#(by 'that' i mean choosing love and kindness and light over darkness and fear and cruelty and hatred) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feelbokkie · 5 months

Text

One Last Dance | Chapter 15

pairing: Minho x fem reader

genre: smau, crack, angst, fluff, non!idol au, major character death (I am apologizing now), friends to lovers, soul mates, first love, roommates

pov: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

warnings: suggestive (well I mean more than suggestive but it's not smut), mention of food, swearing, non consensual kissing (twice!)

summary: Childhood best friends Lee Minho and L/n Y/n are in their final year of university. While both of them are in love with each other, the only thing keeping them apart is Minho’s fear of change. As both dancers prepare for their lives after college, will Minho finally let fear rule him and his emotions or will he finally gain courage before he loses Y/n forever?

word count: 6,168

screenshot count: 11

taglist: closed!

previous | masterlist | next

In hindsight, you should have told Chan that you wanted to have a more low-key celebration. Maybe at a nice, quiet restaurant. Or even movies and ice cream. Things, you're now realizing, that you'd do with Minho whenever something good happened in your lives. Minho passed an English test? Ice cream. You nailed a particularly difficult dance routine? Lunch at a restaurant you like. The two of you got into your dream school? Celebratory trip to Lotte World.

Chan, on the other hand, appeared to like more flashy forms of celebration. He brought you to a bar, which you might as well consider to be a club. The music is way too loud, you can feel the beats in your chest. The lights are too dark to be considered safe. And while you weren't opposed to the idea of hanging out in a bar, you work at one and don't like the idea of spending your night off with drunken idiots after a week of doing so.

"Sorry, what was that?" You shout over the music. Chan has been trying to hold a conversation with you but you can't hear him over the music.

Changbin, who sits on your left, is making out with some girl he met within the first 10 minutes of you guys getting to the bar. Jisung is at the bar, talking to two girls who look like they're already too drunk to be having any sort of meaningful conversation. Chan brought them along so it would feel "more like a celebration." Right now it just feels like another pointless party.

Chan's arm snakes around your waist, resting his hand on your upper thigh. He pulls himself closer to you than he already is. The scent of his cologne and the soda he is drinking fills your nose. He smells good, familiar. Like the practice room after class as all the guys quickly spray themselves before leaving. But something is missing.

"I was just asking if you knew which offer you were going to take yet?" Chan lowers his head so he's talking directly in your ear.

"Not sure yet," You lean in close to his ear, "I have to sit there and think about each company. Plus looking at how much they're offering me wouldn't hurt. I still have a few months before graduation so there isn't a huge rush right now."

Chan pushes your drink closer to you. Chan is the only one not drinking, taking his responsibilities as designated driver seriously. But as a result, he's been pushing you to drink. So that you can "drink for the two of you" so to speak. You take your cup and take another large sip.

"If you choose the one in Australia, I can show you around. Like your own personal tour guide." He adds after you take a sip.

"Yeah? Show me your old haunts? And then to one of your infamous hook-up spots." You tease.

"I'm not like that Y/n. Honestly," He takes another sip of his soda, "you should have a bit more faith in me."

"You told me not too long ago that you were purposely blasting your music to get my attention. So, I have zero faith in you."

"Did it, or did it not work?" He asks after thinking for a moment.

"Running into me on a girls' night out while I was plastered worked. You playing your music that loud worked in getting through my auditions."

"Still, it worked because here you are." You think to yourself for a moment. He's not exactly wrong.

"Changbin hyung, come up for air!" Jisung says as he walks to the table with the two girls in tow. He sets down about 10 bottles of soju before sitting down in between both girls.

"Why!" Changbin whines loudly, making the girl he's making out with laugh.

"It's a celebration, let's play some drinking games." He adds as he passes out the bottles. Chan takes the bottle Jisung passed to him and places it in front of you.

"I'm driving," He tells Jisung.

"That's fine, just keep drinking your stupid soda." He throws back. He has to be a little drunk, you know he wouldn't talk to Chan like that otherwise out of fear of repercussions.

"Or noona can drink for him," Changbin adds. Chan turns to you with quirked eyebrows.

"Don't worry, I'm good at drinking games. Plus, I'm the only sober one here so I have an advantage."

You think for a moment. He is the only one who is completely clear-headed right now, even if you're feeling a bit buzzed. You probably wouldn't have to drink much anyway, you're relatively good at games in general.

"Yeah, okay," You hum.

***

It doesn't that Chan is good at playing drinking games, you are the absolute worst. You're beyond drunk and you're about to get drunk as you watch the shot glass of soju sink to the bottom of the beer glass.

"Drink, noona, drink!" Jisung yells as he slams a fist on the table.

"Wow, noona, you suck at drinking games." Changbin laughs as you pick up the glass and start drinking.

You're so drunk you can't hear a single thought in your head. It's like your conscience clocked out for the night and you were alone with your impulsive thoughts. You're leaning into Chan with your right hand resting on his thigh to keep yourself upright.

"'m shit a drinking games but I can out dance all of you. Let's have a dance battle right now!" You shout, standing up quickly. You immediately stumble from how fast you stand up and fall back down, landing in Chan's lap.

"Okay, I'm going to take Y/n for some fresh air," Chan says as he places both of his hands on your waist to help you up. He keeps his hands on you as he leads you out of the bar.

His grip on you is tight as he maneuvers you through the bar, past all the couples making out and hammered dancers. Eventually, the cool, fresh air hits your face, a sigh leaves your throat. You didn't realize how hot and stuffy it was inside the bar until right now. You were hot when you were inside, naturally, but you thought it was just the alcohol warming you up.

"Look at the moon!" You shout excited when you get outside. The moon is big and full.

"Wow, you really are drunk, huh." Chan laughs, still holding on to you.

"'m not drunk." You hum, twirling around in Chan's hands.

"I don't see how you're not. You drank about 5 bottles of soju by yourself. How you're still awake right now is a miracle."

"'m not a lightweight. Look, I can prove I'm not drunk." You wiggle out of Chan's grip and walk a little bit away from him.

You wink at Chan before managing to do 6 pirouettes. Just as you put your foot down to stabilize yourself again, you become dizzy and stumble. Before you can fall, you're suddenly in Chan's arms again. It feels nice, to be held in his arms, but it feels cold and unfamiliar. Not like Minho's warm and familiar hold.

"Okay, I believe you. Let's not do that again, okay?" He chuckles as he pulls you upright.

He walks you backward until your back is flat against the wall. Your head is still spinning so you grab his forearms to keep yourself from falling. As if it would help. You squeeze your eyes shut, slowly opening them only when you feel a little less dizzy. Your eyes focus on Chan's face illuminated by the back alley lights. On his hooded, yet soft brown eyes. The curve of his perfect nose. His soft pink lips.

"Has anyone told you that you're pretty?" You breathe.

"You think I'm...pretty?" Chan's mouth quirks upward into a smirk.

"Mhm!" You nod quickly at him.

Chan's hands leave your waist and move to the wall behind you, resting on either side of your head. He leans in closer to you, only stopping about halfway to your face.

"Am I still pretty?" He whispers. If your face isn't already red from drinking, it definitely is now.

Your breath gets caught in your throat. All you can do is nod in agreement. Chan smirks yet again and pulls in even closer. He's right in front of your face, his breath tickling your face.

"How about now?" His lips barely brush against yours.

"If...you get any closer 'm gonna get cross-eyed." You mumble.

"Is that a promise?" He whispers before pressing his lips into yours.

The sudden feel of Chan's lips on yours sobers you up a little bit. It's not unfamiliar, you've kissed him before under similar circumstances. You're drunk and heartbroken just like you were the first time. The only difference is, Chan's not drunk. Maybe he wasn't drunk the first time either. But something about this time feels...different. His lips are just as soft and desperate as you remember but they feel wrong. This feels wrong.

Chan's hands drop from the wall back down to your waist, slightly lifting your shirt. His touch feels hot against your skin, burning you almost. Chan pulls away from your lips and attaches himself to your neck, nipping at the soft skin and sucking. He slides one hand down, his thumb toying with the waistband of our jeans. His other hand moves to the small of your back. Each act seemingly wakes you up slowly, his touch still burning your skin.

Wrong. This is all wrong.

"Channie...stop," You whisper, trying to push him off.

"Hmm...?" He hums against your skin as he moves down to your collarbone.

"Chan, please stop."

"Why?"

You're not sure if it's your natural fight-or-flight instinct or something else entirely, but you can't stop yourself as your right knee quickly jerks upwards. Chan quickly pulls away from you and doubles over. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to process everything that happened.

"What the fuck, Y/n?" Chan turns back to you, holding his stomach. You must have missed, but you still hit him hard enough.

"I told you to stop!"

"If you waited 2 seconds, I was going to." He grits through his teeth.

"You should have stopped the first time. This isn't...it's...you're not--" You stammer trying to find the right words. As you do, Minho's face pops into your head.

"I'm not who?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. Nothing is making sense. You didn't exactly hate Chan's touch or kiss. And you were starting to enjoy the night with Chan. And normally, drunk or not, you would have simply gone along with Chan, no matter how disgusting the back alley of the bar is. So why are you thinking about Minho?

"Are you serious, Y/n? You're thinking about him? Right now?" Chan scoffs, finally standing upright.

"I--I'm not!" You lie.

"Y/n, it's been months. He doesn't give a single fuck about you. Never has, never will. While you're rejecting the guy who's right in front of you, he's probably out fucking some girl he doesn't know the name of."

"Minho isn't like that." You shake your head again. Minho isn't like that.

Sure he can be cold at times, but that's when he's trying to hide how he's really feeling. He's the type of person who will drive down to your job at three in the morning, even after a day of classes and a full work shift just to make sure you get home safely. Sure, he'll complain about it the whole time, but you know he doesn't mean it. He's the type of person who will spend hours cooking you a meal he's never made before because you mentioned it once. He's the type of person who will give you his last pudding cup if you ask. And if you didn't he'd give you the first and last bite. He's the type of person who will learn your entire dance routine to help you figure out the one part you're struggling with. He's the type of person who will stay home with you when you're sick just so you're not alone. He's the type of person who cares. Always has been, and always will be.

"You really are fucking pathetic. You know that, right?" Chan says, cooly.

"What...?" Your breath escapes your throat, unsure where this new version of Chan is coming from. Your head swirling in confusion.

"I tried being nice. I tried being patient but there's no point. You're forever going to be hung up on a guy who doesn't care for you anymore. And I'm right here. Hell Changbin and Jisung are probably in line waiting for me to be done with you. But you know what? You're not worth it." Chan laughs.

"I...I don't understand. What's happening right now?" You rub your hands over your face as if that will help you sober up faster.

"You don't understand?" Chan walks closer to you, keeping his distance this time just in case. "Princess, I was only being nice to you so I could sleep with you. And I was going to toss you aside when I was done. But you're not worth all that effort. It's not fun anymore. You're all looks and no substance. I've fucked bimbos with more personality than you. And they're not still hung up over their--Well I'd say ex but you guys weren't even together."

"You're a dick," You spit.

"Maybe, but it's all good fun." He smirks. You've never wanted to hit someone more in your entire life

"Take me home, now." You quietly demand.

"Find a new way home. I'm going back inside to have some more fun." Chan leaves you standing there in disbelief in the alley, confused as to what just happened.

You hate to admit it, but he's right. Not entirely, but he's right. You are pathetic. You're hung up over a guy who would rather let you walk out of his life than be with you. You're holding out hope, for what? That one day he'll wake up and take everything back? Would you even go to him if he did? You're wasting time on him when you could be happier with someone who would be happy to be with you without any fear.

You crouch down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. Today, you were meant to celebrate you and your accomplishments. Now, it's a complete shitshow and you can't help but wish Minho was there to comfort you. To stroke your hair and tell you how proud of you he is. To hug you and make you feel better. To make some dumb joke that would make you giggle. You need him, and you hate that you do. Hate that you allowed him to consume so much of your life. Even if Chan wasn't being a total asshat, you know that you would have pushed him away anyway for the simple fact that he's not Minho nor will he ever be. And for that, you hate yourself a little too.

***

"Ugh..." You groan as you wake up. Your head is pounding and the room is spinning. You can't even bear to open your eyes, scared of the light that you know is awaiting to burn your retinas the second you open them.

You lay there in silence for a moment, letting the cool air hit your face. You furrow your brows in confusion. Ma-Ri likes the room to be warm, so why is it ice cold? You slowly open your eyes, trying to minimize the burning sensation you know you're going to feel from the sunlight.

You blink a few times, allowing your eyes to adjust to the light. Still, with your eyes barely open, you look around the room. Everything begins to look familiar. The pictures on the walls. The hoodie slung over the desk chair. The organized mess on the dresser.

"What the hell...?" You mutter as you sit up.

You're in your room back at Minho's apartment. You're not entirely sure how or when you go here. The last thing you remember is arguing with Chan in the back alley of the bar.

"Whoever this is, you better be dying."

"I hate you,"

"Y/n?"

"I really, really hate you. You keep ruining everything for me. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Y/n, where are you right now?"

"I wish I never fell in love with you. I wish...I wish we never became friends in the first place"

"We'll talk about that later. Just tell me where--"

Click.

That's right, you called Minho last night while in your drunken state. He must have gotten worried and came to pick you up. Why he brought you back to the apartment and not the dorm is beyond you. You're not even sure how he got you home. If you called him just to tell him that you hate him, there's no way you willingly went home with him.

"Minho, put me down!"

"So you can be a brat and run away? No thank you,"

"Put me down, put me down, put me down!"

"Jesus, you're loud as hell-- Ow! Did you just bite my back?"

"Put. Me. Down!"

"You're never allowed to drink again."

...He carried you home like a sack of potatoes because you refused to go with him. You sit up and hold your head in your hand out of embarrassment. He came all the way to you in the middle of the night to take you home, and you acted like a brat.

"I'm never drinking again," you groan, regretting everything that happened last night, even the stuff you can't remember.

You slowly swing your legs over the side of your bed. Immediately, as you start to get up, you notice something is off. You look down at your clothes and notice you’re wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts.

“C’mon, put your arms up,”

“I’m sorry,”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I shouldn’t have been carrying you like that.”

“Yeah, but I threw up! That’s not cute,”

“You threw up and you’re worried about looking cute?”

“Don’t laugh at me, asshole.”

“Okay, okay. Here, put your shorts on yourself, I’ll go get you a toothbrush and some mouthwash.”

If there was ever a moment for a whole to open up and swallow you whole, now would be the time. Why, why did you have to call Minho? For all you know, he thinks you're spiraling even though you've been doing just fine without him. He had to come to your rescue on your one off day.

You slowly walk over to your closet to find something to walk home in. If you're quiet enough, you might be able to leave without running into Minho or the cats. You know that if you run in Soonie, Doongie, or Dori, you're going to want to stay and cuddle with them. Hopefully, they're sleeping in Minho's room with him. In your closet, you find your favorite pair of sweatpants and and the matching hoodie. You grab a random shirt and get dressed as quickly as the pounding in your head will allow.

After you get dressed, you scan the room, looking for your phone, student ID, and key to Ma-Ri's dorm. You find them on your bedside table. Your phone is charging and faced down with your ID in the case and key attached to the case. Sitting right next to your things, a bottle of water and two aspirins. You let out a deep sigh and take the pills, silently thanking MInho.

You take the bottle of water with you as you quietly leave the room, looking back one last time to see if there is anything you want to take back with you. Your eyes fall on your half of the seashell necklace at your desk. You contemplate taking it for a moment, before closing your door. You slowly close the door, being careful to not make too much noise. Once you turn around, you lock eyes with Doongie, who is sitting on the arm of the couch,

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath.

Doongie hops off the arm of the chair and walks towards you. Doonige begins to purr as he walks between your legs, pressing his body against you. You bite your bottom lip and look up at the ceiling. There is nothing more that you want to do than to pick him up and hug him. But you know you can't you don't have time. Soonie and Dori come from their hiding places and start meowing at you, being more vocal than you remember them being.

"I know, I know. I miss you too but I really need you guys to--"

"Guys, I know you're excited but mom needs to--Oh, you're awake. Minho walks into the living room in an apron, holding a wooden spoon. The front of his hair is up in a ponytail with one of your clips that he stole. Stole is too aggressive. You clipped his bangs up for him during a dance practice because it was frustrating him and he never gave it back.

"I...I am. Thank you for picking me up...and taking care of me. I need to get going." You say quickly, averting your eyes.

"Wait, don't leave yet. I made you haejang-guk." He says quickly, putting his hands up as you start to walk away.

"You made me haejang-guk?" Your head tilts to the side.

"I figured you could use something in your stomach after last night. Eat some before you run away again."

Ba dump. Ba dump.

The idea of Minho waking up early just to make you hangover soup makes your heart skip a beat. It's not a complicated recipe, a fairly simple one. But you also know that when Minho cooks for someone, it's a labor of love. And for that, your heart is a little hopeful.

"Yeah, sure," You nod.

The two of you quietly walk to the dining room. You sit in your usual spot like usual, not thinking much of it until Minho freezes for a second, staring at you with a small smile as he brings you out a bowl of soup. You silently thank him and wait for him to come back with his own bowl out of habit. Once he's back, he gestures for you to start eating.

You pick up the spoon and blow on it for a second before putting the cooled spoon in your mouth. The saltiness of the soup hits your tongue, quickly ridding your mouth of that nauseating bitter aftertaste you were starting to notice. The heat from the soup starts to warm up your body. It's hard to explain, but Minho's cooking reminds you of home. His cooking tastes nothing like your mother's, but it feels like home. You're more homesick for him than you are for your parents.

"How's your head?" He asks, breaking the silence.

"Better," You take another spoonful of soup and quickly swallow/ "Thanks for the aspirin."

"No need to thank me. I know how cranky you can get when you're not feeling well. I did it for Ma-Ri's sake." He teases.

It feels almost normal, sitting here eating breakfast with Minho. Like you haven't been ignoring him for the past couple of months. Going home for the holidays was difficult. You two almost got into a fight on Christmas morning in front of your parents when you opened one of your gifts from Minho to find your half of the scallop shell made into a necklace. And now the two of you are being civil as you eat soup. Maybe you're too tired and hungover to fight right now.

"I have a question," Minho asks again.

"What?"

"How does Ma-Ri sleep with your snoring?"

"I don't snore. You know I don't snore."

"Must be new. You were snoring last night." Miho smirks.

"How would you know that I was snoring last ni--"

"Minho, wait,"

"What's wrong?"

"Can you stay with me?"

"I don't know that's a good idea."

"Please?"

"Y/n,"

"What...What if I throw up again? I could asphyxiant."

"Don't roll over then. I put you on your side for a reason."

"Minho, please. Just this once."

"...Fine. But only until you fall asleep."

Seriously, you're never drinking again. You put your spoon down and hold your head in your hands just as Minho starts laughing. You let out a pained groan at your stupidity. How could drunk you abandon your morals like that?

"I probably only snored because I was so drunk." You mumble as you pick your spon back up and start to eat your soup again.

"Surn,"

"Minho," You set your hand on the table, "Why are you being nice to me?"

"We'll talk after breakfast," He says quickly.

"I'm going home after I finish eating." You watch as Minho's face slightly twists when you say home because he knows you don't mean the apartment.

You watch as Minho's eyes shift up like they normally do when he's thinking. Like the thoughts are written on his brain and he is trying to physically see it. Cute.

"Y/n," He says suddenly.

"Yes?" You quirk your eyebrow at him.

"Let's talk," He places his spoon down on the table.

"Are we not already talking?"

"No--I mean yes, we are--but that's not what I mean." You watch in confusion as Minho starts to get flustered.

"Min?"

"None of this is how I planned it but something tells me that I'm not going to get another choice."

"Another chance for what?"

"Y/n," Minho sits up a little straighter in his seat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for telling you that we should pretend that we had a one-night stand after we slept together. I'm sorry for being a coward for all these years and hiding my feelings from you. And I'm sorry--"

"Min, breathe." You say as Minho speaks fast, not taking a single breath.

"Sorry, it's just-- I love you, Y/n. I am truly, madly, deeply in love with you. And these past couple of months without you have been hell. I need you in my life. And I want to be with you, and I mean really be with you. Even if it scares me. Especially if it does." Minho stares at you, maintaining eye contact with you. There's a twinkle in his eyes, determination maybe.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment. Minho waits for your response, feeling as if he's said everything I was able to. You, on the other hand, process everything that just happened. You can't help but let out a small laugh.

"Why...are you laughing?" Minho asks, his voice laced with concern and fear.

"Because you have shit timing." You explain as you set down your spoon.

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head as he stares at you.

"I love you too, and if you asked me months ago, I would have asked for this exact scenario."

"I need context, I can't guess. You know I’m not a mind reader."

“I’m not going the be here in a few months.” You say simply, unsure of how to explain. Or if you should even try to.

“Neither am I. We’re graduating.”

“No I mean,” You take a second to let out a sigh, “I don’t want to go back home and run the dance studio. That’s always been more your thing than mine. I want to travel and being in Japan last summer made me realize that. I spent most of the school year auditioning for overseas companies. And I got a few offers."

"Oh," Minho's expression drops to an unreadable one.

"And judging by that reaction, you're not going to be able to handle a long-distance relationship."

You pick up your bowl and quickly drink the rest of your soup. Once you're done, you use your spoon to scoop the leftover veggies from the soup and shove them in your mouth before quickly standing up. Soonie, Doongie, and Dori come out from under the table and follow you as you walk towards the front door.

"Y/n, wait! Let's talk about this." You hear Minho's chair fall to the floor as he quickly gets up and rushes to you.

"You've been so scared of me leaving all these years. Wouldn't me moving away after a little over 2 months of dating be the same thing for you? Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't start panicking once I'm gone?" You turn back to face Minho, who is standing about three feet from you.

He stands there puzzled, unable to answer. Or, he knows the answer and is unwilling to share it with you. Both of you know deep down that it'd be difficult for him, that his fear would settle in and he'd up breaking up with you. Or maybe that's your own fear and it's just easier to project that onto him.

What's wrong with you? You've wanted nothing more than to date Minho since you two were 15. And now that he finally got over his fears, you shut it down. Maybe you were a little grateful over the years for not being with Minho. That being near him was enough. But now that the opportunity to be with him, fully and deeply, you're terrified. You've spent years making fun of Minho for being a coward, but at the end of the day, you're just like him.

"That's what I thought. Maybe it's better we stay friends." You open the door and hesitate leaving Minho for a second time. "I wish you had this epiphany sooner. Maybe we would have had a chance."

You pause the music and let out a frustrated groan. For some reason,y you can't nail one of the moves in your routine. It's making you want to rip all of your hair out. It's a simple move, you've done it before in other routines, but for some reason, you can't hit it now and it's pissing you off.

You don't look up when you hear the door to the practice room open, too focused on the dance tutorial on your phone, hoping to see if there is anything you can do differently to hit the move and call it for the day.

"I still have this room for another hour," You call out, not looking up to see who walked into the practice room.

Still focused on the video, you don't notice that the door doesn't open again. You don't notice the rapid footsteps that make their way to you. Nothing you feel two hands cup your face and lips press to yours. You freeze for a second, alarmed by the sudden touch until you see that it's Minho kissing you. Your eyes slowly close as your heart begins to pound in your chest. It's a simple kiss, not going past his lips touching your lips, but it's enough to make you melt into his touch. His calloused fingers rough against your skin. Your hands find their way to the front of his shirt, barely gripping the fabric between your fingers.

After what feels like an eternity, Minho finally pulls away. Your eyes remain closed, afraid of opening them and Minho disappearing. Your grip tightens on Minho's shirt as you slowly open your eyes. You blink a couple of times to make sure he's really there and you're not dreaming. With each blink, Minho's serious face stares back at you.

"What…what the fuck was that?" You whisper. Minho's simple kiss seems to have taken away your voice.

"I don't care," Minho says softly.

"Excuse me?" Your grip loosens on Minho's shirt.

"I don't care that you're leaving. Go, live your dream, I'll be here. I just want to be with you. And if that means I can't physically be with you, I'm okay with that. I did some thinking. I'm perfectly okay with being long-distance with you. I just want to be with you. I'm tired of being scared."

Minho's hopeful eyes, stare into your confused ones. Realization and hope settle into you the longer Minho is quiet. He means it, truly. You can tell. You've known him long enough to know that he does. You can feel his hands shake against your face in anticipation. Part of you wonders if he can feel your heart pounding. You can feel your heart banding against your ribcage in every inch of your body.

"I'm going to be living overseas." You whisper slowly.

"Did I break your brain?" Minho laughs, "I told you, I don't care. I can come visit you. Or, I can move with you. I can find work as a dance teacher anywhere."

You shake your head, gripping his shirt so tight you're almost certain that you're stretching out the soft blue cotton.

"No, taking over the studio back home is your dream. It always has been. I can't let you give that up." You say firmly.

"No, you're my dream. Always has and always will be. I wanted to run the dance studio with you because I wanted to be with you, not because I love the studio. As long as I'm near you, I'm happy. I don't care where we are."

Minho looks down with downcast eyes, slowly losing hope the longer you take to reply. You love him, with your whole body and soul. You want nothing more than to be with him, so why are you hesitating? You know you've always held a special place in Minho's heart. But how do you know that this isn't just his anxiety talking? What if you two start dating and he says that it was a mistake again? Like he did after you two slept together. How can you truly know that he loves you in the way that you love? The way that you want--no need?

"Y/n?" Minho whispers.

"Yeah?" You whisper back, closing your eyes.

"I first fell in love with you during Dream a Little Dream of Me." He says suddenly.

"My jazz solo from when we were twelve?" You cock your head to the side in confusion.

"It was your first dance solo. And you placed. First place to be exact."

"I remember,"

"Do you want to know what I remember?" Minho's hands slide down from your face down to your waists and just rest there.

"What?"

"I remember watching you struggle with the routine for weeks before the competition. Hell, I was worried, I thought you weren't going to nail it in time. You even refused my help and didn't hang out with me in our free time between school and our extracurriculars. I remember you getting yelled at by the instructor because you were struggling so much. And I remember you walking on that stage the day of the competition and I was in awe of you. I remember standing in the wings waiting for you, ready to comfort you just in case something went wrong. I remember that pale blue dress and the way it sparkled under the stage lights. I remember how gracefully you danced on stage and thinking you were just like a butterfly. I knew that I always wanted to be there to experience you in all your glory. I knew in that moment, you were it. You're still it for me, I don't want to be with anyone else."

You remember that competition. Jazz wasn't your strongest dance style but your coach had faith in you. You'd practice in all of your free time to make sure you got the routine down perfectly. As tiresome as it was, that was the same time you decided to take dance seriously and pursue it professionally.

"That…that was twelve years ago." Your voice cracks, tears welling in your eyes.

"I've loved you for twelve years. And I'll love you for twelve more. And twelve years after that. I'll love you in multiples of twelve for all of eternity. Until death do us part, and even then I'll still love you beyond death. Like I said, you're it for me."

You bite your bottom lip, the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults. If he didn't feel your heart pounding before, he surely can hear it now. Something in you tells you to trust him. The same thing in you that's always told you to trust him, even when that trust was baseless.

"And you're it for me," You pull on Minho's shirt, bringing him closer to you. His lips crash into yours, you can feel his lips turn into a smile as you both decide to trust that everything is going to be alright.

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

Taglist

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

@amyyscorner @aaasia111 @weird-bookworm @allaboutyej8 @kangaracharacha @lilcutieana @jungkookies1002 @lanatheawesome @hanniemylovelyquokka @jiisungllvr @marked-unknown @kitheat @spearb-99 @chlodavids @veedoesntknaur @yongbbokkie @warlockwithoutcharisma @fennecnco @aslou @babygirlsuna @jihanlovic @kalopsian-thoughts @reianagarcia @sunshinessky @brain-empty-only-draken @f9clementine @jaydebow @phtogravi @mal-lunar-28 @jhstayy

144 notes · View notes

wearepaladin · 10 months

Note

Well, if you'd like to restate your positions, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the Oaths (particularly Vengeance, Devotion and Ancients, as they seem to be the most iconic) and to hear your position on them?

Oath of Devotion: The more traditional oath among the core three, and my favorite, if I'm being honest, for among other things, it provides the most clarity on how the oathkeeper is supposed to act.

Honesty: Don’t lie or cheat. Let your word be your promise.

Courage: Never fear to act, though caution is wise.

Compassion: Aid others, protect the weak, and punish those who threaten them. Show mercy to your foes, but temper it with wisdom.

Honor: Treat others with fairness, and let your honorable deeds be an example to them. Do as much good as possible while causing the least amount of harm.

Duty: Be responsible for your actions and their consequences, protect those entrusted to your care, and obey those who have just authority over you.

Every tenet begins with a virtue, a clear ideal to aspire to, followed by clarity on how best to fulfill that tenet. While this Oath would thrive in the Altruistic Collectivism that typically embodies the Lawful Good Alignment, it is by no means not capable of providing guidance and purpose to a person who lives outside such systems. It is my favorite oath because it's not overly ambiguous, has solid and clarified ideals and how to achieve them with the freedom to interpret them to their best fulfillment.

Oath of the Ancients: While the most popular according to polls I've taken in the past, and while I don't dislike it, it is my least favorite among the core three. It's an Oath that encourages goodness and benevolence to an admirable degree, but I sometimes feel it is too nebulous in its directives.

Kindle the Light. Through your acts of mercy, kindness, and forgiveness, kindle the light of hope in the world, beating back despair.

Shelter the Light. Where there is good, beauty, love, and laughter in the world, stand against the wickedness that would swallow it. Where life flourishes, stand against the forces that would render it barren.

Preserve Your Own Light. Delight in song and laughter, in beauty and art. If you allow the light to die in your own heart, you can't preserve it in the world.

Be the Light. Be a glorious beacon for all who live in despair. Let the light of your joy and courage shine forth in all your deeds.

It encourages a philosophy of altruistic consequentialism, a benevolence that focuses more on the final result than how best to achieve it. If it it stands against anything, unnecessary destruction and despair are illustrated as the closest it will acknowledge as Darkness in a tenet system that wants to encourage Light in all its forms. It is a moral oath that wants to find the goodness in everyone, foster it, strengthen it, but hesitates to name its enemy. Perhaps this is a statement that goodness can be fostered anywhere, and that is admirable.

Oath of Vengeance: The most martial of the core oaths, and one that embraces ruthlessness as a virtue. Out of all the Oaths, its perhaps the most focused in its belief and means of achieving it, to the point that the unwary can trap themselves.

Fight the Greater Evil. Faced with a choice of fighting my sworn foes or combating a lesser evil, I choose the greater evil.

No Mercy for the Wicked. Ordinary foes might win my mercy, but my sworn enemies do not.

By Any Means Necessary. My qualms can't get in the way of exterminating my foes.

Restitution. If my foes wreak ruin on the world, it is because I failed to stop them. I must help those harmed by their misdeeds.

In a way, its the opposite of the Ancients Oath in that it focuses more on the Enemies of the Oathkeeper than how to best live a virtuous or benevolent life. The only virtue it name sis restitution which it underlies as the final world: Where Evil Harms, you shall Restore. For many avengers, this can be overlooked or seen as less important than the Hunt, but allows the Avenger a means of reminding themselves that destruction of evil is meant to lead to good prospering. Destruction is not the end goal. Unlike the other 2, this is purely a warriors oath and can be ended by action, fulfilling the Oath, either allowing the person to move on or focus purely on the restitution tenet.

All three have a place and can be coterminous.

#oath #oath of devotion #oath of the ancients #oath of vengeance #paladin philosophy

104 notes · View notes

hanafubukki · 2 years

Note

Cliche Royalty!AU diasomnia dating sim, where:

You were betrothed to the cold Malleus since you were 4, who has never shown you love or interest

Secret childhood friends with sweet Silver, who sadly moved away to serve under the Draconian Kingdom

Your best knight Sebek, who takes his role a bit too serious which causes an awkward, stiff air around you both

Silly tutor Lilia, who maybe has a traitorous gleam in his eyes and happens to be Malleus’ best friend

✍️ let’s expand, shall we?

DID YOU SAY CLICHE ROYALTY AU? AND OTOME GAME ANONIE?! Because hell yes!, I love my cliches, love royalty aus, and please I have so tomes back log that I just wish I have all the time in the world to read and finish and it just keep adding...

okay okay rambling again

anyways!

I would love a otome game with the Diasomnia gang but I can already tell that I would feel guilty when I would finish a route and switch over to a new route 😭

Malleus’ route I feel would be the final route. The one where you have to play all the other routes just to unlock his. The poster boy route if you will, which makes sense because he technically is the poster boy for twst.

Malleus is the Crown Prince and you were betrothed to him.

Your marriage to him was a political one to finally bring peace to both the human and fae race after hundreds of years of fighting.

He was cold to you because he didn’t know how to treat you.

He was strong and many of his kind feared him, so of course, you would fear him too.

not to say you weren’t at the beginning, but you slowly warmed up to him from the constant meetings you two had since you were young.

you saw the way people ignored and went out of their way to not interact with him, while you had friends who adored you.

so you made yourself a promise, while this marriage was a political one, you would love your dragon fae husband.

now Malleus, he wasn’t used to you.

You who would try your best to interact with him, and he tried to act cold towards you, but that all changed.

when you stayed by his side while he was sick, and you fed him soup.

you became the bright light to his dark days.

Anonie, you are going after my heart. I freaking love the friends to lover trope.

Silver and you were friends.

you didn't know much about him besides the fact that you would meet up with him at the forest and play with him.

one day, he came to you and told you his family was moving away.

both of you were in tears and promised to meet again.

imagine to both your shock when you do meet again, it’s when you are visiting your another kingdom and the knight of the prince was your childhood friend.

I want to say, that silver is the character who is, no matter the route, the one who is always in love with you. All he wants is your happiness even if you do not choose him in the end.

ah yes, the cute knight and royalty trope.

Sebek has always been your loyal knight.

he pledged his allegiance towards you and only you since you were young.

he followed all the rules and kept you guard even though you told him that he didn't need to.

He knows you might get betrothed in the future, but for you, he’s willing to sacrifice it all and escape with you if it means you will be happy.

ah Lilia Lilia Lilia, you mentioned traitorous gleam in his eyes and my mind went the yandere route, well I prefer the soft yandere usually.

in this route, I want to say that you and malleus are friends.

the kingdoms are friendly with each other and you both get along great.

your parents hope that you two will get along enough to get married.

now you and malleus study by the same tutor Lilia.

he’s funny and makes weird concoctions that you wouldn't dare try and eat.

you are sure that you have developed a crush on him.

but you can’t help but wonder,

sometimes you see this particular gleam in his eyes that kind of gives you the shivers

but it must be your imagination, right?

and Lilia?

why, he loves the innocence aura you give off.

he wants to be the one to corrupt it.

so you will look at him and only him

I enjoyed writing these 🙌💕💚 What do you think anonie? what would you add?

EDIT: Now even more with other characters: Ridde Rosehearts Ver. ;

Ace Trappola, Epel Felmier, Azul Ashengrotto Ver.

#answered #anonie ask #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst silver x reader #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #twst silver #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #silver x reader #royalty au #cliche #diasomnia x reader #twisted wonderland otome #otome game #yandere lilia vanrouge

809 notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Note

Hello! I saw your requests were open and was wondering if you could write a Morpheus x mortal!reader where he has a crush on her and Idk maybe they’re friends or something and he sees her kissing another guy at a party and gets jeaulous.

Or… maybe a Morpheus x Johanna’s apprentice!reader where they have to go on kind of a mission together to help/save Johanna and they end up falling in love?

Couldn’t choose between the two tbh 😅 Any of them would be fine. If its okay for you, ofc!

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

[TW: religious themes, demons, swear words] Sandman-inspired playlist

"I'm looking for Johanna Constantine," stated the stranger standing at your threshold. He was dressed in all black with pasty white skin that made him look either emaciated or vampire-like. Either way, it was a very uncommon taste but you didn't expect anything else from your boss's acquaintances.

"You and me both, man," you answered as you leaned against the doorframe. "She was supposed to go to some town outside of London, look at a girl and come back. Maybe do an exorcism but she sounded convinced it wouldn't be needed."

"When was that?"

"Like two days ago?" you said with a shrug. Most of the time, Johanna was stuck in a cycle of disappearing and showing up shortly after without even a scratch.

The stranger leaned in. His dark eyebrows furrowed only furthering his intimidating appearance. "And you haven't thought of finding her?" he asked in an unnerved voice.

"Of course I did!" you exclaimed while throwing your hands in the air. The last thing you wanted or needed was a random man suggesting you were irresponsible. "Who do you have me for, raven boy? The only thing stopping me from going after her is herself. Have you ever seen Johanna angry? No? I have and now I don't watch scary movies with my light on because I know there are worse things."

"Where is Johanna?" The man was growing impatient and angry. Whatever he needed her for, it was something that clearly couldn't wait.

The stranger's irritation was, truthfully, an expression of your own worries and desperation - lead-like dread had been sitting in your abdomen for the entire day. Perhaps it was time to brave through your fear of Johanna's anger and show some agency. "She's supposed to be in Dover, like 2 hours from here. I'll grab my keys and we can go."

But Morpheus grabbed the sleeve of your jacket before you could walk away. You were about to scold him, tell him that he's being very forward to a person he had only just met, but suddenly you weren't in your small apartment in London. In the distance, you heard sea waves crashing against cliffs and a flock of seagulls screaming over the shore: undoubtedly, you had found yourself in Dover.

"Come," he called out behind you. Judging by his aloofness, he must have often just reappeared wherever he wanted.

Turning around towards Morpheus, you saw a brick mansion with thick ivy covering its walls. The windows were either too dirty to see through them or the architect was strangely fond of opaque glass. The paint was chipping off the wooden door, silently suggesting that no one had taken care of the house in a long while. A murder of crows seemed to have taken over the mansion - a row of black birds sat along the ledge, staring at the two unwelcome guests. They seemed to grow irritated as their loud caws did not scare you off from their den.

"Creepy old house," you slowly said to yourself as you took in the disturbing sight. "That's definitely on my jeepers-creepers bingo."

"Did Johanna employ you as a jest?" His tendency to speak in a quite monotone voice made it difficult for you to decide whether it was a genuine question or an attempt at being mean.

"I hope not. I tend to have a very limited repertoire of cynicism and self-deprecation."

Suddenly, a muffled scream reached your ears. Among the crashing waves and seagulls it would have been impossible to hear it had you been standing even a few meters farther from the house. The crows also contributed to the general disruption. Wickedness, quite curiously, came with a drop of genius.

"Basement. Of course," you said in a low voice while slightly nodding to yourself. "Let's go."

Entering the cellar, your nostrils were instantaneously filled with the putrid smell of mould and rotting blood. The floor was covered in something wet and you were suddenly grateful for the lack of light in the concrete corridors - it was better to naively assume it was just water from faulty, old plumbing. Your heart was thundering in your chest as you followed Morpheus and his strides towards the screams and rattling of chains that only grew louder with each of your rushed steps.

With trembling hands, you pushed open the door at the end of the dark corridor. Sure enough, on the other side, you found the source of the blood-chilling screams. Across the concrete room was a man dressed in a cassock, who was speaking in a language you had never heard before. Was he... praying? High above his head levitated Johanna's body with limbs stretched out so much they threatened to completely dismember her at any second. She must have been screaming for hours on end as her voice became raspy. So far, both of them seemed to be unaware of your presence.

"A satanic priest. Because there wasn't anything more cliche," you whispered.

Morpheus was about to take a step towards the possessed man and suffering Johanna but you grabbed his arm. He looked at you with nothing short of annoyance - you were, clearly, treading on thin ice.

"You may be an expert on pulling Houdini-worth tricks but this is my field of expertise. Like it or not, I need you to trust me with your life for the next bit," you spoke quietly. Every now and then you'd look towards the horrifying sight on the other side of the room to make sure that you still had the element of surprise.

Rummaging through the pockets of your jacket, you pulled out two containers and shoved them in Dream's chest. With vivid unsureness, he took them from you. "Holy water and blessed salt," you explained. "Throw it at him or around him. It won't kill the demon but will surely weaken it. I'll do the talking."

Having said those words, Morpheus left your side to march towards the possessed priest. You took in a deep, slow breath to try and calm yourself. As an apprentice, you knew that the day of your trial was coming sooner or later but you never thought that the life of someone you cared about would be part of it. A grim duty fell on you - there was no one else who could help Johanna before she dies from the ritual she was currently undergoing. Whatever happens now, was to forever remain your sole responsibility.

Johanna had made you practise the exorcism prayer so many times you learned it barely a few weeks into your apprenticeship. It was just a strange skill at the time but now, when her life and well-being were in your hands only, it was akin to a superpower. Having taken in another deep breath, you began reciting the formula as fast as you could while maintaining the necessary clarity of speech.

The demon was no longer oblivious to your pesky presence but Morpheus did an excellent job at keeping it distracted enough to not go after you or poor Johanna. Considering how much of the blessed salt and holy water actually ended up on the possessed man, Dream had an exceptional aim. A blood-chilling scream resounded once more but this time it didn't belong to Johanna: it was the demon, crying out at the pain of being torn out of a corporeal form. His agony could partially be accredited to the sole fact that he was going to be banished to Hell, a place even demons feared and disliked.

Once the demon was exiled from this realm, Johanna's body hit the concrete floor of the basement with a muffled thud. Then, a groan left her mouth and you sighed in relief. Even if her bones were shattered, she was alive. Wasting no time, you run towards her to help her get up.

Straining to stand up, Johanna groaned out: "Well, that was really fucking fast."

"Yeah, I had my Eminem phase in middle school," you answered dismissively as you put her arm around your neck for better support.

"What took you so long?"

"I didn't actually think you were in trouble, Johanna. He brought me here because he wants something from you." Only when you motioned your head towards the black-haired man did she notice him. She let out an irritated sigh but it was quiet enough that only you heard it.

After a few limping steps, Johanna was well enough to walk on her own or at least she claimed so. She crossed her arms on her chest as she approached Morpheus, whose expression remained ever so unreadable. Apparently, an exorcism wasn't enough to elicit emotion from him. Johanna gave you a meaningful stare and you knew it was time for you to go and irritate the crows outside with your unwelcome presence.

Long minutes went by when you were staring at the sea and cliffs in the distance, listening to the shrieking and cawing of the black birds over your head. What was taking them so long? Among the noise, you heard someone's footsteps behind you: it was Morpheus but curiously, he came alone.

"Where's Johanna?" you asked.

"There were affairs she needed to see through before leaving," he answered while approaching you. Barely a meter or two away from you, he just stopped. Morpheus simply stood there, the sea breeze tugging at his dishevelled hair. He stared at you with flustering intensity as if he was trying to look through you and inspect the particles of your very soul.

After a while, his silent gawking became so uncomfortable you couldn't ignore it any longer. "Okay, what is it?"

"You are an absolutely aggravating creature," Morpheus stated while still looking at you with that stern, cold stare. His voice was so low, slightly raspy, that you felt it down to the marrow of your bones. "But I can not bring myself to hate you."

A playful smile crept unto your face. Maybe the raven guy wasn't the killjoy he introduced himself as. "Funnily enough, I was about to say the same thing. This whole 'woe me' brooding thing you have going on is infuriating. But it's also giving me very un-churchy thoughts."

Suddenly, something about his expression changed: a glint of mischief glistened in his blue eyes and one corner of his mouth pulled up ever so slightly. "Would you like to hear mine?"

You were about to answer him something equally suggestive when Johanna made her presence known: "Get a fucking room you two!"

213 notes · View notes

holdinbacksecrets · 6 months

Text

seventeen: mercy

once again, i’m doing that thing where i don’t assign the blurbs. i enjoy leaving them wide open for interpretation, and idk… i feel like there’s a lot of story going on, and i want to let whoever chooses to read this piece have the freedom to let their minds take over instead of mine choosing for you. happy reading 🖤

comfort, angst, mentioning of parental death, food guilt

♡maybe it’s a little silly. your sister certainly believes it to be, but he’s still wrapped around your heart. and sometimes, you sprinkle reminders throughout your day with an excited kind of guilt that used to accompany you into every ice cream parlor. more sprinkles? good or bad? brownie bites? what would your mom say? you would always look back at her as a child, but that ability is no longer with you- no longer possible in your life as she bleeds from your memories and lingers in plain sight, quietly, through a feeling. a feeling… just like he does. maybe this is the way love will work for you: burn brightly, keep you comforted, and then falter, leaving you to create some kind of warmth on your own until you’ve gained the courage to reach out and tell the man you’re still in love with him

♡parked on a side street in the darkness of a november evening is where you are. his car smells like leather cleaner, cologne, and strawberry juice. your legs are on his lap. your back rests against the passenger door, and you look to him before glancing through the sky window, admiring the stars. you have to leave the city to see them more clearly, but this will always be enough when he’s beside you. there’s some kind of rush that runs through your veins, like a long-lasting wish has come true because the stars finally aligned for you. and now, you sit below them with a thank you in your eyes, hoping your head tilted back and your orbs set on the galaxy above you and far away will mean the sincerity makes it there

♡he knew what this would become. he saw you as a spark, ready to set a flame. you’re terrified to get burned and promised yourself whatever happens will be worth it. it has been, despite your sneaking around and swallowed truths when friends ask what on earth you get up to

♡the windows in your living room bask you in light and warmth. you lay down on the rug and close your eyes, knowing when clouds encounter the sun by the sudden chill, sudden darkness. you sit with your legs crossed and a plate in front of you every day for every meal he isn’t with you. you’ve pushed your dreams out these windows. you’ve let them slip into a current of wind, hoping the act would set yourself free, would make you happier to just be despite all the wanting you can’t outrun because his love isn’t enough to dim the sparkle you crave to be. the sparkle you used to have. the sparkle that’s still fucking easy to find if your audience is familiar. but he missed that time. my god, he still has no idea. the secret is kept, though, and you wish you could unravel it to him. my god, he’d support you. give it a try

♡he took away the fear. he sucked venom from your wound. he changed your life. he brought the peace down for you, from this unreachable place that you tossed it to, thinking it was meant to be hard to find, but he disagrees

♡you set the table. you never do, not when it’s only the two of you, but the holiday season is back and you bought cute dishes and table mats to bring a little chestnuts roasting on an open fire into your apartment. he doesn’t notice when he arrives. he doesn’t join you at the table. his hello is muffled by the missing view of his face as he walks to the bedroom to shower and get changed. he’s going out tonight. he thought he told you. you can still come if you want to

♡stolen serenity is what you used to call this, like you didn’t deserve to feel it and have it and squeeze it tight enough to disappear even though it never does

♡he kisses you in the park. he says he can’t hold it back, hold it in, keep it out of sight, not let it find your mind. there’s a weeping willow just beside you. leaves flutter in the wind, and you’d call it a majestic thing. you don’t realize to him that’s what you are

♡another birthday trickles by. for sixteen hours, you’re too aware of everything. aware of the people missing and the wishes that never came true. aware of the one person who hasn’t yet made it home to you, fully aware that all this frustration and awkwardness will leave as soon as he’s here. happy birthday sounds like heaven when he says it to you. he holds you, and you feel it. he kisses you, and you believe it. with the eight hours that are left, what will you do? of course, it’s all up to you

♡you have no idea how easy it is for him to love you. the time that’s been spent learning you, memorizing you without trying to, and my god does he love the view and the thoughts that settle in your eyes before leaving your lips. because you think everything through before you speak, unless he’s with you. unless your comfortable enough to be unguarded, trusting the sincerity will be felt, trusting the love is so loud and warm and radiating that any mistaken word won’t be sticky, won’t turn the day to a dreary blue

♡it’s impossible to imagine how it used to be. how you’d feel in the morning, waking up in familiar uncertainty. but this relationship stained your life in sweet, mundane luxury, and you’re working on being present, so why look to the past when the gray has become green? when the present is a never-ending october and a cup of tea that never cools, keeps refilling for you

♡he’s looking for something. for answers to unasked question. apparently, you’re intimidating. apparently, you’re quite interesting and laughably easy to love. your roommate can’t watch it any longer and tells you to give him something. unknowns surround you in a lavender haze. she tells you to pull a few out, but take the answers straight to him. he’ll love the gesture. and you, you had no idea that mystery loves you, not when you forget how to breathe when he kisses your forehead, when you feel his chest against your cheek. you thought everything is all over your face in his presence. you would’ve sworn every secret seeps, that you couldn’t be easier to read, but a look in your eyes and the softness of your skin still needs translating

♡time is a strange thing. it only takes a minute to change, but it takes ten to choose your outfit. it only takes five minutes to cook your eggs, but triple the time to eat them with a full mind. it only takes seconds to say i love you but minutes collected over months to say it out loud, despite the list you’ve written of all its silent showings and the way your own are entirely compatible with his

♡you’ve started to notice the bubbling desire existing in him. the way his face scrunches up for only a moment when he wants to touch you but can’t. the way his fingers curl as his hand forms a fist because he wants to hold yours but can’t. the tension on his skin when you brush against him innocently. the part in his lips and the lids covering dark eyes, but only for a moment. anyone else could miss the subtle cues. he’s started to talk about your favorite things—write about them on loose parchment as a way to say he loves you without mentioning the largest four letter word the world has ever known- will ever know

♡memories fill your room. in cute trinkets and museum postcards, the sweetest moments stay with you. the reminders have always been good for you. it probably started because of a movie scene when a beautiful protagonist discovered a memory box. old pictures with crinkled edges. necklaces with broken clasps. seashells and transparent rocks you imagined were incredibly smooth and definitely sparkled under the sun. years ago, you found your own memory box in an antique shop, three states away from your hometown. it was perfect then, and it’s still perfect now. you swear it keeps you together, keeps you going, keeps the brightness in your eyes and a warmth in your chest. there’s one person who’s starting to take it over these days, though. the small things he presents to you can’t end up anywhere else, and you daydream about years from now: afternoons drinking tea on your back porch with this handcrafted box on your lap. a fingertip tracing the grooves before two flick the lock and the softness, the love from your teens, twenties, maybe even your thirties, is all there. you wonder if a ring will be on a significant finger. if a cat named river will cover your feet. if his voice will fill your ear suddenly because hours have passed in an autumn flash and he’s home again. he’s coming outside to love you

♡it’s luxurious familiarity like egyptian cotton: ready to envelop you in obscene comfort, so plush and welcoming to your body, so understanding of the places you need to be supported without having to say anything. how incredibly lucky you are not to speak a single word and yet, your needs are crystal clear. you mold to the places his body is hard and strong. you take off the layers, the pieces of protection that can be left by the door once it’s closed, and you’re back inside the sweet escape, sinking in

♡he waits for you in wide open spaces, beneath a clear moon, in the crisp air. he twists the ring on his pointer finger and wonders if you’re wearing yours. the one you found in a quaint shop two years ago on your birthday, when he took you to another country. he woke up every morning you were away to the sight of you in front of the bay window, with your nose against the glass, with silent wishes of becoming a girl who lived there. he could feel the desire in your steps- in the energy that consumed you, wrapped around your bones for that memorable week. every day, he looks for it, since coming back home. he looks for the utter joy and a blissful smile that makes him love you more. you’ve always been fucking easy to adore. there’s a home in his hands, though. doesn’t he know? sure, that city, a continent away, left you walking on clouds, but it wouldn’t have been the same without him. maybe the parisian sky changed the lightbulb to illuminate the home’s patio brighter, but it didn’t alter the shelter behind the door. that was all him

39 notes · View notes

bbbellamywrites · 5 months

Text

full end poem/story under the cut <3

I see the player you mean.

[PLAYERNAME]?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

What did this player dream?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is growing restless.

I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player...

Use its name.

[PLAYERNAME]. Player of games.

Good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a player.

The player was you, [PLAYERNAME].

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

Let's go back.

The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

Let's go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

You are the player, reading words...

Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive

You. You. You are alive.

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

You are the player.

Wake up.

#i was reminded the end poem exists which means you need to remember too #minecraft #end poem #the end poem #it just... always hits me deep down #i love you because you are love.#you are the player. wake up.

15 notes · View notes

coldshrugs · 9 months

Text

see you in the morning

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: 2k note: endwalker spoilers. io is not handling things well :') you'll never guess who goes to comfort her :o)

Old Sharlayan holds its breath.

Most nights, the chilly island city continues its quiet bustling straight through to morning. Scholars drift from early-evening lectures to late-night research clubs or public laboratories, babbling excitedly about the latest research, innovation, or gossip. Those with less rigid schedules wander to the nearest patch of grass or unused table at the Last Stand with a pile of books in tow. Structured or lax, their perpetual search for knowledge is the very heartbeat of the city. But tonight, the pulse has all but stopped.

The lack of bubbling chatter and foot traffic casts an eerie pall over the city. It reaches all the way down to Scholars’ Harbour, where Io sits alone, on one of the long stone piers reaching out into the sea.

Thousands of people huddle in their homes with friends and loved ones as they wait for daylight, and for the Ragnarok’s first–and only–flight.

The weight of their expectation is suffocating.

Waves murmur against the stone below, the only sound save the few foreign sailors on the next pier over, bound to their work regardless of the state of the world. Neither is loud enough to distract her racing mind.

Io pulls her knees to her chest, cursing the inability to become as small as she feels. Every soul on this star, whether they know it or not, is now her responsibility, an obligation that echoes back to a time beyond time. And she chose it. Before she even knew it was her burden to carry, she chose it. She chooses it, because who else would? Who else could bear it? Is it not enough that her loved ones must sacrifice so much due to proximity and circumstance? It has to be her, for she would not wish this on anyone else.

If only she could curl into herself completely. Tightly enough to blink out of existence, like a dark singularity.

She’d take everything else with her.

There’s no resolution in that line of thinking.

Somewhere out there, in the expanse, is the replication of a little girl with a very human soul–perhaps not fractured, as the souls of those on the Source and its shards, but something that was never allowed to be whole. Why wouldn’t annihilation be Meteion’s answer to dead world after dead world? It must seem like kindness to a being who has never experienced adversity.

Tears, injury, death: Io has suffered through–and dealt–her fair share of them all. What pain has Meteion seen that Io has not lived?

Her hands ball into fists, nails digging into her palms. She feels manic, unable to rein in the oscillation between anger, guilt, and fear. There is the urge to scream, or cry, or drop into the frigid water below and swim and swim and swim.

But a figure moves at the edge of her vision, walking briskly in her direction.

Now another feeling begs to be acknowledged. Relief? Endearment? A mixture of both at being found, and by him, perhaps.

Still, against her threadbare senses, this feels like an ambush.

Estinien says nothing as he approaches. His steps slow as if trying not to scare a wounded animal. He offers an awkward smile. Io tries to mirror it, hoping he sees a shred of warmth in the tight purse of her lips.

He is handsome in this light, in his half-laced boots and untucked shirt billowing in the chilly coastal wind. The world is ending, and she can’t help noticing his beauty. It’s ludicrous.

“Who sent you?”

His short huff resembles a laugh. “I need a motive to check on you?” When she doesn’t answer, he sighs. “Y’shtola saw you down here from the Annex. She and Thancred thought to come, but I asked them to stay. Everyone’s turning in for the night. I thought you might appreciate the less intrusive option.”

“By all means, intrude. Once the solitude is broken, it hardly matters by whom.”

His brow knits as he studies the carved stones that make up the pier. He turns, shifting his weight. She can feel him wondering if this was unwise.

“I’m sorry, that was unkind. I’m just… overwhelmed–” Io takes a deep breath, embarrassed by the confession before she makes it– “and afraid. Please don’t go.”

Estinien sways in her periphery, stepping closer before squatting beside her. He looks out into the quiet marina, carefully avoiding her half-slumped form. False privacy, but she’ll take the small mercy.

“You needed to get away. I can understand that.”

“I couldn’t breathe in there. Everyone is watching me. They look at me like I’m dying, or like I’m killing them myself.”

“For every person placing blame at your feet, ten others believe in this asinine plan. As I do.”

“You think we can do it? Truly?” she asks, looking up into the great expanse. The stars blink against the endless blue, and for once, the sight makes her feel cold instead of curious. “What if I–”

“You have to, Io.” His tone invites no debate, but there is a melancholy that matches her own. “You will figure it out no matter the cost, because you must.”

Io nods. Her eyes sting. She closes them to keep the tears at bay as long as possible. He is right, of course. Somewhere deep in her soul, the flame of her faith–in herself, in her friends, and in those who paved this way for her–burns as brightly as ever. She has to save them.

“But you will not be alone. We are with you, of course. We’ll give our all to see it through, if that’s what it takes.”

“Gambling your lives for a promise I made, for my mistakes… I can’t bear to think about losing them.” She risks a glance in Estinien’s direction, but his eyes never leave the gently rolling sea. “Or losing you.”

The barest of smiles, one of the little ones he tries to hide with a bowed head. He rubs the back of his neck, sending a cascade of loose hair over his shoulder.

Her chest clenches.

The well of affection she holds for him is muddy these days; for years, they’ve operated with platonic, amiable ease, flitting in and out of each other’s lives but always reuniting as the closest of friends. But since her time in the First, they have been nearly inseparable.

Estinien is her family, but unlike what she feels for Thancred, Urianger, or G’raha, he is not her brother. He evokes a distinct tenderness, gives life to a long-dormant, selfish hope within her heart, and he does it without trying.

“If we don’t try, all is lost.” He falls against the stone with a quiet groan and nudges her with an elbow. “This pessimism doesn’t become you. I have seen you stand against tremendous odds time and time again. I’ve heard tales of more things than I’ve seen. You may not always get it right, I may not always agree, but you do the impossible. What makes this any different?”

Io reflects on the past year (gods, has it been that long?). The burning skies, the horrible transformations, and the aether-depleted souls who will never see another lifetime on this beautiful star, all because she fell for a madman’s power play. She condemned them to this fate.

She reaches further into her memory, to the unsure adventurer stepping foot into the Waking Sands, and her induction into the inner circle of these secretive upstarts she’s grown to call family. She’s been nothing more than a curse upon them. Thancred’s aether, Y’shtola’s sight, Urianger’s conscience, Minfilia’s life. What might they have avoided without her?

Haurchefant would be alive if she had stayed out of his life.

Since the day she left Dalmasca, death and destruction have been her shadow. As ruinous and loyal as Dalamud, a black dog she pretends she can abandon if only it would forget her scent.

She watches Estinien again, silver in the moonlight. His hands are clasped, hanging between long legs that dangle close to the water below. Like the water, he looks relaxed on the surface. Like the water, there is an undercurrent only the experienced can see.

His thumb worries a circle into the palm of his other hand. His shoulders are tense, hidden by his slightly curved posture. If anyone could understand why this is different, it’s him. For all his courage, he has seen the black dog too.

“It’s different,” Io swallows, “because it’s everything.”

Estinien looks back. His stare is hard. “And so are you.”

Once more, he leaves no room for debate. He speaks as if stating the obvious, citing a fact she should already know.

Io blinks, so awestruck by his candor, she has to look away. Her tumultuous thoughts now spin in his direction, unable to focus on more than this sudden vulnerability. What does it mean that sharing these doubts with him is the most comfortable she’s felt in days? What does it mean that she aches to reach for his hand?

His eyes dart over her face, never lingering on one feature too long. There is something overly controlled about it. Lately, she has employed the same tactic when trying not to stare at his lips…

If she leaned over and kissed him, would he push her away? Could they still be friends?

A selfish hope indeed. But a small thing in her mind whispers, “maybe after…”

If there is an “after” to be had.

She releases her bundled limbs and stands, stretching to relieve the long-ignored ache in her back.

“Come on,” she beckons. “We should at least try to rest before we travel to the edge of space and time.”

Io’s tension deflates as they walk to the annex, pressed under the weight of her exhaustion. They go in comfortable silence, half an arm’s length apart. There is something between them she longs to touch, but doesn’t dare. She has the moonlight in his hair, his half-smile, and his steadfast faith in her. That is enough.

That is more than enough.

The Baldesion Annex is dark, like the rest of the city. The lobby is empty. Not an Annex attendant, not a Scion. Estinien does not share her surprise. How persuasive must he have been to ensure no one disturbed her return? Io watches him move across the room with deliberate steps. He holds open the door that leads to the nap rooms and gestures with his head for her to go ahead of him. The little smile is back.

She returns it, and this time it’s genuine.

They pass Estinien’s door. Io’s room is around the corner and down the next corridor, and he makes the full journey.

They pause at her door.

“Thank you for keeping my head on straight.”

“Someone must. You would not hesitate to do the same for me.” He shrugs. And then his hand is on her upper arm, giving a reassuring squeeze. He pulls her into his space.

Her arms thread under his, hands pressing into his back. She rests her cheek on his shoulder, breathes him in. The sharp edge of her anxiety sloughs away, lost in the steady pressure of his arms around her.

They have never hugged like this. They have never been this close.

Io closes her eyes, squeezes him more tightly, and smiles when she can feel his erratic heartbeat through the firm press of their chests. In this moment, with his hands resting at her neck and waist, with his chin against her neck, skin to skin, she cannot imagine his denial. Perhaps it isn't a stretch to assume he feels this too.

The corridor lights grow dim around them. Io pays them no mind, content to stand in the dark until morning, held by the man she yearns for, the man she never thought she would.

But she yawns, and he steps away, hands on her shoulders. Another squeeze. Another scan of her face before his grey eyes focus on hers, like he's making a final decision.

“Tomorrow,” Estinien says. The single word is a promise. Whatever happens, whatever they find, he will make sure Io gets it done.

“Tomorrow.” She nods, slipping into the room as the memory of his touch crystallizes in her mind. Her limbs are heavy as she climbs into the too-small bed, but the weight has lifted.

She can breathe.

#azia writes #io laithe #io/estinien #this had me in a chokehold #i could not stop thinking about them having a stress hug there at the end of endwalker #a moment where things *could've* started but didn't #because they're both scared of what's to come and scared of the other not fully reciprocating #then after... io is injured and getting over everything that happened in UT. it's not the time. the moment is gone #they are so patient!!! they could've kissed right here but they want to be sure! they mean too much to each other to get it wrong!#while estinien has been 100% in it since in from the cold i think this is the moment he's like 'okay it's not just me and i'm sure of that'#like they're not flirting they're not joking. that's his girl!! and he just needs to be there for her #io is still in her 'lmao i'm unlovable and this is probably in my head' phase #maybe i'll tackle that next lmao #i'm sorry i can't write a fic and leave it without a director's commentary in the tags dslafkjsald #anyway go listen to Lost by dermot kennedy bc that's the vibe here

22 notes · View notes

aballadforbarbatos · 11 months

Text

scawy mc D: (LUCIFER)

lucifer encounters a (tokyo) ghoul. the ghoul is YOU! the post is in the form of bullet points below the cut :) more details in the main post.

warning: mentions of eating demons, mentions throwing up

main post

masterlist (coming soon!)

he should’ve done his research better

he’s never heard of ghouls in his life

wdym there are TWO types of people in the human realm

were you ever going to tell him this??? that one type of person has to Consume the Flesh of a Person in order to live?

you didn’t actually mean for him to find out

or like. any of them.

your secret is safe with him btw. his smirk is actually bigger whenever he encounters his brothers because he knows something about you they don’t

irritates satan to NO END

satan actually throws something at lucifer, the smirk somehow gets bigger

“if i was trapped in the dark like you, satan, i suppose i’d get… emotional, too.”

this leads to a fight. obviously. you swan away. see ya.

the problem with being a ghoul is that you can’t eat normal human food, OR normal demon food. it’s poison to you

solomon’s cooking seems to be poison to everyone so that’s off limits to you as well

not risking that one. not THAT hungry.

if a ghoul eats a whole person, that’s enough to sustain them for a month. unfortunately, that’s expensive

your wallet is ALWAYS empty and nobody knows why. multiple brothers are trying to find out who keeps taking your money

it’s you. somehow you keep sneaking away from a brother to buy human flesh from the black market

demons are actually inclined to leave you alone because “why are you buying so much human flesh…?”

“for eating”

“oh. wait what”

once lucifer finds out, he personally pays for it.

well.

he actually gives you the money and then you can go buy it. diavolo’s right hand man can’t be caught buying human flesh??

you’ve been doing it for months though so you may as well keep doing it

ah but lucifer! how did you find out?

so you got into trouble.

you’d slipped away from the brother to go and do your monthly purchase

all the demons know what you’re up to over there, they leave you alone

there are some “explorers” that choose to head over that way though. exploring to see what’s over there. newbies to the area. they Don’t Know.

lucifer on the other hand, found out about this black market by chance

rather than tell diavolo he decided he’d take care of it himself

you met demons trying to eat you. you knew you’d get in trouble for slipping away and you didn’t know when you’d get to come back here.

lucifer was on his way to your spot. (not that he knew it at the time)

if ghouls don’t eat they end up losing control of themselves until they eat again, which could be anything from a human loved one in secret or a man in broad daylight

you did not want to take a bite out of satan. or multiple bites. or eat any of the brothers actually

partly out of love. partly out of fear. although the look on lucifer’s face would be really funny

anyway you’re in trouble. you decide to take a risk. you REALLY need this meat

you release your kagune and suddenly the demons are confronted with very big and shiny red wings.

up in the human world, you can normally eat enough to use them to really jump! you’re very bouncy and light when your kagune is out but you’re half starved now, so it’s all you can do to release the wings and then fire

the wings are VERY big btw

lucifer watches this confrontation go down, you’ve consumed enough to have bigger “wings” than him

kind of a sore point for him. don’t bring it up ever

if demons could pale that is what they would be doing

although.

they are paling!

quite quickly actually

since ukaku kagunes basically fling daggers and you have flung a lot into their bodies

guide to finding out if a ghoul can eat it:

if it smells good and tastes good. also the same reason why they can drink coffee

so lucifer arrives to see you shoot down diavolo’s subjects. and then sniff them. and take a cautious bite.

weirdo tbh. he’s just watching you eat two guys. just kind of hangin out

family? what do you mean the demons have family?

well, you eat, go inside and make your purchase, and then come out with a big package, you have a fridge hidden in your room which you use to hide these secret bodies

you might get to save more money now that you know you can digest demons!!

you spot lucifer up against a tree

uh oh

you play it cool

“hey lucifer :) what are you doing here?”

“this is a black market. what are YOU doing here.”

“oh. uh. just hanging out with some guys.”

dancing around the topic and he knows it. also knows he doesn’t have the time for it because diavolo wants him to come in later. big sigh for lucifer

“when were you going to tell me about the wings.”

“what wings?”

“ok well, never,”

he’s impressed when he finds out you don’t need to eat that often

less so when he finds out you’ve been throwing up all the food they feed you instead of digesting it

he watches you cuddle up to mammon and say “i’m so glad i have you to protect me!”

you catch his eye and wink

and lucifer feels his heart flutter

your little secret :P

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me headcanons #obey me x tokyo ghoul #kind of #mc as a ghoul #obey me crack #that's all my posts here tbh #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer x mc #ghoul mc #well #it's an x mc if you squint

39 notes · View notes

archangelween · 5 months

Text

Parallels to the war in heaven

We know that the paintball battle is supposed to be a reenactment of the war in heaven.

Newt is Crowley's analogue, and Newt has just gotten a NEW job as a low level clerk and is asking weird, basic questions of another low level employee--he's saying he can't do simple things the way they want them done. In analogy, Crowley must have been promoted or somehow infiltrated the upper admin to try to get info about/stop the planned shut down of the universe. But he was caught, aka Newt was fired after blowing the power. I think Crowley may have found some way to kill miracle power, if we interpret Newt killing all power literally: angels run on miracle power, and they can't delete creation if they don't have the miracles to do it with.

This means Crowley was not high ranking originally. I think what people are reading as deference and respect isn’t about Crowley's assumed high rank, it's just Aziraphale's innate kindness. Perhaps Aziraphale was higher ranking, but I don't think that fits either because he doesn't have an analogue I can identify in the paintball war among all the high admin.

I don’t think angel ranks used to be about how much power an angel was created with, barring possibly Lucifer/Satan. Crowley clearly has a lot of power, but if he wasn't high ranking then ranks can't have been 1:1 about raw power. Hell's respect for Crowley is because he tried to spy on admin to prevent the war that none of them wanted, to stop the destruction of the universe that all of Lucifer's/hell's side was trying to prevent, to protect something they loved. To protect them all. If he was an original archangel, perhaps they got to choose their rank, and he didn't want to be admin, instead doing engineering. Perhaps there weren't ranks below the top admin, and the sleeve decorations denoted type or raw power instead of rank.

I haven’t figured out who Aziraphale is yet in the office parallels, if he’s even there. Perhaps Newt's mother sending him off to his job is Aziraphale's analogue? That would explain why he's not in the war itself, and also why both of them were taken out "early" (ie the ineffables getting shot just as they enter the manor) if they both got caught infiltrating admin. It also means that, since they were shot by opposing sides, hell didn't know Aziraphale was helping Crowley. Newt's mother has a dark green/blue sweater over a dark green dress with white and brown decoration; that's probably death and god's game, which fits Crowley the angel being replaced with Crowley the demon, followed with Aziraphale's usual cognitive acrobatics thinking surely god must want her creations protected. Newt has a dark graybrown suit, white shirt, and tie is red, yellow, grayblue, brown, cream. That’s motivation of the rules and some combo of spying with fate/choice, and the tie is anger/fear plus defiance, spying for defense of life, fate, and bending the rules. His dark green plant means he's part of god's game; their backdrop is light brown bricks, meaning their plan was a choice, not fate. The white box his plant is in tells us that Crowley honestly thought he was doing the right thing to save creation. He was also reluctant to go to this job, he didn't think it would work out, so Crowley was doing this as a last ditch effort because this was better than the alternative. He wanted it to work, he believed, but he was already disillusioned by this time. What had already happened to make him that way? Or had he learned from Aziraphale how things actually go down?

We don’t see the paintball war going on before the ineffables show up at the manor. As they roll up, Aziraphale says the place is loved; I think this is saying that before the war, heaven as a place was loved, and love was abundant. But….how does that track with knowing that there was fear and authoritarianism long before that? Maybe it wasn’t the reality of it or god who was loved (or she was, and they didn't realize her nature yet), but how angel Crowley loved it–the way it could be, the way he wanted it to be, and presumably how Lucifer's side wanted things. Love between each other, before disagreements got entrenched. The war could have been over defending that idea against the growing authoritarianism, not about who should get to be dictator, as traditional christian myth says.

The paintball fight is yellow flags using blue paint, and red flags using yellow. The rebellion side is Lucifer’s side, that’s the yellow people. Norman Weathered is Lucifer–the guy who suggests the “training initiative” ie the war. "Norman Weathered" as a name means northman which biblically refers to either Babylon or the north star; Lucifer can be read as being the "north star" ie the morningstar. Weathered is "tender of rams".

The first time we see him in the office, he’s got a blue/white pinstripe shirt and his tie looks dark red, pinstripe black suit. Can’t see the pattern. Black coffee cup. This means he’s driven by respect for life and the rules, plus love, but he’s hiding all this presumably because despite being the highest archangel, half of heaven doesn’t like that he's speaking out against god.

I think the black coffee cup means that he's hiding something about what he's saying: perhaps he's pushing for the fight and using it or "the rules" as cover to get rid of his opponents in order to protect creation: willing to kill to protect life. I do not think it can be due to wanting to rule, despite that being the traditional accusation, because he would not have a dark red tie. Perhaps that's what the blue and white stripe shirt means more abstractly: he interprets the rules as protecting life, not dominating it, but he's willing to defend it with whatever it takes. During the fight we see his tie is actually bright red, with blue and white flower-looking things. Looks like the same type of flower as is on Metatron’s tie. That his tie goes from looking dark to bright red means he didn’t actually want war, that he was forced into it, just as we see Norman doing: if they want war, we'll give them war.

Yellow with blue ammunition is Lucifer's side saying life matters and that defiance is worth defending it, against Gabriel's red with yellow ammunition side saying Lucifer's defiance matters and using war to enforce that. Thus the war was actually not something god wanted at all: the only orange is on Frobisher, who represents Michael, and ended the war. Since most of them are wearing dark green and dark brown camo, that means the war was part of god's game aka the ineffable plan and it was fate: it wasn't planned per se, but it was fate that the angels would fight over something. God deliberately set them up, engineered it, because she created them as they are. But again, neither side was “hers”, her representatives, even though Gabriel's claimed they are because they won. That was retcon. All winners claim to have god's hand: it seems like god was already not talking to anyone as far back as the pre-fall, perhaps even as far back as immediately after planning creation, and we know this because Janice Evanson in the office says she put in a complaint to HR, ie God, trying to prevent the paintball game. God clearly does nothing.

Janice Evanson means "gift from god, the lord is gracious/favor this child". She's on team yellow. She has a very light blue/green shirt with black and brown designs, I'm going to call that a version of aqua, ie both blue and green: marked as the game and life. The black and brown designs mean she's only slightly dissembling when she's trying to stop the war, and she's exercising free choice to do so: perhaps she doesn't want war only because war is wrong or it's annoying. Janice could be Furfur, who in s2 complains to the dark council about Crowley, which fits Janice complaining to HR about the other employees. That's the wrong season though so it's unlikely. She may be Dagon, purely because when Newt arrives he asks about the wages database, so this group deals with those files, and Dagon is lord of files.

Louisa Blatt "famous dove warrior", is the woman Newt talks to who wears pearls and a black sweater over a white shirt during the fight. She is probably Beelzebub, because Louisa tells Janice that she doesn't trust the people from the other team, which is what Beez says of Michael during Crowley's trial in hell. If she is, then Beelzebub being "favored" and "a gift from god" is a radical statement about hell's denizens: this is who they were before the fall; they're not damned for losing, which we already knew from heaven's winning side not being god's agents. I had originally thought she was Uriel, but she's on team yellow, so unless some of the rebels weren't tossed to hell--which is something the authors would do--that doesn't fit. The name doesn't fit with Uriel's "god is my flame/light of god" though so I don't think that's likely for this character. Beez has an orange sash in s1, so I think her being Louisa with the pearls fits.

The red side is the establishment, Gabriel's. Gabriel is Nigel Tompkins, the guy who announces the paintball in the office and runs up to the ineffables at the manor. Nigel Tomkins means "little twin champion"; traditionally, Gabriel, Michael, and Lucifer were twins/triplets. The first time we see him in the office, his shirt is white with a dark red tie, black suit, bright red coffee cup. That means he's a stickler for the rules and also doing things out of love: there was indeed love present in heaven before the war, just as Aziraphale said "this place is loved". As we see in present-day heaven though, it completely lacks love, because authoritarianism won. Nigel is speaking for war though, hence the bright red cup.

Michael is Frobisher, "warrior", the woman who calls newt a dick and is the one who shoots Norman. Traditionally she's the one who casts Lucifer down to hell. She’s in light browns during the fight, so her taking down Lucifer was her own choice, not fate. They didn’t have to force them to hell. Presumably whatever happened to force the change of name from Satan to Lucifer is what "shooting Norman" is referring to, and that's what this choice means: that wasn't fate, wasn't planned, and was entirely the angels' idea. Michael either is or used to be favored by god before the war, due to Frobisher's dark orange hair; dark orange indicated negative change, throwing a wrench in the works, as opposed to positive things with neon orange like saving Job's kids. Negative change, as in creating hell and eternal fights.

Frobisher has a pink shirt; the only other times we've seen pink are on sex workers, Tracey and Mrs Sandwich, both BDSM doms. It seems Michael either has a side gig or has been domming demons since pre-fall. In s2, Michael and Dagon seem to have a history as Dagon makes faces at Michael, which Michael shakes her head at to indicate "now is not the time". If Janice is indeed Dagon, then perhaps in s3 Michael and Dagon will be next to jump ship like Gabriel and Beez did: Janice didn't want the war, and Michael has been seeing them since before the war which is the reason Beez jumped ship in s2. Perhaps that's part of why Michael was so insistent on becoming the next supreme archangel, to gain that freedom.

Crowley did change the guns from harmless paintball to real guns though, which I think means that god intervened to up the ante: perhaps the angels didn't originally attempt to kill each other, but god gave them something in the middle of the fight that each side may have interpreted as the other deliberately doing: "they wanted war", when it was actually god doing it for her own amusement. Was it changing one side to demons so that halo bombs would be deadly? Was it inventing hellfire and holy water too, so each side had a weapon? Given the halo s2 reference to the war, I think that might be it--god made the Fall happen either before or halfway through the battle because "they wanted to be kill each other, so she gave them what they wanted". It was originally just a moral argument about what silent god wanted, but then god made it so they could die. And blamed it on them to wash her hands, as if she wasn't inventing murder. No wonder Gabriel's side thought that meant God was on their side, and against Lucifer's. But if there's an equal number of angels and demons in present day, then there must have been way more on Lucifer's side to start with if halos can permanently discorporate demons. And if there were way more, then god would be forced to introduce death to make that fight equal, to make it entertaining. The war would have ended everything for her. Can't be having that.

In s2, there's another war parallel in the attack on the bookshop. Perhaps not all the demons and angels went to war, if the availability of the demons is an indicator, and if we read the humans as angels who sat out the battle. Only two humans stayed behind, and very few demons got assigned to go on attack--this fits with the idea that there must have been a lot more demons on Lucifer's side than angels on Gabriel's. I think god must have intervened so that Lucifer wouldn't win, in order to keep her game going, so that there would still be two sides to continue fighting: if that's true, then some demons could have fallen for no reason, depending on how she divided it up. Crowley wasn't one of them though, there was a reason, even though the reason was fascist.

I think the paintball war is how things happened from hell's perspective, and the bookshop attack is how it happened from heaven's perspective. That may be why it comes off so lopsided in the bookshop. I do think there were more on Lucifer's side, but I don't think they were all fighting--much as with the paintball fight, I think they were evenly matched, and god nerfed Lucifer. We see things from Lucifer's team POV, but we aren't shown the other team. In the bookshop, we see things from Aziraphale's POV, aka heaven's, and we don't really see much of the demons' while they're there.

#good omens #paintball war #bookshop attack #war in heaven

9 notes · View notes