#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.

[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!!!!!!!

[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.

[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.”

[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 양정인

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.

[kyliafanfiction]

Shell 4.3 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

Lisa leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table, “So if you needed another reason to think Glory Girl is a privileged bitch, look no further.”

“They don’t need nearly as intense an event to make their powers show up.  Glory Girl got her powers by getting fouled while playing basketball in gym class.  She mentioned it in a few interviews she gave.”

Or maybe you could wonder just what's going on in someone's home life that would make a basketball foul such a terrible event for them?

I kind of have somewhat mixed feelings about the fact that (apparently) Ward retcons the 'second gen triggers easier' thing, because that actually feels like a cool worldbuilding choice.

Then again, given what I gather Ward (apparently) reveals about Victoria's trigger, I still kind of feel like it somewhat pales compared to say, Taylor's trigger. So it still may be true, just not as easy as some would have thought.

Amy is second gen and hers wasn't exactly easy, after all.

Obviously, not coming into this blind, so it's hard to say how I'd feel about this if I read it blind. Like, on the one hand, we haven't been given a countervailing POV, but Lisa has clearly established herself as wanting to upplay the 'darker side' of the heroes, and stuff, to Taylor, so this could just be posturing.

I'd like to think, if I came at this blind, I wouldn't take Lisa at face value (because why would anyone, at this point?) and instead consider 'what makes someone's life so shitty that a basketball foul is such a bad day for them?'

Like, topic change but - AITA and related subreddits get a lot of cases where the poster is obviously, so obviously not TA and people wonder why they're asking, and sometimes it feels like they're posting for validation, and maybe they are but like... if someone's life is that bad that they need the validation from strangers on a subreddit?

I feel like let's give them some? So it's sort of like that, here? Like, if Vicky triggers from a basketball foul (and really, Lisa, why take Victoria at face value about this, especially since you now officially know New Wave isn't as shiny as they pretend), then seriously, let's wonder why that of all things counts as such an unpleasant experience for her?

“It’s okay,” Brian reassured me, “It’s one of those things you only really hear about from other capes, and you only know us.  Maybe you’d hear more about trigger events if you took a university class in parahuman studies, but I doubt you’d get the full picture there.  Kind of have to go through it yourself.”

I feel like this would come up on PHO? The Wiki? Maybe Taylor just didn't spend enough time there, but...

This really does feel like a poorly presented exposition excuse. But then, sometimes you need those, especially in a story like Worm.

I found myself at a bit of a loss for words.  I couldn’t really explain why I didn’t want them interfering, “I don’t really know.  I think… I guess I feel that if you guys jumped in and beat them up or humiliated them or made them tearfully apologize, I wouldn’t feel like I’d dealt with things myself.  There wouldn’t be any closure.”

Then maybe actually deal with them already?! You're not even doing that. Taylor, please, don't believe their BS about being helpless before them!

��It went on for almost a year and a half before things quieted down.  Last year, around November, they… I dunno.  It was like they got bored.  The pranks got tamer, then stopped altogether.  The taunts stopped, and so did most of the hate mail.  They ignored me, left me alone.

See, this would be where it would have ended if Emma was sane. She genuinely would have gotten bored.

But instead, Emma's got more screws loose than an American Bridge. I mean, she doesn't give Amy a run for her money on how many issues she has, granted, but then, almost no one does, but still. Emma's issues have issues.

“Ew,” Alec interjected, putting down his food, “I was eating here.”

I mean, to be fair, this isn't really a dinner conversation, Taylor.

 It had been Sophia, I was almost positive: She was the most physically aggressive of the three.  But these guys didn’t need to know her name.

I doubt if she'd said the name it would have hit of Lisa's power enough to let her know that Sophia = Shadow Stalker, but it would make for an interesting AU/Fic Idea/Type Thing? :thinking_face:

I couldn’t leave the story unfinished, after getting this far, as much as I really wanted to.

You found a place where you feel as though you belong, are wanted, and like all people... well, you want to be understood. Can't really criticize that.

Maybe I should have, I dunno.”

Yes Taylor. You *should* have.

“The point I’m trying to make, if you’ll stop changing the subject, is that these girls would probably take their misery out on me, even if they didn’t know I was doing it.  I don’t trust myself to keep from retaliating, upping the ante.  You saw what happened with me and Rachel, the first time we met.  Things would escalate, I’d take things too far eventually.  Secret identity blown, or getting someone seriously hurt, like Lung was, only without the regeneration.”

I do get Taylor's point, I do, but I also feel like she's making excuses.

“There’s too much chance for things to go out of control if I take things into my own hands or have you guys do it for me.  

On the other hand, Taylor is kind of a control freak now, in a way, sortakinda, sooo....

“That would still be risking getting her assaulted,” I sighed, “Pretty girl walking down the side of the road at night?”

Taylor, you're doing a bad job of pretending to be a villain :P :rofl:

“Then why the fuck are you a supervillain?”

Good question. Don't give him the correct answer. :p

“Escape.”  The word left my mouth almost immediately, before I’d had a chance to even think about what it meant.  I couldn’t have taken the time to think before speaking, or they might have known something was up.  Lisa almost certainly would have. A few tense moments passed, and I chanced a look at Lisa and Brian.  Lisa was watching the dialogue, a small smile on her face, her chin resting on her palm.  Brian was kind of inscrutable, arms folded in front of him, no real expression on his face. I explained, “I can deal with real life, if I can leave it behind for this.  Kicking ass, making a name for myself, hanging out with friends.  Having fun.”

And this, beneath all the rationalizations, is the truth. The truest thing she's said in a while, I think, honestly. To herself, or anyone else.

“You’re volunteering, then?” Lisa asked Brian, ignoring my protests. Brian nodded, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

And the ship spills secrets to each other! From what I gather Brian/Taylor doesn't really have a satisfactory conclusion as a romantic subplot (does anything in Worm have a satisfactory conclusion? Okay I mean yes, the last three Arcs did, but still) but it's easy for the reader to be fooled into thinking it will be a more central detail of the story, from some of these bits.

[spittingbloodandscreaming]

may be an odd request but i was wondering if you could write a fic with a male!reader and vampire!g way that's a tad bit angsty :3?

not odd at all!! sorry if I went a little wild, but I had a vison and I ran with it

Vampire!Gerard Way x Male Reader Angst

WARNINGS: mention of prior abusive relationship, mention of death (gerard did it)

Tonight was the kind of situation where you had no real option other than to leave the bar, sit on the curb, and light a cigarette. Gerard stands a few feet away; as vampires are highly flammable. It’s gotten nearly pitch black out—you aren’t sure what time it is, but you know you should start getting home. Gerard says it before you stand up, though, which makes it seem like it was his idea. Something about that irks you.

“We really should go,” Gerard clears his throat, messing with the sleeves of his jacket as he speaks. “I know you’re upset, but—”

“Why am I upset Gerard? Tell me, what could’ve possibly happened?” You practically bare your teeth as you talk, staring at the burning tip of your cigarette as you speak. Gerard says nothing. You don’t like smoking—you only tend to do it when you’re guilty. Weirdly enough, you think you might be. You aren’t entirely sure why, but you have an intense feeling that something is wrong with you right now. You ruined the night out with a poorly-timed outburst over a dead bartender.

Gerard sits down on the curb with you. He knows you guys aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. He gets close to you, almost shoulder to shoulder—completely disregarding the lit cigarette in your hand. If you weren’t depressingly upset, you’d find that romantic, the way he’s risking his safety to be near you. You don’t notice, though. You shouldn’t be this upset, you know that. You’re ruining everything by doing this. You curse yourself under your breath.

You knew the bartender who died—you dated him in high school. You also knew that Gerard killed him, and, well, it shouldn’t bother you. But it does. One of the baristas told you about the death, how they think it was a wild animal, how his throat was torn from his body. It gives you chills. It doesn’t even bother you that Gerard killed a man, I mean, you knew it would happen. It wouldn’t bother you at all if you hadn’t dated the guy.

It was only for a few years, but it left a mark on you. A bad one. He was a bad guy, you know that. He’d get physical during fights, he’d cheat, he’d flirt with people in front of you. And, in the end, he was the one who left you. You never told Gerard ‘cause you were ashamed. You were embarrassed you’d stayed with him that long. You still feel that way. You’re worried that if he ever knew, he’d think less of you. None of that explains why you’re so mad about him dying though. Maybe you wish you could’ve done it yourself, maybe you’re still upset you weren’t the one to break it off. But really, you’re upset you never got an apology from him. You never got closure or even a sliver of remorse. It almost feels disloyal, being so upset over this. He doesn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter, but you’re crying, and you don’t know how long you’ve been crying, and you’re not sure you’ve really stopped crying since you were fifteen. 

You put your cigarette out on the concrete, crushing it as you do so. It’s started raining, or, by the looks of it, it’s been raining. Your shirt is soaked and so are the fronts of your pants. Gerard leans into you shakily, putting his face against your neck. You’re both so cold, and even though Gerard is always cold, he shivers. You wonder briefly if he did that just for show. He sighs lightly, and you realize that he has been crying too.

“I’m really sorry.” His voice is soft and pitiful.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I ruined our night out.”

“I didn’t know you liked him, honest.” Gerard pulls away to look at you, and seeing his tear-stained face softly lit by the LED signs of the bar window is enough to have your eyes welling with tears again.

“I don’t baby, he’s just a guy.”