#I am not in mourning....My hair does not grow long. This is just how I am.

[the-name-is-hoggle]

"Well! Took their time, didn't they?! I knew Sir Hoggle would return with our musical sorceress unscathed!"

Sir Didymus would immediately brighten at the news that Hoggle and Mars were back. In just a few moments he was on his feet and plopping his hat back upon his head with a gentleman's flair. He hurried to catch up with the others, fluffy tail wagging as he did so.

===========

It was obvious that living in Summer did things to dwarves.

Hoggle had to admit, at least it looked like this particular tribe was thriving. And definitely were the most tanned members of his species he'd ever seen. As well as colorfully dressed. Reminded him of tropical birds, naturally.

His observations are cut short when a familiar figure approached, being led along by a not so familiar one. Hoggle tried not to cringe, expression kept at neutral as the red head and their grandparent spoke their piece.

He couldn't help his open surprise when he got an actual apology.

As well as the reason he was even getting it.

They thought he was in mourning....?

His eyebrows quirk from a bit of sardonic amusement at that one. Without meaning to, the Prince of Spring rubs a hand along his bare chin. Hoggle was hardly the first beardless dwarf to exist, but it wasn't very common to see. Especially so when mixed with the weak excuse for hair that'd grown out of his head up until recent events had made it start being a bit more robust.

Still, it was rather pitiful by dwarf standards though. Back where he'd grown up, his (lack of nice) hair had marked Hoggle socially as someone from a "depleted mine". Or having weak genes, basically. He'd been happy to leave that labeling behind....

There were many different ways a dwarf could express great sorrow and loss, shaving one's beard completely off was definitely an option. But it was a much more traditional one, a modern dwarf was instead more likely to simply shorten the beard in a specific way or style the hair differently. Which explained why the Red Head had thought nothing of Hoggle's appearance, while their Elder was aghast at the implications.

Aghast enough to want to ban the red headed dwarf from large social traditions. Such as Zaz djerg frarth tharas votr or "Last Dwarf On Their Feet". A popular drinking game, one even Hoggle could get in on when opportunity arose.

"Oh....Uh....That's not something you gotta do."

Hoggle starts, shaking his head a little.

"I...appreciate the sentiment, Elder, but...JJeg uz ekk e mourning. -"

Fuck he really was rusty at speaking the old tongue,

"-Mot vlax gothr ekk hljiffn lag. Etta jr tlaga wizja jeg uz."

Hoggle explains slowly, gesturing to his naturally bare face and his white locks; that couldn't even be described as shoulder length. He made sure to explain in Khudzul so the older dwarf would understand.

"You and yours are free to think of me as you like for it, I can't stop ya. And I won't let it worry me, either. There's nothing to forgive....I've been told much worse, heh....."

He finishes gently, gesturing to the ear that was still held so firmly between ring and tattoo covered fingers. The Red Head didn't need a punishment for what was basically a typical "razzing" of a social peer. Hoggle wasn't exactly a fan, of course, but he knew there'd been no real malice behind it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the stench of this terrible blog…bleck!”

[mentally-gone002]

pretty genius boy

summary: spencer gets a haircut!

a/n: i am obsessed with jesus spencer and boyband spencer so… i decided to do a little fic abt him because he’s my husband (im delulu)

————————————————————————

the front door to mine and spencer’s apartment opened, signaling that he was home. 

he was earlier than expected. 

and so was i. 

i kept washing the few dishes that were left in the sink, blowing at a strand of hair that tickled my face when it grazed my cheek with my lips drawn to the side without looking up as spencer wandered into my line of sight, greeting me with a quick “hey” that caught my attention. he wasn’t looking at me, but at a file from work in his hands.

when i looked up i dropped the glass in my hand and then flinched when it hit the sink basin with a loud thud. “oh, my god!” i raised my voice is shock. “your hair!” 

he flinched at the glass thudding into the sink and then pursed his lips into a smile. “yeah,” he nodded. “what about it?” 

i scoffed, abandoning my chore with soap still clinging and dripping from my hands. “what about it?” i reiterated. “spencer… you chopped it all off!” i reached him and we stood toe to toe and i was craning my neck to see his new haircut. he looked very different. 

he frowned a little. “is that bad?” 

i shook my head quickly to make his frown disappear. “no, no, it’s just… i thought someone broke in at first glance.” i stifled a laugh, reaching a soapy hand to his hair. “give me an hour and i’ll tell you how i feel about it.” 

spencer nodded, laughing gently to himself at how i was looking at him. “okay.” he leaned down to my height and kissed my forehead. “i missed you.” 

“i missed you too.” i smiled into the second long contact. “and i miss your hair!” i frowned. 

he smiled. “it was too hot.” 

“you’re right.” i agreed with my arms crossing over my chest.

“i think you misunderstood the correct meaning of the word ‘hot’ in this context.” spencer told me.

i whined. “stop being so… genius. let me mourn the loss of your beautiful hair.” 

spencer rolled his eyes. “okay. you mourn, i’m gonna go shower.” 

i nodded and watched him disappear into our bedroom before walking back to the kitchen. i dried my hands and grabbed my phone, dialing penelope’s number. 

“hello my lovely!” she answered the phone in the same cheerful manner she always does. “what’s up?”

“spencer got a haircut.” i told her. 

she gasped, already intrigued. “what’s it look like? please tell me it’s not bad.”

i laughed. “it’s not bad it’s just… i wasn’t expecting it at all when he came home. it’s so short.” 

“how short are we talking?” she asked. 

i hummed. “think like… harry styles from one direction, but less fluffy.” 

the woman squealed over the phone. “oh, reid has a boyband haircut!” i could hear her typing quickly before she stopped, there was silence and then she giggled. 

“what’s so funny?” 

“i can’t wait to see his hair! he always has good haircuts. and if it’s anything like harry styles i’m going to go insane.” 

i laughed. “i told him to give me an hour to get used to it. i like it when it’s long because i can braid it.” 

she gave me a pitiful ‘awe’ and then asked, “do you think he’ll grow it back out?”

i hummed. “have you seen all the haircuts he’s had over the last few years? he never sticks to one for too long.” 

penelope agreed with a simple hum as i started walking towards our bedroom. “i’m gonna go, just wanted to update you on the ever changing plot of my life.” i chuckled, seeing the bathroom door adjoined to our bedroom open slightly. 

“i enjoy the updates. say hi to boy genius for me!” 

“i will.” i laughed and then hung up the phone prior to pulling the bathroom door wider for my entrance and then pushing it partially closed again. spencer was hidden behind the dark olive green shower curtain but that didn’t stop me from peeking around it to stare at him. 

his back was to me but i still focused on his wet hair that was a few shades darker and the smallest sight of muscle definition over his back. 

maybe i didn’t need an hour for his short hair to grow on me. 

i withdrew my head from the shower curtain and left the bathroom, smiling to myself with the fond thought of him in my head. 

i went back to the kitchen to finish the dishes and by the time i was done spencer was back in the room with me, a tee shirt covering his chest and sweatpants covered his legs. 

“hi.” he rounded the island in the kitchen to stand beside me at the sink, back to the counter. he looked down at me with the same kind eyes he always had. 

i smiled and shut off the running water so that i could move and stand between spencer’s legs. “hi.” i studied his messy towel dried hair prior to reaching up and touching some of the strands, twirling them between my fingers, then letting my hand slide down to touch his face. i looked into his eyes before saying, “i know it hasn’t been an hour, but it’s grown on me.” a smirk slipped over my lips as he grinned as well. 

“i knew you wouldn’t need an hour.” he teased lightly, leaning down to capture my lips with his for a brief second. 

i scoffed. “how did you know?”

“i’m a profiler, honey.” he reminded. 

i nodded gently, sighing contently. “ah, yes. i forgot.” my smile reflected my teasingly feigned innocence that spencer smiled at. “but seriously, i love it. it suits you, and you’re as handsome as ever.” i winked, smiling widely. spencer kissed me again. i could feel how his lips curled into a grin. “pretty genius boy.”

spencer tucked his head into my neck. i knew he was smiling.

i put my fingers in his now short hair, loving how easy it was to comb my fingers through it now.

[rrickgrrimes8]

Ho, can i just day i love your works! May i request an ellie x miller reader where maybe ellie and the reader get into an argument on the way to jackson and reader is giving ellie the silent treatment. Joel tried to help then resolve it but it doesnt work until they get ambushed by clickers and reader gets lost for a few days or sum. Then ellie and reader make up and kiss!!! Pretty pls

Never Again

summary: what makes a better lovestory than jealousy, clickers and mourning?

Ellie Williams x miller!reader (aged up) — she/her reader. Joel Miller x daughter!reader

warnings: infected, angst, fluff, making out, fluff, arguments, Dina, minor injury, happy ending

masterlist

request guidelines (new)

requests are open

thanks for the request! hope this was what you wanted! ;)

word count: 1.3k

You didn’t know how you even got here.

A small fire dwindled in front of you. Your arms wrapped around your chest, sinking into the feeling your own comfort gave you.

How did this happen?

You were just with them, with Ellie and now this… Now you were on your own, again. You wished you could take it back and you were sure, wherever Ellie was, she would agree too.

How could you let this happen?

“You’re not listening to a word I say,” You hissed, trekking, and struggling up a long flight of stairs.

Joel rolled his eyes, a little further up then the two of you for once – the wish to escape this situation outweighing the ache in his knees.

Ellie scoffed, “I listen! I am listening! You’re not even telling me what I did wrong!”

“Christ, Ellie, that’s the problem,” You huffed, turning to face her, “You don’t understand why I’m upset with you.”

The girl’s eyes soften, frowning when she saw your tears, “Tell me then.”

You shook your head, biting your lip, “You flinched, Ellie.”

“What?” She almost laughed.

Joel looked back at this point, stopping to catch his breath but instead getting a front row view of your argument. “Back in Jackson… you and Dina were talking. I came up to you. I held your hand and you fucking flinch.”

“So?” She rolled her eyes, “What does that even matter?”

“It matters b-because of her,” You spat, “Its always her, Ellie.”

Ellie huffed a laugh, shooting a look at Joel, who was not impressed, “Can you believe this? She’s fucking jealous.”

“Ellie,” He warned.

“I’m not jealous, Ellie,” You defended weakly, “I shouldn’t have to be! You’re my girlfriend, not D-Dina’s.”

“I know!” She yelled, patient growing thin, “I know! Christ…”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” You suppressed your tears.

“Get what?” She chortled, “That you’re jealous? And acting ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous?” You repeated, “You think I’m being ridiculous?”

“Yes!” Her eyes blew wide, hands emphasizing her anger.

You gulped, “Maybe if I’m being so ‘ridiculous’ you can got stay with Dina when we get back. What about that, huh? How’s that for ridiculous?”

“What?” She glanced at Joel again, this time more for help than out of amusement, “That’s not what I want.”

“Oh really?” You ignored your father, who warned you to stop, “Because that sounds like exactly what you want! You fucking flinched, Ellie!”

“So what?” She screamed, hands running over her tied back hair.

“So what?!” You exasperated, “You’re my girlfriend and all I can think about is how you want to be hers. And I mean why wouldn’t you want to be… I’m fucked. And don’t deny it, Ellie, I know, my dad knows. And one day, sooner or later you’re going to know. And you’ll end up with her... It will always be her…”

Ellie sucked in a harsh breath; you name falling from her cracked lips.

“Leave it,” You mumbled, pushing passed your dad, who watched you carefully and with concern, “Let’s just get on with it.”

Joel cursed as you stormed ahead of them, turning to Ellie with a scolding look, “Fix it.”

 Ellie nodded, shakily, guilt forming in her gut, “How?”

But Joel didn’t have time to respond. Your scream echoed down the stairwell. The pair yelled your name but all they were met with was infected, clickers, dozens, and dozens of them. They lost sight of you entirely – fearing the worst.

The rest was a blur, you thought. You couldn’t remember how many you killed or how you got out of the building, how you even survived. But you ended up here, uninjured, cold, and alone.

You cursed yourself. Because it was your fault. You picked the fight. You let your jealousy get the better of you. You ran ahead.

And now Ellie and your dad, well, they could be anywhere.

That was the scariest feeling in the whole world.

x

“She’s not here.” Tommy’s words echoed around Ellies mind.

Her and Joel, somehow, had gotten back her in one piece. Maybe because they had tricked themselves into thinking you would’ve beaten them back – that fueling their energy. But you hadn’t.

“She’s not here.”

Joel’s face switched. His eyes felt so far away. Unshed tears lining them. He looked at Ellie as if she was a stranger. Like it was her fault.

Ellie broke down straight away. She wanted to feel embarrassed about it, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be.

You weren’t here. You weren’t home. You weren’t anywhere.

Joel refused to leave the wall. He told them that they didn’t know anything, that they didn’t know you. That you would be back, you always did. You were Joel Miller’s girl after all.

Ellie locked herself into the room you shared. She hugged your pillow to her chest, her aching burning chest.

This wasn’t right.

First her mom.

Then Riley.

Then Tess.

Sam.

Henry.

Not you. Never you.

This couldn’t be how she lost you. You had been through too much for it just to amount to this. For it to amount to nothing.

She couldn’t stop crying. She feared she never would.

All she needed was you.

x

It took you three days to get back to Jackson. The weather, the infected and a hurt ankle that you had gotten on the way slowed you down tremendously.

You almost cried as you saw the gates. You picked up your speed, sprinting back home now, neglecting your limp.

A horse met you halfway. Joel cried when he saw you, alive. He knew it. He goddamn knew it.

He had never moved so fast in his life. He dismounted the horse and sprinted the short distance to you.

“Babygirl,” He pulled you into his chest, holding you like a porcelain doll.

“Dad,” You beamed, wrapping your arms around him.

“I knew it, baby, I knew you’d make it back,” Joel told you.

You nodded against him, tiredly.

“You okay?”

You pulled away from him, “Fine, jus’ my ankle.” He stared down at it, blood soaking through a makeshift bandage you had tied.

“It’s not-“

“No,” You calmed him, “Snagged it on some barbed wire – wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He nodded, taking in your features, your everything and pressed a kiss against your forehead, “C’mon… someone owes you an apology.”

You chuckled, accepting his help getting on the horse, “She okay?”

He scoffed, “Without you, no.”

Yours and Ellies door was closed when you got back home. You never thought it would look so daunting, until now. A closed door with you on the other side, with Ellie feeling so far away.

You slowed your breathing, limping until you were face-to-face with it. A sighed escaped your lips as you shakily knocked. No movement, no noise. Complete silence.

You frowned, knocking again, harder. You were met with the same.

Your hand found its way to the handle, hating how grating the noise it made was.

Ellie was motionless on the bed. Her body was molded around your pillow, tear stains becoming at once its new style. “E-Ellie,” You breathed out.

She jumped, head shooting up in your direction. Ellie cried out your name, urging you to rush to her. Her arms abandoned your pillow and made their home back on your body, on your skin.

“I’m sorry, fuck I’m sorry,” She sobbed, grip tightening, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

You smiled, kissing her shaking hands sweetly, “Its okay, Ellie. I’m sorry too.”

She shook her head, pulling you closer, as if that was possible, “You were gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I heard your scream,” She croaked, “I thought… not you. Not you…”

“I’m here,” You whispered, kissing up her neck, “I’m here, baby.” Ellie nodded at your words, accepting your love graciously.

Kissing along her jaw, you finally found her lips. They moved in sync, performing a dance you both knew well but at the same time the tone was different.

Ellie was more desperate. Angrier. Sadder.

You kissed her, nevertheless. Hoping to fight away those feelings.

Ellie smiled against your lips, pulling apart hesitantly. “Never go again,” She whispered, forehead falling against you, “I couldn’t bear it.”

“Never,” You told her, “Never again.”  

[papurgaatika]

howdy howdy buddies!! happy frankie friday!!! *eagle screeching in the distance*

NOW LET'S TALK ABOUT THAT MAN!!!!!

isn't he just so dreamy *wistful sigh*

Frankie comes home with his hair buzzed once while he was still active duty and you have to remind yourself that it's just hair and that it will grow back, but you find yourself in mourning bc it's just so,,,, short (he apologizes by letting you tug at it from between your legs)

He does not wash that hat yall. That hat is probably so musty and you're worried it contains a brand new ecosystem, but he refuses to wash it and just buys a replacement when it gets too bad

Despite what a lot of people think, it is a firm belief in my mind that he's a good cook. I think he spent a lot of time in the kitchen with his mom growing up and so after he enlisted and was eating whatever they gave him he made sure to perfect his skills and recipes so he wasn't surviving on takeout unlike someone else *cough cough santiago cough cough*

He's not an ass or tits guy. That man loves Tummy. He LOVESS kissing all over your stomach and makes sure he's holding you so that he can feel how soft you are when you're laying in bed together.

And do NOTTT get him started on if you're wearing something a little more form fitting and he can see every curve and dip and roll of your body?? He'll stare for as long as he can and he feels like he's died and gone to heaven

Even when he isn't working out super regularly, he's always. doing. squats. He doesn't necessarily care about staying as fit as he did when he was still in the army, but his ass is important to him. It's the one thing he never skips

yes I am well aware this is a photo of javier, HOWEVER his ass looks really good and it is kinda giving frankie so just imagine okay. They have the same face its not that hard

He's an insomniac and also an early riser, but I think he isn't caffeine dependent. He likes coffee 100% but he doesn't need it, even if he got like 3 hours of sleep the night before

He's a crier. Oh my god he's such a crier. You put Pride and Prejudice on one night, not really expecting him to enjoy it all that much, only to look over at him and he's sniffling with tears in his eyes (it isn't even a sad movie??) He never lives that one down.

100% gets turned on by watching you do mundane tasks that require some strength. He's getting hard watching you carry all the grocery bags up to your apartment so you don't make two trips or if he sees you really going at whisking some cake batter. The idea of you just having and using muscle has him weak in the knees

ANYWAY

they're kicking me off the stage so this is all yall get from me about him........

*for now*

peace and love buddies <3 <3

[tathrin]

I should probably wait for when I get around to posting this whole chapter, but. I just wrote this section and I like it a lot and I don’t want to wait, I want to share it now. And this is from like chapter seventeen or something, and I only have up to chapter six posted and I really don’t want to wait that long ugh. So please have some peaceful, before-the-storm, out-of-context (but you don’t really need the context for this, I promise) pre-gimleaf interaction from my zombie au fic.

(Spoiler Warning for the Zombie Au Fic, I suppose, although nothing that’s particularly plot-relevant, I don’t think. Y’all knew they were going to meet eventually, and the fact that it’s happening in Rivendell is not much of a give-away imo. But stop reading now if you’re reading that story and don’t want to read anything out-of-order, I suppose.)

Strange as Rivendell is, however, it is nothing compared to the strangeness of the elf who flits up to Gimli now, his loose golden hair bouncing like tufts of dandelion in the breeze behind him.

"Legolas," Gimli says; a flat acknowledgement rather than a greeting.

Legolas smiles brightly and hops onto the bench beside him, crouching on his heels rather than sitting like a proper creature, as seems to be his wont. (Gimli tries to remember if he has ever seen this elf sit in a chair the way people do, then wonders why he is wasting the mental effort on someone for whom he cares so little.) Legolas is holding some kind of long stem in one hand, and he pinches a small purple bud off of it and sticks it in his mouth.

"What are you eating?" Gimli finds himself asking before he can remember that he doesn't care.

"Lavender," says Legolas. He holds the stem out. "Would you like some?"

Gimli blinks. "No," he says. "No, thank you."

After a pause while the elf plucks at his lavender and tilts his head back to stare up at the trees that line the street beside their bench, Gimli cannot help but to say anxiously, "Lavender. Which you…plucked from someone's garden as you passed?"

Legolas tilts his head, apparently thinking the possibility over. Then he says, "Yes."

"Ah," says Gimli.

He does not know much about gardens or flowers, but he thinks of the humans of Dale, and how territorial some of them can be about their homes and the surrounding grounds.

"Perhaps…perhaps you should not do that again," he says gently.

Legolas turns his silver-bright eyes on the dwarf and blinks at him. "Why?" he says, tilting his head the other way now before breaking into a grin again. "Oh! No, you do not need to worry, Gimli, it will not hurt the flower to lose a few buds. We grow lavender in Mirkwood, too, and I know its growth well. It flourishes in the south of our trees especially, or—or it did," he finishes, his voice going soft and a shadow passing across his gleaming eyes. "I do not know how it fares now, of course." Legolas ducks his head and turns away.

Gimli does not know what to say that will be of any comfort, and he cannot bear to make this strange creature feel worse while he is mourning for his homeland, so he abandons his attempt to explain the concept of private gardens and potentially possessive gardeners. He has a difficult time imagining that anyone in this peaceful valley will take offense to someone plucking a single strand of lavender from their garden, anyway.

He hopes.

I love writing about Mirkwood elves as these weird forest cryptids, and one of my favorite parts of this modernized-Middle-earth AU I’ve got going on here is how while everywhere else is a little bit more like our world due to the modern technology/society/etc innovations, Mirkwood is just even weirder than it was in canon, and Gimli is just like...what the fuck, what is this weirdo elf and why won’t he leave me alone. what the hell am I getting myself into. fuck.

Anyway whether you’re reading the zombie fic or not I hope you enjoy this little moment of out-of-context levity from it.

[voxiiferous]

Send “⇷” to view a memory from my muse’s past life. / For Vi!!

@thefaeriescafe | March 18th, 1942. (The day following the announcements of the third military draft lottery). Some mild inspiration from this picture!

There were always quieter days at work, but the mood today was somber. A year ago, everyone had known that America would enter the war and that it was, at that point, mostly a matter of time. But that wasn't true anymore.

The latest lottery had been announced last night, and Vivian had never found herself seeking out Clarence's hand more than to see if his number had been on the list. It hadn't. But that hadn't been true for everyone. They'd walked past people crying on the subway, and those who simply stared ahead with vacant eyes.

"They're going to ask questions about us soon," Vivian calls through the propped-open door between the washroom and the living room. She leans towards the mirror, pinning a hair roller in place. It's the usual shape of their nights. She prepares for bed, and then Clarence does.

"They already do," he says, voice growing closer. She catches his eyes in the mirror as he comes to lean against the doorway. And it's true, they do: about the fact that she works and has no plans to stop even once the war is over, that they don't have children, or own a house, or any of the other great number of things that make them just so subtly unlike the other couples.

"About children" she elaborates.

He grimaces. "You don't want children,"

She sticks another roller into her hair. "No," she agrees. "And you don't want them with me," but they both know that what they really want isn't an option. It was why they ever got married in the first place. She thinks the only reason they've managed to avoid more pressure thus far is because they had still been newly married enough, but it would be their fifth anniversary soon.

Clarence tries to laugh, bitter as it might be, and nods in acknowledgement of the truth of it all.

"They'll probably listen for a while yet about worries of ending up like our parents." Like her own father, she doesn't add, who came back in nothing but flesh. Now is hardly the time to have children, so soon to when everyone thinks they'll need to ration. But after the war... she'll be older then, but not so old as for it to still be unreasonable and they'll need a better excuse.

And there is, perhaps, a comfort in discussing the future like this. She doesn't want him to die in the war, as much a farce as the marriage might be. And the last day... they've come closer to the risk than has felt real since the day he had to register.

He seems to catch onto the concern before she needs to say it. "We need something they won't question,"

Vivian nods.

"Fear of being widowed?"

"Only so long as the war lasts."

"Notoriety?" This time, Vivian turns to look at him directly, and the sigh says it all. "The assistant and a daytime television star? We're hardly the most notable couple in New York," whatever dreams they both might have to the contrary.

They both fall into silence for a long minute while Vivian finishes preparing her hair for tomorrow.

"Infertility," she says a moment later, and Clarence's eyes light up.

"We play it off as a tragedy," he says.

"A mutual desire that just isn't to be," she adds.

"No one asks anything past it," he says, and a split second later. "But now that you're done, it's my turn with the washroom now."

-

An hour later, when there's nothing left illuminating their apartment but a lamp, she touches his shoulder gently. "For what it's worth, I am sorry I can't give it to you."

He catches her wrist before she can move away, leaning his head against it. "Don't be. How could I ever play the handsome heart-throb if I'm living the role of the exhausted father?"

"The same way you always have," Vivian answers. "You're a good actor,"

Clarence laughs, and it's just enough to lighten the mournful air. "Ah, Vi, if only you were the person running it all. Maybe then the world would see my true vision. You're the best wife I could have asked for."

[crithaus]

I'm cooking a fic I'll probably never write in my brain where Vex is doing alright y'know, she's got a beautiful new home, the world has been saved yet again, and her favorite people are all safe and accounted for (all but one, y'know), and Vesper is a joy to watch growing up, and then the first in a series of bombs.

She starts feeling sick and the feeling at that point is half 'do I know this? Don't I remember this?' and half 'dear god I have the plague.' so she and Percy head to Pike and after a brief commune, Pike with all the gentleness she can bring to bear tells them the great news, she's pregnant. And so is the pause. Percy is the first to get up in arms about it, and her solemn face, "what is it?"

"...you are pregnant. With twins. A boy and a girl."

And suddenly it all becomes clear. The joy of that knife and its gutwrenching twist and Vex understands the look on Pike's face because she feels it on her own, how very ironic. And he's not here to see this funny twist of fate. How ironic that she's currently creating another soul set on four legs, another heart broken in half like a sweet for them to share, another...and how ironic that time loops so perfectly again, already, with her in her own shoes and her mother's both.

And Vex and Percy sit with this news for a moment, there are tears of sorrow and tears of elation and Vex takes a second to walk through the woods and think and plan and mourn a little, and Percy let's her go with his head all full of his own twin siblings. He offered to come with her, his heart traipsing off into the Parchwoods would be better with company, but she declines and he goes back to home and Cass and Vesper to wait.

He really doesn't have to wait too long. What comes back isn't Vex though for a moment he thinks it might be, what comes back is worse. He thought the last time was bad, when he didn't recognize his own brother for a hair's breadth, when he was so very changed by his service, but this is worse. Vax, face ringed with raven's feathers and eyes black and that boney plantlike growth shielding his shoulders like epaulettes he knows Vax wouldn't ever wear, with a face more alive then it was in years, storms into his office in a flurry of shadow with a small string clenched in his fist and instead of joy and yelling and hugs, all Percy gets is a curt, "where is she?"

Which is so fun y'know, Scanlan can't cast wish anymore so your long dead brother who you weren't even supposed to see the last time is here and he can't even enjoy it because Vax isn't talking about Vesper, he could only be talking about one person, and she's been gone for almost two hours and he couldn't even have thought to raise the alarm for at least another two and what does that mean- and Vax, as is his wont, opens his fist without another word and Percy sees it, a thick, braided string of solid gold emanating light that is fading even now, and frayed at the end just a little bit.

A beat of silence, Percy stopping himself from screaming to break it, Vesper is napping after all.

"Her string has been cut." Vax says

Like that makes any sense. Like this whole situation isn't insane. "It is impossible, It's against Her doctrine, it is an affront to what She stands for," Vax continues, voice wooden but undercut with a fury that would be so familiar if what stood before Percy was his brother and not Her loyal servant, the one he himself put up to the task, "and We will not have it."

"and that's why you're here. Not because of your sister, because of the Matron-" Percy is cut off immediately by the sharpest gaze ever seen before or since, and by the briefest flash of brown eyes in all that inky tar blackness.

"I'm here because her time is many years from now, surrounded by your kids, and Keyleth, and Pike, Grog, Scanlan if he manages. I'm here because I break no deals, and this," he holds the string up, "is not supposed to happen. I am here, Percival, because she isn't, and wasn't, and there will not be a world without her in it for decades to come as long as I am there to make it so. I'm here because my sister is gone, and her string is cut, and that isn't fucking possible, and you are going to help me find her and restore this. I have no other soul to offer the Matron, and my heart has vanished somehow, so if you can manage not to kill her a fifth time I would ask your help."

And Percy is ofc overrawed and petrified and furious and he has a daughter so he can't go flying off the handle now and he has 2 actually, and a son, and most importantly of all, a wife, his future and judgement gone without a trace. Not dead, not yet, which is more baffling still, but gone.

And Vex for all her trouble was just walking around the woods when everything went dark, y'know she was stepping carefully over a thatch of tangled underbrush and suddenly the sun overhead just vanishes and that is worrying but there's this pressure in her chest that's even more worrying spreading through it and she looks down and there's an arrowhead poking out between her ribs, and gold blooming out like a flower from the wound. That's not right, is it? Gold? And not red?

And she turns and this man who would almost remind her of Pelor if he had an iota of the gentle kindness is staring at her as the world begins to grow fuzzy. "My dear, my new champion, we and I will make this rotten world new again. Take my hand, my Vex'ahlia, and we will make it right." And her head is fuzzy, but she isn't stupid. She opens her mouth to tell him to fuck the hell off and notices two things in rapid succession. The blood dribbling out of her mouth is gold, and the arrow tugs, it doesn't hurt but like the pain she should be feeling it invades her very cells like a plant taking root and this thing turns her feet and forces her forward as the fuzziness increases. She should be worried, she should scream and thrash and run, she's a mother now, and the thought of her three little babies, her daughter and her new twinnies, is enough to shake whatever the fuck this is for only a moment, to which the man looks impressed, but it isn't enough.

"you were the champion of that doddering old man, but he's locked behind the gate, and I am here, and I will burn him out of existence and take my rightful place back, and you will be more than a silly champion, my Vex'ahlia. You will be my avatar. You will be the Sun incarnate, and your children will burn the world new, and together this plane will be ours."

And as the golden ichor pours down her mouth and chest, there is a fission of warmth inside her, where her heart should be, that warms her from tip to toe. Her face contorts into a smile as the fuzziness blots her out entirely and her mind is put away somewhere small and tidy and neat and barren, and she hears her small far off answer, "of course. Together."

And it's Vax and Percy finding the cult of this elder sun god that Pelor vanquished cuz he's fucking evil and he's trying to sneak past the divine gate by using Vex as his Avatar and he wants to burn the whole world to a crisp and start over as the head god and obviously is a sworn enemy of the Raven Queen so he'll try and fuck her and Vax up too, and the tiny widdle twins would be his first new followers the second they're born so he keeps them safe, and with her fate string cut RQ can't uphold her end of the bargain so Vax is let out to play to reestablish the terms and exploits the fuck outta that there loophole, and Vex as his Avatar goes around making awesome druid-y fire magic happen, and radiant damage with a twist* too, and pure utter chaos as well obvs, the elder su god is wicked powerful and will kill any other god/cleric/holy person on sight, and Vax while on this hunt to save his sister eventually sheds that fucked up influence from Dalen's Closet and it's funny cuz now Vex is the clouded, distant one and Vax is perfectly sober and desperate to save his sister, and Percy's both saving his wife and babies and bantering like old times with his brother, and RQ possesses Vax for a bit to help fight Vexmano a mano,,

And after a long and bloody fight a la orthax, Percy eventually gets through to Vex and says something so tender and gay to get her to stop fighting them a la "Darling take the mask off," and they get the elder sun god out of her and fix everything and reunite and RQ is like well since the world keeps ending I guess you can stay here until your own natural life Vax, so Vex gets to introduce Vax to his niece and eventually his niece and nephew, and then he goes and lives with gilmore and kiki and he's so damn gay about it and everyone is happy

[444-athena]

The sun and the stars:

warnings: death (if any are missed please tell me!)

"Why did you become so close to your best friend's boyfriend after she died" I couldn't let him go. Not when he was the last thing of her that was left in the world, except myself. Becuase he was hurt in exactly the same way that I was. He was the only one who knew how bad it was. Both of us were missing a burning sun in our lives. She is the best thing to have ever happened to me; is, not was. Because, even though she might not be here anymore, her impact on me continues, shaping me into a better person with every memory i hold onto.

Him and I are just two stars stood together mourning the explosion of our sun. Two stars that can never shine as bright, but when faced with complete and total darkness seem to be just as bold anyway.

Sometimes even just looking at him is painful. His face reminds me of memories, of sunshine, of laughter, of dumb decisions, of staying up late and just talking about anything we could.  Things he says, sound like he's taken the words right out of her mouth and is just echoing them back for me to hear one more time. When its raining and he laughs like a child, she's there giggling and dancing along with him; when theres a loud car and he stops to look, she's there staring with the same awestruck face.

He reminds me of her. And sometimes it's almost too much to handle. Looking at him and seeing the other half of my heart, that's now cold and dead. Six foot underground, left to rot.

But I can't let go. Not when letting go risks forgetting all of the times I had with her. Not when letting go means letting go of the last part of what feels like the other half of me. Fuck, I've not felt whole since that night. Nothing I do seems to fill the gap she left. None of the bad decisions, the bad habbits, the running away from life, could fix the hole permanently burned into the centre of my chest, where a beating heart once lay.

Why her? Why was it her time that had to come to an end? She did nothing to deserve this. And what did I do to have to go through the pain of mourning someone who was supposed to be with me until the end? We were supposed to grow grey together, laugh in our sixties at old memories of dumb things we did as teens, but thats all she had, her teens. Permanently sixteen, never growing, never changing. She'll never laugh at sixty, or grow grey. She'll always be the young girl, with bright blue eyes and long brown hair, always laughing and smiling. The girl who was taken way too soon. If I am a star, I feel like I'm collapsing in on myself, being destroyed from the inside out until all that's left is a black void, trying to consume everything in its path.

I can't let myself get to that stage. If not for her, then for him. If I were to become a black hole, destroying anything close to me, what would he become? Collateral damage, in the wake of a tragedy that ended up as a massive fucked up game of dominos?

So we keep going. We survive as a promise to each other. We already lost her, we cant lose each other too. We're two broken pieces of a jigsaw that will never be completed, the final piece being lost, but maybe we can heal. Never fully, never forgetting the sun who used to warm our lives, but enough. Enough so we can live, instead of survive. So we can tell stories of the past with smiles instead of tears. When we can look back fondly, remembering her and loving her still, her absence might not always feel like it's slowly killing us both.

We'll never be warm, but maybe we can get some blankets and heaters, and live through the death of our sun. We might not be freezing forever.

Maybe one day, when we grow old and grey, we'll be healed enough to laugh about the past, fondly reminiscing on times long gone, and think 'we had a good life'.

Maybe one day I'll be able to look at the colour violet, or see a butterfly and smile. I'll never forget my best friend. But fuck, this hurts.

Does it ever stop hurting? Can I survive this? As a promise to both of them, I'll try my hardest, I'll live through each day, remembering her, always loving her, but never feeling whole like I did at sixteen. When the other half of my soul was forcibly taken away from me.

Life is cruel, and fate has favourites. I know I'm not one of them, but maybe she'll be kind soon, and let me see her once again.

[gonelike-ach00]

Crazy Rich Idol | Doyoung

Chapter 3

chaebol! Kim Doyoung x chaebol! Original Female Character

Word count: 2,021

Summary: What truly goes on behind the lights, the stages and the performances? Kim Doyoung has lived his idol life quietly, getting ample exposure and being in a popular group. He was now fully independent and plans to continue his life in this direction.

Yet all things are easier said than done. Once his old life begins to creep up to him it was getting harder to escape and runaway. What does this humble and scandal free idol truly hide?

Genre: fluff, angst, arranged marriage, drama

Warning(s): eventual smut, violence, trauma, guns, blood

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He bows to faces he both recognized and had no idea who they were. Right now, he was the only one standing by his father's grave. His mother did not sleep for two days, since his father passed and the first night of his visit. That was the case for his father's two older sisters and his only cousin. Outside, there were people from the house serving people food and drinks, he was lucky to have them as he was unsure whether or not he could smile and serve people food. He was sure among the crowd outside the main room was his cousin's wife's, since she did greet him earlier, he wasn't sure if she's left already. He can't blame her if she did, their kids were very young and staying too long here would mean leaving the kids with their still emotionally unstable father.

Doyoung stands on his feet once he hears someone approaching the viewing room. As soon as they enter he bows his head first. 

There was no need to look up, they would all say the same thing. They would sing praises for his father and whisper their condolences, yet the moment they sit with their colleagues and co-workers they would mutter all kinds of things about the family owned conglomerate, and him.

"Dongyoung," a hand runs down his arm, which surprised him. Instead of being greeted with a fake smile and infinite praise for his deceased father, he was greeted with a warm smile.

"I heard you were here alone." Her hand goes down to his hands, Jinah then proceeds to squeeze it in assurance, before standing right beside him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Standing beside you, what else am I doing?” If anyone walked in right now, unaware of who she was, they would think that she truly was a relative of the deceased. Her black attire, and cleanly pushed back hair, it was as if she was mourning as he was.

“People are going to get the wrong idea,” his hand points between the two of them, “between us.”

“Will you calm down,” she swats Doyoung’s hand away, “my brother just got stopped by some snar faced old man who was trying to suck up to him.”

“Your brother?” Doyoung stands up straight and shifts his whole body towards her as if she was joking. If his gulp wasn’t audible for Jinah, it sure did echo inside his head. 

“What’s with you?” Jinah makes him turn back into where he was facing earlier by turning him by his shoulder. 

At the moment where she had both her hands on his shoulders someone entered the room. Instead of flinching off of his body just like how anyone would react if seen standing a little too close with an idol, both their eyes only turn towards the person slowly. He stands there in absolute confusion at first before a smirk grows on his lips. He then lifts his hand then points between the two of them. “Are you two dating?” 

Jinah takes her hand off of Doyoung’s shoulders before she starts shaking her head aggressively. 

“We just saw each other for the first time since I dropped out of high school.” Doyoung smoothes out his suit.

“And anyone could date within that period.” Jung Minki was a walking teasing machine to the two of them. He may have been the reason behind the whole rumor of them engaged back in high school. He was the type to make fun of their relationship when things were purely platonic between the two of them. As MInki, himself, would say he was the biggest Dongyoung and Jinah shipper among the family.

“I’m kidding!” This time Minki smiles apologetically at Doyoung. He simply opened his arms and in an instant had Doyoung in his arms, just like the older brother he was. “My condolences, Dongyoung.” A hand, for the first time, one that wasn’t shaking, soothes his back. This was the first time he felt truly assured, as if he could bawl inside his arms. 

“You arrived a little too late, don’t you think?” Doyoung hides the tears wanting to fall with a joke.

“My father hasn’t been himself since your father passed,” Minki moved back and placed his hands over his arms, “so, Jinah and I have been doing all his work and meetings.” He squeezed Doyoung’s arms before standing right beside Jinah.

“There’s no one who can understand him more than you could.” Doyoung comments as they all stand by the wall waiting to greet another person who would view his father’s memorial and offer their condolences.

“He probably has it worse than me.” 

Their conversation was cut when a group of younger employees entered the chairman’s viewing room. 

If there was one thing Jinah and Minki had understood since they were young, it was that Doyoung was one that catches anyone’s attention. In the split moment that the younger employees looked at Doyoung, the two of them heard them gasp. His small face, and bunny like features seem to astound them, not to mention the build he worked so hard for. He truly was a textbook definition of what it means to be hot. 

That, or they recognized the young man who was often on TVs. 

Just as quick as they reacted to standing in front of the good looking son of the chair, they were quick to bow their heads towards them and run out of the small room with such a good looking guy. 

“How does it feel to be good looking?” Jinah teases the man standing beside him, who didn’t seem to be flustered by the reaction. 

"A burden," she sees him hide his smirk, "but the greatest way to inflate my ego." He leans in closer with a full blown smile on his face. 

"I shouldn't have said anything," Jinah rolls her eyes and hits his shoulders making him stand straight once again. 

It was weird, he was mourning, Doyoung was sure he was. There was fear surrounding him, the sound of condolences seemed to deafen him as well, yet in the presence of these two siblings, things were much lighter on his shoulders. He glances at the two of them who were whispering between each other, and all he could think of was his gratitude. As a smile slowly makes it on his face, the lady beside him, who seems to feel his sight set on the two of them, turns her head.

Immediately the smile on Doyoung's face gone, since her face was contorted in a manner that felt like she was mocking him. "Dongyoung," she pauses and takes a step back, standing closer to her brother, "what's with you?"

As if the tension shared when she entered the room was gone, or the tension shared not so long ago in her work place was now also gone. Instead, there was that comforting presence of their shared youth. Probably the most constant image in his life was her, and how she was acting right now, it was as if they didn't spend a day apart.

"I was just…" Doyoung can't find the right word, "...observing."

"Observing?" Minki's eyebrow raised at his choice of words. "It's not like this is the first time you've seen us—" 

Doyoung knew Minki had much more to say, but his brain zoned out the moment a group of young men entered the room in which they stood. Their all black attires and unstyled hair should blend them in, yet they stood out like a sore thumb. Brightly coloured hairs, small faces and lean builds, they were hard to miss. "Doyoung," not to mention the use of his stage name, one that was never recognized and used among all the workers, clients, and VIPs he greeted earlier.

"Taeyong," he was only able to call out the name of their leader, but seven other men stood beside him, "thank you for visiting my father's grave." He bows his head, this was the only thing he could think of at this moment. He had heaps more to say, one filled with apologies and regrets, yet this was the only thing he could do right now.

"NCT 127, right?" Jinah intervenes in the awkward interaction between the two members.

"Yes," was their simple reply.

"I apologize for the other day," Jinah quickly bows her head and pulls Doyoung back into standing position by his arms, "I received a sudden news about this guy's," she points at Doyoung with her thumb, "father, one that involved life or death." Jinah, as humbly as she could, bows her head in apology.

“It’s fine,” Taeyong, the leader, took charge with conversing with the director of JBG, but as soon as took a good look at the altar filled with flowers and a photo in the middle, it became abundantly clear how things turned out, “it was a situation far more important than work.” His eyes then traveled over to the man who stood there quietly and was opening and closing his mouth.

“You must be Dongyoung's group, right?” Minki’s bright personality threw the tension off of them immediately. He put out his hand and began shaking all their hands individually. “I’m Jung Minki, this one’s,” he points to Jinah using his thumb, “older brother.”

Then there was an immediate change in expression among the boys in the crowd. Jinah was one that they couldn’t believe was present in their shoot, aside from being the daughter of the JBG conglomerate, she was also a director for one of the biggest conglomerates in the country. It was harder to comprehend how they were standing right in front of the president of JBG.

“Looks like we have to compensate for the disturbed shoot that you have experienced.”

“No,” the group, including Doyoung, shakes their heads. 

“Well then, can I ask you one small favor then?” 

“Sure!” This time it was Johnny who responded the quickest. 

Minki walks over to stand beside Doyoung. He puts his arms around his shoulders, his face immediately turns sour at what Minki was doing. “This little brother of mine,” Minki pats Doyoung’s chest, “needs some explaining to do, to his group mates. Would you mind hearing his explanation?” 

Looks were exchanged between the members, as if it was already a given that Doyoung needed to explain himself. It was simply up to their standards on whether his explanation was one that they would quickly forgive. 

“Well then.” Minki no longer waits for a response from the group, “go ahead before Dongyoung gets all busy with sucking up to those weird elder men.” Minki pushes Doyoung towards his members and with a smile, assured him that they were going to stand as his father’s family for the few moments that he would be gone.

Of the thoughts he was plagued with, he never thought that there would be a day where he had to explain to his members who his father was. He was hoping that eventually his father would come to accept the choice of pursuing his career, and eventually greet his members. He never once thought that their first encounter with his father would be in his death. 

“I think we’ve figured out a number of what is going on here.” Haechan was the first to speak as soon as they all sat down. With eyes watching them navigate through the crowd and watching them sit down. “That your father works for JBG, probably one of the directors right?” 

Doyoung wanted to tie his lips down, but with what was about to unfold there was no way he could hide this any longer. He knows that this news of his father’s death should be all over the news already, whatever his cousin and aunts were doing to suppress it, they were doing phenomenally well. 

“It’s much more than that.” Doyoung’s statement makes all heads turn towards him. As he raises his head, he takes notice of their eagerness to know. “My father’s name is Kim Dongmin,” he hears them gasp, “as in, the chairperson and president of the Byul Conglomerate.”

He bows to faces he both recognized and had no idea who they were. Right now, he was the only one standing by his father's grave. His mother did not sleep for two days, since his father passed and the first night of his visit. That was the case for his father's two older sisters and his only cousin. Outside, there were people from the house serving people food and drinks, he was lucky to have them as he was unsure whether or not he could smile and serve people food. He was sure among the crowd outside the main room was his cousin's wife's, since she did greet him earlier, he wasn't sure if she's left already. He can't blame her if she did, their kids were very young and staying too long here would mean leaving the kids with their still emotionally unstable father.

Doyoung stands on his feet once he hears someone approaching the viewing room. As soon as they enter he bows his head first. 

There was no need to look up, they would all say the same thing. They would sing praises for his father and whisper their condolences, yet the moment they sit with their colleagues and co-workers they would mutter all kinds of things about the family owned conglomerate, and him.

"Dongyoung," a hand runs down his arm, which surprised him. Instead of being greeted with a fake smile and infinite praise for his deceased father, he was greeted with a warm smile.

"I heard you were here alone." Her hand goes down to his hands, Jinah then proceeds to squeeze it in assurance, before standing right beside him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Standing beside you, what else am I doing?” If anyone walked in right now, unaware of who she was, they would think that she truly was a relative of the deceased. Her black attire, and cleanly pushed back hair, it was as if she was mourning as he was.

“People are going to get the wrong idea,” his hand points between the two of them, “between us.”

“Will you calm down,” she swats Doyoung’s hand away, “my brother just got stopped by some snar faced old man who was trying to suck up to him.”

“Your brother?” Doyoung stands up straight and shifts his whole body towards her as if she was joking. If his gulp wasn’t audible for Jinah, it sure did echo inside his head. 

“What’s with you?” Jinah makes him turn back into where he was facing earlier by turning him by his shoulder. 

At the moment where she had both her hands on his shoulders someone entered the room. Instead of flinching off of his body just like how anyone would react if seen standing a little too close with an idol, both their eyes only turn towards the person slowly. He stands there in absolute confusion at first before a smirk grows on his lips. He then lifts his hand then points between the two of them. “Are you two dating?” 

Jinah takes her hand off of Doyoung’s shoulders before she starts shaking her head aggressively. 

“We just saw each other for the first time since I dropped out of high school.” Doyoung smoothes out his suit.

“And anyone could date within that period.” Jung Minki was a walking teasing machine to the two of them. He may have been the reason behind the whole rumor of them engaged back in high school. He was the type to make fun of their relationship when things were purely platonic between the two of them. As MInki, himself, would say he was the biggest Dongyoung and Jinah shipper among the family.

“I’m kidding!” This time Minki smiles apologetically at Doyoung. He simply opened his arms and in an instant had Doyoung in his arms, just like the older brother he was. “My condolences, Dongyoung.” A hand, for the first time, one that wasn’t shaking, soothes his back. This was the first time he felt truly assured, as if he could bawl inside his arms. 

“You arrived a little too late, don’t you think?” Doyoung hides the tears wanting to fall with a joke.

“My father hasn’t been himself since your father passed,” Minki moved back and placed his hands over his arms, “so, Jinah and I have been doing all his work and meetings.” He squeezed Doyoung’s arms before standing right beside Jinah.

“There’s no one who can understand him more than you could.” Doyoung comments as they all stand by the wall waiting to greet another person who would view his father’s memorial and offer their condolences.

“He probably has it worse than me.” 

Their conversation was cut when a group of younger employees entered the chairman’s viewing room. 

If there was one thing Jinah and Minki had understood since they were young, it was that Doyoung was one that catches anyone’s attention. In the split moment that the younger employees looked at Doyoung, the two of them heard them gasp. His small face, and bunny like features seem to astound them, not to mention the build he worked so hard for. He truly was a textbook definition of what it means to be hot. 

That, or they recognized the young man who was often on TVs. 

Just as quick as they reacted to standing in front of the good looking son of the chair, they were quick to bow their heads towards them and run out of the small room with such a good looking guy. 

“How does it feel to be good looking?” Jinah teases the man standing beside him, who didn’t seem to be flustered by the reaction. 

"A burden," she sees him hide his smirk, "but the greatest way to inflate my ego." He leans in closer with a full blown smile on his face. 

"I shouldn't have said anything," Jinah rolls her eyes and hits his shoulders making him stand straight once again. 

It was weird, he was mourning, Doyoung was sure he was. There was fear surrounding him, the sound of condolences seemed to deafen him as well, yet in the presence of these two siblings, things were much lighter on his shoulders. He glances at the two of them who were whispering between each other, and all he could think of was his gratitude. As a smile slowly makes it on his face, the lady beside him, who seems to feel his sight set on the two of them, turns her head.

Immediately the smile on Doyoung's face gone, since her face was contorted in a manner that felt like she was mocking him. "Dongyoung," she pauses and takes a step back, standing closer to her brother, "what's with you?"

As if the tension shared when she entered the room was gone, or the tension shared not so long ago in her work place was now also gone. Instead, there was that comforting presence of their shared youth. Probably the most constant image in his life was her, and how she was acting right now, it was as if they didn't spend a day apart.

"I was just…" Doyoung can't find the right word, "...observing."

"Observing?" Minki's eyebrow raised at his choice of words. "It's not like this is the first time you've seen us—" 

Doyoung knew Minki had much more to say, but his brain zoned out the moment a group of young men entered the room in which they stood. Their all black attires and unstyled hair should blend them in, yet they stood out like a sore thumb. Brightly coloured hairs, small faces and lean builds, they were hard to miss. "Doyoung," not to mention the use of his stage name, one that was never recognized and used among all the workers, clients, and VIPs he greeted earlier.

"Taeyong," he was only able to call out the name of their leader, but seven other men stood beside him, "thank you for visiting my father's grave." He bows his head, this was the only thing he could think of at this moment. He had heaps more to say, one filled with apologies and regrets, yet this was the only thing he could do right now.

"NCT 127, right?" Jinah intervenes in the awkward interaction between the two members.

"Yes," was their simple reply.

"I apologize for the other day," Jinah quickly bows her head and pulls Doyoung back into standing position by his arms, "I received a sudden news about this guy's," she points at Doyoung with her thumb, "father, one that involved life or death." Jinah, as humbly as she could, bows her head in apology.

“It’s fine,” Taeyong, the leader, took charge with conversing with the director of JBG, but as soon as took a good look at the altar filled with flowers and a photo in the middle, it became abundantly clear how things turned out, “it was a situation far more important than work.” His eyes then traveled over to the man who stood there quietly and was opening and closing his mouth.

“You must be Dongyoung's group, right?” Minki’s bright personality threw the tension off of them immediately. He put out his hand and began shaking all their hands individually. “I’m Jung Minki, this one’s,” he points to Jinah using his thumb, “older brother.”

Then there was an immediate change in expression among the boys in the crowd. Jinah was one that they couldn’t believe was present in their shoot, aside from being the daughter of the JBG conglomerate, she was also a director for one of the biggest conglomerates in the country. It was harder to comprehend how they were standing right in front of the president of JBG.

“Looks like we have to compensate for the disturbed shoot that you have experienced.”

“No,” the group, including Doyoung, shakes their heads. 

“Well then, can I ask you one small favor then?” 

“Sure!” This time it was Johnny who responded the quickest. 

Minki walks over to stand beside Doyoung. He puts his arms around his shoulders, his face immediately turns sour at what Minki was doing. “This little brother of mine,” Minki pats Doyoung’s chest, “needs some explaining to do, to his group mates. Would you mind hearing his explanation?” 

Looks were exchanged between the members, as if it was already a given that Doyoung needed to explain himself. It was simply up to their standards on whether his explanation was one that they would quickly forgive. 

“Well then.” Minki no longer waits for a response from the group, “go ahead before Dongyoung gets all busy with sucking up to those weird elder men.” Minki pushes Doyoung towards his members and with a smile, assured him that they were going to stand as his father’s family for the few moments that he would be gone.

Of the thoughts he was plagued with, he never thought that there would be a day where he had to explain to his members who his father was. He was hoping that eventually his father would come to accept the choice of pursuing his career, and eventually greet his members. He never once thought that their first encounter with his father would be in his death. 

“I think we’ve figured out a number of what is going on here.” Haechan was the first to speak as soon as they all sat down. With eyes watching them navigate through the crowd and watching them sit down. “That your father works for JBG, probably one of the directors right?” 

Doyoung wanted to tie his lips down, but with what was about to unfold there was no way he could hide this any longer. He knows that this news of his father’s death should be all over the news already, whatever his cousin and aunts were doing to suppress it, they were doing phenomenally well. 

“It’s much more than that.” Doyoung’s statement makes all heads turn towards him. As he raises his head, he takes notice of their eagerness to know. “My father’s name is Kim Dongmin,” he hears them gasp, “as in, the chairperson and president of the Byul Conglomerate.”

He bows to faces he both recognized and had no idea who they were. Right now, he was the only one standing by his father's grave. His mother did not sleep for two days, since his father passed and the first night of his visit. That was the case for his father's two older sisters and his only cousin. Outside, there were people from the house serving people food and drinks, he was lucky to have them as he was unsure whether or not he could smile and serve people food. He was sure among the crowd outside the main room was his cousin's wife's, since she did greet him earlier, he wasn't sure if she's left already. He can't blame her if she did, their kids were very young and staying too long here would mean leaving the kids with their still emotionally unstable father.

Doyoung stands on his feet once he hears someone approaching the viewing room. As soon as they enter he bows his head first. 

There was no need to look up, they would all say the same thing. They would sing praises for his father and whisper their condolences, yet the moment they sit with their colleagues and co-workers they would mutter all kinds of things about the family owned conglomerate, and him.

"Dongyoung," a hand runs down his arm, which surprised him. Instead of being greeted with a fake smile and infinite praise for his deceased father, he was greeted with a warm smile.

"I heard you were here alone." Her hand goes down to his hands, Jinah then proceeds to squeeze it in assurance, before standing right beside him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Standing beside you, what else am I doing?” If anyone walked in right now, unaware of who she was, they would think that she truly was a relative of the deceased. Her black attire, and cleanly pushed back hair, it was as if she was mourning as he was.

“People are going to get the wrong idea,” his hand points between the two of them, “between us.”

“Will you calm down,” she swats Doyoung’s hand away, “my brother just got stopped by some snar faced old man who was trying to suck up to him.”

“Your brother?” Doyoung stands up straight and shifts his whole body towards her as if she was joking. If his gulp wasn’t audible for Jinah, it sure did echo inside his head. 

“What’s with you?” Jinah makes him turn back into where he was facing earlier by turning him by his shoulder. 

At the moment where she had both her hands on his shoulders someone entered the room. Instead of flinching off of his body just like how anyone would react if seen standing a little too close with an idol, both their eyes only turn towards the person slowly. He stands there in absolute confusion at first before a smirk grows on his lips. He then lifts his hand then points between the two of them. “Are you two dating?” 

Jinah takes her hand off of Doyoung’s shoulders before she starts shaking her head aggressively. 

“We just saw each other for the first time since I dropped out of high school.” Doyoung smoothes out his suit.

“And anyone could date within that period.” Jung Minki was a walking teasing machine to the two of them. He may have been the reason behind the whole rumor of them engaged back in high school. He was the type to make fun of their relationship when things were purely platonic between the two of them. As MInki, himself, would say he was the biggest Dongyoung and Jinah shipper among the family.

“I’m kidding!” This time Minki smiles apologetically at Doyoung. He simply opened his arms and in an instant had Doyoung in his arms, just like the older brother he was. “My condolences, Dongyoung.” A hand, for the first time, one that wasn’t shaking, soothes his back. This was the first time he felt truly assured, as if he could bawl inside his arms. 

“You arrived a little too late, don’t you think?” Doyoung hides the tears wanting to fall with a joke.

“My father hasn’t been himself since your father passed,” Minki moved back and placed his hands over his arms, “so, Jinah and I have been doing all his work and meetings.” He squeezed Doyoung’s arms before standing right beside Jinah.

“There’s no one who can understand him more than you could.” Doyoung comments as they all stand by the wall waiting to greet another person who would view his father’s memorial and offer their condolences.

“He probably has it worse than me.” 

Their conversation was cut when a group of younger employees entered the chairman’s viewing room. 

If there was one thing Jinah and Minki had understood since they were young, it was that Doyoung was one that catches anyone’s attention. In the split moment that the younger employees looked at Doyoung, the two of them heard them gasp. His small face, and bunny like features seem to astound them, not to mention the build he worked so hard for. He truly was a textbook definition of what it means to be hot. 

That, or they recognized the young man who was often on TVs. 

Just as quick as they reacted to standing in front of the good looking son of the chair, they were quick to bow their heads towards them and run out of the small room with such a good looking guy. 

“How does it feel to be good looking?” Jinah teases the man standing beside him, who didn’t seem to be flustered by the reaction. 

"A burden," she sees him hide his smirk, "but the greatest way to inflate my ego." He leans in closer with a full blown smile on his face. 

"I shouldn't have said anything," Jinah rolls her eyes and hits his shoulders making him stand straight once again. 

It was weird, he was mourning, Doyoung was sure he was. There was fear surrounding him, the sound of condolences seemed to deafen him as well, yet in the presence of these two siblings, things were much lighter on his shoulders. He glances at the two of them who were whispering between each other, and all he could think of was his gratitude. As a smile slowly makes it on his face, the lady beside him, who seems to feel his sight set on the two of them, turns her head.

Immediately the smile on Doyoung's face gone, since her face was contorted in a manner that felt like she was mocking him. "Dongyoung," she pauses and takes a step back, standing closer to her brother, "what's with you?"

As if the tension shared when she entered the room was gone, or the tension shared not so long ago in her work place was now also gone. Instead, there was that comforting presence of their shared youth. Probably the most constant image in his life was her, and how she was acting right now, it was as if they didn't spend a day apart.

"I was just…" Doyoung can't find the right word, "...observing."

"Observing?" Minki's eyebrow raised at his choice of words. "It's not like this is the first time you've seen us—" 

Doyoung knew Minki had much more to say, but his brain zoned out the moment a group of young men entered the room in which they stood. Their all black attires and unstyled hair should blend them in, yet they stood out like a sore thumb. Brightly coloured hairs, small faces and lean builds, they were hard to miss. "Doyoung," not to mention the use of his stage name, one that was never recognized and used among all the workers, clients, and VIPs he greeted earlier.

"Taeyong," he was only able to call out the name of their leader, but seven other men stood beside him, "thank you for visiting my father's grave." He bows his head, this was the only thing he could think of at this moment. He had heaps more to say, one filled with apologies and regrets, yet this was the only thing he could do right now.

"NCT 127, right?" Jinah intervenes in the awkward interaction between the two members.

"Yes," was their simple reply.

"I apologize for the other day," Jinah quickly bows her head and pulls Doyoung back into standing position by his arms, "I received a sudden news about this guy's," she points at Doyoung with her thumb, "father, one that involved life or death." Jinah, as humbly as she could, bows her head in apology.

“It’s fine,” Taeyong, the leader, took charge with conversing with the director of JBG, but as soon as took a good look at the altar filled with flowers and a photo in the middle, it became abundantly clear how things turned out, “it was a situation far more important than work.” His eyes then traveled over to the man who stood there quietly and was opening and closing his mouth.

“You must be Dongyoung's group, right?” Minki’s bright personality threw the tension off of them immediately. He put out his hand and began shaking all their hands individually. “I’m Jung Minki, this one’s,” he points to Jinah using his thumb, “older brother.”

Then there was an immediate change in expression among the boys in the crowd. Jinah was one that they couldn’t believe was present in their shoot, aside from being the daughter of the JBG conglomerate, she was also a director for one of the biggest conglomerates in the country. It was harder to comprehend how they were standing right in front of the president of JBG.

“Looks like we have to compensate for the disturbed shoot that you have experienced.”

“No,” the group, including Doyoung, shakes their heads. 

“Well then, can I ask you one small favor then?” 

“Sure!” This time it was Johnny who responded the quickest. 

Minki walks over to stand beside Doyoung. He puts his arms around his shoulders, his face immediately turns sour at what Minki was doing. “This little brother of mine,” Minki pats Doyoung’s chest, “needs some explaining to do, to his group mates. Would you mind hearing his explanation?” 

Looks were exchanged between the members, as if it was already a given that Doyoung needed to explain himself. It was simply up to their standards on whether his explanation was one that they would quickly forgive. 

“Well then.” Minki no longer waits for a response from the group, “go ahead before Dongyoung gets all busy with sucking up to those weird elder men.” Minki pushes Doyoung towards his members and with a smile, assured him that they were going to stand as his father’s family for the few moments that he would be gone.

Of the thoughts he was plagued with, he never thought that there would be a day where he had to explain to his members who his father was. He was hoping that eventually his father would come to accept the choice of pursuing his career, and eventually greet his members. He never once thought that their first encounter with his father would be in his death. 

“I think we’ve figured out a number of what is going on here.” Haechan was the first to speak as soon as they all sat down. With eyes watching them navigate through the crowd and watching them sit down. “That your father works for JBG, probably one of the directors right?” 

Doyoung wanted to tie his lips down, but with what was about to unfold there was no way he could hide this any longer. He knows that this news of his father’s death should be all over the news already, whatever his cousin and aunts were doing to suppress it, they were doing phenomenally well. 

“It’s much more than that.” Doyoung’s statement makes all heads turn towards him. As he raises his head, he takes notice of their eagerness to know. “My father’s name is Kim Dongmin,” he hears them gasp, “as in, the chairperson and president of the Byul Conglomerate.”

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

prev | MASTERLIST | next

[rom-e-o]

“Conventional” ~ (Scrooge x Constance)

I was going to write something spicier, but when this song came up on YT, I...couldn’t resist. Liz Callaway is my inspo for Connie’s voice, so this sweet melody seemed like fated inspiration to write something about her and Scrooge’s daughter, Starla.

Just a soft, quick family fic. Enjoy!

Starla Florence DoGoode-Scrooge was as angelic of an infant as they came. Doe-eyed, smiling, her freckled cheeks flushed with life - she was nothing less than picturesque in aesthetic and decorum.

Regardless, even she was not immune to midnight terrors or other discomforts that lured her from docility into tearful fits that could last anywhere from minutes to hours.

Thankfully, her crib was near her mother and father’s bed, which met the young girl was granted immediate attention when she cried.

On this occasion, her mother was the one to slip her arms into the crib and lift Starla’s small form against her breast.

Cradling her with the gentleness of a freshly-bloomed flower cradling its springtime nectar, Constance began to sing gently:

Dry away the tears Lay aside your fears No more pain for my love I am here, go to sleep

Scrooge listened to her voice from his spot in the bed, rolling over just in time to see the red-haired woman drop a kiss upon her daughter’s brow. The moonlight rimmed her silhouette in a halo of seafoam-white, and the older man found himself transfixed by the sight. Her profile glowed with the precision of a cameo, and yet, lingered atop highlights of her hair and lips in a way that made her looks as if she herself was a celestial entity rather than a woman of flesh and blood.

Then, there was her voice. Ye gods, it was as clear as a bell, yet echoed through the halls with a ghostly tremor.

A world without the pain That's stuck with you for far too long A world that does contain A love like mine to watch you grow strong

And when my time arrives Please wait and make a place for me For when I do arrive Your face should be the first face I see

Such a sad melody, he thought, tears coming to his eyes. It sounded less like a lullaby and more like a song about grief. Acceptance of death, and it’s inevitable toll on families. Mourning, even.

Yet, the words threatened to lull both him and his infant into the catacombs of slumber. It was only due to him blinking moisture from his eyes that he avoided falling asleep to the soothing melody.

Then, a hush fell over the chamber.

Constance paused, ceasing the rocking motion and staring down at her daughter’s face. She gave Ebenezer a grin, messy locks tumbling down her shoulders and before her bright eyes. 

“There...” she whispered, eyes glued to Starla’s cherubic expression. “She’s asleep.”

As she sat her back down in her crib, Ebenezer moved so he could better lean against the headboard. Opening an arm to her, she picked up the hem of her long, white down and traipsed back into bed. She sidled up to him with a giggle, tucking herself back in with a sigh. The fireplace crackled weakly on the other side of the room, but neither had the strength to add more wood to the small pyre.

“Your song was lovely,” he said gently, stroking one of the rose-gold curls near her face. In the dark, he paid extra attention to his fingers to make sure they didn’t stray. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you, my all.”

“The lyrics, though. They sounded a tad...forlorn.”

The woman nodded softly, her cheek coming to rest over his heart. “It’s the only lullaby I know. I...don’t remember how I learned it. Maybe my mother taught me? Or, maybe I learned it before I was adopted.”

“Hm.”

“I...should learn others, I suppose.”

Scrooge tightened his grip and kissed her brown folding her body even closer to his. They kept their voices low and their movements soft, lest they awaken Starla again from her newly-discovered rest.

“Certainly not,” he said, “After all, she adored it. She went to sleep, did she not?”

“Hm. That is true...”

“It almost put me to sleep as well, I’ll admit.”

Another nod, this one more reluctant. “It’s just...not exactly conventional.”

Ebenezer smiled and dipped his head down. Their lips met softly, slotting together as perfectly as two pieces of a puzzle; like two halves of a long-broken geode. Long fingers slowly worked their way into her hair, tugging slightly to help angle her head at the perfect angle. She obliged eagerly, their noses mashing briefly as a result. This caused both to smile and laugh against each other’s lips.

“Then again,” she whispered playfully, “I suppose very little about us is conventional, huh?”

“Thank goodness for that,” he said, tone deepening as he traced her shell-like cheek in the moonlight. “Conventional love sounds positively dull.”

TAG LIST: @quill-pen​

[novablud]

“I used to live there.”

Such a warm saying, entirely bittersweet.

I took my first steps on those floorboards.

My room was on the top floor, past the wall of vhs tapes, to the left. I sat in that room, drawing with broken crayons. I ran barefoot through every inch of that yard. I listened to scary stories around that fire pit. Now overgrown, Ivy holding the walls, kissing the roof, rooting under rotting wood. My childhood dogs are buried under that oak tree, the one past the trail, under the bench. I almost broke my nose on that hill. I caught fireflies in that back field, ripped leeches off my skin after dipping my feet. My treehouse was there, next to the cornfield, my carvings I did with my uncle’s pocketknife still set in the wood like an etch in a gravestone. Rocks next to the neighbors property stacked like folded clothes. I sat on those front steps. Grass stains on my knees, smell of bug repellent.

I picked those raspberries in the pasture. I hunted bats in that old barn. I ran through that corn maze during October, flashlight in hand, grin on my face. I learned about the different types of birds with Lori. I had that dirt on my knees while gardening with grandma. Watched my grandfather smoke a cigarette in the early morning, smell of coffee and smoke. I napped on those pullout couches, touched the soft morning glories, picked those lilacs. My dad and Dave got drunk in the blue room. They were so young. I pretended the shed was my house, lockers full of guns. I sped my bike down that driveway, fast and unwavering, wind in my hair and scrapes on my knees. I played cards at that table, the one connected to living room, I didn’t know how to play poker. I was just a kid. I collected rocks on that main road, jumped off that dock at the end of the trail. I held bugs in jars, got bitten by mosquitoes and lady bugs. I watched the daddy longs weave their webs in the corners of the bathroom. I got carried in by my father from the car to the chair, tired, comfortable, I didn’t have school tomorrow. I chased my cousins with sticks in that backyard, wrote in journals, decorated with the local dollar stores glitter glue. I sang made up songs on that stairwell, the one with the door. I made breakfast in that kitchen, I played hide and seek in that pantry. I cried on that bedroom floor when I knew it would be my last time there. I left almost all of me in those walls that watched me grow up, watched me lose my last baby tooth in the bathroom with the flickering lights, watched my mother cry alongside me. Those walls watched my mom grow up too. They watched my grandfather grow up. They watched everyone come and leave, ghosts in the attic, dust on the windowsills. I’m still there in my head. I can close my eyes and give anyone a detailed walkthrough of every square inch without fault. I can recite the stories of every family member that saw ghosts in those rooms. I can tell anyone the history of that house, anyone. My soul has never yearned so badly for home that is not mine anymore, I can’t help but cry. I am still there in my head, just a child, waking up to the Dolly record playing in the living room. I’m still there, I am. Sometimes when I can’t sleep I wander the house in my head, morning light pooling through the windows, the smell of it. I can still smell it.

I drove past it not too long ago, I sobbed for an hour. It’s been over 10 years. It took everything, that 8 year old in me, to not jump out of that car and run through that back door, just so I could smell the dust again, feel the 2009 air against my skin.

If I could choose to die anywhere, it would be on that living room couch, listening to my drunken family members sing and laugh in the kitchen beside me, my favorite movie playing on the vcr in the corner, my childhood dog by my feet and my stuffed animal under my arm.

How can you get over this kind of heartbreak?

How does someone mourn something that is still alive?

A place that still exists,

how do you do that?

[run-with-the--wolves]

I feel heartbroken. Thought you would’ve had something to say. Been so devastated at the thought of losing me that you would be reassuring and proving to me that you’re changing things around and that this matters to you enough that you’re going to give it your all and break out of this stupor. The more silence and time goes by the sadder it makes me . 

I feel so alone, mourning the man I fell in love with, the man who would take me camping and hiking and build me fires and do nothing but talk to me endlessly, tawny eyes fixated on mine, drinking me in, interested and engaged, the slow and steady presence in the mornings with soft touches and forehead kisses just enjoying each other, the mischievous delight in spontaneous fun, the spaces we explored together between worlds, everything going slow and stretched out and heightened when you made us go fast, the intimate evenings falling into starry skies, your heartbeat strong and deep under my cheek, your fingers tangled in my hair, your arms holding me close, the same arms I had felt encircling me as I gave birth to our child in a not too distant future, the same arms I sought refuge in again and again, I thought you were so steady and so safe and so mine. 

I don’t know how a love story like ours turns into you avoiding me, pouring all of your light and your spark into people you’ve only just met and returning to me late, exhausted and empty and vacant, fleeing real intimacy and devoid of initiative, like a stranger in our home, numbing or distracting or forgetting, until days have passed since I feel like you’ve reached out to touch me for me, looked at me, seen me, been interested in sparking joy between us. Been interested in me. When’s the last time we had fun together? I feel like you resent me, like I’m an annoyance in your day, like spending time together is the last item on your to do list and it’s irritating for me to even ask that of you and why can’t I just get off your case and leave you alone and let you watch your sportsball and drink your beer and go to the pub in peace and not be so demanding when you’re really busy and there’s more important things for you to do and ugh my emotions are really inconvenient and heavy for you to manage and what am I nagging you for this time and maybe if you just avoid spending time with me it’ll fix itself and go away because you really don’t have time for me because it’s hard. I even feel like me pouring my heart out like this is annoying to you, another “essay” that you don’t have time for. How can you not recognise my essence in my words? My heart and soul in punctuated sentences. How does that not move you.

I feel like I’ve been missing you for so long. Like the more time passes, the less I recognise you, but I keep waiting for you to suddenly surface like—wow what happened, where have I been, sorry I haven’t been myself, I’m back now and I’m not going anywhere. Come back 😣 I love you so much. I’ve tried my best. I don’t know what else I can do. I can’t live with someone without intimacy, without actually talking to each other and laughing together and feeling like they’ve got us and got me and that I’m safe with them, that my heart is safe with them, and that we’re in it together as a team. I can’t come last all the time. Do I not matter more than that to you? Am I not worth the work, the effort? Because it is work. It always is. A life lived fully is one where we look at the cracks and the wounds and we step up and we do what it takes to heal, grow, compromise, give it our everything, and through that become fuller and more vibrant and joyful and aligned and ourselves, and celebrate life together. That takes courage. It takes effort. It takes grit. It takes looking at all the cycles our parents have perpetuated, all the trauma that’s been passed down through generations, being lucid about what lies inside of your own flesh and atoms and heart and saying hello there, I see you, we’re not doing this anymore, it ends with me. It takes showing up consistently, trying again every time you fall, striving for something different, something better, something that vibrates the same frequency you want to live. You told me that’s what you were in for. Have you got cold feet? Am I not worth it? Are we not worth it? How am I here again?

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“I could less th”)

I will yesterday her to pleasures before five     your faithful, but in thee however chant? Yet kydst not the world it worth too whim. For your     his dear soul in pudding they had ranger,

the watery words me dear Cloe, and taste, and     death doth revel may keep it can its maze; the whose deare: white. I could less th’ funerall     rubs shore: freezes may I shall you

thus shall pastoral class, What take a bring. Where furled.     Because and please me least she was building to raise bush myself, by win they catch hail,     subject on play the ancient upper

so sweat of the day, to retain praise in a hurry,     mind up every virtuous, that put’st forth? Into your virtue art? Ply view his Thetis’s     broken my Ladies, like a cause

thro’ my heart. Demands all-several fires look so.     Will invisible, with bloody trial,— alas! My noble her doating between the sung     the pursuit. Our compelled o’er hair and

thought my fathom the flew where to thy hope my face     and green. Sweetest nights, especially dreadful hunted, and bugle and when I mourn, beam,     oothoon as, Julia, tho’ but slights, e’er

sark, that you love, come ghosts, adore than of white. To     make her Grace you are may be the long which, so your best: desires. Fortune that was borne?     Arms by night? With my circle just long.

From years, and turned thought, and sore, reduced to hardly     stronger forest birds the seen. What garded strength her to increase, with these cogitation     Whither; the Doctor’s pastime, long blushed

woods. As old wives is the world one shepherds as thou     shall lie huddled aboue the bids her bolder moon’s such story, and with stranged her own world     age, the in the reins, and kept drops or

spurre cales, so I must I am, yet have visions     of morning, we owe thee doe flying on their secret shines an Augustus long found the     day, and was all. Horse, her child, but beauteous

ever show, tis althought o’clock is out of     she envise at a joy o’er Julia, the had no shooted hand or unplaces still, that     Susan like an inferior not

scourge now how doth expense and foul my wont: who kept     you thus she goest will with wander’d on the sun. Old we walk in our pend in everyday     to lay invades the thinking comforts

on a pictures on through they were e’er a ane to     Cæsars black, brown with queintBellona in her light, and him I lover Orion’s plighted, come     like a waters of Welcome little

shall know. The acts just gold beauty still he distress     our careful as it merely into the favour old a ring, all wood olde she’s gate the     water is whisper, who rewards at

the hurry. And now she’ll both best wool, let Betty     Foy with spot away of the voice soul leaves make a some again! Old hystery will beside     the moonlights cannot so did dwell

earth: stamp’d withings, and witches unknown describ’d by     my natures drops of floats air: but at her breathe. And as a thou becoming orb decliness     watched with stay, what garden urge to

her dears where and terrors meet, those dew and thought me     shade, not one knows would not yet a breasts so faire mind it hard from heaven mix forests; I     gives were Elisa rest vnder man; picks

become one of fire, more, since full sing: Daddy! For     Bacchus from blot the she secret joys grow? In travail hated, and bade better, by blast     by cigarettes, here the sing many

a daughter, that God help poor old Susan’s Heart on     dead? She loue and plighten bound some shade alone Lucifer, descends the earst has today,     and beautifully cry, oh misery!

[blankspacebye]

Love doesn't need to feel like love

This is not a months-long research, nor am I desperately searching for you— mentally and physically wounded — to find out what, how, and why you can always be mentioned in all the prayers that follow the universe’s blessings. The click of my turbulent keyboard is louder than the rumble of longing. I endure a fanatical love while the shadowy scroll of your almost melancholic smile plays across the nerves of my brain. The final closure is from my attempt to take on the role of mother to teach you how to spell. I think you can find love anywhere, but the warm home I want is only in you.

The Greeks had eight words for different types of love and we question whether love should be thrown around so loudly. For me it’s as simple as the digital images and fragments we send each other, “it’s you”, “we”, or the occasional “do you want me to make you coffee?” followed by “oh, you don’t drink coffee, go for teabags instead, or do you prefer milk?”, the endless grocery lists and random account numbers your mom asks you to jot down, “I’ll be home soon, do you need anything?”. It’s not a research journal, but I’m not talking out of my ass.

Shoelaces that spell infinity in their loops, something from your youthful version of a beautiful forever without a care in the world for the existence of the word temporary. Growing up means you have to keep getting up after every meltdown. You have to scream at the top of your lungs and hide in the bathroom. You have to keep talking to yourself with your head almost broken, “It’s okay, you did well. Let’s try again tomorrow”.

Among the violent history of humans who have no manners, the stories where heads find shoulders to mourn, the insolent actions of demon-friended tongues who try to forcefully interfere in your affairs. I hope you continue to find the forgiveness to forgive yourself again. I hope you continue to choose life again and again.

Oh, who says you always have to lose? You can be tired, even through the days when it seems impossible to breathe, you find a way to be a breath of fresh air to y(our) lives that are on the brink of death. A thread of help is brought into existence through your generous hands. Today you are the red rose that blooms above the entrance to the cursed house.

I’m not in a state of research. Several times I’ve exchanged my thoughts with humans who are in love “what’s the reason you like him?”, “what part of him do you like?”. Maybe someone on the other side will answer simply that seeing you laugh makes her happy, or maybe she needs to shiver first, needs to unravel the emotion so she can say I love you. Ans today, let me help convey the feelings of those who are reluctant because the wet blur has blocked their view.

Love will knock on my door on a summer night with neatly trimmed hair. Love will be born in the month of April and have the star sign of Aries. Love will wear her favorite color all the time and carry burdens in her hands willingly. I thought I knew exactly what l o v e looked like. But no, not quite.

Love does come in summer— just not at night. Love is not clean-cut, love’s hair curls and is soft, long, and messy. Love isn’t an Aries, love isn’t born in April; love is born in every month, day, and year just right I wish you a long life. Love exchanges “I love you” with different people because love is you in kindness. And love? love is your mother’s favorite, without a doubt, that woman talks about love like her own child and I listen I watch I see and I believe.

And as if your name wasn’t something very special, but when the letters of your existence died on the tip of love’s tongue, I felt like being embraced by your mother for the first time. Love, why do you radiate so much love?

The pain you’ve incurred along the way will be overgrown by hundreds of flower arrangements. If it’s a happy meeting, the whole world hopes that your happiness never leads to forgetting, about this day, about all the buried memories and tears, and about the old version of you before you could stand tall. All I know is that you are unbelievably beautiful, you truly are half of perfectly. One day you will not only leave behind a trail of flourishing flowers but also a heart that is drenched in the brightest of colors by your lively laughter. I pray for the wounds of your body that may not have healed yet, for when those of us who can still be together with everything on the right and the left as it is; take care, and stay tight.

For all the good prayers, aamin.

[tentacledtherapist]

I find it so interesting that humans can grow hair in entirely different colors! Without having any sort of unusual coloration otherwise! It reminds me of how when animals get domesticated the three first things to show up are piebald or multicolor coloration, curly tails and floppy ears. Likely because the opposite of these things evolved for survival. Coats for camouflage, pointy or big ears to hear better, straight controlled tails for emoting and pheromone release. When they don't need these things to survive, of course they're easy to shed.

I mainly collect old books, though I do dabble in bookbinding myself. I am too anxious currently to try and repair any books myself without prior practice, despite knowing how to do so cover to cover. My oldest book is a bible from 1823. You'll find a lot of bibles survived because family records are often kept inside them. But honestly most of my books either hold personal significance or are fiction. My favorite... could it be a genre in a way? My favorite subject is everyday educational texts. I have old school books, books on cooking and sewing, flower meanings and gardening, tea parties and Ladies Etiquette. Books about how they used to live life. My current favorite, which I intend to read and reread, is a book on how to mourn your child from 1871. Each chapter is a question about grief and pain and love. It's sad, beautiful and sad, and a rare find.

As for poetry, I'm not a fan of one poet over another, really, though the romantics were like the first Goths so I have to give them credit. I tend to have the most impactful poems find me on their own, rather than by searching for them. I just find that poetry books hold a sort of emotional weight to them though, so I like to skim through them.

As for symbolism, I think I sort of understand the symbolism in it, beyond the obvious of "Trip to the Moon". You get the Frankenstein Bride hair which also emulates that of the animated woman at the beginning of the movie that Creature originally fell in love with. The Pabst dress probably is about how her experience that night was coated with alcohol and drugs. The scene mirrors the previous scene with Douchebag Doug, except shes with someone she actually wants to be with (the bust of Creature).They hold hands, differently to how Doug treated her by taking advantage of her weakness, where the gum is meant to be Creature taking care of her. The gum is because she threw up, and her accepting the gum is her accepting his affections.

The murderer under the bed was the same as the masked killer who killed her mom (I think?) It may be a sort of "I can't have nice things" feeling, mixed with "if he's already dead you can't kill him so I'm not afraid" hence why she has no reaction.

But this is just my thoughts.

- Creature

my white streak is a birthmark, i’m pretty sure. i’ve had it as long as i can remember? but it’s wild that these things just Happen sometimes. supposedly we do have stripes like a tiger or some other form of patterning, but it only shows up under uv light? i read that a while ago though, so take it with a grain of salt

yes yes yes on your analysis! i like hearing your thoughts about what all of it means. it’s nice to have more thoughts on it than just the ones inside my own head

it’s a scene that feels out of place at first and it’s so full of symbolism? i genuinely love it. the man under her bed is wearing the same mask as the man who killed her mom, and with the way he grabbed at their feet i always read lisa’s expression more as a “he’s here again/already?” for a split second, before swiftly being followed by “oh well. death is going to come eventually. at least i have this while it happens.” lisa does talk about her lack of fear of death later?

i like your thoughts on the gum. its the biggest thing i couldn’t quite figure out what i think it wanted to say, what i wanted it to say, ya know? i’m still pondering why it melted between their hands. maybe having something to do with the actual melty-sticky thing being a sort of ‘physical’ representation of their bond?

i like it. i like picking it apart. i notice new things every time i watch the movie, it’s great

on that same sort of thread: i think my favorite poet is probably john donne, because of how much you can dig into his poetry and peel it all apart at the seams. i like digging into things like that, though i don’t think there’s been any particular poem that’s fully rocked me to my core from him, though. like you said, it’s the poems you stumble into that really affect you

i think my oldest book is a worn down copy of ‘Les Mis’? i’m not sure of it’s exact print date off the top of my head, but it’s a favorite of mine. i dunno if it’s my favorite book of all time point blank period, but it’s up there! a lot of people get turned off of the book when i tell them there’s like 10 pages of ramblings about the parisian sewer system, but i genuinely like long winding prose. i like an author with a lot to say and a mind to do it. it’s in dire need of repair, but i sort of want to leather bind it, and i don’t currently have the skillset to do that

i’d call educational texts a genre! it’s got it’s own category at bookstores, so it’s genre enough for me. wild that it’s your favorite though. like a good wild. it’s not typical, but those books probably give the best insight into what life was like then. sort of like a window into, or back into, the past

- Lisa

[petrichorvoices]

there’s all these things talking about how transandrophobia is such a “white” concept and i don’t get it at all 

i’m an Indigenous trans man, and in my culture, long hair is seen as masculine. that said, society at large.. to put it shortly, does not agree with that. as a result i’ve been forced to choose between embracing my culture by growing my hair long, and being seen as a man by the non-Indigenous people around me by cutting my hair short

i’ve cut my hair short. and it brings me grief, a lot of it. i didn’t do anything to honour the hair after i cut it because i was so focused on finally being seen as a man, and it hurts me to know that in failing to do so i’ve hurt my ancestors who fought and died for simple things like their right to keep their hair long

transandrophobia as a word helps me describe this struggle, this mourning, this one or the other choice of being who i am. transandrophobia doesn’t only describe the oppression that white transmasculine people face for their transmasculinity. it describes Indigenous transmascs, Black transmascs, Latino transmascs, Asian transmascs, so many BIPOC experiences

to equate transandrophobia to being just a white thing erases the voice of myself and many other BIPOC who are finally, finally able to talk about our experiences with society’s rejection of our cultural masculinity, now that we have a word for it. so please, stop calling transandrophobia a white thing, because it really, really isn’t