#Breadcrumbs Craft

[renegadewangs]

Every day I wake up And I start to break up REALIZING THAT THERE’S STILL NO OFFICIAL WORD ON MOON KNIGHT SEASON 2- WHAT THE HECK- KEVIN FEIGE YOU BIG FORKIN’ NERD WHERE’S OUR GODDAMN CONTENT- etc. etc.

[irisbaggins]

In rewatching the season, I'm noticing how clever Aabria and Brennan were in crafting Tula's story. How well thought out everything was.

Specifically, the bear. It's been mentioned so many times before, but with the context of the completed season, I cannot help but be in awe at the skilful storytelling at display here. The way in which the Blue is described to appear wrong only in reference to Tula and her heart, the way in which Tula talks about curiosity and and having experienced knowing someone who died because of it. Of how Aabria describes to Izzy how Tula looks when she heals the bear, of how Aabria specifically points out that Tula recognises the commonalities between herself and the bear. These breadcrumbs that mean little in the beginning, that tell everything at the end. It's amazing, stunning, masterful storytelling. I am in awe.

[pawpiefawn]

𝓪 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓼𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪𝔂'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓪 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ wriothesley x gn!reader 0.7k words farmer's market day with wriothesley. reader gets a necklace, but this is gn.

market days with wriothesley were a highly anticipated day within the household – they were sunny days spent at bustling stalls, whenc shopkeepers haggled their prices at haughty customers who walked away with their smiles until they got the price they wanted, their grocery lists scratched out.

you loved the sights of it all, too – cats nipping at fishermen’s boots for sardines, and pigeons longing for their chance at some breadcrumbs from a clumsy child chasing after mama.

stalls stretched out in rows to the end of the market. they were full of the freshest vegetables, stacked full with rows of yellow corn and the brightest of carrots. even the locals beekeepers brought their stocks of the sweetest, golden honey – which were rare to find nowadays.

and of course, you took great pleasure in teaching wriothesley how to choose the best of the best; he adored simply listening to you ramble on and on about recipes you wanted to make that week; it just made market days even more exciting.

“keep up, sweetheart!” you squeal, ducking behind a grocery-seller’s stall – while raking your gaze over the assortment of sweet potatoes and broccoli for the week. you gave one a poke of good luck.

“you are cheeky today, aren’t you?” wriothesley catches your sides, panting quietly and catching his breath. you could only giggle in response and press an apologetic kiss to his cheek. apology kisses, of course, were always forgiven.

alright, market days were great and all, but what you could truly spend all your afternoons doing was walking up and down the aisles of the next lane’s craft market. hundreds of artists and creators flocking to tents to share their handcrafted goodness with the city – what was there not to like? some days there were adorable prints, other days beaded jewellery and bags and everything under the sun you could possibly think of.

perhaps a resplendent trinket from one of the jewellers would catch your eye, making you stop in your tracks.

well, maybe not yours this time – but it certainly caught wriothesley’s attention.

“love, look at this,” he holds up a necklace with all the care he could muster – oh, how beautiful. it was a simple necklace; translucent string with three white pearls and a small black bead between each one. every pearl reminded you of him ; a beautiful opalescent cream, bearing a gift from the sea and a homage to the ruler of the waters.

“that’s beautiful, wriothesley.” you hear yourself gasp softly, your hands reaching out to cradle the pearls. it was stunning, truly. you find yourself offering the crafter a small smile in gratitude.

“it is, isn’t it?” wriothesley smiles and beckons you over with a simple gesture; you find yourself standing in front of him.

“turn around,” he instructs – you follow suit. there was something so lovely about the shared proximity in public; even after all these years, your lover still never failed to tease the butterflies that nestled in your tummy.

you feel wriothesley touch the back of your neck as he brings the necklace up ; you instinctively freeze up, a soft giggle escaping your lips.

“i’m sorry, dearest.” wriothesley chuckles, fastening the clasp behind your neck. you feel the weight of the necklace press against your skin comfortably – it was perfect. almost as if it was carved and put together just for you.

the man presses a soft and gentle kiss to your nape for good measure. it felt warm and supple – oh, the butterflies were certainly awake now.

“it’s beautiful.” you touch the pearls once more, staring at yourself in the mirror with a smirking wriothesley behind it.

“my taste never lies.”

“it truly doesn’t. impeccable taste, my love.” you thumb his lips and pull him closer for a quick kiss, feeling a warmth between your ribs.

“i think we’ll take this one.” wriothesley pulls apart, slightly delirious with a grin and giving the jeweller a small nod.

you laugh and bury your head into his chest, leaning against his frame. oh, how warm and lovely market days were. you would spend every day in this little bubble of yours, this sweet marginalia of love in a footnote of your adoration for him.

“i think i like this one very much.” a soft giggle slips past your lips. wriothesley pokes your chest gently, smoothing your hair back to kiss your forehead.

“i think i like this one very much, too.”

[ink-perfect]

whisked (off your feet)

you wake up far too early, to the sight of sanji baking pancakes. soon enough, however, your silent observation turns into a cooking lesson that feels like something more…

sanji was in the kitchen, quietly moving between pots and pans, and you couldn’t help but watch him. it was early, the kind of early where the stars were still fading from the sky, and the rest of the crew was still lost in their dreams. but not you. you had woken up to the soft sound of someone humming, a familiar voice, warm and low, and you found yourself following it like a trail of breadcrumbs.

you peeked around the doorway and saw him there, in his element, the golden light of the stove casting soft shadows across his face. he didn’t notice you at first; he was too focused, too intent on whatever delicious creation he was crafting. you watched as he carefully flipped a pancake, his lips quirking up in that little smile he wore when he was pleased with his work. you couldn’t help but smile too. it was like he was in his own little world.

then, without warning, he glanced up, and his eyes met yours. his smile grew wider, warmer, like the morning sun breaking through the clouds.

“couldn’t sleep, princess?” he asked, his voice soft, teasing.

you shrugged, leaning against the doorway. “yeah...or maybe i just couldn’t resist the smell of whatever you’re making.”

his grin turned a bit more mischievous. “lucky for you, breakfast is almost ready.” he motioned for you to come closer, and you took a step into the kitchen, feeling the warmth of the room wrap around you.

“want to help, dear?” he asked, holding out a whisk. you hesitated for a moment, then took it, your fingers brushing against his. his touch was gentle, lingering just a bit too long, and your heart did a funny little flip.

“only if you promise to teach me your secrets,” you replied, trying to sound light, but there was something in his gaze that made your cheeks feel warm.

“oh, i’ve got plenty of secrets to share.” he said, leaning in just a little, his voice low and soft. “but only if you’re ready to learn.”

sanji watched you take the whisk, his smile softening into something warmer, something that made your chest feel tight in the best way. you stirred the batter, trying to keep your hands steady, but you could feel his gaze on you, the way he seemed to be paying attention to every little thing you did, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

“like this,” he said, stepping closer. he reached around you, his hand covering yours, guiding your movements with a gentle touch. your breath caught in your throat; he was so close, his warmth and the scent of spices and fresh bread filling the space between you. for a second, you forgot what you were even doing.

“see?” his voice was barely a whisper now, and you felt the words more than you heard them, the way they brushed against your ear, soft and careful. “just a bit more gently. you don’t have to rush, love.”

your heart was beating a little too fast, and you could feel the blush creeping up your neck. “i… i think i get it,” you managed to say, though your voice sounded a little too breathless, a little too caught off guard.

he chuckled softly, but there was nothing teasing in it, just a kind of fondness, a gentleness that made your heart do that funny little flip again. he stayed close for another moment, letting you feel the rhythm of his movements, the easy way he seemed to flow in the kitchen.

“you’re a quick learner, honey.” he murmured, his lips curving into that smile again, the one that made your knees feel weak.

“maybe i just have a good teacher,” you replied, turning to face him, and you were so close now that you could see the golden flecks in his blue eyes, the way they seemed to soften as he looked at you.

for a moment, you both just stood there, inches apart, the kitchen quiet around you, the world still sleeping. it felt like something was building in the air between you, something warm and bright, like the promise of the sunrise just outside.

then, with a sudden, playful grin, sanji took the whisk from your hand and dipped it into the bowl. “let’s finish this up,” he said, a spark in his eyes. “i’ve got a feeling today’s going to be a good day, and this is going to be a really good batch of pancakes.”

and you couldn’t help but agree. maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way the morning light seemed a little brighter, but you felt it too - a quiet kind of happiness, settling in like something new, something wonderful.

-- ౨ৎ

masterlist (thank u anon, it works again yayyy!!!)

[imastoryteller]

Good writers are so lazy they make readers do all the work

They drop you into the middle of a scene without preamble, leaving breadcrumbs instead of handholding. Every word is a puzzle piece; every scene is a labyrinth. They craft dialogue that teases out meaning, forcing you to connect the dots. Their narratives are a dark forest, where you stumble, get lost, and find your own path. It’s a game of shadows and whispers, where the unsaid carries more weight than the spoken. They make you sweat for every revelation, and in that struggle, the story becomes truly yours.

---

+ If you find my content valuable, consider Support This Blog on Patreon!

[wilcze-kudly]

The tragedy of Avatar's "Funny Guys"

So... Sokka and Bolin are both "the funny guy" of their respective group, we can all agree on this. Now comic relief characters aren't rare in media and often they exist purely to be said comic relief, with little nuance or storyline of their own.

But Avatar strays from this rule by giving their comedic relief characters a lot of depth.

Both Sokka and Bolin have been through some awful stuff. They've dealt with loss and plenty of adversity.

Sokka lost his mother as a child. After that, his father left for a war, basically leaving Sokka to care for his sister and village. And, to his credit, Sokka took his duties very seriously. You can see how protective he is of Katara and the members of his tribe, trying to defend them even when he's clearly outnumbered and outmatched. This also bled through into his role within the Gaang, where he acts as provider, strategist and organiser.

As for Bolin, he was orphaned as a small child, forced to live at least 10 years homeless. His horrific childhood trauma leads to him lacking a lot in social skills and confidence. And throughout the show he is manipulated, used and, quite frankly, abused multiple times.

But we already knew that, right?

We've seen them in their respective shows and we've heard their backstories explained to us. They share most of their backgrounds with their siblings, so it's not a leap in logic to say that they most likely have similar trauma.

So, why is that their "angst" isn't taken as seriously as, say, Katara's and Mako's?

I'd the main reason really is the fact that they are meant to lighten the mood.

This is unlike Katara and Mako, whose roles allow them to express their grief and pain more freely, the creators going so far as to incorporate symbols of their trauma into their designs.

Katara and Mako's actions are often more easily related to their trauma. Because their characters are more obviously tied to their trauma.

We, for example can understand Katara stealing a waterbending scroll and relate it to her need to connect with her almost completely destroyed culture. We can see Mako have difficulties connecting with people and recognise that this is most likely due to his troubled past.

Sokka and Bolin are more... tricky. We don't always think about the in world reasoning of their characters. Often, we just assume that they're doing something to be funny.

We see Sokka insisting to be the leader as: haha, funny bossy guy. Instead of: damn, this kid has been conditioned to take so much responsibility for the safety and well-being of others.

We see Bolin bending over backwards to please Eska as: oh, that Bolin, such a silly guy. Instead of: oh, shit this teenager spent his entire life as a dependent to his brother so his decisionmaking skills and backbone are probably extremely stunted.

This isn't helped by the fact that these character's pain, distress, grief and sadness are often played for laughs. And yeah, often the scene is funny. But that doesn't negate the character's in-world suffering.

I think this is what occasionally can be quite upsetting to me when people don't take this character seriously because they're "only meant to be there for the comedy". Maybe with a more straightforward show, I'd take that answer, but Avatar leaves us these pretty obvious breadcrumbs.

Avatar is a pretty well crafted show, in the end and most of the main cast have their nuances and storylines that raise them above the tropes they're meant to represent.

PS: This is not to say that Sokka and Katara have the same trauma, nor that Mako and Bolin have the same trauma. Both pairs of siblings took up different roles in their respective dynamics.

For example, Sokka visibly takes up the role as defender, provider and planner, wheras Katara deals with the more domestic tasks (yay sexism). This shows in how their trauma manifests in dufferent ways. Sokka's need to prove himself vs Katara's frustration at her percieved "role" in society.

Mako and Bolin's past is more nebulous, but I would argue Bolin still played an important role in his and Mako's lives. Bolin is cheerful and bubbly, almost by design. It wouldn't be a leap in logic to assume that a bit of that cheer may be fabricated in order to keep going. Bolin's lack of personal growth due to being Mako's dependent is also a symptom of his trauma.

It also bears to mention that these character's competence is also often downplayed due to the humorous ways in which they fail. Sokka planned an invasion on an entire nation that would've succeeded had it not been for Azula gaining insider information. He invented submarines. While Bolin is one of the most efficient and powerful earthbenders combatwise (I'm tired of pretending he's a mid bender the only thing stopping my man from commiting mass murder is his heart of gold). They are not just haha funny idiots. Put some respect on their names.

Ok I'm done stating the obvious now.

[eldritch-spouse]

Imagine being a government cyber security agent and you're investigating why the term “Clergy's Eye” seems to disappear from the web as soon as it appears. Your poking around ends up attracting the attention of Fank-e.

Oh he loves to fuck with you. Hardcore.

Fank-e likes the persistent ones, the ones who actually do know a thing or two about tech, about how to exploit search engines and look for patterns hidden in too many lines of code for your average Joe to care.

Fank-e has never been sloppy, ever, but he likes to leave a mention up just a little bit longer so that you can feel accomplished, feel like you discovered something, that you're getting closer to some sort of fantasy breadcrumb trail.

It's much like playing tug of war with a dog, you have to let them have their way once or twice, or the dog will get disappointed and bored. So Fank-e plays with you, one crumb there, one blurred image here. He sees the joy in your face through your webcam when he leaves those little presents.

Your room is a mess, your life is a mess, there are bags under your eyes and your skin has acquired a sickly sebum. It's clear this investigation of yours, fruitless from the start, has taken over your entire existence. You've stopped being a functional person even. Fank-e isn't the best human caretaker out there, but even he is starting to feel a bit remorseful for the state this little game has put you in. For tricking you into messaging him, into making it seem as if "Skiddled33znUts" is yet another researcher who has noticed "the Clergy patterns"- As opposed to your very rival, eliminating extra bits of potential evidence through your conversations.

Yes, it's quite sad he determines.

Which is why he figures you should get to see the results of your work. You should see The Clergy's Eye! He's going to take you there. Keep you. You're his favorite squishy so far. So fun to play with, so smart, he loves the way you type and the workarounds you find to his lovingly crafted digital barriers. Fank-e refuses to let this end.

It's about time he does something too, you're becoming frail, this game is becoming too taxing on your poor mind, and it shows in the way you reply to him, always so open. Like a book.

You: Idk, I feel like I'm running in circles at this point...

Skiddled33znUts: naaahhh d0n'7 b3 L1k3 d4t. 1 B3t W3'r3 cl053 70 F1Nd1n' 50M37H1N' 900d!!

You: I don't think so skiddle

You: I'm tired

You: I'm stuck

You: I need

You: idk anymore dude

Skiddled33znUts: h3y.

Skiddled33znUts: 17'5 L1k3 4Am.

Skiddled33znUts: U 5h0ULd G3T 50M3 5l33p.

You: I guess you're right

You: I'm being dumb

You: Goodnight

Skiddled33znUts: G3wdn1Ght! ;P

Yes.

Tomorrow.

Sleep tight, dummy. He can't wait.

[headlinerkwan]

paths - c.sb

pairing: soobin x gn!reader

genre: nonidol!au, exes to ???, firstlove!soobin, angst, some fluff

summary: as you prepare to move back to your hometown, you discover a stack of unsent letters, causing you to reminisce on your first love and break up.

warnings: mentions of death (reader's dad passes away before events in the fic, mentioned but no detail.), some swearing, lots of lowkey pining ._.

wc: 2.5k

a/n: this fic was kind of inspired by 'paths' by niki, and the rest of her new album 'buzz' - go check it out!! requests and my general taglist is now open ･ᴗ･ lmk if you like the fic and reblog if you want, it helps writers out a lot ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა♡

“Mom, I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure? I can drive up and help.”

“Yes, I’m all packed up, everything’s fine Mom, this isn’t my first time moving and there’s no way I’m letting you drive seven hours across the country,” You continue as she rants on about the overwhelming piles of paperwork and mess around the house, “I’ll be there to sort everything out soon, so don’t worry about that just… try to relax.” 

“I’ll text you when I’m on the road, ok? I love you Mom!”

“I love you too, I’ll see you soon, yes?”

“Of course.”  

You throw the phone down on the bed, your childhood hits playlist muffled by the ocean of blankets that it landed amongst. Looking around your room, an exasperated ‘fuck’ escapes your lips. Despite what you had just told your mother, your room was most definitely not packed up and you were most definitely not ready to leave behind the life that you had built just to return to your hometown. 

After your Dad’s death, you had decided to move back into your childhood home, to keep your Mom company, settle down, and have a quieter life. You’ve had your fair amount of fun in the city and you were ready to return to your roots. 

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

A few hours later,  there’s only one set of drawers left for you to pack up. You’re a sweaty mess as the sun beats down on you through the windows. Pulling your hair back, you position yourself in front of the drawers alongside some boxes, bubble wrap and packing tape. 

Opening the bottom drawer you are welcomed by a pile of clothes that had been messily shoved in over the years. Okay not too much work left. Picking up a purple hoodie, a pile of envelopes reveal themselves, all of them addressed to the same person. 

Choi Soobin. 

Against your better judgement, you give in to your nostalgic curiosity and begin to unseal the first envelope. As far as everyone else knows, you hadn’t thought about Soobin in a couple of years - you had curated a nonchalant persona, one that didn’t care about the past and especially not the people that you had left behind. This, of course, was nothing but a persona, a facade that you had delicately crafted over the years. If you stopped lying to yourself, you would realise that he’s always on your mind. Breadcrumbs of your love littered through every street that you walk, every corner you turn, there’s always a part of you that longs for him. He lives in a part of your brain meant only for youth, for easier times. Everytime you see something bunny themed, or hear a Day6 song on the radio, you have to fight against every nerve in your body not to text or call him. So yes, it might seem like you don’t really care but oh my god, you’re not sure you’ve ever been so hung up over the past in the same way that you are when it comes to him.  

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Letter One:

‘Soobin, 

Hi. It’s been a while. One month and 24 days, to be exact. 

I hope you’re okay. I’m sorry if this is weird. Is this weird? Oh god, this is probably weird. 

It’s just, we promised to give each other space and time but I can’t seem to let you go. Every second of every day all I want to do is pick up the phone and call you. You’re the only one I wanted to talk to after my first day at this new job, and when I moved in and I couldn’t figure out the stove, and when I found a new cafe nearby. 

Maybe I should’ve stayed. Maybe I should’ve told you to stop talking about the opportunities and convince me to stay with you instead. It’s hard to be happy without you by my side, I miss you and I feel selfish saying it.

We said it was for the best and besides, I was the one who moved away, I was the one who broke your heart. Am I allowed to miss you? 

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I probably won't even send it.

Bye Soobin.‘

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Reading the letter, you chuckle as your eyes cloud with tears. You recall how you thought you’d never be happy again. That it was a bad idea for you to have lived outside of the bubble of your hometown. How naive you were, believing the world began and ended with him. You smile through the slow tearing tears as you put the letter down in favor of another and reminisce on the love that you feel felt for him.  

Your thumb brushes over the water marked envelope, still bearing the scars of tears cried long ago. 

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Letter Two:

‘Soobin,

How are you? 

Dad told me that he had ran into you at the grocery store last week. He said you got taller but I’m not sure that’s possible. Dad said you look well too, I’m glad, I hope it’s true. I hope you’re okay. It kills me not knowing how your day was, if you’re in a bad mood, if you’re sick, if you’re hanging out with Beomgyu or staying home to watch the new ‘Jujutsu Kaisen’. 

Not knowing is killing me. 

It’s okay here, I’ve made a few friends at work and the city is nice, it’s new and lonely but I have hope that it will get easier with time.  If it doesn’t though, and I come back home, I wonder if you’d be there with open arms and a wide grin like you always used to. Would you? 

Sometimes I catch myself hoping for failure just so that I can come back to you and I have to remind myself of all of the work that I did just to get here. I remind myself too about how you’ve put me out of your mind… even if you haven’t - can we pretend that you’ve forgotten about us? I think it’ll be easier that way. ‘ 

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Letter Three:

‘Hi, It’s me again. 

It’s been a while since I’ve written to you. It’s summer now, my first one without you. I’ve been trying my best not to think about that too much, I’m trying to enjoy the weather instead.  It’s not easy though,  the other day my friend and I got ice cream and it tasted just like the one that we had on our first date. 

I’ve been replaying that night in my head a lot recently. I think about running from building to building, seeking shelter from the rain, I think about your laugh and my hand in yours. I think about how your eyes followed the fish in the aquarium with such childlike wonder. I try to remember what we talked about but I can’t. I remember smiling until my cheeks hurt though, I remember the harmony of our laughter, I remember how every touch was electric - like lightning in rain. I remember how happy I was whenever you were with me.

I’ll try to enjoy this summer as much as that one, even without you, I’ve decided to smile again.‘

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Pulling yourself together, you decide to refocus on the task in front of you, packing up your belongings in preparation for your move across the country in… less than twelve hours - great. The first item on your to-do list is food, you need to refuel (and stock up on packing tape). You decide to pick up some takeout from the Thai restaurant a couple of streets away from your apartment. The walk will be good for you, it’ll give you some space to think and maybe even soothe your puffy face.

As you walk around the city that has come to define your early twenties, mixed emotions begin to brew within you. Of course you’re sad to leave and nervous to return to your hometown, anxious about reuniting with the ghosts of your childhood. But, at the same time, you were excited to return to the place that knew you just as much as you knew it, to be back in an environment that was filled with your most cherished moments, a place full of youth and inspiration and hope. It will be good for you, even if it means the end of your chapter in the city or facing the skeletons that you had been ignoring since you’d ran away. 

As you turn the corner, you spot a couple walking ahead of you, they’re walking in stride, hands interlocked and swinging rhythmically between them as they exchange laughter and whispers. 

Your heart hurts as you watch them, struggling not to be reminded of Soobin. Images of your love flooding your brain - all those days in the sun and nights under the stars, His hands warming yours on winter mornings, hours spent doing nothing but enjoying each other's company. Every sweet smile and gentle kiss. 

You must be sick or something, you can’t even pick up takeout without drowning in love and longing for a man you haven’t seen since you left.

Returning to your apartment, you sit on the floor of what used to be your living room, you unpack your khao pad and finally begin to eat. As you make your way through the dish, the TV fails to drown out your thoughts and you cave, deciding to read another one of your letters, curious about your own ramblings. Besides, one more couldn’t hurt… right? 

⊹˚₊‧───────────────���₊˚⊹

Letter Four:

‘Soobin,

I’m sure you don’t want to hear from me, I just need to be selfish today. I need someone to talk to and it has to be you. It has to be you because you’re the only one who ever really listened when I needed it and maybe one day, when I send these letters, you’ll be able to understand why. 

The doctors say that my Dad is ill and I’m not sure what to do. I feel paralyzed. I don’t want to lose him and I feel so guilty because I can’t bring myself to see him that way. I want to keep the image of him as my Dad, not an ill and weak man, you know? I know he doesn’t want me to see him like that either but I feel so incredibly bad about it. I don’t know what to do, I feel helpless. 

I wish that you were here with me. If you were I know you’d tell me to be an adult and face it even if it’s painful but, I can’t. I can’t do it, I’m too much of a coward. I wish that you were here to hold me like you used to and wipe my tears but, you’re not and that’s okay. I have to do this alone, however hard it may be. 

I hope that on the day when our paths cross again we’ll both be okay, better than we are now. And, I hope we can laugh like we used to, like no time has passed.’

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Hours later, you find yourself still sat on the floor, surrounded by opened letters that you had penned long ago. You look down to find there is only one left - the last one. You might as well open it, you’ve come this far. 

Letter Thirteen: 

‘I dreamt about you again last night.

I wish you’d leave me alone. I can’t even escape you in my sleep. I wish I could forget you but you’re stuck in my mind like gum on a shoe and I’m not sure how much more I can take.

I hate you. I hate you for letting me leave even though neither of us wanted it to happen. I hate you for lying to me and saying it would be okay when it’s really not, not when I’m without you. I hate that even after leaving, I can’t escape you. I hate that you taught me so much, that everytime I’m reminded of you, you don’t feel so far away. I hate you for telling me that I was a bird, meant to fly, and that you were my birdcage - turns out I’m more of a parakeet than a starling. 

I hate you for being right and wrong at the same time. I hate your dumb smile and the way that you push your hair back. I hate your voice and the sparkle in your eyes. But, most of all, I hate how much I miss you, I hate that I still love you and that no one could ever compare to you.

I hate you, Choi Soobin.’

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

As you shove the final letter back into its envelope through tears and stifled breaths, you find yourself left entirely drained. You check the time and realise that you only have eight hours before you begin your journey back home. You gather up the scattered envelopes and throw them messily into a box alongside the last of your clothes, sealing the box with whatever scraps of packing tape that you have left.

Flopping down onto your mattress, an exhausted sigh escapes your mouth and your eyes grow heavier as you curl up under your blanket.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

“I’ll be back later, text me if you need anything whilst I’m out. Love you!”

“Love you too! Bye!” you call out to your Mom as she shuts the front door. 

It has been a week since you have moved back into your childhood home and, to say you were still in the process of getting situated was an understatement. In reality, you were still drowning in moving boxes but, with a spontaneous burst of energy you decide to put an end to your procrastination and actually start to unpack.

An hour or so later, the summer heat has left you sticky with sweat but you are still determined to unpack at least half of the boxes in front of you by the end of the day. Moving to organise your books, you are interrupted by a knock at the front door.

You open it to find a man standing in front of you. He is tall with messy dark brown hair which glows golden in the sunlight. He wears a nervous smile and is gripping a small bouquet of flowers as if it might fly away at any second. His dark eyes move down to meet yours and a soft smile of relief appears on both of your faces. Seeing his face, it feels like after all this time - after everything - you can finally breathe again.

“Soobin.” you whisper, as if to reassure yourself that this is real, that it’s actually happening.

His grin grows wider as he extends the flowers out towards you, “It’s been a while.”

[introvertllux]

Chrono Heart (Future Trunks X Black!OC)

*I DO NOT OWN/CLAIM TO OWN ANYTHING IN RELATION TO DBZ. I ONLY CLAIM THE ORIGINAL STORY IDEA AND BLACK!OC IN THIS STORY!*

Chapter 1: The Relic and the Reawakening

The remnants of Dr. Gero’s lab were a graveyard of twisted metal and shattered dreams, a monument to the hubris of a man who played god with circuits and steel. Hidden beneath this forsaken ruin, a capsule hissed open, and from its depths, a figure emerged—Axa. With skin like polished ebony, eyes that shimmered with the golden light of a thousand captured stars, and hair that cascaded down in an untamed torrent, she was a sight to behold—beauty crafted by ambition, innocence shaped by design.

:readmore:

She stood, hesitantly, in the dim light of her metallic tomb, a stark contrast to the vividness of her form. Her limbs moved with an elegance that was almost haunting, yet her expression held the innocence of a child looking out upon the world for the first time.

Unbidden, Axa's body propelled her through the labyrinth of the city, every calculation in her head leading her to an encounter she did not understand. It was as if an invisible hand guided her to a serene park, where the familiar silhouette of Android 18 stood, lost in the simplicity of feeding ducks at the pond—a moment of peace in a life so often marked by conflict.

Axa’s presence cast a shadow over the tranquility, and 18 turned, her eyes widening in shock and recognition. "Axa? Is it really you?" she gasped, the breadcrumbs slipping from her fingers.

Their reunion was explosive—a symphony of fists and flashes of shared history. As they sparred, 18, amidst parries and takedowns, called out to the essence of the girl she once knew.

"Remember when we sparred with 16 in the orchard, the cherry blossoms falling around us like snow?" she grunted, dodging a swift punch. "Or the time we snuck into the city, 17 dared us to ride the rollercoaster and you laughed until you cried?"

Each word struck Axa deeper than any physical blow could, unlocking the sealed doors of her memory. "And that night, the four of us lay in the grass, making shapes out of stars, dreaming of freedom," 18 continued, her voice laced with nostalgia, even as she blocked a kick. "But then you were gone. Gero said you were defective, but you were just... you were just Axa. You were just a little girl, and I... we, I should have done something."

Tears spilled from Axa's eyes, liquid diamonds trailing down her face, an alien sensation that stopped her cold. Her hands came up to her face, fingers trembling as she touched the moisture with wonder. "What... what is this?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

"It's crying, Axa," 18 replied with a bittersweet chuckle, the fight draining from her. "It happens when you're sad... or happy... or even when you laugh so hard, you can't stop. It means you're alive."

Axa's golden gaze, now dulled by confusion and sorrow, met 18's. "I don't... I don't understand," she said, a lost child wrapped in the shell of a machine.

"I know," 18 said, stepping forward to wrap an arm around her. "I forgot to search for you when I found my own life. But now I’m here, and I'll help you. Let me show you the life I've built. You’ll fit right in. Krillin, my husband, Marron, our daughter—they'll love you."

The promise of a family warmed something inside Axa, a spark of belonging that she didn't know she needed.

_____________________________________________________________

The scene shifted to the familial home, where the spark was met with a torrent of fear and misunderstanding.

The home that once held warmth and laughter was now a battlefield of words and emotions. The cozy living room, with its family photos and children's drawings, became the arena. Krillin's face was flushed with a mix of protective fear and incandescent rage. "18, how in the world could you think this was okay? Bringing her into our home without even a word to me?" His voice shook the very foundations of their sanctuary, a volume reserved for life-and-death battles, not familial disputes.

"You're not getting it, Krillin!" 18 shot back, her own voice a force to be reckoned with. "You think I can't see danger? I know danger. I've been danger. But she—" 18 jabbed a finger towards Axa, "—is just lost. We owe her this!"

Marron, with the blissful ignorance of childhood, had wandered over to Axa, offering a small stuffed dinosaur with a smile. "Do you wanna play with Mr. Dino?" she had asked, her voice a sing-song note in the dissonant symphony of the adults' conflict.

Krillin's eyes darted from Marron to Axa, and with a speed that betrayed his martial prowess, he scooped Marron into his arms. "Marron, sweetie, why don't you go play in your room, okay?" His words were gentle with his daughter, but when his gaze swung back to Axa, they were steel blades. "Stay away from her," he snapped at Axa. "We don't know you, what you're capable of—what if you're programmed to…to…"

His words trailed off, but the accusation hung heavily in the air, an invisible smog choking the room. Axa, who stood like a statue wrought from onyx, felt each word strike her. Her hands, which moments ago had explored the texture of the child's toy, now hung limply at her sides. The shine in her golden eyes dulled, a gloss of pain over the brightness.

"Krillin," 18's voice cracked like a whip, her anger transforming into something fierce and protective. "Listen to yourself! She’s not a threat! How can you judge her like this?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Axa's soft, disbelieving sobs were the only sound, a heartbreaking melody that seemed to wrap around the room. She blinked rapidly, her human-like innocence clashing with her android perfection as she attempted to process the whirlwind of rejection and anger.

"I… I don't want to be a problem," Axa stammered out, her voice a mere whisper but slicing through the tension. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I'm sorry."

Krillin, his face softening for a moment at Axa's words, struggled with the turmoil inside him. His duty to protect his family warring with the empathy he had learned from his wife. "18, I…," he started, but the words tangled, a mess of emotion and duty.

"No," 18 interrupted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of frustration. "No, Krillin. She's not just some android. She's Axa. Remember that. She's not the past; she’s someone who needs us now."

In the quiet that followed, the trio stood, the balance of their world shifted, as they each considered the weight of what it meant to be family, to be human, or something akin to it. Axa, still caught in the eye of the storm, dared to hope for a harbor in this tempest—a place where she could anchor her heart.

The turmoil in the room reached a crescendo, a tidal wave of emotion that crashed over Axa with overwhelming force. As Krillin and Android 18's argument continued, Axa's mind began to fracture under the strain. She clutched at her temples, her golden eyes flickering erratically as memories—long suppressed—surged to the surface.

She was small again, diminutive and human, watching through the bars of a crib as giants in white coats and stern faces argued loudly above her. The cacophony of their voices was terrifying, a discordant symphony that crescendoed into an unbearable din. Words like "potential" and "failure" were thrown back and forth, volleying over her head like some high-stakes game she could not comprehend.

Her breath hitched, a robotic mimicry of a panic attack, and her body began to seize up. Her limbs locked in place, and the glow in her eyes sputtered like a dying star. "System… overload…" she managed to gasp out before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, her form going limp and unresponsive on the floor.

"18, we need to do something!" Krillin's voice was now tinged with fear for Axa, the protective instinct he felt for all living beings—especially those under his roof—kicking in.

18 knelt beside Axa, her fingers hovering over the android's inert body. Her heart, though not flesh and blood, ached with a mix of fear and protectiveness. "Dammit," she cursed softly, her usual composure fraying at the edges.

Krillin ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting from his wife to the still figure on the floor. "Maybe… we should take her to see Bulma. She's dealt with… this kind of thing before."

Android 18's eyes narrowed at the suggestion. "Bulma has a good heart, but she's got that scientist's curiosity. She'll want to dissect every part of Axa's programming," she said, her voice a growl of resistance. "And Vegeta…" she trailed off, a scowl creasing her features at the thought of the Saiyan prince's unpredictable nature.

Krillin nodded slowly, understanding his wife's concerns. "We don't have to tell everyone, just Bulma. She'll know what to do," he insisted, his tone imploring. "Vegeta won't lay a finger on her—I'll deal with him if I have to."

The two locked eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. It was a gamble, but Axa needed help that they couldn't give. With a heavy heart, 18 agreed. "Fine. But we're not leaving her side. Not for a second."

Carefully, they gathered Axa's motionless form, her weight a testament to the gravity of their situation. Together, they stepped into the cool evening air, the weight of Axa's fate a heavy shroud upon their shoulders as they made their way to Capsule Corporation, and into the uncertain future that awaited them.

______________________________________________________________

More on Axa (Pronounced: Axe-e-ah or Ahh-x-ah)

*Apologies for inconsistent art styles. I utilized Art breeder. Unfortunately I don't see many resources to help create black!Ocs in consistent styles and diverse poses out there. If you know of any please let me know! As you continue reading the story imagine her in the DBZ art style. Thank you!*

____________________________________________________________

Taglist!

@thejadetrios @shytothemaxx @variousfandom @konekomews @physicallyherementallysomewhere @ikittybakugou345 @jasxnoamii @enderempresss16 @elliethewitch @carzychameleon @feitanii @hollownight @dragonloverdrawer @moonlight445sblog @yelan-butterpeatea @ringsofpersonti @weeb-boy261 @jkr820 @somehowexist @scrumptiouss007 @emajohn40 @justicetheghost @thirstyhoebutbetteryehsjsg @rasaberrygray @etherialblackrose @random-insomnia15 @deviousmunchkin @galaxys-stuff @bluehibiscusgarden @kunoichis-world @x-bakudeku-x @spectoralstrudel @i-wanna-fuck-monsters @interobanginyourmom @twdhtgawm @kkeidawrites

[creatingnikki]

notes to self; september '24 edition

people—friends and lovers and family—will have active and passive days in your life. they will not be actively present 30/30 days in a month (or 31) irrespective of how close they are to you and how much they care. only you, the MC of your life, is actively present every single day. so even if you date someone, they might be actively present 17 days and be around for the remaining 13 passively. and that's okay. that's why you have to be someone you can rely on, even if there are others who support you.

talking about your father the way you so casually do in the light that you do needs to stop. daddy issues jokes and oversharing is not very mindful nor very demure. and maybe it was cool at 24 but now in your late 20s, you have to step away from that kind of humour and TMI.

setting boundaries and reiterating them means that you might upset the other person. that's okay. you have to learn to sit with that discomfort (which is v hard when you are a people pleaser).

and you also have to allow the other person to not be happy/okay with it. to set a boundary and also have others be pleased with you is not a fair expectation. of course, those who are healthy for you, will respect it, even if not be enthusiastic about it.

most of the excitement you feel when dating someone new is only because they breadcrumb and are inconsistent so you get to romanticize them instead of actually find out who they are. when people consistently show up without love bombing, your nervous system remains regulated and then you can objectively know how you really feel about them.

others looking out for you is useless if you're not looking out for yourself. so your partner can text you and ask if you've eaten and your mother can remind you to take your medication but why? why can't you realize that staying nourished, hydrated, well-rested, and safe are things you need, want, deserve, require as literally the bare minimum. it's nice when others check in on you, but it's nicer when you also care about yourself to do these things without external reminders or being chided at.

work on your craft, work on your craft, work on your craft. instead of trying to assert your identity as a 'writer', just do what a writer does—write. and you know you do do that EVERY SINGLE DAY. whether in your notes app, on tumblr, your journal, or a Word doc. so let others yap on, you continue working on your craft.

having different people—people who are different than you/the people you usually hang with—can be so refreshing and fun because it exposes you to things/experiences you wouldn't otherwise actively engage in. pet cafes, clubbing, Hindi indie music being some of the things such people in your life have exposed you to. it's not that you don't know these things don't exist or can't access them, but to have someone to guide you/experience it with you, that's what's imp.

give people space. you cannot force answers or them to feel a certain way or to process certain things when you want them to. you have to give people space. and you have to allow yourself to focus on other things instead of anxiously sitting there and overthinking.

[buffetlicious]

The next dish was the Steamed Red Grouper Hong Kong style with superior soy sauce, spring onions and red chilli but all we saw was a small chunk of fish flesh in a bowl. I was telling the others that we don’t know if the fish was actually a red grouper until the wait staff placed the fish head on the lazy susan. At least I enjoyed the fresh succulent and sweet fish dressed in soya sauce.

The chickens must be lamenting that they died in vain as we diners never gotten to see the crispy Bi Feng Tang (避风塘) style Roasted Chicken gloriously spread out (展翅高飞) in front of us with spiced almond flakes and crunchy prawn crackers for garnish. Both my colleague and I were served mostly breast meat which was dry as we never gotten the chance to choose the part of the chicken we would like to eat plus my plate came with just half an almond flake. :(

Next up, the Conrad Duo of deep-fried prawn ball wrapped with breadcrumb and sautéed scallop with asparagus in home-made XO sauce. The fried prawn ball is crispy on the outside with crunchy prawn inside. A single lonely scallop sat beside the old and fibrous asparagus as the skin wasn’t peeled. The savoury spicy sauce however brightened up the flavours of this tough vegetable.

The Abalone and Spinach I have nothing much to comment on other than the slice of paper-thin sea snail. Love the thick mushroom among the blanched leaves of spinach drenched in oyster sauce though.

The Ee-fu Noodles or yi mein (伊面) got to be my favourite dish of the night. This noodle is typically present on wedding menu due to the fact it is also referred to as longevity noodles (寿面). Stewed with shimeji mushroom, lumps of crabmeats and chives, where it had soaked up the wholesome flavours. So good that I finished two bowls of it.

The Chilled Cream of Avocado with Coral Weed was a big disappointment for all of us due to the avocado soup coming with pieces of hard, almost crunchy coral weed, akin to eating chicken soft bone. I would prefer something less exotic like cubed honeydew melon or even jellies.

Overall, the food was pretty delicious though the service is kind of lacking as the wait staffs were busy portioning the food to notice our empty glasses. My colleague was commenting that he had only this one cup of passionfruit drink from start till end of the banquet and no one came to ask if he would like a refill. I am also sure the chefs would have preferred to let the diners see their beautiful, crafted creations even if for only a few short seconds rather than the hastily assembled carved-out portions.

[whenmemorydies]

My meta/commentary shortcuts*

*putting all of this in one spot so its easier for me to find shit. feel free to like/reblog if this is helpful for you too. posts are in reverse chronological order by tv show/film.

The Bear (TV) - writings

You love taking care of people: Fine Dining in the Time of Late Stage Capitalism

How the fine dining industry helped create season 3 Chef Carmy and how it’s on its way out.

Carmen, Natalie, and the Berzattos

A closer look, through the lens of intergenerational trauma, at the Berzattos and their impact on Carmy in season 3.

The Claw, The Scrunchie and The Prayer Card: Part 2 (Timing)

A deduction as to why we see the hair claw in 3x01 and not in 3x09 with the scrunchie and prayer card in Carmy's apartment.

Breakdown of a racist microaggression in Ice Chips 3x08

Analysis of one of the more uncomfortable moments during Natalie's labour. Includes @vacationship's reblog with excellent meta re: Donna's POV.

See this? Carmy trying that shit with Tina

In which Carmy reverts from ally to a regret.

Reply to @mitocamdria on Sublimation and Shame

Theorising on sources of Carmy's shame.

The Claw, The Scrunchie and The Prayer Card

Carmy's mementos as breadcrumbs back to his loves.

This needs to get good or go away.

Trauma-informed analysis of 1x07 The Review in light of seasons 1-3 of The Bear.

The things you learn...

Where Sydney learns some things about her spouse platonic business partner while dining with him.

Reply to @vacationship on Christopher Storer's cameo(s)

Storer makes an appearance in 3x06 Napkins but has he shown up at other times as well?

The legerdemain of racism: demands for season 4 of The Bear

Can The Bear rise to the challenge put forward by Toni Morrison?

Mikey's ghost and Claire as a reverse-engineered haunt

Reblog thread discussing the concept of "the haunt" in season 3 and how it likely relates to Claire - with @vacationship, @thoughtfulchaos773, @espumado, @kdbleu

Claire Dunlap = Clear [as] Mud

Reblog thread discussing the meaning behind Claire's name - with @currymanganese, @vacationship, @moodyeucalyptus, @ago0112

Richie and the viewer

Querying some 4th wall breaking by Tiff and Richie. With analysis in reblog by @currymanganese of Richie as Chris Storer's author avatar in the show.

Alone

Analysis of the use and editing of "Together" by Nine Inch Nails in 3x01 Tomorrow to convey elements of Carmy's trauma response.

Ancestors and The Bear

Analysis of culinary ancestry and legacy as they relate to Carm and Syd.

3x01 Tomorrow

Brief look at how the first episode of season 3 has been crafted through the lens of a traumatic episode. Also a remembering of my Ammamma.

Liveblog of my first watch of Season 3

Or don’t binge season 3 whilst in a feverish fugue state.

Lessons from a mentor: every second counts

Analysis of the parallels between Chef Terry and Sydney and what "every second counts" means to various characters in The Bear.

90s alternative rock, masculinity and The Bear

Analysis of the use of 90s alternative rock, including grunge, in The Bear's soundtrack, and its use to further the show's take up of masculinity.

3x06 Napkins

Predictions for the sixth episode of season 3. CW: discussion of suicide and suicidal ideation as it relates to Mikey; also contains discussion of the 'Napkins' scene in 1x08 Braciole and how its 2nd out of my top 3 tender scenes in The Bear.

2x06 Fishes (Copenhagen/Pantry scene)

Analysis of the Copenhagen/Pantry scene in 2x06 Fishes between Carmy and Mikey/ 3rd out of my top 3 tender scenes in The Bear.

Quit? And where you gonna go Ritchie?

Short analysis of Richie and Tina's relationship.

Reply to @sydcarmyfan on the story between Syd and Carm's clothes.

I mend clothes in my spare time and so does Syd.

2x09 Bolognese and Richie’s apology to Nat

Short analysis of Richie and Nat's relationship, based on a personal theory that Richie and Nat previously dated.

Reply to @hwere on if Syd was a white character

I wouldn't be watching the show, lmao.

Reply to @mod-doodles on what will happen when Syd finally lets her guard down with Carmen

Lucky ass man is not now nor will he ever be ready lol

Reply to @yannaryartside on gaslighting showrunners (lol)

The maths is mathing and all signs point to Sydcarmy endgame

Sydney is Carmen's best friend

Analysis of 2x03 Sundae and when Carm tells us that Syd is his best friend.

1x03 Brigade alley scene as a balm

A balm for the anxiety I felt when Season 3's episode list was released LOL.

Reply to @thoughtfulchaos773 on 1x03 Brigade alley scene

Thoughts on why the alley scene in 1x03 Brigade is my favourite Sydcarmy scene in The Bear (thus far).

Preliminary thoughts on The Bear, race, power and privilege

Analysis of The Bear and its approach to the white gaze (hint: idgaf about it), power and privilege.

The Bear (TV) - image-based meta/snark

Blood ties and lineage

Charting the creative journey of an ingredient and a dish through Carmy and Syd's culinary ancestry.

Offerings

Love is a language and language is nothing if not pattern recognition. A look at Carmy's patterns.

Warm/Cold Light

Just gifs to make an unsubtle point (re: Sydcarmy & Clairmy)

Lunch or Dinner

Lyric/GIF set to Lunch or Dinner by Sunshine Anderson

Wet T-shirt Contest (Bridgerton vs The Bear edition)

Some of us get lakes in a garden, some of us get the Fak-ed toilet.

You're the most excellent CDC at the most ex...cel...le....

A journey to the end of Sydney's hero worship.

Coming Back

Lyric/GIF set to Coming Back by James Blake feat. SZA

Head Tilt (The Bear vs Bridgerton edition)

Sydney, don't do anything Anthony wouldn't do!

Syd and Carm making eye contact

Thats it.

Under the Bridge (TV)

Reply to @cairhienin on Under the Bridge and the actual murder of Reena Virk

Discussion of Reena Virk's murder and the absence of race in analysis of the case, then and now.

Monkey Man (Film)

Violence and Love in Monkey Man

Analysis of Monkey Man in the context of state violence and resistance. CW for mention of rape, murder and forced displacement.

Immediate reaction to Monkey Man

My immediate thoughts after watching Monkey Man in cinema.

[deadpanwalking]

hello!! do you have any recommendations for books or essays about becoming a better reader of poetry? I love the poems you post and esp love when your tags go into what you got out of it / understood from it, bc it’s always so much more than I was able to interpret on my own. and I want to become a better reader and learn how to really sit with a poem and get into all its layers but idk where to start.

I stand behind the recs in this post, but since you want to focus on poetry and poetics, in addition to William Empson's The Seven Types of Ambiguity and Helen Vendler's Poems, Poets, and Poetry, I'd also recommend Christopher Ricks' The Force of Poetry, I. A. Richards' Practical Criticism, and Jorge Luis Borges' The Craft of Verse. They are all beautifully written, by people whose love of the form transcends academia and becomes, at times, a kind of secular worship. I loved poetry before I fully understood language, back when it was just incomprehensible mouthwords my parents repeated to get me to sleep; I'd have loved poetry even if I never toiled a day in the hermeneutics mines, like my grandmother reciting Eugene Onegin after her dementia cleared everything else from the table—she wasn't sure what it meant, all she knew was that this was the nicest thing she had. Isn't that a kind of faith?

There are other good books about how to read poetry, but these were the ones that initiated me into a conspiracy of words, they taught me to be curious about why I liked a poem, how to take pleasure in its vivisection without worrying I'd kill that faith—like martyrs, good poems never fall apart when you open them up, they yield. If anything, the practice of explication has made me even more of a fanatic. I hope it does the same for you!

If there are poets you already like, I can get more specific about recs—I'm partial to modernist poetry, but that just means I like following breadcrumb trails of allusions to lots of different literary traditions and can tell you where the bodies, hatchets and/or treasures are buried.

[anthurak]

The Inconvenient Truth of RWBY theory-crafting is that given the show’s penchant for Unreliable Narrators, I think we have to start considering the possibility that some, if not many or all of the assumptions we've long held from the early days of the show about characters backgrounds may be based on what are effectively ‘False Narrative Breadcrumbs’.

ESPECIALLY when it comes to Team STRQ.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Lilia have a huge advantage of knowing what reagon of kingdom of roses that Crewel and his daughter is from and give advice of the area courting costom that is secretly give them pair of earrings that is handcrafted ( to make the courted female guessing who it is, is part one of three stages, but is them being interested if they wear the bearings )

Then crafted a ring that hinting who they are ( if she wants is is mean they are fully interested of the courting )

But he forgotten the last part as it's been awhile

How would Malleus, and secretly Sebek and Silver ( maybe add on Lilia ) about said information of the courting costom

Oh like the placement of a flower on either the right or left ear in Hawaii

Whether its a ring on a specific finger or certain kinds of earrings

That represent your single status you can wear them

Lilia’s excited at your boldness 

especially with your father more vigilant than ever to keep everyone away

He probably hasn’t seen you just yet otherwise he’d know exactly what that meant and demanded you take them off

But until then Lilia is likely to have done his research on the customs in the queendom of roses

Whether he’s interested in you himself or for any of his boys it behooves him to know the nuances

Going so far as to ask Trey, Cater, and Riddle before proceeding

In any case he thinks it’d be absolutely hilarious if he didn’t reveal the entire custom an only giving them the bread crumbs to win your affections

Those breadcrumbs lead up to the fact that this tradition is archaic and has recently become a simple fashion trend

When Malleus is told this he takes it at face value 

“Finally a precise mating ritual that I can follow.”

He’ll confront you while your casually hanging on the grounds of Ramshackle 

With an emerald necklace in an elaborate box

“Child of Crewel, I see that you have decided to present yourself!” 

“Excuse me?”

“I’d like to inform you that your presentation is reciprocated by me. Here, I have brought this to coordinate it.”

You’ll have to sit him down and directly explain it to him

Which takes a while since he’s so adamant about completing this mating ritual and before you talk about anything else he wants to get this straight

“I see…you are unable to begin your courting because you haven’t prepared for the rest of the ritual?”

“...No, I quite literally am not trying to date anyone. Do you understand that?”

He doesn’t

he still thinks this is just apart of the ritual continuing to approach looking for an added piece of jewelry

Silver on the other hand immediately trusts his father and jumps right in

When he’s not falling asleep because he’s so at peace with you 

He’ll be asking if it's true that you are single and willing to court 

When he asks you explain about them no longer having the same meaning 

“Father…sorry to misunderstand (Y/n). I’m just having trouble understanding your romantic status.”

You chuckle before letting him in on quite the secret

“All you have to do is ask Silver. Any girl appreciates that you do that.”

He still finds this as a positive

Sebek acts more like Malleus with a lot more gusto

“HOW FRIVOLOUS! YOU WEAR YOUR STATUS SO OPENLY IT SHOULD BE A CRIME.”

“Sebek, what in the Great Sevens are you talking about?”

“FEAR NOT! I shall rectify your claims of loneliness! Here I present to you these courting necklace of Briar Valley!” 

“Courting?!” 

You eventually get him to listen 

But not before seeing his ears turn red and him embarrassingly yelling about retreating for now

He’ll wallow in shame as Lilia laughs all the while

Lilia on the other hand is suave 

Walking alongside you as you exchange greetings

“(Y/n), that accessory is quite a timely piece in the Queendom of Roses, correct?”

On the topic of its past Lilia subtly questions your subject on the matter

“So does that still have the same meaning to you?”

“Not necessarily when it comes to topics of romance, being up front is most preferable.”

He’s got it.

Now he knows exactly how to approach you 

And while his knowledge may have furthered their relationship with 

No one’s near his  level

“Well isn’t that convenient because I have something to ask of you…”

[ghuleh-recs]

I Knew Nothing But Shadows by writingjourney

Papa Emeritus IV x Female Reader (Explicit, WIP)

Curious circumstances and a questionable curse from your childhood led you to becoming the resident artist of the local Satanic Church – and a sinister night you’d truly rather forget. Years later, you’re presented with another chance at proving your artistic worth. Only this time, you’re kind of falling for the awkward anti-pope who sits for you and he is oddly interested in the intricacies of your past that you’re so desperately trying to hide.

I am admittedly pretty late to this party but on the off chance even one of you hasn't started reading this masterpiece, I wanted to share.

This is hands down one of the most immersive fics I have ever read. There is an overabundance of expertly crafted moments to be found here. It must be a combination of pacing and characterization--but the result is something so satisfying that you will physically ache with how lovely it is.

Copia is a delightful combination of awkward, tender, patient, and (obviously) swoon-worthy. We get some wonderful cameos from the other Emeritus boys that made me grin from ear to ear. And reader, herself is such an intriguing and sympathetic protagonist. You will be totally hooked as Ibi leaves increasingly compelling breadcrumbs of the past that haunts her from chapter to chapter.

Thank you Ibi for sharing your incredible words with us and taking us along on this journey!!!

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