#+ the secret yearning to read stories and run away from home to be a flautist (but in a stabby way)

[y-rhywbeth2]

On the note about multiclass builds, I'm considering doing a strange run where I multiclass all the origin characters. I know not why. Anybody got suggestions for multiclassing the characters who aren't Astarion? Without changing their stats via Withers, nor getting rid of their initial class, and preferably in ways that fit their characters. Doesn't actually have to be optimised, fit their stats well or be even remotely useful. Ideally every class should be in the party.

I'm pretty committed to Astarion's current headband of intellect powered assassin/wizard murder-machine set up. He'll be so good at wizardly hubris, however much he complains magic is boring.

Wyll goes ranger of his own volition, so I could use that. He's traveled alone, and has the 2e obligatory-good-aligned-ranger nature hero thing going for him, though I do feel bard vibes from him. Also the classic paladin vibes, but those are still holy warriors in realmslore and I don't think he's swearing himself to any gods or other powers right now, he's got enough with Mizora.

Shadowheart I'm considering rogue, even though we've already got one. I could kinda feel sorcerer but none of the subclasses are fitting.

Gale can't be a cleric of Mystra, their connection being on fire aside, he is not terribly good at her doctrine of 'avoid hubris and seek magic less the more power you have' atm. Maybe Karlach and Lae'zel can teach him to hit things and he can make up for physical stats with spells... EDIT: Orrrr the disruption of the orb and the damage it causes the Weave could cause his magic to occur as wild magic, so wizard/wild mage was a good suggestion.

[acid-ixx]

seasons in the sun: goodbye, my love, please pray for me...

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist ! ; related post !

you guys i'm sorry for literally dying from the feed all of a sudden but i need y'all to be as feral as i am for the idea of a romantic! yandere jason with his childhood sweetheart reader.

y'know, the dichotomy of what used to be softness in the past in your relationship with jason. you know him as the sweet, malnourished boy who trespassed in your house to raid your fridge, the kind protector of your apartment after you'd offer your leftovers when he'd invaded your house and you're the only one left, advising him to run off to the balcony to hide once your parents come back from their trip; the silly guy who laughs shyly at your jokes, who'd coincidentally became your classmate after he'd been taken in by his rich father, who recalled the story to you when you'd both sneak by the backyard of your school with no qualms for privacy because it's you who he first learned to trust when he's thrust into the cruel lifestyle of the streets, knowing only how to bare his teeth but never how to retract it at the hands of its owner.

he's your closest confidant, the smart, nerdy boy who reciprocated your blooming romance, read classics to you with his squeaky voice, who offers to share with you his lollipops to "make up for all the times i ate your dinner at home," who secretly shoves his assignment answers under your desk when you'd forgotten to do yours and whispers the answers to the questions you're forced to recite when he notices your tensed jaws and quivering lips, shy and unaware of what to tell the teacher. only he knows it when your confidence is at an all-time low, and he helps guide through your problems like how you've been the only light in his life.

jason is the sweetest boy, he has no idea how to hold your hands, whose face flushes when your lips kiss his cheeks and when you cheekily grin at him after. sweaty fingers interlace with yours while you both lay on the grass of the gardens, listening to him rambling about the stars, and magic, and fantasy worlds, after bruce had finally permitted you to enter the manor because even his father could see how lovely you've impacted his adopted son; both of you keeping secret of your first meeting, similar to how you bask under the moonlight, alone, as if your presence yearns to be worshipped, he thinks.

he's your childhood sweetheart, and nothing can ever shatter the reality that he's the only right one for you.

your first love, sure, and your first heartbreak too.

taken away from the world at the cruel hands of death, at the ripe age of 17. the details his father retold you, with his equally somber, mourning expression do no justice to what felt like sledgehammers breaking a dam in your heart, your entire world breaking, even bruce's hands weighing at you shoulders during the entire funeral process don't ground you at all, you've no thought other than just how truly lonely you are to the world without him by your side—

the burden only becomes heavier, the tears refusing to drip from your eyes, staring at the picture frame of your happy, chipped-tooth lover now in a casket, surrounded by mourning flowers, sun dipping below the horizon which only darkens your vision.he unmoving now, dead, actually, and your mind couldn't comprehend how you'll never hear the chirp of his voice on one side of his ears and feel the scabs on his skin slowly fading away each day under your care.

even if your chest beats too loudly in your ears, your sweetheart, for the first time in your life, wouldn't be able to grasp at your shivering hands and assure you that he's alright.

he's gone. your sweet, loving, jason is gone.

you wish he'd die in your arms instead, rather than left you aching, worried and senseless from the days he'd suddenly disappear, then suddenly dead from a bombing, as what his father had told you. and you're not there to witness the scene, you couldn't even fathom just how much your body — still locked in place watching the funeral proceedings from afar, you don't feel quite yourself anymore — wishes to run to his open casket just to take his cold, laying body in your arms to feel your warmth.

at such an early moment, from what had felt like an eternity spent with the young boy, yet such a short span of being together with him at the same time— your grief has you yearning for the past image of your sweetheart. you want him back, you want your jason back. the years you've wasted, trying so hard to repair, to fill the broken gaps in your heart, to overcorrect, finding and chasing the comfort from other people, yet reeling away when every other person felt so foreign in your arms instead. nothing could ever replace the sweet ache in your tooth back when you're with him, nobody could amount to the tears you've wasted over jason because nobody is jason.

not even him, not when he came back a hardened soul, with a different body now bigger and stronger than you, who'd visit you during the night, intruding in on your apartment which oh-so prompts you to recall the very first day you'd met him. you don't know of his hardships, you're given a different story and the entire situation perplexes you, but you couldn't deny the ache in your chest when faced with this burly man, standing in front of you, breathing heavily and gazing at you with the same, starstruck stare that pins you on the spot of your bed.

he doesn't look like the jason who died, but he feels so much like him that your tender tears finally dripped down your quivering cheeks after what felt like eons of grief.

when he was resurrected from the dead after two years, he's not quite the same jason that you'd known and loved. he's broken, crawling out of that disgusting pit with only rage in his heart and the inclination to plot vengeance on those who've wronged him. there shouldn't've been an ounce of softness left, no love nor desire, no fantasy of his ex-lover when it should only be violence that he'd have known. but even so, beneath every vile emotion he felt, was the drive, the passion to come back to you first after he'd come to his senses. he'd remember screaming in agony, at feeling the rickety bones grinding against one another, at feeling for the sinewy muscles now aching and bulging in its restraints.

he's in a body taller than when he'd pass away from, and he wishes, after gaining enough consciousness— he fucking wishes you're there with him during the recovery phase, from when he's left to the cavern of his thoughts, braindead and unable to comprehend ra's al ghul's words, not when he's busy drowning in the depths of his clawing memories of you. nothing, not even the silken sheets he lays on, compares to you kissing his wounds like you always do and comforting him with your hushed words. beyond the exterior of his violence, of his boiling rage, was the hope that you'd still think of him in every waking moment the same way his first thought directs at how your fingers would tenderly graze at his skin.

i'm just saying, the angst/comfort potential of having the only person closest to you stripped away from your grasps, now in a different image. he's the same man you've prayed every single day to come back, but being faced to face with him that moonlit night, while your eyes still take in the unfamiliar form of jason's body towering over you, when his hands couldn't keep itself plastered to its side that it just, reaches out to grab you so he could bury his head on your clavicle and take a whiff of your body— you couldn't ignore the sheer differences.

how he scrunched his body to meet your height unlike the past where it's you adjusting to him, how his hands take precaution to ensure you're not crushed by his deadly strength, palms bigger than your head, how he takes utmost consideration peppering kisses on your shoulders, mumbling his apologies, his "i miss you, baby,"'s and "i love you s'much, i'm sorry for being gone for too long, sweetheart"'s, his refusal to release you; all while your heart raises a mile a minute because this is the red hood in front of you, clad in heavy metal armoury and mercenary weapons; a danger to gotham's criminal kind. yet it's him who speaks to you like your beloved jason with his heavy accent and rushed words, now a deep tremor compared to the young boy who chirps your name.

the only thing closest to you which reminds you of your past moments with jason, was that ever-so dedicated look of love. his hazy gaze, disguised under marred skin and sunken piercing eyes, yet so delicately filled with love that fills your chest with nostalgia long gone: of nights spent together at your apartment when he'd read you your favorite fairytales, of days having picnics together, baskets filled with handpicked fruits and alfred's sandwich, of moments coddling each other, feeding off the warm buzz off both bodies, legs entangled, sharing innocent kisses behind the trees.

of heartfelt promises, long forgotten yet still protected within jason's heart now guarded under lock and key, with only you having access if you just allow him to be loved by you once more. the man before you is a man who's changed, filled with contempt, jealousy, scorn for a mankind that scorches at every criminal, emotions so utterly complex compared to the boy you used to look at with ease, whose emotions used to be so easily distinguished from anger and adoration, who never beared hatred unlike now.

and you, who's just so conflicted, equally broken and unable to understand the entire situation. why, just why does the world want to torment you so much that it brings your old lover back— but different, hands now scarred, pinning you down with unfamiliar muscles bigger than your body, burying himself on your shoulders, mumbling and sobbing about his woes while your mind still reels itself back in to comfort him as you always do. this is the man you still love. his touch is all-knowing, he knows you loved it when his kisses reach the back of your ears, when his fingers fondle your waist.

he's different, yet the same. if it's not your dear jason coming back, if it was red hood, then why do you still recognize his presence so easily?

his aggressiveness to others you couldn't approve — the news labels him a brutal anti-hero, batman's new criminal enemy, he's a weapon of fear you should've resented — but why is it that it's his gentleness towards you that makes your heart ache at the memories of when he'd defend you from intruders, using his wits instead of his lacking strength? why do you feel like a completed puzzle piece in his arms?

he's here now. the red hood is here, but so is jason todd.

you could've called the gcpd, report them of his intrusion inside your house, forget all of this ever happened. but you should've also never brought your hands up to tangle itself upon the messy tresses of his black hair now streaked with white at the front, you shouldn't've hushed him and his cracking voice, taking his cheeks in your palms and having him look you straight in the eyes, drowning at dulled, blue eyes. once it reminds you of the blazing sky, now it's like the raging storms of the sea at night. without his red, gleaming helmet, he's reduced to your sweetheart; you cradle his head and stay silent.

still conflicted over brewing emotions, over the resurfacing love that you've forced yourself to bury the same time his casket was buried under the manor's soil.

in truth, you're tired of yearning, or constantly seeking a cheap, temporary replacement for jason. you've come to the stage of anger and withdrawal too, and your friends have told you that you should learn to rebound. but you're oh-so parched from love that no other could've given you, that you just couldn't fully relinquish your feelings, you can't.

in truth, you almost learnt to let go. almost.

but there's always the greatest fact: it's that as long as he's alive, even if resurrected and never the same, you'll still learn to love him over and over again, no matter if it takes years, he's yours and you're his. despite the cruelty he bears to others, he's your sweet boy, you miss him far too long, far too deeply. all is fair in love and war, they say, and all you wanted to do was to replicate those moments where it's just the two of you; even if his body is now bigger than you, you can still hold him, no? even if he knows how to wield guns better than how he held you shyly back then, he can learn—

thing is, you just wish things were simpler, you wish he'd have no other priorities, you wish the world didn't strip him away from his innocence. jason didn't deserve it, his death, and when he'd confess the truth: of his identity, of how he truly passed away, of his trials and tribulations to earn the path back to your place; you're left stinging with ache more than nostalgia, wishing you'd notice sooner.

so even if the man who lays in bed with you now is different, he's still the same man who held you tight in his arms, who remembers how to tuck you in the way you like it, who gazes at you filled with adoration, lips still quirking up hesitantly at your expectant stare. maybe it hurts, still, that he's not entirely the same jason who's smiles without bounds, who doesn't sport the same crinkle of mirthful eyes and jumpy actions, but he still retains the same love he'd carry for you all those years, even in death—

he's back, and that's all that matters.

a/n: yes do leave comments 🤩 idk what i just wrote honestly, srs about that. and i wrote it so that you do kind of have more... obsessive traits towards jason hehe. he's my favorite other than tim drake (well almost every character in dc is my fave, but i have my top spots), and tbh the reason i disappeared was because i was getting too invested in canon dc content that i forgot to write for it ngl.

[neoarchipelago]

Just saw a TikTok where a kid send their favorite stuff animal to his dad who's deployed. Just imagine this happening with 141 🥺 (I'm actually sending this to my favorite writers hoping I can get a cute scenario 😅)

That sounds adorable... I melted at the thought. Sorry it got very angst with Ghost but I'm feral for this man and I'd give him babies any time he wants.

Warning: slight NSFW, f!reader, angst and comfort

Price:

Price would frown but have a little smirk, watching the recruit hand him a cardboard box. His smile spreads when he notices figures of who it is from.

He wouldn't mind opening it in front of the team. They'd be busy bickering anyway.

He swears his heart stops for a second and he sees the soft thing. He could recognize it in the middle of the battlefield, the awful thought putting a ping of anger in his heart.

He'd be silent for a moment, looking at the round pink thing, his mind instantly wandering home, to you and your daughter.

He took the tiny note, scribbled a bit. "Keep you company daddy. Love, mom and me"

He swears he could cry right now.

He keeps it in his barracks, hidden so well no one ever glanced at it until he left. He wouldn't dare taking it with him, not wanting to soil it with he horrors of the battlefield.

He hugs it at night, until the day he returns, his daughter running to him as he holds the stuffed animal who kept his sanity strong.

He makes sure to worship you that night, thanking you silently for making him the happiest man on earth. In the morning you're sore but oh so happy. He whispers sweet nothings as he helps prepare breakfast, thanking you for giving him a daughter and home to come to.

Soap:

Soap would be thrilled to see the box for him. He wouldn't even wait to open it, under the amused gazes of the team.

He'd smile brightly at the sight of the little shark, immediately taking the note to read it out loud "to help you fight daddy!"

He run around the room, holding it up in the air, voicing to his team how happy he was, how proud of his son and how he absolutely loved you for giving him such a gift .

He'd keep it at all times at base. The round thing on the table in front of him during meetings.

He calls it Sergeant Sharky, everyone starting referring it by the same name.

At night he hold it tight, it's more intimate. He can let himself feel the way he misses home, almost tearing up. He knows you're waiting for him at home, probably preparing for his arrival.

He swears he's the happiest man alive.

When he gets home he tells stories of Sergeant Sharky on the battlefield (never anything gory) his boy being in absolute amazement over how his favorite stuffed animal was a hero with his dad.

He absolutely ravages you that night, almost begging you for another kid, begging to make him a daddy again. He just praises you for being the best mama, the best wife. He has you limping by morning as he holds his son, running around with him as he winks at you, subtly hinting to his son to ask you for a sibling.

Gaz:

I feel like gaz would open it with the team too. Though he'd be much more hidden and private about it.

He immediately smiles when he sees the little white bear inside of the box. He can't help the sadness and yearning he feels almost immediately.

The images of you, laughing in the morning as his son jumps on the bed to wake him up makes his throat burn slightly.

He found the indulging gaze of Price who noticed the fluffy thing.

He'd read the note to himself, hiding it from anyone's gaze.

"to take care of you daddy" he has to blink away the blurriness.

He'd be more secret about it, but as soon as his in his tent the toy is with him at all times. He finds himself sometimes talking to it. "Yeah... I miss home too. We'll go back to them."

He finds himself with a new strength, the battle almost feeling less heavy on him. He's doing it for you. For his son. To try and make the world a better place.

He almost runs home from the airport, throwing the front door open, bags dropping to the floor as you see him. Your mouth opens slightly, shocked, but he sees the relief in your eyes. He kisses you deeply, the sound of tiny running footsteps from the hallway making his heart stammer in his chest.

He's home. That night he makes love to you, lovingly, sweetly and with such love that you find yourself crying and clinging to him. He finds himself absolutely loving the way your son runs into the room by morning, waking him up. He doesn't give a shit how tired he is.

Ghost:

Oh god... Here I go...

When he's handed the box, he frowns. He immediately retreats to his tent to open it. He freezes when he sees the white and brown bunny.

He's scared to touch it. His gloves feel disgusting and tainted with horrors. He rips them off his hands, putting the box down on his bed to rush to wash his hands. They're clean, albeit sweaty but he just can't seem to shake away the feeling of blood on them.

When he finally let's himself touch the soft thing he holds it like it's the most fragile thing he ever touched. It shouldn't be here. So close to him when he's a monster right now.

The note breaks him. "Come back to us" it's your writing, she's too small to write. But there's a tiny sun scribbled in pencil next to it.

He rips off his mask bringing the bunny to his forehead as his head bows down, closing his eyes. He's crying. He feels guilty from being away from you. From his daughter. From home. Home that you allowed him, after he had thought he'd never be worthy of it.

It stays in his things. Hidden. He very rarely takes it out. Tries to not look at it too much. He's almost protecting it from even witnessing the base. Keeping it away from Ghost. That he tried to keep at the front door every time he came home.

When he gets home he needs time. It's always the same. He calls you, announcing that he is back. He takes 24h to remain on base, letting himself split from the battlefield. He needs time. You know it. You understood it.

When he gets home you notice something else this time. His eyes look at you with such adoration that you catch yourself almost hyperventilating. He often looks at you with love and care. But right now he looks at you like you were his goddess, his air and life essence. The same look he gives your daughter, like she's the only thing that ever matters to him.

He sits on the couch later, handing the bunny to his daughter who beams at the sight of her bunny back. He softly thanked her for sending the bunny to him. Softly explains that she should keep it home, it'd get dirty with daddy. You noticed the subtle message underneath his words. You want to hug him. But of course she understands. Such a clever girl.

He fucks you passionately and hard. He marks you with hickeys and bites, he gets lost in you, lost in your scent, the soft sheets are freshly clean. Your moans anchor him to his new found paradise.

He's got a small need to breed you again. But he'd talk to you about it. Beg on his knees if necessary, hoping that you'd be merciful to grant him another miracle. (As if he needed to do anything else but simply ask. Like you weren't the one who'd kneel for him if he asked.)

If you were the one to start the conversation, about, perhaps, maybe, if there was a chance, at some point "just spill it out love" "I want a baby... Again"

Absolutely feral. Literally throws your pill to the trash. It's on.

Doesn't let go of his daughter for days. She's in heaven as daddy holds her whenever she wants, reads her stories and plays with her. He keeps bending you over the nearest surface if she's napping or playing at a family's house (extremely rare, he's a protective wolf over her)

Spoils her rotten, he feels so guilty for leaving for such long periods of time. Spoils you as well.

[intheheartoftheking]

Painting The Roses Red

Jacaerys Velaryon/Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader

canon divergent, mentions of war/ptsd, a lot! of fluff, yearning, forbidden love, mentions of death and infidelity, dragonrider!reader

summary: HEAVILY INSP by this HC from @enviedear Reader is restless from nightmares of the war and Jace soothes her back to sleep by reading stories of Targaryen History while reminiscing on their past. Jace wonders how their story will fit into the future of Targaryen History.

word count: 1,566

a/n: It started off short because I was inspired by @enviedear 's head cannon (THIS ONE IS FOR YOU BABE) about Jace reading you to sleep with Targaryen History but then it became a whole thing of its own since I crave fluffy Jace and I love forbidden love. I want to write the wedding so pls let me know if a part 2 with memories of their wedding or any other of their war adventures would be interesting.

You threw off your sweat-drenched sheets and found solace in the cold breeze through the window. Your sleep had been restless all through the war, and you thought once it was over, you would finally have some peaceful rest, but the fear had settled into your bones, and you would never be the same again. Tears welled in your eyes as the memories of the past two years replayed in your mind. You didn't even realize that soft sobs had begun to leave your body as you stared out at the sea; however, Jacearys did notice. His coarse hand wrapped around your wrist, startling you out of your trance as he pulled you into his chest. "We're safe, you're safe," he whispered into your hair, rubbing soft circles on your back. This had become a routine for both of you since you found yourselves back at Kings Landing, and both of you constantly had to pull one another out of the distant memories of war. "I know," you murmured, "but that still doesn't change the chill in my bones and the fear in my heart as I watch you die over and over again." you whimpered as he tightened his grip on you. "Jacearys, you almost died. I fished you out of the water and watched you come and go from consciousness. The maesters believed you dead." He sighed. "But I am alive, and our victories will be written in the histories. The greens will only grow to be a stain, but a footnote in the rich Targaryen history." He pulled away from you to grab a large leather-bound book containing the tales of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters wives before settling back on your bed. "Come," he beckoned you over softly, "we shall be the rulers our descendants look upon with admiration and seek guidance from just as we look to our ancestors."

You shook your head, offering him a sad smile as you climbed alongside him, adjusting yourself in his chest. His voice was a lullaby that warded off the fear that threatened to destroy your peace, and with the vibrato that escaped his chest, you could feel yourself being pulled by sleep. Your eyes are heavy as you cling to every word of the stories of Rhaenys and Aegon. As Jace looks down to see you opposing your rest, he aids the sleep process by entwining his hand in your hair, softly running his fingers along your scalp. 

You can feel yourself losing your battle, and Jace knows he's won as he hears your soft snores in his embrace. He looks down at your peaceful face in admiration and sadness. It was rare to find you so calm. It had been years since he had seen you so happy and carefree. 

The war had taken so much from you, your home, your family, and most importantly, it shook your lineage. You were a firstborn daughter, a lady created for more domestic pursuits, the beauty of Highgarden. You weren't fire and blood, or so you thought. However, when the war made you a dragonrider, the garden's secrets became revealed as your mother had to uncover the truth of an affair your great-grandmother had with a Targaryen prince during the rule of King Jaehaerys. The gods were merciful, and this child bore only a tiny resemblance to the Targaryen prince who fathered him, and your grandfather, the heir of House Tyrell, would pass his Targaryen blood to you. Amongst learning to ride dragons and fight for the rightful Queen, you learned the news that your home and your family had been taken and slain. You were now the Lady of Highgarden, thrust into a position you were not born for and fighting to make your place in the world while also trying to preserve whatever you had left of the life before the war. 

Jacearys wasn't supposed to fall in love with you, and you weren't supposed to fall in love with him, but you two were drawn to one another, bound together by some invisible string. He thought that he knew what love was supposed to feel like. After all, he and Baela were affectionate and devoted to one another, but with you, it was different. He felt electric when you accidentally brushed your hands against his while adjusting your riding gear. Or the way that it felt that the air had been sucked out of him when you gazed into his beautiful ember eyes. The way that your laughter filled the room and made his heart sing. Being with you made Jaecarys feel like the world had stopped and only you two were transceding through time.

It was only a short time before Rhaenyra noticed her son became fond of roses and would always request them no matter how difficult the import may be to Dragonstone. She also noticed how their newest dragon rider began to shed the colors of her house in favor of the colors of House Targaryen. It was hard not to notice the late hours you spent with Jace in the library, desperate to learn the language and customs of old Valyria as you both filled the castle with laughter into the hours of the night. You and Jacearys trained together, constantly pushing each other to your limits as you both developed a dance, a routine where your motions almost mirrored the other and your fierce devotion to one another became unmistakable, as when one of you was assigned to a mission, the other was desperate to go along to protect the other. This devotion would make you the woman who saved the heir to the iron throne, Prince Jacearys Targaryen.  

Once you became the Lady of Highgarden, Baela came to Queen Rhaenyra requesting to end the betrothal between herself and Jacearys. "He loves her, Your Grace," she stated, "and I do not believe he will ever stop loving her nor she. As we have witnessed, they would give their lives for one another if necessary. It would not be fair to Jacearys to watch the woman he loves marry another man; he is far too honorable to take her as a lover. Instead, he will be trapped with me, always longing for someone he can't have. Wondering of a future that could have been."

Rhaenyra sighed, knowing all too well what comes from loveless and forced marriages. She knew her son's behavior, and Baela was right. Unlike herself, Jacearys was far too honorable to lie with another woman, but he may never bring himself to love Baela. Instead, the two young rulers would be forced to be yearning gazes at court with Baela caught in the middle of an unspoken desire. Rhaenyra sighed. "I will grant your request." 

Queen Rhaenyra announced the end of the betrothal that same night, causing mixed uproar from the lords and ladies at court. Jacearys looked at his mother and Baela in horror and confusion as one of the lords called out, "Who shall be the bride of the prince now, Your Grace!?" "Shall we all present our daughters?" "I have a girl of marrying age!" Jacearys eyes searched for you and found you staring back at him, hopeful. He felt guilt as he looked back to Baela, who only nodded at him. A small smile crept on her face, and her eyes gestured at you. "Go to her," she mouthed. Jacearys blinked in confusion as his emotions raged inside him, and he felt his body begin walking toward you as his mother tried to quiet the unruly crowd. 

The crowd hushed as they noticed the prince making his way to you, the court, holding their breath as the realization dawned on them. The prince had fallen in love with the most beautiful but thorniest rose in the Highgarden. "My prince," you whispered, "they are watching." 

Jacearys only hummed in response as he lifted your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back. Hushed whispers rang through the crowd. "The Highgarden girl?" "There are rumors that they are a love match, but the Prince was promised to the princess." "She saved the prince's life; I, too, would fall in love with any woman of the sort." Jacearys chuckled as he caught some of the whispers and looked at his mother, who gave him a permissive nod.

"I have decided to marry Lady Tyrell, the Lady of Highgarden, if she will have me." Tears welled in your eyes as Jacearys publicly declared for you. "I will accept your proposal, Prince Jacearys." You nodded, a smile covering your face. Your heart overflowed with your love for Jacearys; you had spent so much time holding back due to duty and scrutiny. He laughed heartily as he kissed your forehead, pulling you in for a hug. "A love match!" someone shouted out, causing the court to erupt in applause and cheers. This union would promise peace amongst Westeros, for the people would know that the dragon prince and his thorny rose would furiously protect each other and their people. 

Jace shook himself from the memories and kissed your head, closing his eyes to breathe you in. "I love you," he whispered before shutting the book and drifting off to sleep. He staved off the nightmares from both of you for just another night and dreamed of what tales they would write for you both. 

[darkdemeter]

NEPHS IN THE ATTIC

𝐻𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓃 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 ◤✘DARKSIDERS FILED CLIPPINGS | CATALOGUE Death/Strife/War/Fury x Female Reader

NOTES ↳ My Phantom Of The Opera flare came out with this one a little bit I think. COLUMN CONTEXT ↳ Fluffy/angst mix — period(ish) piece around the late 1800s — depictions of a turned toxic family dynamic/childhood — happy ending! — I think that's it? ↳ This Halloween, explore the enchanting tale of how you befriended four unlikely attic dwellers in the prime of your wistful, bright childhood before finally reuniting after the fallen grace of a life splendor you once knew. Come to know that despite it all, they have always been there.

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Mother never approved. Nephs in the attic, ghostly voices on the staircase, led up to the rafters. Childhood slumbers often disowned in search of the hauntings that stirred and groaned from above. So secret and strange yet so enchanting to a childhood dream. 

Did they still remain up there all this time? The home is far too old now, its state past its lively prime. A barren hall no longer welcoming residents, there are no children to fill these tight corridors and secret cupboards with laughter and explored adventure. Yet you hold on to that past tense of yourself. A dancing apparition in a flowing white gown that twirls over creaky floorboards turned rotten. 

Your hand runs the old and dusty railing, smearing clear lines to etch the trail of your steps. It’s been far too long. Do they remain as the shadows hovering near the final staircase, awaiting for your curious nature to take hold and join them?

You reach the second floor to be drawn in by the whirling memories that once took place. A fond day of your arrival, the first steps you took upon the landing and the way you danced in the window’s bathing halo of light. Ballet shoes escaped from your grasp in your mindless mapping, twirling and feet tapping. 

Childish wonder had you inside and wrapped up, invited by the hollow breath of this place you came to call home. When the sun no longer beamed through the second floor window and dinner was done, playtime on the living room mat concluded as the last note played on the scratchy gramophone, you were whisked away to bed on the second story. Past the window covered with inky blackness and tiny, twinkling stars. 

Under the covers, safe and snug, your mother read to you from an old book she inherited from her now passed matriarch under the soft assuring hue of your room’s candle. Father stands in the doorway, pocket watch silently ticking each passing moment that he collects to his memory. 

Her voice, the silken tender that nurses you, your head cranes to rest against her shoulder all the while, you suppress a yawn. She reads,

“Upon the night’s blackness ride four. To a tolling of bells, swirling mists carry them to trot the moors of the void without wilting duty. 

All things beautiful must encounter these four and lonely forms to test their merit and mettle. Eternal existence in a purgatory not of their choosing, a fallen and disbanded fortress hold, their affairs leave them yearning for a light that can only be found by that which seeks them first…”

You bend down before the final ascension of stairs. Beyond their rise the attic awaits. You blow a steady stream of breath over the covering of dust, your fingers brush the golden crest of letters of the storybook. Flipping through its contents, pages flutter in low, rumpled ruffles. Years of aging have been unfair, years of abuse have been unkind, hinted scratches and angrily plucked rips almost tear the book to ruin. 

Why do you feel that this very book had been a map to all you would experience in this place? Moved by the calm nostalgia of your mother’s embrace, before she had turned cold and cruel, you hold the story close to your breast, blouse dirtied by the ashy cluster of collected forgetfulness. 

There are times you wish it had all turned right between your family that grew into feuding parties. The only thing that ever felt right since the beginning… was them. The unseen haunters by your parents, but to your eyes, they were acquired friends. Held dear and close to you, only ever truly yours. They enveloped you with wonderful stories, with adoring carefulness and applauding devotion. 

That first night you laid sound asleep with dreaming splendor when you heard it. A faintly and rapid rapping. Soft and knocking on a wooden surface, on the boards above. It was a barrier between you and what you would come to find to be them. They communicate with intricate patterns, a secretive language invented that first evening. You laid awake all night to listen until the first rays rose to shine in the second story window with a peeking warmth. 

“My little love,” your mother had sighed the next morning, eyes evidently darkened and tired. “Please keep the excitement of your playful tappings for the morning. You kept your father and I awake all night with your little and gentle rappings.”

“But Mama, I didn’t—”

“Please…” Her voice sounding to plead. You meekly nod in response. “Good girl,” she applauds and continues to wash the finished dining of breakfast.

By the midday hour, the window was adorned by the sun's bright heat that showered a casing of disturbed dust in the swirling air. The Autumn season made sitting under the shine most wonderful as you play with toys. Dolls and stuffed animals sat together to watch you perform in your ballet shoes, unaware of the eyes of an audience that watched you from the shadowed and swallowing top of the attic stairs. A flight that rose into the darkened rafters, fleeing from the pour of sunlight, barely scarred on its first step by the invasive light. 

It was your dream to dance upon a grand stage, dressed in silky and flowy hues that sparkle, to have an excuse to spin and cradle your weight with expertise. Father played the most beautiful music on his piano. The rhythm of his foot patting the muffling carpet, the ringing of notes written to produce a melody you found inspiring. He always seemed to know your mood before you knew yourself, what it was your heart yearned to dance to. 

Many days were just like this. After breakfast, you’d gather your checkered play mat and toys and wait for your father to enter his study to begin playing the keys on his piano. And every single one of the many days like this, your secret audience would silently shuffle to the attic’s mouth to watch you perform. 

However, when your mother came humming up the stairs with a basket of laundry or other knick knacks to attend her duties around the home, her motherly charm extending a pat on your head or a kiss to your cheek in passing, the nephs in the attic would scowl and scamper away with a scuttle only your ears could hear. Your eyes would search the darkness for what was simply not there.

At night you’d hear the gentle yet persistent taps and knocking raps. Each sound a beat that traversed through the older stale of wood and rumbly pipes, echoing. Eventually, you came to knock back finally. And then they stopped. 

There was one day, a fateful sight beneath the window’s gloomy canvas, a bland and cold shade of grey with raindrops spitting on the glass pane. The study room was silent. No music played on this day. Father had gone out, bid farewell by your mother and yourself as he tugged on his long and dark overcoat to protect him from the rain, a briefcase filled with sheet music held firm in his palm. 

Mother was doting and worrisome to leave you behind most times, but today she assured she wouldn’t be long. Her mind had slipped and an unfortunate side effect took place, misplacing her memory of a few missing ingredients she needed. 

The placid tap tap tap against the window went ignored, but the intricate pattern of a rap rap… tap caught your interest the most. You paused in combing your doll’s raven hair to listen. 

Tap tap rap.

Rap rap tap.

The direction came from the attic. But of course… your mysterious chanters of the late night language, a form of passing notes between the barrier, finally sounds from their residence. You crouch at the first attic step and delicately — asking permission — you give a drumming tap of your finger and wait in sat silence. 

The roof tiles chink and twang with each hail of rain, old and rusty pipes hidden inside walls shudder with a ghostly breath. 

“Hello?” you finally call to the upstairs dark. It loomed so gloomy up there, no doubt fogged and cluttered with an old mess and infested with cobwebs. 

There comes a series of groans that roll and growl like thunder. Shuffling of heavy sounding things up there. You stare with a curiosity that glints sharply in the day’s duller hue, palm rested fully on the first shadowed step. 

You marvel at the size of your hand laying flat, comparing its timely measurement. This had been your first introduction. An insightful meeting that lured you to wander up these very steps with the footfall of a child so intrigued by the home’s top mystery. Where nightly dreaming was abandoned in the cool of your sheets, instead you found yourself whisked away up there to meet with them. You now ascend upwards, fingers loosely tousling the peachy fur of dust from the rail, invited by their ancient presence with the footing of a much more matured yet wishful woman. 

Don’t let them be gone as well, away with the rest of it all, remaining as only memories of this place; of your past. A silly, girlish belief to cling to out of fear of abandonment, you know, but all the same you follow blindly in that faith. 

Atop the attic landing you look left to right from where the shadowy apparitions would sit quietly, respectfully at a distance between where you danced at the bottom of their realm. Dolls missing eyes, stuffed toys sitting stiffly with limbs loosely stitched back together. The wear and tear must have caused your mother such headaches after a while.

Just as you suspected, the gloomy hollow of the attic is just as matted by the drift of dust and decoration of cobwebs. 

Centered in the attic’s stage, a large form of a drawn canvas remains fashioned into a tent reminiscent of the carnival. Nearer do you come forth to engage its opening, expectant to be taken back to its debut construction, surrounded by the flickers of small, wavering flames and cuddled in close together sharing stories and laughing and playing. 

But just as the rest of the estate’s health, it too is left dormant. A shade of its former and far more comforting self. A carpet of weathered, dullened pages cover the wooden flooring inside the tent and you delicately retreat your memory with the kindling of that which you have lost. 

When… times grew harsher down below, you’d flee up here in search of rescue. Father’s music sheets often became rejected for one reason or another. Mother would grow spiteful and bitter towards him, mocking him over the butt of a choking cigarette. Between the shattered glass of toxic indulgences thrown in rage and the overbearing raise of their voices that screamed horrid absurdities at one another, you would run up the stairs with tearful eyes, 

Only in their arms would you be safe and the mean creaking that chastised you for running would go away. 

“In this tent, nothing shall harm you. You are safe here.” 

Yes… pages. Drawings. Ones that make your lashes wet in past fondness. How small and silly you were, so carefree in the messy lines that portray yourself and the nephs. They took such good care of you, never once did you falter to the doubtful thought that they would harm you. Protectors harboured in the attic. 

It mustn't have been easy to see you leave them behind, to remember you only by the figments of your shared memories that collaborate a bond forged from the rappings you heard at night. 

You hold as many as you can to the closeness of your chest, nursing them as they had done for you in your time of need, again becoming that little girl in search of her rescue. Your voice stiffly rocks with contained volume, a disbanding grace and held in fortitude to guard your better fears internally. 

Tears soak a steady streamline of glistening crystalline, the dampen summit of your lashes beating furiously in contempt. Had they simply vanished, never once actual and instead all a figment of the imagination of your perhaps lonely childhood? A solemn expression and one you kept so guarded close, feigning their existence as naught but distant friends to passing business inquiries and acquaintances. 

They were your friends. 

Something in the pained longing of your throat erupts into a tight lipped scream as you fall, your knees catching the thudding brunt of your loss. 

“I lost you… I lost you all!” 

There, at the pointed back of your heel’s direction in the corner, something stirs. Its resolve unflinching, it curiously wanders in the fabric of shadows. Through the tearing smear you peer through it, suckling desperately at air as you force yourself to hush; your breath held. In your renewed, tearful gladness you sigh. Like candlelight, the prowling glow dances highly in the atmosphere most dark around you, they flicker and wave with a sauntering gaze that watches you. Stalks you. 

First the piercing stare of orange, followed by its lighter sibling of glimmering gold… then as a sapphire brightened from its rich hue, those eyes dance too in the darkness. And then the placid glow of white, so oddly plain yet adoring and filled with harnessed life and expression.

They hadn’t left you. 

His pale frame creeps outward from the shadows first, followed by his siblings. The clung of skin shrunken tightly to his deeper anatomy is awkward to shift, almost too stiffly than you last recall. Had he aged so terribly in your absence?

Over the crusted white of his vague, second face taken form of the deathly skull, his eyes look down on you with fondness and one that has never left you. 

You sense that those eyes have been on you this entire time. All their eyes have. 

“You never lost us, little dancer,” croaks Death from the encasement of a rattled hum. He states it so obviously, scolding your ease to submit to those insincere doubts and anchored flaws. 

By the bellow of his colourful scarf worn and ragged with age, tattered drapings trail behind him in dragged motion. He sits on the perch of his heels, legs pronounced with a squatted position as he extends his torso forward. 

“We have always been there. Watching.” Strife’s voice rings with a wistful kindness and behind the iron gilded of his own mask, you feel that he smiles sheepishly. 

Eyes bowing back and forth between them and the pages you hold, your nose rings with a sharpened, recoiling sniffle. “I-I thought… Well, I missed you all.” 

Unhidden behind his brothers by the mass of his size — you often giddily pondered how he balanced so carefully up here without one’s notice besides yours — War steadily nods, slowly. “As we did you.”

The white crown of his brow shifts and you just barely catch its easing beneath the pull of his crimson cowl. He stands taller over his brothers now than he ever has before, proudly. 

“We knew you would come eventually. That does not mean we weren’t with you all along.” Fury words it with a note of sorrow, almost losing grasp of the hope of your eventual return, but her voice becomes assured and lighter; like a motherly coo.

Beneath the press of her gaze that regards you much softer than your mother had in recent years past, the wispy flow of her hair wafts adrift in wayward and ghostly paths. With a tilt of her head, eyes brimming into thinned gladness, the quick lash of her hair follows like a flame. 

The whites of your eyes become wider, showing the fuller orbs glossy laced. A curt gasp is the sound you make in your confirmed revelation. 

“So… it was you four, all along,” your cheeks peel back to reveal a flustered smile, “watching me from the theater rafters. Leaving me those precious and thoughtful gifts no other could.”

Before you know and levelled to your height, they crowd you in their comforting presence, mingling and close. 

Death’s fingers comb closely to your cheek and brush away the still spilling tears. “We always were in attendance. Always watching you dance so wonderfully. So freely. Our dancer caught in her twirling and whirling footwork tappings.”

Their arms envelop around you as a cage you don’t fathom as overbearing. They dare not clip your wings, instead being of the encouraging heart that urged you to follow in your dreams no matter. 

“Oh, my Nephs in the attic… not so cramped up here anymore. You can join me. Come out of your purgatory. For I am your freeing light.”

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb:

Spirit away with a whimsical fantasy filled with dark magic and flirty, polyamorous romance.

Cursed to haunt the river running through the magical spa town where she drowned, Gisela is a water nymph who dreams of returning to the living world and the family she left behind. All it takes to regain her humanity is a kiss from a mortal...but everyone sees her as a monster.

And then there’s Kazik, the brooding, interfering, spirit-hunting grandson of a local witch. He's determined to rid the world of unholy creatures like Gisela. After Kazik botches Gisela’s exorcism, she strikes up a deal. She won’t tell the other spirits that he’s losing his magic, if he agrees to play matchmaker and helps her get a kiss. But Gisela’s plan goes awry when Kazik also falls for the devilishly handsome young man that she sets her heart on—someone who could be linked to Gisela’s troubled past.

This delectable quest through the spirit world is cozily crafted with a hauntingly opulent atmosphere and a slow burn, enemies-to-lovers story told in multiple perspectives. Young adult readers are sure to kick their feet and squeal with glee at hilarious banter, scrumptious culinary delights, and endearing sisterhood and found family. An enchanting read for fairy tale enthusiasts and fans of queer romance!

Review:

She's a water nymph who dreams about becoming mortal again, he's the local exorcist constantly getting in her way, but together they'll have to help her seduce a mortal boy to turn her back into a human... yet they are all falling for one another while hiding dark secrets. Gisela was turned into a water nymph after she mysteriously died, with no memory of how she died, all she yearns for is to become a mortal again and go home to her younger brother... but in order for a water nymph to turn back into a human she'll need the willing kiss of a mortal. Cue local brooding spirit hunting exorcist, Kazik, who is as meddling as he is cute. Kazik has thwarted all of Gisela's attempts to seduce a mortal but when she makes a bargain with him he can't resist: if he helps matchmake her with a mortal and turn her back into a human she'll stop meddling with his affairs and leave him alone. Yet the guy that Gisela has her eyes on is none other than the town's most handsome and charming man... who is hiding much darker secrets than Gisela or Kazik could ever imagine. Oddly enough, all three individuals find themselves fall for each other, but can Gisela get her wish and when the secrets begin to reveal themselves will these three be able to be together? This is definitely the first book in a series and what a delightful start it was! I loved the lore and magic in this world, and Gisela was such a cute water nymph. Kazik and Aleksey were also very complimentary to the poly relationship. Kazik was the right amounts of serious but grumpy introvert while Aleksey was flirty and mysterious. I can't wait for the next book to see what happens, especially with how this one ends!! This is a wonderful queer fantasy read and the relationship between the three characters is just beginning and I can't wait to see how the drama unfolds in the next book!!

*spoiler: Aleksey is actually a demon possessing a body and he was sent with his younger demon sister Roza to watch Kazik, but he falls for both Kazik and Gisela. Kazik's family is the reason Aleksey is stuck and he harmed Aleksey's family, leading to Aleksey wanting revenge. Roza also attacked Gisela and Aleksey was there the night Gisela died as a human and became a nymph. Gisela's sisters trapped Roza and the book ends with Aleksey searching for Roza and contemplating what he will do with Kazik as he is in love with both Kazik and Gisela. Kazik admits his feelings for Gisela and gives her a kiss, turning her human, but Gisela also remembers how she died and she wants to confront Aleksey (despite also wanting to be in the poly relationship with both of them). Kazik is the only one who does not know that Aleksey is a demon or how he is involved with Gisela's death. *

Release Date: September 24,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Holiday House / Peachtree / Pixel+Ink | Peachtree Teen for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[theladyofdeath]

Lady Death's Lover {9}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: Queue the fireworks...and the drama.

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Wife,

I am writing to inform you that I am prolonging my absence. I will write again when I know of my return date. It will be a fortnight at minimum. 

Sincerely,

Tomas Mandray

<.>.<.> Cassian <.>.<.>

Three days have passed since the ball and she’s all I’ve been able to think about. 

I feel foolish, utterly enraptured by this woman who can never be mine. Yet, I cannot seem to stay away, which is how I have found myself standing at her front door.

The sun has nearly vanished and the city of Velaris is painted in pink and orange. You would think that such a beautiful display of nature would calm me, but the serenity only has my nerves worsening. 

I knock before I can back out.

The head butler greets me although there’s nothing pleasant in his expression.

“Good evening, my lord,” he says, his voice low with a hint of confusion. “Lord Mandray is still in the north, I’m afraid.”

I try to put on my best disheartened expression. “I see. Is Lady Mandray home? It’s urgent.”

The butler hesitates but ultimately succumbs. “Yes, my lord. Let me show you to the drawing room.”

Hiding my relief, I follow him into the house and down the hall to the drawing room. He leaves me alone to fetch his mistress and I find my way to the floor length windows, staring out at the gardens that Nesta and I got lost in only days ago. Mere minutes pass before I hear her voice.

“That will be all, Alfred, thank you.”

As I turn around, the doors close softly behind her and we are alone. The room falls into silence and we stare at one another expectantly. I’m scared to say a word, afraid that the help is still standing outside the door, waiting to collect their gossip.

“Lord Cassian,” she says, at last.

“Lady Nesta,” I reply, with a nod of my head. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

“It is no intrusion,” she says, her voice louder than usual. I assume she is thinking of the nosey help, too. “Have you news for me to pass along to my husband?”

The word husband surges through me with a spike of jealousy, but I play her game. “Indeed. Shall we sit?”

“Please.” Instead of making our way to separate seats, we meet at the settee, sitting together. When she speaks again, it’s quieter. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I had to see you,” I say, unable to hide it, unable to deny a damn thing, knowing we don’t have much time. “The other night felt…”

“I’m sorry I had to run off,” she whispers.

“Do not apologize,” I counter, longing to reach for her hand but refraining. “You did what you must.”

Nesta’s quiet for a moment, staring at her hands that are clasped together on her lap, on top of her pale blue skirts. When she does speak, she repeats, “Why are you here, Cassian?”

“I’ve already told you—”

“No,” she says, and when she looks at me, her eyes are blurry. There is regret there. Regret, and longing, and an undying sadness. “You are here to suppress me.” 

I blink, not understanding. “Pardon?”

“You are here to make me feel want, jealousy, for something that can never be.” A tear falls down her cheek and she angrily wipes it away. “And that is cruel.”

“I am not trying to be cruel—”

“Then what are you trying to accomplish?” she breathes a laugh that holds no humor. “The other night…” She shakes her head but her eyes remain on mine, dejected and yearning for something that is imaginative. “It was lovely. Our moment in the garden, with you, made me feel alive and for that I am grateful. However, it is good that we were interrupted. If we were to kiss, Cassian, there would be no going back. Not for me. And that is something that I cannot risk.” 

I am speechless. Foolish, too. I had no idea what I was thinking coming here, or what I had hoped to accomplish. I was only thinking of myself and not her. I was thinking of how she had been affecting me, and not how I would affect her by my presence here.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and when a tear slides down her face once more, I reach up to wipe it away.

She does not push me away. Instead, another tear falls at my touch. 

“I will leave you alone,” I say, and I mean it, but I will not go quietly. “I am sorry if I have made you feel any distress, but you have no idea what you have done to me. Since that first day we crossed paths, you have consumed me. Not a waking moment goes by when my thoughts do not drift to you, and I cannot sleep without you infiltrating my dreams. You are, without a doubt, the most intriguing woman I have ever met. You are stunningly witty and intelligent, and your beauty…” She swallows as I speak, hanging onto my every word. “You make me laugh. And you infuriate me at the same time. And I hate that I cannot kiss you, that I cannot hold you in my arms and make you feel as loved and appreciated and wanted as you should feel.” 

“Cassian—”

“I am irrevocably in love with you.” The words pour out of me before I can stop them, and the moment they leave my mouth her silent tears have turned into a downpour. “Even if you will never be able to return that love, I thought you should know that someone loves you as you deserve to be loved. Unconditionally. Without fault. Wholly.”

“We hardly know each other,” she protests, wiping at her eyes. Her words lack strength, as if she’s trying to convince herself just as much as me. 

“I know you well enough to know how I feel,” I promise, “and I know myself well enough to know that I have never felt this way about a woman, nor will I ever feel this way again.” I reach for her hands and she lets me. I cradle them in my own, brush my thumbs over her smooth skin. “Forgive my selfishness. I know my feelings make no difference, but I had to tell you. I had to let you know that you are loved, Nesta, and always will be.”

I wipe her tears away and my confessions turn into silence that she does not respond to. I do not expect her to. She is married. Yet, we sit there unable to keep our hands off of one another. My thumbs brush along her cheeks, her hands grip my wrists. I can feel the warmth of her body. 

I don’t know how much time passes, but I know that we are running out of that precious time. I force myself to stand up from the settee, force myself to look away from her tearful gaze. I force my feet to move, one foot in front of the other, until I reach the door.

I force myself to reach for the handle, but one word stops me.

My name.

“Cassian.”

By the time I turn around, she’s already in front of me, and before I can catch my breath, she’s throwing herself into my arms and her mouth is landing on mine.

For a moment, I’m stunned, lost in this moment that could never be replicated, but then I’m melting into her. My arms wrap around her waist and I draw her against me, as close as she can get, until I feel every inch of her body against mine. Our tongues brush and I am lost in the sweet taste of her. The help outside fades away, as does the fact that we are in her home that she runs alongside her husband. 

The second her lips leave mine, I feel empty. She escapes my embrace and takes two steps back, then three, then she’s so far away that I cannot touch her. We are staring at one another as if something monumental has just happened, something that cannot happen, something that should not have happened, something that changed everything. 

I want her. I want to take her away from here just as much as I want to lay her down on the table, strip her bare, and ravish her. Her eyes fall from mine and land on my heaving chest just before they land on my groin and the blatant display of my passion. 

Her lips are swollen. Her hair is falling from its pins. Her cheeks are rosy.

I have never seen her so beautiful. 

“You must leave,” she says, and although I knew it was coming I still feel like I’ve been blindsided. “We must never speak of this again.”

“Nesta—”

“Please,” she begs, eyes shining. “I am begging you, my lord. Leave.”

I nod, accepting our fate. I know she is going against her wishes, know that she is defying her heart. Nonetheless, I must listen. I have created enough inconveniences already. 

I swallow as I straighten my jacket and run a hand through my hair. “Goodbye, Nesta.”

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she says, and her voice breaks, tearing my heart out of my chest and leaving it irreparable. 

With nothing left to say, I open the door and let myself out. The hallway is empty as I make my way down it and to the front door where I rush past the butler and into the open night air. 

It’s peaceful outside.

But even the famous Velaris starlight cannot make me feel whole again. 

[triptychgrip]

TFW a Viktor look-alike slithers into your life (and then just won't leave you alone)

What if 16 year old Katsuki Yuuri (at that point, a Junior division figure skater), distraught over learning that Yuuko and Takeshi are now dating, accidentally runs into someone at the Ice Castle who looks exactly like his idol...with the exception of mesmerizing gold eyes instead of blue?

And, what if said man, who is instantly charmed by Yuuri's mistaking him for the Viktor Nikiforov (and someone that Yuuri later realizes is just as touch-starved, creative, and confident as his idol...lmao, on that latter point, let's pretend Ayame Sohma wears golden blades on his skates despite not even being able to do a double axel), turns out to also be a huge Viktor Nikiforov fanboy?

If you've read my Fruits Basket/Yuri!!! on Ice crossover That's Like The Pot Calling The Kettle Ayame, you probably know that I adore both Viktor and Ayame, and the idea of Yuuri forming a pre-canon friendship with the latter and being the first "outsider" to discover the Sohma family's secret is intriguing.

Perhaps after accidentally witnessing Ayame transform, he confides in Yuuri about his fear that he'll never be able to live the life he wants because of the curse, and in turn, Yuuri opens up to Ayame about his anxiety, and his yearning to be able to one day meet Viktor on the ice as a true competitor.

Their friendship is not automatic, however; that would be a stretch, given their diametrically opposing personalities, lol.

I actually think their relationship would emulate the Hatori/Ayame dynamic, with Yuuri slowly being worn down by Ayame's sheer determination to be his friend, as well as his effusive compliments ("he calls himself ordinary, Tori-san, can you imagine?! With balletic grace like that, how could anyone find him ordinary?!").

Though I headcanon that Ayame isn't so much into the technical prowess of skating as he is the dazzling costumes, it doesn't mean that his connection to Viktor isn't just as profound as Yuuri's. In fact, when his 15-year-old self sees Viktor on tv for the first time (also at the Junior World Championships in Bulgaria, like Yuuri), seeing Viktor enchant audiences the world over while sporting a distinctly androgynous appearance is what first gives Ayame the idea to play with his own gender presentation.

I'm not sure if I'll actually get around to completing this story, but the possibilities have been fun to think about. Here are some other elements I'd attempt to include:

Yuuri and Ayame's first real fight is over Yuki; Yuuri is shocked to learn that Ayame could be so apathetic towards his own brother's suffering, and, in light of his lingering hurt over being "discarded" by Yuuko and Takeshi, he wonders if Ayame might one day discard him, too, when his interest in him fades. When they're a bit older, it's actually at Yuuri's encouragement that Ayame begins trying to close the rift between himself and his brother

Ayame regularly flies to Detroit to visit Yuuri when the latter moves to the US. Particularly with how lonely Yuuri is in the first year away from home (he won't become roommates with Phichit until his third year in Detroit), their friendship becomes a lifesaver. They find it particularly enjoyable to make fun of racist Americans who can't seem to grasp the fact that Japan, China, and Korea are 3 separate countries with vastly different cultures

Ayame makes Yuuri promise that if he's ever chosen to represent Team Japan at the Olympics, that he'll be allowed to at least help come up with the costume conception (this of course gives way to Ayame just taking over the costume design entirely). When Yuuri debuts an elaborate/inventive Short Program costume during the 2014 Sochi Games, it causes a huge buzz, even garnering Viktor's attention/admiration.

Relatedly, when Viktor gets in touch with Ayame regarding designing costumes for him during the 2014-2015 skating season, Ayame has to be dissuaded under threats of murder from trying to arrange a meet-up between Viktor and Yuuri. His wingmanning tendencies get a chance to manifest when Viktor actually arrives in Hasetsu ("Come onnnnnn, Yuuri, just let me hang all over you, and we can make Viktor-sensei jealous!")

Despite being completely oblivious to anyone crushing on him, Yuuri is able to pick up on Ayame's interest in Hatori pretty easily. He even manages to give him some decent advice regarding a possible relationship ("just be there for him...Hatori has so much responsibility on his shoulders with having to carry on his father's legacy of memory suppression...there could be a time in the future when it gets to be too much to bear, and he needs someone to lean on")

The other Sohmas (well, not Akito, lol, since she really can't stand Ayame even after the curse breaks) all adore Yuuri, but none as much as Momiji, who offers to compose original program music that Yuuri can skate to

[orphanheirs]

I'm coming for Tristan for the Pride ask game:

3, 8, 11

And then for you!

18 and 20!

If you still have feeling in your fingers after all that typing, I'll never turn down a 21.

Omg thank you!! 🤩

3) How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

Hmm I don't have a specific Moment in mind for him to realize he was different, at least not yet; I might come up with something. But I would say he knew from a very young age. He was enamored by the fashions his mother wore; her hair, her jewelry, the perfumes wafting off of her. Before he could even read fashion periodicals he pored over the fashion plates depicting the latest modes from Paris. When he was very young and perhaps didn't fully understand that these things were forbidden to him, he tried on his sister's dresses (he has a sister who's close in age to him), but when this was discovered by adults he very quickly learned that this was not acceptable behavior. Nevertheless, the yearning to participate in this presentation never left him, although he learned to be more secretive about it. He would wait till the others were out and sneak into his sisters' rooms and try their cosmetics, attempt to dress his own hair, etc. (having observed his sisters at their toilette extensively). He developed crushes on boys quite early on, as well--family friends, schoolmates of his brothers, servants. I don't know that he recognized the crushes as such early on, but I think by the time he's 12 he's made the connection that the feelings he's having are romantic in nature.

8) Have they had struggles with their identity, be it due to internal or external reasons?

Yeah. :( I'm setting my story in a historically accurate regency/late Georgian period, so culturally there's little to no outward acceptance of queer people. Any affinity he showed towards feminine things or attraction to boys in his home life got such a swift and harsh reaction from the adults around him that he understands this quite well despite his isolation from the greater world. He may have overheard adults gossiping in hushed tones about some person or other being exposed for "unnatural" behavior. He may have heard of such persons being sent to the pillory or even hung. Because of this, he unfortunately internalized that this is something that's "wrong" with him, and part of why he's "bad".

11) Is your oc open about their identity? Are they more lowkey or more blunt about it? Why or why not?

When he lived with his family, he was necessarily more clandestine about it, although he still engaged in eccentric gender nonconforming behaviors to whatever extent he could feasibly get away with. Once he's run away from home he takes full advantage of his new freedom and soon experiments with incorporating elements of feminine dress into his outfits, sometimes subtly, sometimes not so much. This is mostly done in situations where he's either by himself or in the company of non-humans. Eventually he wears full dresses /complete feminine outfits as well, and sometimes does so in public, simply going about his business as a girl. I'd say Tristan is lowkey open about it lol. He doesn't necessarily talk about it or acknowledge it, he kinda just does his thing. As I mentioned above, he thinks these behaviors are part and parcel of what makes him dark and twisted and evil and all the things he thinks he is (for other reasons as well). But he also thinks this is fundamentally who he is, and, since in other realms of life he strives to be utterly himself and fly in the face of convention, this aspect of himself is included in that. He leans into his strangeness in response to the rejection and fear he dealt with growing up. If he owns it and fulfills and exceeds the expectation for him to be "scary" or "weird" then the power is in his hands. In his diary he writes "I want to be the wickedest boy in the whole world!" and what wickeder thing can a boy do than not be a boy at all?

18) Do you prefer to give your ocs specific labels, or keep it unspecified? Why? If applicable, do you change their labels depending on circumstance?

I'm likely not giving Tristan a specific label in-story due to the time period. Our modern labels didn't exist at the time (or most of them at any rate), and the very concept of a person having a sexual or gender identity didn't even fully exist yet. The word "homosexual" hadn't even been coined yet (and wouldn't for another 50+ years). I'm pretty sure the behaviors a person engaged in had more emphasis, and the idea that these behaviors reflected a certain type of person was still developing. I'm not sure what Tristan would call himself if he was a modern character--only thing I'm sure of at this time is he's not cis. I'm just calling him queer for now. I think Tristan's still figuring it out himself over the course of the story, but if pressed he might call himself something like "part-woman" (part-girl as it were..).

20) Have your ocs helped you in self-discovery? How?

Well when I originally made Tristan up when I was 14 in the year of our lord 2007 I was a queer goth girl outcast terrified of anyone finding out I was secretly dating another girl so. I think I was subconsciously working through some things. Lol. Tristan's original incarnation was also unabashedly, defiantly himself, something I probably wished I could be. We liked a lot of the same things, still do. I grew up with him rolling around in my head and I like to think we influenced each other. Thinking of him now I feel such a strong affection because I see my younger self in him. I also think we're both similar flavors of feminine-in-a-queer-way.

21) Free ramble card wee

I guess I'll make a note about pronouns here..I'm using he/him for Tristan for now, as that's how he's referred to in-story in my writing so far. That may change as I develop more. Again, idk how he'd prefer things if he had the entire framework of modern labels at his disposal. I don't think he'd have a concept of they/them. It may be that by the end of the story he switches to she/her. We'll see. But yeah, in case you were wondering why I'm calling a not-boy character he/him..

[daydreamerdrew]

Comics read this past week:

Marvel Comics:

Mythos: Captain America (2008) #1

This one-shot was published in June 2008, according to the Marvel Wiki. It was written by Paul Jenkins and painted by Paolo Rivera.

There was a lot that I liked in this story. Steve says, when describing his upbringing, “I got sick a lot. And it often seemed like there was no running away from that place except in the pages of a fantasy novel.” There’s a scene where his ill mother told him to eat his soup with carrots in it because carrots are good for your memory and he complained, “Why would I want to remember this? I’d just as soon forget.” This was surprising to me because there’s so much emphasis on memory with Steve’s character because he’s a man in the wrong time. Steve’s mother told him, “I want you to remember. Always be proud of who you are and where you came from. Never forget the people who helped you get to where you’re going.” That ended up being their last conversation before she died.

I also appreciated the new-to-me detail about Steve’s journey in his first year in Captain America, where the switch from being Captain America to pretending to be a lowly private at Camp Lehigh was difficult for him. Steve describes becoming an “icon” and a “symbol,” then says, “And so, with the weight of a nation’s altruistic rebirth hanging over my head… they shipped me off to basic training at Camp Lehigh in Virginia.” There’s a scene of him going through training and being called “worthless,” “useless,” “brainless,” and “gutless.” There’s a disconnect for Steve, being in the regiment he’d originally wanted to be in, but having to maintain a ruse and only do safe and simple jobs apart from the group and only truly work when he’d sneak off and be Captain America. Steve says, “Part of me yearned for the normalcy of the barracks, the camaraderie. But the truth could never be known.” This leads directly into the scene of Bucky stumbling into discovering Steve’s secret identity and becoming Captain America’s partner, providing a new angle for the significance of that relationship for Steve.

This story also provided the first good explanation I’ve seen for why Bucky would have entered Steve’s tent in the middle of the night; he was coming to tell Steve that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor and the U.S. would now be joining WWII.

I also liked the repetition of the question asked after Steve was enhanced by the super soldier serum- “I was put through the most rigorous training imaginable in order to answer the most obvious question: What had I become?”-after Steve woke up from the ice, “I asked myself an old question: What had I become?”

What this story did really well was emphasize how much Steve cared for and mourned all of the ordinary soldiers he fought beside. At one point he says, “In battle, one learns a certain kind of calm as an alternative to the fear that dominates every moment. I could never find that elusive calm. It hurt too much to watch my brothers ripped apart by fire from a 10mm cannon, or shrapnel. The boys didn’t have the benefit of super-soldier serum to help them dodge a bullet.” At another he reflects on watching a “flood of troops” and says, “These were our own boys, come to right grave injustice far from home. I never felt so proud to be an American as I did at that moment.” Steve claims that, “The real heroes were the boys I once knew who feared for their lives, yet fought for freedom anyway.” This includes, “Micky Smith: Stayed on the beaches of Normandy, forever twenty-three.” In his ending monologue Steve says, “I’m Captain America, and I will be here long after the others are dead and gone. But as long as I live, I will never forget. […] We were boys once. We were young and stupid.” And the final words of the story are Steve visiting one last remaining, now elderly, soldier that he knew and saying, “God, Dougie… I miss those boys.”

the Captain America stories in Tales of Suspense (1959) #96-99 and Captain America (1968) #100

In this batch of stories and issue I went from August 1967 to January 1968, according to the Marvel Wiki. All were written by Stan Lee and penciled by Jack Kirby. The stories in Tales of Suspense #96-98 were inked by Joe Sinnott. The story in Tales of Suspense #99 and Captain America #100 were inked by Syd Shores. The story in Tales of Suspense #96 was 10 pages, the rest were 11 pages, and the Captain America issue was 20 pages since starting there Steve is no longer splitting a book with Iron Man.

In the preceding story, in Tales of Suspense #95, Steve quit being Captain America and also publicly revealed his secret identity, citing frustration with obligation to duty after Sharon Carter turned down his proposal because her work obligations were too important for her to get married. By the end of the story in Tales of Suspense #96 Steve has decided to become Captain America again, which was frustrating to me because I was genuinely interested in seeing him attempt to flesh out Steve Rogers, his personal life having long been neglected. As it is, the quick turnaround in mentality with the irrevocable consequence of no longer having a secret identity gives the impression of a kind of episode to me, as did Steve’s excitement to propose to a woman he didn’t know the name of in the previous story.

In the story in Tales of Suspense #97 Steve is being targeted by villains and he thinks, “It seems that I’ll never be truly safe! Never able to let my guard down for an instant! But, it’s the price I must pay for being- Captain America! A price I’ll never stop paying- for as long as I live!” It’s suggested to him that he get out of the city for while but he declines, partially because Sharon might call him because she needs his help.

In the story in Tales of Suspense #98 Steve thinks, “How many years has it been- since I’ve had a home? And, how many years will it be- before I can call any place ‘home’- before I too can find a life- and a love- of my own?”

In the story in Tales of Suspense #99 Steve must fight against Zemo’s old pilot, who is pretending to be Zemo, mysteriously still alive. One of his henchmen says, “Zemo was right! He said the very sight of him would shock the shield-carrying American into total helplessness!” But Steve declares, “I won’t die in vain- not while you remain alive!” Part of his motivation is that, “It was you who killed my partner, Bucky.” But Steve realizes that he’s not really Zemo in Captain America #100, and then his henchmen, who were also duped, turn on him.

Captain America #100 also contained a retelling of Steve’s backstory of being woken up in the future in The Avengers (1963) #4, which was standard practice for the first issue of these self-titled Marvel books launched in 1968.

In the story in Tales of Suspense #97 Sharon had wanted Steve to join her for a mission. At this point they hadn’t interacted since she turned down his marriage proposal. She thinks, “Now I must think of nothing- except my mission! Although, it would have been so wonderful, if only- No! I can’t- mustn’t keep wishing- and dreaming like this!” Still she concludes, “If only I could tell him- if only he could know- whatever may happen- whatever my fate- my last thoughts were of- Captain America- the only man I’ve ever loved!”

I appreciated that in Captain America #100 Dum Dum Dugan says, of the mission success, “It figgers!- Agent Thirteen wuz on the job!” And that when he acknowledges that it was ‘touch and go’ at points, Nick Fury responds, “Yeah- But that little gal ain’t never let us down yet!”

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #280

This issue was published in November 1982, according to the Marvel Wiki. It was written by Bill Mantlo, penciled by Sal Buscema, and inked by Andy Mushynsky.

DC Comics:

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (1989) #6-10

These issues were published across March 1990 to July 1990, according to the Grand Comics Database. All were written by Grant Morrison and drawn by Klaus Janson. This was the “Gothic: A Romance” storyline.

The previous storyline mostly took place 6 months after Bruce became Batman, with some scenes before that. It seems that the format of this book is continuing in chronological order, with each subsequent story having Bruce a bit further in his career. In that story the Batcave was just beginning to be created, but in this one it is much larger and has a lot more equipment in it.

A recurring detail that I liked in this storyline was Bruce forgoing food to work as Batman. In issue #6 Alfred brings Bruce food while he’s brooding in his home and Bruce says, “No thank you, Alfred. I won’t have anything tonight. I’m going out.” In issue #8 he tells Alfred, as he leaves the Batcave in costume, “And Alfred, cancel the pecking duck I ordered for this evening. I won’t be home for dinner.” There’s also a scene in issue #9 where that Bruce, in his Batman costume, is eating the food Alfred brought him as they discuss the main mystery is very prominent, with close-ups emphasizing it.

I also enjoyed the ominous tone of the scene in issue #6 where criminals summon Batman with the first Bat-Signal to ask for his help. Bruce’s anger that they would summon him and the dramatic way he spoke, his usual way of speaking to criminals, was reminiscent of a mystical demon-summoning gone wrong.

And speaking of that he’s normally very dramatic when talking to criminals, like he’s reading from a prepared script, I enjoyed the writing of Bruce’s characterization as Batman in these issues, the times which he slipped into a more casual manner of speaking, which worked well because they weren’t the norm.

I also liked the addition to Bruce’s backstory that as a child he was briefly sent to a boarding school with an unhealthy environment- he described in issue #7 that, “It was traditional to live in fear of bullying prefects. It was traditional to be beaten and humiliated and to fight off the advances of degenerate old teachers with doctorate degrees.”- and that one of the teachers there was a serial killer of children that was planning to kill Bruce next until Thomas Wayne intervened. In issue #9 Bruce remembers his father arriving “like a knight in armor” after he called his dad for help, and describes him as pale-faced after speaking to the teacher. In the present the serial killer tells Bruce, “Your father suspected. He knew that I’d killed those children. He saw through me as though I were made of glass. He would have exposed me if blind fate hadn’t intervened.” I think it’s a compelling incident for Bruce to have had in his childhood, and I like the problems of Gotham being portrayed as going that far back. Though I don’t like that this is so immediately tied to Bruce’s parents’ death, with the night Bruce returns home from boarding school being the same night they go out to that ill-fated movie showing, in the same way I don’t like it when flashback WWII Captain America stories are said to take place right before his final mission when he got frozen in ice. Also, this reminded me of the story “Flesh Made World” from Let Them Live!: Tales from the DC Vault (2021) #3, written by Scott Bryan Wilson and drawn by John Paul Leon, where it’s revealed that a bookbinder at a library that was significant to Bruce in his youth was killing people and using their skin to bind books. That story, in which Bruce is very confused because he’s been drugged, also had a very ‘magical realism’ feel to it to me.

And regarding this “gothic” storyline’s magical feel, Bruce’s discussions of the evidence he has throughout this book have a very fated feeling to them. In issue #9 Bruce cites that cathedral architectural design functions as a “transmitter, aimed towards god” and suggests that, “If architecture could be used to focus and direct spiritual power, then… then… Could it also be used for evil?” To me this would be an unhinged leap of logic if it didn’t turn out to be completely correct; the villain explains later in issue #9 that “I measured my shadow with this magic cord and by that act trapped by soul within the twine,” and is planning to commit mass murder in the cathedral and offer the souls to the devil in order to save his own soul. In issue #8 Bruce accidentally plays a tape of his father and gets pointed in a direction for his current case from it, which he justifies as, “If I can’t trust my father, who can I trust?” Then in issue #9 he says, “My father knew something. That’s why I’ve been dreaming about him.” This, of course, is also actually true.

In issue #10 Bruce is sent in the mail, presumably by the devil himself, the heart of the serial killer. When Alfred sees this he asks, “Shall I alert the tin-man, sir?” referencing the character who was in search of a heart in The Wizard of Oz.

I noted before that I liked the ending of preceding storyline, where at the beginning Bruce had been nonplussed by the accidental death of a killer he’d been tracking; but that at the end when they reunite and fight again and the man is accidentally fatally wounded, Bruce is kind to him in his final moments and says, “Rest in peace.” At the end of this story Bruce takes the heart of the long-lived killer to the lake where it’s said one of his first victims still roams, “searchingly endlessly for her tormentor,” and throws it in to her, saying, “You’re free. Go in peace.”

I also really liked how the final words of this story were, repeating from the abbot’s telling of a legend to Bruce in issue #7, “But these are only stories,” which feels applicable to the entire storyline and the character. The line is the abbot reminding Batman that the tale is merely superstition, but clearly he and Bruce felt strongly about it.

Flashpoint (2011) #1-5

These issues were published across May 2011 to August 2011, according to the DC Wiki. All were written by Geoff Johns and penciled by Andy Kubert. Issues #1-3 were inked by Sandra Hope, issue #4 was inked by Jesse Delperdang, and issue #5 was inked by Sandra Hope and Jesse Delperdang.

This was my first time reading this book; I read Flashpoint: Batman - Knight of Vengeance (2011) #1-3 a while ago. Also with that character I’ve read all but the last couple of issues of Tom King’s Batman (2016) run, Infinite Frontier (2021) #0-6, and Justice League Incarnate (2022) #1-5. I think the main thing left with this character for me is Flashpoint Beyond (2022) #0-6.

This book worked really well for me. I went into it already liking Flashpoint Thomas Wayne’s character concept, but Barry Allen’s journey was also well done. I already knew the twist coming up, but I thought a good job was done of building up to it without being too obvious. I liked Barry’s conflict of wanting his original, less doomed world back, while also feeling guilty about erasing the one he was currently in with the versions of the people living in it. I already knew about Thomas’ lack of attachment to his life and to his world; it was interesting to see it in action at this critical time. Despite that everything blew up at the end, this world wasn’t that dystopic to me in its status quo, in comparison to something like All-Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder (2005), but I think it worked better that, despite the flaws, there were likable people in this world. I liked the ultimately personal stakes, where Thomas was pushing Barry primarily because he wanted his son to live. Thomas telling Barry that he was sorry about his mother and Barry and Bruce’s shared grief at the end got to me. Also, I was pleasantly surprised by the portrayal of the Shazam kids, who had more of a presence in the book than I expected. I wish the portrayal of them in the actual New 52 reboot had been more like this.

Fawcett Comics:

the Captain Marvel stories in Whiz Comics (1940) #88 and Captain Marvel Adventures (1941) #75 and The Marvel Family (1945) #14

In this batch of 7 stories I read the Captain Marvel appearances published in August 1947, according to the issue cover dates. The stories ranged from 7 to 11 pages.

The story “The Marvel Family in Captain Marvel- Invalid” (written by Bill Woolfolk; drawn by Pete Constanza) in The Marvel Family #14 has a very cute premise where Captain Marvel is diagnosed as having high blood pressure and needing to avoid any kind of excitement, lest he die, and Junior and Mary Marvel keep this a secret from him and try to discourage him from using his powers and handle crimes for him, making Captain Marvel and Billy Batson think that they’re jealous of Captain Marvel. At the beginning of the story Junior and Mary Marvel arrive after Captain Marvel has taken down a criminal gang, and Junior says, “There’s never much real work for us to do while you’re around!” And Mary Marvel agrees, “I’ll say!” After hearing of his diagnosis, Junior tells the doctor, “Please don’t tell Captain Marvel!” And Mary Marvel says, “The shock might kill him! We’ll make sure he gets the best of attention!” Later when the group sees a child endangered Mary Marvel holds Captain Marvel back and tells him, “It’s time you let us do something,” while Junior saves the little girl. Later Billy passively aggressively says on his radio show, “And in closing, folks, I’d like to add a word about jealousy! It never pays to be jealous of anyone!” The next time Captain Marvel tries to go out and fight crime, Mary Marvel goes out in his stead and Junior is tasked with keeping him calm and occupied. When Captain Marvel does finally fight, the kids panic, delineating their tasks so that Mary Marvel finishes up the crime-fighting while Junior forcibly carries Captain Marvel to the doctor. When it’s said Captain Marvel will need a blood transfusion, Junior quickly agrees to help, though Mary Marvel arrives in time to protest, “No! Take me!” Of course, in the end it’s determined that Captain Marvel’s blood pressure issue was a misdiagnosis.

The story “Captain Marvel and the Yeast Menace” (written by Otto Binder; drawn by Pete Constanza) in Captain Marvel Adventures #75 had a unique closing message. In the story a yeast experiment goes awry, causing the city to be threatened to be overtaken by an ever-growing yeast, until it’s revealed that it’s actually mitigated by water. Then the president of the ACME Chemical Corporation arrives, offering to buy the formula for this miraculous yeast, knowing that they can prevent it from getting out of control with water. And Billy says of this, “Many of our scientific discoveries only seem to be a menace until they are used for peaceful purposes!”

Ahoy Comics:

The Wrong Earth (2018) #1-6

These issues were published across September 2018 to February 2019, according to the League of Comic Geeks. The main stories were all written by Tom Peyer, penciled by Jamal Igle, and inked by Juan Castro. Issues #1-3 also had 5-page back-up stories about Earth-Alpha Stinger, styled like Golden Age comics, written by Paul Constant and drawn by Tom Feister. And issues #4-6 had 7-page back-up stories about Earth-Omega Dragonfly, styled like edgy modern comics, written by Paul Constant and drawn by Erskine. Note that I wrote those before reading The Wrong Earth: Night & Day (2021), so this is reflective of my thoughts just after reading this book.

I read this book years ago and remembered the gist of it and some specific parts but not everything; I think it worked even better for me with the added context of the prequel book Dragonfly & Dragonflyman (2019) #0-5. To a lesser extent the Earth-Alpha parts of that book, I think that world is simple enough that we understand it from what we see of it in this book, other than that for me the status quo of their ordinary times raises the question of how Earth-Omega Dragonfly will continue to function in that world. But the dynamic depicted there between Earth-Omega Dragonfly and his original Stinger adds a lot to his grief and his dynamic with Earth-Alpha Stinger here.

In Dragonfly & Dragonflyman Richard isn’t aware of what’s going on in Chip’s mind until it’s too late and their relationship is irrevocably damaged and Chip is moving out. Richard does speak harshly to Chip, but even when he doesn’t mean to hurt Chip’s feelings Chip is hurt anyway. Chip is clearly unwell and needs help that he’s not getting. In issue #5 when Richard walks in on what he thinks is Chip attempting suicide (Chip was actually removing a tracking device Richard secretly implanted in him so that he could move out and not be followed) he responds with anger and exclaims, “I can’t handle this. You need treatment. I’m not qualified to deal with-” This, and every other time he talks to Chip, is a far cry from how he talks in issue #6 of this book to Earth-Alpha Stinger- who had exclaimed in the previous issue “I wish I were dead!”- when he speaks negatively about himself, calmly and compassionately telling him, “You haven’t done anything wrong. Now I know you’ve been through a lot, but it’s time to pull yourself together, like the warrior we both know you are. This was always going to be a rough ride, kid. You’re going to feel some bad emotions. Give them the power and they’ll change you into someone else. Someone you never wanted to be.”

In Dragonfly & Dragonflyman Richard has the realization too late that, as he explains to Chip in issue #5, “This life. All this anger, all the ways I take it out on you. Because you’re there. Because I can.” I had said in my round-up notes for that book that ideally, while not stopping Chip from moving out, Richard should have tried to stay in contact with Chip and purposely worked towards being able to interact with him in a less aggressive and demeaning way, but I think all he did to process his feelings was torture Devil-Man to death. I’m still leaning towards that what happened is that Chip did eventually return to Richard and that their relationship continued to be unhealthy and Chip committed suicide rather than run away again. I don’t think that Richard’s remarkably different demeanor in this book is something he developed after Chip ran away, or even after Chip committed suicide, I think it’s specific to that he’s getting a second chance in a new, brighter world with Earth-Alpha Stinger. It’s referenced that he’s changed since his sidekick died, but I think that was just him becoming even more aggressive and brutal towards villains.

I really want to read a book that takes place inbetween this book and the prequel. Or maybe more information about that time period will come out when Earth-Alpha Stinger finally learns that his “Dragonflyman” is actually now Earth-Omega Dragonfly. I did get more context on the formation of Richard and Chip’s relationship: in issue #2 Richard asks Earth-Alpha Stinger about how he started fighting crime and Stinger answers, “My parents were evil criminals, just like yours. You took me in after you brought them to justice,” which is presumably a parallel to what happened in Earth-Omega. Chip had said in issue #0 of Dragonfly & Dragonflyman, “I’m here to save lives and beat up fascists!”

I also thought that the Earth-Omega back-ups in issues #4-6 added a lot for Richard’s characterization. In the one in issue #4 he tries to rescue teenagers who have run away from home, having been enthralled by a villain, and tells them, “Kids, your parents are worried about you. Let’s take you home.” In the one in issue #5 he expresses hopelessness about his world, then in the one in issue #6 he declares, “My hope isn’t for humanity. […] But every day I wake up with hope… The hope that I’ll have a face to punch, scum to stomp.”

I’m talking a lot about Earth-Omega Richard and Chip because that’s the relationship I’m most emotionally invested in, but I actually really enjoy the depiction of Earth-Alpha in this book. For example, Deuce! I liked her taking over Number One’s criminal gang. I enjoyed that she was the one working to get Earth-Omega’s Number One out of her world while Dragonfly wasn’t making any progress on that, and I liked that she was always able to physically overpower Earth-Omega Number One. I loved her looking after Stinger! I’m assuming that she’ll continue to be a relevant character moving forward, since she’s in the unique position of knowing that Dragonflyman is actually Earth-Omega’s Dragonfly, though maybe she’ll just be taking her bribe money and getting out of town. I also liked that, while she was kind of into Dragonflyman and was willing to blackmail Dragonfly, when Dragonfly asks her out in issue #6 she’s clearly weirded out and uninterested because from her perspective he’s a dangerous and violent man from another world with different rules. And I appreciate Earth-Alpha villains going after Dragonfly in issue #4 after they realize they need to “murder Dragonflyman- before Dragonflyman murders us!”

And the concept behind Dragonfly and Earth-Alpha Stinger’s relationship is so appealing to me. The fact that Stinger is such a sweet kid and he has no idea that his guardian is secretly a different man that is willing to kill people behind his back in order to protect him. Speaking of that, I don’t think Chef Escargot’s mallet would have actually killed Stinger in issue #6; I think it’s similar to the scene in Dragonfly & Dragonflyman #5 where Lady Eve protested hitting Chip with a car as too violent but really he was fine because he simply rolled with the movement as Dragonflyman had taught him. And that in Dragonfly’s mind Earth-Alpha and it’s light-hearted alternate version of him is absurd and stupid, but he enjoys the popularity and the ease with which he can operate that, especially since he’d given up on being able to fix his world. It will be interesting to see going forward if Dragonfly and Dragonflyman will be able to make any lasting broader change in the new worlds they’re in. I’m also curious if we will ever see scenes of either set of superhero and sidekick in their civilian lives, which has been largely ignored in both this book and the prequel.

The Wrong Earth: Night & Day (2021) #1-6

These issues were published across January 2021 to August 2021, according to the League of Comic Geeks. All were written by Tom Peyer, penciled by Jamal Igle, and inked by Juan Castro, except that Russ Braun drew an 8-page scene in issue #3 and Peter Krause drew the 8-page epilogue in issue #6.

At the beginning of the book, when Dragonflyman comes across to Dragonfly as indifferent about Stinger, I was thinking that maybe Dragonflyman was thinking about the world of Earth-Omega and how it influenced Stinger-Two and now had an emotional disconnect with Earth-Alpha Stinger, who hadn’t ever had to experience anything like that.

I do think that Dragonflyman and Stinger-Two have a more mature relationship from the fact that Dragonflyman doesn’t need to protect him from any knowledge that isn’t appropriate for his age or would be emotionally difficult for him, because growing up in the world that he did means that he’s already been exposed to a lot of horrible stuff, so they can talk freely on equal terms despite their different philosophies. I think the scene in The Wrong Earth (2018) #5 where Dragonflyman talks about how horrible he’s felt since being in that horrible world and Stinger-Two says he can relate to those feelings is really significant. I also personally really enjoy the sort of role-reversal where Stinger-Two thinks of Dragonflyman, while a “great man,” as “like a child” because of his beliefs and mannerisms.

And I found it really striking how in The Wrong Earth (2018) the mentality was that the people from Earth-Omega needed to be removed from Earth-Alpha because they were dangerous, but in this book Dragonflyman wants to bring Stinger-Two there, even though Stinger-Two still doesn’t follow Dragonflyman’s moral code, because he wants to give Stinger-Two a better life. And while Dragonflyman and Stinger-Two still have a good relationship after a year of him killing people, Dragonflyman can’t tolerate Dragonfly killing bad guys for a moment. I am looking forward to seeing how Dragonflyman’s two kids get along in the upcoming book and in particular how Dragonflyman handles that; I don’t think he’s really had real experience managing young people being difficult. Also, I don’t expect that Stinger-Two will feel positively towards Dragonfly.

I was disappointed in the ultimate handling of Stinger learning that Dragonfly had tricked him about Dragonflyman being trapped in Earth-Omega. I think the build-up of Dragonfly and Dragonflyman being worried about how to tell him was done well, but then when he is told I don’t think his reaction was that strong. I think it should have sparked a similar intense reaction as the original revelation did, feeling guilty over Dragonflyman having been stuck in another earth for a year, and also feeling stupid that he was tricked. I think the reason Stinger took blaming himself so strongly and immediately was suicidal the first time he realized it is because his life has been too perfect on Earth-Alpha and he doesn’t know how to handle legitimately bad things happening and bad emotions, which wouldn’t have been resolved in the one-year timeskip between books, despite Dragonfly talking to him a bit about bad feelings. On an adjacent note, while I’m sympathetic to Dragonflyman’s worry that Stinger was dead, just putting off talking about him to avoid hearing about what had happened to Stinger during his year away wasn’t very mature of him.

I noted before that Deuce was weirded out when Dragonfly asked her out at the end of The Wrong Earth (2018). Their relationship developed a lot over the year inbetween the books, the end portrayal of that here charmed and intrigued me. I made a post about how Deuce, now also known as Lady Dragonflyman, was bypassing the standard rules of her world, which was probably necessary for Dragonfly to be able to form a real relationship with her. Notably, Dragonfly doesn’t seem to have killed anyone in Earth-Alpha since Chef Escargot but is still being more violent with criminals than the real Dragonflyman would be. Stinger is ok with this because he’s oblivious to it, but it’s not clear to me where Deuce stands; she knew that Dragonfly killed Triviac and I think it’s unlikely she believed him that he didn’t kill Chef Escargot.

Deuce and Dragonfly are clearly intimate with each other. I enjoyed the moment in issue #1 of this book where he leans towards her with his hands behind his back and she playfully keeps him an armswidth away. Dragonfly says in issue #2 that he expected Dragonflyman to be “smug, sanctimonious,” but in issue #1 he tells Deuce that possibly “you can have the real thing again, instead of a poor substitute,” and he tells Dragonflyman in issue #6 “You’ll like her. I know she’ll like you.” Deuce, meanwhile, clearly doesn’t actually feel about this situation the way Dragonfly thinks she does and was sad about the possibility of him leaving forever. I also enjoyed Deuce’s continued care for Stinger (though she may have been, in his eyes, a wedge into his simpler relationship with Dragonflyman that he preferred).

[thelattechronicles]

"Any Trope but You" by Victoria Lavine

Disclaimer: this is an unsponsored review of an eARC provided by NetGalley and Atria Books.

Calling all my Emily Henry book lovers, and perhaps also Ali Hazelwood fans!! If you were a fan of fluffy romance stories that you outwardly rolled your eyes at and proclaimed it cringe, but secretly loved and re-read at home in private (hi, this is me) and you want an easy commitment, this book is for you.

Here's the book description:

A bestselling romance author flees to Alaska to reinvent herself and write her first murder mystery, but the rugged resort proprietor soon has her fearing she’s living in a rom-com plot instead in this earnestly spectacular debut by a stunning new voice. Beloved romance author Margot Bradley has a dark secret: she doesn’t believe in Happily Ever Afters. Not for herself, not for her readers, and not even for her characters, for whom she secretly writes alternate endings that swap weddings and babies for divorce papers and the occasional slashed tire. When her Happily Never After document is hacked and released to the public, she finds herself canceled by her readers and dropped by her publisher. Desperate to find a way to continue supporting her chronically ill sister, Savannah, Margot decides to trade meet-cutes for murder. The fictional kind. Probably. But when Savannah books Margot a six-week stay in a remote Alaskan resort to pen her first murder mystery, Margot finds herself running from a moose and leaping into the arms of the handsome proprietor, making her fear she’s just landed in a romance novel instead. The last thing Dr. Forrest Wakefield ever expected was to leave his dream job as a cancer researcher to become a glorified bellhop. What he’s really doing at his family’s resort is caring for his stubborn, ailing father, and his puzzle-loving mind is slowly freezing over—until Margot shows up. But Forrest doesn’t have any room in his life for another person he could lose, especially one with a checkout date. As long snowy nights and one unlikely trope after another draw Margot and Forrest together, they’ll each have to learn to overcome their fears and set their aside assumptions before Margot leaves—or risk becoming a Happily Never After story themselves.

Readers, when I say that I devoured this book- I really do mean that I devoured this book. This was the fluffiest winter romance story that I needed, and a fantastic break from the long series I had recently finished (anyone also coming out of an ACOTAR binge?)

As the title makes it blatantly obvious, Lavine packs in every possible romance trope that you can think of into this story.

Unexpected meet cute? Check.

One bed only available? Check.

Need to get naked for survival? Check.

Misunderstanding because of a lack of communication? Check.

Love triangle, specifically 2 Male Leads and 1 FL? Check.

Lumberjack-esque flannel wearing ML? Check. (Bonus points for the sleeves rolled up.)

..... and there are quite a few more.

You get the gist: you name it, this book has got it.

Any Trope but You was such a quick read that I couldn't put the book down until after I finished it. Just like Margot herself wields the power of writing from the heart, Lavine goes beyond just simply telling a story with the goal of stuffing as many tropes as possible in a book, with little-to-no character development or complexity. Instead, Lavine tells a tale of a yearning love between two people who understand each other, and respect each other's past and priorities.

I particularly loved the way immunocompromised people and caregivers were addressed and included in this book; not as a neglectful and dutiful responsibility, but one borne out of guilt, appreciation, regret, and truly above all- love.

Was it a touch predictable? Yes. As someone who devours and have devoured too many of these romance books, I spotted these tropes coming from a mile away. However, that isn't to say that it was still enjoyable to read, as Lavine's FL Margot calls them out as well for readers to spot, and it's fun to be along for the ride. The only thing I am upset at about the book, is that Forrest had made the decision that he did towards the end (what a damned shame). Overall, it was a great feel-good read.

★★★★

J

[highdramas]

a house in nebraska | j.m.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: language, canon typical sadness, canon typical violence, age gap but it’s not really mentioned, sweet sweet yearning, sexual situations but not explicit (yet hehe)

word count: 4704

summary: by joel’s side, you make your way to the midwest, and find yourself inching closer to a house in nebraska you once called home. you and joel have always been okay keeping your pasts to yourselves, focusing on the now. but a roadtrip stirs up feelings, ones that even you cannot deny any longer.

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. this is part of the creature comforts series but can be read on its own! house in nebraska in particular is a two part story. this is set 12 years after the outbreak began. joel is 48 and reader is 31.

you still thought about that house.

in most ways, it was rather unassuming. it wasn’t rundown, nor was it like the house that nancy mcnamara had on the other side of town. you remember that first time you had gone to nancy’s house for a birthday party. it was strange to imagine that people lived that way.

no, your house was simple, if not slightly dated. your parents never got around to modernizing it, and you didn’t want them to. it was beautiful in it’s dated nature. it was your home. more than a house. it was a home.

it’s days like today when you think about that house. sometimes you wonder if it’s still standing. oh, what you wouldn’t give to walk up those steps, to run your hand along the railing of the porch. it was a luxury to have these fantasies. that you knew more than anything.

you run your plate over the lukewarm water and you feel joel’s eyes on your back. sometimes, you wonder if he can read your mind. you wonder if maybe he’s harboring this secret power from you that allows him to know your deepest secrets, the history that you hold near and dear to your heart. you don’t know why it is. why it is you don’t tell him. it would be easy to lay all of it down at his feet, to come apart and know that he wasn’t going to judge you or hurt you for it. feelings are a weakness. longing is a weakness. but joel was never going to stab that soft underbelly. you were confident in that.

but you keep it bottled up anyway. you keep him placated with your smiles and the murmurs that everything’s okay, just tired and you know that he sees right through you but you both know that he’s not going to push it. that’s one thing, of many, that you love about joel. he doesn’t push. and in return, neither do you. not hard, anyway.

you dry your hands off and you settle on the couch beside him. you can tell that there’s something on his mind– his eyes don’t give anything away, and maybe he thinks that you’re the mind reader out of the two of them. “talk to me,” you say with that smile of yours that you pull out of the closet only for him, wear it like it’s your finest gown.

he sighs and leans forward, muscled arms against strong knees. he doesn’t meet your gaze. you wish that he would. “i don’t want to tell you because i know exactly what you’re going to say.”

“well, then at least you won’t be hit with any surprises.”

joel looks at you and you already have a wry smile on your face, and he has to fight the urge to match it. “you’re such a shit, you know that?” his humor dies off and he goes back to examining his hands. “gotta head out west.”

you straighten at that. “oh.” confusion riddles you– what is he not saying? “well, where?”

the looks says everything and you’re opening your mouth but he cuts you off before you can get a word out. “no. no. you’re not comin’.”

“if you’re going to nebraska,” you say, your voice perfectly level. “you’re going to have to chain me to the bed in order to get me to stay put.” you rise from your spot and walk towards your bedroom, rustling around to find your backpack. you don’t even know when he’s leaving and you’re preparing yourself.

he knows next to nothing about where you come from. what your story is. it’s not all that special, all things considered– for someone to be alive means that they have had to endure unthinkable hardship to get to that point. but he knows two things: you’re from nebraska, and you never knew what happened to your family.

“joel,” you say, folding a t shirt and laying it flat in your bag. “i’m coming.” when you look at him, there’s something in your eyes that he doesn’t recognize. a whole different you. “you don’t know the things i did to get to boston. so don’t fight me on this. i won’t be a nuisance.”

“i didn’t think you would be,” he steps closer. “i just don’t want you getting your hopes up. that’s all.”

you swallow and you look at him. there’s no fight on his face– you think he probably gave up this fight the second he decided he was going to tell you. after all, he could’ve up and left with a note and nothing more. hell, he didn’t even owe you a note. you weren’t anything. you were friends. you shared something. but beyond that, there was no reason for him to tell you shit. “joel,” you whisper and you step closer to him and you watch the way his throat bobs, the way his lip twitches. “you of all people know that my hope’s gonna have to be pried from my cold, dead hands.”

“i know,” he says quietly. you turn back to your backpack and then he’s behind you and his hands are on your shoulders. things have never been said so explicitly– what you are and what you aren’t, where the lines are drawn. all you know is sometimes he does this; he touches you and it lights you up with a warmth from the inside out. sometimes, you lie in bed beside one another and your foot draws up his calf and his hand smoothes over your waist and tugs you closer to him. sometimes he gives you his ration cards despite your protests. you will wake and he’s long gone but they rest on the dining table. the dining table where his belongings, meager as they are, mingle with yours.

joel cares. joel cares and he knows you more than anyone else could ever fathom it.

you show your care in different ways. once, on an abandoned vehicle in the qz, you found a texas sticker. you had taken dutiful care in the way you peeled it off. you found an old book and ripped a page from the back and laid the sticker down onto it. when you presented it to joel on september 26th, you could see the emotions pass over his face. sorrow and longing and then something else. a sidelong look at you, one that was mostly curious.

“it’s okay to miss it,” you had said then. “that life.”

you’d seen his reactions when others had made mere references of his life before. they were shut down. they were stopped, right then and there. and while you didn’t like to poke the bear… you wanted him to know. wanted to bestow this one thing. there was nothing else to say in that moment, all there was was you and joel and his arm slowly wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you in closer. there was his lips against your temple and your fist gripping his flannel shirt. and that was all you needed.

but in this moment with him just behind you, hands beginning to rub into your shoulders, you feel it. that deep chasm of need deep within you, the one that you’ve been ignoring. your hand goes and covers his and you wrap his arm around your chest, kissing the skin of his forearm. strong, steady joel. protective joel. while you’ve laid awake and wondered what it is he felt for you, you never had to question if he would protect you. if he would save you when it all boiled down to it. you squeeze his arm and he squeezes you back, a heavy, reassuring weight. “just let me have some hope, joel.”

and he would.

–

you stop at bill and frank’s to do some trading. you’d heard the stories of their compound, but had never experienced it yourself, and there was a twinge in your heart. what was stopping you? what stopped you from moving in next door, earning your keep, being of service in some way? what stopped you and joel from settling? sitting around the table, music playing and eating a meal that was more than jerky and dried fruits, it was hard to remember your reasoning. why you two played by the rulebook that you did.

you’re admiring the house when frank found you. he gives you a smile and gets in the wine cabinet, pulling another fresh bottle. “astounding, isn’t it?”

turning to him, you remember that he was so warm. warm in a different way than joel. not better or worse. just different. “it’s amazing,” you admit. “almost hard to believe that there was a time where we all lived like this. took it for granted.”

he steps into the spot beside you, following your gaze. “i’m lucky. bill and i– we’re lucky.” he looks at you for a long time. you could feel the imprint of his gaze on your cheek. “how long have you been with joel?”

smiling to yourself, you say, “three years.” you pause, examining a painting on the wall. “feels like it’s been forever. he’s aging me. stealing my youth.” it’s a joke, and you give a crooked grin. “no, he’s… he’s made everything easier. much easier.”

frank hums at that. “i don’t want to pry,” he begins slowly, giving you a sidelong look. “but are you…”

feeling your cheeks grow warm, all you can do is shrug. “i’m not sure,” you admit. “but i don’t need to be sure. he’s my best friend.”

he nods his head, as if this answer makes more sense than anything else that you could’ve said. “well, for what it’s worth–” you both look out the window of the house where joel and bill stand, practically mirroring one another. hands on their hips. staring out at the fence. “bill’s my best friend, too.”

frank touches your shoulder and you smile at him. for some reason, his words are reassuring.

–

you end up staying the night. there’s a guest bedroom with an adjoining bathroom and frank says you’re welcome to anything you need while bill scowls. you shower before joel does– and, to be honest, he doesn’t give you an option in that regard. he puts his hands on your shoulders and he walks you into the bathroom, pushing the fluffy towel into your chest with a smile. “you stink,” he says and he does something that’s almost a wink that makes your heart sing.

so you do. you shower and you lather yourself in all of the fine soaps that frank had prepared for you. you think that joel must’ve told him about your dry skin– lotions of every scent line the counters, and you lather yourself in them post-shower. when you come out smelling like lavender and vanilla, joel’s head shoots up from his book. he stares at you for a long, long time. you shiver under his gaze, shifting in the clothes that frank had given you.

for a moment, you feel like you’re playing house.

joel clears his throat and he stands up, approaching you. his big hand goes to the side of your face and his thumb runs over your cheekbone, drags down to your lip. when you shiver this time, it’s much more noticeable, and you can see something flash behind joel’s eyes.

there are things that the two of you have done together. but never this. close– but never this. you’ve dreamed about what it might be like for his lips to brush yours, but you’ve never had the luxury to linger on it too long. you were both fighting, tooth and nail, for your own survival. the survival of each other, for tess, for tommy. a makeshift family if you’ve ever heard of one. but in this house, where the walls have art and the linens are clean, and you feel fresher and more clear headed than you ever have…

“go. shower.” you squeeze his wrist. “you stink.”

he scoffs out a laugh and shakes his head at you. but when he casts his gaze upon you again, when he nods his head and moves into the bathroom, you feel anticipation like you’ve never felt before.

joel takes less time in the shower than you did. but when he emerges, all wet hair and glistening skin, you have to physically stop yourself from standing. he doesn’t wear a shirt but sweatpants hang low on his hips, and every thought has to be written all over your face. he walks up to you slowly and your grip the duvet, but when he stands before you and nudges your legs apart to stand between them, your grip slackens, he takes your hands and he puts them up on his shoulders where you glide them across his tanned skin, lace them behind his neck.

“i’m going to say this once, because i don’t want to waste our time with it,” joel begins. “and i know– i know i’m not good with my words. i don’t know if i ever will be. and i know i’ve got walls up, i know i’m fucked up–” you open your mouth but he shakes his head. “let me finish. i know i’m fucked up. and i don’t know if i can give you everything that the man twelve years ago would’ve. but i am a selfish man, and i want what i can give to be enough. and i want to try and give you more.” he brushes a piece of your hair back. “if that’s what you want.”

“you’re more than i could ask for,” you reassure. your hands go to his face and your thumbs stroke against his cheeks. “so let’s stop wasting our time with talking about what we both know.”

joel pushes you down against the mattress and you pull yourself up the bed, towards the pillows, and he hovers above you. “can’t remember the last time i was in a bed this nice,” he murmurs, and he’s so handsome above you, you don’t know how you managed without it. you’ve slept side by side, limbs tangled, but this…

“me neither,” your needy hands reach out for him and then his brown eyes are level with yours, a hand splayed beside your head, holding himself up. “i don’t want to waste it. do you?”

the smile he wears would’ve belonged to the joel from before. mischievous, almost, a smile that reaches his eyes. “what ideas did you have?”

you open your mouth but then his lips are closing over your pulse point and it’s been so long, it’s been forever, it’s been a lifetime ago since you’ve had such true and real intimacy. you start to shake and you stammer to try and reply and he pulls away, shaking his head, running his hand through your hair. “i’m gonna take care of you,” he says seriously. “you gonna let me take care of you, nebraska?”

with a shaky laugh you nod your head, but that’s not enough for him. “words. give me your words.”

“yes,” you breathe. “please.”

and joel, your unsung hero, stays good to his word. he’s a passionate person, deep in there, so it shouldn’t have surprised you that he would be a good and passionate lover– but it did. it made you giddy, every touch, every drag of his tongue. but nothing was better than the first kiss.

joel makes sure to take care in tipping your face up to him. there were candlesticks lit around the quaint bedroom, illuminating you in a golden glow, and you’d never felt like an angel before– not even before this world had made you a killer. but under his eyes and in this room, you feel the closest you ever have. “so damn pretty,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head. “you know that? how pretty you are?”

your foot runs up his leg. “don’t spend much time looking in mirrors anymore.”

“you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he answers for you. one hand goes to the side of your neck and his thumb brushes your pulse and it’s like every single thing in this broken world finally clicks into place with him. and that’s when he does it. that’s when he lowers himself and his lips find yours.

it’s slow. it’s like for the first time since 2003 he has allowed himself to enjoy. he savors you like he savored the meal that bill and frank served you that evening. he drinks you in like their delicious wine, the taste of you better than the heavy red had been on his tongue. a hand slips under your head and caresses, holds you, kisses you like there’s nothing else left to do.

your hands become explorative. across his chest, his stomach, down his spine. he shivers when you hit that sensitive spot just above his tailbone, and it makes you smile against his lips. “like that, huh?” he asks with a laugh. he falls down onto the bed beside you and he tugs you closer, his lips still attached to your jaw. “like knowin’ what you do to me?”

you’re helpless, nodding your head, mind foggy with pleasure. “oh, poor thing,” he coos with another cheeky grin, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “i’ll stop bein’ mean.”

“you’re evil,” you say but there’s no bark behind your bite, not when his lips start to move southward, down your chest, pushing up your shirt. your hips begin to raise involuntarily and everything is better than you could ever expect–

the door bursts open. “bill–” joel bellows, rearing back to look at him. you’re not even naked but joel is effortlessly protective, shielding you from his view. but you peek past his arm anyway, and what you see astounds you. bill’s scared. he’s trying to fight it, but you can smell fear like a bloodhound.

“raiders,” bill says and it’s the simplest thing he could’ve said, but it makes you move.

joel is on his feet and you’re tossing him a shirt and he’s tossing you your jacket, you’re moving around each other like you know the exact move the other will make next. and maybe you do. maybe you have memorized the way that he uses his body as a weapon and as a shield.

with guns drawn you help take down raiders. it’s not a fair fight, not with the set up that bill has built and not with you and joel by his side. joel has never had to see you fight. not really, anyway– he’s known of the knife that you keep on you at all times, but bill had tossed you a gun and you knew your way around it and while joel didn’t have time to watch, you could sense it. could feel his eyes lingering for just a moment too long, long enough to risk survival.

and then your gun lowers and your eyes lock and there’s something that passes there, between you.

you don’t know if love is the right way to describe what you feel towards joel. but if it is, then maybe you had just fallen a bit more in love with one another.

–

any mood that existed prior has been shot by the time that you get back into the guest room. with a long, heaving sigh, you start shucking your clothes off. there’s nothing wrong with them– no blood on them, no dirt, no grime, but the mere act of wearing them while you have killed someone makes your skin crawl.

joel exits the room but he returns with two new sets of clothes. he passes one set off to you before he starts changing himself, eyes heavy on one another.

and when you’re both in fresh clothes you inch towards one another and you collapse onto the bed together, and there’s nothing hesitant in the way that he pulls you to him, tugs your body close to his and wrap you up in his dutiful hold until you both drift off into a sleep, one not fueled by pills or booze, but by the safety of one another.

–

bill and frank send you with food (bill begrudgingly, frank happily) and a truck. your end stop is the omaha QZ, outside of which you’ll be meeting with a smuggler who joel has been in contact with since you knew him. but you were a long ways away from nebraska, and it would be many days on the road.

it’s two days in when you find the tape, rustling around through the truck. it was a forgotten thing beneath the passenger seat, and your entire face lights up when you see it. joel glances over at you with a furrowed brow and you lift jeff buckley’s grace. in tandem, you and joel say, “yes.”

mojo pin starts from the top and you find yourself gazing out the window. you prepare yourself for the northeastern beauty to turn into the plains of the midwest, reminding you of a life of before. 

you’re crossing into ohio when he asks, “you like this album?”

slowly, you nod your head. “it was all i would listen to,” you say, remembering who you were before. “maybe jeff buckley’s lucky. to have died before all of this started.”

joel stares at you for a long time. “do you really mean that?”

swallowing, you meet his gaze. do you mean it? “no,” you finally say softly. “there are things that i miss. people i miss. but i don’t think i’d be luckier dead.” you huff a laugh and look back out the window. “if i felt that way, it would be a bit silly to live the way i do.”

“and how do you mean?”

“we fight to live,” you say easily. “we fight to survive. we’re not people who want to give up, even if we pretend we are. being alive is having some hope, contrary to what you may believe.”

“never said i didn’t have hope,” joel begins, his voice all gruff.

“joel, please.” you look over at him and you smirk. “i know you. you may fool other people, but you’re not gonna fool me.”

the two of you fall into an easy silence at that point. there’s nothing pointed about what you said to him, and he doesn’t have any fight in him. he doesn’t want to fight with you, he never does. and, besides– despite what he says, he knows that you’re right.

at some point you fall asleep. you wake up to joel’s hand in your hair, his voice slowly coaxing you awake. you wake with a start, snapping up and looking around. “sorry,” you mumble, the last bits of sleep still clinging onto you for dear life. “didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“s’alright,” he mumbles back to you. “would probably good to stop for the night. we can take turns keeping watch.” he smirks. “it’s your turn first.”

you roll your eyes but he turns the car off and reclines his seat and you can’t help but stare at him. how does anyone expect you to be diligent and alert when you get an opportunity to stare at him uninterrupted? when he opens one eye to look at you you lean back and smile at him, shaking your head. “don’t do that,” you murmur, reaching your hand out and touching his hair, somehow soft still despite everything. “get some sleep.”

joel hums. “keep doin’ that,” he says while your hand is working through his hair. “feels good.”

you’re not going to deny joel what feels good. not for one moment.

–

the days pass faster than you were expecting them to. it’s just you and joel and the open road. occasionally you roll down the window and you stick your head out and let the wind rustle your hair, let jeff buckley fill your ears with his beautiful melodies and you pretend like you and joel are two normal people on a normal road trip together. the one thing that you will never be, you pretend you are.

an ominous quiet grows over you when you pass over the nebraska border. when you see that sign.

joel senses it in you instantly. and for a man who says he’s cold, who says he’s fucked up, who says that he doesn’t know if he can be what you need– you don’t feel that when he lays his big hand on your thigh and squeezes. and he doesn’t make a hasty exit with it, either. no, it lingers there. it stays there until your hand goes and lays on top of his, and only then does his hand turn over and he grasps your fingers. laces them with his own, and his thumb draws across the back of your wrist.

when you look over at him, you don’t see a man who’s fucked up. you see a man who’s fighting an eternal, internal battle with himself, to love and let himself be loved. you’ve been there. hell, you’re there now, fighting your own similar battle. but perhaps your armor is weaker, because this touch has melted you down to the bone and made you forget why you wanted to fight in the first place.

the words beg to release from your mouth. i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you so much i’m willing to risk the safety of not loving another soul.

“we’ll go wherever you need,” he speaks up. “and then we’ll go to omaha.”

with a curt nod of your head, you pull the map out of the glove compartment and you scour it. you see your teeny tiny hometown, and you circle it, passing it back to joel.

instantly, you recognize the way that he takes a turn, towards your home. towards your old life.

it’s in the stirred silence that you say, “they call seward the fourth of july city,” you smile a little bit at the memories. memories of fireworks and the smell of a grill and celebrating a patriotism and nationalism that you would resent every day after september 26th, 2003. “my friends and i used to joke about that city part. seward was barely a town, let alone a city.”

joel watches you intently. you wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “i lost my virginity on the fourth of july.” there’s something glassy behind your eyes. “one year before the outbreak. i was eighteen– all my friends joked that i was a late bloomer, but i didn’t care. my dad was a preacher and i always got teased because i was the cliche. the rebellious, preacher’s daughter. but that night…” your words drift and you suck in a big breath, watching as dusk overtakes the night ahead of you, casting joel in pretty purple hues. “he wasn’t a bad boy. he was kind. and he took care of me.”

“he was in my senior year english class. i was taking ap lit– didn’t even take the ap test. anyway– he had kind brown eyes, and it was his first time, too. we went into one of the cornfields in his truck after a big fire party. there were always the biggest parties on fourth of july, but i just wanted to be with him.” you pause and look out the windshield and his thumb is still a warm feeling over the pulse of your wrist. “we kept seeing each other that summer. but then i went to college and so did he and… well, the rest happened. i don’t know what happened to him. but i like to believe that he’s somewhere out there and when he starts getting nostalgic, he tells his…” you look at joel. “whoever his you is, and he smiles a little. i just hope that.”

he squeezes your wrist, once more, before he lets go to put both hands on the wheel. he pulls off and you recognize that he’s pulling into the parking lot of a boarded up church, and god if that isn’t hilariously ironic. “thank you,” he says after you’re parked, looking right into your eyes. “i hope that, too.”

hope. what a funny thing.

[cambion-companion]

Hiii can I request Aemond telling his betrothed that he loves her for the first time?

Yes! All the fluff, all the love for this Good BoyTM. You cannot convince me he doesn't have a soft heart under all that trauma and bitterness. God he's gorgeous. ANYWAY enjoy!

Aemond x reader | No content warnings | FLUFF

Rain pattered with a gentle rhythm on the roof of the Red Keep, intermixed with the crackling fireplace before you.  You sat on a comfortable sofa, in a secluded corner of the spacious library, your favorite haunt.  At this time of night, you were the only soul there gaining you a precious moment of seclusion and peace from all the noises of court.  

You did not hail from King’s Landing and found it to be quite oppressive at times, yearning for home became an unfortunately common pastime of yours when your mind was not taken to faraway lands by the many books you’d read in the thick atmosphere of the library.  You had been sent to the Red Keep over a year ago, just another girl betrothed to a prince of a noble house.  The Targaryen house, to be precise, and soon to be wed to Aemond One Eye, second-born son of King Viserys Targaryen.

You had become close friends with his sister, Helaena, right away after arriving at your new home.  She was a delightful girl and had no vice in her heart, much unlike her brother and husband Aegon.  You still couldn’t quite figure Aemond out, however.  He was obviously more pragmatic than his elder brother, and much more cunning than anyone you had met.  The raw intelligence that sparkled behind his one violet eye had drawn you to him as a moth to a flame.  You would find yourself, usually an introverted and quiet person, talking quite animatedly with him.  Conversation flowed easily between you two, and soon enough you developed no small amount of affection for your betrothed.  Thanking the gods silently it was Aemond, and not Aegon, with whom you were to be married.

He knew you better than you perceived and watched you intently when you were unaware, feigning disinterest whenever you looked at him.  In your turn, you watched him with equal interest, especially when he trained with Sir Criston Cole in the courtyard.  Aemond was tall and lithe, as one of the mountain cats from your home, dodging each attack with fluid movements.  He wore a leather eyepatch over where his left eye once had been, a vertical scar running down his face. His hair was long and straight, of typical Targaryen silver, and the way it moved around his shoulders and back often hypnotized you.  

You had once asked him what the secret to such beautiful hair was and he had laughed, a lovely sound you thought.  

“I have no secret care routine, if that’s what you’re asking me Y/N.”  Aemond had looked at you fondly. “I will count on you to help me keep it, what was it you said, ‘shining and lustrous’?”

Your eyes glazed as you got lost in giddy memories of him.  For all the talk at court, you could not imagine Aemond as being indifferent or cruel.  He was arrogant at times, certainly, and could be cool in demeanor if a mood hit him but with you…he was softer.

Gods be good…you thought to yourself, I love him.

You heaved a shaky sigh and with a snap closed the book that had been sitting uselessly on your legs.  

“Must be a dull story to garner such distain.”  

You stifled a small shriek, whipping your head towards the intruder. “Aemond! You nearly scared the life out of me, what are you doing here?”

“It’s a library, is it not?”  Aemond approached you and sat, holding his own dusty volume. “I couldn’t sleep so I came here to read, much like you I’m assuming.”

You nodded, rubbing your tired eyes with a hand.  “I’ve had too much to think about, sleep is rather evasive these days.”

Aemond studied your face intently, the book he had brought remained unopened next to him. “What is it that is vexing my lady so?”

Your hands fell to your skirts, twisting the fabric as you looked back at him.  “I think you know, Aemond.”

“Ah.  So, it’s about our soon-to-be union.”

“To be blunt, yes.”

“You do not wish for it.”

You blinked, taken aback. “I…what?”

“You do not wish to be married to me.”  Aemond’s voice was matter of fact, like this was something he had already accepted. “I will not say I’m surprised.  No lady looks upon this face and thinks ‘oh yes, the man without an eye.  I wish him to be my lord husband’.”  

You stared at him, your mouth slightly open.  Aemond seemed to register your confusion because he stopped talking abruptly, his angular face tilting slightly.  

“You seem to know my thoughts better than I do, my prince.” You replied coolly, emphasizing the title he had asked you not to use in place of his name.

“I apologize if I have given offense, Y/N.” Aemond seemed genuinely taken aback. “You have been distant of late, and I am overused to being looked upon with either pity or disgust.”

“I don’t look upon you with either.”  You touched Aemond’s hand lightly with your own, his eye dropped to appraise it, before interlocking his long fingers with yours.

“You…mean a great deal to me, Y/N.  I have grown to treasure the moments we have together.”  His words trailed off as if he meant to say more but couldn’t bring himself to.  

“You can tell me anything, you know.” You encouraged him, a smile in your voice.  

Aemond’s eye snapped up to your face, drinking in your features with a tenderness you had not seen before.  “When I claimed Vhagar, I thought I had gained everything I wanted.  Everything I’d ever want.”  His fingers tightened around yours briefly.  “Then I met you and I found myself…wanting.”  Aemond reached forward with his other hand and caressed your face, tracing your jaw and making you shiver. “I want you, Y/N.”

“I am not a dragon to be claimed, Aemond.”  You said softly.

His curved mouth twitched upwards at your words, “Indeed you are not.  Though at times when you are angry, I wonder if you could breathe fire.”  His thumb moved to press lightly against your bottom lip.  “I love…I love you.”  The confession seemed to cost Aemond a great deal of effort and you could hear his breath quicken.

You inhaled sharply, letting his words linger in the air between you two.  Your heart beat an erratic rhythm against your chest, surely he could hear it.

Aemond stirred with impatience, his grip on your chin tightened. “Do not leave me sitting here in agony, Y/N.  Tell me what that beautiful mind of yours is thinking right now.”

You smiled then, soft and bright, emotion welling behind your eyes.  You raised a hand to grasp him gently around his wrist.  “I love you too, Aemond.  I want you to be mine, to become yours.  I want to have a life with you, a family, a home.”

Aemond wrapped his arms about you, pulling you into him and placing a warm kiss to your forehead. “You shall have all that and more, my heart.  With me, you will want for nothing.”

[keplercryptids]

Queer Books for Spooky Season!

i have read and enjoyed all of these, and have organized them in such a way that makes sense to me and hopefully peaks your interest! most are straight-up horror, but some just have horror / spooky themes.

[please note, not all these books have overtly queer characters / relationships, but are included because they have queer authors and/or queer characters, plots or themes. don’t want people to go into any of these books expecting romance.]

Spooky & Sapphic

The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir. everyone on tumblr knows about this series. it’s a science-fantasy, it’s got lesbian necromancers in space, it’s got mysteries and intrigue, and i would describe it as a “fun” read but please know my idea of fun includes body horror, grief and spooky vibes.

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling. the vibes of this one are off the charts. story is told from the perspective of a lone caver on a foreign planet, as she communicates with her dive suit’s handler. it’s tense and suspenseful, lots of survival-fiction vibes, and it’s exactly how i want characters to flirt: via coms only, as one fights for their life.

Yellow Jessamine by Caitlin Starling. this one’s a weird little gothic novella about a shipping magnate who’s confined to her creepy estate as a mysterious plague runs rampant through the city.

Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke by Eric LaRocca. this novella is told via early-2000s chat logs and emails between two women as they develop one of the most unnerving relationships i’ve ever read. gross things happen! this one’s polarizing! but i loved it so much. absolutely unhinged vibes.

Parasites, but Goth

Leech by Hiron Ennes. most of this book is told from the POV of a parasitic hivemind called the Institute, which uses host bodies to act as physicians for the rest of society in a post-apocalyptic, gothic setting. and it gets weirder from there. it’s an honestly quite beautiful exploration of bodily autonomy, identity, and trauma.

What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher. this is a retelling of the fall of the house of usher, and includes a spooky manor, fungal parasites, possessed wildlife, and the exact kind of unsettling atmosphere that i love in a horror book.

Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon. this story follows a teen mother who’s escaped from a cult and is now undergoing a fungal metamorphosis in the forest. big thriller/survival vibes and some truly excellent commentary about oppression, trauma and societal secrets.

Could Vampirism be Gayer? (yes, actually)

A Dowry of Blood by S.T. Gibson. "dracula’s polycule” is what sold me on this book, and while yes, it’s got polyamorous vampires, the heart of the story is about the dynamics of an abusive relationship, with a strong thread of hope throughout.

The Route of Ice and Salt by José Luis Zárate, transl. by David Bowles. i’m not usually one to categorize a book as Important (TM) but this novella definitely is that. it was originally published in the 90s by a mexican author, and it’s a reimagining of dracula’s voyage to england from the POV of the captain, a closeted gay man full of queer yearning. this book is beautiful and painful and challenging and yes, important. it’s also horny as hell so like, you’ve been warned lol. only recently has it been made available in english, too!

Science as Horror

The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey. a short novel about a woman who’s recently separated from her husband, who in turn started a relationship with a clone of her. loved the character exploration in this, and it’s definitely got mystery/thriller vibes if you’re into that.

You’ve Lost a Lot of Blood by Eric LaRocca. this is a vibe-heavy, kind of trippy novella which features a story-within-a-story. don’t want to give away too much of the plot here because it’s a wild ride.

and finally, here’s some honorable mentions, at the end here because i didn’t love them. but you might!

Just Like Home by Sarah Gailey (haunted house personified, exploration of dysfunctional family)

The Seep by Chana Porter (post-apocalyptic quest)

Into the Drowning Deep by Mira Grant (killer mermaids)

Nothing but Blackened Teeth by Cassandra Khaw (creepy mansion, corpse bride)

[dracomort]

What would you say your favourite Harry Potter fanfics are? I would appreciate any recs- I don't mind which ship

It's so hard to just pick a few (especially for drarry)! But here are some of my favourites :)

My ultimate faves have a 💗

Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

💗 Away Childish Things by lettered

Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

Lorelei in the Menagerie by BelladonnaLee

"I think my dead son is haunting the manor," says Draco when Harry runs into him in an antique book shop. Driven by yearning and suspicion, Harry offers his help and is drawn into a web of secrets and half-forgotten nightmare.

Matchmaking by frostywonder

When Hermione rushes off to the Amazon, Ron is left alone in handling their brooding third wheel. Somehow, he drags Malfoy into the mix and the stupid Ferret steals the show.

💗 Domestic by frostywonder

Harry finds a stray and decides to take him home.

Nice Things by aideomai

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

In The Hand by aideomai

Two months after Harry went missing, when Hermione was frantic with fear and panic and sleep deprivation, Draco Malfoy cornered them outside the Great Hall before breakfast.

Read 💗 Intelligence after this! (and everything else by aideomai)

Harry Potter and the Inconvenient Condition by mirabella

Harry comes back from vacation with an inconvenient case of vampirism and must learn to cope with blood, Malfoy, and recalcitrant secretaries. And if that doesn't tell you everything about the plot you need to know, you haven't read enough badfic.

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by November Snowflake

When the long-missing Draco Malfoy turns up at a Ministry field hospital with amnesia, bitter Auror Harry Potter must confront the shadows of their shared past to shed light on a potentially deadly mystery.

Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy

💗 Trying by aideomai

Neville had hoped when he left Hogwarts that he’d never have to see Draco Malfoy again; he’d barely even seen him in that last, terrible year, when Malfoy had dropped out somewhere around the Easter term. But then Harry, Ron, and Hermione came back from their delayed seventh year and with them, pale and sneering and sharp-tongued as ever, came Malfoy.

Strange Bedfellows by casspeach

'Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows'

Theft of Assets, Destruction of Property by Helenish

Surely it is a mistake to allow a single youthful indiscretion to cloud an already promising career.

Ron Weasley/Draco Malfoy

💗 Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy by Mad_Maudlin

Draco Malfoy's life takes a turn for the traumatic when he's kidnapped by Ron Weasley to protect him from a murderous foe he's never heard of. With friends like these, who needs enemies?

A Fine Foray into Fashionable Fellatio by calrissian18

First comes tolerating, then comes shagging, then comes unintended consequences.

Tom Riddle

💗 Tom Riddle and the Quest for Vulnerability by lejf

Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

They found him in an old house, under the stairs. His face was pale and instantly recognisable.

Gaunt by Name, Gaunt by Nature by Blood_Stained_Fingers

If Merope lived would she be in love with her son?

Dissonance by Metalomagnetic

Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle

Tom Riddle and Abraxas Malfoy hate each other from the second they meet.

In The Bleak Midwinter by TheLoud

Tom Riddle Sr/Hermione Granger

After escaping from Merope in London and fleeing back to Little Hangleton, Tom Riddle had thought he was free of witches. He wasn’t expecting yet another witch to turn up on his doorstep. This one seems different, but she too smells of Amortentia. Can he trust her when she tells him that she has brought him his baby from a London orphanage?

A Dangerous Game by Cybrid

Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Tom Riddle opens the Chamber of Secrets in Harry’s fifth year at Hogwarts. After a botched attempt to extract the Horcrux in Harry’s scar leaves their souls tied together, Tom is forced to kidnap him when he makes his escape. A story of Horcrux hunting, adventure and unwilling attraction.

[sundaysundaes]

Revival

Jung Jaehyun X Reader feat. Haechan | Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmate AU | NC-17 | 15k

Summary: When fate brought Jung Jaehyun to you, it didn’t feel like your first time meeting him. And with him, smiling at you like his heart shattering to pieces, eyes painted with longing, you knew you were connected to him somehow. You just have to find the answers before it’s too late.

Warnings: sex scenes (both with Jaehyun and Haechan), mentions of death and suicide 

For my lovely cinnamon bun Esme @rainydayswithnct​ I couldn’t think of anything else to give you but this. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, I hope this will make you happy ❤️

His eyes… They remind you of the ocean after the storm. 

It’s not the color as his are dark brown, like the freshly turned earth after rain. It’s the feeling, the way they glimmer under the soft evening light, calm and steady, but in a way, emits sadness, yearning for something. As if he had been crushed, trapped inside a hurricane for so long, he was about to fade into the void. And as he peered into your eyes, full of depths and secrets you long to unveil, something tugs upon your heartstring. 

It’s not love at a first sight. You’ve experienced that before with Lee Donghyuck, the lover whom you share frantic kisses and desperate touches with. But it’s something more intense, something you can’t even begin to fathom, something you wish you understand.

The second your eyes are locked to each other, it’s like you’re electrocuted, starting from the tip of your hair down to your toes.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, your voice sounds like you haven’t spoken in years. A tiny red spot begins to form on his chin from where it made contact with your head earlier. “I was looking for a book so I wasn’t—I didn’t see you there.”

The man, young enough to be around your age with a gaze wiser than most, has an expression of a heartbroken man. There’s pain that fleets through his eyes, a feeling that he quickly hides with a smile too bright to be genuinely coming from the heart. When he speaks, his voice is both rich and soft, deep and tender. “No, it was my fault.” He shakes his head. “Please don’t apologize.”

You want to reach out to him, want to know why he looks like he’s seconds away from breaking apart, want to ask him whether you’ve said too much or too less. But he’s nothing but a stranger and you don’t want to step out of the line. “Were you looking for a book?”

“Yes, umm…” He points his finger towards a book hidden in the shelf behind you. “That one.”

You follow his direction, smiling when you read the title written on its spine. “No wonder we bumped heads. I was aiming for the same book.”

“Oh, then it’s fine,” he says, pushing the book back to you after you handed it to him. “You can take it.”

“No, please, go ahead. I’ve read this too many times already.”

“Me too. So—”

“I insist.” You press the book to his chest, looking up at him. He looms before you, standing 180 centimeters tall that you have to tilt your head up to match his line of vision. You catch a sniff of his scent, the smell of soap and aftershave, thinly layered by cologne. His eyelashes are long, face framed by strong jawlines, brunette locks falling over his forehead. When his lips curve up, pretty dimples start to form in his cheeks. He looks like a painting, a thought runs through your mind, one that you hastily dismiss. “Take it as a form of my apology for bruising your chin,” you add.

His eyes widen, just for a split second before a soft chuckle reverberates from his chest. When he speaks again, it’s almost like a whisper—like a secret never meant to be told, “I can never win against you.”

You barely catch his words. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing.” He clears his throat, hiding his eyes behind his bangs. “I’m… I was about to borrow this and grab some coffee. Would you care to join me? I’d love to talk more.” His body language indicates that he’s nervous which you find rather endearing. “I mean, It’s hard to find someone who has a similar taste like mine.”

Your heart convulses. You know how grabbing some coffee together tends to lead to something more. Your boyfriend’s name pops in your head but your lips betray you before your brain can form a warning. “Well, I do have a peculiar taste when it comes to books,” you answer with a smile. “Sure, as long as you tell me your name.”

“Right, sorry.” You love the sound he makes when he chuckles, and you love it more when it echoes louder in your ears. He offers his hand, stretching out his lean fingers. “I’m Jaehyun.”

You expect it to be soft just like the way he’s gazing at you, but his palm feels calloused against your own. When you reply to him with your name, he seems stunned but doesn’t stay still for long. Your name flows out of his mouth so naturally, as if he has been calling you for years, like a soulmate to another. It feels like electricity is running through your veins once more, something that you’ve never experienced before.

It takes around ten minutes to walk from the library to the nearest coffee shop and by then, you’ve caught on the little gestures he makes: the way he forces himself to laugh a little when he notices he’s being too straightforward; the way he clears his throat when he feels like his words have more hidden meanings than they let on. You’ve become aware of his passion and the love he has for books, so strong that it can only be matched by your own. You’ve learned about his dream, a novelist in the making, taking his first baby steps to turn it into reality.

“Have you thought about what kind of story you’re planning to write?” You question as you slide your cup closer with hot, black coffee shimmering inside. Before you take a sip, Jaehyun drags a sugar bowl toward your direction. “What?”

“It’s too bitter for you.”

“You think I can’t handle my coffee?”

“It’s not that.” He clears his throat and you wonder what is it that he’s trying to hide. “The coffees here are always too bitter.”

“Yeah?” You taunt him, smirking. “Well, watch me.” You take a sip, about to wince when the bitter taste hits your tongue but you act unfazed. Smacking your lips, you say, “See? I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“No. Give me the damn sugar.” 

It doesn’t take long before Jaehyun’s little laughter becomes one of your most favorite sounds in the world. 

“I’m planning to write a romance novel,” he responds to your earlier question.

“Romance, huh? To be honest, I see you more as someone who writes detective stories. Never would’ve pegged you as a romantic.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be more than just a romance story. It has a supernatural element to it. Borderline fantasy.”

“Like what?”

He takes a few seconds before he responds quietly with a secretive smile. “I guess you’ll just have to read to find out.”

“Cheapskate.” You purse your lips. “Is it going to have a happy ending?”

“Well, they’ll be separated by death in the end.”

“No,” you drawl out. “What happens to them? You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me about it.”

“Of course, I can.” There’s a tiny smirk creeping up his lips. “I’m the author.”

“And a jerk too, apparently.” You’re worried you might go too far with your joke but Jaehyun still peers at you with that warm, longing eyes that make you curl your toes.

“Fine, then,” he succumbs. “Since you insist, I’ll give you a hint later. But you’ll have to imagine the rest.”

“Then tell you about it? What if you steal my idea?” You raise an eyebrow, teasing him. “I happen to have a very creative imagination.”

“I promise you I won’t. I’ve finished writing my version of it. I’ll let you see it after you tell me yours.”

“Huh, interesting.” You pretend like you’re rethinking your decision, just to get him a little bit hopeful and nervous by it. “Deal, why not.” Your coffee has grown slightly cold but the sugary taste of it serves as an addiction. “So, does that mean we’ll see each other again?”

“Well, I do have to go back to the library to return the book. So, hopefully, yes.” You both exchange stares, sharing sheepish smiles with you breaking away first, bringing your focus back to your coffee. “I’ve never seen you in the library before,” Jaehyun questions, “Is today your first time visiting?”

“No. I’ve been visiting it almost every day for the last… two weeks, I think? It’s near my workplace so I usually drop by after work to read for an hour or two. My apartment is pretty small so it feels a bit cramped. That’s why I enjoy spending more time outside.” You swirl your spoon, watching the little whirlpool you create inside your cup. “Besides, I can’t read at home.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s…” You awkwardly laugh, waving one hand in the air. “I have a boyfriend who is younger than me and he’s a pretty lively person. It’s hard to focus on your book when someone keeps pulling you into conversations.”

Jaehyun’s fingers stop tapping against the surface of the coffee table but it’s too fast for you to notice before he starts again. “Isn’t it better to have someone like that rather than to be alone, though?” He counters, the smile on his lips never falter but the one in his eyes does.

“I…” It’s not apparent but you can sense it, the painful look on his face. It feels like you just said something that hurt him so badly that you want to apologize about it. “Yeah… I guess so…”

Maybe he notices you noticing, which is why he tries to mask his feelings better with a wider smile that does reach his eyes this time. “Why do you choose this library?” He diverts the topic. “There are a lot of new ones in town, bigger ones too. This place is pretty old and dusty.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You nod, sighing. “Okay, don’t laugh, but honestly? It just feels somewhat nostalgic to me. The first time I stepped inside, it felt like I’d been spending all my life there—just sitting on that old couch, reading books, enjoying the silence. It just feels familiar, even more comforting than being in my room. It’s weird but I can only feel at ease when I read there.” Jaehyun stays quiet that you have to lift your head to understand what goes through his head. His face is pensive, undecipherable. “What about you? What’s your reason, Jaehyun?”

He stops breathing at the sound of his name escaping your mouth, his shoulders tense, and only after what feels like hours, he finally has the strength to drag his eyes away from yours, bringing them down to see his interlaced fingers lying on the table. 

“It’s just closer to my place.”

***

“Hey, babe.” Donghyuck chirps with a lollipop stuck in his mouth, his fingers running through the keyboards, eyes locked to his computer screen. He can tell that it’s you who just slipped through the front door by the sound of your footsteps. “You’re late. Did you get the puddings I asked you?”

“They’re in the fridge.” You take off your coat and unwrap your scarf from your neck before you stroll toward the living room. You can’t remember what or who initiated it but it has been almost six months since he started living in your apartment. You remember how he used to spend just one night at your place on the weekend, then two when he felt a bit needy for your touch. Before you knew it, his personal belongings were scattered all over the place—his hoodie on the couch, his towel on the bed, his toothbrush on your sink—and he could be spending the entire week at your place, only moving once to his apartment when he ran out of comic books to read. It just came so naturally that you didn’t notice at first but by the time you did, it was too late to even bring the topic to the table.

Being with Donghyuck was easy, casual, and he gave you more reasons to laugh over little things more than anyone else. During the first two months, you acted like newlyweds with him peppering kisses on your face whenever you arrived home from work. Unlike you, Donghyuck is a freelancer and he does most of his work at home. He used to be considerate enough to do some chores for you—cooking, cleaning the bathroom, sometimes even doing your laundry when he felt he’d been neglecting you. Whenever you arrived late, he would’ve always had something prepared for you, beaming at you with a contagious grin while chiming, “Finally, you’re here! I’ve been waiting for you and I’m starving. Today’s dish is your favorite so let’s eat!”

But things are bound to change and happiness doesn’t last forever. It started slow, almost unnoticeable, with him forgetting to kiss you good night before bed and you treating the fact that he no longer paid attention to what you were wearing as normal. Nowadays, he doesn’t have enough affection to greet you with his smile—one that used to shine brighter than the sun. Comforting hugs and welcome kisses are long forgotten.

It’s lonely, but it’s fine. He’s still here. Donghyuck is still yours as much as you are his.

It’s fine.

“I met someone today,” you say, reaching out to stroke his dark hair. It’s so soft and fluffy like a dog’s fur and you find it calming just to card your fingers through them. The feelings are the same, only his reaction isn’t. He used to lean into your touch as a kitten would. Now, he doesn’t even spare you a glance. 

“A man?”

“Yep.”

“Is he hot?”

“Well, he’s not ugly.”

“Then don’t get too close to him.”

Donghyuck is the jealous type, he’s always been—sometimes even a bit possessive but it makes you happy to know there’s someone out there who cares about you so much he doesn’t want to share you with anyone else. But not today. Today, his words feel empty. You can tell that he doesn’t mean any of them. He just says them as a joke, maybe out of habit, but certainly not a warning.

“What will we be having for dinner?” You ask him when he’s busy shouting foul words to his screen as his character just got shot dead.

“Jesus—left, you moron!” He groans loudly in to the air before he turns around, finally recognizing your presence. “What? Oh.” He pops the lollipop out of his mouth. “I just had some take-outs.”

“You didn’t wait for me?”

“I was dead hungry, but I ordered some for you too. It’s probably cold now but you can heat it up.”

“Can you do that for me, please? I love it when you add more seasonings to it.”

“I’d love to do that but,” he smiles apologetically, his fingers meeting the keyboards once more. “I’m busy, babe. There’s an event going on and Jeno literally won’t let me take a break. Look, I’ll cook for you tomorrow, I promise.”

You have stopped believing in his promises, or at least, don’t allow yourself to believe. You’ve learned that the best way to avoid disappointment is to not expect anything.

You smile back, push his hair away so you can land a kiss on his temple. And no matter how much your bottled-up feelings are about to burst, you don’t say a word.

Because you know silence is what keeps your relationship alive.

***

That night, Jaehyun appeared in your dream.

He had a different hairstyle, a little bit shorter, color’s a shade darker. He was dressed in an old-fashioned way—a white buttoned-up shirt under a brown blazer that was a couple of sizes bigger than it was supposed to. Nevertheless, he looked just as strikingly handsome as he was in real life.

He took off his fedora hat, bowing when his eyes met yours as he entered the library—the one that you always visit. “You look beautiful today,” he said, smiling like he always has from the first time you saw him but it felt different in the dream. His smile was timid and shy, eyes never stayed long enough to be locked with yours, but they were honest. The way they shimmered in adoration at the sight of you, painted with both desire and affection.

Your body went autopilot, words flowing from your mouth before you could even process the situation. It was like you were residing in someone else’s body, just a bystander. “Are you saying I didn’t look beautiful yesterday?”

“No, that’s not—” At the sight of you covering your smile behind your hand, he sighed, pressing his hat to his chest. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m sorry. Which book would you like to read today?”

“Will you choose one for me?”

“Unfortunately, I have a peculiar taste when it comes to books—”

“I trust you.” He smiled a tad wider, perfect teeth peeking behind soft red lips, and you could feel your lips curving to mirror his. 

“Well then,” you said, reaching toward a bookshelf. “Why don’t we start with this?”

It ended without you knowing what book it was nor the line between your dream and reality. They stand out so vividly—the scenery, his expressions, the lines you’d exchanged with him—that it takes you a few good minutes to realize that it was just a dream and not a memory.

You couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

***

The library is indeed old, with walls standing in dire need to be repainted. But the faint smell of sandalwood combined with the orange tint of sunlight sneaking through the windows is comforting. Crowds don’t gather much around here—maybe four or five people at most—and you’re consoled by the tranquility. There’s only a soft thrum of acoustic guitar playing through the speakers that keep you company.

And Jaehyun.

You meet him every day when the sun is an hour away from setting. You don’t chat for long, spending most of your hour reading your chosen book for the day while stealing glances at him scribbling stuff down on his notebook.

“Why don’t you use a laptop?”

“Not fond of it. I feel more like a writer this way,” Jaehyun responds, re-reading the words he just wrote on paper. When he notices you’re giggling, he frowns. “What?”

“You’re like my dad.”

“Then I’m sure your dad is a very smart, tech-savvy man.”

“I’m saying you have an old soul, the way you prefer to do stuff more traditionally.” You sink further into your chair, opening a new page, eyes scanning the lines but not reading them. “Well, I guess that makes the two of us since I already have the e-book version of this on my iPad and I’m still here reading it in a library. How’s your story going?”

“Pretty well. I just came up with a really annoying character.” His smile is a bit different this time, somewhat mischievous. “Inspired by someone.”

“You’re not talking about me, are you?”

Jaehyun drags his pen over his note. “Character A begins to question her—”

“Shut up!”

The more time you spend with him, the more you feel like he’s becoming a mystery you can’t solve. You’re closer to him, closer than any of your friends, but you know there are secrets he tries to bury underneath those tender smiles. To you, Jaehyun, with his eyes that always seem like they’re telling a different story—one that nearly drives him to the brink of tears, still seems like an incomplete puzzle. And if time allows you, you’d gladly collect every piece of him to be able to perceive him better.

***

Jaehyun visited you in another dream.

This time, you were walking next to him beside a beautiful pond in a backyard that seemed familiar enough to be your own. Both of you were dressed in traditional clothing and you wondered whether a ceremony just occurred.

“Are you nervous?” He asked, holding your hand.

“I don’t know, maybe,” you heard yourself mumble, body moving beyond your control. “I just feel like we’re moving too fast. We just turned twenty.”

“Are you having doubts?” He intertwined your fingers better and you noticed how his were shaking slightly. “About me?”

“Of course not.” You turned around, reaching up to caress his cheek, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb. “Jaehyun, this is the only thing I’ve ever wanted. I want to be with you, there’s no doubt about it. I’m just thinking about our future, that’s all. What will we do with our jobs? Our money? What will we do when we have kids—”

“It’s just like you to overthink about stuff,” he tittered, “We’ll cross the bridge when we get there.”

That earned him a pout. “I’m not overthinking about stuff. I’m planning them.”

“Of course, my bad.” He kissed your inner palm once before he let you frame his face again, his hand pressing against the back of your smaller one. “Thank you.”

You frowned. “For what?”

“For everything. For caring, for worrying.” Jaehyun smiled so gently, it was almost heartbreaking. “For being with me. Perhaps it’s immature for me to say this, but whatever future that lies ahead of us, I’m sure it’s filled with nothing but joy as long as we’re together.”

“That is such an embarrassing line to say.” You giggled and the blush that bloomed on his face was instant and striking but before he could say a word, you pulled him into your embrace, resting your cheek against his chest. “As long as we’re together, huh?” You repeated quietly. “Then will you promise you’ll stay with me forever?”

“I promise.” Jaehyun’s smile was pressing against your hairline. “Not even death can separate us.”

You wake up with a cold sweat, your heart thrumming so loudly, it makes you feel nauseous. Donghyuck shifts around in bed at the sound of you gasping for air, sleepily asking what’s wrong as he rubs his eyes.

“I’m fine,” you tremulously utter, a hand on your chest as if it could do something to steady your racing heart. “Go back to sleep.”

Donghyuck sends you another look with eyes barely opened. “Come here.” He tugs you closer to his chest, his nose grazing the crook of your neck. “It’s just a nightmare,” he murmurs drowsily against your skin, and in a matter of seconds, he drifts back to sleep.

“Yeah…” You swallow your breath, Jaehyun’s name resting on the tip of your tongue. “Just a nightmare…”

One that feels too real.

***

Weeks turn into months, and what started as curiosity becomes affection. 

Reading books has turned into nothing but an excuse for both of you to spend time together. What started as stealing secret glances at each other has morphed into an exchange of secret whispers in a secluded corner. The questions have become more personal too, and you find yourself talking about childhood memories and nonsensical ideas that show up in your thoughts, even the ones you have never shared with anyone else, not even to Donghyuck who lends his arm for you at night.

It’s only the dreams that you keep quiet about, as they always revolve around him since the first day you met Jaehyun. You’re not sure why, maybe it’s a way of your subconscious trying to tell you that you have feelings for him—feelings that aren’t meant to be shared with friends—as the dreams tend to play romantically. And you can’t deny that you do feel something about him.

It’s hard not to feel anything when Jaehyun has given you everything you’ve ever asked from a person. From a friend. From a lover.

But it’s not love. Definitely not love. At least not in the way you know of. In your mind, love is in the form of hugs you share with Donghyuck, not in the way Jaehyun lands his eyes on yours. Love is—

Your head swirls. What is love?

The concept of love is so complex that even if you know about it, you’re not sure if you understand it enough to experience it. You have never talked about love, not with your boyfriend, not with yourself. Is it something that you’ve already felt once? Are you in love with Donghyuck—the man you’ve spent the last two years together?

What does he think of me? You start to lose focus, sinking into your thoughts and the soft music playing in the background feels like a lullaby. Does Hyuck love me?

Before long, you feel your eyelids grow heavy. You fall asleep with your arms folded on the table, cheek pressing against them.

You’re dreaming. You’re dreaming of a hand, so warm and tender as it brushes stray hairs from your temple. You’re dreaming of a voice, so familiar to your ears, so quiet and heartbroken as it resonates in whispers. You’re dreaming of a pair of lips, so soft and light as they press against your strands.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember me. It’s okay, so please…” Slender fingers curl around your wrist, bringing it to frame a face with skin as soft as porcelain. “Just come back to me…”

You wake up. 

Jaehyun is sitting on the other side of the table, pen tapping against his lips as he reads back his work, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. He notices the little shift in your movement, immediately beaming at you with his signature smile. “Hey there, Sleepyhead.”

You rub your eyes before sitting straight on your seat, your hair’s astray. “What—How did I—” A coat is slipping through your shoulders and you catch it before it meets the ground. It’s Jaehyun’s. “Umm—t-thanks,” you mumble, handing it back to him.

“Sure,” he responds. “You were shivering so…”

“Oh… Right.” You certainly don’t feel cold now especially when your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “W-what time is it?”

“Around eight. The place’s about to close.” Jaehyun takes a sip of his drink, grinning at your behavior. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“Yeah, well, you should’ve. My boyfriend's gonna interrogate me for this.” You sigh, trying to gather back every bit of your strength and dignity. “Why are you still here?”

He raises an eyebrow at that, acting offended. “You don’t actually think that I’m the type of guy who leaves pretty girls sleeping defenselessly in public, do you?”

The word ‘pretty’ comes so effortlessly from his mouth that you’re sure he doesn’t mean it to mean something more. “There’s literally no one else around here but the staff besides us.”

“Which should be the more reason why I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You scoff, shaking your head in amusement. “Yes, yes, how chivalrous of you. Thank you, oh my mighty prince. How can I return the favor?”

“By coming here again tomorrow?”

The way his eyes shine with excitement at the thought of seeing you again makes your heart flutter. “I don’t think you need to ask,” you grin.

***

Jaehyun knows you. He knows you too well. But it’s not the things that can be seen, it’s the things that you can only know by spending time together. Jaehyun knows the type of music you listen to, knows that whenever it gets too cold, you’ll start craving a cup of hot chocolate. 

It’s strange, the fact that Jaehyun, a stranger you just befriended, pays attention with all his heart, even at the words that accidentally slipped off your tongue as if you’re the only person who matters in the world, while Donghyuck, your boyfriend, barely bats an eyelash when you share an important aspect of your life. It feels strange at first, but now, it sickens you.

“What’s this?” You ask, examining a CD case he just hands over. “Are you giving me a mix-tape?” It doesn’t have a cover, just a note painted with the words: When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other. You have your eyebrow raised. “A quote by Rob Sheffield?”

“It’s a hint for my story. As promised.” He takes a seat in front of you. “Have you worked on it?”

“When you’re only giving me this quote as a hint and nothing more, it’s kinda hard to come up with something tragic for the ending.”

“I thought you had a very creative imagination.”

You throw a playful glare and he titters a little bit in response. “Is there any other reason why you’re giving me this?”

“Just something to keep you company.” He smiles. He always smiles, but more with his eyes than his lips. Then he slides down another thing—a book this time—wrapped with a red ribbon. “As you read this.”

It’s an old book written by your favorite author, one that you haven’t been able to read because it’s so rare to find. “How do you—” You’re lost for words. You have never told him about this. You’ve mentioned your favorite books but none from this author as it is something personal that you prefer to keep to yourself, not wanting others to judge you for your distinctive taste.

“It’s written by my favorite author,” he elaborates, “I just thought you’d like it too since we have similar taste.”

There’s something he’s not telling you, you can sense that. But if he’s not ready to provide the words, you won’t take them away by force.

“Thank you.” You hug the book to your chest. Somehow, the air feels like spring, like cherry blossoms blooming for the first time after being frozen for so long. “I’ll cherish this.”

“It’s just a book, don’t be dramatic,” he chuckles but happiness is written all over his face, mirroring yours. Jaehyun’s eyes soften and he appears so fragile, like a porcelain doll. So beautiful and vulnerable.

The songs he has compiled for you seem like they’re taken straight out of your playlist. Even for the songs you’ve never listened to before, they click right in. You’re so caught by the moment, drowned deep in the lyrics and the music that resonates from your speakers, that you don’t hear the sounds of your boyfriend stepping into the room.

“I thought I heard noises. What are you listening to?” Donghyuck asks, leaning over your shoulder to peek at the empty CD case you’ve been holding on your lap.

“A friend gave me,” you answer. You notice the way his eyes dart to the handwritten note and it makes you nervous as if you’re doing something wrong behind his back, something forbidden.

“What a thoughtful friend,” he comments nonchalantly, albeit a little bit cold. You mask your anxiety with a chuckle. “Maybe you can tell your friend that there’s this thing called Spotify nowadays. Literally no one listens to CDs anymore.”

Your tongue lays heavy in your mouth, and maybe it’s better to leave things the way it is but you can’t stop yourself from bitterly saying, “I happen to like listening to CDs. It makes me feel nostalgic.”

“You and your nostalgia.” Donghyuck snorts, completely missed the annoyed tone in your voice. He places a peck on the top of your head. “Well, I’m hungry. What do you want to have for dinner? I’ll cook."

“There’s a new Chinese restaurant opening just a block away,” Jaehyun said on a Sunday evening when you two were about to part ways. “They got amazing reviews. Do you have some time to spare? I know how much you love Chinese food.”

“I never told you I loved Chinese food.”

“Everybody loves Chinese food, it’s not that hard to guess.”

“Fine. But if you can guess what I’m about to order, I’ll start filing a restraining order against you, assuming you’re a stalker.”

“Well, I gotta be careful not to get caught then.”

“Baby?” Donghyuck snaps you out of your reverie. “I’m asking what you wanna have for dinner.”

“Umm…” You push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, somewhat jittery. “Chinese food?”

He frowns upon your words. “I didn’t know you liked Chinese food.”

“I-it’s just something I haven’t eaten in a while.”

“Well, I’m going to cook you something better.” He grins, boyish and ignorant. “How about your favorite Spaghetti Aglio e Olio by Chef Lee Donghyuck?”

You smile, weak but hopefully not empty. “That would be nice.”

***

“You’re okay?” Jaehyun asks the second you take a seat in front of him. He seems so concerned that it surprises you. You haven’t realized you look that troubled.

“I’m fine,” you assure him with a smile. “Just… You know, boyfriend stuff.”

You can tell how Jaehyun is holding back his words from how tightly he keeps his lips pressed together. He’s always considerate like that, always detecting every little thing that you try to hide but never pressures you to speak, especially when it comes to your relationship. Jaehyun respects you, respects the fact that you are already involved with someone that he never tries to get you to look in his direction. Though his eyes often betray him, Jaehyun tries his best to maintain his distance. He never flirts, never praises you with romantic words, never steps out of line.

And you’re thankful for that because deep down you know, once he does, it will be hard to untangle yourself from his grasp.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Then...” Jaehyun closes his book, leaning closer. His dimples are so prominent when he grins, eyes turning into a beautiful pair of crescents. “How about we go try out some dumplings?”

It’s so sudden and random but once the idea sinks in, there’s only one thing you want to say. “Take me away, Jaehyun.”

It’s not about the food. It’s not about ignoring your problems, or the loneliness that’s drowning you a little bit more every day. It’s about enjoying the little things with someone who understands you, someone who doesn’t need to hold your hand to keep you warm. 

Someone who can finally let you breathe.

***

“I can’t believe it’s closed early,” you whine after you read the sign that’s strapped to the library’s front door. “And I was so excited to read the next chapter too.”

“What’s the book?” Jaehyun asks, adjusting the strap of his bag that hangs low on his shoulder.

“No Longer Human.”

“By Osamu Dazai?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve got a copy of that.”

“What, really?” The spark of glee that glimmer in your eyes catches him by surprise but he hides it behind a soft smile. “Can I borrow it? It’s such an old book, I can’t even find the e-book version of it.”

“Sure. Would you like to come over to my place?” The line makes your breath hitched in your throat and Jaehyun recognizes the faint blush that spreads on your cheeks. Mirroring your reaction, he hastily clears his throat, rubbing his nape as his face turns scarlet. “Or, uhh, I can just hand it over to you tomorrow.”

“No, it’s—” As you tuck your hair behind your ear, you notice your fingers are shaking. “I have—I’ve got time to spare. You have coffee at your place, right?”

His shoulders begin to relax and with a soft gaze, he reciprocates with an even tender smile. “If you’re alright with instant coffees.”

“Then lead the way.”

Jaehyun has this mature persona around him, like a caring big brother that calms you down but the second you arrive in his hallway, he fumbles with his words, his key slipping out of his fingers during his first try, and his nervousness starts to rub off on you.

It makes you wonder whether he’s feeling like he’s crossing the line, just as much as you are with Donghyuck’s name sitting on the front of your mind.

“Come in,” he invites, opening the door but keeping his eyes anywhere else but yours. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.”

His apartment smells just like him and it makes it hard for you to focus on anything else. But the second you’re able to sort that thought away, you realize something. He keeps his place minimalist and neat, just like the way he dresses and writes. Everything is organized properly with two paintings decorating his walls—ones that remind you of your grandmother’s house. “You really do have an old soul,” you playfully comment and he scrunches his nose at you in return.

It feels more familiar to step into Jaehyun’s apartment than your own because he has everything that you wanted and more. All the books sitting on his shelf, his collection of CDs, even the potpourri he has on his coffee table has the same scent with the one you’re planning to buy. 

“I know you said we have similar taste, but this…” You scan his bookshelf in awe, noticing how it almost covers his entire wall from how huge it is. He owns hundreds of books and everything is arranged alphabetically. “This is just taking it to another level. Are you sure you’re not my stalker?”

He simpers. “If I was, I wouldn’t have invited you here. Too much evidence.”

“Or maybe you’re just planning to keep me here with you forever.” When he doesn’t reply, you realize how wrong that line just sounded. “I’m sorry, was that a weird thing to say?”

“I didn’t hear anything.” Jaehyun waves you off, walking to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

The tension gradually starts to ease by the time you have a book in your lap, your eyes running from one passage to another. Sitting next to you, Jaehyun has his pen glued to his notepad again, his brown hair nearly looks golden as the sunset illuminates his face with such a warm, beautiful glow.

He really does look like a painting, you admire as you steal glances at him from behind your book. The perfect shape of his nose, his smooth skin, the way he’s so focused on his story, drowned inside his imagination… Maybe you’re being carried away, taken by his beauty, that your mouth begins to produce the words without thinking.

“Why do you look so sad?” 

Jaehyun’s pen nearly slips from his fingertips. “What?”

“Sometimes you just look... so lonely and hurt,” you clarify although you’re growing more conscious of the way you’re crossing the line. “It feels like you’re forcing yourself to smile when you look at me...”

Jaehyun loses the ability to speak, even just blinking his eyes already seems like a stretch. But he sees something, the genuine curiosity and concern written in your eyes, that makes him avert his gaze away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he remarks, forcing himself to chuckle and you know that’s he’s showing you that smile again, even when you can barely make out his features.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you. Maybe you’re just tired of him keeping secrets to himself when you’re sure they concern you. Maybe you’re just sick of seeing him like he’s on the verge of breaking apart without knowing the cause. Or perhaps it’s just your selfish way of saying, “I want you to smile, truly smile, because of me and no one else.”

But you find yourself reaching out a hand, your fingertips meeting the warm skin of his cheek, wanting him to turn his face around so you can see his expression. Jaehyun jolts, your name tumbles down his lips abruptly, his hand clamping against your wrist. “What are you doing?” His eyes are shaking as they bore deep into yours but yours are steady. Your eyes, your voice, your fingertips. They’ve never been this steady.

This is the first time you’ve been this close to him, to know how long his eyelashes really are, the way they flutter against his cheeks, the curve of his mouth, and the beauty mark on his pale skin. He’s possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever witnessed in person.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suddenly touch you like that.” You try to retract your hand, but he keeps his fingers around your wrist, hand hanging mid-air as he swallows his breath. Seeing him nervous makes you nervous. “Jaehyun, I won’t force you to say anything you don’t want to say, but…” You haven’t realized that you’ve been speaking in whispers, but Jaehyun has and his eyes soften just as much as yours do. “Please don’t pretend, not when you’re with me.”

Whether it’s from your words or the tenderness in your voice, you’re not sure, but Jaehyun releases your hand only so he can cup your cheek. He murmurs your name, so soft as if he’s telling a secret that he’s been dying to say. He leans forward, his breath is now fanning your cheek, and he’s so close, so close, and your eyes begin to shut when his lips faintly graze against yours—

The ringing sound of your phone blares through the room. 

Your entire movement stops but your heart runs a thousand miles per hour. It takes a good few seconds to come back to reality, and when you do, you’re not graceful at it. “Umm—” You glance away, breaking free from his touch. Your fingers are trembling hard when they retrieve your phone from the table. It has stopped ringing and a notification appears on your screen. The sight of your boyfriend’s name makes you feel like the floor is crumbling underneath you. “Sorry, it’s Donghyuck—I have to—It’s getting late, he must be looking for me.” Too embarrassed to see his face, you quickly gather your belongings into your arms, not even spending a few seconds to wear your coat back. “Thank you for inviting me. I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow?” And you don’t wait for an answer, only forcing yourself to laugh which comes out as strained and pitchy, before you head toward the front door.

“Wait.” Jaehyun has his right hand pressing against the back of the door, shutting it close before you have the chance to let yourself out. You’re trapped between the door and his chest, making it harder for you to breathe. “Can you look at me?” He firmly orders but promptly adds a soft, “Please,” when you’re not brave enough to respond to him. 

You turn around, hugging your purse and your coat to your chest, facing him but not meeting his eyes. You can feel him analyzing your expression, feel how heavy his gaze is on your face. He bends down slightly, hand reaching out to frame your face like before but you flinch, eyes shutting tightly before he can make any contact.

You can’t see the look on his face as you are too frightened to do so, but you can tell how much you hurt him by the sound of his voice. “You forgot your book,” he states, handing a copy of Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human.

“O-oh, right.” You sound so nervous, so afraid, and you don’t know why. “It’s okay. I won’t be able to read at home anyway—”

“I want you to have it.” It’s the first time he loses the warmth in his voice when he speaks and if you’re not too clouded by your thoughts, if you weren’t so selfish, you would’ve tried your best to fix the situation. But not right now. Right now, you just want to disappear. You want to run back home, run into Donghyuck’s arms like how you’re supposed to be. 

Because this is wrong. This isn’t supposed to happen. Not when you have another man waiting for your return.

You take the book from his hand, noticing how your fingers brush his and how they stay that way for a little too long, but Jaehyun doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry,” you mumble out, tears begin to prickle at the corner of your eyes and you’re still not sure why you’re on the verge of crying.

“Don’t be. It was my fault.” He notices your emotions, he always does, and it breaks you apart to know how much you’re breaking him right now. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Nothing happened,” you convince him, shaking your head and will your tears to go away before they fall down your cheeks. “We didn’t do anything.”

Jaehyun’s fingers curls, nails sinking into his palms as he tries his best to mask what he’s feeling. “You’re right,” he quietly repeats, “Nothing happened.”

***

“Where have you been?”

Your keys slip through your fingers at the sound of Donghyuck’s voice and you’re petrified, millions of thoughts running through your head as you try to come up with an excuse.

But why? Why do you have to come up with an excuse? “Nothing happened. We didn’t do anything.” Isn’t that what you said?

“Babe?”

You jump back a couple of steps when Donghyuck walks into your personal space with a frown breaking on his temple. He furrows his eyebrows deeper at your reaction. “You okay? You look kinda pale.”

“Yeah, umm—” You adjust the collar of your turtleneck shirt, suddenly feeling like you’re being choked. “It’s fine—I’m fine. I just had a long day at work.”

“Why didn’t you text me? I could’ve swung by to pick you up.”

You force yourself to smile at his offer. “Thank you. It’s okay, really. Were you waiting for me?”

“Well yeah, I wanted to eat dinner together. It’s been a while since we did that and I wanted to make it up to you.” He cutely pouts and you’re reminded of the reason why you’re so trapped under his spell. “Text me next time when you’re about to come home late so I don’t have to wait for you.”

There it is. It strikes again. The feeling of loneliness. Curling your fingers at the hem of your shirt, you weakly reply with, “I’m sorry.”

Because out of the millions of thoughts that run through your head, that’s the only thing you have the bravery to say out loud.

***

“Hyuck?” You call out, carding your fingers through his soft locks. Donghyuck has his head on your lap with his legs sprawled out, taking most of the couch. His eyes are glued to the screen of his Nintendo Switch, thumb moving frantically to land a new high score. “I think we need to talk.”

Donghyuck doesn't respond right away. After a few relentless movements of his thumbs, he shouts, “Fuck, not again! Goddamn, I gotta restart all over again.” You can see him renewing the game, picking a different character. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I just…” You’re nervous, feeling more so than the pain that swells in your chest from not being taken seriously. “It feels like we haven’t been spending time with each other. Properly, I mean.”

“We’re spending time together now, aren’t we?” He hisses when his character takes another damage from his opponent. “What, do you want to watch a movie or something?”

I want us to talk. I want us to laugh. I want us to listen to each other like we used to. “I’m not in the mood for movies right now.”

After taking another shot, Donghyuck groans. “Fuck this stupid game,” he grumbles, throwing his device to the coffee table. “You know what’s annoying? The fact that I could land a perfect high score when I was drunk as fuck but now, I can’t even get into top three!”

Your patience is growing thin, but even then, you can’t find the strength to confront him properly. “Hyuck…”

“Right, sorry.” He heaves a sigh, rubbing his head as he sits straight up, facing you properly. “What is it? Is there something wrong?”

You meet his gaze and you realize how rarely you stand in this position, with him looking directly at your face with concern in his eyes. Now that he’s paying you full attention, your vocabulary turns into a blank slate. Your lips are parted but your voice is nowhere to be found, as it is hidden by the fear of speaking beyond control once you let your emotions run loose. 

“I…” You begin, clearing your throat to sound less anxious. “Are you happy with me?”

He knits his eyebrows together. “Of course, I’m happy. What are you talking about? Have I done something to upset you?”

“No, it’s…” Your hands lay rigid on your lap, fingers tightening around each other. You weakly smile. “Nothing. I guess I just had some weird thoughts popping in my head.”

“Look, I promise you I’ll do the laundry this weekend,” he confidently convinces you, as if that was the problem you’re currently facing. He pokes you on the nose, grinning boyishly. “Stop acting so weird, you’re creeping me out. What else are you thinking about? If it’s sex you want, you just gotta ask. You know I’m down with it anytime you want.”

“Yeah, of course…” You can force yourself to laugh but every sound you make feels like a knife piercing against your heart. “Sorry, I was just being stupid. You can ignore me.”

“I won’t ignore you, how can I do that? Not when you’re this cute.” He giggles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. But his affection does not make the butterflies in your stomach come alive. It makes hot tears threatening to appear in your eyes. “I like your sweater,” Donghyuck coos, “Is it new?”

No, this is my third time wearing it in front of you. “Yes. I’m glad you noticed.”

“I always notice everything about you.” He ruffles your hair as he stands up, stretching out his arms above his head. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about? ‘Cause I’m dead tired.”

“No. Thank you for listening.”

“Anytime, babe.” He bends his head down to kiss you fully on the mouth, tongue running along your lower lip just to tease like usual. When he pulls away, he has his juvenile grin intact. “Well, I’m going to bed. If I wake up late tomorrow, you can re-heat the food. I’ve stored everything in the fridge.”

Donghyuck disappears behind the door before you can finish saying good night.

***

The sun’s about to set… He must have been there already.

It has been two days since you last saw Jaehyun. You know you’re not being fair avoiding him like this, but you don’t know what else to do. You’re not brave enough to face him after that. Have you been giving him signs? Was it your fault, was it the expression you made, was it the words you spoke, that made him lean towards you, asking for a kiss that you were more than eager to give?

“Hey, babe,” Lee Donghyuck chirps against your ear, arms finding their way to circle your waist, pulling you to his lap. “What are you doing?”

You’re successful at hiding your surprise but knowing it’s Donghyuck, anything will probably pass by without him realizing. Even when you have spent the last fifteen minutes reading the same paragraph in your book over and over again as your thoughts drift somewhere else. 

You have a boyfriend and it’s not Jaehyun. Donghyuck is everything to you now, isn’t he? Yet, if you hadn’t been interrupted by that phone call, you were sure you would’ve yielded to Jaehyun’s touch.

“Nothing happened. We didn’t do anything.”

You’re disgusted with yourself.

You throw a glance to the side, your nose nearly brushing his as Donghyuck settles his chin on your shoulder. Unlike Jaehyun who has a fresh, masculine scent, Donghyuck smells like summer and lilacs under the sun. It’s comforting and sweet, yet even after two years, it stills feels somewhat unfamiliar to you.

“Reading a book.” You shiver when he pushes your hair away, placing a lazy wet kiss on your nape, lips parted and tongue pressing against the skin. “Hyuck…”

“It’s okay, keep reading.” Whenever his mouth makes contact with your skin, he adds a hum or a moan to make sure you know that despite his words, he’s not giving you the chance to continue. “You want us to spend more time together, don’t you?”

You deeply exhale, staring lifelessly at the ceiling, sensitive skin being caressed but none of his touches pumps desire through your veins. Since when did I stop wanting him this way? You wonder, feeling guilty when Jaehyun’s face appears in the corner of your mind once more.

“Baby,” Donghyuck murmurs seductively against the skin, thin fingers slipping underneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your navel. “Hasn’t it been a while since we last did it?”

“It’s only been a week.”

“And that’s a week too long. I want you.” He strokes your cheek, guiding you to meet his eyes. “Can I touch you?”

It’s a rhetorical question since you both know you can’t say no when he demands something from you. “Of course.”

Donghyuck’s lips still taste the same, feel the same as they suck bruises on your delicate skin but the sparks are no longer there. He used to make you squirm with excitement, body begging under temptation. Sex used to be an adventure, a way for him to make you lose your mind, to have you gasping his name between moans, nails clawing against his back, thighs trembling under his fingertips.

Right now, sex is just… another glue to keep your relationship in place.

Clothes are discarded on the floor, and Donghyuck is sitting with you on his lap, his spine pressed against the couch, nails digging into your hips as he brings you down to take him inch-by-inch. He hisses when he feels you engulfing him with your warmth, head thrown back with lips parted in a blissful moan.

“No matter how much we’ve done it,” he chuckles, eyes glazed with lust. “I can never get enough of the way you’re taking me so well, baby.” Donghyuck is a very passionate lover and his lips love to praise, both by words and kisses. The way he calls your name, the way he whispers, “You feel so good around me,” often makes you wonder whether there would be any other man who will desire you this much. But is it love? Does he love you? 

Do you love him? 

You’re not sure. You don’t know yet. But you know he plays a huge part in your life. Donghyuck once added a spectrum of colors into your previously dull, monochromatic life. You care about him, think about him more than you should, even putting his needs and priorities above yours.

If that’s not love, then what is it?

“Donghyuck…” You flinch when he rocks his hips up, a bit too rough and forceful as he’s getting impatient with the pace you’re going. “I—I think I love you.”

It surprises you that these words can leave your lips but you don’t regret it. It’s the right thing to do, saying these words to him. It’s only natural after the amount of time you’ve spent with him. It’s a way to bridge the gap between you and him, to reignite the flame, to bring laughter back into your life. 

To fix the mistake you just made two days ago.

But maybe his thoughts are too clouded with lust, maybe your words are too quiet for him to hear, or maybe you haven’t said the words at all and everything is just playing inside your imagination but no matter what the reason is, Donghyuck doesn’t answer. The words that escape his lips are obscene, a sign that he’s about to finish and you let him pull you closer to his chest, let him sink his face in the crook of your neck, let him groan and release everything inside because that’s what you’re supposed to do.

“Did you get to come?” He asks, breathless and flushed when he’s finished. His bangs are glued to his temple, sun-kissed skin glistening with sweat and when he strokes your cheekbone with his fingers, they tremble from the pleasure that washed through his body.

“Yes.” You didn’t. You haven’t in a while. It’s not because you didn’t enjoy it. Donghyuck still moved in the way you wanted him to—in the way that used to untie the knots in your stomach, almost making you cry from how good it was. But you’ve begun to realize that there was a part of you missing and Donghyuck isn’t the right piece to complete the puzzle. 

Jaehyun.

The dread of having another man’s name running through your head is so much, it almost makes you vomit your insides. 

“Hyuck.”

“Yes, baby?”

“I said I love you.”

There’s no going around it this time. You’ve said the words, you’ve pronounced them loud and clear but when Donghyuck still doesn’t say anything, you wish the earth could swallow you whole. “Can you… say something, please…?”

“Baby,” he sighs, fingers framing your face so gently, it hurts you. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. It’s not that I don’t love you but—”

You’re stunned, shocked to your core at the incoming rejection but… that’s it.

You don’t feel anything. How can you not feel anything? You don’t feel hurt, you’re not disappointed, you’re just…

Relieved.

“Baby, are you listening?” Donghyuck calls again, grabbing you by your chin so he can peer into your eyes. “I like you. I really do like you. I like you so much but love is such a big word and for me to be committed that way is just… I don’t know, I haven’t figured out my feelings yet. I don’t even understand what love is. I just—I need more time.”

You’re lost for words. How can you tell him? How can you say that you’re so relieved he doesn’t love you back? How can you tell him that his action does not break you apart, but only makes you realize that you’ve just been forcing yourself to stay with him because it feels like it’s the right thing to do?

What if you’re just staying with him because you’re so afraid of being alone, not knowing that loneliness is the only thing he can offer you in return?

“I understand,” you quietly reply, climbing off his lap. Your knees wobble slightly under your weight as your mind travels somewhere else. You gather your clothes into your arms, placing them back on your body.

Donghyuck frowns at your reaction, calling your name as he stands up and pulls his jeans back to place. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you by saying it when I still don’t truly mean it the way you do.”

You can’t look at him, can’t meet his eyes when you can’t even understand how you feel. “I get it, Hyuck, it’s fine.”

But maybe Donghyuck is taking it the wrong way because his voice is laced with both exhaustion and desperation to make this feel any less terrible. “Babe, can we just talk—”

“I said, I’m fine!” You turn around to face him, head dizzy and heart palpitating. It scares you. It scares you that after all this time thinking Donghyuck was the one for you—all the things you’ve done, all the memories you’ve shared—you still don’t understand your feelings for him. You loved him once, you’re sure you loved him once. But is it love if the feeling isn’t eternal? Can you call it love when it fleets by so fast, disappearing without a trace as if it’s never existed in the first place?

To think that these two years you have spent with him would amount to nothing...

You take a deep breath, wishing your body and voice to stop shaking. When you look him in the eyes, there’s nothing but certainty written in your eyes. “You’re right, we need to talk.”

Donghyuck walks to your spot, hand resting against your waist, another one framing your cheek. “Please don’t be mad,” he whispers, and for the first time in the last few months, he does look sorry. “I’m happy to hear you say those words, I really do, but—”

“I want to break up.”

He freezes, jaw dropping low. “What?” 

“I want to break up with you, Donghyuck.”

“What—why—” His eyebrows are sewn together, and you take his hand away from your face, breaking free from his hold. “You’re breaking up with me because I can’t say I love you too?”

“No.” You exhale. “I’m breaking up with you because I feel fine with you not saying it back.”

He stands in silence, then his forced chuckles fill the air. “Babe, what are you talking about—”

“Are you happy with me?” The tremble in your voice has receded. “Be honest. Are you truly happy with me? Or are you just going along with everything because you’re so comfortable—so used to the situation of being with me—that you start to think as long as I’m not hurt, it’s fine. As long as I’m not alone, I can keep going with this relationship, even when I’m with someone who doesn’t truly understand me. Or accept the real me.”

Donghyuck releases the breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding. His voice is a pitch lower when he speaks, bitter and hurt. “Is that how you feel? All this time when we’re together?”

“No.” Your heart still breaks at the sight of his face. “I think I really did love you once, Hyuck. And if you had rejected me a few months earlier, I would’ve probably broken down crying. But now…” You grow stiff, noticing the infuriated look that’s plastered on his face. “I’m sorry.”

Donghyuck stays mute and the silence only adds more tension to the atmosphere. His teeth are grinding against each other when he replies. “Why did you even say you loved me if you weren’t fucking sure about how you felt?”

You twist your finger in the hemline of your shirt, in dire need of something to keep your emotions collected. “I thought it would make us grow closer again. To fix what’s lost between us,” you weakly admit, heart throbbing and breaking at the sight of him. “But then I realized that we shouldn’t say we love someone just because we have to. We should say it because we want to. Because we truly feel that way. But I didn’t feel anything when you didn’t say it back. I only felt… relieved.” 

The enraged look on his face forces you to drag your eyes to your feet and you stay still, breathing as quietly as possible. It’s only when Donghyuck starts to reach for his jacket, muttering, “I’m not having any of these bullshits,” as he walks passes you that you dare to look in his direction.

“How easy for you to put this all on me,” he declares with his fingers lingering on the doorknob, so spitefully it shocks you. “You probably think I’m dumb and insensitive, but I know. I’ve noticed the way you changed ever since you met him.”

“What?” His words feel like a slap to the face. “I don’t—”

“You know,” he cynically laughs into the air, throwing his head back. “Just because you found someone who makes you happy ‘cause he can quote your favorite lines, read your favorite books or listen to the same shit you like, doesn’t mean you can throw me away like I’m some fucking garbage.”

You’re petrified by his words. Somewhere in your head, you keep saying that the reason why you’re breaking up with him is that you’re so different from each other—that there would be little to no chance for the two of you to understand one another even if you’re given all the time in the world. But you can’t deny that there’s a part of you that completely rejects Donghyuck simply because you’ve stopped wanting him as much as you want Jaehyun. 

It sickens you.

“I’m…” It’s suffocating. The tension in the air, his eyes, the way your heartbeat is ramming against your ribcages. “I’m sorry...”

Your apology only aggravates him more and with gritted teeth, Donghyuck slams the door behind him, leaving you alone in the silence of your room.

Your apartment has never felt this big before.

***

It’s funny how you just ended your two years relationship with your boyfriend but Donghyuck isn’t the one you’ve been avoiding for months. It’s Jaehyun.

Something is gnawing at you from the inside, the feeling of guilt as if you just sinned. You didn’t cheat on your boyfriend. Physically, you didn’t. You’re attracted to Jaehyun, everybody would be to someone who owns such a handsome face and delicate features. But it’s more than just physical attraction because when you lay at night in your bed, alone and empty, it’s not his face that comes to mind. It’s the little thing he does, the way he listens to your words so attentively, the way he smiles—happy and sad at the same time, the way he greets you, the way he nibbles at his lower lip as he tries to think of a word to write on his note. 

And the dreams.

The dreams never stop, they only grow stronger. You can remember each and every one of them crystal clear when you wake up. They’re usually different every night but for the last few days, the atmosphere and the surroundings were the same. 

In the dream, you were lying down in a hospital bed, wearing nothing but your white gown, too weak to even lift a finger. Jaehyun was sitting on a wooden chair with a book in his hand—the one that he presented you as a gift in real life—while his other hand was holding yours, thumb tenderly gliding against your knuckles. He seemed much thinner, cheekbones growing prominent with dark eye-bags tainting his pale skin. But his smile was the same, just as warm, just as tender.

He was reading you a story, one that you had memorized by heart from how many times you’ve read it. But it’s different when he read the words out loud, voice melodious and soothing, like a mother’s lullaby. When it was over, he beamed at you, asking, “What’s your favorite part of the story?” And you opened your mouth but no words could come out. You were losing your voice, could only make croaking sounds and even that already put a strain on your body. You could see how much it broke him to hear you struggle but he waited patiently, hand squeezing yours tighter. 

“Me too,” he responded after he heard your answer, kissing your knuckles. “I like that one too.”

In another dream, you saw him sitting at the edge of your bed, his mouth still formed that beautiful, delicate smile, but his eyes were as heavy as the storm. You asked him, why, what’s wrong, trying your best to let your voice break free from your mouth. He brushed his fingers against your cheek, pushing your hair out of your eyes. “I won’t let anything separates us,” he said and it felt more like a promise than how it sounded. “Not time, not death, nothing. I will always be with you.” He let his lips linger on your temple as he whispered the next words. “So it’s okay if you want to sleep. I won’t be going anywhere.”

Then… I’ll see you again when I wake up.

“Yes.” He leaned closer, letting his lips meet your chapped ones in a chaste kiss. “I’ll see you again when you wake up.”

But by the time you opened your eyes, heart thrumming loudly inside your chest, with the sound of the alarm in your phone muffled by your pillow, you knew that in the dream, once you go to sleep, you’d never be able to wake up.

I have to see him.

***

Three months have passed since you last saw him. It’s funny that despite how close you are to each other, know each other like the back of your hand, you just only realize now that you haven’t given him a way to contact you. No home address. No phone numbers. No social media. You’re not even sure what his last name was. You never needed to know his contact details before. Every day, an hour before the sun is replaced by the moon, you will meet each other here in this library—that was the unspoken promise between you and neither of you ever broke it. Not until now. The second you stop coming to the library, you disappear from his life as well, as easy as snapping your fingers.

The quickest way to see him is by visiting the library. Today you will see him. You just have to.

It’s raining hard, hard enough to drench you to your socks, painting shivers to each of your fingertips. It’s a Sunday evening, the sun is an hour away from setting behind the horizon. But with how heavy the rain is going, the day will turn into the night before the sun can shine its light through the clouds again.

Hesitation arises within you as you take shelter on the porch, your shivering fingers circling the doorknob to the library. He might not even be here in this kind of weather, you miserably think to yourself. It wasn’t raining when you took your leave half an hour earlier but you should’ve noticed how thick and dark the clouds were. Your thoughts were too jumbled that you didn’t even think about carrying an umbrella with you.

But you’re already here and if he still keeps his promise…

You take a step inside.

Your clothes are drenched but thankfully they’re not dripping water to the carpeted floor. It’s warmer inside, so warm that you feel like you’re home, sitting close to a fireplace, basking in the scent of sandalwood. Your eyes naturally scan the room, taking a longer glance at the table where you usually sit in front of him, a book in your hands, a smile strapped to your face. Jaehyun’s nowhere to be seen.

He’s not here. Is it because of the rain? Or… Maybe he has stopped coming here to see me. 

You can only realize how important someone is to you when they’re gone and it hurts so much that you have to nip at your lower lip, fingers curling around the end of your sweater. 

I want to see him again…

“You’re here…”

You turn your head to the source of his voice, heart about to burst when you see Jaehyun stopping on his tracks, one hand holding the entrance door open, another one carrying a folded umbrella that drips water to the floor. He’s so stunned at the sight of you, he doesn’t even appear to be breathing. In a whisper, your name breaks free from his lips.

And you run towards him with all your might.

He nearly stumbles from how hard you’re crushing your body against his, his umbrella falling from his grip but he doesn’t push you away. Jaehyun is warm, warmer than everything you’ve ever held and you wonder whether you’re just freezing from the cold or he’s always been this comforting. It feels so natural to stay in his embrace, to be wrapped with his strong arms, to have him whisper your name against the shell of your ear. 

I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.

Jaehyun...

The first tear that slips down your cheek is an accident, as you don’t want him to see you cry. You don’t even know why you’re crying but you can’t stop. You sob against his chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his knitted sweater, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from crying harder but failing every time. 

Jaehyun never breaks away from your embrace. He does not care if people stare, does not listen to the murmurs being exchanged at the back of the room. He pulls you closer, one hand holding you around the waist and the other one stroking your damp hair. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he says, overwhelming you with his scent, his warmth, his voice, his everything and you still want more. His lips nearly brush against the tip of your ear when he whispers, “I’ve missed you.”

Your hands are now fisting the back of his sweater, pressing your cheek to his chest as you muffle your cry, focusing more on the sound of his heartbeat. It feels like a dream, one that you never want to wake up.

It’s only when you have the strength to pull away from him that he releases you. He swipes his thumb under your eye, erasing the stains of your tears. He looks at you in a way that is so different than the way Donghyuck used to. His gaze is softer, a mix between the feeling of relief for having you in his arms and a yearning to have more as if you’re still far away from his reach.

I want him to stare at me like this forever.

“You’re freezing,” he says, noticing the coldness of your cheek against his palm. “Would you like to come over to my place? I can make you something warm.”

You let out a tiny laugh. “That would be nice.”

***

Jaehyun’s sweater is too big that the hem falls to the middle of your thighs. Your clothes are in the dryer, making rumbling noise that’s loud enough to fill the awkward silence between you. Drying your hair with a towel he gave you, you take a seat next to him, careful enough not to invade his personal space too much.

“How are you feeling?” Jaehyun asks, handing you a cup of hot chocolate.

“Warmer now, thanks.” You wrap your fingers around the mug, seeing a cloud of steam erupting from your drink. 

“It’s been a while since we last saw each other. I’m glad you look fine.” 

“I am. I feel fine. More so than I’ve ever been.” And it’s not a lie. Being here with him, despite everything that happened, makes you feel at ease. He makes you feel as if you had been embarking on a trip for so long and now you’re finally home. “Were you, umm…” Were you planning to wait for me at the library? Have you been waiting for me all this time? Or was it just a mere coincidence that we bumped into each other again?

“Were I what?”

“Never mind.” You don’t have the bravery to do it. Flushed, you quickly take a sip of your drink.

“I was about to wait for you,” he suddenly confesses, nearly making you choke. “I was… worried about you. I kept wondering whether something bad happened.” His voice gradually turns into murmurs as he continues. “And I thought... After what happened... You hated me.”

The ticking sound of the clock echoes like thunder when silence hangs in the room. “I would never hate you, Jaehyun…” You’re unconsciously rubbing the edge of your mug with your thumb, eyes fixated on the glass instead of him. “There’s no way I could hate you.”

From the corner of your eyes, you could see him turning his head to face you. “Well, you stopped visiting for three months without leaving a word. It was hard for me to stay positive,” he says, a bit teasingly, “And I had no idea how to contact you either. I didn’t know what else to do but wait in the library every day until I could see you again. So that’s what I did.”

Blood is rushing to your face. He did wait for me. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” He chuckles and you just realized how much you missed hearing it. “You don’t need to. I’m glad we can meet again.”

“Me too.” You mirror his smile. “You know, you could’ve just looked me up online.”

“Then, why didn’t you?” He asks and your heart stops. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You have to tell him the truth, you owe him that much. “I couldn’t. The way Donghyuck looked at me when I broke up with him made me feel so guilty and I knew I would hate myself even more if I ran back to you right after.”

“Why?” Jaehyun questions in a whisper. “What did you feel guilty for?”

Your heartbeat roars so thunderously loud, you can hear it in your ears. “Because he said the reason why I broke up with him was that… I had feelings for you.”

Jaehyun stays in silence for a few seconds and it drives you insane. Eventually, he leans forward to lay his cup down on the coffee table. “So…” He hesitantly speaks. “Did you tell him he was wrong about that?”

You tighten your hold around your cup. “I…” Taking a deep breath, you confess. “I didn’t.”

And there are so many things to be said, but none of you dares to speak. The silence is deafening, its invisible arms strangling you little by little and you’re trapped, not knowing whether to ask him to respond or just run away before your heart explodes to pieces.

Jaehyun does that look again where he stares at you like you own his heart, giving you the permission to hold it or crush it however you like. “Your hair is still dripping water,” he says, reaching out to place his hands around the towel and gently dab your strands, squeezing out the excess water and he’s so close, you can truly see the color of his eyes. In the soft, yellowish light of his room, they’re a little bit darker, a stark contrast to his pale skin. You’re distracted with the way his eyes shimmer under the light, the way he breathes so softly, warm breath hitting your lips.

And you don’t know who initiate it, but for the next breath you take, you’re gasping for it against his mouth. Jaehyun’s lips move slow against yours, tentative and patient, waiting for you to react. But he doesn’t have to wait, not when you’ve been wanting to do this for so long. Not when both of you have been wishing for it to happen.

If your mind wasn’t too deluded with the thoughts of him, how he feels against your body, how he tastes on your tongue, how the low grunt and moan that escape from the back of his throat successfully send shivers down your spine, you would’ve probably thought about how different he was compared to Donghyuck. Jaehyun was so tender, cradling your figure so gently as if you were about to break into pieces if he moves too fast. His kisses aren’t as rushed and bruising as Donghyuck’s, but they’re deep and just as passionate, if not more. The effects that his lips have on your skin burn stronger than anything you’ve ever felt. And if you thought Donghyuck reminded you of the sun, Jaehyun was the blazing sun himself.

But you couldn’t think of Donghyuck. You can’t think of anything else but Jaehyun. Right now, he’s the only one that matters.

“Push me away anytime you want,” he says, eyes dark and hazy, as he circles a hand around your waist to press your body flat against his chest.

With one hand fisting his collar, you let your lips taste him once more. “I never want you to.”

Your soft gasp is muffled by the skin of his neck when Jaehyun lifts your body off the couch, and you tangle your legs around his waist for support as he carries you toward his bedroom. Despite the growing, overwhelming passion between you, he lies you down so gently on the bed, hovering above you as he paints your name at the skin below your ear. You let out a sigh, pulling him closer and closer until you can sink completely into his warmth. 

No words are being exchanged because they don’t need to. Jaehyun speaks with his eyes, expresses his feelings with his lips, and carves your body with nothing but affection and adoration with his gentle hands. It amazes you how different sex can feel when there are feelings involved. It’s a connection, not just between your body and his but your mind, your soul, and every bit of your heart.

You’re more sensitive to his touch that even the slightest slide of his finger can make you arch your back. Jaehyun swallows every gasp, every moan of his name that tumbles down your lips and you do just the same with his.

He only stops to give you the chance to catch your breath when he’s fully sheathed inside you. His fingers tremble as they caress your face. “Are you okay?” He asks, sounding breathless and hoarse. He looks even more beautiful like this, skin glistening with sweat, lips bruised and swollen by kisses, pale cheeks reddening at the feeling of you peering into his eyes.

You smile, gaze softening. “I’m fine.”

Jaehyun has never looked so content before, so relieved, so happy and it makes you feel something in your stomach—something that you haven’t felt for months—to know that you’re the reason behind his most genuine, beautiful smile. When he whispers, “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me,” into your ear, you know that he’s not talking about the time you were absent from the library. His words have more weight to them as if he’s been waiting for you for years as if you once belonged to him before something separated the strings between you.

“I’m going to move, okay?” Jaehyun murmurs against your lips, and you let out a shaky breath, nodding a little.

He takes it slow, waiting for you to adjust to his rhythm as he keeps his eyes on your expression to make sure he’s not hurting you in any way. His eyes are half-lidded, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a small moan, barely audible. He splays one hand on the inner part of your thigh, fingers pressing hard against the supple skin as he pins it down to the bed, spreading your legs wider so he can press himself deeper inside you.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers against your jawline. “So beautiful…”

You nibble at your lip, circling your arms around his shoulders, raking your nails down his back as he picks up the pace. He’s perfect, he’s so perfect at everything he does—the sway of his hips, the angle, the way he changes from giving shallow to deep thrusts in accordance to your expression, knowing exactly what you need. 

He kisses you every time you give him the chance and it makes everything a lot more intimate, makes you feel more vulnerable, makes you feel more exposed. “I’m in love with you,” he says, forehead pressing against your own. “I’ve always been… All this time…”

There’s a surge of joy washing through your entire body and it’s so intense, you find yourself hiding your face in the crook of his neck, your vision blurred with tears. How can you feel so complete when this is your first time with him?

“Jae—” You gasp, your thighs trembling as you wrap your legs around his hips, arms hugging his shoulders tighter. “Jaehyun, I’m—I’m close—”

At your words, Jaehyun untangles your arms from his body and sits on his heels. He takes a hold of your waist and slams his hips harder to yours, driving you to the edge until you’re left sobbing against the sheets. He pulls away on the last second to finish himself off, tainting your stomach as a low grunt breaks free from the back of his throat. His bangs are falling over his eyes, a bead of sweat rolling down from his chest to his lean stomach and he still looks like a painting, one that you can’t seem to stop admiring.

“Wait, don’t move,” he says as if you had the strength to do so. “I’ll clean you up.”

When he comes back from the bathroom, fully clothed in a white tee and black sweat pants, he takes care of you so attentively, dabbing warm towel along your skin, swatting the bangs out of your eyes. A gentle smile never leaves his face but he blushes whenever your eyes make eye contact, though not as apparent as the shakes on his fingertips. 

“You’re so good at this,” you tease him, propping your elbows on the bed. “Must have a lot of experience with women, I’m sure.”

“I’ve only ever been with you,” he answers and it doesn’t sound like a lie.

“What?”

His movement stops, acknowledging the appalled look on your face. “There’s… something you need to know.” He slips under the comforter, lying down on his side, and makes sure it covers your body to your shoulders to keep you warm. “That day, when we first met… It wasn’t our first time meeting each other.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyebrows are adjoined in the middle. “When did we first meet then?”

Jaehyun falls quiet, eyes searching yours. “In the same library,” he says, “Seventy-four years ago.”

***

“Where are we?” The question leaves your lips as you scan your surroundings. Jaehyun has taken you somewhere you haven’t been before, a rural area in the foothills of Jiri Mountain. After spending more than three hours drive from Seoul, seeing nothing but never-ending roads and traffic signs, it feels refreshing to see a charming little village, blanketed in a snow of white and soft pink, with the sound of water streams soothing your ears and cold wind of April caressing your cheeks.

“Hwagae,” he claims, his hand never leaving yours as he walks next to you, taking shorter strides to match your step. “People usually think that Jinhae is the best place to see cherry blossoms, but for me, it’s here.” He glances at the way your fingers are intertwined with his, smiling timidly to himself. “But maybe due to personal reasons.”

“Well, you’re not lying…” You murmur in awe, eyes widening at the sight of cherry blossoms trees that line the road, following both sides of a turquoise-blue stream, pebbles whisked about in the under wash like pieces of glitter. “It’s beautiful.”

You can hardly pay attention to anything else so when Jaehyun presses a kiss against your hairline, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. “It is, isn’t it?” He says, pushing some loose strands behind your ear. “Beautiful.”

With his eyes locked with yours, it seems like he’s praising something else and you look away, cheeks heating up at his words. “How long does this road goes?”

“Around four kilometers.” Jaehyun follows your steps. “There are more than a thousand cherry blossom trees around. Locals call this lane the Marriage Road as it is said that lovers who walk hand-in-hand under the trees will get married and live happily ever after.”

He tightens his grips around your hand, and you can swear your palm is getting sweaty from how nervous you are. “You just can’t stop making me blush, can you?”

“I’m just stating out facts.” He chuckles and it’s even more beautiful than the whole scenery. He’s more beautiful than anything you’ve seen. But when he speaks, all trace of humor has dissipated. “You may not remember but... This was the place where I asked you to marry me.”

You have seen it coming but it still shocks you, nonetheless. It’s easier to treat him as a liar who’s telling superstitious stories and pointing things about you because he’s a stalker that knows more about you than he should. But the more he tells his stories, the more they feel like the truth and it’s not just a hunch. His stories are his versions of the dreams you’ve been having. The dreams that you’ve gotten ever since you first met him, and you never told anyone about that.

As you take a seat on the nearest bench, Jaehyun hands you his journal—the one he’s been using to write his novel. “I think it’s time for you to read the story.” But as you reach out to open it, he lays his hand on top of yours. “Before that,” he says, “Remember what I asked you? I want you to guess the ending for me.”

You’ve never thought about it, never imagined how the ending of his story would unravel. He has told you that it was about a pair of lovers meeting each other by fate and separated tragically by death, you knew that much. But anything could’ve separated them, whether it was because of sickness, accident, or simply because of old age, you could’ve guessed wrong. Yet, when your lips moved without thinking, providing answers that make your heart jolt, Jaehyun smiles and says, “Correct.” He then opens the book and gives you the chance to run your eyes through every passage. It’s written in a first-person narrative, allowing you to see through Jaehyun’s eyes as he unveils his story. 

The female lead has your name.

Every line. Every word. Every description. They feel like deja vu and the tiny hairs at your nape begin to raise. Your fingertips tremble as they move to open new pages. These are memories. They truly happened in the past. As you read, you can feel your own coming back, little by little, and by the time you’re halfway through the story, you can guess the next part that’s about to happen or correct little details that may have slipped from his mind.

“They were lilies,” you say, fingers tracing his perfect handwriting. “Not white roses.”

“What?”

“The flowers you gave me on our first anniversary.”

Jaehyun takes a shaky breath, and when he chuckles it sounds like a peal of tiny laughter and a choked sob at the same time. “Is that so?” He weakly asks, fixing his gaze to his lap. “I’m sorry, I must have forgotten.”

But he remembers everything else, everything that matters, even the way he felt back then. You could tell the love he once experienced with you through his eyes, the longing he has suffered as he waits for you to remember him once more, and the agony of being separated from you.

It’s easier to cry than to breathe when the memories of your past life start to dawn on you but you provide your best effort to stay reserved. There are more you need to learn.

The reason why he visited the library was not because he lived nearby. He moved there so he could visit the library, as it was the first time he met you in the previous life. “I was hoping she would remember the place as it was something we both grew fond of,” Jaehyun wrote in his journal, “She always thought I had a passion for books. She was wrong. She was the one who taught me that stories could mean something more. That they could make you feel alive, make you feel something you’ve never experienced just by words. I’d like to believe that these stories were the ones who brought us together, so we could create our own and maybe then, we could inspire other people—to make them feel alive with our stories.

I waited for her every day, from one season to another. The memories I have of her have always been there with me ever since I could remember, but that did not guarantee hers would resurface. Maybe she was looking for me. Maybe she was not. Either way, I couldn’t give up. I would not give up. 

And finally, one day, I saw her again. In the same library, with the same little smile she always had whenever she had her eyes fixated on her book. She appeared exactly the same as the first time I met her 74 years ago. I could not breathe, trapped between reaching out to her or just standing still in the distance, because when our eyes met for a brief second, she looked away. 

She did not remember me.

I was crushed. Devastated. I was nothing but a stranger. Twenty-five years I had been searching for her and now that she stood before me, I lost the ability to speak. It took me another week until I could find the bravery within me. I tried my best to appear as nonchalant as possible, even when my heart was breaking, even when my hands were shaking. I sank my nails into my palms so I wouldn’t take her hand and pull her into my embrace. When she told me her name, I was shocked. Her last name was different but her first name was the same, and I wanted to laugh. Fate could be so cruel, letting her keep her name but not her memories. 

But memories could be re-created, and I learned that none of her habits had changed. I might be a stranger, but to me, she was not. She was my wife and I wanted to hold her. I wanted to tell her I love her and hear her say the words back to me. I was ready to start over, to make her fall in love with me once more but before I could even begin, I learned that she had belonged to someone else.

And what killed me was that… She did not look happy with him.”

Your breathing stalls. Everything makes sense now. He’s been holding everything to himself. This was the secret he kept from you. And that time when he almost kissed you… What did you say to him?

“Please don’t pretend, not when you’re with me.”

That’s what he did. He stopped pretending. 

And you pushed him away, treating both of your feelings and his like a mere high school crush when they were something deeper than anything you’ve ever had. 

You place your lower lip between your teeth, nibbling at it until it grows white. He must have been so hurt, you realize, I’m the worst.

“Are you okay?” Jaehyun asks, reaching out to take your hand. “You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I—” You shake your head, hoping the tears won’t fall. You give him a reassuring smile. “I want to. I need to remember.” Your smile doesn’t deceive him but he gives you the space you need, believing the honesty in your words.

Your marriage with him only lasted for four years before you passed away in your sleep, your weak lungs could no longer support your system, and through his story, you learned that Jaehyun followed you to the place he shouldn’t have. Because just a few minutes later after you took your final breath, he slit both of his wrists with a knife and hugged your body close to his chest, his blood drenching the white sheets underneath. His lips lingered against your hairline as he spoke, “I’ll see you again when you wake up.”

His neat handwriting starts to turn into dark splotches of ink as it is tainted by your tears. You’ve remembered. You’ve remembered everything. Everything that makes you happy and everything that hurts, you’re reliving each and every one of them. 

“Why?” You sob, shoulders quivering as you try to keep your emotions contained. “Why did you do that? You could’ve lived for many more years. Could’ve found someone else.” You bury your face in your palms, voice muffled by your skin. “You could’ve been happy without me.”

You can’t see how he looks at you, can’t feel his touch as he’s nowhere near, but you hear him take his breath. “My mother used to say,” he says, “that two people who are meant to be would always find their way to each other, even in the afterlife.” Jaehyun moves and kneels on the ground in front of you, his hands prying yours away from your face and his smile has never looked this blissful. “That’s why,” he continues, voice so soft it’s almost as light as the wind. “If there’s a chance, no matter how little it is, for me to see you again I would gladly trade my eternity for it.”

There are emotions you can’t explain, ones that you can’t understand. Emotions that make you cry as if the world was ending but also ones that make you feel so blessed to be born into this world, to be able to see him again, to witness his beautiful smile, his beautiful soul, and the beautiful love he has for you.

“Why are you crying?” Jaehyun chuckles softly but the quiver in his voice betrays him. He strokes your cheek, drying your tears with the pad of his thumb. 

Leaning into his touch, you sob against his palm, “I love you,” you confess, “I love you, Jaehyun. Even if my memories never came back, I’d still fall in love with you. Over and over again. I’m sorry you had to wait—”

Jaehyun abruptly stands on his knees, pulling you into his embrace. As your eyes widen in surprise, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, whispering, “If I had to wait a thousand years to be able to have this one moment with you, I’d gladly do it in a heartbeat.” His shoulders begin to shake and you wrap your arms around them, drenching the fabric of his shirt with your tears. “I love you too.”

There’s a voice inside your head that says, ah... so this is how it feels. 

Love... is not so complex after all. It doesn’t have to be. It’s not something to be understood. It’s not something to be thought endlessly. It’s not a choice to be made.

It’s a feeling, and feelings are meant to be felt. And you realize that happiness does not only emerge when your love is answered with the same passion. Happiness is already there in your heart just by loving him. You love him. You just love him. Entirely. Infinitely. 

So you kiss him with the biggest smile you can make, you pull him close with every strength that you have and you let him stay. In this life or another, you will let him stay.

And you will see him again when you wake up.

***