the sunset was north of the field where no trees were) but somehow still alongside the people on their walk. the children were happy.

second part

- i don’t remember how we ended up here, but it was the amphitheater at my middle school i think. there was some kind of presentation up in the front that everyone was supposed to be paying attention to. the lilghts were off & everything.

- we were in like the back row - not all the way to the back of the theater but one behind the one where everyone else was sitting. we were acting up being rambunctious. the presentation was light blue & everything had like the electric blue cast to it.

- anyway since we were being rambunctious we got in trouble. i really am blanking on the deteails. there were more seats going horizontally than i remember in real life & i kept having to move from the right to the left. idk. i meant to be detailed in this part too but it’s just not happening.

third part

- new setting! i’m actually too lazy for this rn i was gonna tell my friend about it bc he was also in here, so once i did that i’ll come back later & paste it

the gist is that i was on spy business in the DARK PLANT HOTEL AREA & i was airdropped in. i saw part of the hotel from above & it was like these yellow stone towers but the kind that are gloopy on top & one had a red stamp & one was black. anyway i went in there & i was preloaded with memories to make me blend in better of having to date this dude from my HS graphic design class but he was really lame & i was thinking of breaking up with him bc he was too shy to do much more than 1 kiss on the lips. also everyone was dressed fancy but he was dressed in a badly fitting black suit so i was like i gotta ditch this bozo he’s cramping my style... (i do not recall my outift) . then i ran into one of my friends instead who was like what are you doing here? & iw as like it’s hot girl shit. im spying. i’m investigating.& he was like right. people would definitely hire you as a spy bc you’re so short they wouldn’t be able to see you :^) & i got so mad i woke up

#dreams

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weird-homosexual-in-your-area · 5 months

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just reposting one of the old things I wrote from @writing-prompt-s bc i want to archive these

You'd been sitting in front of the Pearly Gates for a long while now. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months? For all you knew, you could have been sitting there for millennia. Your sense of time had melted away when it all faded to white, so you really couldn't discern.

However, today you saw an angel approaching you. Judging by his relatively human looking disposition, as well as his short and curly hair, alongside the wings and golden halo, you figured out that it was probably Saint Peter. He held a long piece of paper in his hand, so he was probably there to read out a good few names.

"John Smith?" he called, his radiant voice filling your ears. You stood up and approached him, but felt your heart skip a beat when you noticed his normal cheery face was gone, being replaced by a somber, disappointed-looking disposition. You were going to hell, there was no getting around it. As he told you to follow him, you braced yourself to be cast into the eternal fire.

No amount of bracing would prepare you to be walked below the clouds, entering what appeared to be a meeting room. An overwhelming confusion hit you like a ton of bricks- the Bible wasn't exactly vague about what hell was like, and despite that you hated meetings, this wasn't it. But it couldn't be Heaven either- you had been looking at it moments ago. Where had you been taken?

"John Smith. Sit down, ensure your comfort."

A low, booming voice broke you out of your questioning. You had no doubt in your mind that this was God Himself. Where else would such a voice originate, after all?

"As you may or may not know, mortals are judged based on their virtues and on their sins. However, one specific detail that will have escaped you, most certainly, is that each of these provides you a certain count of Judgemet Value Points. If you pass with a positive amount of said points, you enter Heaven. If you perish with negative, however, you would be cast into the eternal flames."

You nodded, slightly amazed that your guesses while still alive were so accurate. You had always theorized that angels used some form of sin point system to make judging people easier. It would just make sense. You never dreamed that you'd be so close to the truth.

The voice returned. "However, you are a... unique case. After adding up your Judgement Value Points, you come to a total of exactly zero points."

Your thoughts fell silent. Zero points? Exactly none? How the fuck did that happen? Sure, you'd done some bad things, but you were overall quite good! And besides, that's so ridiculously unlikely that you'd be exactly ON the boundary!

"Congrats. You are statistically the most average person to ever die," you heard some nameless angel say, which brought a weak smile to your face.

"Moving onward, we have no rule for what should happen if you can not go to either Heaven, or Hell. However, we, the forces of Heaven, have come to an agreement." Oh, thank the Lord. "No problem," the voice boomed again. Of course. Regardless, it was very calming to know that even though you were a unique case, you wouldn't be sitting in His waiting room for all of time.

"You shall be sent back to Earth in a new life. You shall have no memory of your past life, nor your experience in My presence. You shall be born again, and shall live another life. Your judgement will be passed once you die again, and your memories will be returned." That sounded perfect- it gave you extra time on Earth, and you would actually get an afterlife. As you slowly passed out, your memories fading, you smiled, and thanked God for tolerating this one-of-a-kind situation.

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

"How, mortal, have you repeated your exact situation again?!" The Lord God shouted. You knew you were in trouble- you scored a perfect zero for a second time. "I tire of your antics. Your consciousness shall be erased, and you shall be no more." Fair enough, you thought. You had forced Him to deal with a logistical nightmare that had heavily disrupted his routine, and had done it twice. Frankly, His anger was justified.

#writeblr #creative writing

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tkaulitzlvr · 5 months

Note

Hi! :3

I had an idea for a request

I thought of a tom x reader loosely based on "Hungover you"

like him and reader being best friends and somewhere along the line they spend a night together, but decide to forget it for the sake of their friendship (maybe they were a little drunk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ who knows)

then many years later they're still friends but they realise that they really love each other

even if you don't write this i wanted to tell you i think your writing is amazing! don't feel pressured to make content, I'm sure all of your followers don't mind waiting for your fics because they are really amazing!

aa sorry for the long text! <3

IT’S YOU - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: they say feelings change with time, but yours couldn’t have stayed closer to the same. it has been three years since you hooked up with tom, and despite your promise to forget about it for the sake of your friendship, you can’t ignore the way you feel anymore.

content: smut (kinda) & fluff

a/n: thankyou soo much!! i put a christmas twist on this because i realised i haven’t made an xmas fic yet i hope that’s okay! pls be patient w me bc apparently i should spend every hour of every day writing fics according to some people… just to be clear this is a hobby and nothing more. i don’t get paid for this LMAOO sometimes i don’t want to write and that’s okay - most people are really understanding so thank you for that, but on a more positive note merry christmas i hope u all have a happy holidays!!!💗

the faint smell of gingerbread teases my senses, mind beyond overstimulated with the incomprehensible blur of conversations around me - the amount of alcohol in my system clearly not helping. every inch of the living room is pasted with the not so subtle reminder of the festive season: warm lights casting their glow across the walls, garlands decorated with small red and green baubles, though the most obvious sign sits in the corner of the room. adorned with baubles in every colour possible, with tinsel (quite messily) stretched across its dark green branches, multi-coloured lights twinkling dimly around it, reminding me why i love this time of year so much.

the chaos of the annual christmas party that had become tradition over the years never became something that i had gotten used to, the dull buzz in my stomach (admittedly from the alcohol too) never going away as i watch my surroundings, friends laughing obnoxiously loudly whilst their hands tear away the intricately decorated paper, revealing their presents.

“and this one is for you.” tom says, snapping me out of my daze as he reaches underneath the tree from where he sits beside me, returning with a small box in his hands. he passes it over to me, a proud smile on his face as i study the wrapping. a red bow placed messily on top, the wrapping paper creased at the sides, the tape used to hold it in place hanging off.

“did you wrap this?” i stifle a laugh, remembering how terrible my best friend is at anything remotely technical, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

“yeah, why?” he seems genuinely proud, and i decide to give him that sense of fulfilment, ignoring that a child probably could have done a better job.

“nothing, nothing. it’s great.” i return my eyes to the present, hands moving to tear away the paper. tom’s eyes remain glued onto me, excitedly awaiting my reaction. i open the box inside, revealing a gold necklace, a small locket in its centre. my mouth falls open, fingers carefully lifting the jewellery from its box, eyes studying it in awe before i turn my attention to tom.

“are you kidding me? it’s beautiful, oh my god!”

an even wider smile rests on his face at my reaction, his leg bobbing up and down nervously. he gestures to the locket as i turn my attention back to it, thumb clicking it open. tom and i. the picture in the centre shows tom and i, far younger, far more innocent than we are now. cheesy grins plastered on our faces, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as we look into the camera, wrapped up in our huge winter coats - standard for the weather in germany.

“i don’t even know what to say i- thank you.” i smile, reaching over and wrapping my arms around his frame. he seems taken aback, though soon returns the gesture, his arms resting on my upper back, hand patting it slowly.

“you’re welcome. i hope you like it.” he offers me a warm smile as we pull away, soon turning his eyes toward the rest of the room, watching as bill unwraps his present from georg.

hours have passed, and even if i tried, i don’t think i could come close to counting the amount of drinks i’ve had. i am beyond tipsy, swaying my head to the cheesy christmas songs that play from the tv whilst attempting to sing the lyrics - failing miserably as my voice comes out slurred and inaudible.

“you sound terrible.” tom’s voice, just as slurred as my own, causes me to stop my singing, turning to face him as he sits beside me, finishing off the remainder of whatever drink he has in his glass.

“thanks.” i mumble, grabbing the glass from his hands and shoving the last few drops down my throat, no longer flinching at its bitter taste. the room seems to become emptier, friends either leaving or finding a bedroom upstairs to sleep in, the darkness from outside reminding me that it is probably the early hours of the morning.

“they’re no fun.” i roll my eyes, pointing to the final few people walking out of the room tiredly, leaving tom and i alone. he hums in agreement as i reach forward, grabbing the half-empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table and pouring it into my mouth, taking a few large swigs. the faint burning in the back of my throat quickly subsides, prompting me to drink some more.

“lets play a game.” tom says from beside me, a loud giggle leaving my mouth at his sudden request.

“a game? what are we twelve?” i laugh, shaking my head and taking another drink, swirling the liquid that is still in the bottle around. “what game?”

“i don’t know, truth or dare?” he shrugs his shoulders, clearly not thinking straight. though i am in no position to judge him, the two of us too intoxicated to be able to think rationally.

“there’s only two of us though. that’s gonna be pretty fucking boring, don’t you think?”

he doesn’t respond, only shrugging his shoulders once again, prompting me to give in. i sit cross legged opposite him, signalling for him to go first.

“truth or dare?”

“hmmm….truth.” i mumble drunkenly, laughing to myself as my body sways to the side a little, almost falling completely off of the couch and onto the hard wood floor. he pauses, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips as he appears to think as deeply as his intoxicated state allows him to, his eyebrows raising as he finally thinks of an idea.

“have you ever had a crush on anyone at this party?” he asks, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands, chuckling quietly to himself.

“bill, like four years ago.” i shrug nonchalantly, taking another swig from the bottle. if i were even remotely sober, i would have come up with some completely unbelievable lie, though the alcohol gives me the sudden confidence to confess, this a secret which i had silently vowed to take to the grave - until now.

“my brother? are you kidding?” his laughter is much louder this time, the room filled with it as he clutches his chest, eyes squeezing shut. at one point, i swear i see tears fall down his cheeks, my hand reaching to swat his chest, the effort pathetic as the alcohol appears to take away every ounce of physical strength.

we continue the game for another thirty minutes, the questions becoming more senseless as time passes, the dares even more abnormal as i sit with my small mini skirt off of my body and on the ground somewhere, tom now shirtless. the sober versions of ourselves would be watching in pure shame, though in the moment, this is the funniest thing we have ever done, drunken laughter pouring from our lips at every word that we say.

“your turn.” tom begins. “truth or dare?”

“dare.”

i expect him to think deeply about what to do, about ways to humiliate me in the worst way possible, taking advantage of the fact that he is in control, possessing the ability to make me do whatever his heart desires. but not only is he much quicker this time, his mind seemingly made up the second i had uttered the four letter word, his reply is one that i could never had been prepared for. though my drunken state brushes it off, unable to question, let alone refuse his demand.

“i dare you…to kiss me.”

i giggle quietly at his statement, widening my eyes in forged surprise and tucking my hair behind my ears, tom’s lips curved into a soft smirk as i slowly shuffle toward him. my legs wrap around his waist, arms wrapping loosely around his neck as his own rest around my waist. our faces are inches apart, small chuckles still leaving our lips as i situate myself comfortably, losing my balance and falling forward, my body collapsing onto his chest.

“whoops.” i mumble, bursting into laughter as tom does the same, trying to pick me back up as his hands place themselves onto my shoulders, pushing me upward so that i sit on his lap once again. though once i regain my balance, the small smile that rests on tom’s lips soon disappears, the laughter replaced by a heavy silence, thick with unexpected tension. his hands rest more firmly on my waist now, face seeming to get closer and closer to my own, so close that his breath fans onto my face, lips ghosting just below my nose.

his eyes look into mine, darkened and filled with lust, almost questioning whether he should make the move. the alcohol is still in charge, still the thing that fuels both tom’s and my own decision making, but behind the drunkenness, i see the real tom, and somewhere amidst the blur of alcohol and lust, i can tell that he is fighting with himself. though after a few seconds, the decision is made, seemingly with little debate as he pushes his lips onto mine harshly, taking my bottom lip between his teeth. the kiss is sloppy, messy, irrational, everything that it should be, fuelled by alcohol and unforeseen desire. but whether it is the bottle of vodka i had just drank talking, or the genuine need that only grows as each second passes, it feels right.

and tom’s actions show that he feels the same way. from our clothes being impatiently pulled off of our bodies, lips tangled in a heated mess, to his dick being inside me, something within me tells me that this should be happening, even if our drunken state is the cause.

“fuck…you feel so good.” he groans from above me, maintaining a steady pace, his words still slurred. sweat lines his body, starting at his forehead, his dreads resting on his shoulders, trailing down to his torso. and as i watch him move in and out of me, i take a second to admire his body - his skin, biceps, the way each muscle flexes slightly when he thrusts into me, my mind wondering how it had taken me this long to realise how hot he is. sure, i had known that he was attractive, his overly obsessive fans made that clear enough, but it had taken him being totally naked on top of me to realise that they have been right this entire time, and god, i want nothing more than this moment to last forever.

“i’m getting close.” he mumbles from above me, his head moving to rest in the crook of my neck, placing rough kisses there as his tongue moves across the skin in place of his mouth. when his dick begins to twitch inside of me, i soon realise that it can’t last forever, that in a few minutes, or when the alcohol wares off, we will have to go back to normal, to act like he didn’t just fuck me - his best friend of over ten years.

his head returns from my shoulder, a loud groan escaping his lips as i feel him shoot his cum inside of me, his eyes squeezing shut, lips slightly parted as he curses under his breath. and it doesn’t take long for my own release to follow, the loud moan that sounds from the back of my throat muffled by tom’s lips as he presses them onto my own, mumbling a quick ‘shhh’ against me. he rides out our highs, pulling out after a minute and collapsing on top of me, tired and breathless. we lay in silence, tom occasionally pressing quick kisses onto my shoulder, our bodies completely spent.

despite how little we speak about it, that night stays clear in my memory, able to remember it like it was yesterday, even though today marks three years since we did something that should have changed our friendship forever. sure, it was awkward for a little while after, but after the mutual decision to put it behind us ‘for the sake of our friendship’, blaming it purely on the alcohol, we had moved on, maintaining our close bond that had existed since we were kids. it seemed to special to ruin, too important to destroy for the sake of the possibility of falling in love, knowing that it would be too risky to pursue something, the small yet very real chance that it wouldn’t work out holding the ability to ruin our friendship forever.

but god, i would be stupid to deny the way my heart tugs at its strings whenever i see him, whenever i hug him in a way that is strictly platonic, wondering if somewhere he feels the same way as i do.

“you okay?” a voice snaps me out of my train of thought, my head turning to its source as tom’s brown eyes look into my own, a small smile on his face. i quickly nod my head, turning away and focusing on gustav as he takes a present from under the tree, flashing me a smile once he realises that it is from me.

tom doesn’t give in though, his voice interrupting my own from beside me as i am in the process of listening to gustav, a smile on his face whilst he thanks me for his gift.

“you sure?” tom asks, his voice low and uncertain, expression bordering confused when i forge a smile, reassuring him that i am fine, knowing that i am far from it, the reminder that three years ago things were so different still acting as a raw wound, despite how easily tom had seemed to get over it.

“no you’re not. come on.” he takes my hand, guiding me out of the room as i turn around, hoping that nobody had noticed, sighing in relief when i realise that they are all immersed in their own conversations. tom guides me into the kitchen, moving me so that my body is against the counter, his own in front of me, stopping me from leaving.

“what are you doing? the party is out there, bill was about to open the gift i got for him.” i furrow my eyebrows, attempting to leave the kitchen, though tom’s hand is quick to place itself on my wrist gently, pulling me back to rest against the counter.

“i can tell when you’re not okay. something is bothering you. what’s wrong?” his voice is much more serious this time, no longer holding that playful tone that it had before.

i sigh, breaking eye contact and staring at the ground, fingers reaching to play with the material of my christmas sweater, trying anything to distract myself from the tears that begin to pool at my waterline. i know that i can’t escape from this now, becoming aware that even if i attempt to lie, tom will see right through it.

“come on, you can talk to me you know? i’m your best friend-”

“that’s the fucking problem.” i mumble, silently cursing myself the second the words leave my mouth, praying that they were quiet enough for tom to not understand them. though when his eyebrows furrow, head tilting to the side, i quickly realise that he got every word. his mouth opens to speak, only for a few seconds as he closes it again, mind working faster than it ever has before, working to think of a response.

“what do you mean?” he asks eventually, my eyes meeting his own. his gaze softens when he registers the tears that fall down my cheeks. he reaches forward, his arms trying to wrap around my frame and pull me into a hug, though i refuse his embrace, not able to handle the emotional torture of another hug, knowing that it will never mean anything more than means of comfort, rather than an act of affection out of love. his eyebrows furrow in confusion when i push him away gently, his tongue moving outward to swipe against his lip ring, fingers adjusting the bandana that adorns his jet black braids - the one thing that is different about him since that day.

“why do you act like nothing happened?” i ask, my voice low and weak, eyes finally finding the courage to meet his own. he stays silent, knowing exactly what i am talking about without even mentioning it directly. because no matter how much we act like it never happened, i know that both of us will never be able to forget it, even if he acts like he has. i take his silence as i sign to continue, taking the opportunity to get this off of my chest. “you act like that night never happened, and it fucking infuriates me. you speak to me, you look at me, you hug me, but it’s not the same anymore. you can try and act like you don’t remember it, but i fucking can’t. i can’t sit back anymore and act normal around you knowing that we did it. and then you stand here and call me your fucking friend. it kills me that you don’t even care, that it means nothing at all to you-”

he cuts me off, though not with his voice. not with a quick remark, not with a reminder that we are just friends, that we can never be anything more; but with his lips, pressing them to my own. they are soft, just as i had remembered them, the coldness of his lip ring just as addictive as it had been the first time. and though it only lasts a few seconds before he pulls away, it still ignites that spark within me that had been lifeless since we had promised to forget about what had happened. his forehead rests against mine, hands pulling my body against his own as he wraps his arms around my waist.

“who said that i don’t care about what happened, hm?” his face remains inches away from mine, his hands reaching upward to wipe the tears that rest on my cheeks. he doesn’t pull back, instead pressing my body against his once again. “i think about it, all the time. and every single time, i think about what could have happened if we didn’t push it aside, if we actually acted on it. but then i remind myself that you didn’t want that, and i can’t lose you. so i just decided to not speak about it. but don’t think for a second that i forgot.”

i stay silent, unsure of what to say, trying to fathom what his confession truly means. is he saying that he feels the same way, or was the kiss out of pity, one to stop the tears that continue to fall?

“what are you saying?” i whisper, pursing my lips and looking at the floor, breaking eye contact once again. though it is only short lived, my eyes soon returning to look at his own as he lifts my face up, his hands now resting on either side of it.

“i’m saying that i don’t want to be just your best friend anymore. i don’t think my heart can handle that.”

my eyes widen, mouth opening to speak, finding myself at a loss for words as no sound escapes. once again, tom’s actions seem to speak louder than any words would have been able to, his arms scooping me up as he kisses me once again. it is gentler this time, lacking the lust behind that it had the first time we had kissed. it holds much more meaning behind it than just drunken desire. this time, it carries the silent promise of every single thing that i have ever wanted since that night - love.

“you know…i wasn’t totally shitfaced when i asked you to kiss me that night.” he says once he pulls away, a playful smile now tugging on his lips. i shake my head, pulling him by his shirt and kissing him once again. he smiles into the kiss, quickly reciprocating as he moves his lips against my own.

“oh my god.”

i quickly push tom away, his lips pink and swollen as he turns around, my eyes widening once i see bill standing in the doorway of the kitchen with some empty plates in either hand. his mouth is wide open, body standing completely still in shock.

“i’ll just…leave these here.” he quickly says, rushing toward the sink and practically throwing the plates in there, shooting me a quick glance before leaving.

i look upward at tom, who seems to be unfazed by the situation, his thumb reaching upward to swipe at the lipgloss that had stained his lips. he meets my gaze, shrugging his shoulders and wrapping his arm around me, pulling my body to rest against his own, our chests together.

“at least we don’t have to figure out a way to tell everybody else. bill would have told them all by now.”

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tokiohotel #tomkaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz angst #kaulitz #tom kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz

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euthym1as · 2 years

Text

MONDAY MORNINGS AT THE GOLDEN HOUSE.

why am i writing this in tumblr's text post editor instead of a google doc? bc im bonkers thats why

uhhhh this is my interpretation of what happens to childe in SAGAU when we fight him

this is gonna be like half ex-chili and half god/alien reader + a very damaged childe it can be read as shippy either way [reader is not traveler but does the things traveler does ok i dont want discourse here abt childe/traveler ships]

content warnings: implicit sadomasochism, mention of vomiting offscreen, violence, manipulation and lying by the reader, general brain fuckery, the only child that gets hurt here is childe i promise

MONOCEROS CAELI;

Every Monday, at 4 A.M. Every morning, he woke up in a cold sweat, arm muscles burning, head ringing in pain. Childe- no, Tartaglia- knew that the nightmare was back again.

Childe wasn't his old name anyways, it was a cover used for Liyue, and now that Liyue was in the past he had no need for it anymore. Names were to be discarded when they were done with their use, that's what the Fatui taught him.

The one person who had said that name so softly, like it was something to be held and cherished instead of a thick lie on his tounge, was not someone he could confide in anymore. Not after what happened. He clenches his fists on his bedsheets, anger rising in his chest. Why? Why did the two of you, the people he dared love, care for, betray him? Why set him up for failure behind his back and come to destroy him when he was down?

The two of you were filthy, filthy liars. A funeral consultant. An outlander. He grits his teeth. Gods. Gods parallel to the one he served, one the Lord of Geo in the land he walked upon, the other a power just as alluring and dangerous as the Abyss. He remembers the first time you had fought, how could he not?

You had been trying to save Liyue from Osial. A futile mission in his eyes at the time, and his confidence, looking back, was unwarranted. You not only mastered the elements to your will, but you fought like you had fought him a hundred times before. It was... familiar to you. Like you anticipated his every move.

There were times that he knew he should have hit you, he knows it. You were unleashing an ultimate attack move he had to marvel at, and when he struck, it was like nothing hit you at all.

The first time you fought, he accused you of being evasive, saying all you ever did was run. He ate his words, and also the shards of shrapnel from the floor above him when you both descended down below. You didn't run. At least, you didn't run away. You had this dogged determination to see him lose, to be the one to make him yield.

That lit gasoline in his veins, setting his whole person loose in a fire of reckless combative abandon, letting his years and years of slaughter culminate into his best fight yet. He was alive.

And he still lost. The anger that crushed him that day also spurred him on to train harder, become faster, get stronger. One day, he would have a rematch with you, and win. He felt it in his bones, you were a challenge to him now. A challenge he would fight until he beat you.

The first nightmare was that Monday, a day he expected to sleep soundly. Not the case.

It was you, but it was also the adeptus Xiao, some alchemist with green hair, a redhead who he was pretty sure was Diluc Ragnvindr, and a kid- a kid- with goggles on his head. He had never seen some of these people in his life, and yet- they fought him as valiantly as you did. They gave their all to take him down, and take him down they did. It's like none of them saw him as a person, just an enemy to clear. He expected this from the adeptus and Diluc, both had a simmering hatred for him, but the kid could have been the same age as Tonia. He seemed so eager to help, even if that helping was casting a fiery circle on the ground that seemed to make his pain worse. Every time someone hit him in that circle, it stung like one hundred of the blows he just received. As you walk up to his barely conscious body, you break a piece off his weapon, a shard of his Foul Legacy. It broke something inside of him when you snapped it off, and his consciousness went dark.

That dream was not an isolated incident. Like fucking clockwork, his dreams came back to haunt him of his loss. Always you. The people that fought him changed, but you were always there, watching, waiting to pick up your spoils of war. The look in your eyes never shifted, a cold calculating gaze of confirming a job was done. He'd seen it before, of course. He wore it daily. It was... strange being on the other end of it.

The worst permutations of this nightmare involved kids no bigger than Teucer. His bones were pulled against his will as he said the same thing he always did. Why could he never change his role?

He didn't want to lay a finger on them, Tsaritsa be damned. These were fucking children. He wanted to ask you so badly what the hell was wrong with you when the four of them giggled up the steps, but his mouth couldn't open. He had to watch as the four of them crossed the invisible barrier that made him draw his swords and made him sick to his stomach.

He hopes this is quick and painless for them. He wishes them all a better afterlife in Celestia. One of them he recognizes- Qiqi, the zombie kid from the pharmacist. He doesn't want to hurt her. He doesn't want to hurt any of them.

He sees Teucer in their eyes.

As the battle starts, a strange four leafed clover pattern materialized above his head, and he doesn't realize it's an attack until he hears a BOOM BOOM BAKUDAN and his ears ring as his head snaps to the ground. What the fuck?

The kids proceed to beat the shit out of him. It's the most mentally distressing nightmare so far, because he doesn't want to hit back, these are kids, but the explosions hurt and the Anemo ninja got his knee, and he can't hit them because they have a shield, so they don't even know what they're doing-

How cruel are you? How heartless and soulless did you have to be to bring kids to a battlefield? When you came over to loot his limp body once more, he hopes the anger in his eyes said everything you needed to know.

Then he awakens, and exhales as he realizes it wasn't real, he's okay, the kids are safe asleep in their beds and not forced to fight for someone else-

A memory pangs his consciousness. He was about the same age as the Anemo user when he fell into the Abyss. Forced to fight, at that age. He remembers how the monsters had screamed as they were defeated. Part of him wonders if they heard his final scream of agony.

He gets up to stagger to the bathroom and get this out of his system. When he looks up in the mirror, he bangs his fist on the side of the sink.

It's just a nightmare, he tells himself. His face pales when he sees a burn on his neck and shoulder, and he can count one, two, three, four blotches making it up. Like a clover.

He lets Ekaterina know that morning he wouldn't be out on business that day. He would be recovering from an injury. As he laid back in his bath, he thought that had to be the worst of it.

A week came and went, and he went to bed on Sunday hoping for a dreamless sleep. He was granted no such mercy.

This time, it was Zhongli. The nerve, the absolute nerve of you to bring him here, after everything that had happened. The adepti-blooded of Liyue were behind him, Xiao, Ganyu, and Yanfei- the latter he had only met on diplomatic occasion. He saw the Pyro vision on Yanfei's codex and braced himself for more burns, more searing heat in contact with his skin. The fight was torturous, and he couldn't hit any of them once because Zhongli used what was left of his godly powers to make his adepti shielded with something Childe couldn't break, no matter how hard he slashed or shocked. It was hell, and it was worse when he saw who used to be his friend walking outside the fight with you, re-casting his shield but not getting into the fight. That infuriated him. When he saw an opening, Ganyu went down. Then Yanfei, and when the adeptus correctly summarized it was his turn next, Childe broke the floor and they both plunged to the bottom, unharmed. They lunged at each other, both of their intents to kill pushing through every slice of their blade.

Xiao had one goal: Protect Liyue and Rex Lapis. Everything else was secondary. He fought with such ruthlessness Childe could feel himself bleeding out of his abdomen somewhere, vision blacking out around the edges. Xiao stepped back, and that is when Zhongli stepped forward. He crossed his arms and his eyes glowed a brilliant amber, that even in the face of death Childe was still enraptured with. He tried to open his mouth to let the words claw out of his chest, but no words came. The sky darkened, and a meteor crashed through the roof of the Golden house and crushed him whole.

The morning after that hellish dream, his entire body ached like he had been stuck under a tree the entire time he was sleeping. Everything hurt. He barely had it in himself to move his arms. He should be enraged. He should feel anger at his own helplessness, but where there is anger there is... something else.

He moves his foot and pain shoots up the nerves in his ankle. His breath shudders, because the pain freezes him in place, forcing him to pay attention to his current state. There's... a feeling there he can't quite place, something that zips by his mind before he can identify it. He moves his foot again. The pain snaps, again, and a yell rips from his throat. He feels himself on the edge of consciousness. Maybe pain made sense. Maybe this was some sort of fucked up punishment from Celestia for attempting to drown a city and steal a Gnosis.

Or maybe he had been fighting for so long the pain was a part of him now.

He turns inward on himself, confronting the darkness in his mind, seeing the Abyss stare back.

Does this pain fuel you? he asks himself.

Like nothing else was its reply.

When the next nightmare came, he was ready. You, as always, were present in the dream, your unrelenting stare was part of his subconscious now. He could live with that. He would learn how to tune it out.

What he doesn't expect is to have to face himself.

You enter the fight with eyes brightened, excited to see the two of them spar. Unstoppable force versus equal unstoppable force. The bloodlust in the eyes of your comrade is promising. He's ready to fight.

"Let's see you try and beat this." you say evenly, letting the two of them take the field.

He's hard to fight, he thinks to himself, and the eeriness of fighting a version of himself that does not recognize him and treats him as just another enemy is unsettling. He sees the combative spirit in his own gaze as he lowers his mask down to use his delusion. The other Childe doesn't use his. How strange.

They fight for what seems like hours, but only really is a few minutes. He's somehow outmatched by his other self, the one that doesn't have any recognition of who he is, and it terrifies him. How? How is this possible? How is everyone you brought to break him down so powerful? Why do you always win?

He falls against the floor and yells in agony and frustration. Damnit! he thinks. Not this time, not this time.

It's too late. The ley line blooms, and you take your rewards. He feels as if the Tusk is ripped from himself, and folds into the pain, curling up on the Golden House floor, tasting blood in his mouth.

Waking up that time was hell, and he notices a blue glow on his torso as he comes to consciousness, and he lifts his shirt to reveal a Riptide mark pulsing on his chest. His breathing quickens, how was this possible? Why were these nightmares so prevalent? How did they leave marks when he woke up?

These continue throughout the months, haunting him, hurting him, turning some part of him even more sour and shriveled.

He goes off to Inazuma to look for the Balladeer, and when in Inazuma, the two of you meet again inside the labyrinth. The hordes of monsters are nothing compared to his nightmares. If he focuses on finding the master of Shiki Taishou, he can ignore the way you kill just as much around him. He builds a friendship with Xinyan to avoid the tension between the two of you, even though nothing happened, it was a dream right? If he concentrates hard enough, everything is fine.

When the three of you exit the domain, the punk rock girl being so glad to have made two new friends, you and Childe exchange glances.

"We haven't hung out much after Liyue, huh?" he asks, masking the nightmares' effects on his psyche.

"Correct." you answer coolly.

"Thinking about that rematch, comrade?" He forces a smile on his face.

"I was thinking you could become my traveling partner." You brighten, holding something blue and pink behind your back.

"R-really?" He wasn't nervous, no, he was just... you were so powerful, and what if his nightmares came back when you two were traveling together-

"I mean it! I already travel with you anyways!" you say, tone cheery for the implications it held.

Childe freezes in his tracks. "What?" he asks, afraid of the answer.

"Come home, my darling. Come back to me, and you never have to do that again." you say, walking forward.

"I thought you said-" He gets cut off.

"I want more." A golden glint in your eyes catches him off guard as his own psyche locks down, freezing him out of his limbs, taking away his ability to scream. Just like his nightmares.

There's a piercing fear in his blue eyes before they shine golden and the shooting star burns out. He's here, with you now. All of him. As he should be.

Monoceros Caeli shines a little brighter in the sky that night.

#keeg writes #ajax #tartaglia #childe #childe x reader #childe x you #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #sagau #genshin sagau #genshin self aware #god reader #alien reader

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