#Hello I just found this in my drafts from like two years ago when I finished watching utena for the first time

[corvidfeathers]

when revolutionary girl utena said “growing up confined by gender roles and idolizing a position of nobility and protective power, and then realizing you can claim that for yourself regardless of gender roles” but THEN “the idea of being someone else’s sole ‘protector’ and making decisions for them dehumanizes them even if you’re doing it in a way that subverts gender expectations the real love is giving them agency over their own self and future” fuck

[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.

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[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 3.3

John having to get high out of his mind because he knows he's invited Paul to come play with him is so so sad. These are the same guys who used to sit facing each other on a bed playing guitars for hours, and now this is them?

Is John calling Paul “Jack Lemon” a reference to “some like it hot”? Because if so, I have questions. Anyway, when your estranged best friend shows up to hang out with you and a bunch of people, talking about being in love again and getting jizzed on is extremely normal and acceptable behavior.

This jam session is so fucking painful though. Paul's doing his best to just push through and get them to actually play something and John's just too far gone.

My theory: there's two reasons he did this. 1. He's avoidant and the last thing he's going to do is let on how bad he needs John in his life and how scared he is that if John gets back with Yoko that that'll be difficult. And 2. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't. If he'd kept it from John that Yoko wanted him back and later John cried to him about how much he missed Yoko or something? Paul can't have that.

John singing a snatch of Yesterday before a take of “Whatever gets you through the Night”??? Did either of them ever write a song where they weren't thinking about the other? Did they ever have a minute of peace without the other rattling the bars of the cage in his brain?

“Hold me Darling, come on, listen to me. I won't do you no harm.” Duh it's about Paul. Oh my gosh.

And with Bless You I'm always so torn. There are so many obvious references to Paul which the doc points out beautifully, but situationally it could also be about Yoko. Maybe it's about both of them in the same way that don't let me down is about both of them.

Anyway the cosmic visuals are gorgeous.

Why'd you have to phrase it like that though? Twice?

Hall of Fame moment. It's a high point for him career-wise and he chose to pull Paul into his spotlight. Not only to sing Paul's song, not only to name-drop him, but to publicly call him an official romantic title. Not “boyfriend” or “ex-wife” which both could've been much more mocking if that's what he was trying to do. But “fiance”. It's official and respected, but it's still got the lustful, unsettled, connotation that something like “husband” lacks.

Johann Weener, everyone. What a loser.

Everyone who still refers to Lennon Remembers like it's the fucking Bible listen to this. It doesn't go on for the next five years, let alone fifty.

John refusing to walk to blocks to sign the papers when George and Paul flew over the ocean. And only on the basis of astrology. He really didn't want the divorce. My heart aches for him. But he made his bed as they say.

I'm putting on my tinfoil hat again here, but I do just have to point out that one of John's first songs, “Hello, Little Girl,” has a line that goes, “you never seem to see me standing there”. And the earliest draft of WISHST, which was started soon after, answers that line. “I saw you standing there.” (Yes, it said you originally, not her). So maybe. Just maybe. That song wasn't just a Paul song, but a song that John knew Paul had put a message in for him. Okay, I apologize for the insanity. On another note, I do wonder if he ever found out what Paul thought of that.

Interviewer: ≈ at this point, do you like writing by yourself, or do you want to write with Paul again?≈ John: ≈well it's a bit of both. It's the same for Paul. We were talking about it a week ago. Okay, cool. So they definitely talked openly and honestly about potentially writing together again.

John, about their partnership, “There was always the feeling that someone was there if you needed it.” Paired with the gayest picture ever taken and then Paul singing “if I can do anything at all, let me help.” Thanks. I hate it.

John was so excited for New Orleans! What happened? I mean I have my theory based on May's book and the sudden shift in behavior. But it's pretty dark.

You know how crazy Paul is about John in interviews now? How he can't seem to keep John's name out of his mouth? John was worse in the seventies. He's promoting his Rock’n’Roll album, talking unprompted and romantically about how he met Paul, when the interviewer reminds him what relationship he's supposed to be romanticizing right now. So John remembers too and dedicates the album to Yoko who he's just got back together with.

Biconic quote.

Interviewer asks, after John's brought him up, if John's pleased with how well Paul's doing. John expresses his relief that Ringo has "found himself a niche" and then

I really do think that last bit sums up a big chunk of how John feels about Paul, and why he feels alright playing dirty against Paul or slagging Paul off. Why it would have been the furthest thing from his mind that Paul actually struggled or was insecure. Why Paul had to remind him, “I'm only a person like you, love.”

What an insane thing to think, let alone say. What if Julian had heard that? I'm pretty sure Julian and Paul weren't in contact, really at all, until the eighties, right? So John's doing better than he is at this point (I mean he's his dad, he should be). John is insecure about every possible thing and compares himself to Paul in every possible way.

Baby. He needed some serious help. The thing that sucks about being ahead of your time is that you also have to live in a world that's behind your needs.

And then. “There's always a friendly tv channel to turn to that's going to make you feel less alone.” I wonder if Paul “Call Me Back Again, John I know you're not that tired from the baby just let me in the fucking door” McCartney heard this? It's possible with how obsessive they were, but it's also impossible with how busy he kept himself.

Okay, here's the first story we've been missing about Paul experiencing negative emotions. And, of course, as always in this doc, it's paired perfectly with “Don't Let it Bring you Down” which is the musical mission statement of Paul's clenched-jawed smile philosophy.

"I tend to get a bit absolute in my statements." Yes, John. Yes you do. Another quote that Big Lennon fans should keep in mind.

John on the three weeks he took to decide if he wanted to continue the band after the first Hamburg trip: The others were mad because we could've been making money. Yeah, John, Paul suddenly had to work in a factory after he'd thrown away an educated, white-collar career (the first in his family) to be in your band. I'd be pissed too if you just didn't even bother to call. Anyway I just hate how casual John is about it. Someone who never had to worry about money is just never going to get that.

John doesn't even remember a ballpark number of how much they were making. Paul remembers exactly bragging to his professors that he was making fifteen a week in Hamburg. Sorry to go on and on about this right before Paris, but to me it's an important difference between them.

Anyway, the fact that Paris was more than just a vacation for them. The fact that – according to Stuart and John at least – they might not have come back. It's dizzying. They really thought about just running off together. I wonder what made them decide to come back and continue the band.

No offense if you do, but I don't personally believe in this stuff. What would the motivation have been for the tarot reader to tell him that? Either way, fuck him.

Gosh the live version of “Call Me Back Again”. You feel it, physically, how bad he wants this phonecall. And the desperation from such a successful man is fantastic. Literally, John, how did it feel to be the only man in the world that could get Paul McCartney to beg? “Pretty baby” “what can I do?” “Boohoohoo babe.” “I tried the operator, but I just can't get through.”

Reporter at the Wings over America tour: No John Lennon, no George Harrison, and no Ringo Starr, just Paul McCartney. And for everyone here tonight, that seemed to be plenty! Obviously he's loving this praise after all the negative press. Anyone would, and Paul needs it more than most people actually. But I bet part of him is like “stop. Don't say it like that, they already hate me enough as it is.”

How many times has John admitted that he finds Paul attractive? “It was no surprise, you know, when the kids – girls saw him, they go ‘ooh! Ooh!’ right away, you know?”

“I know it's true. It's all because of you.” Playing over this? Are you kidding me? Anyway I've never seen the picture version of this, so I thought I'd screenshot it.

But actually, in a way, the original written lyrics to Now and Then are less depressing than what he sang on the demo. “I know it's true, I'm still in love with you, and if I make it through, it's all because of you,” is obviously sad because they're both married to other people. But at least in that version, John's saying his own personal resilience to life's struggles comes from his relationship with Paul, which is nice. Whereas when John, who is sliding into a self-hating deep depression I'm comparing himself to Paul's phenomenal success, sings “it's all because of you” in a general sense, it almost feels like a callback to the ‘I'm shit and I couldn't do anything but be a Beatle (and ride Paul's boat)’ quote. Which is heartbreaking. I wish he could've recognized his own genius.

But yeah either way it's enough to make your heart heavy. If anyone needs a good cry, just go to the last five minutes of this. That should've been the now and then music video, but Paul's too scared of feelings. Which. You know. Considering how much it affects me, I can't even imagine how much it affects him. So he gets a pass.

“Why must we be alone? It's real love. It's real.”

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello! Recently read your latest Rin piece and fell in love with your writing style :)

If you’re up for it, could I request childhood friends with Hiori? Sorry it’s a little vague, but I love the direction you’ve taken other pieces and wanted to leave the details up to you! My only suggestion on a detail would be maybe sprinkling in some light angst about his parents/backstory.

Thank you for considering!

── WHITE BUTTERFLY

Synopsis: You spend the years of your youth with Yo Hiori, in a field that’s almost lonely as the two of you.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Hiori x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warnings: childhood friends, hiori is vaguely suicidal and also vaguely homicidal, uhh i feel like i know nothing about him as a character so popping that sexy little ooc warning in there jic, open ending, lots of #nature, almost the entire story takes place in a field so idk, hiori is like. madly in love w reader but he’s nonchalant abt it

A/N: thank you so much anon that means a lot!! cherry tree rin and y/n are so silly (<- affectionate) i’m glad you enjoyed that fic 💖 one thing about me i love a good childhood friends to lovers trope especially with angst…hiori is another character i haven’t written a ton for so i hope i interpreted him correctly and that you like what i decided to do with your prompt!! ty for requesting 🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

The field across from your house was melancholic and desolate, an acre or so of rolling green that bled into trees at the edges. Although by all rights it should’ve been considered a picturesque place, no amount of beauty could take away from the abandoned atmosphere which had long ago settled over the land.

According to your parents, there had been plans for a grand mansion to be built in that location, but before drafts for its construction could be drawn up, the owner had died. The son who had inherited it had no use for the plot, but neither could he be brought to sell the place of his father’s dreams, so the land had sat empty and unused for years upon years. 

People thought the area was cursed, and the general consensus was that it ought to be avoided, but your parents did not believe in things like curses and bad luck and whatnot, so they told you it was fine if you wanted to play there. You were a lonely child, prone to wandering off on your own anyways, and you supposed they must’ve reasoned to themselves that it’d be easier if you were close enough that you could run home should something happen. 

You would sit in the middle of the field, far from any prying eyes, and you’d admire the blooming plants beneath your feet. It was not just grass — there were a million and one varieties of things growing in that wild place, and you would run your fingers along their leaves, doing your best not to frighten the animals and insects which called that field their home.

They grew accustomed to you with time, and instead of shying away, they invited you into their own world. The squirrels and chipmunks would dash out from their trees to scuttle around your feet and splayed hands, while the dormice would peek out of their burrows without fear, nibbling on whatever seeds they had gathered before settling in for the day. The larks would warble to you, and if you were in a particularly cheery mood, you’d whistle back to them, trying to imitate their melodies but always falling a little short.

The third time you went to the field, you found that someone had arrived before you. For a moment, you thought that he must be a ghost, for he stood in such stark contrast to everything you had come to know that there was no other reasonable explanation for it. He was spindly and pale like a skeleton, and his shaggy hair and eyes were the color of winter, such an unnatural shade compared to the viridian he was surrounded by.

You were contemplating running away when he turned around, his eyes widening when he saw you. In his hands was a soccer ball, and resting on the soccer ball was a large white butterfly, its lazily flapping wings shimmering like a whisper in the sunlight.

You were both silent for a moment, a soft breeze rustling through the field and sounding like a song that urged you towards him despite your misgivings. Tentatively, he held the ball out towards you, but the motion startled the butterfly, which abruptly took to the air, fluttering away before either of you could react.

“Who are you?” you said.

“Yo Hiori,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Y/N L/N,” you said. “I live in the house across the street.”

“We’re neighbors, then,” he said. “My house is a few doors down from yours. Do you come here often?”

“Yes,” you said. “Do you?”

He shook his head ruefully. “This is the first time. My parents think I’m practicing soccer right now.”

“You shouldn’t do that here,” you said, frowning at the thought of him kicking up dirt and slamming a ball around carelessly through your sanctuary. “Go somewhere else if you want to play something so reckless.”

“I don’t,” he said. You furrowed your brow. “Don’t want to practice soccer, I mean.”

“I see,” you said. “Well, this is a good place to run to if that’s the case. No one will come looking for you here.”

“Is that the truth?” he said. “Really?”

“Really,” you said. “Everyone thinks it’s cursed, but in truth, I think that that just means it’s blessed.”

“Ah,” Hiori said. “But do you mind?”

“Do I mind what?” you said.

“If I keep coming here,” he said. “When I want to run away.”

“It doesn’t belong to me. I suppose you could say I belong to it, but that’s neither here nor there. No, I can’t stop you, so why would I mind?” you said.

“Are you some sort of woodland fairy?” he said. You laughed aloud.

“I wish. Are you a ghost?” you said. He shook his head.

“Nope,” he said.

“Then I guess our claims to this place are equal,” you said. “Anyways, as long as you don’t disturb it too much, I won’t be angry. I’ll do the same for you, don’t worry.”

“I don’t care what you do to it,” he said. “I just want to go somewhere that’s quiet and I can be left alone.”

This much you could understand, and you thought that perhaps Hiori would grow to be an exception to your loneliness, or an addition to it. Not a cure, because that did not exist, but a person who could relish in his own solitude and share in that inexplicable sensation which was your greatest joy.

You never saw him anywhere but in that field. You weren’t sure if he even existed outside of its context, or if he was like the dormice and the larks, a skittish creature who made his home in those grassy divots and only appeared to greet you before running back off to hide once you were gone.

At first, he was even more reserved than the animals had been. Neither of you spoke, but somehow, it happened that you were always in the same place at the same time, and eventually, little by little, the two of you became dependent on one another’s presence. Your life before meeting Hiori was pale and lifeless in comparison to your life after, and the first time you both spoke as friends instead of strangers, you thought to yourself that you could never go back to the way you had previously been.

No longer did you whistle at birds and play with squirrels; instead, you sat across from Hiori and listened to him explain things like soccer and video games. You were not particularly interested in either of these subjects, but as long as it was Hiori, you didn’t mind hearing about them. It was the cadence of his voice you were concerned with, the rise and fall of his words, the soft inflections of each syllable. 

You had never had a friend before. It was a personal choice rather than a failing; every person who tried to engage with you was met with the same disdain, for you found no appeal in any such clumsy attempts at camaraderie. In your childish mind, friendship ought to be hard-won and delicately kept, and so it remained that of all the people in the world, Hiori was the only one whose honest company you could prefer.

He was a forlorn and low-spirited boy, the winter to your bursting summer, but his coldness was the inviting sort, like a dusting of snow on a cluster of berries or frost on a forgotten bird’s nest. It did not ward you away but drew you in, your breath fogging in the air as you lay beside him and listened to him ramble on and on about whatever topics struck his fancy.

Sometimes he was prone to muteness, and on those occasions you took it upon yourself to intertwine your fingers with his, pulling him along behind you and naming every plant and tree and flower you passed by, greeting the tittering chipmunks and the cooing larks and the peeping rabbits. He would not say anything, but you knew he was listening, for he would smile slightly whenever you pointed at something he found particularly pleasing.

Every day, he would bring the soccer ball with him. He refused to put it down, but neither did he play with it or even acknowledge its existence; you sensed it vexed him, that it was the source or a symptom of the gloomy undercurrent which ran through his life, but he could not let it go, just like he could never truly be happy in any way that lasted.

“Y/N,” he said once, when you and he were lying on your backs in the grass and watching the clouds drift by. “If you could be any other creature, what would you be?”

“I don’t know,” you said, considering the question seriously. “Maybe a songbird. What about you?”

“I’d be one of those,” he said, pointing at a butterfly floating past. It was a common variety, nondescript and plain and white, but somehow made more beautiful by the ubiquity of its kind.

“Why?” you said.

“I’d live a short but carefree life, and then I would die before anyone could demand anything from me,” he said, smiling slightly and closing his eyes. “Plus, if I could be something as small and pretty as a butterfly in our meadow, then I would be able to spend my entire existence resting on your finger.”

Your meadow. You weren’t sure when it had gone from being a place you visited to a place you owned, but yes, the shift had definitely occurred. You and Hiori loved it, and so it was yours by that right alone. You reached out your hand, setting it on his heart and then closing your own eyes in a mirror of his position.

“I wouldn’t prefer that,” you said. Something cool and soft curled over your fingers; you knew without looking that it was Hiori’s own hand, which would always come to rest against yours like a magnet.

“Hm,” he said.

“I’d get used to you being there,” you explained. “And then one day you’d vanish and I’d be alone again.”

“Would you miss me?” he said.

“Very much,” you said. 

“Nobody else would,” he admitted, though he still spoke in an even monotone. “I’d be replaced quickly. Someone just as talented or even better would take my place, and then it’d be like I was never there in the first place.”

“I’d miss you,” you insisted. “I don’t care about talent. You’re someone who’s irreplaceable to me.”

“I see,” he said. “Then I guess, if not a butterfly, I would also want to be a songbird. Like you.”

“We could fly around the world together,” you said. 

“Yes,” he said. “The countries I’ve seen in my video games…we could go to them. If we were birds, we could.”

“Maybe we still can,” you said.

“We can’t,” he said. “My parents would never let me.”

“What about when we’re adults? They can’t tell you what to do then, so we can leave them behind and travel wherever we want,” you said.

“It’s a nice dream,” he said.

“Hold onto it,” you said. “That’s the only way it can ever come true.”

“Okay,” he said. “I will.”

Even as you and Hiori became older and made friends outside of one another, there was a sort of solace which only he could provide you and which in turn only you could provide him, so neither of you ever outgrew that field. The moment you got home from school, you’d drop your bag on the counter and run there as fast as you could, hoping to see him before he had to leave for soccer practice. And every time, without fail, he’d be there, waiting where he always was, his small smile widening when he saw you racing towards him.

The contents of your conversations changed, moving from games and plants to complaining about schoolwork and updating one another about your respective social lives and dramas — he went to a private academy for soccer, while you attended the public school that most kids your age went to — but the familiarity never diminished. If anything, it only increased, as any inhibitions you had had in your youths gradually fell away.

“Hiori! You’ll never believe it,” you said, moving his abandoned soccer ball aside and sitting across from him. He did not look up from the pieces of grass he was braiding together, but he nodded to indicate he was listening. “Remember those two guys I was telling you about?”

“The ones who had a crush on the same girl?” he said.

“Yup, those two,” you said. “They finally got into a fistfight over her! It was crazy.”

“Who won?” he said.

“The principal, because he broke up the brawl and suspended them both,” you said. “Thereby ruining their brief romance-novel-moment entirely.”

“That’s a pity,” he said with a snort. “I can’t imagine what possessed them to do something as stupid as beating each other up on school grounds.”

“Love makes people crazy,” you said dramatically, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead and collapsing backwards into the dirt. “You’ll understand when you feel it yourself, silly Hiori.”

“Huh?” he said.

“I mean, one day, you’ll fall madly in love with someone, and then you’ll be inclined to beat another person up for them,” you said.

“What if I already have?” he said. You shot up with a gasp.

“And you didn’t tell me? Who is it? Who, who? You can’t hide stuff like that!” you said.

“It was only a hypothetical,” he said. “There isn’t anyone. What about you? Are you madly in love with someone?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I am, but at the moment, I don’t find myself able to even tolerate any of the boys I go to school with! They’re all disgusting, immature, and insensitive. Just looking at them is enough to make me gag, so forget about falling in love!” you said.

“That sucks,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll be single forever,” you said. “I’ll live alone, with pets and a porch swing and a backyard just like this field, somewhere faraway where no one can find me.”

“What about me?” he said, taking your wrist and tying the braided grass around it like a bracelet.

“Well, I’ll tell you where I am, of course,” you said. “You’re the only one I would want as a visitor.”

“I’ll come every day,” he said.

“At that point, you might as well just live there with me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’d save you the time spent traveling back and forth.”

“Would you like me to?” he said. “I thought the point was for you to be alone.”

“If it’s you, then it wouldn’t be so bad,” you said. “Being with you is even better than being alone.”

The sun hit Hiori at the exact moment that he grinned at you, and in the back of your mind, where things were understood but not known, you recognized that of all the beings in that lovely place, he was far and away the loveliest.

A distant and rumbling thunder portended a storm on the day you learned who Hiori really was. He never went to the field if it was raining — there was no excuse for him to escape his home, and so, though you did not much mind the weather, you tended to keep to your room on those days as well. Today, though, the rain was still only a blot on the horizon, which meant you would have a precious few minutes with him before it began to pour and you had to leave again.

“Hey, Hiori,” you said. In an uncharacteristic move, he wasn’t holding onto the soccer ball; instead, it was on the ground, his foot resting atop it, his head bowed towards it and his hands balled into fists at his sides. He glanced up at you, and you were surprised to see that there was a dead, hollow quality to his eyes, which, though always placid and still, were never this shade of dark and dreary. “Is everything okay?”

“Have you ever wanted to kill someone?” he said.

“No,” you said immediately, taken aback. “Have you?”

“No,” he said. “Yes. I’m not sure. I don’t want to do it, but somehow, I want my parents to die.”

Another crack of thunder. You approached Hiori slowly, like he was a deer that would leap away the instant you were close enough to touch him. But he was not a deer, and he stayed preternaturally immobile, his harsh panting the only signal that he was a person and not a statue.

“Do you mean that?” you said when you were near enough to him that you could’ve embraced him if you wanted. “Is that really how you feel, Hiori?”

“Yes,” he said vehemently. “Yes, I mean it more than anything. Everything would be better if they would just die and leave me alone.”

He drew his leg back and slammed it into the ball. It streaked through the field, leaving a muddy rut in its wake, tearing up the grass and the flowers before crashing into a tree with a groan. You stared at the path of devastation it had wrought, wondering how such an innocent object could create such havoc, how such a simple act could have such irreversible consequences.

“That’s what soccer is,” he said when he had caught his breath and noticed your silence. “A tiring game you play to ruin yourself.”

“I thought you liked playing soccer,” you said. “You always told me how good you were at it.”

“Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I like it,” he said. “I hate it almost as much as I hate the people that make me play it.”

“Then why do you keep going?” you said. “Why don’t you quit?”

“Because I have to,” he said. “My parents gave birth to me so that I could play soccer and be the best at it. That’s the only role I know how to conform to, so how can I do anything but accept it?”

You wrapped one arm and then the other around his torso, leaning your temple against the dip of his collarbone, turning your back to the blight he had caused and holding onto him as lightning split the sky.

“Don’t ruin yourself,” you said. “Don’t betray who you are because other people tell you to. If you don’t want to play soccer, then don’t. Quit and leave it behind. Maybe everyone else will mock you, but would it be enough if I didn’t? If I alone swore not to think any less of you, then would you be able to do it?”

“No,” he said. Something dripped onto your head, and you thought it had started raining early until you realized that Hiori’s voice was catching on nothing, his heart beating as fast as a mouse’s. “No, it wouldn’t be enough. I have to play soccer.”

“Why?” you said.

“My parents,” he said. “If I don’t play soccer — no, if I’m not good at soccer, they’ll divorce. They’ll divorce and it’ll be my fault, so I have to keep doing it, because no matter how much I hate them, I can’t be — I can’t be the reason that they — that anything bad happens to them.”

The droplets came in quicker succession, but with a final clap of thunder, the sky opened to let the rain out, blurring the line between his tears and the natural precipitation which would’ve occurred whether or not you were there.

You didn’t know what to say to him, so you opted to say nothing, pressing into him for as long as you could before you both had to go, leaving one another behind as you were always forced to. Now, though, there was a proof of your existence in the shape of that ugly gash that his soccer ball had torn into the field, an alteration which was directly a consequence of your actions. In a season or two, it would be grown over, but for the time being, it cheered you to think that the world could no longer avoid acknowledging you, acknowledging that you and Hiori were real, that you were alive and belonged.

In your second year of high school, a boy in your class came up to you, stopped you in the hallway in front of everyone and thrust a bouquet of supermarket flowers into your hands. He asked you to read the attached card, and you obliged, though you had a feeling you already knew what it said.

As you had predicted, it was an invitation to have lunch with him sometime. His cheeks were red and his smile was wide as he waited for you to say yes, but all you could think of when you looked at him was Hiori. How would he feel about this turn of events? Would he be amused or jealous or unfazed entirely? Would it even matter to him? Why were you thinking of him at a time like this?

No, that last question was one you knew the answer to already. The reason why you were thinking of Hiori was the same reason you still went to that field to see him, even though you were far too old to play with mice and birds and clovers now. It was the same reason that you recoiled from any other boy who tried to talk to you — because they were not him, they could never be him. It was because — it was because —

Much to the consternation of the audience you had unwillingly gathered, you handed the card and flowers back to the boy, shaking your head as politely as you could. There was a demand for an explanation on the tip of his tongue, but you left before he could make it. The explanation was not one you wanted to share, so you covered your ears with your hands to drown out the insults he shouted after you and strode away before he could say anything worse.

Hiori was always the first to arrive and the last to leave, so it was no surprise that he was waiting for you where he always was. Today, though, you did not bother with formalities or welcomes or lighthearted questions. You paid no mind to his antsy demeanor, instead catching his hands between your own and squeezing them.

“Y/N—”

“Hiori—”

You both called out each other’s names at the same time, with the same urgency, though there was a layer of despair when he said Y/N, just as there was pleading infused into the way you murmured Hiori.

“You first,” he said, though he looked over your shoulder, staring towards the road instead of at you. “Quickly.”

“Okay,” you said. “A boy asked me out.”

“Oh,” he said, and when his gaze slid onto you, you noticed that for the first time, there was something flaring to life in the blank depths of his irises, a veritable maelstrom of unreadable emotions twisting together and blending into something entirely other than the stillness you had come to expect from him. “What did you say?”

“I refused,” you said. “I couldn’t date him, not in good conscience. Not when I like — not when there’s someone else.”

“Someone else?” he said. “Y/N, please hurry.”

“What’s the matter?” you said, letting go of his hands so that you could instead hold his face. “Hiori, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you in trouble with your soccer team? Is that stupid crow boy causing you problems?”

“What? No, no, Karasu’s not done anything worse than usual. It’s my parents, I think they’re growing suspicious of me, I’m afraid they’ll—”

“It’s you,” you said, cutting him short, his haste rubbing off on you. You weren’t sure whether it was his anxiety or your own or some sort of divine premonition, but you suddenly felt an impending doom, as if you had to speak at that exact instant or give up the chance to ever say it again. “Hiori, you’re the reason I said no. It’s because I like you.”

Hiori, who had carved his way into your heart on the very first day you met, who was fond of butterflies and songbirds, who was bashful like winter and gentle like dusk. How could you help it? Of course you liked him. That boy who had reached into the lonely chasm of your soul and ripped it out, turned it into something lighter and warmer and whole…how could you help falling for him?

“Me?” he said in disbelief. “But—”

“So this is where you go, Yo,” a stern voice said. Hiori inhaled sharply, and then he yanked away from you, shoving you behind him, though it was far too late. You knew who had finally found the two of you, and furthermore, there was no way she hadn’t seen you. “This doesn’t look like practicing soccer. How much time have you been wasting in this dump, with this fool of a girl?”

You peered around Hiori’s back, holding onto the hem of his shirt. Fear constricted your throat when you saw a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to him standing before you, her hands on her hips, a dour expression on her face. Whatever had been sparkling in Hiori at your confession had abruptly disappeared, replaced by an even more severe version of himself.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We just met recently.”

“Not a big deal? Think about how much better at soccer you would be if you actually spent this time practicing instead of messing around! A few minutes every day is the difference between starting for a team and being a substitute, because a few minutes every day turns to hours every week, which turns into days lost every month! You should be ashamed of yourself,” his mother said, marching over and grabbing him by the collar, wrenching him away from you. “From now on, I’ll be supervising your additional practice time. As for you, young lady…don’t even think of coming near him again. He doesn’t need distractions like you getting in the way of his ultimate goal.”

“His ultimate goal?” you said, your audacity surprising even yourself. Without Hiori’s shadow to hide you, you were entirely naked and exposed, but somehow, you found the strength in you to speak up. “What, of being the world’s best soccer player? Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe he doesn’t want that anymore, if he ever did?”

His mother scowled at you. “You are a poison of the worst sort, if you have him doubting what he’s been aiming for since he was young. Stay away from my son. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

She dragged Hiori away before either of you could manage so much as a goodbye. It was the first time since you had met him that you found yourself alone in that field, which suddenly felt so vast that you finally understood why people thought it to be cursed. It had to be, because why else would it have given you Hiori and then taken him away with such a swiftness that it left you reeling?

For a week, you continued to go to the field, just in case he would magically be there, but it was a foregone conclusion that he would not be. Still, you waited, and though the larks sang their songs and the dormice chittered at you sweetly, nothing could set your spirits right when Hiori remained missing.

On the eighth day you spent without him, you didn’t even bother with the field. Instead, you knocked on every door of every house in your small neighborhood, continuing on until the one who answered was the same woman who had stolen Hiori from you. 

She remembered you, her expression turning sour at your appearance, like you had shoved a lemon into her mouth. Shockingly, though, she did not slam the door in your face. She only cleared her throat before speaking in the most abrasive voice you had ever had the misfortune of hearing.

“What is it?” she said.

“Hiori — Yo, is he around? I just want to see him one last time. I’ll leave him alone after that if you refuse to budge, but at least let me say goodbye. I won’t ever distract him again if you give me that chance,” you said. 

“If I gave you even the slightest leeway, you’d pounce upon it, won’t you? I’m not so daft. I’m sure that, if I let you in now, you’d never leave. In the end, though, it’s irrelevant. Yo’s gone,” she said.

“Gone?” you said. “What do you mean?”

“He’s participating in a soccer training camp called Blue Lock,” his mother said. “The way they raise their players is what his father and I been trying to impress upon him from the start, so we’re glad he made the choice himself to go. Now, he can focus on his own self-improvement instead of brief dalliances that would never last.”

Hiori was gone. There was a deep ache in you, and those words were its source, yet nonetheless, for him, you could only muster up pride. He had finally done it. He had flown somewhere free of the burdens his parents placed on him; to be sure, it was defined by the soccer he despised, but nonetheless he had made the decision to do it on his own. It belonged to him, and he had spent so long without anything to his name but a deserted green that you laughed as you sobbed, leaving him behind for good.

A long time passed before you saw him again, though you watched all of his matches on TV. He had become someone different and yet still familiar while in the Blue Lock program — he was sharper now, sharper and quicker, his eyes constantly burning in the same way they had on the day he had left you. Most notably, you thought that that childish love for soccer which he had had and then lost had blossomed again, now into a stable, unshakeable passion which no one, not even his parents, could take from him.

You had probably also changed, though of course it was harder to recognize it in yourself than in another person. But you were not so sparing with your offers of friendship anymore, and neither were you harsh to every boy who approached you. With Hiori gone, the only reservations you had were feeble and pointless, so you stopped saying no quite as often.

Nothing ever came of these school-type romances. Inevitably, you’d walk home and your eyes would stray to the spot where you had spent so much of your childhood with Hiori, whereupon you would pull out your phone and send a formulaic apology message. Sorry, but it’s not working. There’s nothing wrong with you, but I don’t think we’re a good match for each other. Thanks for taking me out. I really appreciate it.

The longer it became, the less frequently you thought about him. He turned into a memory, fuzzy around the edges with nostalgia and tinged with gold. He was someone you claimed to know around those with a more vested interest in soccer, but deep inside, you had accepted that your path had diverged from his a long time ago. You and Hiori weren’t meant to sit beside one another for eternity; he had been there when you needed him, but it was time for you to stand on your own, as he was clearly doing all of the way over in Blue Lock.

“I can’t believe you’ve finally graduated high school!” your mother said, sniffing as she took a million photos of you standing awkwardly, your diploma in your hands, your gown hanging loosely on your body and the pins holding up your cap jabbing into your scalp. “We’re so proud of you, dear.”

“Next stop, Tokyo!” your father said, swiping at the tears which rolled shamelessly down his cheeks.

You had been accepted into the University of Tokyo, and at the end of the summer, you would move into your own apartment, leagues away from everything you had known for your entire life. It was exciting, but it was also terrifying, because the thought of being all alone in the bustling metropolis still made you break into a cold sweat.

Now that you had officially graduated, it all seemed so much more real. Going to Tokyo, attending university, getting a job and supporting yourself…these were not dreams of a distant future but immediate and pressing concerns that weighed on you.

Once you became a university student and then an adult proper, you visited home less and less. You hardly had the time, and anyways there wasn’t much to do in that town, so instead your parents would take trips up to visit you when they missed you terribly — which was often. They would update you on the happenings of your neighbors, and you would take them to your favorite restaurants and attractions, like they were foreign tourists coming to the country for the first time. 

“You know, they finally finished construction on that plot across from our house,” your mother said to you on one such visit, taking a sip of bubble tea to punctuate the outrageous statement. There were streaks of gray in her hair now, and far more lines on her face than there had been when you were younger, but she wore the signs of age with grace and dignity, so that they were weapons instead of faults. 

“You never told me someone bought it,” you said. So that was that, then; the last remnants of your tender friendship with a boy you had not spoken to in years was all but destroyed now. It belonged to another person, who would make their own memories on the land, and the thought of two other people standing where you and Hiori once had caused a lump to arise in your throat. It was as much grief for the idyllic days of your childhood as it was for your former best friend. Both were lost to you now, and both you mourned in equal measure, though you knew no amount of crying would ever bring them back.

Perhaps there had been a window of time in which you might’ve been able to reconnect with Hiori, but the idea hadn’t crossed your mind until it was far too late, and you supposed it must’ve been the same for him. Or maybe he had, upon joining Blue Lock and becoming an international celebrity, forgotten about you entirely. It was a possibility, and no matter how much it stung, it was one you did not resent him for.

“Yes, it was a while ago. Apparently, he lived in the area when he was younger, but he left to pursue some athletic career? Anyways, now that he’s rich, he wanted to invest in some property close to home, so as soon as the previous owner died, he swooped in and bought the entire field up. You know, considering how much money he has, the house is downright quaint in its design,” your mother said, shaking her head. She had a penchant for gossip, and you could not count on two hands the amount of days you both had spent giggling with each other about silly, inconsequential matters. This, though, crossed the line — it wasn’t dumb gossip but legitimate news.

“Athletic career? Do you…do you happen to remember what sport?” you said. 

“No idea,” your mother said. “Why?”

“Was it soccer?” you said. She choked on a pearl of boba. Absently, you leaned over and slapped her on the back to help dislodge it. She coughed and dabbed at her face with a napkin before nodding.

“Ah, yes, that sounds familiar!” she said. “I think that might be it.”

“I’m going to take the next few days off and visit you guys,” you said. It was a spur of the moment decision, but you could afford it, and something told you that what you would find would be far more valuable than another day at your boring, if not well-paying, job.

“Really? That’s wonderful! You’ll love how things have changed. The place has really come to life in the past couple of years,” she said.

The train ride home from Tokyo was just over two hours, and it ran through a familiar countryside, which you watched for the entire journey, smiling slightly whenever you rushed by a landmark you recognized. By the end, however, it seemed every sight was a landmark of some sort — not the nationally important ones, but the type that was personally significant. The many little places you had visited when you were young…even now, you recollected them with startling clarity.

Your father was delighted that you had returned home with your mother, and the whole house smelled like his cooking when you walked in through the front door. He must’ve begun preparing as soon as you had mentioned that you were coming back for a bit, and the grumble of your stomach warned you that you would regret it if you did not hold off on your investigation until after dinner.

You sat in the same chair you had once sat in and ate the same food you had once eaten. It was your favorite as a little girl, and your father served it to you personally, his lower lip trembling as he ladled two portions onto your plate instead of one. Hardly even a month had passed since he had seen you last, but he had always been an emotional man, bawling like a child at every reunion and separation alike.

The sun was setting when you excused yourself, placing your dishes in the sink and ducking outside under the pretense of needing a walk to digest your food. Well, it was only half a pretense — your father truly had fed you until you thought your stomach might split open, as was characteristic of his affection. You really did need to walk around so that your insides could settle, but more importantly than that, you wanted to confirm the theory which had been brewing in your mind since your mother had brought it up.

As she had said, there was a brand new house across from yours. It was nothing like the grand mansion that the original owner must’ve intended to sit on the land; it had a winsome yet unassuming charm to it, and it only took up about half of the field, while the rest of it had been left entirely alone, still green and wild like you recalled it to be. You were sure that if you looked close enough, you would find the dormice and the squirrels and the chipmunks and the larks exactly where you had left them as well, but you did not have the time nor the patience for that at present.

When you climbed the porch steps, you noticed that to the left of the door was a cushioned swing, atop which a tortoiseshell cat was dozing. At the sound of your footsteps, she opened one champagne-colored eye, but she did not seem to regard you as worthy of her attention, for she promptly closed it and returned to her rest.

Your fingers hesitated on the doorbell, resting on the button, too scared to press down. You didn’t know what you had to be afraid of, but for some reason, you were nervous, a pit forming in your stomach as you deliberated over what to do. Before you could make up your mind, the cat meowed at someone in greeting, jumping off of the swing with a light thud.

Spinning around, you saw that the owner of the house was standing at the bottom of the steps, the cat rubbing against his legs as he beamed up at you. Any lingering doubts of yours dissipated into nothingness at the instant you once again made eye contact with Yo Hiori; like a reflex, the corners of your mouth curved upwards in a fond greeting.

Like always, in his hands was a soccer ball, though more prominent than the ball itself was the butterfly which lay on it in repose. Its white wings were thin and quivering, but curiously, when Hiori held the ball out to you, it did not fly off, instead remaining stationary, waiting for you to reach out and take it.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Hello! I wanna request Shinobu with a s/o (She/Her) that sends her letters very often like every single day as she is on a mission. But one day she just stops writing, Shinobu panics and just sets off to find her to find out she was injured and just treats her while chatting with her because they don’t hang out alot.

On the way back to the Butterfly Mansion, S/O just says ‘I love you’ to Shinobu while she was unconscious. (Note: they are just friends) And S/O didn’t know she said that the next day. Shinobu remembers it and confront S/O.

S/O gets flustered and just ran away and tries to avoid Shinobu which was soon a fail. Shinobu thought she did something wrong and Aoi just had to set them up and S/O finally confess to Shinobu consciously.

(Aoi and the girls are watching from a bush!)

I love your writing so much and have a great day! ❤️

You Were Not Supposed to Hear That

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: On Friday I took a really spectacular running fall into some gravel and have just tore myself into shreds. From chin to knees I have fucked myself up🥲. I’m okay, but just thought you all would like to know. But amidst the stinging and aching pains, I was like, it’s been two weeks, I got to get something done so here you go! (Again… don’t really have the energy for editing right now. Hope there aren’t any errors that are too distracting.) Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading! Word Count: 3,066

“Still nothing?”

En fluttered her wings and shook her head at Shinobu, confirming that yet another busy day went by without a letter finding its way into her hands.

“This is starting to become troubling…” Shinobu murmured to herself, looking out the window up at the darkening sky.

(Y/n) was a sayer she had treated a couple of years ago, nothing life-threatening, but she had been out of commission for long enough for her and Shinobu to develop a rapport and parted on friendly terms. (Y/n) would visit on occasion, but more frequently, she would send Shinobu letters. Usually once or twice every two weeks. But now they were approaching the end of the third week without a word and Shinobu was growing concerned for her friend.

“I suppose I should try sending her another letter of my own then. No offense to the poor bird, but her crow is not as reliable as you, En. Will you go looking for her and ensure my letter reaches her once I finish drafting it?”

En assured Shinobu that the letter would be safe with her, then waited patiently on Shinobu’s windowsill, giving Shinobu privacy as she wrote. The Hashira never wrote anything scandalous of course, but En always made sure to give her the opportunity to if she ever saw fit. (Y/n) was one of the very few people Shinobu exchanged letters with regularly after all and given how the letters she received often made her smile so, En thought there was a good chance their relationship could lead to something more and En liked (Y/n), she gave her extra berries and peanuts. The more letters sent between Shinobu and (Y/n) the better, En would say.

As soon as Shinobu secured the parchment to En’s leg, the crow was gone on the breeze of the cool, evening air. Unfortunately, (Y/n) had been a little tougher to find this time around, but she was found nonetheless. Shinobu would not be happy when she heard what kind of shape the slayer was in, however.

“Injured?” Shinobu frowned worriedly while scanning the letter En brought back to her further. She had hoped (Y/n) would tell her more about how badly she was injured, but she hadn’t, instead going into lighter topics such as how nice the Wisteria House that she had taken refuge within. Shinobu sighed and put the letter down on her desk. “Well, you saw her, En. How was she?”

“Broken hand, bruised ribs. A smattering of scratches and bruises, but nothing that won’t heal in due time.” The crow helpfully provided.

“Hmm, I see... Thank you.” Shinobu seemed to go deep into thought then, the concern not leaving her expression. In fact, it seemed to grow into anxiety despite En’s assurances that the other slayer would be just fine. “I think I will pay her a visit then. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen her anyway. Besides, it’s not a bad idea to make sure whoever checked her over caught everything…”

A glint appeared in En’s eye. A promising sign if Shinobu felt compelled to travel all that way just to check on what was essentially just a few bumps and bruises as far as the usual demon slayer injuries go. Shinobu was showing (Y/n) special treatment, but En wouldn’t judge. Knowing how much of herself Shinobu gave others, En figured she deserved to be a little selfish from time to time. Even if that selfishness was still technically for someone else’s benefit.

And so, Shinobu packed a light bag, jaunted over to the closest train station and hopped on a train that would go through the city (Y/n) was recuperating in. The look of elated surprised on (Y/n)’s face when she looked up from her book to see her standing there and knocking on her doorframe made Shinobu’s mood brighten substantially.

“Shinobu! What are you doing here?” (Y/n) asked excitedly, quickly closing the book and shoving it aside.

“Oh, you know,” Shinobu moved to sit on the edge of the bed, “I was in the area so I thought I’d drop by, see how you’re healing up.” She gently took hold of (Y/n)’s casted hand, scrutinizing it to make sure it put together with care. “So, how are you?”

“I’m doing alright. Kind of achy and sore, a little tired, but otherwise fine. How about you, how have you been?” (Y/n) seemed excited to know, she always appeared to hang on to Shinobu’s every word. Shinobu was no stranger to such things, but having (Y/n)’s undivided attention felt especially good.

“I’m doing quite well, especially now that I get to have a visit with you.” Shinobu teased. She always loved to see just how flustered she could make (Y/n). It was one of her favorite activities.

“Yeah?” (Y/n) laughed awkwardly, her free hand bunched up in the blankets to serve as a distraction from the sudden uptick of her heartbeat “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Mhm!” Shinobu tilted her head to the side, smiling all the while. She gave (Y/n)’s casted hand a soft pat when the bandaging cleared her inspection. “In fact, you should take the train back home with me. Complete the rest of your recovery with me so we can catch up on all that was too wordy for the letters. What do you say?”

“Really? I wouldn’t want to impose. I’d just be more work for you, having to check my injuries and whatnot.”

“Injuries like yours are like treating paper cuts and grazed knees to me. It’ll be no trouble at all. Come on, I’ll buy your ticket~”

(Y/n) bit her inner cheek, well, far be it from her to miss out on extra time with Shinobu. Especially a direct invitation. Hell, she’d buy her own ticket and Shinobu’s if the Hashira asked her to.

“If you’re certain, then I’d love to come along.”

“Wonderful,” Shinobu patted (Y/n)’s shoulder and then slid off of the bed. “Let’s get you packed up then.”

Before (Y/n) knew it, she was all packed up and on the next train to the station closest to Shinobu’s home. It didn’t take much time or exertion at all, but she did find herself drifting off once they were settled in their booth. After maybe the fifth or sixth nodding off and then jolting awake, Shinobu chuckled.

“You can rest. I don’t mind. I know how to keep myself entertained.” She said, taking a book from her own bag and waving it back and forth.

“Sorry, I really wish I could stay awake.” (Y/n) yawned.

“It’s no trouble. Rest, you need it.”

“Thanks…”

It didn’t take long before her head to find itself against the booth’s edge. She was out like a light. Shinobu hummed in amusement and then flipped open her book. Before she could even make it to the bottom of the first page, (Y/n)’s head tilted the opposite way and ended up on her shoulder, a nonsensical mumbling falling from her lips as she pressed in a little closer.

“This is unusual.” Shinobu chose to rest her head atop (Y/n)’s and poked the sleeping girl’s cheek gently. “I can’t wait to tease you about this later.”

(Y/n)’s face twitched and she unconsciously rubbed the spot Shinobu had poked with a tired grumble. She hid her face after that, almost between Shinobu and the booth. A quiet sigh of Shinobu’s name left her, and then,

“I love you.”

Shinobu blinked. Had she heard that right? Of course she did. Compared to the other mumblings, that utterance was clear as day.

What a sweet sentiment, even if it was said unconsciously. Shinobu’s expression softened, but only for a moment before a glint of mischief shone through.

“Oh the ammunition you’re giving me, (Y/n) and you don’t even realize it.” She smiled. “Sleep well for now, while you can.”

***

The train rolled to a stop and the steam hissed, jerking (Y/n) awake. She straightened out and swung her head to the right and then to the left, almost bumping noses with Shinobu.

“Ah!” (Y/n) pulled back, almost falling off of the seat and into the aisle. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, (Y/n).” Shinobu assured. “Let’s go home then, shall we?”

“Sure.”

They left the busy station together and began their walk back the the Butterfly Mansion. When they noise of the crowd died down, (Y/n) spoke.

“Sorry for sleeping through the whole trip. I hope you weren’t bored.”

“Trust me when I say I was thoroughly entertained, (Y/n).” Shinobu assured with a smile that was a tad too mischievous. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

(Y/n) felt her stomach drop. Oh god… what had she said? Something embarrassing no doubt from the look Shinobu was sporting. How mortifying!

“And you were quite cuddly too. You were hugging my arm at one point even.”

Agh! Could it get any worse?!

“Well—! It’s pretty normal for people to do things like that in their sleep. It’s all dumb and meaningless stuff you know.”

“Dumb and meaningless? (Y/n), you wound me.” Shinobu rested the back of her hand against her forehead. “Is that how you really feel?”

“Well, yeah!” (Y/n) doubled-down. “It’s not like I know what I’m saying while I’m asleep. Whatever I said didn’t mean anything and you shouldn’t hold it against me.”

“Oh, so when you said you loved me, there wasn’t any truth in that sentiment? You didn’t mean it?” Shinobu carried on as usual, she didn’t seem hurt. She still found the incident funny. She didn’t need (Y/n) to be in love with her, all she needed to know was that they were friends. That was good enough for her.

(Y/n) felt the sudden urge to scream out of sheer embarrassment, but she held it in. Obviously based on Shinobu’s demeanor she was still only playing around, but what was she supposed to say to that? She was a terrible liar!

“Well—!” She fumbled a bit, trying to find the words she needed, “That’s not anything groundbreaking! You know I love you like… a normal amount.”

So inconspicuous! What a wordsmith! Brava!

“Is that right?” Shinobu smirked, a quiet laugh leaving her lips. “What exactly is a normal amount to you, (Y/n)? Please, I’d love to hear all about it.”

(Y/n) felt uncomfortably warm, nervous, like she was going to throw up if she tried to say anything else. Shinobu noticed this and was going to let (Y/n) off the hook right away, but then voices from a little further down the path made both of their heads turn.

“Oh! Shinobu-sama, (Y/n)-san, hello!”

A butterfly girl brigade soon appeared from further up the path, all five carrying baskets of various vegetation.

“Hello, girls thank you for your hard work.” Shinobu thanked the girls sincerely for holding down the fort while she was on her impromptu journey. She was then caught up on all the notable things that happened while she was away and at some point during the midst of that…

“Hey, where did (Y/n)-san go?”

Six heads swiveled around to look at their immediate surroundings to find that (Y/n) had inexplicably vanished from the group. They all called out for her and searched the nearby woods, concerned that she would up and leave without a word.

When their search yielded no result, they went back to the mansion to form a search party out of Kakushi, but fortunately, Goto told them they had nothing to worry about.

“Oh, I saw (Y/n)-san arrive not too long ago.” He said, Shinobu’s body relaxed, a quiet sigh of relief left her.

“That girl,” Aoi huffed, “Where is she now? I’d like to give her a piece of my mind.”

“Ah, well,” Goto rubbed the back of his neck, “she’s around… I may or may not have been asked not to tell anyone where she is within the mansion for now.”

“What?!” Aoi through her arms up in exasperation. “Of all the childish— we just spent half an hour combing the the nearby woods for her when she vanished suddenly. She has some explaining to do, because making us all worry like that is unacceptable!”

“It’s my fault.” Shinobu sighed, making all eyes turn on her, “I pushed her too far, teasing her over something she had no control over. She must have slinked off while I was distracted because she knew she’d never be able to avoid me otherwise.” She guessed a bit contritely.

“Shinobu-sama, what could you have possibly been teasing her about to cause this mess?” Aoi asked, arms crossed.

Shinobu shook her head. “I don’t believe it’s my place to say. I promise I shall apologize to her the first chance I get. But for now, let (Y/n) have some time to herself, and please don’t be too upset with her for running off.”

Shinobu caught sight of the time, telling the girls that for the time being she’d be in her lab. She thanked them again for their hard work, and apologized for their wasted search before walking away.

“I wonder why this happened.” Sumi pondered.

“Oh, I’ll tell you what happened.” Aoi said confidently, “I bet (Y/n) finally said something unintentionally to let Shinobu-sama know how much she actually likes her and in true Shinobu-sama fashion, she fumbled the moment of vulnerability for a joke. Well, I’m not letting this foolishness carry on for a minute more. Will you all help me find (Y/n) so we can get this all sorted out before it gets even more awkward between them?“

All of the girls agreed with a round of exclamations and nods. Soon they were combing through the estate. After some time, Kanao was the one to bring back word that (Y/n) was sitting under Victory, watching the cherry blossoms flutter around her wistfully.

“Thank you, Kanao, I’ll take it from here.” Aoi said, already walking briskly towards the tree, startling (Y/n) from her gloomy thoughts. “Don’t you dare try running away from me, (Y/n).” She warned.

“I-I’m not.” (Y/n) put her hands up defensively. “…Did Shinobu send you? Did she tell you what I said?!” She added hastily.

“No,” Aoi sat down beside (Y/n) with a harsh exhale, “She didn’t need to tell me anything because it doesn’t take a genius to figure out how in love you are (Y/n)-san, so just accept the help I’m trying to provide you, alright? Shinobu-sama seems content to give you space for now, but I know once you two decide to make up, you’re just going to pretend nothing happened, so you better confess properly when I get her to come out here, okay?”

“W-what?! No, I couldn’t—“

“Yes you could! Are you really going to let this go on forever? That would just be sad and annoying considering everyone knows you two love each other. Be a woman and ask her out!”

It took some convincing, but Aoi had finally gotten (Y/n) to a place where the idea of honestly telling Shinobu she had romantic feelings for her wasn’t going to immediately make her throw-up from nerves and so now all Aoi had to do was get Shinobu out there as soon as she could before (Y/n) got cold feet and ran off again. Some people enjoyed playing matchmaker, but Aoi found the whole process rather annoying.

She all but shoved Shinobu out of her lab and pointed her in the right direction, making sure the Hashira was heading that way before quickly working around the mansion to join the other girls watching excitedly from the bushes to witness the fruit of her labor.

She arrived just in time to see Shinobu sit beside (Y/n) beneath Victory’s vibrant petal-laden branches. What a beautiful place for a confession of love. The mood was set.

“(Y/n),” Shinobu spoke softly, “I’m sorry I—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” (Y/n) cut her off, “I know you didn’t mean to make me uncomfortable.”

“But I did. Definitely not to the degree that I did, but I wanted to see you squirm a little. I didn’t mean to cause you anxiety and I do apologize for that. But please,” Shinobu moved to rest her hand atop (Y/n)’s, “if the time comes that I overstep again, please tell me that you would like some time to yourself instead of leaving without telling anyone. I was worried when I couldn’t find you.”

“I will, I promise. I’m sorry for worrying you.” (Y/n) looked down at their hands in the bed of fallen petals and took a deep breath, “Shinobu, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I… I really do love you, but… it’s um…”

“Not a normal amount?” Shinobu couldn’t help but tease.

“Right,” (Y/n) flustered, “but it might be less than a normal amount if you keep that up.”

“Sorry, dear,” Shinobu didn’t look sorry in the least, “please continue, I’m all ears.”

(Y/n) sighed quietly, “I like you a lot more than I’ve ever liked anyone so would you maybe be interested in going on a date with me sometime? Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know how busy you are and I don’t expect you to agree even if you aren’t busy. I’m happy being friends. Friends is just as good—

A range of gasps and squeals came from the bushes as Shinobu leaned in and planted a bit quite chaste kiss on the corner of (Y/n)’s mouth. She barely pulled away before speaking, keeping their bodies close.

“I’m sure I can carve out some time soon. I did shrink off some duties to hop on a train to see you once already after all.”

“I, I thought you said you just happened to be in the area…” (Y/n) murmured, still light headed from the near head-on kiss.

“I lied!” Shinobu smiled, not an ounce of shame detectable.

“You jerk!” (Y/n) threw caution to the wind and tackled Shinobu completely to the ground, “Just how many of those coincidental run-ins were actually coincidental?”

“Very few.”

“Shinobu!”

An amused exhale left Aoi as she watched the two women laugh together.

“Alright, I think we’ve seen what we needed to see. Come on everyone, back to work.”

Some of the girls seemed a little disappointed to be leaving, but hearing the sounds of joy still lighting up the courtyard as they made their way back inside brought smiles to their faces.

[modevernon]

rainy days # chwe vernon

pairing: vernon x gn!reader genre: f2l, comfort warnings: cursing, mentions of food word count: 1.25k

ever since autumn fell into your hands like a stale, unwanted gift, vernon had been acting strange. well. ‘strange’ was difficult to define. vernon was, by nature, pretty strange.

rather, he ceased to act in his normal, strange way, and that was what bothered you — where were the out-of-the-blue “fried chicken, my place, shrek” text invites? where had those gone? where were the absurd, vine-reminiscent tiktoks and goofy screenshots of infinite challenge? where were the multitude of beanies strewn across your house? where, and when had he taken them back? where was he?

yes, seasonal depression existed. but he had explicitly told you, as you were munching on a cinnamon roll for breakfast three months ago, that fall was his favorite season. and yes, you two had only started hanging out this year, so it wasn’t as if your friendship had ever been set in stone. but even so, you didn’t deserve to be ghosted, or slowly distanced from until he had erased you from his life.

and yet, you could pinpoint the day, the moment, the very conversation during which his demeanor shifted so precisely that you figured something must have gone wrong then, and maybe it was your fault.

so you ran back the dialogue to the best of your recollection: it had been a rainy saturday, the kind of humidity that simply begged you to stay inside, and vernon had been making cold hot chocolate (“so… chocolate milk?” “no, you don’t see the vision!”) as you drafted emails at your desk.

when he completed his little concoction and entered your room with a mug of it, you were enjoying a self-proclaimed break, perched on the edge of the table, scrolling through instagram.

“bro, you have to see this,” you called to him casually, hearing his footsteps approach.

he did approach — slowly. stopping before you, he placed the mug on the table. “am i your bro now?”

eyes still glued to your phone, you knocked jokingly at his arm. “sorry.”

after a beat, you looked up, as if finally absorbing all of what had been said so far. “wait.” vernon gazed back at you patiently. “you’ve never complained about that.”

he opened his mouth slightly, some unforeseeable sentence at the tip of his tongue, then closed it and glanced away. “yeah, well,” and he took a step back, “never said i was complaining.”

then you had taken a sip from the mug, and said to him that it tasted just like chocolate milk, but lukewarm, and he had laughed softly without a rebuttal, and you had showed him the instagram story you had found funny, and he had laughed again without comment, and half an hour later he had left from your apartment and the rain had kept falling and everything had seemed eerily quiet. the end.

except it wasn’t the end — it couldn’t be the end, when vernon’s pretty little face was all you could think about even as weeks, months passed without his presence.

today, you were feeling especially fed up, inhaling a cinnamon roll from the same café you’d visited with vernon in the heat of summer. it was suspiciously warm for late october, as if the weather was actively forcing you to reminisce, and it stayed warm until the sun slipped down and suddenly it was cruelly, unbearably cold — and rainy. wrapped up in blankets, you stirred your (real) hot chocolate, watched the downpour vandalize your windows, and wondered what to do with your fraught, ambivalent heart.

vernon was surprised to get a call past midnight, and more surprised that he was on his phone at the exact minute to pick up. he swiped right, forgetting to read the contact.

“hello?” he spoke first.

“hey.” vernon could tell by one syllable that it was you. he checked the screen to confirm anyway. you continued, voice inexplicable: “what’ve you been up to?”

first question, and he was already feeling guilty. “work,” he replied, with faux detachment, “kinda tiring.”

“tiring?”

“mm-hmm.”

“busier than usual?” your tone was veering from innocent to interrogative.

“yeah, you could say that.” what excuse could he give that wasn’t the reason?

“you still could’ve kept in touch, you know,” you hit back. quiet on the other end of the line. “i had to watch bottoms without you.”

“oh, that’s a great movie,” vernon blurted, then immediately regretted.

he could almost see your eyes narrow. “so you watched it on your own?”

“… yeah. on my own.”

you let his response hang embarrassingly in silence. after a beat — “do you have anything to tell me, hansol?”

oh. hansol. shit was getting real; but vernon tried to dodge the fact. “do you have anything to tell me?”

“stop acting cheeky. it’s not cute.”

“no, i’m serious. you must’ve called to say something.”

“i can’t just call to say hi?”

“that’s what you wanted to say? hi?” the words came out far more acerbic than he had intended.

and for the first time, your voice faltered. “didn’t… didn’t you miss me?”

to answer that would be to burst a dam. he felt no choice but to fall back on old tricks. “did you miss me?”

you huffed. vernon knew he was pushing your limit, but it was all he could do. now it was quiet on your end, and he was contemplating a better way to weasel out of this when the bell of his apartment abruptly rang.

perfect. “um— hey, so sorry to cut this short, but i just— there’s a friend coming over, they’re at the door—” and he walked hastily toward it. “we can talk later.” and he hung up before you had the time to reply, simultaneously opening the door to find you, drenched, no umbrella in sight, staring daggers into him.

he was so stunned that he couldn’t exclaim. you kept staring until you grew tired of it, and blinked away. with your hair dripping so much, it was impossible to tell whether your face was wet with tears or rain.

just as vernon began to take up his hand to wipe your cheek, you spoke again. “really hard fucking way to get me to ask you out.”

his hand froze. to what? “of course i missed you, hansol. i missed you so much, i couldn't do anything else. i missed you so much, i ran here while it was pouring, and you know i hate going outside when it's like this. i missed you so much, it’s been driving me insane! what the hell did i do that was so wrong?” your voice was breaking, fracturing. “can’t you tell me?”

the way vernon stood made him look like a film on pause. only his eyes trembled, ever so slightly, drinking you in with excruciating care because heaven knows how much he missed you too.

before he could think of what to say back, his body moved reflexively into yours, arms wrapped around you, head buried in your neck. you were so cold against him, so tense with emotion that his embrace left you melting.

“i thought you didn’t want me,” he breathed, still enveloped in you, “the way i wanted you.”

you sighed, somewhere between relief and exasperation. “why would you assume that, idiot?” it wasn’t really a question. “someone who’s usually so slow to act.”

at that comment, vernon peeled — slowly — away from you to face you again. “i’ll be fast this time,” he vowed, and you tilted your head in puzzlement. “you’re asking me out? my answer is yes.”

a/n: excuse my like two month hiatus. kung chi pak chi summoned me back.

[dallysnecklace]

i just wanna say i love your writing it's masterful

could you do a sleepy/cuddles Sodapop x fem!reader for my poor lonely soul please and thank you<3

“You work too much.”

Pairing: Sodapop Curtis x fem! Reader

Summary: To support yourself, you work multiple jobs. Your boyfriend starts to notice the toll this takes on you.

Warnings: Overworking, established relationship

A/N: Thank you so much for your kind words!! I’m so sorry this took me fucking forever, it got lost in my drafts but I found it!! I will never take this long

The phone rang as you hid away from the loud noise of the diner, tucked away in the corner. You had just worked a triple shift to be able to afford your rent this month, which you stupidly had put off for the last week.

“Hello?” A voice came through the line. Presumably Darry.

“Hey Darry, it’s Y/n. Is Soda there?” You said, being polite.

“Yeah I’ll get ‘im for you.” There was a pause. You twirled the cord around your finger, beginning to become anxious.

“Hey, Y/n. Everything okay?” Sodas voice said, softly.

“Yeah, I’m just tired and had a long day. Do you think you could pick me up? If not I totally get it-“

“Hey, it’s fine. I’ll be there in like 7 minutes.” He interrupted your nervous rant.

You let out a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Thank you so much.” You responded.

“Anything for my girl.” He said. You could picture his smile in your head.

“I love you, Soda.” You said, grateful for his presence in your life.

“Love you too, sweets.”

You put the phone back on the holder, and went to wait outside. It was a cold winter night, one you wished you could’ve enjoyed at home.

You left your home about 2 years ago when they weren’t supportive of you going to school. You had grew up in a strict household that unfortunately believed that women were worth less than men. Your family never took school seriously, and wanted to pull you out once you were 14. They believed that at that age, you were expected to start helping around the house, and start looking for a man to marry. But, over the years you really enjoyed school and wanted to pursue a life in academia. When you told your parents this, they kicked you out.

You moved a few towns over to Tulsa. You originally lived at Bucks, where you met Dallas. He wasn’t the nicest to you, but he eventually warmed up to you and even introduced you to the gang, where you met Soda. These boys seemed to understand your struggle of living alone and going to school. You finally felt like you had a group of people to support you, which you had never experienced before.

Suddenly you saw an old beat up car pull up, and a honk broke the sound of the crickets at night.

You hopped in the front seat, looking over to your boyfriend, who held a worried look.

“Hey sweets.” He said, grabbing your hand and kissing it.

“Hi.” You said, barely having enough energy to talk.

Sodapop took the message, and started to drive home. A comfortable silence wafted over to two of you as he drove back to his place. There was an unsaid agreement that you would be staying with him tonight.

On the way home, you fell asleep, lulled by the soft music playing and sodas humming.

Once you got to Sodas house, he woke you up, by picking you up bridal style and carrying you in.

Soda stepped in the doorway, to be greeted by Darry and Pony.

Darry looked up, “Hey, is she okay?” He questioned, worried for his brothers girlfriend. He really had grown attached to you, and was worried about you. He knew what it was like to have to work multiple jobs and take care of others.

Soda responded, “Yeah, she just needs to rest. Can she stay over tonight?”

“Of course, she can stay here whenever.” Darry responded, seeing you stir and start to wake up.

You woke up, at adjusted your eyes to peer upon Sodas chin, turned towards Darry.

“Hey, Thanks for letting me stay Dar.” You sleepily smiled, a blush on your cheeks from having Darry see Sodapop carrying you in.

“It’s always fine honey, you know that.” He walked back into the kitchen, leaving you and Soda alone.

He silently walked to his room, sitting you on his bed. He kneeled down onto one knee, taking your shoes off carefully. He stood back up, cupping your chin in his hand, and kissing your forehead.

“Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” He asked, making sure you were okay with it.

“Yeah.” You simply replied, causing him to get up and open his drawers, picking out a clean shirt for you to wear to bed.

He handed you the clothing, and you went to the bathroom to change.

“Jesus christ I’m tired.” you exclaimed, looking at your reflection in the mirror; noticing the dark circles acting as a shadow on your face.

You quickly changed, walking back to Sodas room. You were excited to finally get some rest. Tomorrow you weren't working, and school was out for the day. Finally a day to just relax.

As soon as you walked in, Soda took you into an embrace. You quickly melted in his arms, finally feeling like you could let go.

“Do you wanna go to bed?” He whispered.

You nodded into his chest, feeling him pick you up and place you on his bed. You got underneath the covers feeling at peace. You felt the bed dip beside you, and felt Sodas two arms pull you in, letting your head rest on his chest.

You didn’t really feel like talking, so you just held him tighter and kissed his exposed collarbone; a sign of your gratification. He dipped his head down, pulling you head up by his hand on your chin and kissed your lips softly, but filled with love.

“You work too much.” He whispered against you lips, kissing them quickly once again, “Maybe you should just live with us. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent and could focus on school.”

You looked up at him, ready to argue against his kindness, but decided against it. You were lucky you had this kind of support system.

“Thank you.” You whispered, kissing his jawline quickly, settling your head into his neck.

“I love you sweets.” He said as he rested his head back into the pillows.

“I love you too.” You responded back, in an instant.

You smiled, and rested your head against his chest again. He was so warm. Perfect for this cold winter night, and although you weren’t able to spend the whole night with him, you were forever grateful for these small moments before the both of you drift into sleep.

[asshlyyyy]

Strawberry Pie

It is time to get rid of some drafts that I have had for months at this point. Even if they have a few sentences I want to get them out. I also hope that having these one-shots thrown in people will remember me... and maybe my posts will do better then... (22 notes). It really is unmotivating sometimes. Looking at your follower count and then your notes. Like so far... the year is not going good for this account.

Masterlist

Pairing: Austin Butler x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Fluff, Mentions of Baby Talk, Perhaps Some Swearing. Spelling and Grammatical Errors. Let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 1.6k

You scrolled through the list of songs on your phone. Today you were in a cheerful mood. You were happy, and you felt no sense of sadness. Let’s not jinx it just yet, but you had big plans today. Austin was out with his agent talking about some upcoming deals. You wanted to surprise him with a small gift. 

Once you finally decided on the song you turned off your phone and went over to your recipe box. You only had a few recipes in there that were from you, but you had your grandmother’s as well. She always talked about how you were going to get that box when she died and well… That day came a couple of months ago. It still pained you, but you were finally in a good mood. 

Peering through all the recipes your eyes found the one you wanted, Strawberry pie. You remember eating this during the summers at your grandmother’s house. It was such a fond memory and such a wonderful pie. You pulled it out of the box and brought it over to the middle island. 

You brought out all of the ingredients needed and started to get to work. You had a few hours before Austin came in, so in theory… the pie should be cooled down when he arrives. That way you two can have a slice after dinner. Seems like today is a day you’ll be spending in the kitchen. You had no issue with that though. You loved being a housewife. 

As stereotypical as it was… it was nice. Not having to worry about working. You were able to stay home, keep the house clean, cook your husband a wonderful dinner… or order it… and tend to other matters. Hopefully one day you can add a little one to the equation. For now, that wasn’t on Austin’s list and you had to respect that. 

For dinner, you had planned a dish that would go along with your pie. You were thinking about making salmon with mashed potatoes, and then some type of veggie on the side. It just depended on what you had. That seemed like a good meal, and then you two could have some pie afterward… It sounded perfect. 

Once everything was in the oven and everything was getting cooked you decided to take a break. You untied your apron and took it off. You’ve been standing on your feet for some time now, you wanted to sit down, and that is exactly what you ended up doing. You grabbed your phone to check your notifications.

A few messages from Austin, some even from your sister. A missed call from your mother, a few emails- wait… a missed call from your mother? You went ahead and called her back. Your mother usually didn’t call. If she did, she would let you know. Plus, she didn’t leave a message either which… is even weirder. 

“Hello?” Your mother’s voice entered your ear.

“Hi momma, I was just returning your call. I didn’t know you called.” You said to her. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to. I just accidentally hit the call button instead of something else. I tried to hang up quickly so… I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry honey.” Your mother explained. You let out an oh sound and nodded.

“It’s okay, I just thought it was weird is all. Figured I would give you a call and check-in. Make sure that everything is okay.”

“Well, now that I got you. What’s going on? Anything exciting happening today?” She asked you.

“Well, you remember that strawberry cake grandma would always make us in the summer?” You questioned her. 

“Of course I do,” she replied.

“Well, I decided to make that today for Austin. I was just feeling in a good mood and I figured to use that energy and create something with it.” You explained to her.   

“Oh, that sounds delicious. I wish you would bring us some over, but that is too long of a drive.” Your mother chuckled. You rolled your eyes playfully and shook her head.

“Well next time you guys come and visit, or we come to yours to visit I’ll be sure to make some. I know Grandma would want me to share it.” You told her. 

“Yeah, she would have.” Your mother said softly, “I miss her.”

“I miss her too… it’s been rough… I honestly hoped I would’ve had kids before she passed. She was such a wonderful lady but… You have one fall and it’s all downhill from there…” You replied back with a soft tone. Here was the sadness, that sadness you all so had to jinx yourself with earlier. 

“I know… but, she’s still around. In our hearts… in our minds… in spirit. She will always be around. We just can’t see her,” Your mother recited some type of religicall sentence. Like the father, son, and the Holy Spirit. 

“I know… well… I better get back to it then. I have to check on the Salmon and see how the pie is cooling. Bye, momma, I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.” She replied and hung up. You placed your phone down and let out a sigh. 

You pushed yourself up and walked over to the big sliding glass doors. You pushed them open and stood in the middle. You felt the cool wind brush past your skin in a soothing manner. The clear blue skies let you know that… she was here. The clear blue skies those summers you would spend with her. 

You smiled softly and went back to check your mood, leaving the doors open to let in fresh air… and maybe even your grandma. You knew spirits could do anywhere they wanted, but your grandmother was a respectful woman. She would only enter when allowed, and when it was okay. 

You pulled out the food and started to get the plates ready. You heard a ding from your phone and went to quickly check it. A text from Austin that read, Just down the street. I’ll be home soon :P 

You giggled lightly at the expression he added and shook your head. For once, you had managed your time, and everything will fall into place right when you need it to. You brought the food over to the table and went to quickly wipe your hands. You rushed over to the door and opened it just as Austin was.

“Oh, hi,” Austin chuckled lightly. You smiled and pushed yourself up on your tippy toes and kissed his cheek.

“Hi, I missed you.” You greeted him and moved out of the way. 

“I missed you too, sweetheart… but what is going on?” He looked at you confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You hardly greet me at the door.” He pointed out to you. 

“Well- you aren’t wrong, but I made dinner… and I made a special dessert. One I’ve been wanting to make you for quite some time.” You explained to him.

“Let me freshen up and I’ll meet you in the kitchen then okay?” With a nod of your head, Austin made his way upstairs to freshen up. 

You made your way back over to the kitchen and decided to get the drinks. You poured two glasses of water and brought them over to the table. You sat down and patiently waited for Austin. You looked out into your guys’ backyard and smiled. Your grandmother’s backyard was a field of memories. Easter time in the annual Y/l/n egg hunt. You always won of course. No one could ever beat your skills. 

You remember around Christmas time when you would go out with your grandparents and build snowmen with them. The snowball fights you all shared. The summer barbecue with the strawberry pie. God, you’re going to miss having those every year. 

“Oh wow,” Austin said as he entered the kitchen. You looked over at him and smiled.

“Remember how I tell you the stories about my grandma’s strawberry pie?” You asked him gently. He nodded and found his way across from you.

“Every time you tell it, it leaves my mouth watering.” He chuckled lightly. 

“Well… I made it,” you smiled.

“Is there a special occasion? I didn’t forget anything right? Cause I swear our anniversary isn’t until another two months. Your birthday isn’t until another five months… As far as I know, today is nothing.” He started to freak out a bit. You laughed gently at him. 

“I guess I just wanted to celebrate being in a good mood. It’s been rough these few months you know… and I finally wake up and I’m in a good mood. Wanted to treat my boyfriend.” You admitted to him.

“Dammit, I knew I should’ve stopped for flowers.” He swore at himself. 

‘’Austin stop,” you shook your head, “you get me flowers all the time. I wanted to treat you for once.”

“I love you,” Austin said as he reached over for your hand. You blushed gently as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“I love you too.” 

“Well, shall we dig in so we can get to that pie?” Austin suggested with a smile. You nodded early and started to eat your dinner. 

You two talked about each other's day. Though, Austin’s was much more entertaining than your baking story. Though, Austin would never say that. He always had nice things to say no matter what. When the time came to eat pie, you two went out onto the deck to enjoy it. Where you shared stories about your grandma to him.

“Maybe one day we can do that.” Austin hummed from beside you. You turned to look at him confused. What did he mean by that? “Make new memories with our kids.”

“Our kids…?”

“Yeah, I think… I think we can start trying. That is if you want to of course. Share your grandma’s pie to generations.” He smiled as he wrapped his arm around you. 

“I would like that,” you whispered and kissed him softly. 

I think you all could have noticed that I don't post as much as I used to. It's mostly because I am loosing motivation. I know I talk about the lack of notes a lot... but it really is a big factor. I used to get hundreds and now I'm barely breaking a hundred.

I know it sounds like I'm being ungrateful but I'm just lost and confused in what happened.

Thank you to everyone who voted for a time! I really appreciate it. Also, this is my first time using the queue function so… let’s see if I did it right.

Mutual Taglist: @babyhoneypresley @emmymaehereeeeee @venus-haze @austinstyles

[messedupfan]

Taylor Sloane Draft (Might Not Continue)

A/n: Hello! I thought I'd share something from the drafts that I've kind of abandoned haha. So read at your own discretion that this is possibly all that you'll get from this story. But I am open to any and all ideas, so if you have one let me know in the comments, asks, or even my dms. Enjoy!

Taylor plays with the ring on her finger. She has just accepted a proposal from a man she didn’t love, but that was good for her image. She downs the rest of her champagne and makes a face. She didn’t enjoy the beverage at all, but it was an expensive bottle that he bought special for the occasion. Although it was a sham, he said it was still something to be celebrated. And he wasn’t wrong. Taylor Sloane was no longer going to just be known as a freelance photographer and social media influencer. She was going to be the fiancé of a respected actor who is at the height of his career. Which means that she is going to be getting a lot of attention once their publicists have the photos of their secret engagement “leaked” to the press. 

Looking out on the balcony of the restaurant, she can’t admire the view of the city much without being haunted by the memory of the first time she saw it. With you. It wasn’t at a fancy restaurant like this. No, back then the two of you could barely afford to splurge on McDonalds. It was after the first month of living in California. She was losing hope on ever getting an apprenticeship with a professional photographer. She hated the part-time job she had so she could help pay the bills. She was losing all hope of ever achieving her goals and chasing her dreams. 

 So, to cheer her up and help remind her where she is and of the endless possibilities, you grabbed her camera and drove her to the Hollywood sign. The two of you couldn’t actually get to the sign with security lurking around. But you could hike above it without getting into trouble. At the top of Mount Lee in the middle of the night, Taylor found inspiration again. You handed her the camera and she took a few different shots. She kissed you and thanked you well into the next morning. She truly loved you the best that she knew how. 

Taylor looks at the ring and scoffs. There was a time when she believed the only person to ever put a ring on her finger would be you. Now she was far from that ever happening today. It was rare for her to regret her decision. Until it came to moments like these that woke her up. That reminded her of what she lost on her way here. 

“I think this is going to be great,” Chris says as he joins her side. “Are you okay?” 

Taylor flashes a quick smile at him and moves her gaze back to the city. She knew you had to be living in one of the neighborhoods. But she couldn’t know for certain. The two of you lost touch a long time ago and she could never find you on social media. The mutual friends the two of you had together haven’t spoken to her in years because eventually Taylor blew them off as well. They were holding her back, is what she would tell herself anytime she missed any of them. Including you. “I’m going to be, just, this isn’t how I imagined my first marriage. Maybe second or third,” she quips. 

He laughs and looks down for a second, “I understand, and we still don’t have to go through with this. Y’know? It’s in the contract, we’re allowed to bow out at any point.”

“No, I’m not saying,” she turns her whole body towards him. “I’m okay. We’re going to make a great power couple for the next few years. And who knows, it might last longer than that,” she leans in to give him a kiss. He smiles against her lips. 

“I’m happy to hear that you want to make this work,” he kisses her back and brings her closer to him. “I never saw this for myself either but I think this will be the best decision of my career. Maybe even my life.” 

Taylor felt the exact opposite. She was already regretting this one so much. But she doesn’t show it. She hums as she kisses him again. She pats his chest and the two separate. 

After they go their separate ways for the night, Taylor goes driving around town. She doesn't really leave the house to explore anymore. Anytime she goes out it's only to promote a place that has paid her to be there. But tonight, for the first time in a long time, she doesn't want to do anything that will boost her image. That was well taken care of for now. 

“You really want to drive across the country?” You ask skeptically after Taylor presented her idea to you. Graduation was creeping closer and closer. The both of you hoped you would have access to more money by now. But life was too tempting and the “You only live once,” mentality wasn't financially beneficial. 

Taylor assumed she'd have access to her trust fund straight out of college but with the example she showcased to her parents in the past four years — not to mention how Nicky blew through his in a matter of months — the Sloane's only saw it fitting for Taylor to have to work a little harder for her money. She wasn't eligible for access until she was thirty-five. However, she could have it sooner if she got married and had a stable job. 

Taylor knows that you would have easily married her if she asked. But she didn't want that to be the story. Even if she never told you that was why. She would know and it would eat her alive because that's not what you deserved. 

Your parents gave you access to your money after you graduated high school. They thought you would be responsible with the money but with the spring break and summer vacation trips you paid for and the weekends spent in clubs, and the expensive dates and gifts that you would get for your girlfriend all started to add up and left you with barely enough to get you and Taylor something to rent in California. Not a nice place either. And there wasn't much left over to help the two of you get there. Not unless you drove across the country as Taylor has suggested.

“Come on, it could be an adventure,” Taylor boasts. 

You laugh because she was volunteering to sleep in the car packed with yours and hers belongings when she was known for refusing to sleep anywhere that wasn't a five star hotel. But you haven't seen her so willing to do something like this. “Okay, yeah, we could do it. As long as I’m not the only one driving.”

[zepskies]

Hey Lovely! For the ask game, I'm requesting #4, #7, and #24.

Thanks!! ❤️

Well hello there, friend! 🥰

Oh my, good questions...

Hahaa oh lord. I mean, how much time do you have? 🤣 I have entire files worth of ideas from different fandoms that I've even gone so far as to outline, but have never gotten around to writing.

I think the first ones that come to my head are two series ideas in the Smallville fandom:

Hanging By a Moment - Clark Kent x OC

Summary: The path of Clark Kent’s life changed drastically after he turned sixteen. It was choice, it was happenstance, it was destiny—all in one. He didn’t know it yet, but it was always going to be her.

(Yes, title is based on the song by Lifehouse. 😂)

Keep Holding On - Jason Teague x OC

Summary: Try as Jason might, he just couldn’t compare to Clark Kent. Not in Lana’s eyes at least. Elena is the casualty of war, caught in between.

Both sound very melodramatic now that I read the summaries next to one another. 😂 The main reason why I haven't written these, I guess, is because I feel like the Smallville fandom has mostly died out. Tumblr especially doesn't really support OCs as much as reader inserts, and these stories both needed to be OCs to give me the freedom to create as much backstory and character as I wanted to.

Oh a DEEP CUT you say? 🤣 Oh God, I've been writing since I was about 10 or 11 years old (and let me tell you, it was heinous).

I think my very first fanfic was for an anime called Rurouni Kenshin. It was an AU set in present time. It was that cliché thing where the heroine is sitting at a bar and is getting hit on, but she doesn't give the guy the time of day until her boyfriend (the main male lead of the show) shows up.

That character was known for being a spitfire, so she was good at putting people in their place lol. Her boyfriend is the more mild-mannered of the two, but still very protective, so I guess that's where the idea came from in my kid brain. I've long ago deleted that story off FF.net because it was so damn bad.

My first SPN fanfic, however, can be found here on Ao3. It's also pretty rough because I wrote it back in high school when I was first watching the show, first on FF.net, then transferred it over later to Ao3.

Another interesting question... 🤔

It can take me a bit to get myself into that creative headspace, but when I'm working on a one-shot, I tend to power through the draft until I finish it in a day, maybe two if it's long (5,000+ words let's say).

If we're talking about a series, I try to knock out at least a chapter at a time in one writing session, which could take me a couple hours or several more, depending on length and how detailed my outline is, if I need to do additional research, etc.

If I really have a good flow going, sometimes I can knock out 2-3 chapters in a day. I'll have a solid 1-3 hour writing session towards the beginning of the day, take a break for a few hours, run some errands, go on a walk, have a meal, and come back to it later. I tend to do the bulk of my writing in the afternoon and throughout the night.

Thanks again for asking these questions, lovely!! 😘💜 Always happy to answer.

[nicromancytarot]

REINCARNATION AND TRAUMA

Found this in my drafts from months ago lmao, so here you go!

Hello! I am here to chat more shit because I’m bored and wish to entertain the few who care (I’m also procrastinating making dinner which is a delicious chicken roast which shall take me around two hours to make and it’s already half 8 at night #rip)

MY OPINION ON REINCARNATION

This time last year I told myself that I would never reincarnate again if I had the opportunity to do so, perhaps it appears selfish, and now looking back on it, I think based on what I know now, me refusing to reincarnate is selfish, but only for me. I don’t think choosing not to reincarnate would be selfish as a whole, but knowing what I know now, I would say that me deciding not to reincarnate is somewhat selfish.

The start of this year and the end of last I did a past life meditation, I already knew about two of my past lives, one where I was just heavily oppressed and died, another where I was a religious leader who got condemned for breaking my vow of abstinence, and my most impactful one for this life which I will get into.

I did a past life meditation at the end of last year, my intention was just to find the past life that affects this one the most, and now I feel very much healed from past trauma which is crazy.

DISCLAIMER: Only do a past life meditation if you can actually handle it mentally. I discovered the meditations in 2020, was not ready until late 2023, so take that as you will.

When doing the meditation I saw myself, I was a man, not too sure how old or at what time I was living, but it felt to be maybe the 80’s-90’s, it felt surprisingly recent. I went into the kitchen, and there stood my three children. The oldest boy I called by the name of “Sonny” or “Sunny”, but I don’t know if that was his name, may have rather been a nickname.

Going a tad back in time, I was trying to figure out the name of someone of importance to me back in November last year, and that’s when my guide proceeded to spell out the name “Anna Ray”, I don’t know anyone called Anna Ray, or even anyone called Anna, so I was confused and let it be.

Now back to current time, so I’m in the kitchen and standing by my three children when a woman, beautiful with pale skin, wearing an off the shoulder, long classy, black dress, a shawl hanging over her arms and her hair was a mousy brown. She never said her name, but when she turned around to look at me, I didn’t recognise her, but my soul absolutely did. In my head in that moment, in my manly voice I heard “Anna” and I was like “OHHHHH” it all adds up!

So that’s why I don’t know if my kids name was Sonny, or Sunny, because it could’ve been a play on words Sunny Ray, like sun-ray.

Anywho, so we left the house and then the meditation skipped some time since the meditation person told me to stand and let time go past me, which it did, the living room moved around a few times, things got added, things were taken away.

And then time stopped, I saw myself in third person sat down on the couch in front of the TV, I don’t even know if I was watching it, but then third person another time, I saw a shadow of a woman fall to ground.

Consciously I was so confused about what just happened, I didn’t understand what that was supposed to be showing me, but my heart began to race, my breathing picked up and I was lowkey freaking out. And I had no idea why.

Then it cut again, now I’m at a funeral, standing on the podium and talking. I still looked quite youthful, but my hair was turning grey from what I assume to be stress. Then it was like a download of information and I realised that my wife, Anna was murdered.

The funeral was not very long for what I saw, the two boys, I’m assuming ages 17-18 and 15-16 were sat on one side, meanwhile the young girl around age 9-10 was sat on my side. To me this symbolised the disconnect from me and my two son’s versus the closeness of me and my daughter. I also now looking back on it think it may have meant that the boys were on Anna’s families side, while my daughter was on mine, since there was an older woman who I assume to be my mother sat next to her.

My daughter gave me an encouraging smile as I spoke, I have no recollection of what I said, but she seemed proud of me. The boys however did not, they struggle to face me.

The last part of the meditation ended by me sat on the couch, slowly watching time pass me by, more and more alcohol bottles scattered the room as I just lay there. I became an alcoholic father, and it drove me to my death.

I got to see my wife for one last time as everything went white and my existence was no more. She stood in front of me, in that off the shoulder dress, her hair up in a pretty hairstyle. She had a mole on the back of her right shoulder and I placed a kiss to it, then I had to go.

I woke up and sobbed dude, four hours of consistent crying. And then I also realised that I have a mole on the back of my right shoulder lmao.

The reason I bring up this story is because I grew up with an alcoholic parent in this life, and there was a lot of trauma from that which I couldn’t quite begin to understand or rationalise.

This experience helped me heal from that, I learnt that I subjected my kids to watching their father deteriorate from the alcohol that he consumed. And now in this life I experienced what I did to them.

Now listen, I have 8th house Uranus in Pisces 💀, I’ve been through a bunch of stuff that I struggle to even think about at times, however now that I know about that life, and how it links to what I experienced in my early ears of this lifetime, I can say that I don’t question “why me” anymore, I don’t ask why it had to happen, because I now know that my soul needed to throw us deep into a karmic lesson. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, I’m not saying don’t allow yourself to feel something over situations that happen to you, however what I am saying is that we cannot control what others do to us, and we cannot go back to change what they did, so what can we learn from that unfortunate situation?

[ryeriy]

masterpiece

warnings: carving with knives (pumpkin carving)

navigation post

"Why are there pumpkins on the table?" Adam asked while walking over. "Because I bought them," I said. I was sitting in the living room watching TV. "Well obviously. But why did you buy them?" He asked. "For decor." He let out a laugh. "You realize pumpkins can't be house decor, right? They're gonna rot!" He exclaimed at me while laughing. He thinks I'm that dumb. "You seriously think I'm that dumb?" I got up from the kitchen to find Adam staring at the two pumpkins I had bought. Staring at what to do with them. "Well, of course not." He said. "Well maybe you shouldn't underestimate me then!" I exclaimed at him while laughing.

I'm a sophomore at Ohio State University. Adam recently got drafted to the Bluejackets this year. It worked out perfectly for us. I was already going to school here and he now works here. We'd been dating before I went to college. We started dating right before our freshman year of college. I was originally going to go to Michigan but Ohio had a better program for what I wanted to do than Michigan. Now that he's here it's better. Adam only moved here a few months ago. When I found out he got drafted to Columbus of course, I offered him to come live with me in my apartment. He'd been only living with me for a few months now but I've tried to make the most of it by making him feel welcomed. So having pumpkins to carve is a start. Especially with his season starting soon. I want to have some fun with him before we both get busy.

"We're going to carve them, dumbie," I said while grabbing the two knives I bought to carve the pumpkins. "This is going to get real messy then," Adam said while looking at me and letting out a laugh. "Well, I didn't think about that okay Albert Einstein," I said. We both couldn't stop laughing at each other. At this rate, the pumpkins would just become decor. We both pulled out our phones going onto Google and Pinterest. Searching for ideas of what to do. I decided on a basic Hello Kitty design while Adam chose the classic jack-o-lantern look.

Now, was the messy part. We both took off the top of the pumpkin. Adam went over to one of the cabinets and grabbed a big bowl. "We can put the guts in here." He said. Placing down the bowl in between the two of us. We both started to take out the guts and throw them into the bowl. "There's so much!" It felt like it was never going to end with the amount that was coming out. "Have you ever carved a pumpkin?" Adam said jokingly while laughing. "When I was little!" I laughed back at him. By now we were almost done with the guts and removing the seeds. "Are you almost done?" He asks. "Yeah, are you?" I asked back. "Mhmhm." He said back while taking the last few guts he had left out of the pumpkin.

The two of us started carving after twenty minutes. It took us so long to take out the guts. Too long. We both went in different directions on how we carved them. He was going the classic way, and I'm trying something harder. I think it's going to look cute though. Adam's is almost done and I'm not far behind him. I only had a few more things to do but he had to do less. "What are you even making?" I laugh for a moment. "It's hello kitty!" "Oh, now I see it! Sort of?" He said jokingly. "Oh my god, stop that!" I said while laughing as I playfully softly pushed him.

Both of us continued to finish up our pumpkins we were getting ready to put the candle inside to glow it up. "Yours doesn't look too bad. It's cute." Adam said as he placed a kiss on my head. "Aw, you're so sweet," I said while smiling up at him. He smiled back as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket to take a photo of his pumpkin. "Here I want one with you and yours. Then we can do the opposite." He said. I walked next to my pumpkin, picked it up, and stood next to it smiling at the camera. I put it down as I grabbed my phone and did the same. Took a photo of mine followed by one of Adam and his. "These are going on Christmas cards for sure," I said jokingly. "100%" Adam replied.

31 days of Halloween

join my taglist

[noxcaelestia]

Huge mechanical pencil fan please tell us more (i don’t draw i just fucking love them)

Hello, thank you for your message! To love mechanical pencils is a great thing. ☺️

To get things started, I gathered up as many mechanical pencils (and mechanical erasers) as I could find and have used in the past year.

I absolutely love mechanical pencils because they’re so convenient, durable, reusable, reliable, versatile, and what I learned from using regular pencils in art especially can most certainly be replicated without worrying about many other drawbacks.

This will be a super long post so please bear with me!

This is a set of Pentel GraphGear 1000 pencils (my favorites) which includes one of each of 0.3mm, 0.5mm, 0.7mm, and 0.9mm. The 0.4mm was a separate purchase. It comes with four boxes of Pentel HB Super lead for each size and a tube of replacement erasers for this line and many other compatible pencils.

The Pentel GraphGear 1000 series are my favorites because of their rigid design and retractable point that keeps the lead steady and prevents accidents from pokes to drops. The clip is sturdy and acts as a button to retract the point. You can also twist the barrel and always know what lead hardness you’re using whether it’s 2B, B, HB or H. These are amazing to use on good, lightly textured paper.

The leads shown are the Uni Kuru Toga HB 0.5mm, and Pentel Ain Stein in HB 0.2mm, 0.3mm, 0.4mm and one 2B 0.3mm.

The KuruToga lead is made with the KuruToga technology in mind with a softer outer layer and a harder inner layer to maintain a more consistent thickness through the pencil’s turning mechanism.

Pentel Ain Stein leads are made specifically to write smoother than standard leads by default though they also have varying degrees of hardness/softness. These are my usual lately.

Uni KuruToga, 0.3mm and 0.5mm (standard)

The mechanism in the Uni KuruToga is made to rotate minutely when the lead hits the surface in order to promote a more consistent line. It may be more suitable for writing but I find it helpful for quick drawings when I don’t need to swap out a different size for a certain effect.

Pentel Orenz, 0.2mm and 0.3mm

The Pentel Orenz is meant to help with preventing lead breakage with its own gradually retractable tube (also likely better suited for writing). The lead is meant to sit mostly inside for it to prove effective. When drawing, I tend to ignore this function depending on what I’m doing (it holds up quite well if I’m careful). Plus, it’s the only mechanical pencil I’ve found commercially and affordably that used 0.2mm, the smallest commercially available lead I could find. It’s wonderful for minute details in pencil.

Pilot AirBlanc in 0.3mm

The Pilot AirBlanc have proven indispensable in some of my language study classes years ago where smaller lines made the characters easier to write and more legible for me. The pink one was a gift from a class and I bought a second one in blue. The pencil is quite soft and comfortable and it’s quite fun to use.

Pentel P200 series pencils in 0.5mm (two have blue and red Pentel Super 0.5mm lead respectively) and one in 0.7mm

The Pentel P200 series have been super reliable for me over the years. I’d keep them so long until the metal part lost its sheen but they were still plenty functional for years and harsh usage. (More than once did a single P205 last me for art classes over the years including drawing as large as 18x24in).

It’s a great sleek, versatile and durable option that’s relatively cheap and easy to find in most stationery sections and art stores, sometimes with additional leads and erasers. The 0.5mm was my favorite size for a long time because it’s thin enough for fine detailing in my drawing but also a comfortable size for writing finely.

GraphGear 500 series in 0.9mm and 0.3mm

A more heavyweight drafting option, the GraphGear 500 is more clunky and less stylish than its successor. They do their job well for writing and drawing but the grip is not very comfortable for long periods of use but it does prevent slipping. The metal tip does not retract like the 1000 series unfortunately.

The mechanical erasers I use are from the Tombow Mono line a 2.5x5mm, a 2.3mm and a 3.8mm. They are excellent for erasing small to fine marks and are decently durable and smooth (though a previous 3.8mm one split in half and shattered after continuous wear).

A “how it’s started vs. how it’s going” model comparison since I began working with and completely adapting to mechanical pencils for writing and drawing.

I hope this was informative! I couldn’t help myself!

(​Fun fact: my schooling was weird in my early years and we weren’t always allowed to get up to sharpen pencils even through middle school so mechanical pencils sort of helped to bandage the problem hence my long term obsession)

[delta-pavonis]

Greetings and salutations!

I'm feeling very random today and I keep seeing things about people wanting more interaction, so I'm doing a thing. What is your favorite story, if you have one? And does it have any music you've arbitrarily assigned to it?

HELLO NONNY!

Interaction when I am kinda looking for something to procrastinate and distract myself?! Don't mind if I do! (Funny story, literally started writing this in early April and it has languished in my drafts until early July, go me.)

Now, what is unclear is if you mean favorite story I have written or favorite story I have read. SO YOU GET BOTH.

(It is also technically unclear if you mean fanfic or Officially Published™️ Story, so I am going to run with fanfic just for fun.

1. I actually don't think I could 100% choose a favorite story that I have read. Like, far too dependent upon my mood. I think the closest I get to "favorite" might be ones I find myself thinking of often or ones that I come back to over and over again in my head. Not necessarily rereading, but that have changed my brain chemistry enough that I think about them randomly, even decades later. And because even then I am incapable of choosing one, I am going to give you one that is from AGES ago and one that is recent.

Recent: Bolt in the Blue by @valeriianz and Maneskin's TIMEZONE. I connect these two so strongly I wrote my own fic about it. But also I just will be listening to the radio and randomly think of that fic and be like, yeah, BitB Dream would write that line. Or BitB Desire would perform the shit outta that.

OG: Fuck me, this isn't even a fandom I was major into, but the Hellsing manga/anime? There is an Alucard/Alexander Anderson fic out there, FROM BACK IN THE LJ AND FF.NET DAYS, that still lives rent free in my head and I don't know if I will ever find it again. Either the fic title or the author's name had something to do with "Joker" or "djoker." I know I found it a second time at some point years ago using the wayback machine and then lost it again. *sigh* No music for this one, though, just strong images (which, major spoilers for the anime and manga, so I won't detail) and Alucard noting that despite staying unconscious for all the painful things that have happened to his body, of course Anderson wakes at the gentlest kiss. No music for this one, just vibes.

2. As for what I have WRITTEN, I am actually most proud of and like three fics:

One is the Hellknight!Hob fic, which is still my longest finished fic and definitely the largest in scale. Also sometimes I just pull up @teejaystumbles's art for it on my computer and stare at it. There are two songs that my brain has stapled to this fic:

Ashes by Stellar

All Comes Crashing by Metric

Two and three are the two epistolary fics I have written: i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) and you might be the answer to the sinner in me. Both titles are, amusingly enough, from songs. One by Billie Eilish and the other by <insert shocked Kirk face> Maneskin. Incidentally, all the chapter titles in the latter of those two also come from the song.

[stereopticons]

Twylexis! Threesome! Black Swan! I’m here for so many things 🥰🦛

Hello friend! You definitely know about two of the three but I’m happy to tell you about them more!

twylexis childhood friends to lovers:

This has been languishing in my drafts for a long time but basically the idea is that the Roses move to SC when Alexis is in grade 9 (grade 12 for David). She and Twyla become friends and Twyla falls in love with her but never says anything. Alexis gets sent to boarding school after a year and doesn’t come back to SC and she and Twyla lose touch over the years. Ten years later, Alexis shows up in SC and they reconnect. Here’s a lil snippet:

Stevie thought the Roses would be snobbish assholes, but Twyla wasn’t so sure. She’d seen pictures of David and Alexis in her mom’s gossip magazines and she thought they just looked lonely.

So on the first day of grade nine, when Alexis slips into the empty desk next to her, Twyla sticks her hand across the aisle and introduces herself.

“Hi, I’m Twyla.”

“Um, hi, I’m Alexis,” she replies, pointing (unnecessarily) at her necklace that reads ‘Alexis’ in gold script. She limply takes Twyla’s hand in hers.

“I could show you around, if you like?” Twyla offers. “It’s not a big school but they changed the classroom numbers halfway through building it, so it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Oh my god, that’s like, so sweet of you!” Alexis coos. “But I once found my way out of the Longleat Hedge Maze while being chased by an angry guard, so I think I’ll be fine.”

Threesome:

@ramonaflow also asked about this one!

Ah yes, the David/Patrick/Buck fic that answers the questions a) what if Buck knew he was bi during his slut era and b) what if married David and Patrick encountered bi!slut!Buck on a trip to LA? It requires a little bit of handwaving of timelines but I’ve never let that stop me lol. Unfortunately I do not have much written of this but hopefully I’ll finish it someday.

black swan au:

I was working at the theatre for a dance competition a few weeks ago and messaged @kiwiana-writes and @indestructibleheart and was like “okay but what about a gender swapped black swan au” and received some loving screaming in response. The idea is that Alex is the perfectionist dancer trying for the role of the Swan and he has a rival thing with Henry who is also trying for the part. The trouble is the ending, so it’s more of a loose adaptation because i would like there to be a happy or at least hopeful ending. I have a bit of this written but unfortunately it fell victim to my writers block. A snippet:

When Alex looks in the mirror, he doesn’t see himself, at least not as a whole. He sees himself broken down into parts—his thighs are strong but his left knee tends to stray out of line if he’s not paying enough attention. His shoulders and arms sag when he gets tired and he has to fight to keep them up. His turn out is good, but not perfect, and therefore not good enough.

Ever since he insisted on tagging along to June’s beginner ballet class, so much of his life has been spent in front of a studio mirror, pushing himself to be just a little bit better—to make his lines cleaner, his turns neater. Over time, the dance studio became a sort of refuge for him, a place where he could pour himself into perfecting his technique to distract himself from his own reality. The day his dad left, Alex spent hours at the barre rehearsing the same eight-bar combination until June showed up and dragged him back home.

wip tag game

[runicmagitek]

Hihi Runic! 😃👋🏾

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

Thank you!

Hello hello!! 🥰💕 thanks a bunch for the ask!!

🍓 how did you get into writing fanfiction?

Wow, like a million years ago lol back when FFVII came out and the Internet was still the wild west, I poked around and found FFVII fics. I was absolutely floored by this! And my bitty brain was still vibrating from beating the game and I ended up writing a post-canon story in my notebooks during sixth grade. It was nothing amazing (I made an OC kid of two characters, she was half Cetra for some reason and in love with Reno, and also Sailor Moon and Co showed up HDKSHDKSH), but if was my first steps into writing fics! I dropped it for a while, picked it up sorta in high school, then dropped it again. Once I got back into it late 2014, I've been writing if ever since!!

🌵 share the link to a playlist you love.

gonna share one of my own lol I made this for my No Deimos/Sentinels AU as like, background tunes and general vibes. I'm still adding random tracks to it but I really love how it's turned out

🦷 share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on.

The first draft is just you telling yourself the story. It's not fully fleshed out yet and you're figuring it out as you go. So throw out all writing advice (show don't tell, don't info dump, don't abuse adverbs, etc) and do whatever is necessary to get the damn story out of your head and on paper. Be self-indulgent. Have fun. You can clean up the mess later. Who gives a fuck if your first draft is "shit". You can always turn that shit into fertilizer and make something badass with it, but you can't do that unless you write it.