#...i could have made a collage with a lot more but i was lazy...

[eddiessluttywaist]

the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: romantic night at the trailer, based off of this prompt!

pairing: bf!eddie x gf!reader

word count: 1, 944 words

content/warnings: MDNI, fluff, kissing, lots of touchy feels, a lil smutty?

a/n: creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage! also would like to credit @carolmunson for this prompt and @mrsjellymunson for tagging me! I haven’t written for eddie in so long, and this was a great way to get back into it <3 thank you! hope you enjoy my contribution <3

You basked in the scent of Eddie’s bedding, how he was ingrained into each and every fiber. Every motion, every shift of the sheets, you could smell him. He had foolishly left you to your own devices in his bedroom (which was surprising since the last time he did that, you almost dared touch his Sweetheart) so you indulged.

You curled up in the sprawling mess of blankets and sheets then grabbed the small throw pillow you had embroidered for him and buried your face in it. It was a delicate, pretty, little thing that stood out in his room even with its DnD theme, but he loved it. He loved that you made it, that you put so much effort into it just for him, so he slept with it every night. Unfamiliar with the concept of purely decorative pillows, he didn’t realize most people tucked such things off to the side before getting into bed each night. So, it smelled like cigarettes, convenience store aftershave, and his shampoo. The scent filled you with dizzying affection, only pulling it away from your face to then hug it to your chest as he walked back into his room.

“I ran out of, like, nice cups. This okay?” he asked as he blew into one of the mugs and then used the bottom of his shirt to wipe it down. He was planning on cleaning those cartoon-themed cups properly for some absurdly fancy hot chocolate you had brought back from your family vacation. He was even planning on making another case for not wasting it on him, but, of course, his attention strayed easily when you were in his bed.

When his gaze finally fell on you, a lazy smile quirked up one side of his mouth. The handles of the mugs hung off the curl of his fingers which rested against his hips now as he took in the sight of you. He tilted his head to put it at the same angle as yours, his favorite pillow in your arms. You were an unbelievably endearing sight. The love that filled him was fluttery and overwhelming.

“And who said you could hold my favorite pillow?” He teased, sauntering over to the bed.

“I made it,” you scoffed with a smile.

He hums lazily in response, that crooked grin still hanging around as he shoved at the clutter on his bedside table. He picked up a small notebook, brow furrowed as he observed it only to haphazardly toss it towards his dresser to make more room. It was that or your tub of Betty Crocker, and he knew better.

You stared at his forearms, drinking in the movement of the musculature underneath. The warmth of his bedside lamp made it even better to watch the lines and curves of his tattoos beneath its comforting, golden light. How could something so simple be so beautiful? Your focus then trailed to the perfect structure of his hands as the mugs slid down his fingers. The ceramic cups clinked against the surface of the old table.

“I think as the creator, I have some right to hold it too,” you continued to make your case while he crawled into bed with you, giving you that subtle mischievous look he always got when he was toying with you.

His strong arms wrapped around you to secure you closer to him.

“I worked very hard on it, y’know.”

Eddie let out an “Is that right?” kind of sound, the texture of his jeans scratching against the bedding. He pulled you into him with such a desperate need to squish you as close as possible as if he thought you might be leaving soon. Those brown curls tickled your jaw while he nuzzled the side of your neck, audibly breathing you in.

“And it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to embroider all that Dungeons and—”

He finally pulled back to cut you off, smushing his face against yours in a way that made you giggle. Eddie’s kisses were always lazy and sloppy this late at night, but you loved them that way. His lips were warm albeit a bit rough from all the anxious biting that he abused them with. A pleased hum left him and vibrated deep in his throat, his large hands encasing the sides of your face and his fingers tangling in your hair. His rings would probably tug a strand or two when he pulled them away, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

The way your body relaxed reassured him, and he slid his arms down to pull you in again so your stomach could be flat against his own. Then, he let out a small chuckle when he had to separate from you to pluck the throw pillow out from between you. Eddie placed it elsewhere with emphasized tenderness while you stared at those ruddy lips that you missed already.

“Pillow was in the way,” he murmured in a low tone, kissing you back as you pulled him in for a few more pecks.

“And here I was thinking you were starting to love it more than me.”

“Aw, now don’t be like that. You know that’s not true,” Eddie drawled, grinning over that unconvincing little pout you gave him.

He sat back on his legs to move the bedding out of his way, then pulled you forward by your thighs which he readily settled in between. There was nothing he wanted more than to be thoroughly pressed against you. It wasn’t even about sex, at least not always. He just loved the feeling of you being so close to him. The softness of your stomach against his taut abdomen. The plushness of your chest pressed against the flat planes of his own. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the way your bodies fit together too, but he’d melt into you if he could.

Eddie was the type to lean into you while you were walking together, ending up so close that his wallet chain would keep bumping against you. He always sought out your hand to hold or your shoulders for him to drape his arm across (which of course always ended up with him folding you into him so your face would press against a Hellfire symbol or band name, and he could settle his chin on the top of your head). 

“I don’t think I believe you.”

You crossed your arms, failing to keep up with your façade, especially with that smile and those dimples.

“Well then, my dramatic lil lady,” He spoke with that same theatrical cadence that he used during campaigns, his brow furrowed with determination. You groaned over the incoming mawkishness, rolling your gaze up to the ceiling and smiling to the point that the apples of your cheeks ached.

“I suppose I must convince you.”

His hand settled on the side of your neck, thumb brushing against the center of your throat as he dipped down for another kiss.

“You’re so corny,” you laughed against his lips. 

“And you… taste like vanilla,” he sighed, laughing with you after.

“Mm, well, that is the work of Ms. Betty Crocker,” you smiled up at him, gently tapping his nose. “Speaking of…”

Eddie groaned, mentally cursing himself for even bringing it up as you squirmed out from underneath him to grab the container from behind the abandoned mugs. He watched you intently while you sucked a scoop of frosting off your finger. When you met his gaze, he gave you a cheeky grin that he failed to conceal by biting his lip and then wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“You’re a child,” you snorted, reaching out to tap some frosting onto the tip of his nose.

“And you’re devastating,” he countered in a voice so sickeningly saccharine with love that you wiped the frosting right back off. He caught your hand and sucked the sugar from the pad of your thumb before you could fully pull back.

“Who knew the local bad boy could be such a softie,” you teased softly, scooping some more frosting to feed it to him. Eddie playfully bit down just enough to make you laugh.

“I believe you mean ‘the local freak.’”

“Mm, tomato, tomahto,” you shrugged, lapping up some more frosting off your finger. His rich umber eyes seemed to glitter in the dull lighting, his pupils dilating. You looked up at him through your lashes when you felt his stare.

“We’re gonna have a problem if you keep doing that,” Eddie’s voice was rough even as he smiled over you.

“What?” you laughed, full of faux innocence. He just smirked. “No, what?”

“You know what.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you shrug, going to scoop some more frosting out when he snags the tub from you.

“Wh— hey!”

You already missed his warmth when he sank back onto folded legs, dipping his forefinger into the tub.

“You’re gonna get your rings all sticky,”

You blushed when that made him cackle, but you at least got the comfort of his body again as he hunched over you. His smile was tangible against the side of your neck, his hair tickling you again.

“Not the only thing that—”

“Eddie, shu-u-ush,” you laughed, and he flattened himself on top of you again, leaving tacky, sugary kisses on your neck while you pried the vanilla frosting from his hand. He gave up on keeping it from you, happy to have a free hand again to seek out your waist with.

Holding the container with one hand, you arched your other arm over him to scoop just one more—you swore just one more! —fingertip of frosting, but he was pulling back before you could even dip into it.

“Gimme that—”

“So rude taking things from me today,” you tutted, watching with a pout as he fed himself some of your treat.

“Have to have you all to myself,” he mimicked some toxic-alpha-dude-type bravado, but he couldn’t even get through it without chuckling at the end.

Eddie prodded at the dwindling supply of Betty Crocker’s then tossed the container back onto his bedside table. But you reached out to catch his wrist and brought his index finger to your mouth before he could bring it to his own.

He groaned, leaning onto one elbow while he gawked at you. His full lips parted at the sight of you, his thumb brushing against your cheek as you sucked on his finger. Damn.

“You never play fair.”

“And you like that,” you stated proudly once he slid his finger back out of your mouth.

“Course I do,” he grunted, sliding the pad of his thumb over your lower lip. “May have taken a few attempts to graduate, but I’m not that dumb.”

Your following giggle was breathy and fleeting as you sunk into the tension filling the room. You took in the growing heat in his gaze that tracked his thumb while it hooked your bottom lip. He mimicked opening his own mouth as you did so without even being asked, making him smile and drag his tongue over his lip. He slid his pointer finger down your tongue again, letting it trail down until he was holding your chin between his curled finger and thumb. Keeping your chin down and lips parted, he leaned in. The kiss was firmer—more determined—and desperate. He was putting every ounce of his desire into you, and this time you were the one melting. You felt like you were sinking deeper into that old mattress, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him with you.

[minhosbitterriver]

──── * ˚ ✦ ECHOES OF US ( stray kids )

❛ After a painful breakup, you and Jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 12.6k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 50 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Say hello to my very first long-fic! It took me an eternity to get this done, but I'm actually very proud of how it turned out! Also, my very rough draft for this was accidentally posted a few days ago, so if you saw that...no you didn't! This was anonymously requested! (Anon, I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to finally finish this, but I hope I made up for it with how long it ended up being 🫠) Reblogs for this teaser are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of sibling death and grief, very brief mention of a dysfunctional home, use of they-them pronouns for Y/N, brief explanation of sibling death, Y/N's sibling has their own name, mentions of being abandoned, heartbreak, awkward re-encounter after almost a year, discussions on mental health, a whole lot of angst, comforting ending, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

When Jeongin stepped through the door he had once shared with you, a sense of dread already coiled tightly around his heart, squeezing with every breath. He knew you'd kept your promise to move out by the end of the week, but the reality of it hit harder than he could have imagined. The front hallway, once cluttered with a chaotic jumble of shoes that you always left haphazardly by the entrance, now stood painfully bare, save for his own neatly aligned row of frequently worn sneakers. The absence of your presence echoed louder than any argument ever had, and suddenly he found himself longing for those moments of trivial annoyance—wishing, with a deep, aching desire, that he could quarrel with you about it just once more.

He kicked off his sneakers, setting them carefully amongst the rest of his now lonely footwear. For a moment, he stood there, hesitant, almost willing to call out your name, hoping against hope that you might answer from the bedroom or kitchen, your voice cutting through the oppressive silence that now smothered the apartment. But he knew better. He moved forward with heavy steps, not even bothering to put on his house slippers. The silence that greeted him as he wandered further inside was a deafening reminder of what he had lost. You were gone, and with you, the vibrant energy that had once filled these walls had vanished too.

The living room—once a collage of your combined tastes—was now stripped of the personal touches that made it home. The furniture remained, the couch where you both had laughed and argued, the coffee table marked with rings from careless mugs of tea during lazy mornings. Yet, all the little decorations, the framed art you insisted on hanging, the plants you’d tried so hard to keep alive—they had all disappeared with you. The emptiness was jarring, like a canvas half-painted and abruptly abandoned, leaving every wall and surface barren, the once warm and cozy atmosphere now reduced to a cold, unfamiliar space.

By the time Jeongin reached the bedroom, the last thread of his fragile composure snapped. The bed—where countless memories had been woven—was stripped down to its bare mattress, the sheets gone. The framed photographs of the two of you were turned face down on the bedside table, as if you couldn’t bear to look at them one last time. His eyes moved to the corner where your ridiculously large collection of stuffed animals had once spilled over, crowding half of the bed. That too was empty now. An overwhelming wave of loss washed over him, dragging him to his knees. 

Jeongin's breath came out in shaky gasps as he looked around the hollow shell of what had been your shared sanctuary. You were truly gone. Though he had been the one to end things between you, a decision made in a moment of confusion and pride, he was still hopelessly, painfully in love with you. The realization of his own foolishness crashed over him with unbearable weight, suffocating him in the silence that was once filled with your laughter, your presence, and your love.

Jeongin couldn’t summon a shred of resentment toward you, even if he tried. He understood, all too painfully, that everything that had unraveled between you over the past year was nothing but a sorrowful consequence of your grief. You had once been a soul overflowing with light, always searching for the silver lining amidst the clouds, a spirit who could find a glimmer of hope even in the darkest of times. You, who would often conspire with his mischievous best friend, Seungmin, forming a relentless duo to tease him until he’d feign a pout, forcing you to shower him with kisses until he laughed again. You, who came home every evening brimming with stories about the children you counseled at the school, your eyes alight with passion and care for each of them. All that Jeongin had loved so deeply about you seemed to have been buried alongside your sister, Nari, and this loss was a truth he still grappled with, even now.

As he crawled onto the empty, cold bed that had once been a warm sanctuary for both of you, Jeongin curled into himself, his body folding inward as if trying to shield himself from the harsh reality. His sobs came in ragged waves, tearing through him so violently that he trembled, his breath hitching with each shaky inhale. He missed you more than words could convey—he missed everything about you. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, its tones shifting with your moods: soft and lyrical when merely amused, and loud, unrestrained when joy truly overwhelmed you. He missed those sounds, the ones that used to fill this now desolate space with life and love.

He missed the lazy afternoons you'd spend together, brainstorming new exercises for his music therapy sessions. Those moments would often devolve into impromptu concerts, filled with your carefree, barefoot dancing across the living room floor and his voice following your lead, blending into a harmony of shared happiness. It was in those moments that everything felt right in the world, where nothing existed but the two of you, lost in your own little universe of melodies and movements. He missed those afternoons like one misses the warmth of the sun after too many days of rain.

He missed teasing you in those quiet moments when you were deeply focused, often catching you sticking your tongue out ever so slightly—a quirk of concentration that never failed to endear him. He’d gently pinch it between his fingers, earning himself a mildly exasperated huff as you’d swat his hand away. But he knew that a smile would inevitably creep up on your lips, and you’d turn away to hide it, cheeks flushing with a mix of amusement and affection. It was the kind of simple, tender moment that spoke volumes about the depth of your bond, a bond that now felt irreparably severed.

Every corner of this home whispered memories of you, and he was haunted by them all—the good, the bad, the ones that made him laugh, and especially those that made him cry. Your absence left a void that nothing could fill, a hollow silence where there had once been laughter and love. And even though he knew it was your grief that had driven a wedge between you, he couldn’t help but wish he could find a way back to you, to the person you used to be, and to the love that once made him feel whole.

The night that shattered your world was meant to be a day of celebration: your younger sister Nari’s high school graduation. Jeongin could still see you in his mind's eye that morning, almost vibrating with pure, uncontainable joy. Your eyes were bright, brimming with excitement, and your smile—so wide and beautiful—tugged at his heart each time it graced your lips. Nari was the center of your universe, your pride, your joy, your true soulmate in a world that often felt uncertain and cold. You had been more than just a sister to her; you had been her guardian, her comforter, her everything. You were the one who took on the weight of raising her through the chaotic turmoil of your parents' messy divorce, providing stability where there was none. 

Jeongin could recall countless times Nari would recount how you shielded her from the constant, venomous arguments that echoed through your childhood home. Despite your own young age, you found ways to distract her, to pull her out of the chaos—whether it was with whispered jokes or made-up games that filled her mind with something brighter than the screaming. To Nari, you were a star, someone who had hung the moon just for her. She often spoke with a mix of awe and adoration about the afternoons you both spent sneaking into the little ice cream shop on the way home from school, spending hours laughing over melting cones until you were sure your mother had left for work. 

Jeongin also remembered the quiet, tender moments he would witness after you had graduated and moved out. Nights when Nari would sleep over, curled up beside you, as if you were her very own safe haven in a world that could be so unforgiving. There was a beauty in how you held her close, how you seemed to provide her with an anchor when everything else felt adrift. Yet, no relationship, no matter how deeply cherished, is without its storms. For as vividly as Jeongin could remember the soft, loving moments, he could just as clearly recall the bitter weeks leading up to Nari's graduation—weeks marked by harsh words and heated arguments.

You and Nari shared many things—your fierce loyalty, your protective instincts—but perhaps most notably, the sharp edge of your words. When tempers flared, both of you possessed a mercilessly cutting tongue that could lash out with a force that left deep, stinging wounds. Jeongin hated those fights, hated the cruel things you would shout at each other in the heat of the moment, words that cut so deeply and yet meant nothing once the anger faded. The conflict had started when Nari began dating an older guy who had already graduated. Neither you nor Jeongin liked him, sensing the danger in his recklessness, his penchant for illegal activities that threatened to drag your sister down a path she wasn't prepared for. But Nari, stubborn and convinced she had found the love of her life, refused to listen. The tension between you both grew unbearable, each argument driving another wedge between you and your beloved sister, and Jeongin could do nothing but stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as she slowly pushed you away.

The real fracture came on what should have been a night of celebration. Nari was supposed to have dinner with you and Jeongin to celebrate her graduation. She promised to meet you both, to share in the joy of her achievement, but instead, she turned off her phone and ran off with her boyfriend to a party that everyone knew would be dangerous. For hours, you and Jeongin called and texted, reaching out to everyone who might have known where she was, each unanswered ring heightening the tension, every minute stretching into a painful eternity. 

And then, the call came—the one that brought your entire world crashing down. Nari had been found dead inside her boyfriend’s car. Both were intoxicated when he decided to drive, his recklessness steering them straight into a tree. The impact killed them both instantly. 

Jeongin would never forget the sound that tore through you in that moment, a wail of agony so deep and raw it seemed to shatter the very air around you. It was a sound that would forever echo in his heart, a haunting melody of a love lost too soon and a pain that could never be soothed.

The piercing sound of Jeongin's phone ringing in his back pocket cut through the thick, oppressive fog of memories that had been drowning him ever since he stepped into the cold, empty apartment that was once alive with the warmth of your shared moments. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of his own heartbreak, his face still wet with a cascade of tears that seemed endless. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, letting it fade away into the void of everything else that felt lost to him. But something compelled him to move, to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. The screen flashed with a name: Chan. 

Jeongin’s first instinct was to let it ring out. He wasn’t sure he could bear the gentle, pity-laden concern he knew he would hear in Chan’s voice. The idea of facing someone else’s worry, of being forced to articulate the emptiness clawing at his chest, felt like too much. But he also knew that Chan wasn’t just calling for the sake of it—he was worried. Maybe that thought, the notion that someone still cared enough to reach out, was what finally convinced Jeongin to answer. With a shaky breath, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yes?” His voice came out rough and broken, as if he’d swallowed shards of glass, a hoarse rasp that even he barely recognized. On the other end, there was a sharp intake of breath, a small hitch that spoke volumes, followed by the sound of Chan clearing his throat in that awkward, nervous way he had when he didn’t know how to approach a delicate subject.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Chan’s voice was gentle, tentative, as if afraid that anything more might cause Jeongin to shatter completely. The simple question, so innocuous yet loaded with care, brought fresh tears to Jeongin’s eyes. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure, not wanting to add more weight to Chan’s worry.

“As well as I can be...everything is gone.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, sinking like stones into the silence that followed. There was a sigh on the other end, deep and empathetic, filled with an understanding that was both comforting and unbearable.

“I’ll stop by later, yeah?” Chan’s offer came with a note of encouragement, trying to lift the heavy blanket of despair. “I can bring Minho so he can cook you some food, and we can figure out what comes next.” There was kindness in his words, an attempt to pull Jeongin from the pit he’d found himself in, but the weight pressing on Jeongin’s chest didn’t budge, didn’t ease in the slightest.

“Maybe another time, Channie, thank you,” Jeongin murmured, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who had been running a losing race against his own emotions. “I think I just need a few days alone.” The silence that stretched between them after was telling, thick with Chan’s unspoken disapproval. Jeongin could almost see the frown on his friend’s face, the way he’d be chewing on his lip, holding back what he really wanted to say.

Eventually, Chan spoke again, his tone carefully measured, almost as if he were walking on eggshells. “Right. Um, hey...Felix wanted to pay Y/N a visit to make sure everything’s alright and to help with the moving. The problem is, none of us really know where they moved, and we thought that maybe they might’ve told you or something?”

The mention of your name was like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of the knife that had already been embedded in his heart. Jeongin’s breath caught, and he could feel his throat tightening, the sting of tears threatening to spill over once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay composed, to not break apart all over again.

“No,” he sighed after a moment, rolling onto his back and staring up at the empty, featureless ceiling that seemed to stretch on like an abyss. “I thought you guys would’ve known... but maybe Y/N needs some time alone for a while too. I’m sure they’ll call when they’re ready.”

The words felt hollow, a brittle hope that tasted more like ash on his tongue, but it was all he could offer. And in the silence that followed, Jeongin could only listen to the faint sound of Chan’s breathing, the weight of their shared helplessness settling in like a cold, unwelcome presence in the room.

Jeongin had clung to a fragile hope that, in time, you would reach out to the circle of friends who had once been your shared lifeline. He never imagined that you would confide in him directly—he knew all too well that the pain of his departure still festered like an open wound. You had made it painfully clear how much you resented him for breaking things off when you needed him most. He could still hear your voice, raw with anger and hurt, echoing in his mind as you stormed out of the apartment for the last time.

But never in his darkest nightmares had he expected you to vanish completely, as if swallowed by the earth itself. There wasn't even a whisper of your whereabouts, not the faintest trace left behind to hint at where you might have gone. It was as if you had been erased from existence. When you left, you didn't just walk out of Jeongin's life—you walked away from everything that had tied you to this place. You resigned from your job as a school counselor, the one located just a short distance from Jeongin’s apartment where you had once found solace in guiding young lives through their own turmoil. Your phone number had changed, your social media accounts lay abandoned and untouched, gathering digital dust like forgotten relics of a past life.

For what felt like an eternity, each member of your once tightly-knit group of friends wore the weight of worry like a second skin, tirelessly searching for any sign of you, some confirmation that you were still out there, somewhere, still breathing. Nights were spent in hushed conversations and whispered theories, each one more desperate than the last, wondering if you were even alive. The silence you left in your wake was deafening, a void that consumed every bit of hope they tried to hold onto.

Yet, as the months dragged on and there was still no word—no signal, no letter, not even a single fleeting message—Jeongin and the others were forced to confront a harsh new reality. The absence of your presence became a palpable thing, a hollow emptiness that settled in their chests. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to understand that they might never see you again. And in that painful understanding, they had no choice but to piece together their broken hearts and try, however feebly, to move forward. 

But even as they moved on, a part of Jeongin remained anchored in that lingering silence, waiting for the day it would finally break.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Eight months had passed since you vanished without a word, leaving behind a void that swallowed everything and everyone you once knew. Jeongin found himself seated on a low stool in the center of his sunlit office, a space designed to cradle broken spirits. The room was filled with warmth, the soft, earth-toned walls bathed in a gentle, golden glow that made it feel like a sanctuary amidst the chaos. Around him, cushions were scattered like islands of comfort, and the soft hum of a guitar rested against his body, its strings vibrating gently with each subtle shift of his calloused fingers.

In front of him, a small group sat in a circle, each person a vessel of silent sorrow. Some had their eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the world, while others stared ahead, their gazes distant, lost in the labyrinth of their own pain. Today’s session was centered around grief—a familiar theme that Jeongin had come to understand all too well. His eyes swept over the group, his expression soft and understanding, a silent invitation for them to share their burdens. Directly across from him, a young woman who had recently lost her mother sat rigid, her shoulders taut as bowstrings, her fingers anxiously picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve. Beside her, an elderly man kept his gaze fixed on his wrinkled hands, folded so tightly in his lap it seemed as if he was afraid he might fall apart if he let go.

Jeongin's fingers began to dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a few gentle notes that floated through the room like a soft breeze on a warm day. The melody was simple, almost like a lullaby—tender and soothing, a soft hand reaching out in the enveloping darkness. It was a song he had crafted with your help, your voice whispering in his mind, guiding the melody with your mesmerizing ideas and gentle critiques. He tried not to think of you now, of the countless hours you'd spent together creating this very piece, but the memory lingered like a ghost.

“Let’s take a deep breath,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that barely rose above the delicate strumming. “Breathe in... and out. Feel the music as it moves through you.” His voice was smooth and warm as he began to sing, threading through the air like a comforting embrace. The lyrics were a balm for weary souls, speaking of finding peace amid the storm, of a quiet place where one could lay down their burdens. He watched the room with quiet intent, observing as the music began to weave its subtle magic.

The young woman’s shoulders, once so tense, began to loosen ever so slightly, her breath easing into a more natural rhythm. The elderly man’s grip on his hands softened, his fingers unclenching as if the melody had given him permission to let go, if only for a moment. Jeongin’s heart ached as he shifted the melody into a new key, a hint of melancholy now woven into the notes. His voice leaned into the emotion, allowing it to crack and falter in just the right places, like a mirror reflecting the fractures of a breaking heart.

He knew the power of those small imperfections—the way a slight fracture in the music could resonate with the cracks in a person’s soul, giving them the courage to confront their own pain. The room felt heavy with unspoken sorrow, yet somehow lighter, too, as if each note was drawing out a little of the darkness from within. And as he continued to sing, Jeongin allowed himself to feel the weight of his own grief, letting it pour into the song, knowing that sometimes, in the quiet beauty of shared pain, there was a kind of healing.

Moments later, a soft sob broke the fragile silence. The young woman's face crumpled as she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets that caught the light. Jeongin’s heart ached for her, a deep, familiar pain unfurling in his chest. His mind flashed back to countless moments where he had seen that same expression etched across your own face—the anguish, the vulnerability. But he didn’t stop playing. Instead, he allowed the melody to swell, his fingers coaxing the guitar strings through the dark waters of sorrow and guiding them back toward a glimmer of hope, like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Let it out,” he murmured, his voice a soft, comforting undertone to the music. “There’s no need to hold back here.” His words were a gentle invitation, a permission to release the emotions that had been held back for far too long. And as if on cue, the room filled with the raw sounds of grief—soft, stifled sobs, muffled cries, the quiet sniffles of those who had long forgotten how to weep openly. Jeongin continued to play, his music becoming a vessel for their pain, a safe harbor where tears could flow without shame or judgment. 

Across the circle, he caught a glimpse of the elderly man, his head bowed low, his lips quivering as he mouthed the words of the song. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to ward off a memory too painful to face. Jeongin’s gaze softened, and he let the melody shift, his fingers moving with practiced ease into something softer, gentler—like a lull after the fury of a storm. Each note was deliberate, a quiet caress to soothe the raw edges of the room's collective sorrow. He watched as the weight of grief began to lift, ever so slightly, and the room took a deep breath, exhaling the heaviness that had clung to them like a shadow.

When the final note faded into the stillness, Jeongin let the silence settle, heavy but not suffocating. He set his guitar down gently, his eyes meeting each person’s in turn, offering a silent acknowledgment of their pain. “Thank you for sharing this space with me,” he said, his voice a soft balm even as his own heart bore the scars of past regrets. Too often did Jeongin lose sleep over how he, despite his profession, had failed to help you through your own grief. “Grief is heavy, but together, we can carry it, even if just for a moment.”

The young woman wiped at her tears, her face still etched with the rawness of her emotions, but in her eyes, there was a faint spark—a glimmer of relief, as if, for the first time in a long while, she felt a little less alone. The elderly man’s shoulders sagged, a heavy breath escaping his lips, as though a burden had been lifted, if only for a moment. Jeongin offered a small, gentle smile, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke of understanding and quiet encouragement. He picked up his guitar again, fingers brushing against the strings with a familiar, comforting touch.

“How about we end with something light?” he suggested, strumming a few upbeat chords, his eyes brightening with a hint of mischief. “Maybe a song that reminds us of hope. Even when it’s hard to see, it’s always there… waiting for us.” His words hung in the air like a promise, a tender reminder that there was light even in the darkest of places.

And so, with his voice soft but steady, Jeongin led them into another song—one that spoke of healing, of finding strength in the most shattered places, and of a quiet, enduring joy that could bloom even in the darkest seasons of life. This was a song Jeongin had written and composed in the wake of your absence, in the silence that followed your sudden departure. It was a song born of hope, crafted in those long months of not knowing, a song he had always dreamed of sharing with you. And as he sang, he let that hope fill the room, weaving through the notes, a quiet, resilient thread that held the promise of brighter days.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the group therapy session had officially ended, but Jeongin's office was still filled with the quiet shuffling of his patients gradually making their way out. This wasn't unusual; some of them often lingered, seeking a few more moments to connect or share their thoughts, and Jeongin never minded. He found these moments invaluable—an opportunity to touch base, to offer a final bit of encouragement or reassurance. 

As Jeongin turned to watch the last patient leave, he was surprised to find his friend Changbin leaning against the doorframe. Changbin’s muscular arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and it only grew wider when Jeongin’s gaze finally met his. "Bin," Jeongin greeted with a slight bow, his dimples appearing as he returned his friend's smile. He moved toward his desk on the opposite end of the room, a space that served as both his office and a therapy room within the clinic.

Without waiting for an invitation, Changbin followed him, settling himself comfortably into the leather chair meant for Jeongin. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Jeongin let out a small huff of amusement at his friend's antics. He took a seat in one of the smaller chairs intended for his patients, his gaze fixed on Changbin. "What are you doing here?" Jeongin finally asked, watching his friend lounging back in the chair, hands interlocked casually behind his head.

Changbin's playful demeanor slowly shifted, his eyes losing their mischievous spark as they settled into something more serious. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Jeongin's desk, the sudden shift in atmosphere making Jeongin's heart pick up a little in pace. He tried to keep his expression soft, maintaining a small smile even as he braced himself for whatever Changbin had come to say.

For a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence as Changbin seemed to struggle with his words, his brows furrowing in thought. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, "You know how Yongbok and Hannie wanted to have a joint celebration for their birthdays this Friday, right?" Jeongin's brows knit together in confusion; he hadn’t expected such a mundane topic. Still, he nodded, waiting for the real reason behind Changbin's visit.

"Well, everything will be pretty much the same... but we wanted to tell you this before you showed up." Changbin paused, his worried eyes meeting Jeongin's increasingly anxious gaze. After a deep breath, he continued, "Y/N moved back here a little over a week ago and reached out to us almost immediately. We helped them settle back down, and we've been spending some time with them, catching up on everything. Yongbok and Hannie wanted them to be included in their birthday celebration, but we also wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're okay with that first."

Jeongin felt his entire world tilt on its axis, Changbin's words crashing into him like a wave he hadn’t braced for. A million questions stormed through his mind, so fast and furious that he couldn’t quite grasp a single one. "Wait." His hand shot up, signaling his need for a pause as he shifted forward, perching on the edge of his chair. His voice, tinged with betrayal and hurt, spilled out in a rushed breath, "What do you mean Y/N moved back here a week ago? Why am I just learning about this now?"

A look of guilt shadowed Changbin's face, his expression softening with regret. "Y/N asked us not to tell you for a little bit because they weren't ready to handle it yet... but now that everything's settled, they have a new job and everything—Y/N is ready to meet with you if you'd like." He hesitated, and a flicker of panic widened his eyes as he quickly added, "But you didn't hear that last part from me. Y/N wanted to be the one to reach out at some point today or tomorrow."

The silence that followed was heavy, all-consuming, wrapping around Jeongin like a thick fog. He struggled to wrap his mind around the news of your return, the idea of seeing you again so unexpectedly unsettling. The weight of your absence, the questions left unanswered, all resurfaced in that single moment, leaving him adrift in a sea of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Jeongin didn't quite know how to feel about you moving back into town after leaving him without so much as a goodbye. The news of your return stirred a storm of emotions within him, each one more complicated than the last. On one hand, he understood your reasons for leaving—the desperate need to escape from everything that reminded you of your younger sister, Nari, and the weight of your relationship with him, which had grown heavy with grief and unresolved pain. He could see why you had to flee, to distance yourself from the memories that clung to every corner of the town like shadows that wouldn't let you breathe. 

But understanding didn't erase the sting of abandonment. Jeongin couldn't ignore the countless sleepless nights he’d endured, his mind spiraling into an abyss of what-ifs and could-have-beens. He thought back to the moments when your relationship had still felt beautiful and safe, long before it had quietly begun to crumble beneath the weight of tragedy. In truth, he realized, the love between you had started to fray the very moment you received the devastating news of Nari’s fatal accident. It had unraveled slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what once was. By the time he officially ended things, the love you shared had already been gone, replaced by a haunting emptiness.

For months after you left, Jeongin had nearly driven himself to madness, caught in a vicious cycle of regret and self-blame. Every waking moment was spent agonizing over all the different ways he might have pulled you out of your grief. Could he have said something different, done something more? Could he have been more patient, more understanding? He had replayed these thoughts over and over, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. There was a time when he couldn’t even look at his own reflection without being reminded of his failure—his inability to be the anchor you needed in the storm of your sorrow. He blamed himself for your sudden departure, believing that if he had fought for you a little harder, if he had held on just a bit longer, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Slowly, though, Jeongin had begun to emerge from the shadows of his own grief. He had started to come to terms with the loss—not just of Nari, whom he had loved deeply through you, but also the loss of the future he had imagined with you by his side. He’d begun to accept that his own heartbreak, mixed with the suffocating weight of guilt, was something he needed to release in order to move forward. Jeongin had finally allowed himself to realize that in the grand scheme of things, staying by your side would have meant losing himself in the process, trying to bring back a version of you that had vanished the day Nari did. He’d come to understand that you were never going to be the same person again, and neither was he.

And now, just when he was starting to find a semblance of peace, you chose this moment to step back into his life. It felt like the ground he had just managed to steady himself on was beginning to shake once more. Jeongin wasn’t sure if he was ready to face you again, to reopen wounds that were only just beginning to scar over. Yet, there was also a flicker of something else—a hope, perhaps, or maybe just curiosity—about what this new chapter could bring. But whatever it was, it left him feeling unsettled, standing on the precipice of a past he had tried so hard to leave behind.

As his mind continued to swirl with a torrent of thoughts, Jeongin was startled by the bitterness that began to simmer beneath the surface of his heart. The resentment was unexpected, an emotion so potent that it almost frightened him. It clawed at him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth, a stark contrast to the calm demeanor he usually carried. But as his gaze lifted, his eyes locked with Changbin's, and he saw the concern etched in his friend's face. The anxiety in Changbin's sincere eyes was unmistakable, quietly tracking the cascade of emotions that flickered across Jeongin's vulnerable features like a storm passing through. 

Despite the sharp sting of betrayal—the feeling of being kept in the dark by his closest friends, who had not only hidden your return from him but also lied to him so they could spend time with you—Jeongin found a small measure of solace in Changbin’s quiet empathy. It was as if Changbin's presence anchored him, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t navigating these turbulent waters alone. In that brief moment, Jeongin’s chaotic thoughts cleared enough for him to take a deep, steadying breath. He slumped back into his chair, his eyes dropping to his sneakers, suddenly feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. His shoulders sagged, heavy with the burden of emotions he could no longer ignore.

"I don’t know if I’ll be ready to meet with Y/N before the party," Jeongin confessed in a low murmur meant only for Changbin’s ears. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable, a raw and tender ache that clung to every word. He took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts that seemed to scatter like leaves in the wind. "But I’m not going to stand in the way of Y/N joining the birthday party—especially since it’s not my place to decide that. I’ll still be there, and I want to be as civil as possible. So, please, don’t let anyone make it more awkward than it needs to be, or I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it."

His voice trembled by the end, his courage wavering as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Changbin's once more. There was a flicker of something fragile there, something almost hopeful, despite the tangled mess of his emotions. Changbin nodded, a soft smile pulling at his lips, a small gesture of gratitude and understanding. He stood up, moving closer to lay a firm, reassuring hand on Jeongin’s shoulder—a rare show of affection, knowing how Jeongin tended to shy away from touch, especially when his emotions were laid bare like this.

"I’ll talk to the boys," Changbin promised, his voice steady, grounding. It was the most he could offer in that moment, aware of how delicate the situation was. 

With that, Changbin turned and quietly exited Jeongin's office, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him, heavy with the weight of everything he was yet to fully comprehend. Jeongin remained seated, lost in the labyrinth of his own complicated emotions—anger, sadness, regret, and something else, something almost like a glimmer of hope—all swirling together in a chaotic dance that he had no idea how to untangle.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

In the three days leading up to the eagerly awaited joint birthday party on Friday—an event hosted by Chan for Felix and Jisung—Jeongin found himself ensnared in a relentless spiral of anxiety and anticipation. The looming prospect of encountering you after nearly a year of absence gnawed at him with a persistence that bordered on torment. He grappled with a thousand imagined scenarios, each one an intricate tapestry of potential outcomes and emotional landmines. The uncertainty was a constant, unsettling presence in his life.

Jeongin’s small apartment, once shared with you, had become a labyrinth of memories and regrets. He often wandered its confines, the soft thud of his footsteps a mournful echo of the unease that had taken residence in his chest. The apartment seemed to sigh with each step he took, as if mourning the lost echoes of a time when you had been there. Despite his efforts to bury himself in work, the thought of you lingered like an unwelcome shadow, a constant undercurrent that refused to be ignored. He would catch himself staring at his phone, repeatedly re-reading the message you had sent him just hours after Changbin’s visit—a message that had become both a lifeline and a tormentor.

Your text, which read: 

Hey, Jeongin. It’s been a while. I know I left without much of an explanation and cut off contact... I’m sorry for how I handled things. I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually. But I wasn’t in the best place back then, and I needed time to figure things out on my own. I’m back in town now, and I’d like to talk sometime if you’re open to it. No pressure—I just feel like there are a lot of things that were left unsaid between us. Take care!

Every time Jeongin read these words, a storm of emotions would churn within him. The initial formality of your greeting felt like a cold draft from a distant past, a stark contrast to the warmth that had once existed between you. The passage of time loomed large, a reminder of the endless stretch of days that had passed since your sudden disappearance. He was struck by a poignant blend of nostalgia and pain, the abruptness of your departure a constant reminder of how unfinished your story had been.

Your apology, though a balm of sorts, stirred a complicated mix of relief and frustration within him. On one hand, it acknowledged the hurt you had caused, but on the other, it left a multitude of unresolved questions hanging in the air. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why did you sever all contact? Jeongin understood that you were not in a good place and needed space, but that understanding did little to soothe the sting of abandonment he felt. The sense of being left in the dark, coupled with a profound sadness over his inability to help you, left him grappling with a blend of guilt and anger.

The mention of wanting to talk now jolted him, a surge of conflicting emotions rushing to the surface. He was torn between the desire to reconnect and the fear of reopening old wounds. The prospect of addressing the myriad of things left unsaid between you brought with it a flood of memories—regrets, unresolved issues, and a yearning for closure. Each re-reading of your message plunged him deeper into a whirlpool of complicated thoughts and emotions, the turbulence of his feelings both paralyzing and consuming.

Ultimately, Jeongin found himself unable to craft a suitable response, and so he chose silence. His decision not to reply was one shrouded in uncertainty, a choice that left him questioning whether it was the right one. The silence that followed was both a refuge and a torment, a delicate balance between preserving his own peace and the unresolved echo of your return.

The night of the party arrived under a canopy of crisp, clear sky, the stars shimmering with an almost mocking brilliance. Jeongin drifted through the evening like a specter, his senses overwhelmed by a world that seemed too bright, too noisy, and far too indifferent to his turmoil. His apartment, once a sanctuary, had become a chaotic jumble of discarded outfits—each one cast aside with a frustrated sigh and a sense of resignation. The fabric of his clothes lay strewn about like the remnants of a battle fought and lost against his own anxiety. Nothing felt right, and the more he tried, the more he was convinced that nothing ever would.

Eventually, he settled on a modest ensemble—simple, unobtrusive, and devoid of any hint of personal flair. As he dressed, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and what he saw was a stranger staring back—an image of confusion and trepidation. He attempted a smile, one that was supposed to be confident and reassuring, but it fell flat, a mere shadow of what he hoped to project. By the time he arrived at Chan's place, his nerves were a live wire, sparking and fizzing with every heartbeat.

The apartment, already abuzz with the lively hum of music and the warm murmur of laughter, was suffused with the rich, inviting aroma of a feast. Jeongin took a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping into the vibrant chaos. Felix, ever the beacon of warmth, was the first to greet him. His smile was a radiant crescent, eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a galaxy etched upon his cheeks and nose. Felix enveloped Jeongin in a tight, enthusiastic hug, and Jeongin could almost gauge the number of drinks Felix had indulged in by the exuberance of the embrace. As he disentangled himself from the fervent welcome, he was met with a slew of half-hidden concern and reassuring smiles that nearly suffocated him with their well-meaning pity.

He made his way to the kitchen, where the counter was a tableau of gifts—boxes and bags for Felix and Han piled high in cheerful disarray. Jeongin added his own contribution to the heap and then sought refuge in the cool solace of the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to soothe his parched throat. But then, as if fate itself had conspired to make this night even more unbearable, you appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You had been laughing lightly, a melodic sound that seemed to dance on the air, but upon spotting Jeongin, you froze mid-step. The sight of you was like a flash of brilliance in an otherwise dim landscape. You looked as radiant as ever, with a glimmer of the light that had once illuminated your eyes returning to them—a light Jeongin had once lost himself in with reckless abandon. At that moment, the gravity of his own emotions hit him with a brutal clarity. Despite having ended the relationship, he realized with a heavy heart that he was still desperately, achingly in love with you. Even after nearly a year of separation, the feelings remain undiminished.

You slowly composed yourself, though your body remained taut with the remnants of surprise. The smile you gave him was both disarming and electrifying, sending a shiver through him. With a polite bow, you greeted him, your voice soft and warm as you said, “I’m really glad to see you again, Jeongin.” The way you spoke his name made his knees feel weak, the sheer depth of his longing crystallizing in that single, familiar sound. He had not fully grasped how much he had yearned to hear his name on your lips again until that very moment.

Unable to find words, Jeongin merely bowed in return, his smile shy and tremulous. He watched you turn and leave the kitchen with a hurried pace, your earlier purpose forgotten. The realization dawned on him that he might need more than just water to navigate the emotional maelstrom of the evening.

Chan's party was a sanctuary of familiarity, a gathering of a close-knit circle of friends who had weathered years together. The night had unfolded in a haze of laughter and lively banter, and now, as Jeongin found himself pleasantly intoxicated from the endless rounds of drinking games, he couldn't help but revel in the camaraderie that had once again enveloped the room. It felt undeniably comforting to have everyone gathered under one roof again, especially you.

The past year had cast a shadow over the group's dynamic, your absence an unspoken void that lingered between them, palpable despite the silence. Yet now, with your return, the room seemed to breathe with a renewed vitality. It was as though the very air had shifted, carrying with it a sense of ease that had been sorely missed. Jeongin observed you from a distance, his gaze drawn to you as you reengaged with the group. He noted with quiet awe how you moved through conversations with an effortless grace, the same grace that had once been your hallmark.

It was apparent that you had emerged from the clutches of your grief, a revelation that stirred a profound admiration within Jeongin. The way you laughed, genuinely and freely, was a testament to your resilience. Though you had left without a word, seeking solace far away, you had returned with a newfound lightness. The laughter that now danced from your lips was a melody Jeongin had missed, a balm for the aching absence that had haunted him throughout the past year.

Jeongin watched with a bittersweet smile as you engaged with everyone—how your eyes crinkled at the corners when joy sparked within you, how they would occasionally meet his gaze with a fleeting, shy acknowledgment before darting away, leaving behind a gentle blush. Each moment was a delicate brush stroke on the canvas of your reunion, painting a picture of someone who had found a way to heal and reconnect.

The sight of you dancing playfully with Han to a song you both claimed had been crafted just for you was particularly poignant. Your movements were a symphony of carefree delight, a stark contrast to the somber image Jeongin had harbored of you. In these shared, joyful moments, as you reintegrated into the tapestry of old friendships, Jeongin felt his heart tugged with an intensity that defied explanation.

Though the effects of alcohol swirled around him, amplifying emotions and blurring the edges of reality, Jeongin knew that the depth of his feelings for you transcended any inebriation. The love he harbored was as real and potent as ever, a force that no amount of alcohol could replicate or diminish. He was falling for you once more, each glance and shared laugh reaffirming the connection that had never truly faded, only waiting for the right moment to reawaken.

Despite the undeniable truth of his lingering affection for you, Jeongin remained uncertain of how to navigate these turbulent emotions. For now, he chose to keep his feelings veiled in silence, retreating into the solitude of his thoughts. The haze of confusion was abruptly dispelled by the firm, reassuring weight of Minho’s hand settling on his shoulder, grounding him in the present moment.

Minho, his eyes glazed with the soft blur of alcohol—though not nearly as intoxicated as Felix and Han—clapped his hands together, a signal for attention. His voice, amplified by cupped hands, cut through the ambient noise of music and conversation. "Guys! Guys!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of the increasingly inebriated crowd. The room fell into a collective hush, eager eyes fixed on Minho as he continued with a grin that spoke of mischief. "As per Yongbok’s request, we’re about to kick off a game of UNO! But there’s a twist: every time someone lands a Plus Four card, we all take a shot. And the loser—well, they get a revolting concoction of mixed alcohols and juices!"

The announcement ignited a burst of enthusiastic cheers, the crowd’s energy crackling with anticipation. Laughter and playful shoves accompanied the clumsy shuffle to the circular coffee table at the heart of the living room. Jeongin, with a flicker of hope in his heart, watched as you navigated the sea of friends. His wish to have you beside him was met with a hint of disappointment as you chose a seat directly across from him, nestled between Hyunjin and Seungmin.

The seating arrangement became a familiar circle of camaraderie and chaos: You directly across from Jeongin, Seungmin to your right, Chan to Seungmin’s right, Felix to Chan’s right, Jeongin to Felix’s right, Minho to Jeongin’s right, Han to Minho’s right, Changbin to Hyunjin’s right, and Hyunjin bridging the gap between you and Changbin. The table soon overflowed with the raucous sound of drunken laughter, mischievous plotting, and playful bickering.

Jeongin found himself in an unexpected streak of triumph, his luck seemingly endless as he conquered each round of UNO. The others began to whisper suspicions of cheating, their playful accusations accompanied by slurred speech and tipsy frustration. Chan’s voice, tinged with exasperation, rose above the din. "How is it even possible that you’ve been winning non-stop?" he demanded, his words distorted by a chorus of drinks and Seungmin’s relentless strategy.

Jeongin rolled his eyes, a gesture that had become almost automatic in the face of such claims. Han, who had just suffered the fate of the foul concoction, gagged dramatically as he placed the empty cup down with a groan. The room’s attention shifted to you as you slammed your palm onto the table, a spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. The gesture was a beacon of playful challenge, and it made Jeongin’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

"Stand up then, if you’re not cheating," you teased, your voice laced with both suspicion and amusement. The room buzzed with agreement, and Jeongin could not suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he rose to his feet. He had sobered somewhat since the game began, the action feeling less consequential for him than for the others.

Throughout the night, the games were interspersed with moments of easy banter between you and Jeongin, a reminder of the lighthearted days before the heartache had set in. Each playful remark, every shared glance, and the way you laughed at his jokes tugged at him, rekindling memories of warmth and affection. The realization of how deeply he missed the feeling of being in love with you clenched his heart painfully.

As Jeongin turned around slowly to prove his hands were empty, he couldn’t resist a smirk. "You didn’t empty out your pockets," you persisted, your stubbornness both charming and exasperating.

He met your gaze with a playful smirk of his own, the words slipping out before he could fully process their impact. "Come on, baby, don’t be like that," he said, his tone teasing.

The room fell silent in stunned unison, the playful atmosphere abruptly shifting to one of surprise and second-hand embarrassment. The weight of Jeongin’s unintended endearment hung in the air, leaving everyone, including him, to grapple with the sudden shift in the night’s delicate balance.

Jeongin’s heart sank as he watched the color drain from your face, a pallor of shock and disbelief that spoke volumes in the charged silence that followed. The name he had unintentionally let slip—a relic of a time when you were together—seemed to strike a chord deep within you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes revealed a heartache that cut through the pretense of composure you so desperately tried to maintain. The expression of hurt was almost palpable, like a silent scream against the fabric of the night.

You managed to reassemble yourself with a stubborn facade of mischief, your smile a delicate mask that barely concealed the storm within. Your words, though laced with playful banter, seemed to cut through the tension with a sharp edge. "I just think it's unnatural how many times you’ve won," you remarked with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jeongin’s slip-up hung in the air, a tangible weight that seemed to sour the atmosphere of the gathering. Despite your attempt to downplay the incident with a light-hearted quip, the sting of the old nickname echoed like a ghost of past intimacy, making the room feel suddenly foreign and strained. The previously buoyant mood had shifted, leaving behind an undercurrent of unease that neither the laughter nor the playful jabs could dispel.

Jeongin could feel the churning turmoil within him, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. The game continued around him, but he found himself withdrawing, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Each stolen glance, each forced smile, was a reminder of the painful reminder of how things had changed. The night, which had started with such promise, now felt heavy and laden with unresolved emotions.

As the hour grew late and the laughter waned, the group, sensing the shift in energy, collectively decided it was time to call it a night. The revelry that had marked the evening dissolved into a subdued murmur as everyone prepared to leave. For Jeongin, the end of the night came as a relief, though it was tinged with a sense of lingering regret and an unspoken wish for things to be different.

As Jeongin made his way through the dimly lit apartment, exchanging farewells with the departing guests, he caught a fleeting glimpse of you darting out of the building. His heart, already heavy with a tumultuous mix of emotions, quickened its pace as he instinctively sought to follow. With an urgency driven by both concern and an aching need to make things right, Jeongin scrambled to retrieve his jacket and pull on his shoes, the night air already beginning to bite at his skin as he hurried after you.

He managed to intercept you just as you stepped out onto the cold street. Your name slipped from his lips before he could catch it, a desperate utterance that hung in the frosty air between you. You paused, your breath visible in the night’s chill, and both of you stood there for a moment, hearts racing in unison. Jeongin's breath came in ragged bursts as he caught up with you, the weight of his impulsive actions settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Let me walk you home,” Jeongin implored, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anxiety and hope. The words, simple yet laden with his longing, seemed to hang in the air, as though the night itself held its breath in anticipation of your response. Your eyes softened, reflecting a tempest of emotions as they met his, and your lips parted slightly as if struggling to find the right words.

Instead of speaking, you turned and began walking forward, your steps deliberate yet hesitant. Jeongin, interpreting your silence as tacit consent, fell into step beside you. The street stretched out before you, unfamiliar and shadowed, and the air between you was charged with unspoken sentiments and lingering regrets. Walking side by side felt oddly reminiscent of days gone by, a bittersweet echo of times shared with friends, now tinged with the ache of what had been lost.

In the week since Jeongin learned of your return, he had been trapped in a cycle of conflicting emotions. The pangs of missing you, of realizing the depth of his feelings that still burned despite everything, battled with the frustration of your unexplained departure. Each time anger threatened to overwhelm him, guilt swiftly followed, a reminder of the suffering you must have endured. His internal struggle was a storm of longing and resentment, a turbulent sea he had yet to navigate.

As he stole glances at your profile in the dim streetlight, the familiar contours of your face brought an unexpected rush of grief. Memories of your younger sister, Nari, flooded his mind—her laughter, a joyful sound that once filled the air, her enthusiastic embraces that had always greeted him with warmth. Your eyes, once so bright with shared mirth, now seemed dimmed by her absence.

The realization that Nari would never again tackle him in playful greeting, that her laughter would never again ring out, was a heavy burden. It pressed down on Jeongin’s heart, a reminder of the irreplaceable void left behind. The twinkle that once danced in your eyes when you laughed at Nari's jokes was now a distant memory, a reminder of how deeply her loss had affected both of you. As you walked together through the unfamiliar streets, the weight of these lost joys seemed to bear down on Jeongin, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Engulfed in the whirlpool of his own somber reflections, Jeongin barely noticed when you came to a halt before an old, weathered apartment building. Absorbed in his tumultuous thoughts, he continued forward for a few steps, his mind adrift in a sea of regret and longing. It was only when the melodic sound of your giggle reached his ears, a playful echo that cut through the fog of his melancholy, that he realized he was walking alone. With a start, he turned, his face flushing with a sheepish smile as he moved to stand before you.

You were standing there, your knuckles clenched tightly around the strap of your bag, a telltale sign of the anxiety simmering beneath the surface. Your lips were caught between your teeth, a nervous habit that Jeongin had come to know all too well. The sight of your distress mirrored his own internal turmoil, causing his foot to tap restlessly on the pavement as he waited for you to speak. The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy shroud that seemed to settle between you.

After a few moments of strained silence, you released a shaky breath and offered him a small, timid smile. "It was good to see you again," you said softly, the words tinged with a trace of the anxiety that laced your voice. It was the same sentiment you had voiced earlier in the night, when you had first reappeared in Chan's kitchen after an eight-month absence.

This time, Jeongin’s response came with a gravity that reflected the depth of your absence. "I’m glad you came back," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the months spent apart, yet softened by a flicker of genuine contentment.

Your smile, though hesitant, shone brightly against the backdrop of the night. It was a beacon that pierced through the haze of Jeongin’s heartache, and despite the unresolved tension, he couldn’t help but return it with a warm, albeit uncertain, smile of his own. The air between you crackled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a delicate balance between the urge to bridge the gap and the inability to articulate the depth of your emotions.

As you cast an awkward glance back at the entrance of your apartment, Jeongin understood that you were grappling with the same indecision that plagued him. "This is me," you said, your voice betraying a trace of nervousness as you cleared your throat. "My place is a bit of a distance from our—sorry, your apartment. If you’re comfortable, I can offer you my couch for the night."

Despite the initial reluctance that had gripped him, the prospect of spending more time with you, however fleeting, was too inviting to resist. Jeongin found himself smiling softly, a gesture of acceptance that was both hesitant and heartfelt. Your genuine, wide smile in response seemed to illuminate the night, lifting the veil of uncertainty that had surrounded him. With a renewed sense of hope and a lingering trace of longing, Jeongin followed you inside, each step towards your apartment a tentative step towards mending the fragile thread that connected your hearts.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your new apartment, though modest in size, exudes a quiet charm, nestled in a serene part of town far removed from the familiar streets you once traversed with Jeongin. The moment he crosses the threshold, he is enveloped by a dissonance of emotions—a strange fusion of comfort and estrangement. The space is distinctly different from the apartment you once shared, yet your presence lingers in every corner, making Jeongin feel both intimately connected and like an outsider peering into a world that has shifted just out of reach.

The living room, modestly furnished, reflects a minimalist elegance. A soft, neutral-colored couch rests against the wall, draped with a knitted throw blanket that adds a touch of warmth. This room is a far cry from the eclectic mix of your past home—a space once filled with a vibrant blend of your belongings and his—but it still bears the subtle imprint of your personality. A small shelf brims with books, many titles familiar from your old collection, but new ones have also appeared, whispering of the changes and growth you’ve experienced in your absence. The windowsill cradles a few houseplants, their greenery a delicate contrast to the sprawling flora that once filled your old living space. They are smaller, more contained, reflecting a more subdued chapter of your life.

Jeongin’s gaze drifts to the walls, bare and unadorned, stark in their emptiness. Gone are the framed photos and art prints that once animated every corner of your shared apartment. The absence of pictures—particularly those of the two of you—leaves an unexpected sting, a painful reminder of what has been left behind. Instead, there is a single framed photograph of your younger sister on a side table by the window, surrounded by a cluster of candles. It stands as a quiet tribute, a poignant memorial that tugs at Jeongin’s heartstrings, reminding him of the grief that ultimately drove a wedge between you both.

The apartment is imbued with a subdued quietness, a stark contrast to the lively energy of your former home, where laughter and soft music once intertwined to create a vibrant ambiance. Here, the atmosphere is more solitary, introspective, as if the space has been intentionally crafted as a sanctuary for healing—a refuge from the chaos of the past. A small kitchen table, cluttered with a few empty glasses and a half-read book, suggests many solitary evenings spent with your thoughts, lost in the pages or gazing into the distance, ensnared by memories.

The kitchen itself bears no evidence of the late-night culinary adventures you used to drag him into, those joyous moments of laughter and flour-covered countertops. As Jeongin takes in the scene, he is overwhelmed by a complex weave of emotions—nostalgia for what was, sorrow for what has been lost, and a poignant ache for the version of you who now stands before him. The differences are striking, revealing a careful, deliberate solitude you’ve constructed around yourself in this new space. It feels as though you’ve created a bubble of tranquility, a place where you can breathe freely from the weight of the past, and he wonders if there is still a place for him within it or if you have moved on to a new chapter without him.

The emptiness of your new apartment weighs heavily on him. It’s not merely the physical void but the absence of the vibrant, unfiltered you that he used to know. Standing there, a guest in what might have been his world, Jeongin is acutely aware of how much has changed and how deeply he still yearns for the comfort of what once was, now replaced by the stark reality of what is.

As Jeongin steps into your new apartment, he takes in its subtle details with a blend of curiosity and nostalgia. You move about with a quiet, almost anxious energy, as if the mere act of tidying is a way to manage the fluttering tension between you. Your hands, unsure of their purpose, engage in small, inconsequential tasks: smoothing the corner of the knitted blanket draped over the couch, adjusting the book that rests on the kitchen table, and shifting a houseplant slightly to the left. It is evident that you are aware of his gaze, but you strive to give him space to absorb his surroundings.

The silence stretches until you break it, your voice soft yet resolute. "It's not much, but... it's mine." There’s a delicate balance in your tone, a mixture of pride laced with vulnerability. You glance at him, seeking to gauge his reaction, your eyes reflecting a world of untold emotions. As you move towards the small kitchen area, you open a cabinet and retrieve two glasses. "Do you want some water? Tea? I think I have some wine if you'd prefer that." Your words tumble out in a gentle stream, an attempt to fill the quiet with something tangible, yet they carry an earnestness that reveals your underlying uncertainty about where you both stand.

Jeongin watches you, his gaze softening as he observes the careful grace of your movements—each gesture imbued with a quiet protectiveness, as if you're safeguarding something tender within yourself. The silence deepens for a moment before he responds, his voice subdued and tentative. "Water's fine." It is clear that he is navigating this new terrain with caution, his tone reflective of the delicate balance between past familiarity and present distance. You nod and move towards the fridge, your back turned to him as you pour the water.

Jeongin’s eyes wander around the apartment once more, deliberately avoiding the back of your head as you focus on the task at hand. When you hand him the glass, your fingers brush against his, sending a shiver through him. It’s a sensation he’s not quite accustomed to after all this time apart. He accepts the glass with a quiet "thanks," savoring the cool water as it soothes his dry throat. 

"Let’s sit," you suggest, motioning towards the couch. There is a steadiness in your voice that carries a quiet confidence, reminiscent of the times you had managed to ground him amidst the chaos. Jeongin follows you and settles beside you on the couch. The cushions feel foreign and different from those he remembers, amplifying his sense of longing for the comfort of the home you once shared. 

For a brief moment, Jeongin is at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the tangled emotions in his chest. He is unsure where to begin, but you gently ease the tension. "How’s work been?" you inquire, your voice a soothing balm to the heaviness in the room. "Are you still at the same clinic?" 

Grateful for the opening, Jeongin nods. "Yeah, still there. We started a new program recently... working with kids who've been through some really tough stuff. It’s been challenging, but rewarding." He watches as your eyes soften, a sign of the empathy and kindness he’s always admired in you. The sight of your genuine smile, the one he’s missed so dearly, is like a balm on a wound that has long ached. 

"That sounds so nice. You've always been so good with children." Your compliment is heartfelt, and Jeongin feels a pang of longing.

He responds with a light-hearted joke, "That’s more your area of expertise," referring to your work as a school counselor. You chuckle softly, taking a sip of water, and Jeongin senses there’s more you wish to share.

"And... what about everything else? How have you been holding up?" Your question is gentle but probing, and Jeongin’s grip tightens around his glass.

"It’s been... different," he admits. "The apartment feels empty without you there. Like something’s missing."

Jeongin hadn't intended for his words to emerge with such raw intensity, but they tumble out before he can rein them in. He watches as they land upon you, the way your gaze falls and a shadow of sorrow flits across your face. "I'm sorry," you murmur, the words almost lost in the quiet of the room. "For leaving like that. I didn’t know what else to do."

Your apology strikes a chord deep within him, a resonance of shared pain and regret. "I know," he replies softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. "I don’t really blame you. We both had to figure things out." The atmosphere between you shifts, the earlier tension giving way to something more tender—like an old wound beginning to mend. 

Jeongin sits beside you on the couch, his nerves stretched taut, a wire humming with unspoken words. His hands are clenched in his lap, a desperate attempt to hold himself together as the silence stretches, thick and heavy. His gaze is drawn to you, to the way you hold your glass of water—fingers wrapped around it as if it were a lifeline, anchoring you to some semblance of normalcy. 

He recognizes that look in your eyes—the one that signals you are about to reveal something profound, something that has been weighing on you. "When I left," you start, your voice so faint it nearly dissolves into the air. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat. He had no clear expectations for the evening, but he can feel that whatever is coming will be laced with pain.

"I didn’t really have a plan," you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I just... needed to get away." He watches as your eyes drift to the water in your glass, your reflection shimmering and distorted. The impulse to reach out and offer comfort is almost overwhelming, but he remains still, his focus entirely on you.

"I ended up halfway across the country," you say, your voice gaining a faint thread of strength. "I reached out to Lily. You remember her, right? From college?" Jeongin nods, a wistful smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. He recalls Lily’s vivacious spirit, her constant care for you, and feels a pang of gratitude that she was there for you in a way he couldn't be.

"She didn’t ask questions; she just told me to come," you add. Jeongin’s heart clenches at the image of you in a strange, distant place, the weight of your grief looming like an oppressive storm. He loathes the thought of you feeling so alone and adrift, needing to travel so far for solace.

"She lives in this tiny coastal town," you continue, your voice lightening slightly as you recall the memory. "For a while, I thought maybe that was what I needed—being somewhere far away from everything." Jeongin can almost visualize it—a serene seaside town where the waves gently erase footprints, a place where time seems to stretch indefinitely, offering a balm for the wounded soul.

Yet, beneath the surface of your words, Jeongin senses an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The coastal retreat, while soothing, evidently fell short of the healing you sought. His heart aches, burdened by the realization that he wasn’t able to provide the support you needed, even as he too was grappling with his own struggles. The distance between your shared past and the present feels vast, and he yearns for a way to bridge that gap, to be the anchor you needed, even though he was floundering himself.

You pause, and Jeongin watches as you swallow hard, the movement of your throat a testament to the weight of your words. "I eventually realized that it wasn't enough," you say, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I needed more help. So, I checked myself into a grief recovery program..." The words falter, and Jeongin feels a tightening in his chest, the emotion reflected in your wavering tone. "A place where people go when they've lost someone and don't know how to keep living."

He stares at you, his vision blurring as he grapples with the magnitude of your suffering. He's known grief, but seeing it through your eyes—so raw, so utterly consuming—is a new experience for him. Guilt crashes over him like a relentless wave. He wasn't there for you. He couldn't help. He didn't even know how to begin.

Jeongin opens his mouth, an apology poised on his lips, but you continue, your voice cutting through the silence with a quiet determination. "There were days I wanted to leave, but I stayed. I wrote a lot. I planted a small garden there, just to feel like I was nurturing something again, you know? And slowly, I started to remember things without feeling like they were completely breaking me."

His hands tremble in his lap, the truth of your words stirring a deep regret within him. He should be happy that you found a way forward, relieved that you began to heal, but instead, he is overwhelmed by the ache of not being there for you—by the realization that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. His eyes search yours, desperate for some sign that you don’t harbor hatred towards him.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," he finally manages, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I ended things when you needed me. I didn’t know how to help you through it, and I—"

You shake your head, a wistful smile curving your lips. "I didn’t know how to let you help me, either. And I wasn’t ready to accept Nari’s death and move on yet. That’s why I left." Your words settle into the spaces between his ribs, a cold weight pressing heavily on his chest. He wants to explain, to tell you that he was lost too, that he struggled to keep his own head above water while watching you drown. But he stays silent, knowing that this moment belongs to you, just as much as it does to him.

"I needed to find a way to live with the grief," you say softly, "to not let it define every part of me. And maybe I needed to see if I could come back and face everything, including you."

Jeongin’s heart skips at that, a flicker of hope igniting within him. There is a softness in your eyes that he hasn't seen in so long, a hint of something that almost resembles hope. He takes a breath, feeling a slight loosening of the weight of his own regrets. "I'm glad you did," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you—missed this, even if it wasn’t always easy."

You nod, and he sees a myriad of emotions dance across your face—relief, uncertainty, and perhaps the faintest trace of affection. There is much to unpack, many layers to explore, but for now, this moment of quiet honesty, of shared pain and cautious hope, feels like a tentative step towards understanding.

Jeongin notices his hand is closer to yours than he had realized, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to reach out, to touch your skin once more. But he doesn’t. Not yet. For now, he is content to sit beside you, to listen, and to cherish the hope that this—whatever it is—might be the beginning of finding each other again.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy @bokk-minnie @tajannah-price1 @lixies-favorite-cookie @madewithchildlabor (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @stascence @xxdwaekkaxx @raspberrii @joyofbebbanburg @drewsandsebastianswife @minholover1 @vangoghsear0 @theodorenottgf @chanshyunjin @cafffeineconnoisseur @villainstayy @qwonyoung23 @fawnoverdawn @sofix-hc7 @softkisshyunjin @anushasstuff

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

02/20/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Cast&CrewSightings;SambaSchutteBTS;RhysDarbyCameo; DavidJenkins/RuiboQian; SaveOFMDCrew IG; Articles; Analysis & Trends; LoveNotes;DailyDarby/Tonight'sTaika;

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

= Samba Schute Feat Rhys Darby =

Srcs: Samba's Instagram

Videos on Tumblr:

Steard Video - @kiwistede

Merstede Video - @kiwistede

Videos on IG:

Steard Video

Merstede Video

And just to distract all of you again: gif courtesy of @bizarrelittlemew

== Rhys Darby ==

The Our Flag Means Death Fan Page on Facebook was kind enough to get a Cameo for the crew! This one features all things to visit if you're heading to Aotearoa! It's quite a large file so tumblr won't let me upload it so please visit: their site (where you can download the video) or on facebook!

The admin on the page was also kind enough to give us some links to the places he talks about in the video! Thanks friends!

Te Henga Walkway

Kemeu, New Zealand

Te Rimu Tahi Ponsonby

Aoraki Mount Cook National Park

Fiordland National Park

Franz Josef Glacier

Lake Tekapo

Punakaiki

Piopiotahi

== David Jenkins / Ruibo Qian ==

Hey! We got some proof of life from Chaos Dad on Samba's BTS, and a bit of love from Ruibo!

＝＝ Fan Spotlight ＝＝

February Love Collage Fest! So I am very behind on these so I'm going to share a few a day to try and catch up on these awesome collages our dear crewmember WanderingNomad @wndrngnomad on Twitter made!

Today's: Feb 20: Ra Vincent!

Feb 1 : Samba Schutte

== Save OFMD Crew IG Calendar ==

Over on Instagram the SaveOFMD Crew is keeping engagement up with "Crossover Cruesday", suggesting lots of fun ofmd crossovers (including Jurassic Park!) Feel free to check them out on their stories!

Tomorrow's engagement is #WrongWednesday!

== Analysis & Trends ==

So much data regarding OFMD's rank on Max. Thank you @adoptourcrew for this awesome analysis!

FULL EPISODE: https://t.co/HFVLQgm1Um

＝Trends＝

Huh, I wonder why RHYS could be trending today?

Thanks to @iamadequate1 for catching that #OurFlagMeansDeath was trending! A lot higher than the last few days too.

==Articles==

All The Shows Canceled In 2024 On TV & Streaming (So Far)

13 TV Shows Have Been Canceled in 2024 (Including 2 Netflix Series, 4 HBO Shows & More)

== Love Notes ==

Can I just take a moment here to tell you how very proud I am of you lovelies? Like seriously, you are being so supportive and sweet towards each other. You've been sending out love and positivity and sexy things to make everyone feel better and gah I just, every time I flip through this site/cross platform I am so incredibly moved. You all are the absolute best, and I'm so very grateful to be a part of this wonderful group of misfits. I'm sure I've said this recently, but IM SAYING IT AGAIN BECAUSE I FUCKING MEAN IT. Okay sorry for the caps, but for real I love you guys (gn), you make me smile and laugh every single day and I just you make the world such a better place to be in. I hope you know just how much you matter and what an amazing job you're doing making this community great. And I just wanted to add some additional love notes from @bethdrawsthings on IG because she always has things I want to say too. Goodnight or Goodday lovelies, I can't wait to see what shenanigans and love we get up to tomorrow <3

= Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika =

ALRIGHT, alright. You might think I'm lazy in choosing the gif everyone has seen but I just can't let you leave this post without seeing it again. Plus it fits with a taika gif, I love.

Taika gif courtesy @meluli!

Rhys gif courtesy of @bizarrelittlemew right here on tumblr!

And bonus Taika cause it's #TaikaTuesday, and I feel like it follows the theme... after...whatever happens after the gifs above. @blakbonnet Ty once again for this lovely gifset <3<3<3 It's HD and Gorgeous and you rock my socks off.

[gingerjolover]

maybe lazy day around the holidays cuddling with lucy? like they’re in bed (lucy and soft!gf) watching a christmas movie and soft!gf is trying to get lucy to appreciate the small things that come with the holidays ? if that makes any sense lol

of course babyyyy

we can make our own christmas - lucy dacus x soft!gf

Lucy's breathing is even, her head resting on your abdomen, body rising and releasing with your own. One arm is across your lower belly, the other under your back. You cringe at the thought that her arm might be actively falling asleep, but her eyelids flutter with sleep, staying closed. Your fingers carding through her hair, running down the slope of her nose, and rubbing her ear as you stare ahead at the screen, some random Christmas movie playing for the nth time this season already.

"Another Christmas movie?" Lucy mumbles, rubbing her face in your shirt, her lips catching the hem, gently grazing your skin.

"Oh, don't be such a grinch," you tease softly, smiling softly at her obvious distaste. Truthfully, Lucy was probably Christmas'd out. Over the last few days you'd gone to a Christmas tree farm/village, went to see Christmas lights, had a Christmas-themed brunch at Phoebe's, followed by a Santa Claus movie marathon, went gift shopping, and then decorated the entire apartment and tree.

And she's been a good sport... sort of...kind of... as much as Lucy could be about Christmas. You gave her a break today, though, the two of you lazily moving around the apartment, slowly invading each other's space, allowing one another to just exist in each other's presence.

"Sorry," Lucy mumbles, looking up at you, there's almost a submissive glint in her eyes.

"For what, honey?" you whisper back, thumbing the hair of her eyebrows down as they moved out of place while her face was resting in your stomach.

"Bein' a grinch," Lucy says, rubbing her face back into your abdomen, the feeling of her lips moving through the fabric of her your t-shirt tickles.

"I was just joking Lu," you say softly, hand rubbing the back of her head.

"No, but- you love Christmas, and I... I hate it, the only reason I did any of that stuff today was for you.. and for Phoebe, but mainly for you..." Lucy admits, her tone annoyed and defeated, but it's clearly an internal battle.

"Babe... I love you," you say, pulling her hair softly to lift her head to make eye contact. "And I appreciate you doing all this stuff for me... I know you have a lot attached to the Christmastime, but... I want to start creating our Christmas traditions... ones that make you feel good, and they don't even have to be super Christmassy..." you say softly. "I know I've been going hard with the Christmas stuff, but I want to figure out what you like... you didn't mind the scrapbooking and collage making, right?" you ask.

"No, I didn't mind it... it was fun," she whispers.

"And you liked sitting on the counter while I made Christmas cookies?"

"Yeah... your apron was cute," she says, lips pouting.

"And you got to pick really cool and unique and some ugly ornaments for the tree... that was fun, right?" you ask, fingers threading through her hair again, trying to convince her to like the small bits of Christmas without infantilizing her.

"Yeah... and I don't hate the music... or the gift giving, I guess... I just...it's a lot," she says, a heaviness in her voice, the weight of childhood Christmases, religious trauma, and the conflated depression all swirled in her words.

"It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be, Luce... we literally can do whatever we want for Christmas, I'm sorry if I've been pushing it," you say sincerely.

"No, you haven't; you've given me plenty of outs... I would do Christmas every weekend if it made you happy," she says sincerely, crawling up the bed, sticking her face in your neck.

"I love you," you say softly, her lips attaching to your neck gently.

"I love you more," she breathes. And she means it. Lucy is not a Christmas person, but there's something about how you breathe new life into every corner of her mind, showing her little things to love and appreciate, your smile worth every cheesy Christmas movie, familial argument, or pseudo-religious unwarranted messaging.

"I love you so much, I do... but can we please change the movie for the love of.." Lucy starts to say, tone exhausted as her nose rests on yours.

"How about the Grinch?" you tease softly, Lucy pulling away softly, eyes boring into yours, her face in faux offense.

"Do you hate me?" she asks.

"Luce!"

"No Grinch!"

[blazing-dynamo]

So, I’ve been looking at my gender for a while now. A few trans friends think I’m an egg, and I relate to basically every lesbian content on the internet.

But I don’t experience dysphoria at all.

In fact, I don’t even think of my gender at all even when pressed, which is why I’m pressing harder to try and root out a truth or two.

Someone somewhere said that Gender is a 3D matrix, with the X axis being identity, the Y axis being expression, and the Z axis being importance.

And so my identity and expression have been like 100% male, 75% masc, and -infinity important. I’ve never cared. I just use he/him because it was given to me and it’s whatever why not.

So me and my partner (they/she) have jokingly referred to me as a “non-practicing agender he/him lesbian.”

I’m also like, weirdly very Asexual for someone who has sex frequently. It took me a long time to figure this out because of the sex, and because of all the porn and jerkin off in my life.

But after my roommate (my ex-wife and coparent) got her new boyfriend and they fuck a lot and loudly constantly, and constantly are wanting to do more sex, I realized that sex has NEVER been an urge to me.

Not like, as anything besides “man I could go for a cheeseburger right now”. Never a carnal need. Just a “that sounds like fun!” Yknow?

And I’ve done a bunch of probing and searching around there and went from Bi, to Demi, to Grayce to just plain Ace.

I’ve ALSO realized that I don’t really have a difference in romance and friendship. I’m a stardew Valley Character, I have 8 levels of friendship, that if we get to level 9, I wanna kiss you on the mouth. And when we are at levels 9 and 10, I am very friendship-first, there’s just extra kissing involved. I still wanna like, show you an obscure anime I’m obsessed with and play Mario kart, not necessarily do capital R romantic gestures.

I’ve also also gone on the journey from “gifted” to “lazy” to “burnt out” to “ADHD” to AuDHD throughout my life. Turns out all my quirks were symptoms! Who knew?

Which then leads me to the point of this post:

You know who else is an AuDHD, Agender (but defaults to he/him most of the time because it was given to them and who cares) Asexual Friends-to-Lovers Grayromantic, panromantic, he/him lesbian who only sorta presents masc?

[ALT: a photo collage of all of the numbered Doctors from Doctor Who]

That’s right, everyone’s favorite renegade time lord, The Doctor.

No wonder I’m so obsessed with them.

The most Masculine Doctor dressed like this:

[ALT: the Third Doctor. He’s dressed like a silly magician man]

And he’s ABSOLUTELY a uhaul lesbian. “Hey I met you 43 minutes ago, do you want to move into my house? It travels through time”

He’s a he/him, and even when he was a She, she was only a she because it fit and made sense, not because of her identity.

And every single one of his Romantic partners, Rose, Yas, Fitz, Charley, all have the exact same trajectory as his best friends, Sarah Jane, Donna, Amy, he just goes a little farther to say he loves them romantically.

So yeah. My gender is Doctor Who.

Thanks for listening.

[pangolinheart]

I was tagged by @irisopranta so here's a little trivia!

Share your wallpaper: It's... just the default MSI wallpaper (I have commitment issues lol.) I could probably use a screenshot or a commission of a suitable dimensions, but meeehhhhh.

My mobile wallpaper is this Dragon Age Tarot-style commission from @needapotion

I've been thinking about changing it, but I'm not sure to what.

The last song you listened to: The Sharpest Lives by My Chemical Romance (I mostly listen to music while driving. Shockingly this song is not on any of my many playlists)

Currently reading: Uuuuhhhh I don't read as much as I should, but when I do I've been bouncing between: The Death and Life of Schneider Wrack by Nate Crowley, which I really enjoy but have been trying to finish for like a year and half (it's not long i'm just lazy). An inventive nautical zombie romp with a dash of social commentary.

Asian Ghost Short Stories: An Anthology of New and Classic Tales. The intersection of folklore, horror, and culture was the topic of both of my undergrad senior papers, though they mostly focused on Japan. I've already read most of the traditional Japanese stories in this book, but I don't know very much about ghosts in other Asian Countries, so it's been an interesting read! I was also drawn to it because it contains translations of new short horror stories by unpublished Asian authors. The Black Bestiary: A Phantasmagoria of Monsters and Myths from the Phillipines by Budjette Tan (Author), David Hontiveros, Kajo Baldisimo (Illustrator), and Bow Guerrero  (Illustrator). See above. This book is really interesting, because it's an illustrated compedium of myths and monsters, but the entries are written from the perspective of modern-day monster hunters recording their experiences in a journal. Apparently it's a sequel to a book called The Lost Journal of Alejandro Pardo, which I'll have to pick up sometime. The art is very cool. One of the illustrators, Kajo Baldisimo, is the main illustrator of a comic series called Trese that semi-recently received an animated adaptation with audio available in both English and Tagalog. I've been meaning to consume both of these at some point as well.

Last Movie: Uuuuuhhhhhh.... I'm not much of a movie person, so I don't really remember, but I guess maybe Dune?

Craving: Curry and rice (I'll make some the next time everyone else is out of the house >_>)

What are you wearing right now? Black leggings and a sweatshirt with the word "Catnip" over a collage of images of cats and slogans like "Cheap Thrills" in the style of an old-school Reefer Madness poster.

How tall are you: 5'4 (164.56 cm) (People always say "I thought you were taller!" Including someone i worked with in-person for more than a month-and-a-half.)

Piercings: Just the boring regular ear piercings.

Tattoos: None, sadly. See: fear of commitment

Glasses? Contacts? Neither.

Last drink: Ice water (I'm trying to drink more water, but I'd rather gargle metal shavings than drink room-temperature water.)

Last show: Hmm this one was also a while ago. I think it was Dragon Age: Absolution.

Last thing you ate: Pork roast (bleh) and potatoes for dinner.

Favorite color: This is a cop-out but I like lots of colors. I guess maybe green, orange or red? But I also like white, black, most shades of blue (navy can get fucked), purple, yellow, pink, silver/gray, etc.

Current obsession: FFXIV

Unrelated obsession: Dice! I love hand-made ttrpg dice sets! They're so pretty and unique! Sadly, not playing in any actual games has not put a damper on my bankruptcy-inducing dice habit.

Any pets: Two cats (Hansel and Gretel) and a dog (Isabella).

Do you have a crush on anyone? Nah.

Favorite fictional character: This one is really hard... There are probably so many I'm forgetting. The Justice of Toren/Breq from the Imperial Radch series, Matthew Swift from the Matthew Swift series, Alistair from DA:O, Anders, Fenris, and Isabela from DA2. Garrus from Mass Effect. Esteem from FFXIV, Alisaie from FFXIV (though I also really like Haurchefant, Y'shtola, Hilda, Ysayle, and Fordola.)

Honorable mentions to the characters I used to have keychains of on my pen case (I would try to encourage shier, nerdier students to talk to me by watching/playing things that were popular with high schoolers and putting my favorite character from the media on my pen case, which students would get very excited about): Chuuya from Bungo Stray Dogs, Childe from Genshin Impact, and Cu Chulainn from various Fate-related media.

The last place you traveled: Uhhhh I guess my last major trip was to... here (America)! My last "vacation" was to Sapporo (that was right before the pandemic.) I do occasionally take shorter day trips to towns around my area, but the furthest afield I've been recently is Grand Marais in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

I will be in Las Vegas for the FFXIV Fan Expo this summer though!

Tagging: I think everyone I interact with has already been tagged in this, but if you haven't done it and want to here is your unofficial tag!

[end-orfino]

thinking about what format pg would be if i made it real...considering how the story has developed i really dont know if i want to make it, and if so, i dont know how? Because like. Video game? That was what it started out as, but at this point, the story doesn't have a specific protagonist. Obviously many games give you a few of those you switch between, but even that wouldn't really do anything good for the story. A lot of things from various perspectives happen at the same time and are important. There's also other reasons I'm too lazy to write down here. A book or a graphic novel? I guess, but with all the inspiration PG takes from media that makes you guess things and interact with the story more, I think making it entirely something you just Read (and obviously you can make theories on, but it's not exactly the same as smth with ARG elements) would kind of sand the story down. Also, the current state of books as a media format is downright horrendeous and making PG a book would be signing it up for obvious failure. Analog Horror? It COULD work, especially since The Walten Files is one of the largest influences on the current state of the story and how I imagined it, but a lot of the story happens in settings that don't have any possible explanation for anything being uploaded onto youtube. Sure, you can make it more cinematic (again, the way twf is starting to be), but there still needs to be Something as a groundwork for the setting.

In the end I think it could be like...some kind of interactive internet story. I think I would want to make it a mixed bag of some videos with a mix of being cinematic and some classic analog horror stuff, but also other things, like diary pages in both written and recorded form, newspaper clippings, maybe photo albums, archived forums... And other stuff, really, whatever could fit. A collage of sorts. Also I don't think I would focus on making it fit into the unfiction genre, and I think a whole bunch of things would be included without needing an explanation for Why the viewers get to see them. The viewers would get to see the story from various angles and from "above" so to speak. Like an omniscient narrator, although there wouldn't be a specific narrator in this, so more like...omniscient narrative? I don't know what I'm saying lmao

[mossy-drawingtablet]

🌱🌸🌟🐚🏳️‍⚧️🪲🌻🌿

~~Intro post~~

🪻🪼🩷🍓🌈🌧🐞🏳️‍🌈

Hello beloved visitors! Feel welcomed to this blog. My name is Moss and I am the artist who posts here :3

🩷 Commissions are currently closed.

🩷 Trades are open but depends on style, subject & if you're nice to me

❤️ I have other (art) blogs:

❤️ Main: @kid-a-their-blog

❤️ Furry art (safe furry): @mossy-paws-art

❤️ OC art & lore: @aveganvampire

🧡about my art🧡

🧡 I like to draw all sort of things, usually with fantasy or natural themes

🧡 my current artistic interest is "children's" illustrations of animals. There is just something so sweet about stylized nature & the personalities that can be added to the animals!

🧡 when drawing digitally I draw either on an Ipad 6 with procreate and apple pencil, or on a wacom intuos pro large with krita or gimp (I'm still learning gimp but I like it thus far!) Result wise I really prefer an actual drawing tablet over ipad, but sometimes I'm lazy and wanna see my drawing directly under my pen lolol

🧡 when drawing traditionally I like to combine many materials. This includes watercolor, collage, scrapbook kinda stuff, markers, oil pastels, colored pencils, stickers etc etc etc.

🧡 I go through phases of different art styles & interests :3

💛about me💛

💛basic info is in the bio

💛 I am about 3 years on T and about 2.5 years post-op from top surgery

💛 I love being non-binary & my medical transition has made me a bazillion times more happy in life! Yeah, it still gets difficult & dark sometimes, but I can say now that I am mostly content and that I am able to connect, love, enjoy. This is not oly because of my transition, also many other things including a lot of therapy

💛 I have autism & (undiagnosed) adhd. I am also chronically mentally ill (doing way better than before but bad times still sometimes come) & chronic pain.

💛 I have 2 cats, the youngest one is evil & the oldest one is a fool (I love them)

💛 I collect rocks, crystals, shells & fossils.

💛 with friends I like to do grandparent activities like going for a walk of making a puzzle or sorting out beads.

💛 listening to music is a very important coping mechanism to me & I am currently saving up for better headphones & streaming!

💛 art/illustrating/creating is also one of the things that is super duper important to me! I have done it for as long as I could hold a pen & I cannot imagine myself without it.

💚reblogs are honestly gifts to artists like me!💚

& spam reblogs/likes etc are welcomed too <3 . Reblogs are a very important way on tumblorb dot com to help artists be seen & appreciated !

🩵 Some recent works I am proud of will be added here:

[translationandbetrayals]

Corridor Digital Animes that are not animes Pt.2

In a past post I talked about Corridor’s anime-like sketches a shorts but I purposely avoided talking about their series: ANIME ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS (1 & 2), where they use AI filters to take their live action performance and transform those into what looks like a  2D animation, and released those videos under the motto “Did We Just Change Animation Forever? ” .

  First of all, I have to address the elephant in the room; The use of AI.

As someone very interested on the tech space but also surrounded by a lot of artists Im very interested on the advances in AI technology, but I'm also conscious about the ethical use and im trying to form a more studied opinion than just saying “AI is cool I dont care about anything” nor “AI is bad, everything made with AI is bad”. 

  To begin with something, the first Corridor video was trained (trained as in: the filter applied over the frames of the video was made by an AI trained to replicate the mentioned artstyle) in the style of the movie Vampire Hunter D and people got very mad, and I my opinion that was the only thing that was a bit shady, but we have to understand the first video was essentially a proof of concept and they fixed it by commissioning character art for the second video with an artist that was willing to hand their art for the training process. At the moment I don't remember what platform was used to do the training, I know some where trained with copyrighted material but right now there are programs that only use owned material or can be trained with your own data so you can have copyright free generated images.

  The other thing I have to say about AI is that people gets mad very fast with the concept of AI and how “its stolen art and lazy” and I have to ask where is the art in a multimedia piece? Its just the art style or there is more? Im going to make a very bold comparison now, but we all know Marcel Duchamp and the fact he brought a urinal to an art exposition, the “art” in that instance wasn’t the urinal itself, the art piece was the action; the absurdism; the boldness; the critic to the status quo and every analysis of that situation is the art piece, not the material piece itself. In the other hand this youtube video we are talking about ain’t a masterpiece, but it has an interesting original story, voice acting, all the character actions were interpreted by real actors so it has a lot of art and true effort in it, if they didn’t used an AI generated art style and keep the live action format of their old anime videos, no one would have complain and people would loved it, but as VFX artists they wanted to see how far they can go visual effects and made something really interesting.

  I also have to make the comparison to Yu-Gi-Oh! The Abridged Series (Or Yugioh Abridged, or YGOTAS), that's a pretty beloved series where some guy just take the original Yu-Gi-Oh anime and makes its own collage, dubs everything and tells a new story loosely based on the original series. Isn’t that stealing the art and the concepts of the characters to create something new and profit from that too? Why YGOTAS wasn’t (or is) equally controversial? Someone could say that's because Yugioh Abridged is a parody, but Corridor’s video is a parody of its genre too, just less explicit.

  Anyways I kinda forgot my original point, but the ANIME ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS videos are cool, as with the ones before Corridor nailed the anime language, they did not change animation forever, but I'm pretty sure that title is just the youtube game. AI criticism is valid, but have a little more critical thinking and don't criticize things just because part of them are made with AI.

 ANIME ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVT3WUa-48Y

ANIME ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS 2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWZOEFvczzA

Did We Just Change Animation Forever?: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_9LX9HSQkWo

Yu-Gi-Oh!: The Abridged Series: https://ygotas.fandom.com/wiki/Main_Page

- Oscar Garrido

[magicalgirlpictureencyclopedia]

EXCUSE THE LONG COMMENT/RANT BUT UMMM... LET ME SPEAK ON THIS!!

So like, I run the MagicalGirloftheDay page on Twitter and the negativity from fans on there is beyond draining. It is to the point where I have considered leaving several times because people do these things constantly:

1. Constantly beg for me to recommend them titles. Here's the thing - I have posted girls from EVERYTHING. Anime, manga, visual novels, commericials, American, Korean, etc cartoons. Name it and I have posted a character from it. People could easily search the page of what I posted, but instead dm me things like, "wahhh, Precure is too immature for me!" and then go on a rant in my dms at 7AM to then be like, "Can you recommend me titles?" Fuck off, please.

The first two or three times is one thing, but when people are too lazy to find media and always ask me for recommendations (or even links to idk, books on people in the anime industry who have worked on magical girl titles they can Google themselves to purchase), it gets really annoying.

2. Claiming that "Madoka/[insert show here] ruined the genre!!" or other complaints to get my attention. It is clear I find these opinions reductive, but followers eagerly want me to agree with them, so they come to me about this stuff for attention. LISTEN - none of the shows before Madoka or after it stopped existing. You want to enjoy the genre? Stop being lazy and complaining about titles and go on Google. Stop spamming me with, "do other magical girl mecha shows exist? Does mature mahou shoujo exist? Are there any with [×]?" SEARCH IT UP.

3. Demand that the genre is not doing enough, even though several titles diverge from dark material, or have LGBT representation, etc. The "MADOKA RUINED THE GENRE WAAHHHH!!!" crowd highly exaggerated, as it was only 6 shows including PMMM itself that fell under that category. 3 of them are no longer running, with one that had severe issues even getting recognition to the point where plot details are only really listed on a site for the show itself (Daybreak Illusion.) Magical Girl Site has been highly criticized, to the point where it is rare to even find fans of online anymore out in the open.

As for representation, if the only show you're looking at is Precure then yeah, I guess you would miss out on things like black characters, lesbian, gay, bi, or trans ones, or even characters with autism, ADHD, etc. There are several Western comics and games featuring such aspects, such as Adorned by Chi (now on hiatsu to my knowledge), Mahou Josei Chimaka, Vampire Magicka, and even Witch Hat Atelier features black characters. Magical Girl Warrior Diamond Heart has a black girl as its protagonist, who has ADHD, along with one party member with autism, and three trans characters who are part of the main cast. Even when you look into older majokko titles you had Little Witch Parfait, a game from 1999 that has yuri. Even one of its follow up games, Little Witch Reinette, focuses on romancing Parfait, her close friend.

But, you know, since magical girl fans aren't actually interested in untranslated titles, or anything that is not a nostalgia title (Sailor Moon, for example) or Precure, I get to see a lot of complaints and accusations like this. I have even heard, "WE NEED MORE MAGICAL BOYS!!" and I made a collage of at least 100 of them and there are several more where those came from.

And it's not just Twitter that's like this, either. I've seen whiners on Tumblr and Reddit as well, who would rather scream about fanservice anime. Years ago it was regarding shows like Moetan (one that isn't even really popular, nor do most care about), but now MahoAko and some others get flak. You don't have to like these shows, but there is no need to whine about them nonstop. Again, you can easily find things you like, but magical girl fans LOVE instead to choose to be upset over goofy stuff that they can easily disengage from.

I've never seen a more divided and boring/linear fanbase, either - it's to the point people have told me "only the girls who fight count", or "magical girl idols don't count", "Cutie Honey doesn't count", and I guess now otome games don't either. It's a fandom that will never be satisfied cause the fans who are loudest never welcome change, hate everything, and refuse to do actual research/read up on the actual genre they claim to love so much.

Like, when people began telling me MACROSS DELTA was a magical girl idol series but people refuse to even watch Creamy Mami, Fancy Lala, Waccha PriMagi!, etc, actual magical girl idol series... that's when I knew it's all a bunch of bs.

@ackee replied to your post “@ackee replied to your post “i always be seeing...”:

FR? thats kinda funny. the solution to yalls problems but yall too busy fighting 😭😭😭😭 welp try the indie otome sub then, i found a few cool games from looking on there every now and again

​mg fandom will do literally everything except interact w magical girls they actually like its so much. every 3 business days they start whining about madoka ~ruining~ the genre forever like we didnt just get *pulls out list*:

a sequel to CCS, a TMM remake and a spin off manga, we're getting a Doremi sequel anime, Mermaid Melody got a sequel manga, Sailor Moon got a new movie, Sanrio came out with new magical girls (Mewkledreamy), Waccha Primagi got officially subbed on bluray, a new pretty series magical girl (AiPri), Saint Tail got liscensed subs, Acro Trip is getting an anime, The Magical Girl And Evil Lieutenant Used To Be Archenemies is getting an anime, Magilumiére is getting an anime

and this is not counting anything non-japanese like all the korean magical girl shows, the Winx reboot, possible Lolirock S3, the Princess Gwenevere reboot,

and the multitude of Indie projects including, MWDH of course, Wheels and Roses, 24/7 Magical Maiden Mimi... Like this is all people who like follow accounts dedicated to magical girl news asking where all the wholesome shows went. I have mutuals that sit up and post news every single day and their replies are full of ppl complaining about madoka and pervert shows 💀

[redheadkittys]

...let's make a game🤓...

...there are many different types of "DADDYS" in otome games 😏...which one is(are) your(s)???...add them😀...

[letshearitforthespacedads]

Twin Flame - Pt 1 The Golden Child of Hawkins High

Twin Flame: Part 2

Being Steve Harrington’s twin had its perks. Okay, there were a lot of perks to being a Harrington. One downfall though was somehow getting involved with a group of Pre-Teens with a knack of finding trouble, a girl from the Hawkins Lab with superpowers, and whatever the hell just came out of Jonathan Byers’ wallpaper?! God, you were just trying to get through your Senior year. Who would have expected the biggest surprise of the year would be falling for Eddie Freaking Munson.

CW: Playing it fast and loose with the timeline baby, Twin!Harrington, reader talks about getting bullied, lots of plot and dialogue (sorry, but I wanna see Eddie and Reader fall in looooove), mentions of past trauma, hints that reader has some PTSD from S1, even though Steve dresses like a sailor reader has the mouth of one, not Beta read, eventual SPICE, Minors please advert your eyes and hit the road--this one isn’t for you, time jumps, tried to write reader as GN! as possible but I think some things slipped by me. Story starts in-between S1 and S2. This is just a summary of what happened during S1 because I am a lazy little goblin.

Gif not mine, Credit to the owner ;)

Hawkins, Indiana. How would you describe your hometown? You had once described Hawkins in a collage application letter as a ‘A breath of crisp fresh air compared to the rest of the world, a wholesome town, an American utopia you would be sad to leave behind’. If you were being honest, it was a town that smelled like cow shit that was filled with close minded assholes. And quite possibly, the literal Gate to Hell. Or at least, that’s what the other locals referred it to. You referred to it as the Upside Down. Or at least, the Kids told you that was what it was called. 

You were one of the lucky ones. The luckiest an outcast in a small town could be you supposed. You had been born to a well-respected family, a wealthy family, and your twin had better hair than Farrah Fauset. They called him ‘King Steve’. Ugh, you swore you could have barfed the second the new nickname had left Tommy H’s lips for the first time.

But that just made you even more lucky. Instead of being outcast as a nerd and trampled over by other teens trying to reach the peak of the social hierarchy ladder, simply because of your last name, you had become boosted to a Throne yourself. Of course, you would never be held in the same regard as your twin, but Tommy H in all his elitist douchbag glory, that only those who peaked in High School seem to have. Tommy H. had graced you with a nickname that had spread equally as fast as your brothers, ‘The Golden Child of Hawkins High’. You actually barfed the second you heard that one.

You we’re sure Tommy H. had only said as a backhanded compliment of sorts, to try and demean you, make you feel insecure. Even though him being so close with your brother made the two of you almost constantly forcefully interact, you had loathed each other since the day you had met. But surprising to both of you the other popular kids at School just ran with it. They had even started talking to you when Steve wasn’t around, asking you to come over to their houses to help tutor them, admiring your grades, their parents often commenting on how they wish you were one of their kids, you were frequently asked on dates, even got invites to Home Coming and Prom during your Sophomore year. 

You were even once in the running for the yearbooks ‘Prettiest Teen in Hawkins’ (which had been mortifying for you). You may not have had Steve’s hair, but you were good-looking. As all members of the Harrington clan were. Another tally to add to the privilege board. 

You were sure without your name, looks, and brother you would be tortured and bullied relentlessly by the mass of hormone ridden idiots who littered the halls of Hawkins High mouth agape and heads empty. You were in band for god’s sake. Tommy H and Carol wouldn’t have ever been caught dead in Steve’s car with anyone else from Band. But you were aware of what made you different. 

You loved Steve; you really did. He was your brother, your twin. He had been your best friend since birth, literally. But over the past few years he had become different, he had become a bully. Not the same brother who would always push you on the swing set in your backyard, or the kid who never hesitated to buy ice cream for a neighbor who didn’t have the cash when the ice cream truck made its rounds, even if it meant he didn’t get a cone with a scoop favorite flavor that day. 

You blamed Tommy H. mostly, but knew Steve had to take accountability for his own shitty behavior. He knew better, you knew he knew better. But he was embarrassed and insecure you guessed and didn’t want to look weak or lame to his new ‘COOL’ friends. You were happy when he first started showing interest in Nancy Wheeler during the summer before your Senior year.

She wasn’t like his other friends. She was kind to everyone and was determined as hell. You hadn’t spoken to her much since she had only a Freshman during both Steve and your Junior year, but you had both shared a few honors classes because she was smart, like really smart, maybe even smarter than you. And she one hell of a writer. 

You had been at your desk, quietly writing a paper, listening intently to your new cassette on your Walkman, drumming along to the beat with your free hand when he quickly opened the door and then quickly slammed it shut behind him. The minute Steve had entered your room unannounced, almost tearing your door off the hinges before throwing himself face first onto your bed; clutching one of your pillows tightly and burying himself in the fluff, you knew what was about to happen.

He started rambling about her before you could even remove your headphones. Nancy. About her big blue eyes, how cute her laugh was, and how her hair was always soft and smelled like flowers he didn’t know the names to. You smiled to yourself knowing he was done for. You removed your headphones, placing them around your neck. 

Turning your neck slightly, you said in a taunting tone. “Didn’t catch that last one lover boy.”

“I said she’s perfect, she’s PERFECT” He whined closing his eyes as if he was in pain. 

“So, what’s the problem then?” You asked fully turning in your chair to look at him. Your paper long forgotten at this point.

“She’s just-“ He thought for a minute trying to pick his next words carefully. In all honesty he just had this unexplainable pull towards her.

“Not an idiot?” You offered simply.

“Exactly!” Steve shouted sitting up in your bed and turning to face you. “She’s so smart, so smart and just ugh, beautiful-like I can’t believe how beautiful she is.” He rambled on, gesturing with his hands wildly as you pillow fell to his lap.

“And what? Your worried you’re going to blow your chance with her?” You questioned again, leaning back in your chair to get more comfortable as your twin opened-up to you about how he was feeling. A rare occurrence these days as he usually spoke to Tommy H.

Steve groaned, falling back into your bed. “Exactly.” He ran his hands over his face, groaning in frustration. 

“Here’s some advice, just be yourself Steve. Don’t rely on the hair, or the corny pickup lines, and don’t listen to anything Tommy H. says, him and Carol have broken up at least 80 times this year. He’s a moron,” 

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re smart and have like, cool hobbies. All I can do well is sports and keg stand’s” 

“Wait!” You shouted, leaning in dramatically. “Are you saying keg stands aren’t cool?”

Steve threw the pillow at your face, but you laughed catching it easily after it had made contact with your cheek before continuing. “So, I’ve been practicing all year for this year’s Halloween party, and no one is going to think I’m cooooooool?” 

“You are so not helping.” Steve whined.

“Steve it’s cool, I mean, you’re cool. You don���t have anything to worry about. Just don’t be a jerk and everything will work out fine.” Trying to comfort your dumb brother, who was stressing for no reason. You meant what you said, beside the bully thing, he was actually very cool. “Now get out of my room jerk.” You threw the pillow back at him. “I have to get this paper finished.” You turned back to your desk, scotting your chair closer so you could continue writing.

Steve stood up with a sigh, feeling a little better after your talk. Before he left, he decided to look over your shoulder at what you were writing, “What’s this even for?”

“Collage application letter” you said simply. Returning the headphone of your Walkman to your ears you pressed play.

“That’s not for another like 10 months, dork.” Steve said before ruffling your hair in a playful manor.

“BYE STEVE!” You shouted over the music blaring over your headphones. Using your hands to push his hands away from your head.

 _______________________________________________

You hadn’t expected much from your Senior year. The most exciting prediction you had going was that you might let Josh P. feel you up a few more times, then finally let him hit the home run he had been thirsting for since Freshmen Biology. 

What you got instead was the disappearance and then Death of Will Buyers.

Your idiot brother vandalizing the movie theater you worked at Part-Time, was just another topping on the Shit Sundae this year was turning into. Making you climb the biggest ladder your boss could find just so you could clean up the hurtful trash him, Tommy H, and rest of the goon squad wrote in spray painted all over the marquess to bully and embarrass Nancy. Low blow, even for those scumbags. 

The sprinkles, al la Shit Sundae were when Steve came crawling back to the movie theater offering to clean up his stupid mess. Getting the absolute ear chewing of a lifetime from you AFTER he had finished cleaning up the spray paint wasn’t enough. You forced him to drive to Jonathan Byers house and apologize. Apologize for the camera he destroyed, the horrible things he had said about his little brother who had freaking DIED, and for what he had just put him and Nancy through for the sake of his own overinflated male ego.  

You fumed the entire car ride to the Byers house mumbling under your breath about how stupid Steve had been. When Steve barged into the house thinking Jonathan had hurt Nancy, you swore you were going to kill him yourself. You followed behind him, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket yelling at him to calm down. 

You were both stopped dead in your tracks by the state of the Byers’ house, losing your grip on Steve completely as you stared open mouthed at the chaos of the living room. “You uh, remodel?” You said dumbly.

You know the death of will had taken a toll on Joyce Byers, it was no secret in the town she had gone loopy. Well, more loppy. Especially since she never showed up to Will’s funeral. But this was, a whole other level of crazy. Things escalated quickly from there, Nancy with a gun, the lights going crazy. And Oh! let’s not forget the literal DEMON crawling out of the freaking wallpaper. 

You’re not exactly sure how you ended up back inside the house with Steve after you had both fled to his car, but in an instant you and Steve were back in the Byers’ house wielding some of Steve’s practice bats taking turns dealing out calculated and deadly swings to the wallpaper demon before hightailing it down a boobytrapped hallway. Steve had never been one to run away, and you had never been one to leave your twin hanging. 

Everything was a blur after that. A lab, a girl with powers like the freaking X Men, breaking into the school with the town sheriff, Will being alive and stuck in an alternate dimension? Jesus when had your life become a comic book? 

With all these events happening over the course of a few days, you still had to admit-it wasn’t the craziest thing that had happened during your Senior year. 

The Cherrie on your Senior year Shit Sundae was fact you fell, head over heels, heart pounding, googly heart eyes in love with the school weirdo, Eddie Munson. And he definitely hit a home run. 

AN: Alright ya’ll here’s ya fun little intro to the Reader and what you’ve been through, Hope you liked it, and if you didn’t-please accept my sincerest apologies. I know the timeline is a little loopy, but like just stick with me, kay? Anyways, let me know if you like and all that stuff. Likes, Comments, and Reblogs make my heart go all pitter patter.

[tangibletechnomancy]

See, unfortunately, this ties back to EXACTLY what I was talking about with "fair use for me but not for thee".

It makes sense as an argument - somewhat - if you believe the popular myth that all a machine learning algorithm does is save images off the internet and rearrange bits of them into something else, which it very much does not - but even if you DO believe that myth, you're discrediting collage and other assemblage, or for that matter, many if not all fan works. A lot of that isn't done with permission, and despite that, it's generally considered Art(TM). A dick move, sometimes, depending on the piece and its purpose, but not Theft(TM) most of the time, let alone Fake Art(TM).

But when you get into the reality of it - that it not only doesn't contain a single image, but physically, mathematically CAN'T, and in fact is just STUDYING literal billions of images to know what patterns of pixels tend to represent certain keywords, then it becomes even harder to argue that anyone is being "stolen" from - at that point you are inherently arguing that REFERENCING is theft by several orders of magnitude more. Any given image that contributed to the weights that tell a model what "a horse" or "watercolors" look like is contributing less to the model's "understanding" of what these things are than any, yes, ANY image you've ever seen contributes to yours; unless you're over 150 years old and have spent your entire life just looking at images, you've gleaned your understanding of what a painting of a cat looks like from FAR fewer images than any AI model has. If studying hundreds of other people's art to make your own interpretation of what a stylized cat looks like is fair use because you're not just directly copying one of them in particular, then studying hundreds of millions to the same end must also be, because again, you are taking FAR less influence from any of those pieces and you (or your tool and the HUMAN PEOPLE who made it) are doing much more original work to make the end result coherent-

Unless your goal in making a distinction is just to define an ingroup - Real Artists, Victims Of The System, vs. an outgroup - the devious Technical Brother Art Thieving Lazy Jealous Jerk. It works VERY well for that.

That said, there IS a meaningful critique of how the datasets are compiled, and I feel it's exemplified very well by this:

Remember how this got a whole bunch of people really angry at tumblr over it when that phrasing first changed? Well, the thing is, it's not actually tumblr's fault; it's just how the internet works. It is, in fact, impossible to block webscrapers completely without making a page's contents unavailable to the general public (e.g., by a login wall), and there is no law saying that webcrawlers have to honor privacy settings. This on top of the fact that Facebook et al have been slowly boiling the frog to encourage us to overshare, and only now is this here to give people the shock reminder that the public internet is, in fact, PUBLIC, and the things we choose to post long-term IN PUBLIC are in fact readily available, preserved, there to study, IN PUBLIC...

There is a dataset ethics issue, and it is a PRIVACY issue, not one of plagiarism/copyright. What we need to be doing is focusing on privacy. The right to disappear. The right to opt out of automated studies and reasonably expect it to be honored. The right to be able to do the digital equivalent of putting up a "no photos" sign at a real world show and expect it to, if nothing else, at LEAST be honored by people who call themselves professionals.

This, incidentally, is why I...somewhat support the use of tools like Glaze or Nightshade in conjunction with NOAI/disallow all flags - those tools are not as effective as they claim to be and I take umbrage with that, BUT if adopted in conjunction with such flags on a wide scale, they could potentially enforce respect for flags on a cultural and practical level by making the end product of any company that looks at a "do not datamine" flag and says "how about I do anyway?" meaningfully worse!

In other words, fight KOSA and the like and push for privacy protections; the problem isn't MOSTLY, but ENTIRELY capitalism.

Economic anxiety has a way of bringing out reactionary sentiment in anyone if they're not careful.

It is deeply, deeply frustrating to watch it play out in front of me in leftist spaces such that self-proclaimed leftists are using actual, literal fascist arguments about Real Art vs. Fake Art and Real Labor vs. Lazy Button-Pushing.

These things don't become any less bad when you SAY your enemy is "some rich techbro" while calling broke disabled hobbyists "evil soulless automatons".

The central logic doesn't become true when you SAY you're targeting an inhuman machine while you screech obscenities about a great replacement at its operator.

When you say one minute "there is no unskilled labor, only undervalued skills", it doesn't magically absolve you of saying "nooo, you were supposed to automate away the BAD and DEMEANING jobs with no financial safety net for the workers, not THIS one I consider RESPECTABLE" in the next breath; it only makes you a fucking hypocrite.

"Fair use for me but not for thee" is not a rational position to prevent plagiarism and forgery; it's just a means to codify an ingroup and an outgroup.

"Degenerate art" is always, ALWAYS reactionary and proto-fascist thing to believe in, even if you wrap it up in other fancy words because you know "degenerate" is a Bad Word. "There is Good Art that makes society better and Bad Art, if you can even CALL it Art at all, that will rot our brains and turn us all into mindless drones if it's allowed to survive" cannot be made into anything but a reactionary position! Period! End of!

"Lazy button-pushers" are EXACTLY what corporations want you to think ANY automation operator is, so they can take credit away from those employees and criminally underpay them. They said the same damned thing about digital artists back in the early days of Photoshop. They say the same thing about overworked VFX artists today. You are DIRECTLY helping them make it worse with this argument.

The same old fucking trick of making you uncertain of your financial future so you lash out at other victims of the system because you "can't take the risk" of coming together to fight the actual enemy? Is working a FUCKING treat on way too many people who pride themselves on Not Being Like That - and it's even worse because a lot of the time pointing this out will get nothing but denial because maintaining pride in a leftist, progressive, pro-labor, pro-human Identity is more important to way too many people than ACTUALLY identifying the root of reactionary sentiment and the strategies used to spread it.

It makes me genuinely feel like I've fallen into a Fox News convention, hearing all these blatantly reactionary arguments and actively self-defeating strategies to Protect Labor.

[nexfarious]

hey nex!! i hope you've been alright these days, and if not, i hope things get better for you soon. remember to eat something, drink some water, and take any meds you need to!

i see you've got requests open, so i was wondering.... could i get some headcanons for how a first date with chihiro fujisaki might look like? like after reader and them have confessed, and all the lovey gooey awkwardness of it all... maybe they kiss while they are there...

but either way, take care of yourself, my friend <3

- rei 💛

FIRST DATE — CHIHIRO FUJISAKI

pairing — chihiro fujisaki/gn!reader.

content — they/them pronouns for chihiro, hand holding, cuddling, kissing, food mention.

notes — hi rei!!! i’m doing pretty great, fulfilling requests. i love chihiro so much… they mean a lot. hope you enjoy, you’d better take care as well! <3

You’re going to wear a hole in the floor with the amount of pacing you’ve done, a strip back and forth in the wake of your nervousness. You couldn’t help it! The mixture of anticipation and excitement was festering in your stomach like a cocktail, sloshing around even as you counted down the seconds.  

Chihiro was very insistent on being the one to plan the date, telling you they wanted to be brave enough to go out somewhere nice. You weren’t quite sure what to wear, so you settled for something in the middle - not quite formal, but not quite casual.

Eventually, a knock comes from the door and you open it excitedly to the smile of your partner. They’re standing there, a little skittish, with a bundle of flowers in hand. Your heart warms, wrapping your arms around them in a swell of affection - in response, they squeak something about being careful with the flowers, flustered by the sudden contact.

Once you’ve found a suitable place to leave the beautiful flora, the two of you head out hand in hand. When you ask Chihiro about what their plans are, they give a little smile as they swing your interlocked hands back and forth nervously, telling you that it’s a surprise but that you’ll really like it!

You’re taken to a nice café - high-end enough to be a little more fancy than you were used to, but not formal enough to be worrying about posture or mannerisms. A reservation has been made in advance and when Chihiro tells the waiter their name, the two of you are lead towards a table at the back.

At first, you can tell they’re nervous. Stuttering more than usual, taking more time than usual to respond to your questions, it’s really quite endearing. They really want to make this a good date for the both of you, even if it means confronting their anxious feelings.

When you lean over your plates of food and take their hand, they break out into a lovely shade of crimson as you tell them it’s okay to be nervous, you are too! It’s easier to fall back into more mundane topics after that as they excitedly tell you about their newest programming project.

Afterwards, the two of you split the bill and head back home; You’re not sure if it’s Chihiro’s presence or the food, but you’re suddenly feeling fuller, a place in your heart melting at their smile when you tell the right joke.

The sun is setting as the two of you walk in comfortable silence before you spot a hill, coming up with an idea. You tug them along by the sleeve up the cobblestone path.

It takes a little while but eventually the two of you are situated at the top of the hill, a perfect view of the sun setting - no buildings stood between your eyes and the view of the lazy colours settling in the sky, a collage of purples and pinks and yellows.

Chihiro gasps from their seated position, absolutely enthralled by the wispy clouds. Shuffling a little closer while they’re distracted, you hook an arm around their side. They don’t even seem to notice until you rest your face on their shoulder, sighing contently.

After a long while of gazing up at the most beautiful sky you’ve seen in months, the two of you pull away from each other - Chihiro looks contemplative for a moment, gazing downwards as they work up their courage. You think you know what they’re going to ask, but wait patiently, knowing it means a lot to them.

It takes a few moments, but they ask if they can kiss you. Upon receiving a positive affirmation, they gently take your cheeks in their shaking hands, pulling you closer for a kiss. It’s just as warm as the sunset before you, slow and gentle as you hold one another.

You’re brought home by a very self-satisfied Chihiro, who thanks you for a wonderful afternoon - you give them a kiss on the cheek for that, watching them walk away covering themselves with a flustered arm.

[sassycordy]

welcome to part two of me pretending to know about fashion ahah. usual disclaimer! this is just my own personal opinion on how i would dress rodney today, if you don’t agree with me that’s perfectly fine! also if it helps to imagine things better, i like the picture the team wearing these outfits around the age of 25 ahah.

ok so! to the left, we have his day to day outfits. if i had to pick a word i associate his every day looks with it would be “soft boy that doesn’t look as put together” ahha. the giant blue hoodie is self explanatory (he’s such a stereotypical nerd lmfao) and I think blue is his Best color (it matches his eyes <3). next up are the bottoms, and I personally don’t think any of the men on Stargate Atlantis would wear skinny jeans lol so i put rodney in a more wide length jeans cut! we have another outfit with the classic blue jeans (imagine them as baggy but stylish) + i added some beige (and a lot of other browns to his look) because its a color he wears a lot in the show and i think it suits him! now i had to add a stripped shirt and a nerdy shirt because c’mon its rodney lol. weirdly his shoes were the most difficult part of this collage lol. on one hand, i think rodney would try to wear sandals/berks because he’s lazy and doesn’t care much about his appearance but i also believe rodney wouldn’t be the guy to have his toes out (he’d find it so unprofessional LMFAO) so I went with the safe choice and gave him some white sneakers cause dammit rodney im giving you a brighter palette.

up next we have his vacation outfit and honestly again, this entire look is self explanatory. elizabeth definitely made him that t-shirt so ppl on the base would leave him alone on his days off ahah. i also gave him some of that classic rodney charm with khaki cargo shorts! and last but definitely not least, the dreaded pair of socks and sandals. unfortunately, in my heart …. i know he would wear this combination. (I was gonna say I can fix him but lets be honest, if john can’t do it I cant do it lol).

his formal wear was another easy one to nail as I think the show actually did rly well in this area (shocking I know)! he would love the classic black tux but i also think he would throw in a bow tie to spice his look up ahah. although he would stick to a black bow tie because of course he can’t go Too crazy. and for his more casual business attire, i went with a brown sweater vest! rodney is basically a 500 year old man stuck in young body aha so I think he would love the “grandpa” aesthetic (do we know anything about rodney’s grandparents bc idk i just get a vibe rodney might’ve been close to them).

accessories time! we have a black belt because again rodney = grandpa and i think he would wear belts. (don’t really have a reason, i just get the vibes). and lastly we have this simple black bracelet. rodney is definitely against accessories (too flashy for him) so i think this really simple bracelet (handmade by teyla) would be the only thing he would wear. and I think he would only wear it on special occasions like for his beach vacation ahah (its too dangerous to wear in the lab bc something could get on it and he’d have to ask teyla to make him another one).

andddd that’s it! honestly this one was pretty self explanatory and all things considered, i think the wardrobe department on atlantis did a great job with rodney! this series is all about modernizing the outfits, color palettes, and bringing more of their personality into their clothes (which definitely comes through for this one lol). i had so much fun putting these looks together! be on the look out for miss elizabeth weir.

[forbidding-souda]

What about Kazuichi with a S/O who finds out for the first time that he wears contacts and/or that his hair is dyed?

Kazuichi Souda with a S/O finding out he altered his appearance

i'm inspired to start writing longer fics again. I know i've been pushing out some mild quality things lately and I'm sorry for thatz. I'll try to write longer.

i'm literally writing this with 6/10 knowledge on his childhood. I am weakly trying to figure out wtf i'm talking about so if this is not accurate then blame my laziness.

-Mod Souda

❤ It was when you went over to his dads house. It's away from the big city that Hope's Peak lays in. But it's not far enough to be surrounded by steep hills and ample trees. When you first shook his hand, you recognized the feeling. A mechanics hands.

❤ His dad had a lot of fun stories to tell. Most of them were embarrassing, making Souda do the stim he does where he rubs the back of his neck over and over again. But you were more than happy to listen. It was a fun experience.

❤ When he pulled out the memory picture collage, Souda was getting a little nervous. His palms were getting clammy. He was fidgeting with things all over his outfit. You leaned in close, bumping shoulders with his dad, looking at elementary school photos of him.

❤ He had straight, black hair and a perfect smile. There were ones of him touching an upside-down bike, seemingly working on it. He must have been talented since he was young, then. You're learning so much about him.

❤ "And that's when he started dying his hair," his father introduces the next couple of photos. The color started as a bright pink, and you can see how it dulled after some time.

❤ You make a mental note of those pictures. Jeez, you wish you could come down here more often. After dinner (which was quick - they are both such fast eaters) you and your boyfriend collected your things and headed out. Kazuichi drove home. He's known how to drive since he was eleven.

❤ He never seemed to stop fidgeting, though. There was something picking at him. Something you couldn't pinpoint. You didn't bring it up until he was getting ready for bed.

❤ "You've been nervous all day, what's wrong?" You try to approach him in a gentle way. That seemed enough, as he was ready to share with you his thoughts.

❤ "You're not mad at me because I changed my appearance, right? I mean - that I didn't tell you?"

❤ His genuine, worried look made you smile.

❤ "I'm not mad at all." Is all you say. It's enough to get the stress off of his shoulders. He nods, to both himself and to you, before turning his back to continue putting on his pajamas. "Good," he whispers, "good news."