#I kind of left it so the ending was like... Enough closure to be okay ending here but open enough that I could continue if I wanted

[rockscanfly]

Random Charles Smith Headcanon's

Has probably contemplated suicide at more than one point (see “I’m here just to hurt and suffer myself. In this land I feel stuck.”)

Maybe a little vain. He cares for his clothing well, embellishes himself. 

Has auditory sensitivity. He gets very irritable with loud people.

Has never felt like he belonged, always feels cut off

Is comfortable with violence only against folk he sees as on his own level/like himself. Has little empathy for himself so has little empathy for them (hence smoking while Arthur beats a man for information, the efficient and quick kills of the bounty hunter, the poachers)

Has a STRONG sense of justice--that includes responsibility and culpability. People make choices and Charles holds them accountable for them. Sadie is a killer, so he treats her like any other ally. That German family didn’t make that choice, neither did the Wapiti. But he doesn’t have any pity for the gang.

Animals don't choose violence, hence the protectiveness over them and their dignity. 

Comes off as cold because he isn’t loud/not good at chat. He’s really just been alone most of his life. 

Okay with drinking, does NOT like drunkenness. Back to culpability. This can make him unforgiving and harsh at times.

Both he and Arthur are so used to people passing in and out of their lives that they’re afraid to hold on too tight. Then Arthur gets captured by Colm. Hosea talks to him, about Bessie and about Arthur’s dead family. 

“I’m not her,” Charles says. “Not either of them. I’m not asking you to leave your world behind, and I’m not going to wait for you in some house. We’re partners first. I’d lose the rest of it before I let you put me to the side.” 

He likes that Arthur is big enough to push him around, to hold him down and anchor him when he can feel himself getting lost. To toss him over a broad shoulder when they’re swimming around on a hunting trip and settle him down on soft pelts, to pin him and bite the lonely from his skin. 

Charles can kick Arthur’s ass and will do so on request

He’s kind and thoughtful. He’d be the one to make Arthur little presents and leave them around for him. Practical things, made special with the careful workmanship of beading/embroidery/etching. 

Can be impatient—autonomy is his norm so waiting on others both physically, mentally, and emotionally doesn’t come natural to him

Will cut slingload on people he feels don’t value him back—would not pine for Arthur or stick around if Arthur tries to protect himself by lashing out at Charles, even if he still has feelings. His father taught him that he has to protect himself because no one else will do it. Arthur. Well. Arthur’s the only person he’s trusted to have his back. Because Arthur proved it, several times over. There’s no one Charles would have used “do it for me” on other than Arthur Morgan. 

He fell into fighting again because he had begun opening his heart for the first time since he was a child, and then fate took Arthur too. Like Charles said—he was put on the earth to cause pain and to suffer himself. 

He tries to help folks, but he’s not good at talking and he can’t use his privilege to help like Arthur did. He’s everything the US government hates, even more than the Waipiti. They reach a point where his violence is no longer useful. And for a drowning, grieving, heart sick stretch of years violence is all Charles has left to him (hence going to Saint Denis, a city he hates, and fighting people for white folks' entertainment in a transparent suicide-by-cop bid for someone to end his suffering) And then Sadie gives him the option of closure and working beside John reminds him that he is a man, not a weapon, and Beecher’s Hope makes him believe he too can change. 

Charles has never tried to be anything but who he is. He and Arthur are similar in that way. What he realizes, what Arthur realized too late, is that he can change if he wants it. And that maybe he’s allowed his past pain and scars to run his life along a course he doesn’t actually have to follow. 

Brought to you by my on-going replay of RDR2 and my undying love and devotion to princess of my heart Charles Smith.

[xuchiya]

Hello! Firstly, thank you so much for sharing your beautiful writings with us online 💕

I saw your post about your inbox being empty and I was wondering if you could write Jongho angst/fluff about his new relationship with reader who likes skinship, so like he gets shy and conflicted at first, maybe even insecure about not being good bf or angry about having to do skinship but then they both work things out and it has good ending? 🥺

I'm in desperate need of Jongho scenarios, maybe you'll bless me and other ribos with one 🙏

If not, it's okay too! Have a good day/night :D

Hello my loves, thank you so much, I'm quite rusty since i have stop writing for many years and this year was the only time I returned writing!! I am happy to always share my works with you ... and feed your delulus heheh 👹kidding my loves. Anyways, your wish is my command my loves.

"I'll hold your hand, eventually" || choi jongho || one-shot

|genre: non!idol jongho. fluff. angst. girlfriend! reader |mentions: fear. self-doubt.

When you first meet Jongho, you notice the way he is conservative. At first you thought he was shy—which you were correct as it took him a lot of time to adjust. You were patient enough to let him bask in the presence and the reality of being in a committed relationship. Meanwhile, inside his head numerous anxious thoughts hit him at once; being in the relationship, skinship does happen in some kind of way. Either it be a choice of savoring in the closeness or sweetness of your partner or by accident closure, either way it happens and he is not prepared for it. 

The air between you and Jongho had grown thick with an awkward tension that neither of you seemed to know how to cut. You put your lips in a thin line as you glance his way before directing it somewhere.

 It wasn’t always this way. 

When your relationship had first begun, everything had felt easy, light, like walking on a cloud. He is gentle with his words assuring you, making his presence a sense of comfort whenever you walk outside to take a breather— to which you both have loved to do ever since.

But now, four months in, a certain weight hung in the space you shared.

It had started with the little small things. One morning, you and Jongho decided to eat breakfast outside since the weather is nice; weather is warm to your skin, the sky greets you with its fluffy clouds and it feels like a good day. Unknowingly under the influence of the beauty of nature, you reach for his hand, a moment you wanted to share with him but it all shattered when Jongho smoothly pulls away from your hold. He thought that you wouldn’t notice when he started pointing things in general to distract you.

You felt it and it left you awkward and embarrassed as you thought you were going way too fast and nodded at his facts and such.

But what you didn’t know is the way he stiffened when you leaned into him on the couch during movie nights. Your favorite routine with him was to watch various shows and anime movies. Howl’s moving castle was your favorite of all time and it always leaves you with a fluttering heart.

“Howl is so sweet, he reminds me a lot of you.” You spoke with a huge smile on your lips as you gaze at the man beside you. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“He looks more like Wooyoung-hyung.” Your lips jutted to the side and nodded, agreeing with him “Yeah well he acts more like you.” 

You watch how he subtly rolled his eyes at you, jokingly to which you threw the small pillow you were hugging at him. He kept teasing you until you narrowed your eyes and moved towards him. The sudden short distance made Jongho’s eyes widen as he subtly moved backwards.

“You still are my Howl.” Even the joke had died and the awkwardness born in the middle of your playful bickering; It made you move away as you mumbled a small apology and kept your eyes on the screen.

That moment hurt you as you notice in the corner of your eyes the way he moved in his seat to make himself comfortable and placed a pillow just between you two. It was embarrassing and painful as your eyes blurred for a minute until you pushed it down and distract yourself, unsuccessfully, on the movie.

The last one was the final straw. He never reciprocated your hugs.

You tried not to let it bother you, knowing that Jongho wasn’t as naturally inclined toward skinship as you were. But the more it happened, the more the doubt crept in. Did he not like touching you? Did it mean something deeper about your relationship? 

You knew how shallow your reason is for distancing yourself from Jongho but it felt like the world was playing with you for finally having the thought of happily ever after. Of course! You promised Jongho and whoever hears it that you will always extend the patience you have within you all throughout your relationship.

But a simple gesture is enough to doubt whatever you have. Whoever you were.

On the other hand, Jongho was battling his own storm of thoughts. He loved you deeply, and that scared him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hold your hand or embrace you—it was that he wasn’t sure how. He wasn’t sure if he’d be good enough for you, if he could meet your needs the way you deserved. The last thing he wanted was for his awkwardness to disappoint you.

The weight of his doubts grew heavier with each passing day, an invisible barrier he couldn’t bring himself to cross. His heart raced every time you smiled at him, every time your fingers brushed him. He wanted so badly to close the gap between you, but something inside held him back—fear, uncertainty, a quiet voice whispering he might not be enough.

It all came to a head one chilly evening as the two of you were walking home from dinner. The streets were quiet, save for the soft crunch of your shoes against the pavement. The glow of streetlights painted golden halos on the wet ground, and your breath mingled with the cold in small, visible puffs. Without thinking, your arm instinctively looped through his, seeking warmth and comfort.

But Jongho hesitated. After a brief moment, he gently pulled away, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. The absence of his touch sent a pang through your chest.

You didn’t want to cause a scene in which he was already awkward with what was happening between the two of you, so you sighed and stopped in your tracks, the soft clink of your shoes on the pavement cutting off abruptly. The suddenness of your pause made Jongho stop as well, his back stiffening as he turned to face you.

“Jongho, why do you keep doing that?” you asked, your voice steady but carrying a weight of emotion that was impossible to ignore.

It was the moment Jongho had been dreading, the day he wasn’t ready to face. And now, he stood before you, caught in the headlights of your question, his throat dry and his heart pounding like a drum.

“Doing what?” he asked, feigning innocence, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew exactly what you meant, but he wasn’t prepared to confront it—not now, maybe not ever.

“Pulling away from me,” you said, your voice quieter now, laced with vulnerability. The look in your eyes told him this wasn’t just about tonight. This was about every moment he’d retreated, every time he’d let his hesitation overshadow the love he felt.

Jongho felt your words like a sharp knife, slicing through the layers of fear and doubt he’d built around himself. He opened his mouth, as though to speak, but no words came. He swallowed hard, frustration bubbling within him as he grappled with the emotions threatening to spill over.

“Do you even like me, Jongho?” The question came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper, but the impact on Jongho was like a thunderclap.

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “What? Of course, I do!” he blurted out, the suddenness of his response surprising even him.

“Then why does it feel like you’re always holding back?” Your voice cracked, the dam of your own frustrations breaking at last. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined not to cry.

Jongho looked down at his feet, his hands still buried deep in his pockets as though they could shield him from the weight of the moment. He drew in a shaky breath, the cool night air filling his lungs as he tried to summon the courage to speak.

“I’m scared,” he admitted at last, his voice trembling with raw honesty. “I’m scared of messing this up, of not being enough for you. You deserve someone who knows what they’re doing, someone who isn’t… me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and your anger softened into something gentler, something understanding. You took a small step closer, closing the space he’d put between you.

“Jongho,” you said softly, “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be here—with me.” Your words hung in the air, fragile yet powerful. It has come to you that this is what he has been going through and you instantly felt guilty for not noticing the turmoil he is in; you could have taken it in a way to understand more than just letting your emotions get the best of you. 

Jongho finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. It was like a weight on his shoulders had lifted and he could finally see the pain of his absence in touch. He would have already you in his arms if it wasn’t for his fear and doubt. But because your simple but impactful words had melted those thoughts away; gradually, hesitantly, he pulled his hands from his pockets, reaching for yours. His fingers trembled slightly as they intertwined with yours, but this time, he didn’t pull away.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but steady. “And I’ll try. I promise I’ll keep trying.”

The weight of the moment settled between you, not as a burden but as an unspoken agreement to face the challenges ahead together. And as you walked the rest of the way home, hand in hand, the silence between you felt different—warm, reassuring, and filled with a quiet hope.

[xoxoladyaz]

It Hits Different This Time

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

“Steve.” 

He hears Robin knocking on the door, her knuckles tapping firmly against the wood.

“STEVE.”

He’s lying on the bed in Robin’s guest bedroom, limbs starfished across the plush gray comforter, staring at the ceiling fan. Taylor Swift is singing to him, blasting from the Alexa speaker next to him.

Oh my, love is a lie, shit my friends say to get me by 

“Alexa, volume up.”

“Steve – STEVE!”

It hits different, it hits different this time

“Alexa, off,” Robin says as she marches into the room. Taylor’s voice cuts off almost immediately and Steve huffs, frustrated.

“Steve, as much as I love listening to your ‘Sad Taylor Swift’ playlist, you need to eat something. Go for a walk. Take a shower.”

“I’d rather not.”

Sighing, Robin kicks his left leg until he’s made enough room for her to collapse down beside him and gaze up at the spinning fan. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

They lay in silence.

“It’s just – our three-year anniversary, Robin.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t even text me.”

“I know.”

“And the supermodels at the club! And the tweets!”

“I know, Steve.”

There’s moisture pricking at the inside of his eyes now. “I just – it’s dumb, okay? I thought we could make this work. But I guess I’m not as important to him as he is to me.”

“Dingus,” Robin chides, and he turns his face away so she can’t see that he’s actually crying now. (She still probably knows that he is; Robin always knows. He just doesn’t want anyone to see.) “Okay, is Eddie Munson a huge idiot? Yes, and he has been for as long as we’ve known him. Is he kind of an asshole now that he’s famous? Yes. Do I think this is the end? Not necessarily.”

Steve snorts. “It’s been four days, Robin. Nothing for four days. I think it’s already ended.”

Robin cuddles up to his side so now they’re legitimately snuggling together. “Look, all I’m saying is he’s going to be back in the state in a few days and I think you owe it yourself to at least have a conversation with him. Either you two decide to work things out and start communicating better or you decide that he’s not pulling his weight to make his relationship work and you get closure. Either way, I think you need to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Steve sniffles. “You’re probably right.”

“Steven, I’m always right.”

“I’m sorry, do you want to talk about the Pixar question you fumbled on trivia night?”

“Dingus, I swear to god if you don’t let it go - ”

/////

Eddie’s groggy and nauseous and fuck the sun is too bright. He pulls at the window-shades as he stumbles into their kitchen, dropping his Louis Vuitton bag on the floor. The fact that he’s managing to walk while coming down from a five day bender that he barely fucking remembers is kind of a miracle. 

“Steve! Stevie, baby, I’m home!”

Silence.

What day is it today, Saturday? He’s probably at the farmer’s market with Robin. Eddie’s a few days early anyways, wanted it to be a surprise. And honestly, it’s probably a good thing Steve’s not home, Eddie needs to keep sobering up.

He pulls a fresh bottle of water out of the fridge and collapses onto the restored dining-room chairs they bought a few months ago. He tips it back and drinks it down greedily, swallowing the cool water down his aching throat. “Oh, that’s good,” he moans to himself, dropping the now empty bottle onto the dining room table.

The empty bottle that clangs against something. Squinting, Eddie opens his eyes and looks down.

There’s a small box sitting at his spot, a card laying haphazardly onto the side. It looks like someone opened it and scribbled all over what they originally wrote.

Eddie frowns and grabs for the card. It’s Steve’s writing. Whatever he’s crossed out is unreadable. Instead, all there is is the following:

I would say Happy Anniversary, but judging by the fact that (1) you didn’t return my call or even text me back and (2) the paps caught you at the club with the guys and a bunch of supermodels instead, I’m going to assume that you’re not interested in celebrating it anymore.

Eddie feels his stomach sink so fast that he’s going to lose all the water he just drank. 

Look, Eds, I am so proud of you for making your dream come true. I would never ask you to give that up or sacrifice your music for me. But I’m tired of feeling alone in this relationship. Of feeling like you don’t love me as much as I love you. Because I would do anything for you, but I think this all proves that you wouldn’t do the same for me.

Anyways, I still want you to have your gift. It wouldn’t make sense to give it to anyone else. 

Your biggest fan, Steve

He can’t see straight and it’s not because of the drugs. He can’t breathe and it’s not because of his asthma or his wicked smoking habit. 

He grabs the small box, flips it open, and chokes back a sob.

It’s a perfect replica of Aragorn’s ring, the ring he’s given that proves he is Isilduir’s heir. He’s wanted it foryears, but it was never something that he thought he could buy for himself. Sure, he could buy whatever random luxury shit without a sweat, but something so meaningful to him? Because reading The Lord of the Rings saved his fucking life in high school? His brain couldn’t deal with him buying it for himself. His therapist says it’s one of his many hang-ups regarding money and fame and his self-esteem issues, but that’s not what matters right now.

What matters is that Steve gave this to him, loved him enough to have it made for him.

And now Steve is gone.

Eddie grabs for his phone with shaking hands and checks the date.

“Fuck.”

Five days. 

He’s five days too fucking late.

He’s dialing Jeff before he can even realize he’s doing it.

“Dude, I really don’t want to be talking to you right now.”

“Jeff,” Eddie barely gets out, his voice choking on a sob. “Steve is gone.”

Jeff’s silent for a moment. 

“I’m on my way.”

[girlokwhatever]

ʚɞ✧˖ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- end of beginning,, pt.2

part one

emily engstler x fem!ex!reader

you got ready in record time. the combination of your nerves and excitement together spurred you into a frenzy, encouraging you to bounce around your hotel room like you were being rushed.

emily said she’d pick you up soon, causing you to hurriedly make the finishing touches on your look tonight. there was that feeling still, deep down, that you wanted desperately to impress her.

the shared conversation you had echoed in your mind the moment the two of you departed. she asked you out to dinner. your mind teetered on the line between two ideas: she wanted closure so you two could be teammates without your history getting in the way, or, maybe she hasn’t moved on.

you think in some ways you have, but was that even true? if emily came to you with a confession of love that she never let go of, what would you do?

there wasn’t time to ponder the thought because your phone dinged. it was a simple message from emily telling you she’s here. ‘waiting for you outside’ she said, simple but enough to make your heart beat faster. you gathered your essentials and left the ghost-like hotel room to meet emily outside.

when you caught sight of her, leaning against her car, hands buried deep in her pockets and ankles crossed, you knew you were done for. she looked so beautiful, no less than you remember.

“hey, sorry, i know i’m a bit early.”

“it’s all good, i was ready anyway.”

she eyes you up and down, smiling to herself because she recognizes the bracelet you’re wearing. it’s one of the many she bought for you during your relationship. a token of her love for you.

“i was thinking we could get some hibachi, your hotel is kinda close.”

you nod, affirming it’s a pleasant choice. the car ride there is filled with simple conversation. you realize it’s the kind of conversation you’d have with someone you barely know, but then again, it’s been two years since you’ve seen emily.

she is different. but so are you.

“okay i’m gonna warn you, i’ve heard mixed reviews about this place.”

the two of you had been seated almost ten minutes ago and still haven’t been given drinks. you didn’t mind much but you could tell by her bouncing leg that emily was losing patience.

“and you didn’t feel like that was worth mentioning earlier?”

“well i remember you like hibachi and this is the only place i know of that serves it.”

she’s giving you a playful shrug as her fingers toy with the lanyard attached to her keys. you can’t help but let your eyes linger, watching her facial features shift slightly when she breaks eye contact or noticing the almost invisible shake in her hands. she seems much more reserved, a lot quieter than you know her to be.

“hey do you remember that time,” she smiles as she pauses to collect her thoughts, “when we got hibachi and the guy accidentally burnt you with the shrimp?”

“oh my god- yes. i still, to this day, have no clue how he managed to flip it on me instead of the stove.”

“dude that was classic. i mean, unfortunate for you but definitely funny.”

emily leans back against the wooden chair, relaxing into the seat. she was looking at you again and still smiling at the contagious happy memory. it was a popular story to tell during your relationship.

“yeah okay, but when i mention that time in the park when you fell on your face it’s not funny?”

“no. you threw the ball way too high. i don’t even know how you threw the football like that.”

“from practicing when we went to the beach that one time, remember? we’d throw the ball on the beach at night.”

all the recounts of priceless stories never to be forgotten makes your chest swell with fondness. to see the way emily smiles when talking about them warms your heart even more because she’s genuinely happy and you sense no resentment in her tone. she’s appreciative of the time she got to spend with you, even if it was short-lived.

“i don’t think i could ever forget that. it was the best vacation of my life for sure. it was so good, school had kinda been stressing me out and all so i was just happy to get away with you. i remember our first night there you wore that really pretty dress, the white one, and you asked me to take pictures of you at sunset but it was so windy and you kept getting mad. oh my gosh you were so mad. i still have the one picture where you’re pulling that piece of hair out of your mouth and you got so upset because i took the picture and sent it to myself. but you looked so beautiful anyway, it was good.”

you don’t say anything, too shocked to properly collect yourself. though you knew ex’s could be friends, you weren’t aware it was like this. you’re in awe of her really, feeling your cheeks grow warm at her compliments of your beauty.

your eyes stay trained on emily but she’s looking straight ahead at the wall, rummaging through all her memories containing you. you’re all she can think about in this moment and she’s not aware how obvious that simple fact is. she was too lost in thought, too busy missing her past to realize her word vomit.

“i remember too how an ocean wave knocked you over and you got a bunch of sand in your hair,” she leans back further, trying to submerge herself in the memory. “and i had to help you wash it out that night cause your arms were tired. then for the rest of the week you made me go in the ocean with you every time so i could help hold you up, i think i can still feel how tight you’d grip me when a wave came. and we’d always get burnt cause we’d float together for ages. but i didn’t even care because i was just happy to be there with you. nothing else mattered to me.”

the intensity of her words finally dawn on emily, immediately stiffening and clearing her throat. the air between you is thick and her confession weighs in the space between. you have no idea how to react or what you could possibly say to her, but you don’t have to because someone is finally asking what you want to drink.

the rest of dinner was tense with very few shared words. every now and then emily would comment on the quality of the food and you’d say nothing in return.

what could you say?

the ride back to your hotel was even worse. the soft hum of the radio and an occasional road bump was the only noise to fill your space. your eyes stayed glued on the sunset out the window the entire time, trying to remember how you ended up in this situation.

you thought back on everything. from the moment emily asked you to be her girlfriend, the moment you broke up with her, to earlier in the night when she asked you out to dinner. anecdotes of your shared past with her flooded your mind and refused to leave. it wasn’t until she parked at your hotel that they drained, leaving you with a teary waterline and regrets of past decisions. and current ones.

“thanks for taking me out tonight.”

“yeah, no problem.” silence lingered as you climbed out of her passenger seat but once you were about to shut the door she spoke up again, “i’m sorry.”

but it was too late and she wasn’t even sure if you heard her because you just kept walking. shaky breaths and silence consumed the walk back to your room, nothing in your mind but blame on yourself.

you should’ve said something, acknowledged her admission and reciprocated it. instead you sat there silently and visibly watched her shrink in on herself.

you were a coward.

you were a coward back then when you broke up with her, not able to face the uncertainty change would bring. it had only gotten worse. you realized that maybe some things don’t ever change.

the harsh opinion you harbored for yourself only made you feel worse. once you reached your room the tears began to fall one by one down your face, a pent-up sob escaping you from your spot on the bed.

emily was still parked outside, watching the time pass by. with each minute she debated on going inside, straight to your room. she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do or say when she got there, but she just wanted to see you again.

it had been thirteen minutes since you left. thirteen minutes since she saw you. thirteen minutes since the opportunity to win you over again had passed. thirteen minutes sitting in silence waiting for you to text her something, anything. but you never did.

she couldn’t leave knowing she didn’t try.

so she didn’t. she remembered seeing your key card, your floor and room written across it in bold lettering. that’s where she found herself now, standing on your floor gathering the courage to just knock.

finally she did, hearing you shuffle on the other side of the door. she could swear a drop of sweat was dripping down her forehead, bringing the back of her hand up to wipe at it.

“emily?”

“can i talk to you?” she was going to throw up, she was going to throw up, “please?”

“yeah.. are you okay?”

“are you?” emily looks at your face, makeup disrupted by wet streaks and eyes slightly red, red enough to be noticed. her tone came out harsher than she meant it to, pushing her way into the cold room. you don’t answer, instead busying yourself with shutting the door and turning the lights on.

“can i sit down?”

“go for it.”

she props herself up on the end of your bed, hands resting on her bouncing knees as you approach. you lean against the wall a few feet away as she begins to speak.

“i’m sorry for dinner, if it made you feel weird or anything. i think i should tell you, just get it out of the way, that i still think about you. all the time. and, like, i miss you. i know we’ve both probably changed and we’re different people now, i get it. but nothing, nothing, amounts to the way i felt with you. when i saw you today i felt like old me again. i want nothing more than to be like that again.” emily catches her breath, the jumbled confession coming so suddenly. “i went back to louisville last summer, just to see jeff and stuff. being there reminded me of you. i felt better there because i felt like part of you was there with me.”

she looks at you expectantly, waiting for some type of reaction. you just stare at her with an unreadable expression, tears dipping at the corners of your mouth and you bring a gentle hand up to wipe them away.

“do you ever..” she buries her head in her hands, dragging them down her face, “do you ever feel that way? tell me you don’t and i’ll leave if you want me to. i just have to know so that i can move on with my life.”

“emily..”

“it’s okay” she whispers, “it’ll be fine.”

she stands, tucking her flyaways behind her ear. your eyes connect with a silent message as you try to find the right words. you turn your head away from her direction because you feel like she’s peering into you, dissecting every thought and tearing you apart to find what she wants.

“i think about you all the time.”

it’s short but effective. emily’s heart skips a beat and so does yours, the gap between your bodies lessening.

“getting on the court with you again was so amazing and for that reason alone i’m happy to be here. i left louisville because i couldn’t do it without you. and i spent, oh my god, so many nights regretting my decision. i miss you emily. i’ve missed you for two years.”

neither of you have any words left as she surges toward you, pulling your body into hers. your lips meet in a passionate kiss to make up for lost time, finding peace within one another. emily holds the back of your head to press you as close as possible because she fears you’ll slip away again if she doesn’t. she finally has you back, nothing is taking that away from her.

you’re the first to pull away, placing your forehead against her own. your noses rest side by side, lips touching and fingers tangled in hair as you both pant from loss of breath. you’re so relieved that you’re almost convinced it can’t be real.

there’s no negative feelings plaguing either of you anymore, finally feeling complete.

the rest of the night is spent with tangled limbs and gentle kisses to pass the time. she never leaves your embrace and you don’t leave hers, feeling content right where you are.

you can finally wave goodbye to the end of your beginning with emily, ready to move into the next chapter with her.

ʚɞ✧˖ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

thank you @astroph1les for literally giving me all the motivation to do this

i hope no one forgot about pt.1 i know it’s been a minute 😬😬😬🤗

not spell checked yet but it will be later!!

pls enjoy!!!!!!!

[pauli-writes]

will u write a pt 2 for the sunday short?? its such a good concept 😓😓

warning: set during 2.3 story quest, religious themes, toxic relationship

pairing: sunday x reader

author’s note: u request i shall deliver (i’m sorry it’s been like a month, i didn’t know what to write for this but now i do) not proofread :,)

part I

“you are up early.”

you nearly dropped your bottle of soulglad as you heard the familiar voice of himeko. despite having found the watchmakers legacy and the truth about penacony, as well as stopping sunday from becoming… whatever it was that the express crew fought in the end, you found yourself restless.

perhaps it was the fact that you were forced to return to penacony, when a galaxy ranger named boothill hijacked the astral express with you and dan heng on it, you had no choice but face your past and what you saw was anything but healing for your inner self. you’d think beating up the person who kept you locked up for a better part of your life would lead to catharsis, if anything it left you more confused than before.

you turned to face himeko, forcing a smile. “ever since i first left penacony i don’t sleep well. i suppose it’s less noticeable when we’re on the express since i’m mostly in my room.”

you hoped that this explanation was enough for her, it was the truth, but not the whole truth. although you saw himeko’s expression change slightly as she put a hand on your shoulder. “don’t worry after the charmony festival we’ll leave. so, i suggest you take care of any unfinished business before then.”

you blinked in confusion. she said it so casually, that you almost missed the look she gave you. did she know about your troubles? “unfinished business?”

“you know what i mean,” himeko replied with a small smile, “well, i’ve got to go. i’m having a meeting with the ipc. i’m sure you’ll do well.”

himeko left after giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder, leaving you to ponder your choices. it wasn’t like you couldn’t return to penacony after leaving, but you seriously doubted that you would come back voluntarily.

which is why you now found yourself with your dear childhood friend robin in front of a large door.

“thank you for letting me do this.” you said to her, fidgeting with the golden astral express crew member pin on your jacket. you had been nervous since you texted robin for the favour and the many bloodhound family members around you weren’t helping.

robin smiled kindly at you as always, despite spending most of your time with sunday, the moments you spent with her were very dear to your heart. when you were children you were often forced guided to spent time with sunday, but every once in a while you played or studied with Robin and she was kind to you, almost distracting you from sunday’s possessive behaviour. maybe in a different life you could have travelled with her on her tour.

“it’s no problem, but are you sure?”

you waved your hand dismissively, trying to hide your feelings. “yeah, yeah. i’ll be fine.”

“okay,” she replied simply, “well, i have to go back to prepare everything on the radiant feldspar, but call me if anything happens.”

you nodded, “will do.”

after that she took your hands in hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze, surprising you and making you blush. “i hope this will give you the closure you need. i can not excuse the things my brother has done to you, but i hope you can move past them.”

she let go and then left you to it. with a deep breath you opened the door and let light stream into the otherwise dark room. as you stepped inside with small hesitant steps you saw him, he was sitting on a chair, chained in placed by his wrists, ankles and neck. he had the look of a fallen angel, and you suppose that was an accurate description of sunday.

an angel led astray and blinded by a god by way of false promises and the lie of a perfect painless world.

his golden eyes widened slightly as he saw you walk in, he hadn’t been expecting anyone to visit him, let alone you, until he was sentenced to death. “reader…”

“hey…” you replied meekly, even chained he had some sort of authority about him, making you feel small. “thought I should say goodbye before leaving penacony.”

he let out a dry chuckle, “don’t lie to me, please. i thought you knew better than that.”

you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. you couldn’t let him get to you. “don’t address me as if we are friends.”

“we were friends once,” he said calmly, “something more too. i remember you enjoyed our time together.”

“because i didn’t know any better,” you replied, your hands balling into fists on your sides.

“until you did and you ran away,” he replied, and you hated how calm and condescending he sounded when he talked to you. “you ran away and you left penacony, you left robin, you left… me.”

you looked down briefly. you did leave without a word, but you weren’t the bad guy like sunday would want you to believe. “you think i wanted to leave? you gave me no other option. i was forced to live in solitude, you made me completely dependent on you. my cage may have been gilded but it was a cage nonetheless.”

sunday was quiet after that. you didn’t like when he was quiet, because you couldn’t read his expression very well. he was taught to conceal his emotions from a young age, so you never knew what he thought about.

the silence continued as he leaned his head up to look at the ceiling in a contemplative manner. you didn’t think you’d get anything else out of him, and if you were being honest you felt a lot more at ease by speaking your truth already.

“if you have nothing else to say, i’ll leave now.” you looked at him expectingly.

he lowered his head and looked at you again, his golden eyes staring straight into you. “i feel no remorse for what i did, because i believe that i was just. i was trying to protect and help the people of penacony, i was trying to protect you. and yet you see me as the bad guy, so please, can you answer me a question before you go?”

you nodded hesitantly.

“did you ever love me?”

the words pierced your heart in a way you didn’t expect, because you didn’t know the answer yourself. your entire life was orchestrated by the family, your feelings were dictated as much as your schedule or your diet. you once loved sunday, but you didn’t know if these feelings were your feelings.

you shifted awkwardly on your feet, fidgeting again with your astral express badge. “there was a time where i loved you, but that version of me, wasn’t, well, very me. the person you know and the person i am today, are different people. i hope you understand that.”

his expression once again didn’t reveal any emotion, making you fidget once again.

“i should go now,” you blurted out, before taking a deep breath, “despite everything i do wish you well, sunday.”

for once in his captivity he smiled a little, “i wish you well too, reader. i truly hope that in another life we’ll see each other again.”

you smiled back at him, before stepping out of the room and closing the door. you spent the rest of your way to golden hour by contemplating your life with sunday, until you reached the golden clockie statue and spotted three familiar faces, dan heng, march 7th and the trailblazer.

“what are you guys doing here?” you asked as you walked up to them.

“mr. yang told us where you are and we couldn’t possibly go to the charmony festival without you,” march 7th said with her usual smile.

“how are you feeling?” dan heng asked, he could probably see the exhaustion and emotional turmoil on your face.

you put on a smile, “i’m managing. let’s head to the radiant feldspar, i promised robin to help with some preparations.”

[sheigarche]

girl shut up

I'm going to assume this is about Life is Strange because that's what I've been talking about the most in the last 2 months and I don't think any of my other fandoms would be bother by my posts.

So here are some hot take ideas for LIS posts I've never made because I thought it might upset some fans, but maybe I shouldn't be so quiet about it after all.

Pricefield vs DE

It seems like everything in Double Exposure was deliberately written to justify Chloe breaking up with Max.

Chloe showed that she was paranoid that Max may be using her powers to manipulate the relationship to make it work and that's exactly what Max did to Amanda and got call out for it in the end.

She also expressed how Max is unable to let go of the past and is haunt by it. So most of the game we see Max (and the player) holding on to it and struggling to move on until the very end. Some fans still can't do it and doesn't want Max to do it, but that's exactly why Chloe left.

Many people didn't realize it, but Max was struggling to establish herself as a real photographer in the years she was with Chloe, but quick became famous and recognized in the years after they broke up.

To me that's the game trying to sell the idea that they are better off without each other.

Chaseprice

Victoria and Chloe's posts in DE don't show anything explicitly romantic, it could just be friendship, but the intention to make it look like something more is pretty clear to me.

The writers chose sentences like "can you handle it, Chase?" and "I'll buy you a beer" on purpose and know exactly what the players will think of it.

Besides Victoria shows a desire in going from wherever she lives to see Chloe, and then Chloe makes plans to do a little detour to go see Victoria. Whatever this relationship is, they're making it work long distance with effort on both sides. Mutual interest.

I wouldn't be surprised if in the sequel we see one post or two subtly hinting that they're actually together. A picture on Crosstalk, maybe a comment from someone else on their posts.

Hell, I can even imagine an art gallery event of some sort where Max is invited and can bring her chosen love interest and Victoria is there with Chloe as her date... And that's how the devs manage to have a natural last conversation between Max and Chloe in person to give closure to their relationship.

And I kind of expect Victoria to come to them at some point, a little jealous or just proud of her girlfriend.

Langfield

Some people keep saying that Max wouldn't be interested in Vinh... But that's wrong.

The reality is that it was the first game's choices and Max's journey is what makes them fit together so well.

Yes, okay, maybe 18-year-old Max wouldn't like this emotionally dry 28-year-old Vinh. Maybe 18-year-old Max would have liked way more to know the enthusiastic drama student 18-year-old Vinh, who dreamed of being an actor.

Now this 28-year-old Max, full of traumas and complexes knows enough about life to see through 28-year-old Vinh's walls and realize that he is not dry, but afloat and barely keeping himself together. That's why she can really connect with him, as a friend or more.

It was the traumas and secrets that made her interesting to Vinh, just like his traumas and regrets are what make Max interested in him.

They fit together because they share some similar emotional experiences and they know how the other might be feeling in certain situations. And when they are together, they can laugh about it, have fun and be themselves, even if just for a moment.

Amberprice

Honestly I left this fandom years ago without shipping Pricefield or Amberprice, because of some reservations about Chloe's character. But now I'm back because of DE and I decided to finish Before the Storm... I can't get Rachel out of my head!

Seriously, what's this magic in their scenes and why can't I stop watching them on loop?

I always thought I had a crush on Max, but I actually have a crush on Rachel Amber of all characters. Maybe I am Chloe Price all along 😂

You know a ship is good when it changes your perception of the characters.

[sinful-sonnet]

Whiskey & Wildflowers

Chapter 7

Prev | Next

W/C: 9k

Content Warnings: not really any warnings tbh

Summary: you confronted your father’s manipulative behavior, solidifying your need for independence. With Joel’s unwavering support, you began to reclaim control, securing and balancing work, though the weight of your past still lingered.

“Turning Points”

The early morning sun filters through the guest room window as you get ready for work. Your new routine feels both grounding and exhausting, the days blending into a rhythm you’re slowly adapting to. Joel’s truck is already idling in the driveway when you step outside, your bag slung over your shoulder. He leans against the driver’s side door, watching you with a soft smile.

“Ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you as you climb in.

The drive to work is quiet but comfortable, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. Joel glances over now and then, his concern evident in the way his brows knit together. You’ve been working hard to find balance, but it’s clear to him that the weight of everything is catching up with you.

“You’ve been lookin’ tired lately,” he says finally, breaking the silence. His voice is gentle, but it carries a note of worry.

You let out a small laugh, leaning your head against the window. “Guess that’s what happens when you try to put your life back together.”

Joel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, his fingers tap against the steering wheel, like he’s debating what to say. “You know, you don’t have to do it all on your own,” he says, glancing at you briefly. “You’ve got people who care about you.”

The words sink in, and you nod, grateful but unsure how to respond. Before you can overthink it, he pulls into the parking lot of your office.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, reaching for the door handle.

Joel leans over, placing a warm hand on your knee. “Take it easy today, alright?”

His touch lingers for a moment longer than necessary, and your heart skips a beat. You nod, cheeks warming, before stepping out of the truck.

That evening, back at the house, you’re sitting on the couch with Sarah, playing a game together. The tension between you has eased somewhat, but there’s still an unspoken undercurrent that makes the air feel heavy.

“So, you and my dad have been spending a lot of time together,” Sarah says casually, her eyes focused on the screen.

You stiffen, the controller slipping slightly in your grip. “He’s just been helping me out,” you reply, keeping your tone light.

Sarah glances at you, her expression unreadable. “Right,” she says, drawing out the word. “Just… don’t make it weird, okay?”

Her words linger in the air, and you’re left wondering how much she suspects.

-

Later that night, as you’re getting ready for bed, your phone buzzes. The screen lights up with your dad’s name, and your stomach twists. You hesitate, debating whether to answer. Finally, you swipe to pick up.

“Hey,” his voice comes through, quieter than you expected. “Been a while.”

You stay silent, the tension tightening in your chest.

“I, uh… I’ve been thinking,” he continues. “About what you said. About everything. Maybe we should talk. In person.”

The suggestion sends a jolt through you. Part of you wants to hang up, to avoid reopening the wounds. But another part—the part still aching for some kind of closure—leans toward saying yes.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, your voice trembling. “I need time to think about it.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, his tone unreadable. “You know where to find me.”

When the call ends, you sit on the edge of the bed, your emotions swirling. The silence of the house feels oppressive, and you can’t shake the heaviness in your chest.

A knock at the door startles you, and Joel’s voice comes through softly. “You alright?”

You open the door to find him standing there, his concern etched into his face. Without thinking, you step closer, leaning into him. His arms wrap around you without hesitation, holding you tight.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice steady. “Whenever you’re ready to talk.”

The night stretches on, but in Joel’s embrace, you find a sliver of peace—just enough to face whatever comes next.

- next day

Joel watches you closely over breakfast, his concern evident in the way his eyes linger on your every movement. You’re barely touching the scrambled eggs he made, your focus already on the workday ahead. The circles under your eyes are darker than they’ve been in days, and it’s clear to him that you’re running on fumes.

“You’re working too hard,” he says finally, his voice gentle but firm.

You glance up from your half-empty plate, surprised by his tone. “I’m fine,” you reply, though the exhaustion in your voice betrays you. “It’s just…a lot right now. I’ll get used to it.”

Joel sets his coffee mug down with a quiet clink, leaning forward slightly. “Darlin’, you’ve been burnin’ the candle at both ends since you started that job. You’ve barely had a moment to breathe.”

You sigh, brushing him off with a wave of your hand. “It’s just how it is, Joel. I need this job to feel like I’m doing something—anything—to move forward.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his frustration simmering just below the surface. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he can’t ignore the way you’re running yourself into the ground. “I get that,” he says, his tone softening. “But movin’ forward doesn’t mean wearin’ yourself out.”

The tension between you lingers as you finish breakfast in silence. When you stand to grab your bag, Joel rises too, stopping you at the door with a hand on your arm.

“Let me drive you today,” he offers, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitate, tempted to refuse, but the exhaustion weighing down your body makes you nod. “Okay,” you murmur, letting him take the keys from the hook.

In the truck, Joel glances over at you as you stare out the window, your thoughts clearly far away. “You ever think about takin’ a day off?” he asks, his voice light but pointed.

You shake your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I can’t afford to. Not yet.”

Joel hums in response, his grip tightening on the wheel. He doesn’t press the issue further, but the silence between you feels heavy with things left unsaid.

That evening, Joel finds you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders slumped as you scroll through your phone. He sets a glass of water in front of you, then takes the seat across from you, folding his hands on the table.

“Alright,” he says, breaking the silence. “We need to talk about this.”

You look up, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “About what?”

“About you runnin’ yourself into the ground,” he says, his tone firmer now. “You can’t keep this pace up, darlin’. It’s not healthy.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temples. “Joel, I’m fine. I don’t need a lecture right now.”

His expression softens, but he doesn’t back down. “I’m not lecturin’,” he says gently. “I’m worried about you. You’re workin’ too hard, barely eatin’, barely sleepin’… You need to take care of yourself.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You want to argue, to tell him you’re fine, but deep down, you know he’s right.

“I just don’t want to feel useless,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling.

Joel reaches across the table, covering your hand with his. “You’re not useless,” he says firmly. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

You swallow hard, blinking back tears as his words sink in.

“Take a day,” he continues, his tone softening. “Just one. Rest. Do somethin’ for yourself. The work’ll still be there when you get back.”

After a long moment, you nod, the weight of your exhaustion finally catching up to you. “Okay,” you whisper.

Joel squeezes your hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good. You’ve earned it, darlin’.”

And for the first time in weeks, you allow yourself to believe him.

-

The next morning, you sit on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, debating for far too long before finally dialing the office. Your stomach churns with guilt as you explain to your boss that you need the day off, keeping your voice steady even though every word feels like a tiny betrayal of responsibility.

When the call ends, you let out a shaky breath and lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. For a brief moment, you feel relief—no rushing to get ready, no endless to-do list waiting at your desk. But almost immediately, that relief gives way to unease.

Should I have done that? Will they think I’m unreliable? What if I lose this job?

The questions loop in your mind as the hours crawl by. You try to distract yourself with small tasks—making the bed, organizing the guest room, even folding Joel’s clean laundry—but the guilt follows you everywhere.

Joel finds you in the kitchen around noon, aimlessly tidying the counters that are already spotless. He leans against the doorframe, watching you for a moment before speaking.

“Thought you were takin’ the day to rest,” he says, his tone light but with a hint of concern.

You glance over your shoulder at him, shrugging. “I’m just… keeping busy.”

He steps closer, crossing his arms as he studies you. “You feelin’ guilty?” he asks, reading you like an open book.

You hesitate, then sigh, setting the rag down. “Maybe a little,” you admit. “I keep wondering if I made a mistake, if calling in was even worth it.”

Joel shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Darlin’, takin’ care of yourself ain’t a mistake.” He places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “The world won’t stop spinnin’ just ’cause you took one day to catch your breath.

You look up at him, the warmth in his eyes softening some of the tension in your chest. “I just don’t want to mess this up,” you murmur.

“You’re not messin’ anything up,” he says firmly. “You’re workin’ hard, you’re doin’ your best. One day ain’t gonna change that.”

His reassurance doesn’t completely erase your guilt, but it helps. You nod, leaning into his touch as he pulls you into a quick, comforting hug.

By late afternoon, you find yourself on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a cup of tea in hand. Joel sits in his recliner, a book in his lap, occasionally glancing over at you to make sure you’re not overthinking things again.

Sarah pops her head in at one point, holding up a controller. “Wanna play something?” she asks, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

You smile back, nodding. “Sure.”

For the first time all day, you feel a little lighter. As the hours pass, the guilt begins to fade, replaced by a small sense of gratitude—for Joel, for Sarah, and for the reminder that it’s okay to slow down every once in a while.

You and Sarah spent the evening playing Mario Party, and you’re genuinely surprised your friendship survived the competitive chaos. By the time the game ended, it was late, and Sarah reminded you she had to get up early for work the next morning. She said her goodnights to both you and Joel before heading off to her room.

Joel got up shortly after, making his way to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of whiskey. As he poured, he called out, “You want anything?”

Without thinking, you shouted back, “Yeah, could you top up my sleepy time tea?”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound carrying from the kitchen. “Got it,” he replied, already reaching for the kettle.

Joel returned from the kitchen, a steaming mug of tea in one hand and his glass of whiskey in the other. He set the mug down in front of you with a soft smile. “Here ya go, sweetie,” he said warmly, his voice low and familiar.

You glanced up briefly, offering a quiet, “Thanks,” before turning your attention back to your phone, already engrossed in whatever had captured your focus. Joel watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering. There was a tenderness in his expression, as if seeing you so relaxed in his home brought him a quiet kind of joy.

He settled back into his chair, sipping his whiskey and letting the comfortable silence stretch between you, the soft hum of the evening wrapping around the both of you like a shared understanding.

Joel shifted in his seat, swirling the whiskey in his glass, clearly a little unsure of himself. “You wanna… uh, watch a movie or somethin’?” he asked, his tone casual but tinged with awkwardness.

You looked up from your phone, raising an eyebrow as a smirk slowly spread across your face. “Do you want to watch a movie?” you teased, your voice light but playful.

Joel’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he glanced away for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah, if you’re up for it,” he muttered, clearly trying to play it cool.

You leaned back in your seat, pretending to consider it. “Well, I guess I could be persuaded,” you said with a grin. “What are we watching, Mr. Miller?”

Joel rolled his eyes at your teasing, but you could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he replied, getting up to browse through the options.

The playful energy between you felt easy and warm, and as Joel settled back onto the couch with the remote in hand, you couldn’t help but feel a little thrill of anticipation—whether from the movie or just the company, you weren’t quite sure.

Joel settled beside you on the couch, your knees brushing against each other as he leaned slightly forward, the remote in his free hand. His other hand rested lightly on your inner thigh, his touch warm and grounding. He scrolled through the movie options on Netflix, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

You glanced over at him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you watched him navigate the endless choices. Moments like these felt so simple yet so meaningful—no words needed, just the quiet comfort of his presence.

He didn’t seem to notice your lingering gaze, too focused on debating between a classic thriller or something lighthearted. But the way his hand stayed where it was, casually possessive yet gentle, made your chest tighten with a kind of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“See anything good yet?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Joel turned his head slightly, meeting your eyes with a faint smirk. “Not yet. Unless you’re in the mood for somethin’ cheesy,” he teased, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You chuckled, leaning closer until your shoulder brushed against his. “Cheesy’s fine,” you replied. “As long as you don’t fall asleep halfway through.”

“Me?” Joel scoffed, mock-offended. “Darlin’, I’m the one keepin’ you awake most nights.”

The warmth in his voice made you laugh, and the sound of it filled the room, adding to the perfection of the moment. It wasn’t about the movie; it was about this—him. Moments like these were worth more than you could ever put into words.

Joel eventually settled on a movie, a lighthearted romantic comedy, muttering something about "not too serious" as he hit play. The opening credits rolled, and the soft glow of the TV illuminated the room, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

His hand stayed on your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small, soothing circles. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of your leggings, and though the movie was playing, you found it hard to focus on anything but him.

You leaned back, letting yourself relax into the couch, your shoulder pressing lightly against his. Joel glanced at you, catching the faint smile lingering on your lips, and he couldn't help but smile back.

"You alright?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," you replied, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking back at the screen. "This is nice."

Joel nodded, his own smile softening.

"Yeah," he murmured. "It is."

As the movie played on, the room filled with the sounds of laughter and dialogue, but the real magic was in the quiet moments between you. Joel's fingers occasionally flexed against your thigh, a gentle reminder of his presence, while you let your head rest on his shoulder without a second thought.

Halfway through the movie, Joel's hand slid slightly, his fingers brushing higher on your thigh. It was subtle, unspoken, but it sent a rush of warmth through you that you couldn't ignore. You tilted your head to look up at him, and he turned toward you, his eyes locking onto yours.

The TV screen flickered in the background, but the world around you seemed to pause. Neither of you spoke, but the unspoken question lingered in the air between you, electrified by the closeness.

Moments like these weren't just great— they were everything. And as Joel leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender, lingering kiss, you realized that these quiet, stolen moments were the ones that would stay with you forever.

Joel's kiss deepened, his hand moving just a bit higher on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow circles that made your breath hitch. His lips were warm and insistent, the quiet hunger in the way he kissed you sending a pleasant shiver through your body. You let yourself melt into him for a moment, fingers curling into his shirt as his other hand brushed lightly against your waist.

But just as the heat started to build, you gently pushed against his chest, pulling back. Joel's eyes flickered with a mix of concern and frustration as he searched your face. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You smirked, still catching your breath, and leaned back into the couch, looking up at him with playful amusement.

"Nothing's wrong," you teased, a sly grin spreading across your lips. "I'm just too tired to deal with you acting like a horny teenager right now."

Joel raised an eyebrow, a flush creeping up his neck. "Horny teenager?" he repeated, a touch of indignation in his voice. "Darlin, I'm just-"

"You're just proving my point," you interrupted, laughing softly as you poked his chest. "And don't think I didn't notice your hand creeping up my leg."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're somethin' else, you know that?" he muttered, though the corner of his mouth quirked in a smile.

You grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him, your laughter bubbling up again.

"Yeah, well, you'll survive," you teased, curling your legs up onto the couch and leaning back into the armrest. "I'm going to bed before you start trying anything else."

Joel caught the pillow with ease, tossing it back onto the couch. "Alright, alright," he said with a mock sigh, standing up and grabbing his whiskey. "Guess I'll let you off the hook-for now."

You rolled your eyes, grinning as you stood and headed toward the guest room. "Goodnight, Mr. Miller," you teased over your shoulder, your tone dripping with mock formality.

"Goodnight, trouble," Joel called after you, his voice tinged with warmth and amusement.

As you closed the door to the guest room, your heart still raced from the moment you shared, but the playful banter made it all the more special.

Moments like these weren't just steamy

—they were comfortable, familiar, and full of the quiet joy that made everything feel right.

——•

The dream had come out of nowhere, vivid and relentless.

You were back in your childhood home, the walls closing in around you, the air thick with tension. Your dad stood in the kitchen, his voice sharp and cutting, accusing you of things you didn’t even understand. The hurt in his eyes felt real, and his words stung in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

Then, like a flicker of light, your mom appeared, her presence comforting at first. But she wasn’t the warm, safe figure you remembered—her face was cold, distant, as though she blamed you for something you couldn’t place. She turned away, fading into the shadows, leaving you alone with your dad’s voice echoing in the house.

Suddenly, Joel was there. He wasn’t the Joel you knew—the one who made you feel safe and cared for. This Joel was different. His eyes were hard, his voice filled with a sternness that cut through you. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone distant and unfamiliar. “You don’t belong here.”

The weight of their words pressed down on you, the three of them circling like shadows in your mind. The walls of the house closed in tighter, the air becoming suffocating. You tried to scream, to defend yourself, but no sound came out.

When you woke up, your chest was heaving, your hands trembling as you clutched the blanket. Your heart pounded so hard it echoed in your ears, and for a moment, you weren’t sure where you were. The vividness of the dream lingered, the emotions raw and real as though you were still trapped in it.

Your gaze darted around the dark room, the faint outline of the furniture reminding you that you were in Joel’s guest room, not your childhood home. But it didn’t stop the shaking or the tears that pricked your eyes.

You sat up, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to ground yourself in reality. The dream felt too real, too heavy, and the weight of it pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You swallowed hard, your throat dry, and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table.

The cool liquid did little to calm you. The images of your dad, your mom, and Joel still swirled in your mind, their voices echoing faintly in the back of your head. The ache of their disappointment, their distance, their coldness—it lingered like a ghost in the room.

You debated getting up, wondering if Joel was still awake. Part of you didn’t want to bother him, didn’t want to burden him with your fears and anxieties. But the thought of staying in the dark room, alone with the echoes of the nightmare, felt unbearable.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, taking a shaky breath as you tried to steady yourself. Maybe Joel would understand. He always did. And right now, you needed that comfort more than anything.

t he trembling in your body refusing to subside as you stood. The cold floor beneath your feet sent a shiver through you, but it wasn’t enough to shake the lingering dread. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you opened the door to the hallway, your breath shallow as you stepped into the faint glow of the nightlight near the stairs.

Joel’s room was just down the hall. Each step toward it felt heavier, like you were wading through the thick fog of your nightmare. When you reached his door, slightly ajar, you stopped, gripping the frame tightly.

Through the small gap, you could see him. Joel was lying on his side, the blankets pulled up to his chest, his breaths slow and even. The soft rise and fall of his body told you he was deeply asleep.

You stood there for a moment, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You wanted to knock, to call his name, to do something to close the gap between you and the safety he always seemed to bring. But something held you back. Maybe it was guilt, the fear of waking him for what you thought might seem trivial.

Your breathing hitched as the images from your dream flickered in your mind again—your dad’s anger, your mom’s coldness, Joel’s cruel words. You knew they weren’t real, but the way they clung to you, heavy and suffocating, made it hard to convince yourself.

Joel stirred slightly, his arm shifting as he adjusted in his sleep, the quiet sound pulling you back to the present. You exhaled shakily, wiping at your damp cheeks. Part of you wanted to turn back, to retreat to the guest room and let him rest. But another part—the part still trembling, still craving comfort—kept you rooted in place.

You swallowed hard, taking a hesitant step closer. Your voice was barely above a whisper as you called out, “Joel?”

No response. His breathing stayed steady, undisturbed.

You hesitated again, your fist hovering near the doorframe as you debated knocking. The silence pressed in around you, the faint creak of the house settling only amplifying the loudness of your own thoughts.

Finally, your resolve faltered. “Joel,” you whispered again, slightly louder this time, your voice cracking. The vulnerability in that single word hung in the air, waiting for him to wake—or for you to walk away.

Your hesitation melted away as you took a step closer, the trembling in your hands still present but quieter now. You gently pushed the door open, careful not to make a sound, and slipped inside. Joel’s steady breathing filled the room, a soft and rhythmic sound that grounded you as much as it pulled you forward.

Without a word, you lifted the edge of the blanket and slipped into the bed beside him. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and for a moment, you held your breath, worried you might wake him. But Joel didn’t stir.

You curled up at his side, your head resting just shy of his shoulder. The warmth radiating from his body immediately began to chase away the cold that had seeped into you since waking. The faint scent of him—familiar and comforting—wrapped around you, and for the first time since that awful dream, you felt yourself begin to relax.

Your hand tentatively brushed against his arm, needing the contact, and you let out a shaky breath. The weight of his presence, solid and reassuring, was all you needed in that moment. The vivid edges of the nightmare started to blur, its grip on you loosening with every beat of Joel’s steady heart.

A small sound escaped your lips—part relief, part exhaustion—as you pressed closer to him. The tension in your body drained away, replaced by a quiet calm you hadn’t felt in hours.

Joel shifted slightly in his sleep, his arm brushing against yours, but he didn’t wake. You allowed yourself to close your eyes, the warmth of him grounding you completely.

The echoes of the dream lingered faintly in the background, but here, with Joel’s body beside yours, the fear no longer felt insurmountable. You let out one last deep sigh before sleep began to tug at you once more, pulling you under into a far gentler darkness.

Joel stirred in the middle of the night, the faint pressure of something—or someone—against him pulling him out of sleep. His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. He felt your small frame curled into his side, your head resting lightly on his chest.

For a moment, he simply stared down at you, his brow furrowing in concern. What’s she doing here? he wondered. You hadn’t mentioned anything earlier that evening that suggested something was wrong, but the sight of you nestled so closely to him made his chest tighten with a mix of emotions—concern, protectiveness, and something far softer.

Joel’s gaze softened as he took in your peaceful expression, your face relaxed in a way that suggested sleep had finally brought you some relief. He noticed the faint traces of dried tears on your cheeks and frowned, the worry deepening. What’s got you so shaken, darlin’?

He considered waking you, asking why you were here, but the idea of disturbing you felt wrong. You looked too peaceful, too vulnerable, and he didn’t have the heart to pull you out of whatever comfort you’d found in being close to him.

Instead, Joel shifted slightly, careful not to wake you, and wrapped his arms around you. His hand rested gently on your back, his touch warm and steady as he pulled you closer against him. The faintest sigh escaped your lips, your body instinctively pressing further into his, and he felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name—relief, maybe, that you trusted him enough to seek him out like this.

“It’s alright,” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible. “I’ve got you.”

As he lay there, holding you, Joel’s mind wandered. He couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at the back of his mind, wondering what had driven you to his room in the middle of the night. But for now, he decided, the answers could wait. Whatever it was, he’d make sure you felt safe—whether that meant holding you like this or waiting until you were ready to talk.

His thumb traced absentminded circles on your back as he rested his head against the pillow again. The steady rhythm of your breathing lulled him back toward sleep, the warmth of your body grounding him just as much as his was grounding you. Whatever had brought you here, Joel knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t letting go.

——

Joel woke up to the faint light of the early morning filtering through the curtains. He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep, only to realize he was teetering on the very edge of the mattress.

Glancing over, he saw you sprawled across the bed, your limbs splayed out in every direction. One of your arms draped over his chest, while your leg had somehow managed to pin down most of the blanket. You looked utterly peaceful, your face relaxed in a way that made him chuckle quietly.

“Really takin’ over, aren’t ya?” he murmured under his breath, amused as he shifted slightly to relieve the cramp forming in his back.

Joel propped himself up on one elbow, careful not to disturb you as he took in the scene. The once neat bed was now a mess, the pillows scattered and the blanket barely covering either of you. Despite the chaos, he found himself smiling, a warmth spreading through his chest.

He leaned back slightly, shaking his head in amusement. She could’ve stayed in the guest room, he thought, but there wasn’t an ounce of regret in his mind. Having you here, even if it meant sacrificing his own space, felt right.

Joel let out a soft sigh, debating whether to get up or let you keep sleeping. In the end, he stayed put, propping his head on his hand as he watched you for a moment longer. The sight of you so relaxed, even after what must’ve been a rough night, eased some of the worry still lingering from the previous evening.

“Guess I’ll just take what’s left of the bed,” he muttered with a smirk, shifting carefully to avoid falling off entirely. He reached over to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch light and unintrusive.

With that, he settled back onto his small sliver of the mattress, content to let you sleep a little longer. Whatever had driven you to his room last night, he’d wait until you were ready to talk about it. For now, he was happy just to be here, sharing the morning with you in this quiet, unguarded moment.

You stirred awake, the soft light of the morning casting a warm glow in the room. Stretching slightly, you noticed something unusual—the bed felt strangely vast, like you had all the space in the world. That’s when it hit you: you were sprawled across almost the entire mattress.

Your eyes widened as you quickly shifted, pulling your limbs back to your side of the bed. Embarrassment surged through you, and you adjusted the blanket awkwardly, trying to act as though nothing had happened.

Glancing to your side, you saw Joel lying there, staring at the ceiling with a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. The sight of him—his messy hair, his relaxed expression—only made the heat rise to your cheeks.

When he turned his head to look at you, catching your flustered gaze, his smirk deepened. “Mornin’,” he said, his voice low and warm, carrying a hint of teasing.

You swallowed hard, trying to muster some sort of coherent response. “Uh, morning,” you stammered, your voice still thick with sleep.

Joel raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Comfortable, were you?” he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his tone as his eyes flicked to the now-disheveled blanket.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning softly. “I didn’t mean to take up the whole bed,” you mumbled, peeking at him through your fingers.

Joel chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’,” he said, shaking his head. “I managed.”

Despite his reassurance, you still felt a mix of guilt and embarrassment. “You should’ve woken me up or something,” you murmured, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

“Nah,” Joel replied, leaning back against the headboard. “You looked too peaceful. Didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

His words sent a small flutter through your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile, despite your embarrassment. “Still,” you muttered, glancing down at the rumpled sheets. “I’ll stay on my side next time.”

Joel’s smirk softened into a smile as he shook his head again. “You’re fine,” he said gently. “Besides, you keep things interestin’. Can’t say I’ve ever woken up clingin’ to the edge of the bed like that.”

You laughed despite yourself, the tension easing as his lightheartedness made you feel less self-conscious. Whatever awkwardness lingered from the moment quickly melted away, replaced by the easy warmth that always seemed to settle between you and Joel.

The morning passed lazily after Sarah left for work, her goodbye quick and casual as she grabbed her keys and headed out the door. The house was quiet, just the two of you lingering in the kitchen as sunlight spilled through the windows. Joel leaned against the counter, nursing his second cup of coffee while you fiddled with the toaster, trying to coax it into browning the bread just right.

"Y'know, you don't have to babysit it," Joel teased, watching you with a crooked smile.

You shot him a playful glare. "And you don't have to drink half a pot of coffee before noon."

Joel chuckled, shaking his head as he set his mug down on the counter. He stepped closer, his boots scuffing lightly against the tiled floor. "Gotta stay awake somehow," he murmured, his tone low as he moved in behind you.

You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his hands settling lightly on your hips. A shiver ran up your spine as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"But I can think of a few other ways to wake up," he murmured, his voice rich and teasing.

Your heart skipped a beat, your hands freezing on the toaster as Joel pressed a soft kiss to your neck. "Joel," you said, your voice a mix of warning and amusement, "we're in the kitchen."

"So?" he drawled, his lips trailing a slow path along your skin. "Sarah's at work.

It's just us."

You turned your head slightly, giving him a look that was meant to be stern but didn't quite land, not with the way your breath hitched when his hands tightened on your hips. "This is hardly the place," you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Joel hummed, his hands sliding around to your waist as he pulled you back against him. "Seems like the perfect place to me," he said, his tone full of mischief.

You twisted in his grasp, turning to face him with an exasperated smile. "You're impossible," you said, though the warmth in your eyes betrayed your fondness.

Joel grinned, leaning in close enough that his breath fanned across your lips.

"And you love it," he said, his voice soft but certain.

Your resolve wavered as he tilted his head, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that started slow but quickly deepened. The toaster dinged behind you, but neither of you paid it any mind.

Joel's hands slid up your sides, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the world outside the kitchen faded away.

But just as things began to heat up, you broke the kiss with a breathless laugh, placing a hand on his chest to keep him at bay. "Alright, cowboy," you teased, your cheeks flushed. "Breakfast first, then we'll see about your... other ways to wake up."

Joel chuckled, his hands lingering on your waist as he stepped back, his grin smug and satisfied. "You're gonna be the death of me, darlin'," he said, his voice low and warm.

You grabbed your now-perfectly-toasted bread, shooting him a playful smile over your shoulder. "Good thing you've got plenty of coffee to keep you going," you quipped, leaving him standing there with a soft laugh as you carried your plate to the table.

The morning continued with an easy warmth between you, the promise of more lingering in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

Joel followed you to the table, his coffee in hand, the soft smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. He sat down across from you, watching as you spread butter on your toast, the moment comfortable and warm.

“You know,” he started, his voice carrying a nostalgic edge, “I remember a time when you and Sarah were just kids, runnin’ around here like you owned the place.”

You glanced up at him, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “Oh, yeah?”

Joel chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee before leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. Your dad brought you over one Sunday, I think you were maybe ten, and Sarah was five. He wanted to watch the game with me—Cowboys versus Eagles, I remember it clear as day.”

You smirked, your interest piqued. “Did the Cowboys lose?”

Joel shot you a mock glare. “Don’t start,” he teased, shaking his head. “Anyway, while your dad and I were in the living room yellin’ at the TV, you and Sarah took it upon yourselves to turn the whole backyard into a mud pit. You were playin’ some kind of game—pirates or adventurers or somethin’. By the time we found you, you were both covered head to toe in mud.”

You laughed, the image of your younger self and Sarah wreaking havoc bringing a warmth to your chest. “That sounds about right,” you admitted.

Joel grinned, his eyes softening as he continued. “Your dad just about lost his mind, yellin’ about the mess. I remember Sarah tryin’ to blame it all on you, and you, bold as ever, just crossed your arms and told him, ‘It’s an adventure, Mr. Miller. You can’t have an adventure without a little dirt.’”

You covered your mouth, laughing so hard you almost choked on your toast. “I did not say that!”

“Oh, you did,” Joel insisted, his grin widening. “And I think your dad was so stunned he didn’t know whether to laugh or keep lecturin’. I just about fell out of my chair tryin’ not to lose it.”

The memory filled the room with an easy warmth, and you could see the genuine fondness in Joel’s expression as he spoke.

“Y’know,” he added after a moment, his tone quieter, “you’ve always had that fire in you. Even as a kid. Always knew what you wanted, never afraid to stand your ground. Guess some things don’t change.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, but you smiled, the compliment settling deep in your chest. “Well, I’m glad I left my mud pit days behind,” you said, your voice teasing.

Joel laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, darlin’. You’ve still got a way of stirrin’ things up,” he said with a wink, his tone playful but warm.

The two of you shared a laugh, the memory lingering like a soft glow between you, a reminder of how far you’d both come—and how much history tied you together in ways that felt impossible to ignore.

Joel’s laughter faded into a thoughtful silence, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more serious.

“I wonder what your dad would think about me having feelings for you,” he said, his words soft but weighted, as if he’d been holding them in for a long time.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you looked up from your plate. Joel’s eyes were fixed on the table for a moment, his thumb tracing the edge of his coffee mug. When he finally glanced up, his gaze met yours, searching for your reaction.

The room felt smaller somehow, the air charged with the gravity of his confession. You swallowed, unsure of what to say at first. “Joel…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled faintly, a hint of nervousness in the way his lips twitched. “I mean it,” he said, his tone steady but vulnerable. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot. Feels like every day, it gets harder to pretend this is… nothin’.”

Your chest tightened as his words sank in, and the sincerity in his expression made your heart ache in the best way. You leaned back slightly, taking a shaky breath.

“What do you think he’d say?” you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and fear.

Joel shrugged, his smile turning rueful. “Probably punch me in the face,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “But then… I think he’d see how much I care about you. At least, I hope he would.”

The vulnerability in his voice was unmistakable, and it made something inside you soften. You reached across the table, your hand brushing against his.

“I think he’d come around,” you said quietly, your fingers curling around his. “Eventually. He’d see it too.”

Joel exhaled a small breath of relief, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “Guess it’s a good thing he doesn’t know yet,” he said with a wry smile. “Gives me time to prove it—to you, to him, to anyone who matters.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “You don’t have to prove anything, Joel. I already see it.”

The weight in the room eased, replaced by a shared understanding that felt like a quiet promise. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

Joel leaned back in his chair, his fingers still lightly brushing against yours. His expression shifted slightly, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Or what he’d say when he finds out we’ve been intimate together,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with a teasing edge.

Your face instantly flushed, and you pulled your hand back, covering your cheeks as you groaned. “Joel!” you exclaimed, though your tone was more flustered than angry.

“What?” he said, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eyes gave him away. “Just statin’ the obvious.”

You shot him a glare, but it lacked any real heat. “Do you have to say it like that?”

Joel chuckled, leaning forward again, resting his forearms on the table as he looked at you with that easy, confident smile. “What, you want me to sugarcoat it? Pretty sure the word ‘intimate’ was me bein’ polite.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled up despite your embarrassment. “I swear, you enjoy embarrassing me.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his grin widening. “But c’mon, darlin’. You’ve thought about it too. What he’d say, what he’d do if he knew.”

Your blush deepened as you looked down at your plate, fiddling with the edge of your toast. “I try not to think about it,” you muttered.

Joel softened at your obvious discomfort, his teasing easing as he reached out to gently touch your hand. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice warm and reassuring. “I’m not tryin’ to scare you or nothin’. Just… y’know, wonderin’ out loud.”

You looked up at him, your heart softening at the sincerity in his eyes. “He’d probably lose his mind,” you admitted quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But eventually, he’d see that you’re not just messing around. That you really care.”

Joel nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Damn right I do,” he said firmly.

The seriousness in his tone sent a shiver through you, grounding you in the moment. As much as the thought of your dad knowing made you nervous, Joel’s unwavering presence reminded you that this was real—and worth whatever challenges might come your way.

Joel’s expression hardened slightly, his playful smirk giving way to something more serious. He leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening as he regarded you.

“Honestly,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I wouldn’t care what that bastard would think anyway, with the way he’s been treatin’ you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his tone. Joel rarely spoke about your dad like this, but the frustration in his voice was undeniable.

He shook his head, running a hand over his face. “You deserve better than that,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Better than the way he’s been actin’. Walkin’ out, comin’ back like nothin’ happened, and then expectin’ you to just go along with it.”

Your chest tightened, the familiar ache of disappointment in your dad rising to the surface. “It’s… complicated,” you murmured, not sure how else to respond.

Joel scoffed, his eyes locking onto yours. “Ain’t that complicated,” he said firmly. “A real man doesn’t treat his daughter like an afterthought. Doesn’t leave her to pick up the pieces while he plays house with someone else.”

The anger in his voice wasn’t directed at you, but it still made your breath hitch. Joel rarely let himself get this worked up, but seeing him so protective sent a strange mix of emotions swirling through you—gratitude, sadness, and something deeper.

He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. “Sorry,” he said, his voice softening. “I just… I hate seein’ you hurtin’, darlin’. Hate seein’ you doubt yourself because of him.”

You reached out, your hand finding his on the table. “Thanks,” you said quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “For caring. For… everything.”

Joel covered your hand with his other one, his touch warm and steady. “You’re worth it,” he said simply, his gaze steady and sure.

In that moment, the weight of your dad’s actions felt a little lighter, Joel’s words wrapping around you like a shield against the hurt.

The knock at the door was loud and insistent, making your stomach twist. Joel glanced at you, his brow furrowed as he set down his coffee and moved to answer it. You followed cautiously, dread building with each step.

When Joel opened the door, your dad stood on the porch, his face tight with frustration. His eyes immediately locked onto you.

“We need to talk,” your dad said sharply, barely acknowledging Joel.

Joel didn’t move from the doorway. “Maybe you should take a breath first,” he said evenly, his hand resting on the frame, blocking your dad’s entry.

Your dad’s eyes narrowed, his voice rising. “I’m not here to talk to you, Joel. I’m here to see my daughter. Don’t act like you can keep me away from her.”

Joel’s expression hardened, but he kept his tone calm. “No one’s keepin’ you away from her. She’s been here because she needed space. Her choice, not mine.”

Your dad’s glare snapped back to you, his frustration boiling over. “Space? Is that what you’ve been telling him? I’m your father! You don’t need space from me, you need to face what’s going on.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Joel stepped forward slightly, his presence solid and protective. “She’s been facin’ a lot, more than you’ve given her credit for,” he said, his voice firm.

That was the breaking point. Your dad’s face reddened, his anger spilling over as he pointed a finger at Joel. “You need to stay the hell out of this!” he shouted. “You think you can just swoop in and play protector? She’s my daughter. Not yours. This is between me and her!”

Joel didn’t back down, his own frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. “She’s an adult,” he said slowly, his tone icy. “She gets to decide who’s in her life and who’s not. And from what I’ve seen, you haven’t exactly made it easy for her to stick around.”

Your dad’s fists clenched at his sides, his glare intensifying. “You think you’re some kind of hero?” he spat. “You’ve been keeping her here, filling her head with who knows what. You don’t know anything about what we’ve been through.”

Joel’s voice dropped, quiet but sharp as a knife. “I know enough to see she’s been hurtin’ because of you. And I know she deserves better.”

The tension was thick, the silence that followed almost unbearable. Your dad turned to you, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You really think he knows you better than I do? That he cares about you more than your own father?”

Your chest tightened, tears stinging at the edges of your eyes. “It’s not about that,” you said, your voice trembling. “It’s about what I need, Dad. And right now, I need time. I need space. And Joel… he’s been there for me when you weren’t.”

Your dad looked at you, his expression flickering between hurt and anger. “Fine,” he muttered finally, stepping back toward the porch. “If that’s how you feel, then I guess I can’t stop you. But don’t think this is over.”

He stormed off, the slam of his car door echoing through the quiet street. Joel closed the door behind him, his shoulders sagging as he exhaled heavily.

“you okay?” he asked, turning to you, his voice softening.

You nodded, though your hands still shook. “I think so,” you said quietly.

Joel stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder. “You don’t owe him anything you’re not ready to give,” he said gently.

You looked up at him, the warmth in his eyes calming the storm in your chest. “Thanks, Joel,” you murmured, leaning into him.

“Always, darlin’,” he replied, pulling you into a reassuring embrace.

The weather had started to shift, the chill of winter giving way to the warmer promise of spring. The faint scent of fresh grass hung in the air, and the sunlight filtered through the windows a little brighter each day. Joel seemed to notice it too, though he probably wasn’t even aware of how much.

You caught him one afternoon standing on the back porch, his hands on his hips as he stared at the old grill like it was a long-lost friend. He didn’t say anything at first, just tilted his head slightly before letting out a small hum of consideration.

“What’s got you so deep in thought?” you teased, stepping out onto the porch with a cup of coffee in hand.

Joel glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Just thinkin’ it’s about time to clean this thing up,” he said, nodding toward the grill. “Haven’t fired it up since last summer.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Getting ready for BBQ season already?”

He shrugged, running a hand along the side of the grill. “Gotta be prepared. Never know when you’re gonna need a good steak or burger,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Is this your way of saying you’re craving grilled food?”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s also just… somethin’ about this time of year. The smell of a grill, the sound of people laughin’, kids runnin’ around. It’s the kinda thing that makes life feel normal, y’know?”

You leaned against the railing, watching him as he opened the grill’s lid, inspecting the grates like he was planning a battle strategy. It was endearing, the way he was so focused, like getting this grill ready was the most important thing in the world.

“Well,” you said, sipping your coffee, “if you’re planning on grilling, you better make sure you’re stocked up on propane. And maybe replace those grates—they’re looking a little rough.”

Joel shot you a mock glare. “You tellin’ me how to do my job now?”

“Just offering some helpful advice,” you replied, grinning.

He shook his head, laughing softly as he closed the grill lid. “Alright, smartass. You’ll see. I’ll have this thing up and runnin’ better than new in no time.”

You watched as he headed back into the house, already muttering something about cleaning supplies and tools. It was such a small thing, but seeing Joel so quietly invested in something so simple made your chest warm.

Spring was creeping in, and with it, the promise of more shared moments like this—moments of normalcy, comfort, and maybe even a little bit of joy.

The realization hit you as you stood on the back porch, watching Joel fiddle with the old grill. Had it really been nearly a year since the last barbecue? Time felt slippery lately, blurring into itself as the days passed.

Without a steady routine for so long, you’d lost track of seasons and milestones, each day blending into the next. Now, with your part-time job creeping closer to full-time hours, you were starting to find your footing again. But the void your dad had left still lingered, the weight of his absence something you couldn’t shake entirely.

You leaned against the railing, the warmth of the sun on your skin a small comfort. Joel glanced over his shoulder, catching the pensive look on your face. “You alright, darlin’?” he asked, pausing his work.

You nodded slowly, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah, just… thinking,” you replied, your voice distant.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t push. He simply nodded and turned back to the grill, giving you the space to collect your thoughts.

Working had helped. It gave you purpose, a distraction from the tangled mess of emotions you were still trying to sort through. The paychecks were starting to add up, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you were moving forward—maybe even toward something of your own.

An apartment. Your own space. It was still a distant thought, but the idea filled you with equal parts hope and apprehension. Could you really do it? Could you stand on your own after everything that had happened?

“You seem far away,” Joel said, breaking the silence as he closed the grill lid and wiped his hands on a rag.

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “Sorry,” you murmured. “Just… thinking about how much has changed. And how much hasn’t.”

Joel leaned against the railing beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. “You’ve been through a lot,” he said quietly. “More than most people could handle. But you’re makin’ it through.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that made your chest ache. “I don’t feel like I’ve done much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel shook his head, turning to face you. “You’ve done more than you think. Workin’, tryin’ to get your own place, dealin’ with all this mess—it ain’t easy. But you’re doin’ it. And that’s somethin’ to be proud of.”

You looked up at him, his steady gaze grounding you in a way that nothing else could. “Thanks,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small, genuine smile.

Joel nodded, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he said, his voice warm. “And when you do get that place of your own, it’s gonna feel damn good.”

The thought made your chest swell with a flicker of hope. It wasn’t going to be easy, but with Joel’s quiet support and your own determination, you were starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could make it happen.

[hier--soir]

okay hear me out…

joel and reader find their way back to Joel’s old house in Texas somehow. the angst. the drama. the COMFORT FROM READER TO JOEL MY HEART.

you’re breaking my heart here, kelp. this one hurt. i’m sorry it took me nothing short of a century to write, but i hope you enjoy this in some kind of way.

warnings/tags: set after tlou pt one timeline, established relationship, angst, grief, mentions of the death of a child, panic attack, hurt/comfort, the real birthday card sarah wrote joel from tlou game brb bawling. wc: 2.6k

Joel’s home in Texas sat at the end of a cul-de-sac.

The houses on the street were run down after decades of rain and sun making the wood deteriorate. The bodies of the buildings sagged as if they’d exhaled a breath one day, and never inhaled another. Your eyes wandered over them as you rode past, trying to imagine what the street had looked like all those years ago when Joel had lived there. Did your best to picture him cruising down the road in his truck, young and carefree, listening to the radio as he drove home from work. The idea made a small smile drift across your face, but it faded as you glanced back to him. He rode a few paces ahead of you, and his broad shoulders were tense, hinting that he was gripping the reins of his horse for dear life.

The pair of you had been travelling for something like a month, all the way from Wyoming, to reach this point. And for most of the trip, he’d remained the Joel you knew and loved. Quiet, and funny, with the warmest smile. But as you’d neared Texas state lines, he’d withdrawn. Started to shut you out; talking less and seldom laughing at your jokes. You knew it was hard for him, to return after so much time, and so you didn’t push him. But that didn’t mean your heart didn’t pang nervously as he pulled his horse to a halt outside of a house.

Closure, Tommy had called it.

“You gotta go back, Joel,” he’d said one night at the dining hall in Jackson. “Even if it’s just once. You owe it to yourself.”

It had taken months to convince his older brother. After three years living in Jackson, Joel had become so comfortable in his new life. He had come so far from being the man you’d heard stories about when he and Ellie first arrived in the settlement.

He’s dangerous, people would whisper. He’s killed people.

And at first, you’d feared him alongside the rest of your community. Until he wormed his way into your heart, and shared himself with you. Yes, he was dangerous, and yes, he had killed, that much you were aware of. But in time, he confided in you. Things about his past that he’d never been able to verbalise to anyone, whispered in your ear while hidden under the sheets of his bed. He trusted you, and you trusted him. And so when Tommy finally wore him down enough that he agreed to go back to Texas, he said he’d only go if you went with him.

“Just to see it,” Joel had said adamantly on the day you left Jackson, as the pair of you saddled your horses. “It’ll be nice just to see it.”

“Long way to go just to see it,” you’d said quietly, stomach twisting with an unfamiliar feeling. You knew what lay within his house in Texas. Knew what memories resided there, festering inside the walls. The ghosts of who he once was, of the life he was supposed to live. The memory of… her. The daughter he’d lost.

He talked about her more and more, the longer you knew him. Shared stories, confessed to you when things reminded him of her, and the way it made him feel. He dreamt about her often. A few mornings out of every month he would wake with a thin sheen of sweat on his face, muscles tense as he cried out for her, begged her to stay. And you would soothe him, brush the hair off his forehead and hold him, lulling him back to sleep with soft words in his ear and gentle kisses against his hairline.

Standing outside of the house, the thought flitted through your mind once more. Your eyes darted warily between the old property and him. Staring at the profile of his face, you tried to discern an emotion; tried to gage any hint of feeling there. But Joel’s face was blank, forehead smooth, mouth a thin line, as he tied the horses up.

Without a word, he was walking up the driveway toward the front door. Pulse quickening, you trailed behind on numb legs, hand gripping the gun holstered on your hip. If you hoped for anything, it was that infected weren’t holed up inside the house you’d travelled so far to see.

The front door gave way easily under his weight, and a cloud of dust exploded around the pair of you as you stepped past the threshold. And it was… a house. No, a home. No sounds came from within, no rustling or footsteps or clicking. It seemed uninhabited. Safe. You stood behind Joel, waiting for his signal.

Joel cleared his throat, peering around with a tense jaw. “Look around. See if we can find anything useful to take back with us.” You noticed he didn’t refer to Jackson as home.

He wandered slowly through the lower level of the house, not touching anything at first, as if he were hesitant to lay his hands over the things that had once been his possessions. You watched him silently, carefully, allowing him to take the lead. And when he ducked through a set of double doors into a different room, you couldn’t help but analyse the space, how things had been left, all those years ago.

The place was clearly well-lived in. A few plates and bowls rested in the sink, a mug on the counter. A DVD rested on a coffee table by the couch, some 80s action flick with two guys on the cover. Curtis and Viper 2, it read in bold red lettering, This time it’s a family affair. You smiled curiously but didn’t pick it up to read the back.

Rustling came from the doors Joel was behind, and you figured you should start looking around as well. You padded heavily up the stairs, dush and grime loosing into the air as your boots worked against the old carpet. The landing was large, and you could see a few doorways from where you stood. Peeking through the first one, you saw a large bed, a TV mounted on the wall, and a treadmill. You huffed quietly, trying to picture a world in which Joel would run on a machine while watching television. The image was difficult to conjure.

“Y’find anything?” Joel’s gruff voice carried up the stairs.

“Not yet,” you hollered.

“Check the bathroom,” he called. “Might be some painkillers in there. Old antibiotics maybe.”

“On it.”

You moved further down the hall, nudging your boot against a closed door before peering in.

Posters covered the walls, dusty and faded from years of sunlight shining in the window. A double bed with blueish green covers, two sets of drawers. And pictures… so many pictures, tacked against the pink walls, depicting smiling, happy faces. Some that you’d come to know well, and one that you’d never seen before.

Stepping further into the room, you stared at the photograph stuck above her bedhead. It was of Tommy and Joel, with a small girl tucked underneath his arm, her arms wrapped around his middle as she beamed at the camera. Sarah. You swallowed down the ball of emotion that had settled in your throat.

“Found some scissors and tape,” Joel hollered, and you gave a half-hearted shout of acknowledgement in return.

Your lungs tightened, and suddenly your breathing was shorter, the knowledge that you were standing in his daughter’s room almost suffocating you. You turned quickly, with every intention of leaving the room, until something on the dresser opposite her bed caught your eye.

A small, faded card. White paper that had yellowed and faded over the years, that had a cartoon drawing of a dinosaur wearing a party hat across the front. The word ‘CONGRATULATIONS!’ was scrawled in red print below it.

Your fingers ghosted across the paper, feeling the thinness of it; the delicate fragility of something that hadn’t been touched by another human being in over twenty years. Careful not to cause any damage, you opened it. Your eyes turned blurry as they trailed over the words scribbled on the card.

Dear Dad, Let’s see… you’re never around, you hate the music I’m into, you practically despise the movies I like, and yet somehow you still manage to be the best dad every year. How do you do that? Happy Birthday, Pops! Sarah.

A tear rolled off your chin and landed on your shirt, leaving a dark stain. You sniffled sharply, wiping the wet sensation from your face. The flimsy paper shook in your grip, and you found yourself anxious that it would disintegrate at any moment.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Joel’s voice was steely, low. You flinched, the card tumbling out of your hand and back onto the chest. Your partner loomed tall in the doorway, staring you down. His face was thunderous, expression a mask of fury that you’d never expected to have directed at you, in this lifetime or the next. Dark eyes glared at you, as his mouth twisted into a snarl, lip curled up to reveal gritted teeth.

“Joel,” you breathed, wiping furiously at your cheeks again to remove any sign that you’d been crying. “I’m sorry, I was jus-“

“Why are you touching her things?”

You noticed his eyes never moved off you. He didn’t dare look around the room, her room. “I’m sorry,” you repeated feebly. “I didn’t- I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

He diverted his gaze, staring down at what you had dropped.

“What is that?” he asked. His voice was quieter, softer. It was like every one of his features pinched together in the middle of his face, and he took a slow step into the room.

“It’s a card,” you told him, slowly reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. He met your gaze, silently asking you to tell him more without him having to ask. “The birthday card she wrote for you. I’m sorry, I know it’s personal and I shouldn’t ha—”

“She never gave me a birthday card that year.”

“What?”

“No card. Just the watch.”

Your eyesight blurred as you stared at him. He moved slowly, as if he had to beg his limbs to work and even then, they dragged along the ground. When he picked it up, the card looked so small in his large hands. Long, dirt-stained fingers gripped the withered paper, splaying it open so he could read it.

And for a moment, everything was still. No movement, no sound, nothing could interrupt the way his eyes danced along the messy handwriting, devouring every letter. A few minutes passed, and you realised he was reading it over and over again. His chest began to rise and fall faster, as short sharps breaths rattled in and out of his lungs.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice hoarse with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and you shook your head and took a hesitant step towards him, but you were too slow.

His knees buckled, and he dropped onto the carpet with a heavy thud. You cursed, crouching beside him to get a better look at his face. Silent tears streamed from his eyes, rolling down the hills of his cheekbones before disappearing into his beard. His chapped lips quivered as he silently mouthed the words written on the card, not meeting your eye. You placed a hand on his back and stifled the sound of despair that worked its way up your throat.

“Joe—”

“My baby girl,” he choked out, finally looking at you.

“I know,” you hushed desperately, rubbing soft circles on his back. “I know.”

“N-never saw this,” Joel grunted. It seemed painful for him to speak, and his left hand reached up to press against his chest. Fear spiked inside you, and your hand tightened on his back. “She never—” he paused, upper body swaying.

His mouth was downturned, low breathy sobs escaping his lips as he tried to regain control of his body. But it was out of his control, and you could see the fear crawling under his skin as memories of Sarah wormed through his brain, and twisted his insides.

“I know,” you repeated gently. “I need you to breathe, Joel. Can you hear me?” he nodded faintly, fingertips crinkling the corner of the card where he held it. “Need you to breathe with me now. Slowly, in and out, like this. Don’t go passing out on me.”

He shook his head quickly, but copied the sound of your exaggerated breaths, sucking in air before expelling it heavily. “My girl,” he muttered, and you nodded, kissing his shoulder quickly. “I failed her, I—"

“No,” you said sharply, and finally he looked at you. Bloodshot, grief-stricken eyes stared at you as you shook your head. “You did everything you could. She said it herself, you’re the best dad. She loves you so much, Joel, I can feel it.” His chest shook, and he was silent, breathing heavily as he absorbed your words. You rested your hand atop the one on his chest, slotting your fingers in-between his. His heartbeat thudded aggressively against his sternum, vibrating against your hands.

He squeezed your fingers painfully tight, closing his eyes. “I wish I could just—” he gasped quietly, voice rattling. “Wish I could see her, need to see her.”

You dropped to your knees, pressing your back against his shoulder and cradling him in your arms as he shook. You pressed your hand firmer against his.

“Right here,” you whispered. “This is where it is – her love for you. She’s here, every single day, every second, you just have to let yourself feel it.”

“I don’t know how,” he said desperately. You soothed him quietly, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as he leant heavier against you. “I don’t think I can.”

“You can,” you murmured against his hair, feeling the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. “I’m here, let me help you.”

For a while, the pair of you stayed like that. Resting on the carpet in his daughter’s bedroom, leaning against each other’s as a thick silence blanketed you.

You didn’t move a muscle until he said he wanted to leave, and watched him pack the things he’d found into a bag, keenly aware of the way he slid the card between the pages of a thick book and tucked it into the bag as well, careful not to crease it.

Joel was quiet as you left the house, quiet as you untied the horses. Quiet as he rode down the street, with you a few paces behind, heading away from the cul-de-sac, the broken-down houses, Curtis and Viper 2, and the pictures on Sarah’s bedroom wall. For a few days, he didn’t say much at all, and most nights on the trip back to Jackson, as the pair of you settled in your sleeping bags to rest, he would look. He would wait until he thought you were asleep, and then you’d hear him take the book out of his bag, flipping through the pages until he found the birthday card, so he could read her words once more.

And you weren’t naïve. You knew that a part of him would forever be broken, after Sarah’s death. A hole in his heart that nothing and no one could mend – not a second daughter, nor a relationship. But so long as you lived, you knew you would be there, right behind him. To hold him and remind him to feel that love; to breathe it in, to savour Sarah’s love and kindness in his heart, in the hopes that remembering the light would help shut out a little of the darkness.

[sage-lights]

This is so random, but hearing Shayne talk about Sword AF in the Smosh After Dark Q&A gave me a sense of closure. I'd already accepted that they weren't gonna do a season 3, but to hear him sort of confirm what I was thinking happened (that it was a lot work and time and too little return on investment, despite the fact that they loved doing it), I feel ready to leave the charred remains of my beloved piece of media buried in the ground.

I think BAF Legacy was able to have a proper send-off because the story was already written by somebody else and it had a definite ending with an already expected finite number of episodes, whereas Sword AF didn't really have an end in sight so the series fizzling out was sort of inevitable. I'm sad about it, but at the end of the day, I still get to see Shayne, Chanse, Damien, Amanda, and Angela work together and as fans we get to experience how BAF Legacy and Sword AF shifted all 5 of their relationships to one another to a cozier, sweeter space y'know? (I'm thinking specifically of Shayne and Angela becoming one of my favorite duos ever through Sword AF)

Like, BAF Legacy is where I first saw that Amanda and Shayne really clicked and it's what made me so excited when I saw that they were hosting Smosh Mouth together! To this day, the 5 of them- all together, give or take other cast members- is my personal favorite lineup. I loved the series so much so I WANT there to be something more dramatic and final (?) to its end than it just not being a sustainable series to produce, but sometimes that's all there is.

I am not ready to watch Smosh vs. Zombies yet, but I've seen what people say online, and I already know that Amanda and Courtney have a queer-coded codependent friendship thing going on and I will absolutely eat it up I love Courtmanda and I ADORE wlw pining. COURTMANDA WLW PINING? I won!! Sorry that was such a long message!!!! TLDR: I loved Sword AF but it's gone and that's okay. I ship courtmanda.

hi anon! thank you for coming to my inbox and chatting 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ (under the cut are my thoughts because it gets LONG)

i said a lot of my own thoughts in the tags of this reblog, but i think that beyond saf taking a lot of effort without a lot of return, i don't think enough people were really batting for it. i know amanda's talked about loving it, angela and chanse play dnd in their own time, shayne always wanted to get into dnd, and damien is obviously the one with the most passion as the dm. but when push comes to shove, i think the cast rather put their time into things like bit city because it's closer to that kind of true improv that they love.

characters i think also contributed to the longevity of shows. baf legacy let them change character every episode, but saf leaves them "stuck" in the same character for seasons on end. reoccurring characters at smosh are never as serious as the saf characters and maybe the cast just didn't vibe with it as much?

you should def give smosh vs zombies a watch when you come around to it. though i love long ttrpg series, it seems like a good middle ground between fans of ttrpg and what smosh likes to do. and yes, the courtmanda/gracevannah goes HARD!!! i adore them!!!!

if you poke around my blog, you see i started to post a lot about d20 and dropout recently. that's honestly just me filling the void that saf left behind and it's working! hoping that one day a smosh cast member will end up in the dome! that would make my little ttrpg heart soooooo happy!

[sunboki]

SEND MY LOVE — 양정인

PAIRING — Healer! Yang Jeongin x f. reader

🖇️ GENRE — royalty! au, angst, suggestive(no intercourse), bittersweet, coincidences, childhood best friends to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint

WORD COUNT — 6.9k ☆ 34 minute read

⚠️ WARNINGS — making out, close to smut, implied fwb

AUG’S NOTES — another thank you for notifying me about an open spot in your collab rin(@hyunverse)!! i would never skip the chance to write for my boys, especially a royal collab eeee so exciting—i knew i could ramble on with this for forever, so i hope i supplied enough closure between yn and jeongin! also, i haven’t wrote for innie separately, so feedback is appreciated：）

PLAYLIST — ꒰ 🧺 ꒱

TAGLIST — @writerracha @princelingperfect @ggundeuri @orithyia-eriphyle @vumiixlyy @luvrhyune @hopeladybug @misitmoonlight @baldi-2 @baddecisionsworld @thetaytayray @midsoulz @hyunverse @realbangchan @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs @rachabreathing @nixtape-foryou @ameliesaysshoo @jisungsdaydreamer @https-skzology @day6andetcetera @linonyang @hgema @seoli-16 @bokk-minnie @foliea @amagumorii @nhyunn @ravyaryn @ink-spilled-stars @himarose @sherryblossom @shakalakaboomboo @r-arrh @siriusly1 @catwonwoo @suebinn @foxinnie8

💭 SYNOPSIS — Despite the twists and turns in Iredal Castle, the only world you lived in was a world with Jeongin in it. Once the Healer’s apprentice, now the Healer himself, Jeongin has always been right beside you; tending to you endlessly and in turn, becoming close friends. Perhaps more in the castle’s corners. Except the Royals disregard you, and when you ask Jeongin to run away together, he denies. In turn, you leave on your own and begin working at a pottery shop in the villages, sending him abundant letters. Eventually though he stops replying and you assume he’s simply forgot about you, until he walks into the shop.

“Jeongin..” you whispered, voice coming out in a pitiful croak as you reach forward—making out the shakiness of your hand through tired eyelids. There’s a heavy haze that overtakes what’s left of the broken mind you’ve been gifted, surprised your vision remains intact whilst being unused for such a lengthy amount of time. The world is always new for those who don’t open their eyes. You know this well.

“I’m right here.” A small patch of light sneaks through cracks in the window, illuminating the boy’s features beautifully. He smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners while gazing at you from a squat by your bedside in order to speak at eye-level. When Yang Jeongin smiles, he loses his eyes and his cheeks puff out a bit. You never seem to get tired of it.

Since the day you entered this world, it felt like you had been sent to bed. Always so sick, always too weak to support yourself. Oftentimes you would refer to it as a curse until reminded of Jeongin, transforming the bitter judgment in such a way it felt like fate. A certain obscuring fate you would never manage to hold in both hands, but for you, for now, that was okay. If you hadn’t been ill all the time, perhaps you would have never gotten the chance to grow close to him like this.

Your introduction to Jeongin was well out of the books, having only really gotten to know him and his kindness on a peculiar evening when you were laden with cold. Eleven at the time, your blaring fever having spiked dramatically leading to frantic ushering into the Apothecary. The Healer’s apprentice had been hasty to concoct a sort of coriander mixture in an attempt at lowering your temperature, to no avail. Yet when he rose from his squat beside you, you clutched his shirt with sweaty fingers—pleading with the stranger of a boy not to leave you alone to stifle that same, hollow feeling. As if you were stuck in a glass box, a massive clock displayed in front of you representing time in its never ending cycle. Except the key to the box was long forgotten, and you’d simply waste away there.

Tick.

Tick.

“Don't leave me, please.”

There he goes with that heart wrenching grin, your introduction to not only Yang Jeongin, but his mystifying characteristics as well — gazing at you like the earth might just break apart. It’s a mystery how one can look into his eyes without crying. Raw, unfiltered emotion that feels as if it penetrates every fiber of your soul, your being. He’s comforting, as if you’ve known him for years. Sympathy in the curve of his brows, Michelangelo's sculpture somehow alive. Breathing, thinking.

Becoming acquainted with him came relatively easy opposed to others, able to carry countless conversations of all and nothing. Spurring recollection to occasions you had sneakily slipped from your stead to visit him in extended hours of eve, where the sky had just barely dappled tawny, soon replaced with a midnight hue. He’d tell you of his days, you would tell him of yours, without realizing you grew up with him in the process. Because when you blinked, Jeongin had transformed into more than a coincidence.

“I have to collect more herbs for your head, otherwise your fever will worsen.” Despite being only eleven like yourself at the time, a brush of his hand on your forehead eased all the worries swarming, the achiness, the pain. Sleep you were coaxed to, waking up and craving his presence, his reassurance once more. That simple gesture, he did it again and again every time you would visit, which was more often than not for that of a sickly child.

When you turned fifteen and your first lover had broken up with you, crying out your heart’s contents in the castle’s botanical gardens. Jeongin had done the same then, gently caressing your head like you were a troubled child while you sobbed into his shirt. Letting your waves crash against his shore. High tide in the late of night, Jeongin welcomed the sound of the ocean.

At nineteen, only a year ago when he’d been your first kiss — a soft touch of your forehead that spoke more than could be said aloud. Something delicate, something irreplaceable. It had been prohibited for one of such high profile to be enacting any sort of association with that of the lower class, especially a kiss. Quite risky, don’t you think? Although the riskiness of it sent a childish plethora of giddiness throughout your body that you hadn’t experienced in years time due to the suffocating confinement of restrictions, dutifully enforced by the Castle. He spoke much without words.

Nonetheless, you were twenty years old now, and no matter seemed to claw you in such a way you wept about it or needed to be consoled because of. You didn’t desire that lingering touch anymore, you had grown. Or your ability to fend off illness developed from a seed into a sprout, but your relationship with Jeongin persisted as resilient as the stone pathway leading out to Iredal’s foliage-inhabited Pleasaunce, cracked and overgrown beyond belief however evermore frivolous and alive. When with Jeongin this was possible. Living in a dream before you had to wake up, that is.

Heavy mist of spring blossomed around the Kingdom, a prime occasion to bask in the sun's rays after a millennium of bitter winds. Basking you did, while accompanied by Jeongin of course. It might have been strange for two people of entirely opposing positions to be conversing and picking at daisies awakening from the long thistles of grass — nothing short of casual for the both of you.

“You spoke of your tutoring session earlier?” The Healer, sitting criss crossed across from you hummed, twining vine into pretty bracelets absentmindedly.

“Ah yes, I was informed on the Victorian Language of Flowers, the topic was of great interest.” He leaned forward, appearing immersed though already knowledgeable of the study. On and on you explained, telling him of fantastical bouquets conveying distinct messages and allowing him to appreciate the excitement sparkling beneath your irises, sporadic hand gestures emphasizing each word slipping off your enchantingly cherry lips he longed to feel against his. Essentially, he did bask in the spring’s sun, your sun. Providing him with all the light and warmth necessary albeit far out in a field. Oh to abandon responsibilities and live like this, with you. One can hope, though hoping is sour upon accepting it won’t occur. Still, he’ll hope.

As for your presumed “friendship”, behind closed doors the average witness would immediately assume you were enacting an affair from the stolen kisses and the recurring suggestive touch. To those in front of the door, you were simply good friends. Good friends with a.. lasting connection.

Daisie picking however met a refreshing end, the dark-haired boy accompanying you back towards the Castle’s nearest entryway before bidding you farewell. There was a fondness gracing his features, carefully tucking one of the countless daisies he had picked into your palm, tickling your palm with soft petals and carving a memento of a day you already wished back.

The following morning however was a daring occasion for “good friends.”

“Oh god..”

His neat white shirt adorned with classical ruffles disheveled along with jet black hair, chasing after your kiss whilst you cupped the sides of his face. Your legs wrapped around his midsection, supported by strong hands sinking into the plush skin on the back of your thighs. Jeongin’s lips bruised pink and puffy from where you had pulled the skin between your teeth, eliciting a sort of adorable whine in return. His descent traveled down to your jaw, stopping to mark a love bite right below the ear where he nipped the soft skin relentlessly until you knew you’d have to be dressed heavily in order to conceal the evidence — loving the dreamy sigh that sounded in response to his attention.

“You.. you locked the door?” You breathed shallowly, allowing him to carry you from the wall to the bed, fervently laying you down on the mattress. He nodded in a hurried manner, maneuvering you to straddle his hips — fox-like, chestnut eyes admiring every inch of you he’d seen innumerable times. He slowly traced the fabric of your gown, down, down, lower. Till your breath hitched and the situation truly inclined into dangerous territory, teetering on the brink of collapse. Each reaction, curl of your fingers, flush of your cheeks. Engraved in his memory for as long as his mind would remember.

“I missed this, ‘missed you my dear. Please let me make love to you..” Soft murmurs mumbled against bare skin recalled times you treasured the most thanks to nectarine sweet talk accompanied by the gentleness of his voice that sailed you away into a new universe. A new universe where you and Jeongin were the only ones existing, not hidden in his room disguised from prying eyes.

“No one is keeping you from doing so.” You giggled, leaning down for an equally sugary kiss. No person might have kept him from doing so, but your impending requested presence at dinner could end up guilty. A long forgotten factor if not noticeable already. Yet selection revealed quite mercilessly that all things come to an end, some quicker than others.

“Hey Jeongin, I need to speak to you concerning-WOAH. Woah.”

In strolls Royal Guard Han Jisung, standing stiffly in the doorway relative to a deer suffering amnesia. Loudly declaring that Jeongin did not in fact lock the door, and a person was surely capable of preventing your love session after all. This was humiliating. The intruder slapped a hand across his mouth, waving quickly towards the both of you whilst muttering a jumbled, “Apologies for interrupting!” Before sprinting away. Momentary silence ensued and slowly, you turned to face the man you had nearly slept with, threatening the burst of laughter creeping up your throat.

“Did we happen to scare him?” You take your turn covering your own mouth, doubling back on the bed from not only the situation, but Jeongin’s facial expression as well. So expressive, added to the list of bountiful charms you discover when with him. At this point you should know everything about him, and you do, partially. Apart from what he doesn’t allow you to know, which, defensively, you uncover on your own.

“Ruined the atmosphere more like it.” He scowled, obviously annoyed by the interruption of his love-making fantasy and bemused by your evident inability to feel even slightly vexed. He found it impossible to remain upset when you were around. A continuously repeated cycle of stealing what wasn’t his, what he wanted to be his, and getting his most precious of possessions ripped out of his fingertips. Jeongin was a beggar in that view. For you, he was a beggar.

Reminding, you tapped his nose, wearing the sly grin he’d once sported like a badge of honor, “You poor thing… someone is grumpy.” Earning a pouted reply despite happily anticipating the peck you planted on his cheek as an estranged form of compensation.

“I’m not.. ugh, I find it best to leave before he tells the whole Kingdom about us.” About us, he said. About your adoration, heavily harbored passion. About us, what you could be, what you were, what perception told of. Quizzical. Unaffected, he gives your hips a quick squeeze, allowing you to leave the bedroom first prior to exiting himself.

Low and behold stood the interruption, appearing far too pleased with his latest discovery while he tapped his foot- a bad habit of his- incessantly. The mere thought as to what Jisung’s business here entailed failed to materialize in his mind, a heavily disregarded prospect after being so violently thrashed from paradise, left to drift off at sea.

“Mayhaps..”

“Say nothing more.”

“I wasn’t going to mention your affairs! This concerns Y/n.” Han appeared feeble observing the younger perk at the reference to you, attentive to whatever he was saying once you were involved. He beckoned Jeongin to follow him, adding on to the suspicious layering of what exactly they would be discussing upon arriving on the far side of an open corridor, located on the left wing of the Castle — vastly distanced considering where you would currently be rushing to dine with fellow Royals. The space void of any lurking ears awaiting to hear something they could use to either upgrade their status or stake down someone else’s. Hierarchy in its boldest font and ever apparent in the depths of Iredal Castle.

“Have you taken notice?” There’s a crease in Jisung’s forehead relating to the question. Tentative, like a cat studying its unsuspecting prey residing on a fence post. If Jeongin were a cat, his fur would have bristled apprehensively.

“Taken notice of what, exactly?” A sort of nervous pique to his voice gave away the Healer’s compiling tension, prominently oblivious. Jisung cleared his throat, lowering his tone that ushered his counterpart closer.

“Have you perceived Y/n and the Royal Family-“ Before the Royal Guard managed to pronounce his finishing words, the black-haired ran a hand through his hair, boisterously indifferent.

“-Whatever the Royal Family fancies is not my business and not something I want any association with. You know this.”

“Yes yes I am aware but it would be favorable if you listened for a moment, please?” Jeongin nodded curtly.

“There’s a disconnect, Changbin and I keep seeing it. As if they don’t even acknowledge her. Aside from there being some disconnect since Y/n’s the King’s Goddaughter and all, it has significantly worsened.”

The latter’s brow furrowed, perturbed. He could picture it so realistically — your downcast face, how you would fiddle with your fingers thoughtfully. Fiddling the way he’d seen a multitude of times when you were younger. Your signature mechanism of aiming to ease the discomfort you felt in that moment. He hurt, knowing you hurt.

“..Has she said anything to you about this?” A quiet break in the stillness that had occupied its way between them earned a solemn shake of the head. Of course you hadn’t said anything. You’d keep it bottled up in your heart until the dam broke, and he’d be the one racing to scoop up the water. Always.

Alas, the fiddle of your fingers bared its ugly face, distracting yourself with the rough texture of the tablecloth’s fabric beneath you. Evening’s feast carried on like usual, just as Jeongin had predicted. Except you didn’t rush there, aware you would have in the case of your earlier affair going further prior to being interrupted. Time that could have been spent elsewhere ghosted by, including snide comments easily discarded by each person attending that added to the flavor of pig's blood jelly majestically advertised in the center of the long table. Family friend Madame Belmore tapped her fingernails repeatedly along a decorative wine glass, sparing an excessive margin to clear her throat. One’s next words could not have been dreaded more.

“Speak of yore, I happened to deduct intriguing insight on Your Highness’s God-Daughter Ms. Yn Ln. For I hadn’t been told of your association with erm.. Yun, Yin..-“Yang Jeongin.” You abruptly voice, audibly calm opposed to the exasperation settling itself in your stomach at a bewildering rate. The woman had always inhibited her suspicions just as everyone did. Unlike everyone though, her suspicions were her prowess, her sickening joy.

“Yes! Yang Jeongin, the Healer. About him, I couldn’t help but ponder your… how do I put this, relationship.” Each piece of Madame Belmore’s puzzle fell into perfect place — mirroring the exact moves you had been taught playing Chess. The sight utterly chilling, watching her ferocious glinting sneer scream “Checkmate” right in your face, breath hot with the overwhelming scent of overly sweetened wine.

She thrust her hands forward, clasping them oh so tightly as if she were praying. Praying for something you couldn’t guess, but most likely your demise on first thought.

“You see, to an uneducated eye it may seem unusual I suppose. Reassuringly we are nothing apart from saved and savior. Were you not disclosed of my childhood illness, Madame Belmore?” Narrowly escaping to an empty square on the Chess board, you tip your head to the side, openly inviting the woman to interject. No, she wouldn’t. Madame Belmore wouldn’t dare to allow her sacred suspicions to deliberately falter.

“Oh allow me!” The Queen dramatically gasping her anguish spurred the dissipation of Madame Belmore’s pretentious glare, beginning to enlighten the “uneducated” on your tragedies. Rising aversion to the instigator wasn't much disliked though, comparing the belittling to ignoring. Ignoring in terms of absolute abandonment of your being, not a glance in your direction for a reason you didn’t know. What you did know was the behavior began becoming increasingly prevalent, and that this exact banquet would become an entire accusation pinwheel after the introduction of your saved and savior relationship was provided so diligently to Madame Belmore by the Queen. “Best to flee.” Jeongin had told you that once, after he had snatched a casserole you’d asked about off the Baker's tray. Young then, without thought of genuinely meaning you would run away. Without a need to run away, apart from fleeing from small mishaps.

“And you are not attending dinner, why?”

You’d leave it to the imagination to assume you deserted the feast or caused a scene, storming into no other than Jeongin’s Apothecary before the feast had officially concluded. Escape. The Apothecary was a momentary escape, upon investigation by officials though the forbidden cove would be revealed, unraveling something disgustingly disastrous.

At this time in the evening the Healer was well versed knowing you would be eating with the rest of the elites, afterwards skipping back to his Apothecary to inform him of the gossip you had overheard while there. Scheduled, like usual. This time howbeit things were contrasting to this long running schedule. Divergent in terms of the atmosphere, your body language, the timing. It was unsettling.

“I’m pained because of them. It is much the same as being invisible. Not only that, but Madame Belmore is plotting a distasteful act for me.”

Jeongin’s lips pull into a tight line listening to you. Madame Belmore had always been alternatively plotting, but you would always state your desire to complain about her then forget. To be so troubled by it, furthermore to enter his Apothecary so frazzled confirmed the urgency. Seeing you like this, curled up in a ball on the patient-bed you had basically grown up in, stirs an ugly nostalgia to froth. Grateful his back is facing you, concealing his transparency. He can’t say anything. Not about his gnawing guilt and chiefly not about his previous conversation with Han containing the exact details you’re speaking now.

“Innie, would you run away with me?”

His hands abruptly stop their shuffling, deciding against turning around to face you. Never did he expect such a preposition. Continuously caving when it came to you, too blinded by fondness to register what he was getting himself into before the thicket became too dark and suffocating that he’d reach for you to pull him to safety. Never did he expect such a preposition he would have to reject, indirectly saying to him that if you weren’t to close the book yourself, the pages would be ripped to pieces by someone else. That nickname, “Innie.” Only you could call him that.

This time though, a fine line had been drawn. One half his side, one half yours. Yours with the need to be free, his with the need to be with you. His of which wouldn’t allow a caged bird to venture out. Greater precaution told him he should’ve known that you were both walking a tightrope that would eventually lead to stumbling. He did know, however he didn’t acknowledge. The prospect was nauseating.

“I’m afraid.. I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

Eardrums buzzed, he hears you move. Hears the patter of your shoes on the stone flooring as you approach him. Your arms wrap around him, burying your head into his back.

“You know I will go through with it.”

“I do, and that is what breaks me.” His words falter, yet you don’t look up, aware it would be too much to watch his face crumble. Perhaps make you change your mind. Your best friend, the Healer of Iredal Castle, changed your mind with ease. Perhaps that’s also why this hug feels so bittersweet. You don’t want to let go, worried he’d slip through your fingers like sand upon separating. Bittersweet. There’s a slight croak, the man dissolving into billowing sobs. You carefully turn him around to face you, gazing up at his immeasurably enchanting face that you begged yourself not to see, not to give in to. Yet you did, every time. Clammy thumbs brush stray tears from his cheeks, watery smile disguising a throbbing ache settling inside of your chest. You’ll stay solid in order to keep to your word of running away, but dear is it challenging when Jeongin cries. If you could give him the world you would, despite that world being one without you in it disparate of what fantasy foretold. For Jeongin you would give anything, give in to anything. Anything except this.

“Tomorrow,” You await a sign he’s listening, his shaky hands reaching to hold your own that are cupping his face. He nods, big, emotion-filled globes for eyes shrieking a thunderous volume. Those chestnut orbs have always been mesmerizing, especially now when on the verge of breaking down. What a shame things are so pretty seconds before defeat.

“Tomorrow I will be gone, okay? And I’ll send you letters, Jeongin, and I want you to write back.” You’re coaching him through this, a second attempt to overshadow the feelings you’re experiencing of which you can’t describe. Feelings that harken an unpalatable sound from you you hardly recognized. It’s your turn to begin shaking, biting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood in order to contain yourself along with the cry clawing at your stomach.

“You.. You promise to do that, to write back, okay?” Subtle repetition of words betray you, but you don’t pay mind, or care to pay mind. There’s fervent bidding, holding him close a little longer, wishing for a little longer that things could be different. Except each night the sun set below the horizon, and you would follow accordingly.

The following morning consisted of sitting with Changbin in your room, him gaping at the shamelessly decadent assortment piling into a burgundy chest. You wanted to thank him for helping you cope like this, staying quiet while you packed even though the roaring man would have talked your ear off if preferred. He had a misunderstood demeanor, but Seo Changbin was a good listener. Not as good as Jeongin, but a good listener.

“Are you planning to leave for fifteen years-“Shh!”

Cowering slightly, the Royal Guard mumbled out hushed “sorry”’s as you checked through your belongings, ensuring each and every necessity was visibly there.

“..Alright. I pardon that’s everything.”

Uneasy quiver to your voice betrays you for a second time, lugging the massive chest downstairs with the help of your brown-haired emotional support. Ironic how the foyer stayed empty the entire time, not a soul peering from wooden doorways. Possibilities are limitless as you stand at the entry gates, patting the man’s shoulder farewell and prompting him to tell your acquaintances goodbye in your stead. You could run back, discard all your packaged belongings on your bed like it would make a difference due to primarily sleeping in Jeongin’s Apothecary. You could scream your lungs out and throw the wine Madame Belmore had sipped so precariously last night all over her satin white dress. You didn’t, finding no reason to disorient an outcome gradually worsening without needing your aid.

“You be safe now. ‘Get yourself into trouble and Han and I will go hunting you down.” His words grumble and you crack a ghost of a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, Changbin doesn’t mind.

The village is relatively small compared to the grandeur of Iredal’s Castle, nothing that you hadn’t anticipated before — and not in an arrogant, castle-grown demeanor — instead quaint, peaceful. You arrived by horseback, memorizing individual landscapes you pass on the way to scribble into a letter for Jeongin. Tell him of your trials and tribulations migrating to this foreign land, a prolonged explanation of what actually occurred that would hopefully earn his pretty laugh. A pretty laugh you already missed hearing.

Soon enough you settled into a comfortable household. Settled swiftly conducive to deterring your mind of returning to both the boy you loved and the home you had always known. Moving on was unyielding, this time though no one was glowering in your direction or expecting nothing, your only responsibility being to reach your own expectations. Those expectations built up in the process of working at a pottery shop on the northside of town. Additionally, November, paired with the bustle of customers and climbing income, became favored upon receiving a letter in the mail. Jeongin’s letter, and your first reply.

My Dearest,

How are you faring in the villages? Are you nourishing yourself? I’m hoping this is delivered to you at a suitable time and that you don’t miss me too greatly. Iredal Castle runs as usual without much squander, though I would prefer if you were here as well. The servants have successfully concealed your presence as a “sudden departure” so no need to fret. I cherish you deeply, please know I think of you endlessly and wish you well my dearest.

Sincerely yours, Yang Jeongin ��정인

Crouched over a desk in the pottery shop's backroom, your fingertips bunched the inked parchment, taking extra time to memorize the signature curvature of his “s” and how he would linger the feather tip a tad bit longer to achieve a darker hue on his periods. This was the first letter of what seemed like hundreds. Back and forth back and forth you wrote, on occasion locking yourself in the nearest isolated place to collect your rampaging thoughts. Discovering Jeongin’s confidence when writing relative to his meekness in real life bemused you in the sense of his compelling grasp of literature, example being his innate ability to have you holding onto every word. Oh how you yearned to visit him without constantly daydreaming the interaction. You wonder if he’s changed. If he’s forgotten about you, fallen in love- no. Pondering poorly is rotten for the mind. A worm coring an apple. Mental impressment.

Lovely, awakening to his appearance through letters in defiance to physical interaction, because he was there. You couldn’t see him, but you knew he was there. Thinking of you while writing, listening. In spite of that, the certain comfort obtained during your letter exchange paused abruptly when the letters instantaneously stopped. Throughout the span of nearly eight months, his letters simply stopped. Initially you had assumed deliveries were slow, until you started asking the Postal if they had any letters assigned under your name on the daily. None. It left you somewhat starstruck, how rapidly your reality could be twisted. The worm wedging inside your simultaneously rotting apple of a brain you had smothered away days earlier. You wanted to convince yourself he was busy, to ease the worry, arguing that Summer was approaching and hay fever could be assaulting members of the Castle. Summer passed though, and so did the Mail boy carrying no “Yn Ln” assigned letters in his leather satchel.

Next was the anger, the ache. Childlike confusion as to why, when. Jeongin was not one to stop writing back without prior notice of his situation. But like you had fretted, in those eight months he might’ve changed. Yang Jeongin, your Yang Jeongin, might have changed into a spiteful man. Worst case being he forgot. Gradually, he would forget. About your love, about growing up together, about you. Nonsensical anxiety began wading itself through your veins, infecting your head. Furthermore, your anger persisted. Considering your anxiety was infectious, the anger was parasitic. Flaming and unhinged to where you were left no choice after long summer days waiting for a response but to find your own solution to the ghosting.

. ..

“Han Jisung I have every right to talk to that son of a bitc-''And I have every right to give you a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you cannot see Jeongin right now.” He butts in, addressing your flailing arms with a sheepish expression. Sheepish. Han Jisung is sheepish when he’s making excuses. You’ve determined that rather quickly. Taking a perplexed step back, you cross your arms over your chest, regarding the walking excuse impatiently.

You’ve been sleepless for two weeks now, arranging a time and date as to when you would finally show your face at the Castle’s gates again to confront Jeongin only to be told he was unavailable. Being impatient was a given.

“Enlighten me.”

A big sigh.

“Please don’t misinterpret this, I’m sure he would love to see you, talk to you and all the things a person does with their lover that I know of because of romance novels I’ve read in my past time and oh no I’m talking too much but um, he is quite occupied at the moment.” Along with tapping his foot, Han’s habit you’d learned from Jeongin is he rambles ceaselessly. Only problem being you can’t tell if it’s simply a trait of his or nervousness due to confrontation. You don’t buy it either way.

“And? What has been keeping him occupied if I may ask.” The unconvinced stare etching your face earns lifted brows, and it’s the Royal Guard’s turn to flail his arms, the clank of his metallic armor loudly echoing — causing once calm birds to strike to the skies fretfully.

“With all due respect, do you really believe he would tell me what he’s preoccupied with?”

Hm. That is fair. Jeongin has always been a quiet one apart from conversing with you, his necessary antics placed at the top of the list. Somewhere, you hoped you’d be on the top of that list too, a fleeting thought you knew would be recurring.

Trivial deciding between going back to the village to wallow in your own self pity or make an equally pitiful sprint to Jeongin’s Apothecary to wring the man, luckily, the former reigned supreme in decision-making on this particular occasion. You breathed a long puff of air through your nose, shifting your weight into your heel from one foot to the other thoughtfully.

“Then, can you inform me when he’s not preoccupied?” No, you’re not giving up, simply rescheduling. Venturing back to the villages to await a letter from anyone, telling you the man has gained enough confidence to make room for you, that he had “rescheduled.” Han flashes a small smile, ruffling your hair kindly unlike the same sheepish contortion gracing his features. He doesn’t have to say anything to understand, to know of your struggle. You also know he sees your roaring anguish. Han Jisung has always been like that. Empathetic to a fault.

Changbin as the good listener, Han as the empathetic, and Jeongin as the man who was preoccupied.

Another optic of contemplation negotiates that you should have brushed the doubts away, decided against putting so much into gaining a single letter back. Nevertheless, it was impossible to both diminish the doubts and will a letter, and most certainly to ever let go of Jeongin. Perhaps he could manage to let go when it came to you, but it would never be the other way around.

Eventually you learned he surely couldn’t be that occupied, you mean, if he had the audacity to show his face in the pottery shop his list of priorities couldn’t be that time consuming now could they? Days from breaching a year without even seeing him and the one responsible for your misery causally entered the exact shop you had fled Castle life for. Referring to “eventually” as in right on time to absolutely wreck whatever fragments of acceptance you had gathered during his absence. Jeongin was good at making you lose, almost as good as he was at changing your mind.

Had Han said something to him about your visit? It seemed not, since the man didn’t pay any mind to you, like you didn’t exist just as the Royals had done. Your blood ran cold, standing frozen behind the front desk, eyes glued to the figure who casually strolled through the front door as if he hadn’t shattered your soul into a bountiful disarray a year in advance.

“Why are you here?”

“To get a jar.” He bites back coldly, bitter. Quick upon answering without consideration, not even turning to look at you.

A stranger, Yang Jeongin, is the exact figure who had walked through the door. Not someone you knew, but a stranger, a mere customer with a crude attitude.

“You’re aware you could have sent Han to get a new jar for you, like you had him tell me you were occupied with your duties, right? I see through-“No you don’t!”

Everything seemed to go rigid. Jeongin never raised his voice. But he did, and his mouth lay agape as he stared at you. Eyes blazing with something unreadable. Your hands tremble by your sides, fighting to maintain a composed expression as you stare back. This time, you compose with a heavy tongue, mouth just as dry as before.

“Are you going to say because of your position you could not even bother to acknowledge my feelings, couldn’t respond to my letters? Because you are the Healer and I am the invisible god-daughter you cannot just tell me what is taking up your time? Stop hurting me, please Jeongin.”

His jaw clenched. Pausing, then resorting to stepping over to where you stood and harshly sitting the clay jar atop the counter without a word. Jeongin spoke much without words, today, you didn’t want to listen. Hushed, he parted strawberry lips you’d kissed more times than healthy and there you are, hanging on with the feeble belief this is Jeongin you’re speaking to and not a stranger.

“… I knew if I sent out another letter I would come here, see you, fall all over again and have to stay. But I presume in the end my feet always lead me back to you.”

You feel your heart shattering into a million pieces, worried he’d crumble like a year ago and you’d pathetically follow suit. Instead, you smiled. A real smile that hurt your cheeks because you missed him, missed this even if it was an argument. Missed the hurt and the denial and the rawness of it all. Most importantly, missed your best friend and the love of your life.

Forgiving. You allowed yourself to forgive too easily with Jeongin.

In order to make eye contact you peek beneath dark strands of hair, adorning a big smile while gazing at him you can’t believe manages to appear when you should be fuming.

“You have grown so handsome, Innie.”

Because he has. His jawline has grown sharper(maybe it’s your lack of inspection) and his once tightly cut hair has become overgrown and unkempt, somehow foolishly infatuating. He looks older, he looks lonesome.

Stalling, he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes unevenly flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“.. May I kiss you?”

Considering it, you should’ve pushed him away, drilled him about how cruel he was to you and then shun him from the shop — shouldn’t have smiled or complimented him. Shouted at him for the Summer he left you waiting, wanting. For the never ending worrying he’d burdened you with. Sensible, but not the outcome you favored. After all, it was a refreshing time of year and opportunities like this were a bit too tempting to resist. He gave the impression he felt the same sort of gaping hesitance anyway.

“Just once.”

It’s his turn to laugh sadly, and he does kiss you. Slow and careful like you were a porcelain teacup, like the first time. Like he’s sorry, meaning it without an excuse. And miraculously, Innie had returned to visit you too. The one you knew, not the stranger nor a customer. Not the man who stopped sending you letters, not the one who raised his voice.

“Will you come back to visit? Or is this a fleeting chance?” Thick lashes dust fervently upon pulling apart, attempting to clear his rosy-hazed vision while listening to your whisper. Sneakily, his hand slips forward, spinning the jar sitting between you while another occupies itself on your cheek, caressing the skin he’s dreamt of.

“For another jar and ingredients, certainly.”

You’re quick to shove him, dubiously irritated by his ability to carelessly tease. Charming, but you won’t let him know that.

“Take this seriously!”

Giggles fill the expanse of the pottery shop as you playfully banter back and forth, drinking in the raindrops after your lengthy drought. Omniscient is the mutual unspoken sorry he mutely confessed to you, over and over with his affection, his words, his touch.

“However I have yet to let my unanswered letters go disregarded.” You perplex, Jeongin’s smile a risky jargon — concealing some sort of mischievous intention.

“Don’t fret yourself love, I’ll make up for all the responses you weren’t delivered.” He leans across the wooden panel, ushering a kiss you stubbornly resisted. Finally he maneuvers to your lips, snatching chaste pecks here and there as you struggle, laughing all the while. As if he’s carefully scouring back all the times he could have savored your lips in your time apart.

“Every day,”

Kiss.

“I will deliver a response,”

Kiss.

“With a flower attached from the shop next door,”

Kiss.

“Until all the letters I didn’t answer are answered.”

He’s satisfied with himself after you affirm the decision with a subtle chuckle, patting him on the shoulder and slipping his earlier payment into a compartment below the counter.

“I said you could kiss me just once, but I’ll look forward to my letters of compensation.”

Goodness, have you given enough credit to his smile? No description could possibly describe its beauty. One of his many factors you missed dearly. Imagining the future, you wondered if you would be granted the ability to witness them — all the pieces you thought you had lost after eight months. Time would tell. He left, except his departure wasn’t heartfelt. Instead it felt as if he would drop by tomorrow like back in the Castle, like things were how they used to be.

Awakening the following day, you figured Jeongin had been joking, not anticipating him to immediately write back and definitely not anticipating him to attach a flower alongside. Apart from the many miles separating the villages from the Castle, where he found the time to answer so many letters and supply flowers stood challenging to comprehend. Although you were proven wrong when the Postal service slipped a pristinely pale envelope into the shop's mailbox in the midst of your shift, mesmerizing White Orchids embellishing the visual. And for a moment, your mind streamed clearer. There he goes, leaving you breathless again.

The field chatter, the daisy bracelets. He proves you wrong a second time. He had listened. Listened to you talk all that time ago about those flowers and their meaning, otherwise he wouldn’t have added it with the letter you sent exclaiming your frustration about his sudden unresponsive state. Listened unlike the Royals had. Listened like a best friend, like a lover should.

White Orchids symbolize “I’m sorry.”

The next day, then the next. More letters passing by your window, beneath your door, in the mailbox or by hand on your way to the stalls. Petals littering the floor the only trace of your not-so-secret admirer. Twenty days later, they keep arriving in a constant and you’re left to ponder if perhaps he had planned this. Planned to apologize, planned to respond.

Friday. Pink Camellias symbolize “I missed you.”

Occasionally he would stay a while and watch you read his letters, scooping you up in his arms or wistfully chuckling from afar. Drinking in the time he was longing for and awaiting the time he’d experience now that he had you. And despite being Sunday and early at that, the letters continued to pour. Except today, unbeknownst to you, happened to be your last letter among hundreds, and a knock at the shop's door hadn’t gone unnoticed in the midst of your daily shift. Stirring you awake from whatever illusions had pulled you from the world's atmosphere. Walking outside to see what was the matter, you gasped, shocked by the large bouquet of vermillion flowers the man held that nearly concealed his face due to their abundant size. Jeongin, clad in a clean tanned trench coat, grinned a saccharine beam as he spoke, squinted eyes and puffy cheeks just as you remembered.

“This is your last letter, I hope I can make up for everything I’ve missed, my love.”

The flowers he held?

Red Chrysanthemums.

Red Chrysanthemums symbolize,

“I love you.”

all rights reserved by @sunboki. repost and plagiarism will not be tolerated.

feedback much appreciated :)

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

EESHU HOW ARE YOU DOING AFTER THIS EPISODE??? i’m very torn because it was amazing and soft in a lot of scenes, i love me some judd screen time and i love that we are finally getting to see what this situation is doing to him, i love seeing tnt together like that and i loved carlos getting his closure, talking to his dad, accepting that he’s ready to live on and that doesn’t mean he’s forgetting his dad, and that he’s ready to take jonah in and be a dad himself. and i loved that tk was there to support him.

but also, there were so many plot holes in this ep i needed to rewind a few times just to catch up. i know it’s the last season and they’ve got a limited number of episodes and they need to give everyone a good closure, but how about we give this huge ass plot twist at least two episodes?? how about we give carlos finally finding his father’s killer a little more screen time that just those 10 minutes? how about we get to see tk’s reaction to carlos being shot in the chest?? how about we get at least a conversation between carlos and tk, be it a fight about carlos not wanting to adopt jonah and tk leaving him or be it a reconciliation after the whole shooting situation. like that comment tk made about choosing jonah over carlos was very random, it felt like it was just thrown in there. and then i cried so much during that last scene with carlos talking to his dad, but even then, what happened in between that comment from tk and that last scene?? we were missing so much information this time, i really felt like the plot holes were too much

i really hope that with those three episodes left we really do get some closure for everyone, and i hope it won’t be as rushed as this episode was. because it really was thrilling and beautiful, but it also lacked so much of what makes 911 lone star.

anyways, i just felt like ranting a bit, i read in some of your posts that you were a bit disappointed too so yeah :,)

Hello Cece!! hi.

I’m right there with you. This episode left me with mixed feelingsss.

I loved Carlos’s storyline. Absolutely loved the plot twist in the end. It not being Campbell—it slapped. I always considered the chief being the insider and I’m so glad the show went that one. Always appreciate how the reason was something as simple as money—because that’s usually the root cause of this kind of thing—money. I love that it wasn’t something more complicated than that. It felt real. And when Carlos realised that he still feels as broken—I felt that. We all saw this coming and it happened anyway. That’s how grief works. So all in all, I’m 100% satisfied with Carlos/Gabriel’s arc.

Now coming to Tarlos, this episode was just bad when it comes to them. Idc the reason, time limitations or whatever —it was done poorly. If they had the time to include a 10 second scene of TK considering the very real possibility of divorce from Carlos, then they had time to show a 10 second resolution clip. A hug in the end was just not enough. I’m usually okay with off screen resolutions tbh when it’s an ensemble cast but this storyline deserved better than that. Additionally, it could also be because I’m against the whole magically fixing the ‘parent’ situation in a show for a happy ending thing.

I’m hoping though that episode 11 will fix some of this itch I’m feeling currently lol

[hellofeanor]

Who wants a cosplay breakdown of the Annatar outfit from the Rings of Power trailer, based on all information I've been able to find so far? Nobody? I don't care. You're getting it anyway. With a bunch of poor quality over-zoomed reference images.

COME OVER-ANALYZE THINGS WITH ME!

What colour is this fucker? At first I was convinced that black and gold was a bit too on the nose, and thought that surely it had to be extremely dark brown or blue or something. But then I saw some higher res images and remembered that this is also the show that put feathers on Elrond's shirt and made Gil-galad All Gold All the Time. In this pic below, you can see some subtle colour variations in the leather bits, but the robe still looks black. So I'm gonna go with yes, this outfit is indeed black and gold.

2. What's it made of? Shoulder feathers/leaves: leather. Robe: looks like a low-ish pile velvet to me, painted with a large gold linework pattern. Under sleeves: possibly a lightweight wool? Sash: unsure, might also be velvet but of an even lower pile cotton variety. Belt: probably leather.

3. What do you mean by 'sash'? Okay so this is a weird detail. At first I thought this was a robe with a qipao-style side opening, and the bright vertical stripe of gold we see is trim on that opening. But no, I don't think that's trim at all. You can see it kiiiiiiind of move and ripple in a way that indicates it's not actually attached to the garment at all, and from the back, you can see there's a piece that drapes over his shoulder and ends in... a cute lil tassel. I think this is literally a table-runner style sash that hangs over his right shoulder and falls down the front, tucked into the belt. What does it look like at the bottom? No clue yet, since we haven't seen a full length view of this outfit. But I'm sincerely hoping it's another goofy tassel.

4. What's the sash made of? As mentioned above, base fabric may be low pile velvet. And it's covered in highly reflective gold leaf. The design looks dull in some lighting but very gold in other cases. You can see that the gold leaf looks worn and is less intact in some places than others. There appears to be a short repeat to the design.

5. Shape of the robe? This one's tough since we don't have a view of the whole thing yet. So this is me guessing based on a couple clues. I'm going to guess that it's floor length, if he's trying to fit in with other Eregion elves here. It's a similar slim silhouette to what we see on Celebrimbor. And another Celebrimbor-adjacent detail is... I'm not sure if this robe has separate sleeves or if they're just built right in and extend from the shoulders. Celebrimbor's ep 8 forge outfit has contiguous sleeves, and based on the way the shoulders lie and the underarms kind of bunch up, I'm wondering if this is the same.

6. Continuing on with the sleeves: they have a little T-shaped cuff detail, with trim around the edge that originally thought was large beads similar to what we see on Halbrand's ep 8 shirt, but I now think might be braid. Large, reflective black beads are scattered about the cuff as well.

7. The under sleeve looks like a matte black fabric with a very slight fuzziness to it. It's somewhat elongated, covering the entire wrist and wrinkling up over the forearm. More black beads/rhinestones concentrated around the cuff, thinning out as they move upward.

8. Finally: belt. Wide gold leather(?) with interwoven braided detail and circle/ring motifs inside the gaps of the braid. Fastens on the front left with a mechanism that isn't visible. Possibly hooks. Belt is snug enough to cinch the robe and sash in place, and sits above the natural waist.

9. In conclusion: how does this all go on? Well, the belt is the only thing we can see that has a closure. Everything else is guesswork. Those undersleeves are fitted enough that they may actually have an invisible zipper in the seam. A little seam divot is visible on the inner arm.

No visible closure (yet) on the robe or leather shoulder armour. My guess is the leather fastens up either the right side or the back, and the closure is hidden by his hair and the overlapping feather/leaf pieces. As for the robe, it could either fasten up the back (as most of Celebrimbor's outfits must do) or have a small opening at the front neckline (like Halbrand's ep 8 shirt). Either option would be hidden by the leather. But since the front of the robe is so perfectly flat and the leather doesn't extend down all that far, I'm going with back opening as the more likely option.

And there we go. Everything I've been able to figure out about this costume so far in the (checks calendar) six days since it dropped and I became obsessed with it. There's a very high chance that after I post this I'll either think of something else I forgot to mention or discover another new and infuriating detail, but let's leave it at this for now and I'll reblog again with additions as they come up.

Also with my progress because obvs I'm going to make this.

[loneswaggingranger]

So... my thoughts on the latest season of Sex Education is a little... jumbled, but overall I give it, like, a 7/10. Here's just some of the parts that I liked and disliked (rmb that this is just my interpretation of watching it and is no way conclusive against other interpretations)

Spoilers below!

Likes

I like that Cavendish is kind of a turn-tables situation where queer/left-wing-progressive ppl are at the top of the social food chain. It realistically shows how even in a space where discrimination of any kind is prohibited, there will still be complex issues that need to be discussed, e.g., toxic positivity, accessibity issues etc.

I also like Eric's whole storyline of finding himself with God. I'm not religious or anything, but I feel his storyline are going to empower a lot of religious queer people.

Adam is always a favourite. His actor just brings so much to the table and his performance is always outstanding. His closure scene with Eric was 💖💖

I love that the show confronts Otis' standing of privilige and how he's sidelined his friendship with Eric. I also like how the main relationship that got repaired was his and Eric's. It's nice to see platonic friendships take the center stage over romantic ones.

I love that Maeve and Otis show how an amicable breakup, still full of love, can be. It shows that if you love someone, you'll love them enough not to hold them back.

Maeve's funeral speech, and her scene conversing with Jean at the dining table made me weepppppp.

I also loved the different ways of grieving the show shows with Maeve and Sean. Sean was clearly in pain, and as the older one, he'd probably seen a bit more shit than Maeve. And he was valid for not wanting to do the funeral because of the pain his mother caused him. But also, Maeve's wish to honour her mother one last time was commendable as well. She remembers the good AND the bad of her mother, and that's just really big of her.

I loved the scene with her telling her professor that a teacher's word holds a lot of power.

I love Maeve's arc entirely basically.

Dislikes

O's entire character was... problematic. Like she did quite a number of problematic things that weren't addressed in the storyline at all. Like she presses her way into other's vulnerabilities without them giving her explicit consent. She looks at things that by all terms, should have been left strictly confidential (Jean's paper about Otis, for example) and then brings it up as if it were a completely okay thing to do. I really wanted to like her, like I see where she was coming from and she has really cool style and she's the only East Asian rep for the show. Just, as an East Asian person watching this (though I'm not from the UK), it just felt very othering that the ONLY East Asian rep in the show had to be played against the main character. I didn’t like her because she was the story's antagonist to the main character. If there were other East Asians in the series, I might have felt better about it but like, O being the only one, and also being a problematic character just leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

I really think Adam's storyline could have been integrated more into the Cavendish storyline. Coz right now his just feels like it's hanging on the side with no real connection to the main plot. I love his horses tho.

The show should really have stuck with its existing characters rather than broadening the scope to... Jo, for example. Anwar and Olivia could have been explored. Idk what went on behind the scenes but like, for a final season, shifting the main focus to the main cast and just a couple new ones should have been enough. I love that it's working to be diverse and inclusive, but jam-packing so many different experiences into one last season just felt... jarring for the season's ending.

[memekais]

epic the musical sentence starters. the ocean saga. feel free to change pronouns as needed!

storm

these waves and tides have grown in strength and size.

is it nature or divine or a blessing in disguise?

our home's in sight.

this storm's our final fight.

brace for a storm!

with home so close, we must keep pushing forward.

head towards the island but avoid the crashing waves.

tread where the tide is flat and then you will be saved.

have them follow my ship, i'll ensure that we prevail!

we're taking too much damage to survive.

at this rate, we won't make it out alive.

grab the harpoons, as many as you can find!

we're gonna shoot for the sky!

everyone grab a harpoon and aim it high!

we're shooting for the island in the sky!

luck runs out

please don't tell me you're about to do what i think you'll do.

you've heard the legends of the island in the sky, this proves they're true.

i'm gonna climb to the top and ask 'em for a hand.

you could be caught off guard and lose your life or piss off this god and infuse us with strife.

don't forget how dangerous the gods are.

have faith, friend, we've come this far.

how much longer till your luck runs out?

how much longer till the show goes south?

how much longer till we all fall down?

you rely on wit, and people die on it...

i still believe in goodness, i still believe that we could be kind.

lead from the heart and see what starts.

what will we do when it tears us apart?

i just don't wanna see another life end.

you're like the brother i could never do without.

suddenly you doubt that i could figure this out?

how much longer till your great days cease?

how much longer till your strength takes leave?

thank you for the concern but brother I can assure you our journey is almost done.

i understand that we're tired, i understand that we're fazed but don't forget how much we've already faced.

if you'd like to speak more, let me pull you aside then i need to talk to you in private.

i can't have you planting seeds of doubt, i can't have you disagreeing each route...

i need you to always be devout and comply with this or we'll all die in this, okay?

keep your friends close

our path to home is blocked by an impenetrable storm.

i ask for your assistance so we at last can go the distance.

i am the wind, twisting and turning, i give the fire enough to stay burning!

if you win, you will get what you're yearning.

take a look right here at this bag, it has the winds of the storm all trapped.

sounds too easy, what's the catch?

keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

never really know who you can trust.

sometimes killing is a must.

the end always justifies the means; friends turn into foes in rivalries.

we cannot let the treasure rumour fly.

now they wanna get the bag open so they can have closure.

sometimes sneaking is a must

for nine days, i've stayed wide awake.

i can't wait to make some new memories.

time for me to be the father i never was.

why are my eyes and my heart and my soul so heavy?

i keep on tried to embraced you both. why won't you let me?

we can save whatever wind we have to use another day, come on!

[NAME].... do you know who i am?

ruthlessness

in all my years of living, it isn't very often that i get pissed off.

i try to chill with the waves but damn, you crossed the line.

i've been so gracious and yet, you hurt the son of mine.

i'm left without a choice and without a doubt!

guess the pack of wolves is swimming with the shark now!

i've gotta make you bleed, i need to see you drown but before you go, I need to make you learn...

ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves!

you are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great!

a greek who reeks of false righteousness, that's what I hate!

you fight to save lives but won't kill and don't get the job done...

you are far too nice - mercy has a price!

it's the final crack we're about to break the ice now!

unlike you i've got no mercy left to give.

now it is finally time to say goodbye. today, you die unless, of course, you apologize...

we meant no harm, we only hurt him to disarm him!

we took no pleasure in his pain, we only wanted to escape!

the line between naïveté and hopefulness is almost invisible.

so, close your heart the world is dark, and ruthlessness is mercy.

i am your darkest moment... the monster that always draws near.

any last words?

[yuseirra]

My brain keeps running on its own trying to formulate a way to make sense out of it all but at this point, I wonder if it'd be worth theorizing(If I can think of something good I'll still love to share :) )

Believe it or not, I'm very, very, very stern about trying to stay true to canon.. Because working with existing characters, they have their cores don't they? I really do want to care about portraying them in ways that are true to how they are in their respective stories, that's what makes them, them

With onk.. I'm starting to wonder...(yeah I just started;) this may be the first time where I may go oh let's just ditch canon I'll do whatever I want depending how it goes. Maybe I still believe some sort of miracle may happen in the remaining chapters that'd wrap everything together at may it be cluttersome(sorry but there is literally no room left for it to be able to meet its closure in a beautiful and graceful way with a deep sense of nuance and depth the way this work deserves. It's INCREDIBLY SHORT. It cannot happen within that amount of space it needs at least ten decently lengthy chapters.) but..I don't know~~.....

Oh I'm more concerned than hyped and it's been that way ever since I started vigorously drawing for this series again this July tbh 154 was GOOD, how come everything went downhill from there haha😂.. That chapter had me so hooked and I felt I knew all the answers that were to come from that point forth. I really had a huge intuition of how things would play out(and surprisingly, the possibility is actually still there)

I don't think I'm the type of fan who can ignore canon and do what I want, I've never been that way and I can't bring to convince myself of what's not there (this means, I sincerely believe in all the things I've been drawing o<-<) but... Let's see how it goes. I was so stressed and tense ever since I started drawing hikaai...I don't like being unsure of things...what if they're totally different from what I make of them...but seeing how CANON's going, maybe I don't have to care so much either if it's doing whatever it wants, canon feels so unhinged, was there ANYONE who was able to predict what were to happen 100%? What are they doing?; So yeah.

Oh;; I hope Aqua's okay. It's just...so cruel. I've been annoyed with him but that's because I wanted him to live!!! Why doesn't he- why did he HAVE to do THAT?? Hurt his dad and everyone he loves and even himself, I'm trying to find a reasoning that's convincing enough for me to comprehend just how this could make sense and hold some kind of message although it's downright horrifying; I kept asking in my posts all yesterday right? What message are thet trying to send with this and what could be the point? I can understand if they do a good job with it, I've been putting my effort in order to make out what good may come out of it but I guess only the author would know for now

I don't know where this post is going myself, I'm just writing out my thoughts, this series may have taught me a lot about myself that I wasn't so aware of...

I guess when conflicts appear I end up going, "they couldn't have had malicious intent, could they?" on many occasions, you really don't know what the other party can be thinking so for most cases, it just feels better to believe they didn't mean harm or evil. Maybe I'm being that way about Hikaru but AI LOVED THAT GUY. I didn't have a lot of thoughts about him before that dropped! I couldn't make a clear judgment so I just left my interpretation of him on hold. Oh ;v;).. It's been REALLY ROUGH holding out for him after that happened pft will that pay off.. That guy's still so ambiguous. I rather him be a good person. The story is better if he were. I guess believing in someone is hard but I'll.. Do that till I can. I think Ai would have?

You know, if I were Ai, I'd end him with my own hands if he became that messed up. That's how I drew that one comic after 162. I'd give him a hug and then end him lol because I'd feel responsible in a way. It's ridiculous and tragic how things turned to be the way it is but it doesn't feel so resolved either

I'm afraid about the fate of this series but at least not long left now. Hopefully I can still draw Ai and her bf in a wholesome manner, I really cared for those guys and I'd love to stick around and do more for it at least for awhile

[chaoticbasicallyuselessbisexual]

okay so, I'm here to rant a bit

I watched the last unicorn for the first time in years with my new friends on uni. I convinced them to watch it with me cause it's always been one of my favorite movies when I was a kid. we all had fun during the movie, and it was overall just a really fun and bonding time for all of us.

but of course, there is something that's just bothering me to no end.

my friends collectively agreed on not liking the young prince, that falls in love with Amalthea.

though I understand their point of view (they thought that the romantic line was unnecessary), I can't help but empathize with him.

because from my point of view, he fell in love. that's all he did. fell in love with someone he couldn't have, and he was brave enough to face it, admit it to himself, and work on what he viewed as important to himself at the given moment (went to find her again so he could tell her his feelings and have a closure of the whole thing), and I admire that.

of all the times I've ever been in love, I have always felt that I fell in love with the wrong person, and I worked so hard on making myself understand it's not my fault. seeing my friends talk the way they did about Lir made me question whether I'm stupid or just really unlucky.

because, if he's not the embodiment of falling in love with the wrong person, then I seriously don't know who is. I've always felt strongly about this movie, and as I'm getting older, I can understand him better and better. when I was younger, I thought that surely that's love - he's never gonna give up on her, he'll always dream of their own happy ending; but I think differently now. not so much, perhaps, because it still starts the same. I think that surely that's love - trying again and again, hurting so badly, not knowing how it's going to end.

it ended badly for him, in a way. we never know what happened to him on his way. we just know that he left for the world, for the last unicorn. and to me, that's such a familiar pain that I can't help and love that character in a weird "i can see my reflection in your eyes" kind of way.

the entire story is incredibly sad, but I love it all the more for it. it's sad from the beginning to the very end, and maybe I'm weird, but I love it for it. for the pain I can see somewhere else than in my own life.