#and i always feel better if i appreciate my old art for what it was at the time without holding myself to my current standards

[xxnashiraxx]

✨Ali's Birthday Bash! #5✨

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6

Back again for one more!! I may have to interrupt my pattern and post a single portrait again tomorrow, but bear with me! I know you all have been wonderful and so very patient in these and I appreciate it so much- I may take a day off on Wednesday just because it's going to be hectic and a holiday, but I'll cross that bridge tomorrow and see how it looks!

divider here!

Bonnie (for @ladyduellist)

This portrait has been one of my FAVORITES so far!!!! I love love love westerns and when I heard that @ladyduellist was writing a cowboy Astarion fic, I was ON THAT. So far, two wonderful chapters are out with more on the way in the future, and if you haven't read Slip Away Today please go out of your way to!! It's wonderfully written, with insanely beautiful imagery and vocabulary that makes me feel like I'm sitting in a saloon in the old west!

I chose to draw Bonnie, and wow was this one so fun! You wouldn't think it from this art, but I hate drawing hats and I somehow conquered that bad streak here- I think! I loved drawing this!! Ahh! I hope she looks how you imagined, friend!!! I tried my best to get her portrait accurate to the character creator screenshot you supplied - timing was SO GOOD because I had just started working on it!

On to my feels- YOU ARE AMAZING! You're funny, sweet, encouraging, kind, ever so talented, and a privilege to know 🫂❤️❤️ Your writing is poetry- beautiful and complex and something that I can tell comes from the heart. I know everytime I sit down to read something of yours, it's going to be a transcendent experience and it makes my soul feel good ❤️ I'm so glad I met you and get to read your work, behind though I may be. I'll always be honored to know you and hear your thoughts, your jokes- you make me smile and I'm so grateful for it. 🫂 I love you!!!

Thank you all so SO MUCH for all the love so far on this series!!! I made this to uplift my friends who truly make every day that much better, that much richer and full of life. If I can do what you've all done for me, well I'm going to try 🫂

I will be back tomorrow with another single, may have to take a break on Xmas, but I should have a mini Ofelia/Astarion fic coming out that day just to tide you all over! If I can edit it in time!!! Happy Christmas-Eve-Eve!!!

[wyvernquill]

I was rereading Unaching Scars (Which I Should Hide) and wanted to drop a quick compliment for the art!!! The scars are so amazing and really stand out, and I love what you did with the fire background!

Ooooh, thank you! <3 It's been so long that I sat here for about five minutes trying to remember which fic you mean... but then I recalled the Soulmate AU Pact of ages past, and the art I wrote for Pearl's fic, and the lightbulb went on above my head.

I'm glad you like it! At the time, I was still learning how to draw digitally, and just kind of threw brushes at the canvas to see what they did. That one turned out to result in some nice fire effects, lucky me!

[saturngalore]

afrofuturism🪐

☆ one ~ solange hair by darknightt (tsr warning) ☆ two ~ loretta hair by @simtric ☆ three ~ bahati braids by @sheabuttyr ☆ four ~ isonoe hair by octetsica ☆ five ~ binah braids by @sheabuttyr ☆ six ~ cornrows & curls hair by @leeleesims1 ☆ seven ~ indie hair by @sashima ☆ eight ~ loc petals by @shespeakssimlish ☆ nine ~ mnemosyne hair by octetsica ☆

mini dedication essay to black simmers and ts4 creators below! pls read if you have the chance! <3

this edit is a small homage to afrofuturism and the various unique black hairstyles (and especially the black creators of most of these hairs) that i have downloaded and admired over the years! some of these are old and some of these are new.

to me, afrofuturism means constantly honoring/reclaiming/challenging the past while constantly creating/dreaming of a better society/world/future. a society/world/future that embraces and empowers all of our differences, ingenuity, aspirations, and unique lived/cultural experiences. a society/world/future that does not limit us through the various systems of marginalization and oppression (racism, homophobia, transphobia, fatphobia, sexism, xenophobia, ableism, classism, colorism, etc.) that often affects how we, as black people, live today.

blackness is so diverse and intricate yet it's always been a struggle to find my culture within a game that's known for being so limiting, bland, and extremely eurocentric when it comes to hairstyles, clothing, food traditions/events, etc. black simmers have always had to figure out how to make this game more inclusive and make it resemble either more like how our ancestors lived, how our current lives are, or how we would want our lives (and even our children's lives) to look like in the future no matter how dystopian the real world look and feel now. fortunately, these hairs and their uniqueness bring a huge sense of culture and style to this game. they have always inspired me and made me feel extremely proud to a part of the lovely african diaspora (and the ever-growing black simmer community).

in a way, being a black simmer and cc creator usually means that we are often digitally creating our own worlds as afrofuturists to varying degrees (whether we know it or not) every time we open our game, make our sims, make houses, and/or make black cultural cc. also, now i know that cc making is not easy to do and is extremely time-consuming so this post is also just me giving all black cc creators especially those who create for free their well-deserved flowers! here are some other black cc creators who created cc that have greatly impacted my game since i first started playing sims 4: @/leeleesims1 @/simtric @/hi-land @/yuyulie @/sims4bradshaw @/ebonixsims @/xmiramira @/sheabuttyr @/qwertysims @/oplerims @/sleepingsims @/shespeakssimlish and so many more im forgetting probably (im too shy rn to tag ppl but i greatly appreciate y’all fr i hope y’all telepathically get this message somehow 😭).

last but not least, i am hoping that this inspires somebody to keep creating or start creating regardless of what they think their skill level is! somebody will absolutely fall in love with your work and/or your art/work will 100% change someone's game forever <333

[gor3-hound]

GIVE ME LOVE // NAOYA ZENIN

ft. brother!naoya x sister!reader

a/n: art by @/sakurai_itachi on twitter/x !! another commission for my fave @nexysworld ♡ more naoya... i feel like i'm single handedly populating the naoya x reader tag atp 😭😭😭 as always, feedback and reblogs super appreciated !!

cw: 18+ content, brother/sister incest, breeding, misogyny, kinda dub-con but very barely, spit, kissing, p in v, creampie, biting, tinyyyy amount of blood, naoya has feelings that he doesn't know how to handle, cockwarming

word count: 1.9k words

Growing up in the Zen'in clan taught you one important lesson - women would always be seen as inferior to men. It did not matter how hard you worked to prove yourself to the Elders in the clan. You were a woman, and that was crime enough.

More than anyone, Naoya had every right to resent you. Your mere existence was an inconvenience to him, but more than that, your birth dishonoured him. He already had to fight harder than your brothers to climb to the top and become the head of the clan, but sharing a womb with a woman was unforgivable. He was constantly ridiculed for having a female twin, and in turn, you were treated as a stain on the Zen'in name for bringing shame to a Zen'in heir.

Despite everything, Naoya could not bring himself to hate you. You were nothing but a woman, a thing. But he could not see his own twin as such. You were close when the two of you were younger, but as the years went on, you grew more and more distant. Now, with both of you past the age of adulthood and his claim to the clan stronger than before, you've been completely avoiding him.

If anyone asked why he was so obsessed with your absence, he would lie and say that his ego would not allow a mere woman to disrespect him so heavily by thinking she could be the one to ignore him, but the truth of the matter was that he missed you. Dearly. The thought alone had him burning red with embarrassment. He was meant to be better than this, and yet he was letting his emotions get the better of him over a stupid girl.

He strolls to your room late at night when he's sure he won't be caught. He doesn't want to explain to any of the assholes in his clan that he was about to grovel to his sister because he missed her company. He'd never recover. In fact, Naoya would rather die on the spot than be caught being so soft around you.

Naoya takes a deep breath before he pushes open the door to your room, eyes falling on your form sitting at the edge of your bed, bent over a book. He runs a hand through his hair before rapping his knuckles against the open doorway to get your attention.

“Hey.” He murmurs, shifting awkwardly between his feet, clearing his throat when you look up at him. “I piss you off or something? No need to be a bitch about it. Can't do anything if you don't tell me.”

He inwardly cringes at his words. He doesn't know how to do this, but he was willing to apologise if he upset you. He shuts his eyes for a moment sighing before speaking up again. “You've been avoidin’ me. Don't let what the old bastard said at dinner the other night get to you. I know you're a woman, but you're still a Zen'in. No need to be so sensitive.”

“I haven't been avoiding you.” You say in response, brows knitting together. Both of you know it's a lie - you'd always been an awful liar. Naoya scoffs, raising a brow at you. “And it had nothing to do with father. I've gotten used to him over the course of over two decades being his daughter.”

“You are avoiding me.” He huffs, stepping into the room and kicking the door shut behind him. “Don't bullshit me. You're a fuckin’ awful liar.”

Your jaw tenses for a moment as you close your book, setting it on the bedside table. Your eyes flick up, meeting him as he sits at the head of your bed, leaning back against the pillows.

“Father has not bothered me.” You repeat, running a hand over your face. “But our eldest brother has spoken of marrying the girl he's seeing. You spend too much time with me. We aren't kids anymore. My presence isn't helping your reputation. If we were seen less together, you could have more luck producing and heir to solidify your claim to-”

He should hate you, really. You'd ruined his chances at the life he wanted - the life he deserved a chance at by birth. He wasn't used to this tightness in his chest. Why was he so upset by you acting as if you were the reason he was seen as lesser by the clan if it was the truth?

“Are you fuckin' kiddin’ me?” Naoya hisses, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “We both know my claim was practically non-existent the moment your gender was revealed at birth. Not spendin’ time together isn't gonna do shit.”

He pauses for a moment, his eyes dropping to flicker over your body in a way that makes you tense. You can feel his gaze burning through you, a knot twisting your stomach. His expression darkens as he meets your eyes once more - he's made up his mind.

“You can fix this, y'know.” He murmurs, shifting closer to you in the bed. He chuckles as you back up, grin spreading across his face when you're pressed back against the headboard with nowhere to go. Naoya let's his head dip forward, nosing at the crook of your neck.

“So worried about my reputation. It isn't your place as a woman to worry about me.” He growls against your neck, continuing the trail of heated kisses along your skin, tongue darting out to taste you. He bites down before pulling back to meet your eyes. “If father needs an heir to legitimise me, we'll give him one.”

“Naoya, we can't. You're my brother-”

He cuts you off with a laugh, running his tongue along his teeth before he continues sucking marks along the length of your throat. “And? Our cousin did it, and he's on a vacation in Venice with his sister. As long as it's not a servant girl, our dear father doesn't give a shit.”

“You're nothing.” He hisses against your skin. To him, it isn't an insult. It's a mere fact. His breath is hot against the skin of your neck as he pulls back just enough to gaze at your body, hands moving to gently pull open your robes. “I can make you something. Give you some power in the clan. Just need you to go along with this, yeah?”

He kisses you to silence any protests that might bubble up, pushing the fabric away from your body as he works on undressing himself. He kisses you like he wants to possess you, teeth pulling at your lower lip, hands grasping your waist tight enough to bruise as soon as they're free. Naoya slips his tongue into your mouth with a groan, tasting you, claiming you. 

You break the kiss when you feel his fingers hook themselves in the waistband of your panties, eyes shooting open. “Naoya, wait-” 

“Shut up.” He hisses, but there's no real bite behind his words. He lines himself up with your entrance, chest rising and falling more rapidly than usual as he struggles to calm his breathing. “This is your duty. You ruined me. You can… you can fix this. You said you wished to help me solidify my claim, yeah? That's why you're avoidin’ me? This is how you can make up for all the years of ridicule I was subjected to.”

He presses forward slightly, just enough that you can feel the pressure of his cock trying to break through the tight ring of muscle. You take a deep breath, waiting for movement that doesn't come. He's just staring at you - waiting for some kind of agreement, you realise. With a shaky breath, you push back against him, nails digging into his arms as he presses forward, slowly sinking into you until he's buried to the hilt.

Naoya knows you're a virgin - not only because you're his sister, and he knows you enough to know you wouldn't destroy your honour before marriage - but also because of how fucking tight you're squeezing around him. He's warring with his body, trying to bring himself to go slow, to ease you into it.

But he's selfish. Even when it comes to you. He can't stop himself. He fucks into you roughly, shushing you gently as you make soft, pained noises. He grunts words of praise under his breath - so tight, so good for me, doing so well. Anything he can think of to soothe you.

“Gonna stuff you so full… gonna have you dripping me for weeks.” He groans, bracing himself with his arms either side of your head, holding his weight up as he fucks into you harshly, each thrust making the bed frame creak. The sight of your lips parted makes him feel a little dizzy, the pleasured little gasps spilling from them making his cock twitch. Drool pools on his tongue as he leans over you, and he opens his mouth to let the spit trickle onto your own before he leans down to press his lips against yours. The movement of his hips grows sloppy as he licks into your mouth, tongue exploring you forcefully, like he's attempting to claim every inch of you.

He bites your lip when he pulls back, drawing blood. His gaze is hooded with lust as he fucks into you, tongue darting out to lick the blood clean off your lip. He grins as he straightens back up, his hands grasping your hips as he begins to fuck into you with slow, deep thrusts, grunting as your cunt clings to him every time he starts to pull back.

“Milkin’ me dry, huh? Clenchin’ around your own brother's cock, don't even want me to pull out…” He punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrust, pulling you back against him. “Gonna cum… gonna fuckin’ cum, shit. Cum first, baby. Wanna feel that cunt grippin’ me before I fill you up.”

It doesn't take much more than that to have you seize up, body tensing as your release rushes over you in waves. He fucks you through it, drawing out your pleasure until he stills inside of you, choking out a moan as he shoots his load deep inside of you. He stays there for a moment, just taking in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

His gaze flutters down to you, and he collapses on top of you with a sigh before flipping the both of you over so you're lying on top of him without pulling out. His arms snake around your waist, your head resting against him.

“Didn't take you for a cuddler.” You tease after a moment, practically going up.

“Shut up. Fuckin’ brat.” He huffs, a hand coming up to the back of your head to press your face into his neck. “S'not cuddlin’. I'm making sure it takes. Gotta keep you plugged, yeah?”

You both know that's not the whole truth, but you say nothing as you settle against him, shutting your eyes as you relax in his arms. You'd deal with whatever this leads to in the morning, but for now, you were content to fall asleep with your brother.

[bookished]

( a collection of fun and adventurous dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <𝟑 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips, it's highly appreciated.

"Want to try sneaking into the movie theater?"

"There's this exclusive sky bar on the top floor. I bet if we act confident enough, we could just walk right in. Ready to blend in with the high rollers?"

"You know the 'Staff Only' areas in aquariums always look so intriguing. I've got an idea involving lab coats and clipboards. Interested?"

"There's a secret passage in this art gallery that leads to a hidden exhibit. I overheard the curator talking about it. Shall we go exploring?"

"I've always wanted to see a movie from the theater's projection room. I've got a friend who works here – you get what I mean?"

"So, that exclusive restaurant is fully booked for months, but I may have 'borrowed' a couple of names from the reservation list. Feeling adventurous?"

"The old amusement park's been closed for years, but I know a way in. Imagine having all those rides to ourselves under the moonlight."

"I heard there's an underground speakeasy in this library. Apparently, you need to whisper a password to the librarian. Wanna try our luck?"

"Remember that fancy pool party we weren't invited to? I've got two waiter uniforms and a brilliant plan. You in?"

"There's a secret rooftop garden on top of that skyscraper. I bet we could talk our way past security if we pretend to be lost interns."

"I know this sounds crazy, but I found a hidden door behind the museum. Want to see where it leads after closing time?"

"The local TV station does live broadcasts from that studio. I bet with the right timing, we could sneak onto a set during a commercial break. Ready for your 15 seconds of fame?"

"I discovered a hidden hot spring in the woods just outside town. It's a bit of a hike, but imagine a midnight dip under the stars."

"There's a secret room in the library that's usually locked. I copied the key while volunteering. Want to see what forbidden books they're hiding?"

"Remember that fancy cooking class that was full? Well, I may have found a way for us to observe from the kitchen's back entrance. Hungry for some culinary espionage?"

"I know how to get onto the roof of the tallest building downtown. The view of the sunset from up there is incredible. Shall we?"

"There's a masquerade ball at the governor's mansion tonight. I've got two masks and a wild idea. Care to crash a high-society party?"

"My friend works at the zoo and says we could help feed the penguins after closing time. Interested in a secret animal encounter?"

"I heard this old theater is supposedly haunted. Want to sneak in after hours and do some ghost hunting?"

"There's a secret beach hidden behind those cliffs. The catch? We'll have to climb down a rope ladder to reach it. You up for it?"

"I found an old map of the city's underground tunnels. Fancy a subterranean adventure date?"

[loudclan-clangen]

So, here is the pitch:

AU where Siltsplash finds out they are pregnant around the same moon that Eklutna gives birth to the boys. (Rather than an AU where Owl doesn’t cheat because then we wouldn’t have Song, Dance, or Dash and that won’t do)

It makes the betrayal even worse because it’s even more pointless since they were going to give Owl an heir.

Anyway, meet Spindlekit

She will eventually go blind I imagine, but if Owlstar suggest she retire she tells him that he should retire for being old lmao.

Warrior name is open to suggestion

I love her and I’m so mad that she doesn’t exist now.

The fact that Song doesn’t have a little sister is a CRIME. This is what he was born to do.

Not only am I okay with it, I would love to see it!

You are so right, here's a flashback that was cut for time from Moon 28:

Erminepaw has had a crush on Songpaw since they were in the nursery together, he just never called attention to it. He honestly probably doesn't even register that it is a crush, he's doing that thing that kids do where they're like this is my best friend, of course I want to marry him that's how everyone feels about their best friend. Nothing out of the ordinary here! Just my best friend that I must be holding hands with at all times for best friend reasons!

Yes! This is Fox----, he has been causing problems since the literal day he was born. You've met both of his parents, but I would be a little bit surprised if you guessed them correctly. Parental drama is kinda part of his whole deal. He's one of the first 3rd generation cats born in Loudclan.

I have SO much advice, about the images, the recommended size is 1280 x 1920 pixels, that's always a little too short for my panels, so I try to aim for 1280 x 2000 - 3000. It still deteriorates them a little bit, but people can always click on them for better quality. Bigger text and variation in values also help for readability regardless of size. (value meaning how light or dark a color is. if you want something to stand out it's more important to change the value than it is to change the hue generally speaking.) As for grabbing attention, I would recommend making sure that the image you're trying to show is visible above the cut off for longer posts, posts with only text visible are a lot less likely to get interaction. That being said, the most important thing for the longevity of your blog is making sure that it's something you are doing for yourself. There's nothing wrong with liking when your posts get attention, but it's not likely to happen for a long while (I think moon 5 was the first time I got double digit likes which was three months after I started.) I appreciate all of the love that Loudclan gets now, but if I had started with that as the goal I never would have been able to reach the point of it happening. (I actually started posting Loudclan with the intention of proving to myself once and for all that posting art was not a viable endeavor for me, so... I'll consider that a successful failure!)

You CANNOT DO THIS to me anon- "the canadian city"- YOU MEAN JUNEAU? YOU MEAN THE CAPITAL OF ALASKA JUNEAU?!?! JUNEAU?!?! CANADIAN?!?! When I catch you anon- anon when I catch you-

Come here, anon. I just want to talk. I just want to have a word with you.

[chlmtsdoll]

i need some dad art moments from u !!! 🩷

Yes yes yes. I don’t want kids so writing out the fantasies in my fics helps the girl instincts pass iykyk. 😉

Fluff | Dilf Art | he’s a soft parenting kinda guy so here <3

It had been past your girls bed time when you were found snug, on the couch as you sat cuddled up with Art in front of the tv. The two of you were getting ready just in time to start your movie night after setting your eight and two year old daughters tucked away for the night. So as they were sound asleep, you and your husband could finally get some time to wind down together. Just you and your Art.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight, sweets ?” Art questioned you with a fond smile as he relaxed against the pillows by your side, a blanket and remote in hand with him.

“Hmm, I feel like a drama tonight, I dunno- or.. romance?” you slowly began to grin as you always wanted to get Art to feel the feels with you when it was your turn to pick the movie. Which led him to playfully groaning as he shook his head. Every week it was the same pick with you.

“Baby..” your husband chuckled as he pulled your legs across his lap. “You always wanna watch a drama- - I’m not sure if I’m up for tears tonight.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as Art furrowed his brow in nervousness that you’d put on something that would have him reaching for the tissues for two hours.

“But crying during movies is fun!”

“Sure it is, but, there’s tons of other kinds of movies- - it is October now. What about something spooky?” The man did his best to convince you of watching anything other than another sappy film and you sighed as you sat in thought of his suggestion of scaring you into being paranoid all night.

“I suppose… but nothing too much. I wanna sleep tonight.” You titter and Art smirked.

“You’re fine. And if you do get scared, that’ll give me an excuse to hold you all night without you complaining that I’m suffocating you.” Art pulled you into his chest smoothly and you let out giggles as he wrapped both his broad arms around your body covered in your soft colored pajama set and comfy slippers.

Art was leaving kisses on your face before you heard the sound of tiny feet hitting the floor boards from the hallway. Approaching the living room, you and Art both looked down the way in which you heard the noise, sitting up when your two year old came running to the both of you.

“Daddy!” She yelled as she climbed the couch and collapsed straight in Arts embrace without any notion to you in your husbands grasp.

“Hey ! Hey.. angel, what’s wrong ? Did Lily wake you?”

Your daughter shook her head, and you leaned up as the tired child mumbled a bunch of unknown phrases with the occasional “daddy” in between being all the two of you could understand. You’d still been working on her vocabulary at the time being. So far, all she really knew was to ask for food, daddy, mommy (although she hardly used it because she always just wanted Art) and well.. Art.

He was her whole world these days. Most of the time ignoring you whenever her dad had been their to play and let her do parkour off of him. They were conjoined at the hip and it did give you more time to rest when Art had been home to be with the girls when you’d been the one with them most of the time while he was at tennis. It was like the moment he walked through the door they hadn’t even known of your existence anymore. Art would make jokes about being their favorite, but deep down he knew to remind the girls to love and appreciate their mama as well.

You smiled fondly as you reached to stroke your daughters hair, she laid her head on Arts chest like she’d been ready to go to bed. Wrapping her little arms around her dads torso as best as the sleepy girl could, like he was a pillow made just for her. It made your heart swell.

“I guess she couldn’t sleep again.”

“Yeah.. couldn’t sleep, my love?” Art coo’d as he glanced down at the baby, holding you and her as well as he could in his lap. He’d gotten better at it when it was a necessity to make himself shareable for all three of his girls. Most of his time at home with you all had been filled with each of you wanting him more than anything really, so luckily there was more than enough love to go around even for the busy man.

You leaned in and kissed the girls head softly before standing up.

“Well baby, it’s way past your bedtime. You gotta sleep so let’s get you up to your room-” as you reached to lift her from Arts hold, it was immediate whines and cries that come from the two year old.

“No!” She huffed and her pout was clear as she clung to Art away from your hands. Your shoulders dip in defeat as you sighed and looked up at your husband who already had an all knowing look on his expression of how this always went.

She had been like this gradually the last couple of weeks. She wouldn’t go down in her own bed or anywhere else unless Art held her to sleep. She wanted him every second of the day when it was time for her naps or just in general. Which hurt your heart at times when he’d be off at work because the little one would cry ferociously for her dad even with you. And as precious as you thought it was when they were together — her curled up in his arms, sought sound asleep with her cute cupids bows to her lip slightly agape against him, and eventually he would fall asleep with her as well. You wanted to be cuddled by your husband to sleep some nights too.

“C’mon baby, you gotta go to sleep. Daddy and I will stay with you, okay?..” you tried to take her hand, get her to want to sleep in her own bed with her own stuffed animals and right across from her big sister. But her stubbornness didn’t budge. She just fought off your hands and held on to Art as best as she could, tucking her face away in his shirt as you speak with soft whines.

“Princess, mommy wants you to sleep in your bed tonight. We gotta listen to her wishes…” Art tried to help with his soft but taunting tone. And your little one only pouted more, she turned away from you and hugged Art as the waterworks started. Your husband sighed and glanced back up at you.

“Just.. for tonight, why don’t we let her stay with us, babe?”

Art’s gentle nature matched his voice as he cradled his daughter closer in his embrace, leaving less space for you.

“But what about movie night..” you could of pouted too if you hadn’t remembered you’d been the one co in charge here, but Art only gave you a reassuring smile as he held the back of your head and brought you in for a sweet kiss.

“We can still have a movie. We’ll just have to keep quiet till she’s asleep than I’ll bring her back up. How does that sound, sweetness ?” Your husband handled it all so well, even better than you at moments you had to admit. Though you knew by the time your daughter had fallen asleep and your movie was over, you’d definitely be too beat for there to be any time to allude to anything else you and your husband could of spent doing. But you had to accept that. And even with your hand softly easing up on your little girl, you could only let it slip away with a soft breath before kissing goodbye your night alone with your husband.

“Fine, I guess it’ll be alright for tonight.” You spoke softly before looking down at your little one and rubbing her back tenderly.

Art couldn’t say he didn’t hope that he could’ve gotten just one night in between your daughters tough bedtime streak to enjoy you, especially since he just got a break from work. But as much as it would have been hard to say no to you, it was even harder for him to disregard his baby girl asking for him to bed. He just couldn’t resist. And to you it was never easy either — with the way she pleaded to be coddled. She had her daddy’s eyes, blue orbs with just a swirl of brown hinted in there looking up at you with pre-readied tears. His features standing out in her was always your weakest point especially when Art had looked right back at you to ask of her to stay. The night would come when you’d just have to send her back to bed. But that wasn’t gonna be tonight.

As the evening went on, you and Art did finish your movie and the man made sure to keep both of his girls supported comfortably by his side, you palmed the side of your daughters cheek as well as Arts and looked up to watched as his tired eyes stayed on the screen ahead of you three.

“How are we supposed to make more babies if we can’t even get one out of the way?” You whispered with an endearing smile as you traced the light patch of subtle on his face and Art couldn’t help but chuckle softly before leaning in to kiss your temple.

“The right time will come, my love.”

[its-rach-writes]

Like Father Like Son - Chapter One

Pairing: Harry Potter x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a brewing war, a Golden Retriever Gryffindor falls for a Black Cat Slytherin. Hadn't this all happened before?

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of character death,

A/N: Soooo, I'm back in work after having 10 days of annual leave :'( I will be posting every other day instead of every day! Hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know what you think! xxx

Chapter One

It wasn’t like you hated Harry Potter, because you really didn’t but you just didn’t get what all the fuss was about. Your dad had always taught you to be kind to people despite their blood status or Hogwarts house. When you arrived at Hogwarts, you tried to keep an open mind but Potter was simply infuriating.

He didn’t deserve to just be put on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in first year, after spending 5 minutes on a broom. And, you definitely wouldn’t admit that he was a pretty good player. Your infuriation only increased in second year when he emerged bloody and dirty from the Chamber of Secrets. If that had been anyone else, they would have been expelled, Potter didn’t even get points taken from him, in fact he was awarded a special service to the school!

In third year, you had to watch your Uncle love Potter more than he loved you, as they bonded over Potter’s mum and dad. The boy had stumbled his way through the Triwizard Tournament, getting favouritism at every turn, somehow beating students who were intellectually better than him. The tournament had come to a sticky end when he reappeared from the maze, clutching Cedric’s dead body and babbling about Voldemort being back.

In fifth year, oh in fifth year, for the first time in your life, you were grateful for Potter. Grateful that your Uncle wasn’t alone as he quietly slipped through the veil.

The woods were silent as you and your dad foraged in the clearing for potion ingredients. You were a perfectionist so you would be damned if you lost marks because your ingredients were old and shit. Besides, the silence seemed to work wonders for your dad.

“I’m worried for you, dad.”

He scoffed as he put some ingredients into your basket, “why in the world would you be worried for me?”

You bit your lip as the worry swirled in your stomach, “the Defence Against the Dark Arts position is cursed,” you tried not to think about what had befallen the previous Professors. Snape had left the school the year before and your dad had explained to you that the old potions master was coming back so he’d been asked to fill the role of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

“I don’t want what happened to Uncle Sirius happen to you.”

“Oh, my little star,” he pulled you into a hug, completely encasing you in his arms, “nothing is going to happen to me.”

“Love you, dad.”

“I love you too,” he kissed your forehead, “try to be nice to Harry Potter, this year yeah?”

You grumbled into his chest, “I’m not horrible to him or anything but he just infuriates me so much!”

Regulus snorted with a laugh, “yeah, I know the feeling.”

You cursed beneath your breath as the wheel of your suitcase got stuck. Again. It brought you to a grinding halt.

“Hey, Y/N!” you heard Potter before you saw him as he bent down to unstick the wheel. He was always so kind to you, despite your infuriation with him.

“Thanks Potter,” you went to turn away, but you saw how sad his eyes were, despite his smile, “I appreciate that Sirius wasn’t alone.”

Potter nodded as he pushed his glasses up his nose, “how are you doing with that by the way?”

You shrugged, “didn’t really know him.”

Potter scratched the back of his neck and it wasn’t hard to miss the guilt that spread across his face. You could see Granger and Weasley lingering behind him, “see you later, Potter,” you weren’t in the mood to bond over dead loved ones.

Draco waved at you as you pulled open the compartment door and sat between Blaise and Theo, “saw you talking to Potty,” he commented making you laugh.

“Don’t call him that. And, is this the part where you order me not to talk to him?”

Draco scowled at you, “I don’t care who you talk to, Y/N. Just leave me out of it.”

“Deal,” you grinned.

You spent the first hour sharing food with your friends, listening to Enzo’s stories about his summer in Italy. No one asked about your summer, to outsiders it might have looked like they were being rude but you knew they didn’t want to cause you unnecessary pain. You loved them for that.

Pansy looked up from where she was painting her nails, “isn’t your dad teaching Defence this year?” when you nodded, she smirked, “your dad’s hot.”

“What?!” you squawked.

“Come on! We’ve all seen the photograph of you and him that you put on your bedside. He’s sexy.”

“I agree,” Blaise spoke up, grinning at you, “Regulus Black is a dilf.”

You gagged dramatically, “both of you can keep your filthy mitts off my dad!”

The teasing continued until an eagle owl flew in through the open window looking bedraggled from the earlier rain. It landed on your lap and you took the note from its beak. Sparing a glance at the others, you broke the seal and read the letter, getting worried with every word.

“Mattheo’s not coming back this year,” you said as you passed the letter to Theo.

“Did you see him at yours over the summer?” Blaise asked. Voldemort had been taking up residence in the Malfoy Manor.

Draco shrugged, “when he wasn’t shut up in the guest room,” he glanced at you, “I’m surprised I didn’t see you over the summer.”

“My dad fell out of favour just before I was born,” ever since you were little you’d lived in a cute little house in a valley, by a lake.

But when Voldemort had returned a couple of years prior Regulus had moved you back to his mother’s house. It was unplottable on a map and had various enchantments to deter intruders though your dad still had to use Polyjuice Potion each time he left the house. Maybe Dumbledore has figured that he’d be safer at Hogwarts.

The rest of the journey was sobering as you all constructed a reply back to your friend, hoping he was alright. As the train reached the platform, Pansy outstretched her hand to Draco who stayed seated while the rest of you got up. He told the rest of you to go in ahead and he’d catch up.

You turned to Pansy as you got onto the platform, “you know, you can do a lot better than him right?” she’d had a crush on Draco for years.

“Trust me, I know that now. But, he really is the safest option right now.”

Draco quickly caught up to you while you were waiting to go into The Great Hall, he shoved his hands into his pockets as he followed you in. As you got to the Slytherin table, Pansy pouted as she looked up at the teacher’s table.

“I can’t see your gorgeous dad because Theodore is in the way!”

“I’m not encouraging your sick crush,” Theo laughed as he turned to wink at you.

“Thanks, Theo,” you giggled.

Soon enough, Dumbledore introduced the new Professors, Horace Slughorn and your dad, “there he is,” Pansy hissed in your ear over all the applause, you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Halfway through dinner, Potter walked in holding a bloody rag to his face as he sat down with his friends.

You turned to Draco, “what the fuck did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

“You’re the only person who would,” you scoffed as you watched the boy mop at his face with an already bloodied rag. You grabbed a wad of tissues from your bag and walked over, “Potter, here,” you all but pushed the tissues into his hands.

“Y/N, thanks!” he grinned, even though it split his lip open, blood immediately running down his chin.

“Don’t get it twisted, didn’t want to watch you make a scene,” you spun on your heel and walked back across the hall, missing the way that Potter watched you with a dazed expression.

------------

Taglist: @hiireadstuff

[minhosbitterriver]

──── * ˚ ✦ ECHOES OF US ( stray kids )

❛ After a painful breakup, you and Jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 12.6k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 50 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Say hello to my very first long-fic! It took me an eternity to get this done, but I'm actually very proud of how it turned out! Also, my very rough draft for this was accidentally posted a few days ago, so if you saw that...no you didn't! This was anonymously requested! (Anon, I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to finally finish this, but I hope I made up for it with how long it ended up being 🫠) Reblogs for this teaser are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of sibling death and grief, very brief mention of a dysfunctional home, use of they-them pronouns for Y/N, brief explanation of sibling death, Y/N's sibling has their own name, mentions of being abandoned, heartbreak, awkward re-encounter after almost a year, discussions on mental health, a whole lot of angst, comforting ending, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

When Jeongin stepped through the door he had once shared with you, a sense of dread already coiled tightly around his heart, squeezing with every breath. He knew you'd kept your promise to move out by the end of the week, but the reality of it hit harder than he could have imagined. The front hallway, once cluttered with a chaotic jumble of shoes that you always left haphazardly by the entrance, now stood painfully bare, save for his own neatly aligned row of frequently worn sneakers. The absence of your presence echoed louder than any argument ever had, and suddenly he found himself longing for those moments of trivial annoyance—wishing, with a deep, aching desire, that he could quarrel with you about it just once more.

He kicked off his sneakers, setting them carefully amongst the rest of his now lonely footwear. For a moment, he stood there, hesitant, almost willing to call out your name, hoping against hope that you might answer from the bedroom or kitchen, your voice cutting through the oppressive silence that now smothered the apartment. But he knew better. He moved forward with heavy steps, not even bothering to put on his house slippers. The silence that greeted him as he wandered further inside was a deafening reminder of what he had lost. You were gone, and with you, the vibrant energy that had once filled these walls had vanished too.

The living room—once a collage of your combined tastes—was now stripped of the personal touches that made it home. The furniture remained, the couch where you both had laughed and argued, the coffee table marked with rings from careless mugs of tea during lazy mornings. Yet, all the little decorations, the framed art you insisted on hanging, the plants you’d tried so hard to keep alive—they had all disappeared with you. The emptiness was jarring, like a canvas half-painted and abruptly abandoned, leaving every wall and surface barren, the once warm and cozy atmosphere now reduced to a cold, unfamiliar space.

By the time Jeongin reached the bedroom, the last thread of his fragile composure snapped. The bed—where countless memories had been woven—was stripped down to its bare mattress, the sheets gone. The framed photographs of the two of you were turned face down on the bedside table, as if you couldn’t bear to look at them one last time. His eyes moved to the corner where your ridiculously large collection of stuffed animals had once spilled over, crowding half of the bed. That too was empty now. An overwhelming wave of loss washed over him, dragging him to his knees. 

Jeongin's breath came out in shaky gasps as he looked around the hollow shell of what had been your shared sanctuary. You were truly gone. Though he had been the one to end things between you, a decision made in a moment of confusion and pride, he was still hopelessly, painfully in love with you. The realization of his own foolishness crashed over him with unbearable weight, suffocating him in the silence that was once filled with your laughter, your presence, and your love.

Jeongin couldn’t summon a shred of resentment toward you, even if he tried. He understood, all too painfully, that everything that had unraveled between you over the past year was nothing but a sorrowful consequence of your grief. You had once been a soul overflowing with light, always searching for the silver lining amidst the clouds, a spirit who could find a glimmer of hope even in the darkest of times. You, who would often conspire with his mischievous best friend, Seungmin, forming a relentless duo to tease him until he’d feign a pout, forcing you to shower him with kisses until he laughed again. You, who came home every evening brimming with stories about the children you counseled at the school, your eyes alight with passion and care for each of them. All that Jeongin had loved so deeply about you seemed to have been buried alongside your sister, Nari, and this loss was a truth he still grappled with, even now.

As he crawled onto the empty, cold bed that had once been a warm sanctuary for both of you, Jeongin curled into himself, his body folding inward as if trying to shield himself from the harsh reality. His sobs came in ragged waves, tearing through him so violently that he trembled, his breath hitching with each shaky inhale. He missed you more than words could convey—he missed everything about you. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, its tones shifting with your moods: soft and lyrical when merely amused, and loud, unrestrained when joy truly overwhelmed you. He missed those sounds, the ones that used to fill this now desolate space with life and love.

He missed the lazy afternoons you'd spend together, brainstorming new exercises for his music therapy sessions. Those moments would often devolve into impromptu concerts, filled with your carefree, barefoot dancing across the living room floor and his voice following your lead, blending into a harmony of shared happiness. It was in those moments that everything felt right in the world, where nothing existed but the two of you, lost in your own little universe of melodies and movements. He missed those afternoons like one misses the warmth of the sun after too many days of rain.

He missed teasing you in those quiet moments when you were deeply focused, often catching you sticking your tongue out ever so slightly—a quirk of concentration that never failed to endear him. He’d gently pinch it between his fingers, earning himself a mildly exasperated huff as you’d swat his hand away. But he knew that a smile would inevitably creep up on your lips, and you’d turn away to hide it, cheeks flushing with a mix of amusement and affection. It was the kind of simple, tender moment that spoke volumes about the depth of your bond, a bond that now felt irreparably severed.

Every corner of this home whispered memories of you, and he was haunted by them all—the good, the bad, the ones that made him laugh, and especially those that made him cry. Your absence left a void that nothing could fill, a hollow silence where there had once been laughter and love. And even though he knew it was your grief that had driven a wedge between you, he couldn’t help but wish he could find a way back to you, to the person you used to be, and to the love that once made him feel whole.

The night that shattered your world was meant to be a day of celebration: your younger sister Nari’s high school graduation. Jeongin could still see you in his mind's eye that morning, almost vibrating with pure, uncontainable joy. Your eyes were bright, brimming with excitement, and your smile—so wide and beautiful—tugged at his heart each time it graced your lips. Nari was the center of your universe, your pride, your joy, your true soulmate in a world that often felt uncertain and cold. You had been more than just a sister to her; you had been her guardian, her comforter, her everything. You were the one who took on the weight of raising her through the chaotic turmoil of your parents' messy divorce, providing stability where there was none. 

Jeongin could recall countless times Nari would recount how you shielded her from the constant, venomous arguments that echoed through your childhood home. Despite your own young age, you found ways to distract her, to pull her out of the chaos—whether it was with whispered jokes or made-up games that filled her mind with something brighter than the screaming. To Nari, you were a star, someone who had hung the moon just for her. She often spoke with a mix of awe and adoration about the afternoons you both spent sneaking into the little ice cream shop on the way home from school, spending hours laughing over melting cones until you were sure your mother had left for work. 

Jeongin also remembered the quiet, tender moments he would witness after you had graduated and moved out. Nights when Nari would sleep over, curled up beside you, as if you were her very own safe haven in a world that could be so unforgiving. There was a beauty in how you held her close, how you seemed to provide her with an anchor when everything else felt adrift. Yet, no relationship, no matter how deeply cherished, is without its storms. For as vividly as Jeongin could remember the soft, loving moments, he could just as clearly recall the bitter weeks leading up to Nari's graduation—weeks marked by harsh words and heated arguments.

You and Nari shared many things—your fierce loyalty, your protective instincts—but perhaps most notably, the sharp edge of your words. When tempers flared, both of you possessed a mercilessly cutting tongue that could lash out with a force that left deep, stinging wounds. Jeongin hated those fights, hated the cruel things you would shout at each other in the heat of the moment, words that cut so deeply and yet meant nothing once the anger faded. The conflict had started when Nari began dating an older guy who had already graduated. Neither you nor Jeongin liked him, sensing the danger in his recklessness, his penchant for illegal activities that threatened to drag your sister down a path she wasn't prepared for. But Nari, stubborn and convinced she had found the love of her life, refused to listen. The tension between you both grew unbearable, each argument driving another wedge between you and your beloved sister, and Jeongin could do nothing but stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as she slowly pushed you away.

The real fracture came on what should have been a night of celebration. Nari was supposed to have dinner with you and Jeongin to celebrate her graduation. She promised to meet you both, to share in the joy of her achievement, but instead, she turned off her phone and ran off with her boyfriend to a party that everyone knew would be dangerous. For hours, you and Jeongin called and texted, reaching out to everyone who might have known where she was, each unanswered ring heightening the tension, every minute stretching into a painful eternity. 

And then, the call came—the one that brought your entire world crashing down. Nari had been found dead inside her boyfriend’s car. Both were intoxicated when he decided to drive, his recklessness steering them straight into a tree. The impact killed them both instantly. 

Jeongin would never forget the sound that tore through you in that moment, a wail of agony so deep and raw it seemed to shatter the very air around you. It was a sound that would forever echo in his heart, a haunting melody of a love lost too soon and a pain that could never be soothed.

The piercing sound of Jeongin's phone ringing in his back pocket cut through the thick, oppressive fog of memories that had been drowning him ever since he stepped into the cold, empty apartment that was once alive with the warmth of your shared moments. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of his own heartbreak, his face still wet with a cascade of tears that seemed endless. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, letting it fade away into the void of everything else that felt lost to him. But something compelled him to move, to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. The screen flashed with a name: Chan. 

Jeongin’s first instinct was to let it ring out. He wasn’t sure he could bear the gentle, pity-laden concern he knew he would hear in Chan’s voice. The idea of facing someone else’s worry, of being forced to articulate the emptiness clawing at his chest, felt like too much. But he also knew that Chan wasn’t just calling for the sake of it—he was worried. Maybe that thought, the notion that someone still cared enough to reach out, was what finally convinced Jeongin to answer. With a shaky breath, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yes?” His voice came out rough and broken, as if he’d swallowed shards of glass, a hoarse rasp that even he barely recognized. On the other end, there was a sharp intake of breath, a small hitch that spoke volumes, followed by the sound of Chan clearing his throat in that awkward, nervous way he had when he didn’t know how to approach a delicate subject.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Chan’s voice was gentle, tentative, as if afraid that anything more might cause Jeongin to shatter completely. The simple question, so innocuous yet loaded with care, brought fresh tears to Jeongin’s eyes. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure, not wanting to add more weight to Chan’s worry.

“As well as I can be...everything is gone.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, sinking like stones into the silence that followed. There was a sigh on the other end, deep and empathetic, filled with an understanding that was both comforting and unbearable.

“I’ll stop by later, yeah?” Chan’s offer came with a note of encouragement, trying to lift the heavy blanket of despair. “I can bring Minho so he can cook you some food, and we can figure out what comes next.” There was kindness in his words, an attempt to pull Jeongin from the pit he’d found himself in, but the weight pressing on Jeongin’s chest didn’t budge, didn’t ease in the slightest.

“Maybe another time, Channie, thank you,” Jeongin murmured, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who had been running a losing race against his own emotions. “I think I just need a few days alone.” The silence that stretched between them after was telling, thick with Chan’s unspoken disapproval. Jeongin could almost see the frown on his friend’s face, the way he’d be chewing on his lip, holding back what he really wanted to say.

Eventually, Chan spoke again, his tone carefully measured, almost as if he were walking on eggshells. “Right. Um, hey...Felix wanted to pay Y/N a visit to make sure everything’s alright and to help with the moving. The problem is, none of us really know where they moved, and we thought that maybe they might’ve told you or something?”

The mention of your name was like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of the knife that had already been embedded in his heart. Jeongin’s breath caught, and he could feel his throat tightening, the sting of tears threatening to spill over once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay composed, to not break apart all over again.

“No,” he sighed after a moment, rolling onto his back and staring up at the empty, featureless ceiling that seemed to stretch on like an abyss. “I thought you guys would’ve known... but maybe Y/N needs some time alone for a while too. I’m sure they’ll call when they’re ready.”

The words felt hollow, a brittle hope that tasted more like ash on his tongue, but it was all he could offer. And in the silence that followed, Jeongin could only listen to the faint sound of Chan’s breathing, the weight of their shared helplessness settling in like a cold, unwelcome presence in the room.

Jeongin had clung to a fragile hope that, in time, you would reach out to the circle of friends who had once been your shared lifeline. He never imagined that you would confide in him directly—he knew all too well that the pain of his departure still festered like an open wound. You had made it painfully clear how much you resented him for breaking things off when you needed him most. He could still hear your voice, raw with anger and hurt, echoing in his mind as you stormed out of the apartment for the last time.

But never in his darkest nightmares had he expected you to vanish completely, as if swallowed by the earth itself. There wasn't even a whisper of your whereabouts, not the faintest trace left behind to hint at where you might have gone. It was as if you had been erased from existence. When you left, you didn't just walk out of Jeongin's life—you walked away from everything that had tied you to this place. You resigned from your job as a school counselor, the one located just a short distance from Jeongin’s apartment where you had once found solace in guiding young lives through their own turmoil. Your phone number had changed, your social media accounts lay abandoned and untouched, gathering digital dust like forgotten relics of a past life.

For what felt like an eternity, each member of your once tightly-knit group of friends wore the weight of worry like a second skin, tirelessly searching for any sign of you, some confirmation that you were still out there, somewhere, still breathing. Nights were spent in hushed conversations and whispered theories, each one more desperate than the last, wondering if you were even alive. The silence you left in your wake was deafening, a void that consumed every bit of hope they tried to hold onto.

Yet, as the months dragged on and there was still no word—no signal, no letter, not even a single fleeting message—Jeongin and the others were forced to confront a harsh new reality. The absence of your presence became a palpable thing, a hollow emptiness that settled in their chests. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to understand that they might never see you again. And in that painful understanding, they had no choice but to piece together their broken hearts and try, however feebly, to move forward. 

But even as they moved on, a part of Jeongin remained anchored in that lingering silence, waiting for the day it would finally break.

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

Eight months had passed since you vanished without a word, leaving behind a void that swallowed everything and everyone you once knew. Jeongin found himself seated on a low stool in the center of his sunlit office, a space designed to cradle broken spirits. The room was filled with warmth, the soft, earth-toned walls bathed in a gentle, golden glow that made it feel like a sanctuary amidst the chaos. Around him, cushions were scattered like islands of comfort, and the soft hum of a guitar rested against his body, its strings vibrating gently with each subtle shift of his calloused fingers.

In front of him, a small group sat in a circle, each person a vessel of silent sorrow. Some had their eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the world, while others stared ahead, their gazes distant, lost in the labyrinth of their own pain. Today’s session was centered around grief—a familiar theme that Jeongin had come to understand all too well. His eyes swept over the group, his expression soft and understanding, a silent invitation for them to share their burdens. Directly across from him, a young woman who had recently lost her mother sat rigid, her shoulders taut as bowstrings, her fingers anxiously picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve. Beside her, an elderly man kept his gaze fixed on his wrinkled hands, folded so tightly in his lap it seemed as if he was afraid he might fall apart if he let go.

Jeongin's fingers began to dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a few gentle notes that floated through the room like a soft breeze on a warm day. The melody was simple, almost like a lullaby—tender and soothing, a soft hand reaching out in the enveloping darkness. It was a song he had crafted with your help, your voice whispering in his mind, guiding the melody with your mesmerizing ideas and gentle critiques. He tried not to think of you now, of the countless hours you'd spent together creating this very piece, but the memory lingered like a ghost.

“Let’s take a deep breath,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that barely rose above the delicate strumming. “Breathe in... and out. Feel the music as it moves through you.” His voice was smooth and warm as he began to sing, threading through the air like a comforting embrace. The lyrics were a balm for weary souls, speaking of finding peace amid the storm, of a quiet place where one could lay down their burdens. He watched the room with quiet intent, observing as the music began to weave its subtle magic.

The young woman’s shoulders, once so tense, began to loosen ever so slightly, her breath easing into a more natural rhythm. The elderly man’s grip on his hands softened, his fingers unclenching as if the melody had given him permission to let go, if only for a moment. Jeongin’s heart ached as he shifted the melody into a new key, a hint of melancholy now woven into the notes. His voice leaned into the emotion, allowing it to crack and falter in just the right places, like a mirror reflecting the fractures of a breaking heart.

He knew the power of those small imperfections—the way a slight fracture in the music could resonate with the cracks in a person’s soul, giving them the courage to confront their own pain. The room felt heavy with unspoken sorrow, yet somehow lighter, too, as if each note was drawing out a little of the darkness from within. And as he continued to sing, Jeongin allowed himself to feel the weight of his own grief, letting it pour into the song, knowing that sometimes, in the quiet beauty of shared pain, there was a kind of healing.

Moments later, a soft sob broke the fragile silence. The young woman's face crumpled as she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets that caught the light. Jeongin’s heart ached for her, a deep, familiar pain unfurling in his chest. His mind flashed back to countless moments where he had seen that same expression etched across your own face—the anguish, the vulnerability. But he didn’t stop playing. Instead, he allowed the melody to swell, his fingers coaxing the guitar strings through the dark waters of sorrow and guiding them back toward a glimmer of hope, like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Let it out,” he murmured, his voice a soft, comforting undertone to the music. “There’s no need to hold back here.” His words were a gentle invitation, a permission to release the emotions that had been held back for far too long. And as if on cue, the room filled with the raw sounds of grief—soft, stifled sobs, muffled cries, the quiet sniffles of those who had long forgotten how to weep openly. Jeongin continued to play, his music becoming a vessel for their pain, a safe harbor where tears could flow without shame or judgment. 

Across the circle, he caught a glimpse of the elderly man, his head bowed low, his lips quivering as he mouthed the words of the song. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to ward off a memory too painful to face. Jeongin’s gaze softened, and he let the melody shift, his fingers moving with practiced ease into something softer, gentler—like a lull after the fury of a storm. Each note was deliberate, a quiet caress to soothe the raw edges of the room's collective sorrow. He watched as the weight of grief began to lift, ever so slightly, and the room took a deep breath, exhaling the heaviness that had clung to them like a shadow.

When the final note faded into the stillness, Jeongin let the silence settle, heavy but not suffocating. He set his guitar down gently, his eyes meeting each person’s in turn, offering a silent acknowledgment of their pain. “Thank you for sharing this space with me,” he said, his voice a soft balm even as his own heart bore the scars of past regrets. Too often did Jeongin lose sleep over how he, despite his profession, had failed to help you through your own grief. “Grief is heavy, but together, we can carry it, even if just for a moment.”

The young woman wiped at her tears, her face still etched with the rawness of her emotions, but in her eyes, there was a faint spark—a glimmer of relief, as if, for the first time in a long while, she felt a little less alone. The elderly man’s shoulders sagged, a heavy breath escaping his lips, as though a burden had been lifted, if only for a moment. Jeongin offered a small, gentle smile, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke of understanding and quiet encouragement. He picked up his guitar again, fingers brushing against the strings with a familiar, comforting touch.

“How about we end with something light?” he suggested, strumming a few upbeat chords, his eyes brightening with a hint of mischief. “Maybe a song that reminds us of hope. Even when it’s hard to see, it’s always there… waiting for us.” His words hung in the air like a promise, a tender reminder that there was light even in the darkest of places.

And so, with his voice soft but steady, Jeongin led them into another song—one that spoke of healing, of finding strength in the most shattered places, and of a quiet, enduring joy that could bloom even in the darkest seasons of life. This was a song Jeongin had written and composed in the wake of your absence, in the silence that followed your sudden departure. It was a song born of hope, crafted in those long months of not knowing, a song he had always dreamed of sharing with you. And as he sang, he let that hope fill the room, weaving through the notes, a quiet, resilient thread that held the promise of brighter days.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the group therapy session had officially ended, but Jeongin's office was still filled with the quiet shuffling of his patients gradually making their way out. This wasn't unusual; some of them often lingered, seeking a few more moments to connect or share their thoughts, and Jeongin never minded. He found these moments invaluable—an opportunity to touch base, to offer a final bit of encouragement or reassurance. 

As Jeongin turned to watch the last patient leave, he was surprised to find his friend Changbin leaning against the doorframe. Changbin’s muscular arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and it only grew wider when Jeongin’s gaze finally met his. "Bin," Jeongin greeted with a slight bow, his dimples appearing as he returned his friend's smile. He moved toward his desk on the opposite end of the room, a space that served as both his office and a therapy room within the clinic.

Without waiting for an invitation, Changbin followed him, settling himself comfortably into the leather chair meant for Jeongin. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Jeongin let out a small huff of amusement at his friend's antics. He took a seat in one of the smaller chairs intended for his patients, his gaze fixed on Changbin. "What are you doing here?" Jeongin finally asked, watching his friend lounging back in the chair, hands interlocked casually behind his head.

Changbin's playful demeanor slowly shifted, his eyes losing their mischievous spark as they settled into something more serious. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Jeongin's desk, the sudden shift in atmosphere making Jeongin's heart pick up a little in pace. He tried to keep his expression soft, maintaining a small smile even as he braced himself for whatever Changbin had come to say.

For a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence as Changbin seemed to struggle with his words, his brows furrowing in thought. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, "You know how Yongbok and Hannie wanted to have a joint celebration for their birthdays this Friday, right?" Jeongin's brows knit together in confusion; he hadn’t expected such a mundane topic. Still, he nodded, waiting for the real reason behind Changbin's visit.

"Well, everything will be pretty much the same... but we wanted to tell you this before you showed up." Changbin paused, his worried eyes meeting Jeongin's increasingly anxious gaze. After a deep breath, he continued, "Y/N moved back here a little over a week ago and reached out to us almost immediately. We helped them settle back down, and we've been spending some time with them, catching up on everything. Yongbok and Hannie wanted them to be included in their birthday celebration, but we also wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're okay with that first."

Jeongin felt his entire world tilt on its axis, Changbin's words crashing into him like a wave he hadn’t braced for. A million questions stormed through his mind, so fast and furious that he couldn’t quite grasp a single one. "Wait." His hand shot up, signaling his need for a pause as he shifted forward, perching on the edge of his chair. His voice, tinged with betrayal and hurt, spilled out in a rushed breath, "What do you mean Y/N moved back here a week ago? Why am I just learning about this now?"

A look of guilt shadowed Changbin's face, his expression softening with regret. "Y/N asked us not to tell you for a little bit because they weren't ready to handle it yet... but now that everything's settled, they have a new job and everything—Y/N is ready to meet with you if you'd like." He hesitated, and a flicker of panic widened his eyes as he quickly added, "But you didn't hear that last part from me. Y/N wanted to be the one to reach out at some point today or tomorrow."

The silence that followed was heavy, all-consuming, wrapping around Jeongin like a thick fog. He struggled to wrap his mind around the news of your return, the idea of seeing you again so unexpectedly unsettling. The weight of your absence, the questions left unanswered, all resurfaced in that single moment, leaving him adrift in a sea of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Jeongin didn't quite know how to feel about you moving back into town after leaving him without so much as a goodbye. The news of your return stirred a storm of emotions within him, each one more complicated than the last. On one hand, he understood your reasons for leaving—the desperate need to escape from everything that reminded you of your younger sister, Nari, and the weight of your relationship with him, which had grown heavy with grief and unresolved pain. He could see why you had to flee, to distance yourself from the memories that clung to every corner of the town like shadows that wouldn't let you breathe. 

But understanding didn't erase the sting of abandonment. Jeongin couldn't ignore the countless sleepless nights he’d endured, his mind spiraling into an abyss of what-ifs and could-have-beens. He thought back to the moments when your relationship had still felt beautiful and safe, long before it had quietly begun to crumble beneath the weight of tragedy. In truth, he realized, the love between you had started to fray the very moment you received the devastating news of Nari’s fatal accident. It had unraveled slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what once was. By the time he officially ended things, the love you shared had already been gone, replaced by a haunting emptiness.

For months after you left, Jeongin had nearly driven himself to madness, caught in a vicious cycle of regret and self-blame. Every waking moment was spent agonizing over all the different ways he might have pulled you out of your grief. Could he have said something different, done something more? Could he have been more patient, more understanding? He had replayed these thoughts over and over, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. There was a time when he couldn’t even look at his own reflection without being reminded of his failure—his inability to be the anchor you needed in the storm of your sorrow. He blamed himself for your sudden departure, believing that if he had fought for you a little harder, if he had held on just a bit longer, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Slowly, though, Jeongin had begun to emerge from the shadows of his own grief. He had started to come to terms with the loss—not just of Nari, whom he had loved deeply through you, but also the loss of the future he had imagined with you by his side. He’d begun to accept that his own heartbreak, mixed with the suffocating weight of guilt, was something he needed to release in order to move forward. Jeongin had finally allowed himself to realize that in the grand scheme of things, staying by your side would have meant losing himself in the process, trying to bring back a version of you that had vanished the day Nari did. He’d come to understand that you were never going to be the same person again, and neither was he.

And now, just when he was starting to find a semblance of peace, you chose this moment to step back into his life. It felt like the ground he had just managed to steady himself on was beginning to shake once more. Jeongin wasn’t sure if he was ready to face you again, to reopen wounds that were only just beginning to scar over. Yet, there was also a flicker of something else—a hope, perhaps, or maybe just curiosity—about what this new chapter could bring. But whatever it was, it left him feeling unsettled, standing on the precipice of a past he had tried so hard to leave behind.

As his mind continued to swirl with a torrent of thoughts, Jeongin was startled by the bitterness that began to simmer beneath the surface of his heart. The resentment was unexpected, an emotion so potent that it almost frightened him. It clawed at him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth, a stark contrast to the calm demeanor he usually carried. But as his gaze lifted, his eyes locked with Changbin's, and he saw the concern etched in his friend's face. The anxiety in Changbin's sincere eyes was unmistakable, quietly tracking the cascade of emotions that flickered across Jeongin's vulnerable features like a storm passing through. 

Despite the sharp sting of betrayal—the feeling of being kept in the dark by his closest friends, who had not only hidden your return from him but also lied to him so they could spend time with you—Jeongin found a small measure of solace in Changbin’s quiet empathy. It was as if Changbin's presence anchored him, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t navigating these turbulent waters alone. In that brief moment, Jeongin’s chaotic thoughts cleared enough for him to take a deep, steadying breath. He slumped back into his chair, his eyes dropping to his sneakers, suddenly feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. His shoulders sagged, heavy with the burden of emotions he could no longer ignore.

"I don’t know if I’ll be ready to meet with Y/N before the party," Jeongin confessed in a low murmur meant only for Changbin’s ears. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable, a raw and tender ache that clung to every word. He took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts that seemed to scatter like leaves in the wind. "But I’m not going to stand in the way of Y/N joining the birthday party—especially since it’s not my place to decide that. I’ll still be there, and I want to be as civil as possible. So, please, don’t let anyone make it more awkward than it needs to be, or I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it."

His voice trembled by the end, his courage wavering as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Changbin's once more. There was a flicker of something fragile there, something almost hopeful, despite the tangled mess of his emotions. Changbin nodded, a soft smile pulling at his lips, a small gesture of gratitude and understanding. He stood up, moving closer to lay a firm, reassuring hand on Jeongin’s shoulder—a rare show of affection, knowing how Jeongin tended to shy away from touch, especially when his emotions were laid bare like this.

"I’ll talk to the boys," Changbin promised, his voice steady, grounding. It was the most he could offer in that moment, aware of how delicate the situation was. 

With that, Changbin turned and quietly exited Jeongin's office, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him, heavy with the weight of everything he was yet to fully comprehend. Jeongin remained seated, lost in the labyrinth of his own complicated emotions—anger, sadness, regret, and something else, something almost like a glimmer of hope—all swirling together in a chaotic dance that he had no idea how to untangle.

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

In the three days leading up to the eagerly awaited joint birthday party on Friday—an event hosted by Chan for Felix and Jisung—Jeongin found himself ensnared in a relentless spiral of anxiety and anticipation. The looming prospect of encountering you after nearly a year of absence gnawed at him with a persistence that bordered on torment. He grappled with a thousand imagined scenarios, each one an intricate tapestry of potential outcomes and emotional landmines. The uncertainty was a constant, unsettling presence in his life.

Jeongin’s small apartment, once shared with you, had become a labyrinth of memories and regrets. He often wandered its confines, the soft thud of his footsteps a mournful echo of the unease that had taken residence in his chest. The apartment seemed to sigh with each step he took, as if mourning the lost echoes of a time when you had been there. Despite his efforts to bury himself in work, the thought of you lingered like an unwelcome shadow, a constant undercurrent that refused to be ignored. He would catch himself staring at his phone, repeatedly re-reading the message you had sent him just hours after Changbin’s visit—a message that had become both a lifeline and a tormentor.

Your text, which read: 

Hey, Jeongin. It’s been a while. I know I left without much of an explanation and cut off contact... I’m sorry for how I handled things. I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually. But I wasn’t in the best place back then, and I needed time to figure things out on my own. I’m back in town now, and I’d like to talk sometime if you’re open to it. No pressure—I just feel like there are a lot of things that were left unsaid between us. Take care!

Every time Jeongin read these words, a storm of emotions would churn within him. The initial formality of your greeting felt like a cold draft from a distant past, a stark contrast to the warmth that had once existed between you. The passage of time loomed large, a reminder of the endless stretch of days that had passed since your sudden disappearance. He was struck by a poignant blend of nostalgia and pain, the abruptness of your departure a constant reminder of how unfinished your story had been.

Your apology, though a balm of sorts, stirred a complicated mix of relief and frustration within him. On one hand, it acknowledged the hurt you had caused, but on the other, it left a multitude of unresolved questions hanging in the air. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why did you sever all contact? Jeongin understood that you were not in a good place and needed space, but that understanding did little to soothe the sting of abandonment he felt. The sense of being left in the dark, coupled with a profound sadness over his inability to help you, left him grappling with a blend of guilt and anger.

The mention of wanting to talk now jolted him, a surge of conflicting emotions rushing to the surface. He was torn between the desire to reconnect and the fear of reopening old wounds. The prospect of addressing the myriad of things left unsaid between you brought with it a flood of memories—regrets, unresolved issues, and a yearning for closure. Each re-reading of your message plunged him deeper into a whirlpool of complicated thoughts and emotions, the turbulence of his feelings both paralyzing and consuming.

Ultimately, Jeongin found himself unable to craft a suitable response, and so he chose silence. His decision not to reply was one shrouded in uncertainty, a choice that left him questioning whether it was the right one. The silence that followed was both a refuge and a torment, a delicate balance between preserving his own peace and the unresolved echo of your return.

The night of the party arrived under a canopy of crisp, clear sky, the stars shimmering with an almost mocking brilliance. Jeongin drifted through the evening like a specter, his senses overwhelmed by a world that seemed too bright, too noisy, and far too indifferent to his turmoil. His apartment, once a sanctuary, had become a chaotic jumble of discarded outfits—each one cast aside with a frustrated sigh and a sense of resignation. The fabric of his clothes lay strewn about like the remnants of a battle fought and lost against his own anxiety. Nothing felt right, and the more he tried, the more he was convinced that nothing ever would.

Eventually, he settled on a modest ensemble—simple, unobtrusive, and devoid of any hint of personal flair. As he dressed, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and what he saw was a stranger staring back—an image of confusion and trepidation. He attempted a smile, one that was supposed to be confident and reassuring, but it fell flat, a mere shadow of what he hoped to project. By the time he arrived at Chan's place, his nerves were a live wire, sparking and fizzing with every heartbeat.

The apartment, already abuzz with the lively hum of music and the warm murmur of laughter, was suffused with the rich, inviting aroma of a feast. Jeongin took a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping into the vibrant chaos. Felix, ever the beacon of warmth, was the first to greet him. His smile was a radiant crescent, eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a galaxy etched upon his cheeks and nose. Felix enveloped Jeongin in a tight, enthusiastic hug, and Jeongin could almost gauge the number of drinks Felix had indulged in by the exuberance of the embrace. As he disentangled himself from the fervent welcome, he was met with a slew of half-hidden concern and reassuring smiles that nearly suffocated him with their well-meaning pity.

He made his way to the kitchen, where the counter was a tableau of gifts—boxes and bags for Felix and Han piled high in cheerful disarray. Jeongin added his own contribution to the heap and then sought refuge in the cool solace of the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to soothe his parched throat. But then, as if fate itself had conspired to make this night even more unbearable, you appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You had been laughing lightly, a melodic sound that seemed to dance on the air, but upon spotting Jeongin, you froze mid-step. The sight of you was like a flash of brilliance in an otherwise dim landscape. You looked as radiant as ever, with a glimmer of the light that had once illuminated your eyes returning to them—a light Jeongin had once lost himself in with reckless abandon. At that moment, the gravity of his own emotions hit him with a brutal clarity. Despite having ended the relationship, he realized with a heavy heart that he was still desperately, achingly in love with you. Even after nearly a year of separation, the feelings remain undiminished.

You slowly composed yourself, though your body remained taut with the remnants of surprise. The smile you gave him was both disarming and electrifying, sending a shiver through him. With a polite bow, you greeted him, your voice soft and warm as you said, “I’m really glad to see you again, Jeongin.” The way you spoke his name made his knees feel weak, the sheer depth of his longing crystallizing in that single, familiar sound. He had not fully grasped how much he had yearned to hear his name on your lips again until that very moment.

Unable to find words, Jeongin merely bowed in return, his smile shy and tremulous. He watched you turn and leave the kitchen with a hurried pace, your earlier purpose forgotten. The realization dawned on him that he might need more than just water to navigate the emotional maelstrom of the evening.

Chan's party was a sanctuary of familiarity, a gathering of a close-knit circle of friends who had weathered years together. The night had unfolded in a haze of laughter and lively banter, and now, as Jeongin found himself pleasantly intoxicated from the endless rounds of drinking games, he couldn't help but revel in the camaraderie that had once again enveloped the room. It felt undeniably comforting to have everyone gathered under one roof again, especially you.

The past year had cast a shadow over the group's dynamic, your absence an unspoken void that lingered between them, palpable despite the silence. Yet now, with your return, the room seemed to breathe with a renewed vitality. It was as though the very air had shifted, carrying with it a sense of ease that had been sorely missed. Jeongin observed you from a distance, his gaze drawn to you as you reengaged with the group. He noted with quiet awe how you moved through conversations with an effortless grace, the same grace that had once been your hallmark.

It was apparent that you had emerged from the clutches of your grief, a revelation that stirred a profound admiration within Jeongin. The way you laughed, genuinely and freely, was a testament to your resilience. Though you had left without a word, seeking solace far away, you had returned with a newfound lightness. The laughter that now danced from your lips was a melody Jeongin had missed, a balm for the aching absence that had haunted him throughout the past year.

Jeongin watched with a bittersweet smile as you engaged with everyone—how your eyes crinkled at the corners when joy sparked within you, how they would occasionally meet his gaze with a fleeting, shy acknowledgment before darting away, leaving behind a gentle blush. Each moment was a delicate brush stroke on the canvas of your reunion, painting a picture of someone who had found a way to heal and reconnect.

The sight of you dancing playfully with Han to a song you both claimed had been crafted just for you was particularly poignant. Your movements were a symphony of carefree delight, a stark contrast to the somber image Jeongin had harbored of you. In these shared, joyful moments, as you reintegrated into the tapestry of old friendships, Jeongin felt his heart tugged with an intensity that defied explanation.

Though the effects of alcohol swirled around him, amplifying emotions and blurring the edges of reality, Jeongin knew that the depth of his feelings for you transcended any inebriation. The love he harbored was as real and potent as ever, a force that no amount of alcohol could replicate or diminish. He was falling for you once more, each glance and shared laugh reaffirming the connection that had never truly faded, only waiting for the right moment to reawaken.

Despite the undeniable truth of his lingering affection for you, Jeongin remained uncertain of how to navigate these turbulent emotions. For now, he chose to keep his feelings veiled in silence, retreating into the solitude of his thoughts. The haze of confusion was abruptly dispelled by the firm, reassuring weight of Minho’s hand settling on his shoulder, grounding him in the present moment.

Minho, his eyes glazed with the soft blur of alcohol—though not nearly as intoxicated as Felix and Han—clapped his hands together, a signal for attention. His voice, amplified by cupped hands, cut through the ambient noise of music and conversation. "Guys! Guys!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of the increasingly inebriated crowd. The room fell into a collective hush, eager eyes fixed on Minho as he continued with a grin that spoke of mischief. "As per Yongbok’s request, we’re about to kick off a game of UNO! But there’s a twist: every time someone lands a Plus Four card, we all take a shot. And the loser—well, they get a revolting concoction of mixed alcohols and juices!"

The announcement ignited a burst of enthusiastic cheers, the crowd’s energy crackling with anticipation. Laughter and playful shoves accompanied the clumsy shuffle to the circular coffee table at the heart of the living room. Jeongin, with a flicker of hope in his heart, watched as you navigated the sea of friends. His wish to have you beside him was met with a hint of disappointment as you chose a seat directly across from him, nestled between Hyunjin and Seungmin.

The seating arrangement became a familiar circle of camaraderie and chaos: You directly across from Jeongin, Seungmin to your right, Chan to Seungmin’s right, Felix to Chan’s right, Jeongin to Felix’s right, Minho to Jeongin’s right, Han to Minho’s right, Changbin to Hyunjin’s right, and Hyunjin bridging the gap between you and Changbin. The table soon overflowed with the raucous sound of drunken laughter, mischievous plotting, and playful bickering.

Jeongin found himself in an unexpected streak of triumph, his luck seemingly endless as he conquered each round of UNO. The others began to whisper suspicions of cheating, their playful accusations accompanied by slurred speech and tipsy frustration. Chan’s voice, tinged with exasperation, rose above the din. "How is it even possible that you’ve been winning non-stop?" he demanded, his words distorted by a chorus of drinks and Seungmin’s relentless strategy.

Jeongin rolled his eyes, a gesture that had become almost automatic in the face of such claims. Han, who had just suffered the fate of the foul concoction, gagged dramatically as he placed the empty cup down with a groan. The room’s attention shifted to you as you slammed your palm onto the table, a spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. The gesture was a beacon of playful challenge, and it made Jeongin’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

"Stand up then, if you’re not cheating," you teased, your voice laced with both suspicion and amusement. The room buzzed with agreement, and Jeongin could not suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he rose to his feet. He had sobered somewhat since the game began, the action feeling less consequential for him than for the others.

Throughout the night, the games were interspersed with moments of easy banter between you and Jeongin, a reminder of the lighthearted days before the heartache had set in. Each playful remark, every shared glance, and the way you laughed at his jokes tugged at him, rekindling memories of warmth and affection. The realization of how deeply he missed the feeling of being in love with you clenched his heart painfully.

As Jeongin turned around slowly to prove his hands were empty, he couldn’t resist a smirk. "You didn’t empty out your pockets," you persisted, your stubbornness both charming and exasperating.

He met your gaze with a playful smirk of his own, the words slipping out before he could fully process their impact. "Come on, baby, don’t be like that," he said, his tone teasing.

The room fell silent in stunned unison, the playful atmosphere abruptly shifting to one of surprise and second-hand embarrassment. The weight of Jeongin’s unintended endearment hung in the air, leaving everyone, including him, to grapple with the sudden shift in the night’s delicate balance.

Jeongin’s heart sank as he watched the color drain from your face, a pallor of shock and disbelief that spoke volumes in the charged silence that followed. The name he had unintentionally let slip—a relic of a time when you were together—seemed to strike a chord deep within you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes revealed a heartache that cut through the pretense of composure you so desperately tried to maintain. The expression of hurt was almost palpable, like a silent scream against the fabric of the night.

You managed to reassemble yourself with a stubborn facade of mischief, your smile a delicate mask that barely concealed the storm within. Your words, though laced with playful banter, seemed to cut through the tension with a sharp edge. "I just think it's unnatural how many times you’ve won," you remarked with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jeongin’s slip-up hung in the air, a tangible weight that seemed to sour the atmosphere of the gathering. Despite your attempt to downplay the incident with a light-hearted quip, the sting of the old nickname echoed like a ghost of past intimacy, making the room feel suddenly foreign and strained. The previously buoyant mood had shifted, leaving behind an undercurrent of unease that neither the laughter nor the playful jabs could dispel.

Jeongin could feel the churning turmoil within him, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. The game continued around him, but he found himself withdrawing, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Each stolen glance, each forced smile, was a reminder of the painful reminder of how things had changed. The night, which had started with such promise, now felt heavy and laden with unresolved emotions.

As the hour grew late and the laughter waned, the group, sensing the shift in energy, collectively decided it was time to call it a night. The revelry that had marked the evening dissolved into a subdued murmur as everyone prepared to leave. For Jeongin, the end of the night came as a relief, though it was tinged with a sense of lingering regret and an unspoken wish for things to be different.

As Jeongin made his way through the dimly lit apartment, exchanging farewells with the departing guests, he caught a fleeting glimpse of you darting out of the building. His heart, already heavy with a tumultuous mix of emotions, quickened its pace as he instinctively sought to follow. With an urgency driven by both concern and an aching need to make things right, Jeongin scrambled to retrieve his jacket and pull on his shoes, the night air already beginning to bite at his skin as he hurried after you.

He managed to intercept you just as you stepped out onto the cold street. Your name slipped from his lips before he could catch it, a desperate utterance that hung in the frosty air between you. You paused, your breath visible in the night’s chill, and both of you stood there for a moment, hearts racing in unison. Jeongin's breath came in ragged bursts as he caught up with you, the weight of his impulsive actions settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Let me walk you home,” Jeongin implored, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anxiety and hope. The words, simple yet laden with his longing, seemed to hang in the air, as though the night itself held its breath in anticipation of your response. Your eyes softened, reflecting a tempest of emotions as they met his, and your lips parted slightly as if struggling to find the right words.

Instead of speaking, you turned and began walking forward, your steps deliberate yet hesitant. Jeongin, interpreting your silence as tacit consent, fell into step beside you. The street stretched out before you, unfamiliar and shadowed, and the air between you was charged with unspoken sentiments and lingering regrets. Walking side by side felt oddly reminiscent of days gone by, a bittersweet echo of times shared with friends, now tinged with the ache of what had been lost.

In the week since Jeongin learned of your return, he had been trapped in a cycle of conflicting emotions. The pangs of missing you, of realizing the depth of his feelings that still burned despite everything, battled with the frustration of your unexplained departure. Each time anger threatened to overwhelm him, guilt swiftly followed, a reminder of the suffering you must have endured. His internal struggle was a storm of longing and resentment, a turbulent sea he had yet to navigate.

As he stole glances at your profile in the dim streetlight, the familiar contours of your face brought an unexpected rush of grief. Memories of your younger sister, Nari, flooded his mind—her laughter, a joyful sound that once filled the air, her enthusiastic embraces that had always greeted him with warmth. Your eyes, once so bright with shared mirth, now seemed dimmed by her absence.

The realization that Nari would never again tackle him in playful greeting, that her laughter would never again ring out, was a heavy burden. It pressed down on Jeongin’s heart, a reminder of the irreplaceable void left behind. The twinkle that once danced in your eyes when you laughed at Nari's jokes was now a distant memory, a reminder of how deeply her loss had affected both of you. As you walked together through the unfamiliar streets, the weight of these lost joys seemed to bear down on Jeongin, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Engulfed in the whirlpool of his own somber reflections, Jeongin barely noticed when you came to a halt before an old, weathered apartment building. Absorbed in his tumultuous thoughts, he continued forward for a few steps, his mind adrift in a sea of regret and longing. It was only when the melodic sound of your giggle reached his ears, a playful echo that cut through the fog of his melancholy, that he realized he was walking alone. With a start, he turned, his face flushing with a sheepish smile as he moved to stand before you.

You were standing there, your knuckles clenched tightly around the strap of your bag, a telltale sign of the anxiety simmering beneath the surface. Your lips were caught between your teeth, a nervous habit that Jeongin had come to know all too well. The sight of your distress mirrored his own internal turmoil, causing his foot to tap restlessly on the pavement as he waited for you to speak. The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy shroud that seemed to settle between you.

After a few moments of strained silence, you released a shaky breath and offered him a small, timid smile. "It was good to see you again," you said softly, the words tinged with a trace of the anxiety that laced your voice. It was the same sentiment you had voiced earlier in the night, when you had first reappeared in Chan's kitchen after an eight-month absence.

This time, Jeongin’s response came with a gravity that reflected the depth of your absence. "I’m glad you came back," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the months spent apart, yet softened by a flicker of genuine contentment.

Your smile, though hesitant, shone brightly against the backdrop of the night. It was a beacon that pierced through the haze of Jeongin’s heartache, and despite the unresolved tension, he couldn’t help but return it with a warm, albeit uncertain, smile of his own. The air between you crackled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a delicate balance between the urge to bridge the gap and the inability to articulate the depth of your emotions.

As you cast an awkward glance back at the entrance of your apartment, Jeongin understood that you were grappling with the same indecision that plagued him. "This is me," you said, your voice betraying a trace of nervousness as you cleared your throat. "My place is a bit of a distance from our—sorry, your apartment. If you’re comfortable, I can offer you my couch for the night."

Despite the initial reluctance that had gripped him, the prospect of spending more time with you, however fleeting, was too inviting to resist. Jeongin found himself smiling softly, a gesture of acceptance that was both hesitant and heartfelt. Your genuine, wide smile in response seemed to illuminate the night, lifting the veil of uncertainty that had surrounded him. With a renewed sense of hope and a lingering trace of longing, Jeongin followed you inside, each step towards your apartment a tentative step towards mending the fragile thread that connected your hearts.

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

Your new apartment, though modest in size, exudes a quiet charm, nestled in a serene part of town far removed from the familiar streets you once traversed with Jeongin. The moment he crosses the threshold, he is enveloped by a dissonance of emotions—a strange fusion of comfort and estrangement. The space is distinctly different from the apartment you once shared, yet your presence lingers in every corner, making Jeongin feel both intimately connected and like an outsider peering into a world that has shifted just out of reach.

The living room, modestly furnished, reflects a minimalist elegance. A soft, neutral-colored couch rests against the wall, draped with a knitted throw blanket that adds a touch of warmth. This room is a far cry from the eclectic mix of your past home—a space once filled with a vibrant blend of your belongings and his—but it still bears the subtle imprint of your personality. A small shelf brims with books, many titles familiar from your old collection, but new ones have also appeared, whispering of the changes and growth you’ve experienced in your absence. The windowsill cradles a few houseplants, their greenery a delicate contrast to the sprawling flora that once filled your old living space. They are smaller, more contained, reflecting a more subdued chapter of your life.

Jeongin’s gaze drifts to the walls, bare and unadorned, stark in their emptiness. Gone are the framed photos and art prints that once animated every corner of your shared apartment. The absence of pictures—particularly those of the two of you—leaves an unexpected sting, a painful reminder of what has been left behind. Instead, there is a single framed photograph of your younger sister on a side table by the window, surrounded by a cluster of candles. It stands as a quiet tribute, a poignant memorial that tugs at Jeongin’s heartstrings, reminding him of the grief that ultimately drove a wedge between you both.

The apartment is imbued with a subdued quietness, a stark contrast to the lively energy of your former home, where laughter and soft music once intertwined to create a vibrant ambiance. Here, the atmosphere is more solitary, introspective, as if the space has been intentionally crafted as a sanctuary for healing—a refuge from the chaos of the past. A small kitchen table, cluttered with a few empty glasses and a half-read book, suggests many solitary evenings spent with your thoughts, lost in the pages or gazing into the distance, ensnared by memories.

The kitchen itself bears no evidence of the late-night culinary adventures you used to drag him into, those joyous moments of laughter and flour-covered countertops. As Jeongin takes in the scene, he is overwhelmed by a complex weave of emotions—nostalgia for what was, sorrow for what has been lost, and a poignant ache for the version of you who now stands before him. The differences are striking, revealing a careful, deliberate solitude you’ve constructed around yourself in this new space. It feels as though you’ve created a bubble of tranquility, a place where you can breathe freely from the weight of the past, and he wonders if there is still a place for him within it or if you have moved on to a new chapter without him.

The emptiness of your new apartment weighs heavily on him. It’s not merely the physical void but the absence of the vibrant, unfiltered you that he used to know. Standing there, a guest in what might have been his world, Jeongin is acutely aware of how much has changed and how deeply he still yearns for the comfort of what once was, now replaced by the stark reality of what is.

As Jeongin steps into your new apartment, he takes in its subtle details with a blend of curiosity and nostalgia. You move about with a quiet, almost anxious energy, as if the mere act of tidying is a way to manage the fluttering tension between you. Your hands, unsure of their purpose, engage in small, inconsequential tasks: smoothing the corner of the knitted blanket draped over the couch, adjusting the book that rests on the kitchen table, and shifting a houseplant slightly to the left. It is evident that you are aware of his gaze, but you strive to give him space to absorb his surroundings.

The silence stretches until you break it, your voice soft yet resolute. "It's not much, but... it's mine." There’s a delicate balance in your tone, a mixture of pride laced with vulnerability. You glance at him, seeking to gauge his reaction, your eyes reflecting a world of untold emotions. As you move towards the small kitchen area, you open a cabinet and retrieve two glasses. "Do you want some water? Tea? I think I have some wine if you'd prefer that." Your words tumble out in a gentle stream, an attempt to fill the quiet with something tangible, yet they carry an earnestness that reveals your underlying uncertainty about where you both stand.

Jeongin watches you, his gaze softening as he observes the careful grace of your movements—each gesture imbued with a quiet protectiveness, as if you're safeguarding something tender within yourself. The silence deepens for a moment before he responds, his voice subdued and tentative. "Water's fine." It is clear that he is navigating this new terrain with caution, his tone reflective of the delicate balance between past familiarity and present distance. You nod and move towards the fridge, your back turned to him as you pour the water.

Jeongin’s eyes wander around the apartment once more, deliberately avoiding the back of your head as you focus on the task at hand. When you hand him the glass, your fingers brush against his, sending a shiver through him. It’s a sensation he’s not quite accustomed to after all this time apart. He accepts the glass with a quiet "thanks," savoring the cool water as it soothes his dry throat. 

"Let’s sit," you suggest, motioning towards the couch. There is a steadiness in your voice that carries a quiet confidence, reminiscent of the times you had managed to ground him amidst the chaos. Jeongin follows you and settles beside you on the couch. The cushions feel foreign and different from those he remembers, amplifying his sense of longing for the comfort of the home you once shared. 

For a brief moment, Jeongin is at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the tangled emotions in his chest. He is unsure where to begin, but you gently ease the tension. "How’s work been?" you inquire, your voice a soothing balm to the heaviness in the room. "Are you still at the same clinic?" 

Grateful for the opening, Jeongin nods. "Yeah, still there. We started a new program recently... working with kids who've been through some really tough stuff. It’s been challenging, but rewarding." He watches as your eyes soften, a sign of the empathy and kindness he’s always admired in you. The sight of your genuine smile, the one he’s missed so dearly, is like a balm on a wound that has long ached. 

"That sounds so nice. You've always been so good with children." Your compliment is heartfelt, and Jeongin feels a pang of longing.

He responds with a light-hearted joke, "That’s more your area of expertise," referring to your work as a school counselor. You chuckle softly, taking a sip of water, and Jeongin senses there’s more you wish to share.

"And... what about everything else? How have you been holding up?" Your question is gentle but probing, and Jeongin’s grip tightens around his glass.

"It’s been... different," he admits. "The apartment feels empty without you there. Like something’s missing."

Jeongin hadn't intended for his words to emerge with such raw intensity, but they tumble out before he can rein them in. He watches as they land upon you, the way your gaze falls and a shadow of sorrow flits across your face. "I'm sorry," you murmur, the words almost lost in the quiet of the room. "For leaving like that. I didn’t know what else to do."

Your apology strikes a chord deep within him, a resonance of shared pain and regret. "I know," he replies softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. "I don’t really blame you. We both had to figure things out." The atmosphere between you shifts, the earlier tension giving way to something more tender—like an old wound beginning to mend. 

Jeongin sits beside you on the couch, his nerves stretched taut, a wire humming with unspoken words. His hands are clenched in his lap, a desperate attempt to hold himself together as the silence stretches, thick and heavy. His gaze is drawn to you, to the way you hold your glass of water—fingers wrapped around it as if it were a lifeline, anchoring you to some semblance of normalcy. 

He recognizes that look in your eyes—the one that signals you are about to reveal something profound, something that has been weighing on you. "When I left," you start, your voice so faint it nearly dissolves into the air. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat. He had no clear expectations for the evening, but he can feel that whatever is coming will be laced with pain.

"I didn’t really have a plan," you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I just... needed to get away." He watches as your eyes drift to the water in your glass, your reflection shimmering and distorted. The impulse to reach out and offer comfort is almost overwhelming, but he remains still, his focus entirely on you.

"I ended up halfway across the country," you say, your voice gaining a faint thread of strength. "I reached out to Lily. You remember her, right? From college?" Jeongin nods, a wistful smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. He recalls Lily’s vivacious spirit, her constant care for you, and feels a pang of gratitude that she was there for you in a way he couldn't be.

"She didn’t ask questions; she just told me to come," you add. Jeongin’s heart clenches at the image of you in a strange, distant place, the weight of your grief looming like an oppressive storm. He loathes the thought of you feeling so alone and adrift, needing to travel so far for solace.

"She lives in this tiny coastal town," you continue, your voice lightening slightly as you recall the memory. "For a while, I thought maybe that was what I needed—being somewhere far away from everything." Jeongin can almost visualize it—a serene seaside town where the waves gently erase footprints, a place where time seems to stretch indefinitely, offering a balm for the wounded soul.

Yet, beneath the surface of your words, Jeongin senses an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The coastal retreat, while soothing, evidently fell short of the healing you sought. His heart aches, burdened by the realization that he wasn’t able to provide the support you needed, even as he too was grappling with his own struggles. The distance between your shared past and the present feels vast, and he yearns for a way to bridge that gap, to be the anchor you needed, even though he was floundering himself.

You pause, and Jeongin watches as you swallow hard, the movement of your throat a testament to the weight of your words. "I eventually realized that it wasn't enough," you say, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I needed more help. So, I checked myself into a grief recovery program..." The words falter, and Jeongin feels a tightening in his chest, the emotion reflected in your wavering tone. "A place where people go when they've lost someone and don't know how to keep living."

He stares at you, his vision blurring as he grapples with the magnitude of your suffering. He's known grief, but seeing it through your eyes—so raw, so utterly consuming—is a new experience for him. Guilt crashes over him like a relentless wave. He wasn't there for you. He couldn't help. He didn't even know how to begin.

Jeongin opens his mouth, an apology poised on his lips, but you continue, your voice cutting through the silence with a quiet determination. "There were days I wanted to leave, but I stayed. I wrote a lot. I planted a small garden there, just to feel like I was nurturing something again, you know? And slowly, I started to remember things without feeling like they were completely breaking me."

His hands tremble in his lap, the truth of your words stirring a deep regret within him. He should be happy that you found a way forward, relieved that you began to heal, but instead, he is overwhelmed by the ache of not being there for you—by the realization that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. His eyes search yours, desperate for some sign that you don’t harbor hatred towards him.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," he finally manages, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I ended things when you needed me. I didn’t know how to help you through it, and I—"

You shake your head, a wistful smile curving your lips. "I didn’t know how to let you help me, either. And I wasn’t ready to accept Nari’s death and move on yet. That’s why I left." Your words settle into the spaces between his ribs, a cold weight pressing heavily on his chest. He wants to explain, to tell you that he was lost too, that he struggled to keep his own head above water while watching you drown. But he stays silent, knowing that this moment belongs to you, just as much as it does to him.

"I needed to find a way to live with the grief," you say softly, "to not let it define every part of me. And maybe I needed to see if I could come back and face everything, including you."

Jeongin’s heart skips at that, a flicker of hope igniting within him. There is a softness in your eyes that he hasn't seen in so long, a hint of something that almost resembles hope. He takes a breath, feeling a slight loosening of the weight of his own regrets. "I'm glad you did," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you—missed this, even if it wasn’t always easy."

You nod, and he sees a myriad of emotions dance across your face—relief, uncertainty, and perhaps the faintest trace of affection. There is much to unpack, many layers to explore, but for now, this moment of quiet honesty, of shared pain and cautious hope, feels like a tentative step towards understanding.

Jeongin notices his hand is closer to yours than he had realized, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to reach out, to touch your skin once more. But he doesn’t. Not yet. For now, he is content to sit beside you, to listen, and to cherish the hope that this—whatever it is—might be the beginning of finding each other again.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy @bokk-minnie @tajannah-price1 @lixies-favorite-cookie @madewithchildlabor (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @stascence @xxdwaekkaxx @raspberrii @joyofbebbanburg @drewsandsebastianswife @minholover1 @vangoghsear0 @theodorenottgf @chanshyunjin @cafffeineconnoisseur @villainstayy @qwonyoung23 @fawnoverdawn @sofix-hc7 @softkisshyunjin @anushasstuff

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

[colorfullyminded]

TLDR

Okay I cannot believe I'm about to go off like this, but this has been bothering me for awhile, and it's only making me more spiteful. I have been enjoying the influx of Billford art lately. Amazing, great wonderful. What I have Not been enjoying, is the absolute vitriol the Billdip fans have been getting since the influx of TBOB. I was a billdip shipper for awhile. Hell I was a billdip shipper when I was a Parapines shipper-- I liked shipping Dipper with boys. I was also like 14 or 15 at the time. Obviously, if you follow me now, you'll probably notice what my main ship for Dipper is. I grew out of Billdip, and moved on to Pinescone. I have been shipping Pinescone for 10 years. However, not once did I go around saying "Lol, glad I matured and became a better person and shipped something healthier", nor did I post in the billdip tag, condeming people for a fictional ship! And saying mine was better because it was less problematic.

"I'm really glad people stopped shipping Bill and Dipper together. Bill is a 1000 year old triangle demon, and Dipper is 13--" Stop. Repeat what you just said.

"Bill is 1000 year old triangle--"

Repeat that last word to me. "....triangle?" TRIANGLE! I'm sorry what?! This ship is already completely wild enough. You're getting mad at this fictional age gap-- AND BILL IS A FUCKING SHAPE! A FUCKING SHAPE! This ship was weird from the moment GO! And Billford isn't any better. IT'S STILL A SHIP WITH A FUCKING SHAPE! And you're going to sit on your high horse and look down on the Billdip community. On top of it-- they have an age gap too! Bill is still thousands of years old or whatever-- however long it's been, who knows? And Ford was in his 20s or so when he met Bill. That's still a huge, ridiculous age gap-- that Bill could easily use and manipulate; which he did....and then also caught feelings and became a sad ex, but that's beside the point~ Both of these ships are still insane. And again, the bigger thing I think people are just ignoring about these ships--is that Bill is a TRIANGLE! THREE LINES CONNECTED TOGETHER! And this is the hill you're going to die on? ...Cause apparently it's mine. First of all-- as many people pointed out-- Ford Pines did not exist until the second half of the final season. People couldn't ship Fordbill because there wasn't any Ford to introduce.

"Well, even before Ford, I never shipped Billdip! I always disliked it." ...Okay, that's totally fine. Not everyone needs to like or agree on the same ship. Lord knows there's probably people who don't really care for Pinescone either. There's a lot of popular ships that I can't stand. But I'm don't go into a ship tag I don't like, screaming to a void for self validation. I don't go around mocking other people for ships that they had in 2014-- or even still today! It doesn't matter! I did that when I was a kid-- and then realized that was rude, and it was better to just ignore the ships I didn't like and enjoy the ones that made me happy. And grow a community of kind, like minded friends. And listen, I am all for safe spaces and being able to block things that make you uncomfortable. I am not saying people who find the BillDip ship uncomfortable to be idiots or babies or overly sensitive-- or anything like that. I think if something makes you uncomfortable, that is okay and I think it's perfectly fine to blacklist a tag that you don't want to see. I also think it's imperative that people tag things as accurately as they can so people looking at your work can know if one of your pieces has a thing that they don't like-- and therefore can avoid. What I don't appreciate is the fanhate for this ship that is sprouting up like weeds. You can not like something, you can be disgusted by it (I have my Gravity Falls ships I can not stand, nor do I feel comfortable with), but attacking real people for a FICTIONAL SHIP-- two characters who are drawings on a piece of paper and can not be affected mentally, physically or emotionally by fanwork; who still retain the same shape after everything we put them through-- to the point that you send death threats, or threaten to Doxx, or just harass relentlessly, I have always found that more childish and disgusting. You are causing real world pain to people. Me fucking up Dipper Pines is not going to do anything to him-- because he doesn't actually exist. He's a cartoon character. I could squash him and stretch him in Wonka's taffy machine--- I could throw him mock speed at a wall and watch him explode on impact-- but he still exists. He's not dead; I can pick him up and dust him off, and If I wanted-- I could decide that eh, 'Not a scratch on him'. And I'd be right. Because he is a cartoon character, and I am just a fangirl. I can not change anything about him-- I have no ability to make anything I headcanon canon. And even if I was the original artist-- it doesn't change the fact that Dipper would still be nothing more than a creation. A construct of shapes; he can not be hurt or traumatized in a way that leads to real life consequences-- because he is not real. I am not a cartoon character. My friends are not cartoon characters. Artist and Writers who stay in their lane...are not cartoon characters. If you hurt us...it will linger. It will leave a scar. If you can not tell the difference between Fiction and Reality, then I think maybe media might be too much to handle-- and I think you need to really reevaluate yourself.

And just to vent some other things that i keep seeing that are frustrating: You can't claim the twins are only 13-- and then on August 31st go "Happy 20-something Birthday Mabel and Dipper!" And then proceed to drop a picture of them as adults. Well which is it? Do they age or not? Because Gravity Falls showed them canonically aging. If you think the twins age-- then you can't suddenly turn around and go, 'no you can't ship them-- Dipper is a child!' but you drew him as an adult. So sorry, it looks like you can't draw the twins grown up anymore. You claimed they're 13, so better draw them 13 forever--. Aged up stories and works exist for a reason, especially for a fan who grew up on the series. The characters might have grown up alongside them. It's not unlikely for a person to ship Billdip when Dipper is much older.

And on that note, for people who are like 'well older billdip is fine-- it's just people shipping him during the show that deserve to die.' Okay... and like I said, this rant is coming from a recent influx of Billford shippers spitting on Billdip shippers. You know? The TOXIC Old Man Yaoi!

You're still shipping something that is problematic. You are still shipping something twisted and wrong. And I am not judging you. I am here for this divorced arc. I am thriving. But you can't just pick and choose what is and isn't okay. And let me first off explain; if there is something that personally triggers you about a toxic ship, and you want to avoid that-- again, perfectly understandable. Perfectly reasonable. You are the makers of your content space. And I am not judging anyone for that. I want people to be safe. I want people to have a good time in fandom spaces. I want people to not have to deal with the things that upset them or frighten them, or disgust them. But you can not say one is fine, and one is not. They're both bad! They're both toxic. In real life, these ships would both be charged with serious crimes! And yes, there are some crimes that are worse than others, and if you asked me what I thought was more problematic-- I'd say Billdip-- but both of these ships are extreme, and severe in their problematic content. You are still consuming problematic content. If it's a personal thing, that's fine; avoid it. But don't sit there throwing stones from your glass house.

[rosquinn]

One of my Dorian Gray hot takes is that there was absolutely nothing in Dorian and Basil's relationship that was healthy. I keep seeing posts like "Basil's love for Dorian was so pure, that's why the portrait was so pretty and the real villain of the story is Wotton because he corrupted it"

As I see it, yes, Wotton did corrupt him, but saying Basil's feelings for Dorian were pure is simply inaccurate to the story. Basil says himself he merely sees Dorian as an artistic ideal [Dorian Gray is to me simply a motive in art. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours. That is all; ch1] and admitted he (a 10 year older man, who had power over him) tried to isolate him from other people and "keep him to himself". Furthermore, Basil also plays a big role in the way Dorian sees himself and his beauty, by painting him everyday and not maintaining any conversation with him, he's indirectly reaffirming what Wotton tells him: people only care about you because you're pretty and young. There is also this scene from the second chapter:

Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. "I believe you would, Basil. You like your art better than your friends. I am no more to you than a green bronze figure. Hardly as much, I dare say.

The painter stared in amazement. It was so unlike Dorian to speak like that. What had happened? He seemed quite angry. His face was flushed and his cheeksburning.

"Yes," he continued, "I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your silver Faun. You will like them always. How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing old, I shall kill myself."

Hallward turned pale and caught his hand. "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried, "don't talk like that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never have suchanother. You are not jealous of material things, are you?-you who are finer than any of them!"

Dorian is even dealing with a suicidal ideation over what Wotton has told him and the way Basil sees him, he needs emotional validation, he's asking to be told there's more than him than that, and Basil's reaction is just─ no. You're prettier than any other object (indirectly comparing him to one, too).

Basil's view of Dorian influences how he sees people as much as Wotton's. For example, to Dorian Sybil was only what she pretended to be, he loved her performance, her acting, how she did exactly what the public wanted (which can apply to Dorian himself), not the real her. She was only an artistic ideal to him, she meant to him exactly what Dorian meant to Basil. He ignored her desires, pain and everything not related to what he wanted to see, since that's what he's been taught he must appreciate.

I also disagree with the interpretation of the portrait as a "pure" reflection of Basil's love (I would personally rather describe it as an obsession, though) and Dorians soul because it's not. At least not entirely. Part of the point of the book is that everyone only saw the part of Dorian they wanted: the portrait represents Basil's idolized version of him, what he wanted to see and how he refused to see Dorian as a person instead of an artistic ideal. That's why he tried to make him redeem himself, because he hated seeing his version of Dorian shatter into pieces. It was never Dorian entirely, not even after aging terribly because that's the result of Basil and Wotton's influence. The portrait was not his real soul, it was a modified version of it other people played with because nobody cared about the whole thing, and the influence was so big those parts became his whole being. It was just an idolized, molded version at first but turned into his real self with the time and the sins. Dorian's soul (the portrait) was constructed upon what others appreciated about him, so when Wotton motivated him to sin, because Dorian's potential to be terrible was what mattered to him, it became ugly and terrible. There was absolutely nothing pure about that portrait since day 1.

[renthony]

Lost in the Remaster: Star Trek, Vintage Special Effects, and the Charm of Old Media

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

Originally created by Gene Roddenberry, Star Trek is a franchise that spans decades. From the original series of 1966 to current shows such as Lower Decks, it stands as a titan of television and pop culture. The real world has undergone incredible change since Star Trek’s first appearance, yet nerds everywhere still find entertainment, inspiration, and hope in its classic episodes. Recently, along with my husband and best friend, I decided I wanted to attempt the gauntlet of watching the entire franchise from beginning to end, revisiting favorites and finally checking out the ones I missed. Media and fandom studies are my passion, after all, and Star Trek is a foundational part of modern American nerd culture.

Starting with the original series proved more difficult than expected. Living in a tiny apartment, we don’t have much space for DVDs, so Star Trek wasn’t in our existing collection. The local public library didn’t have copies, either, and putting in a purchase request doesn’t guarantee it will be made available. My family doesn’t have the funds to pay for every single streaming service on the market, and Star Trek isn’t available on any we do have access to. Piracy was starting to look like the only option, but even that fell flat when we couldn’t find a version with subtitles. Finally we dug it up officially and with subtitles, for free via PlutoTV, but there were still limitations: PlutoTV only streams season one, and season one is only available in the remastered edition that replaced the original special effects with new visuals.

It wasn’t ideal, but, hey, it was Star Trek.

Watching just one episode a week gave us enough time to scrape together savings to get what we really wanted for seasons two and three: the official BluRay release, which includes both remastered and original-release versions of each episode. The remasters are fine, but as a lover of media history and practical effects, I’m always disappointed to lose a chance to appreciate the originals. It doesn’t matter how good it might look, remasters are never as much fun to me as matte paintings, camera tricks, and whatever the prop department could pull off with ten dollars and some glue.

Finally having the BluRays in hand for season two only affirmed my love of vintage practical effects. Seeing the Enterprise in her original glory, before she was ever rendered in digital form, felt like opening a time capsule. I love time capsules. My favorite pieces of media are always those which capture a moment in time, showcasing the aesthetics, concerns, and culture of the time and place they were created. Star Trek: the Original Series is rooted in the late sixties, when mainstream culture in the United States was experiencing immense upheaval and social change. That context is written all over the show. The vintage effects add to it, grounding it in a very specific time and place. Updating the show’s effects takes away some of that 60s aesthetic, and while some may see it as making the show more timeless, I don’t care for it. To me, seeing what they could pull off before modern technology is half the fun of watching old shows. The ingenuity and creativity of propmakers, makeup artists, and set designers working on shoestring budgets is unparalleled.

To be clear, digital effects are also done by skilled professionals who deserve much more respect and many more labor protections. There are some truly stunning works created with digital tools. That said, I hate when digital effects are used to cover up the practical effects that came before. It feels disrespectful to the original artists, as if telling them their work wasn’t good enough; as if their work was just a placeholder until something better could come along and fix it. Practical effects aren’t a placeholder, they’re an art form in their own right, and that art form is one for which I have deep appreciation.

It frustrates me that the original, non-remastered episodes were such a pain for us to access, but I’m very glad to have added them to my personal media collection. No matter what future tweaks Star Trek’s rights holders might make, I can always pop in our personal copies to enjoy the Enterprise and her crew in all their vintage, “outdated” glory. If you’re also too young to remember the show’s original airing, and you have the opportunity to watch the unedited version, I highly suggest you do. Watching the version that aired in 1966 gives the show a charm that no amount of remastering can ever match.

_

Like this essay? Tip me on Ko-Fi, pledge to my Patreon, or commission an essay on the topic of your choice!

[kirain]

Just a little Emmrich fic based on @timethehobo's beautiful art here. Had me feeling angsty. 😅

Vae pushed open the heavy oak door to Emmrich's study, the hinges creaking slightly in protest. The room was as she expected: cluttered yet strangely orderly, filled with the faint scent of parchment and pipe smoke. Shelves packed with ancient tomes, scrolls, and artifacts lined the walls, and to the right of it all stood his desk, a chaotic mosaic of notes, quills, and half-finished experiments.

"Emmrich?" She glanced around but found no sign of him. "He must have stepped out."

The old book in her hands felt heavy as she crossed the room and carefully placed it on the desk, smoothing her fingers over its cracked leather binding. It had caught her eye in Dock Town, and she immediately remembered Emmrich's passing mention of wanting to read it.

Satisfied, she turned to leave, but a sudden, eerie green light flared behind her.

"Well, well," a snide, feminine voice drawled, its tone dripping with venom. "If it isn't Volkarin's little paramour."

Vae froze, a feeling of nausea churning in her gut. Slowly, she turned back to face Johanna's skull. The cursed object sat atop its ornate pedestal, its hollow eye sockets somehow teeming with malice.

"Hezenkoss," Vae said flatly, unwilling to give her any more attention than necessary.

"How cold," The skull cackled, the sound sharp and grating. "I was just starting to enjoy the quiet, then in comes the professor's pet. What did you bring him, hmm? Chocolates? Cheese? Some other fatuous notion of romance?"

Ignoring her jab, Vae headed for the door. "Just a book he wanted. Goodbye, Hezenkoss."

"How amusing. I can assure you, he's already read it," she scoffed. "That absentminded fool could never keep track of what he's consumed. He'd open a book, read the first page, then suddenly realise he'd read it years ago."

Vae paused, her hand lingering over the door knob. Against her better judgement, she sighed and walked to the desk, leaning against it and facing the skull.

"What was he like when he was younger?" she asked.

There was a brief silence, as if Hezenkoss hadn't expected the question. Then, her voice took on a grudging edge. "An idealist. A bleeding heart. A coward."

Vae frowned. "You were friends for years. You must have admired something about him."

"His intelligence," the half-lich admitted, begrudgingly. "And his magical prowess, but that's all. Both became the reason I despise him—he never utilized either one, wasting his potential. We could have ruled Nevarra, brought every neighbouring kingdom to their knees, but he preferred to play nanny to wayward spirits and shortsighted students. Pah!"

Vae's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you. You don't stay friends with someone for decades without seeing something worthwhile in them."

"As I just said. He was a useful duck to bounce ideas off of, but he never did appreciate my vision."

"Your vision?" Vae crossed her arms, her brow furrowing. "Your vision killed innocent people. Turned spirits into abominations."

"Sacrifices are necessary to achieve greatness," she spat. "I'm no hypocrite. As you can see, I made the ultimate sacrifice. Volkarin will do the same, should he pursue lichdom."

"It's different if it's yourself," Vae argued. "But not when you force it on others. That's not a 'sacrifice', it's just murder."

"No difference, same outcome."

Vae flinched, disgust welling in her eyes. "I can't imagine Emmrich ever being friends with someone like you," she said, her tone ruthless. "Which means, at some point, you must've changed. I just can't help but wonder if it was before you became a lich or after."

"Lichdom doesn't change anyone's personality, morals, or thoughts. I'm the same person I always was," she asserted. "If you want the truth, the old man's too trusting. Too softhearted. He wants to befriend everyone, even if it means adjusting his own interests to suit their needs. I'm sure you've seen it."

Vae swallowed, thinking back to all the times Emmrich went out of his way to ensure his colleagues' comfort at the cost of his own. Hiding his skulls, refraining from discussing necromancy in front of Taash, choking down one of Harding's ham sandwiches, afraid he'd insult her if he didn't try it—and then all the times he fussed over Vae herself.

"He's kind," she countered, though she knew it was sometimes to a fault. "He said you were, too. Once."

"Pah! You mistake kindness for naivety. I was young, with no concept of reality." She groaned, as if cursing her former self. "I grew out of that. Volkarin didn't. Beneath his grey hair and wrinkled skin, he's still a child at heart, always seeing individuals over the collective."

Vae shook her head. "Do you feel any guilt at all for what you've done to him?"

The skull chuckled, a bitter, humourless sound. "Guilt? For what? He impeded my plans. I did nothing to him."

"You had him on a hit list."

"Yes, because I knew that bleeding heart would never stand for my glorious uprising. Better to crush him, and that ridiculous pile of bones he drags around, than risk his interference. It wasn't personal, you see? Just collateral."

Vae's jaw clenched, her hands balling into fists. "You have no idea how lucky you are to have that 'bleeding heart' in your life. The rest of the Mourn Watch wanted to seal your skull in a tomb, alone, for eternity. But he fought to become your caretaker, because he couldn't stand the thought of you rotting in solitude. Even after everything, he pitied you."

Silence fell over the study, save for the faint crackle of energy within the skull. Hezenkoss said nothing, but her glow dimmed slightly.

Vae huffed and rose to her feet. "He's taking your betrayal harder than he lets on. You should be grateful for his kindness."

The half-lich grumbled, a note of frustration in her voice. "I was never loyal to him. There was no betrayal.”

"Yes, there was," Vae's temper flared. "You could always go to him, always talk to him. You were friends. He cherished that, cherished you, but you threw it all away—and for what? A broken existence? Eternal imprisonment? Loss of all feeling? You'll never be able to walk again, smell again, enjoy someone's touch on your skin. You had it all, but now it's gone. Was it worth it?"

For a long while, Hezenkoss said nothing, Vae's eyes boring into her sockets. Then, with a soft, almost incredulous hiss, she said, "I will escape."

"Maybe," Vae nodded. "But if you do, know this: I will never let you hurt him again."

Hezenkoss' laughter rang out as Vae moved towards the door. "You won't have to worry about that, darling. The decrepit old fool probably only has a few years left anyway!"

Vae tensed but didn't look back. Gritting her teeth, she wrenched the door open—and froze. Emmrich stood in the hallway, his expression a mixture of shock and pain, the weight of the overheard conversation hanging heavy in the air.

"Emmrich," Vae whispered, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind her. "How long have you been—?"

"We were friends once," he whimpered, his eyes drifting to the floor, "...weren't we?"

Vae reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. He was so hurt, and it killed her to see. Without another word, she pulled him into a hug, her arms wrapping tightly around him. Almost immediately he melted in her embrace, burying his face in her shoulder, his hands trembling.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

He didn't respond, but the way he clung to her spoke volumes.

[xxmethlordxx]

I've been using all my brain power thinking hard of what to ask you for a dunmeshi fanfic....

And I came up with a short story where Laios's party had some injuries after a battle with a monster, but reader who's the oldest human of the party had little injuries so they patch them up. Reader's also a very motherly person so they were fretting over them like a doting parent. And they also cook the party a meal. Sorry if this is too much!

DONT WORRY I LOVE THIS

I’ve been enjoying readers who are either more mature or motherly, because I think it’s kind of cute :3

(Also this is my first go at writing x readers so if you have any suggestions please feel free to lmk what I can do to make it better)

————————————————————————

• Being the oldest human, you can’t help but feel the need to check up on the group more, whether it's helping them patch them up after a fight or helping Senshi cook their meals. You love helping and taking care of your party.

 

•After a big fight with a monster the group was pretty banged up but you being you helped everyone right away. Laios tried to say he was okay, but you told him to sit and let you help him, because you would feel horrible if you left him like this. (He only had a few scratches and was fine.) Helping around with the cooking made Senshi appreciate you a lot and would always take your help when cooking the food.

 

•Chilchuck, being an old man, kind of found your motherly nature great and would sometimes blush when you would check on him or the party, watching you worry and take care of everyone, and sometimes imagine what it would be like to live with you and raise kids….

•Marcille feels like a daughter to you, even though she’s older. You help her with her hair in the morning and style it often with braids and flowers, she always blushes looking at your work of art and is always by you just in case she needs something.

 

(PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF THIS IS GOOD OR NOT 😭)

[deepestdelulu]

30 Things To Make Life Unforgettable

Appreciating life is one of the things I´ve learned this year, small things, happy moments... All of them are valuable for who we are as well as who we will become. However, we are not conscious of what we have, all the feellings we are experimenting and the opportunities we are losing for doing other things (such as being on our phones 5+ hours). I hope this list helps you making life a little bit simpler.

Walking in the rain. In my city rains a lot, so I´m not going to propose you going to the beach, since I can´t (obv you can do it), we have to adapt ourselves to what we have, and rain is one of my favourite things, I used to hate it when I was younger tho.

Spend your day in a cozy cafe. Not only can you have a coffee, but you can also read, study and be productive. The bes part is that you are experimenting new things, being productive and having fun with a hot coffe/tea.

Put your phone away. Be present babe, this is all what we have, you want to live your life, don´t you? Then start doing it, of course you are not going to live advemtures everyday, but at least you can try it. :)

Learn new things. It will never be a waste of time knowledge.

Be more passionate and intense. Who cares if you are too much? It only matters what YOU want.

Trying new recipees. I didn´t use to be a big fan of cooking, but I tried it few months ago, and let me tell you, all I do naw are bisquits for people I care.

More museums, more art gallery. I´ve always wanted to give mysterious girl vibes (I´m a yapper but introverted at the same time) you can always try reading in a museum.

"For the plot" mindset. My friends and I sometimes play saying yes to almost everything, just to see hwo things develop. It´s very fun:)

Bucketlisting. In a world of consumerism no one can scape

Trying something new. I started dancing, and I feel so energetic.

Learning to be alone. I do have a post about it :) go check it after this one.

Candle+Sweater=Coziness. Scented candles, my bff in autumn/winter.

Book annotating. It helps focusing, you can go through your notes after it and in my opinion creates more powerful bonds with the story and you.

Old classic books. Culture girls are the hottest.

Cooking your own meals. It's such a simple and sweet act of self-care. You can also try making your own Jam or something.

Doing things that you enjoyed as a child. My favorites are horse riding, swimming, baking, and bubble baths.

Buying flowers for yourself. It doesn't have to be an expensive and fancy bouquet, just some pretty flowers for your room.

Doing your nails. I like red wine ones, makes me feel like a vampire!

Taking more Photos. You can also buy a cool vintage camera (I recommend looking on eBay!) to make it more aesthetically pleasing.

Trying crochet, knitting, or sewing. I'm trying to crochet a sweater for my dog right now, haha.

Planting a plant. I tried to plant an avocado, but it didn´t grow as i expected, although i´ll keep trying it

Making plans with your friends like going on a picnic. You could plan some themed picnics like cottagecore, homemade food from your culture, strawberries, and so on; also a great opportunity to take some pictures!

Do volunteer work. Tried it last year, it was so fun to learn new skills and meeting new people while trying to make world better.

Writing a diary. Writing down things that have happened and looking back at them feels really lovely to me.

Writing letters to your friends. Letters just feel more personal than text; you can also keep them as a memory.

Dressing in a way that makes you feel happy. Wearing outfits that make you feel confident will definitely make life better.

Petting stray cats. I love cats.

Starting to collect something. You could collect something small like jewelry or postcards!

Playing music in the background while doing stuff. I can't stop listening to the lofi girl stream on youtube, haha.

Going on gloomy walks in the Forrest. Name something more comforting. I will wait.

Please feel free to add more suggestions in the comments! <3

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧

[rtofbs]

astrology notes 3: fixed placements edition

note: these are my personal observations based on the people around me, take what resonate, feel free to add your own observations.

Leo Suns as parents tend to give a freedom to their child and I feel like this is because they want to give the child a space and time to work on their individuality and developing their Sun qualities (self-esteem, vitality and general creativity) Leo understands the importance of a healthy ego and core individuality that will support their child in the future as well as they understand that it's crucial for a child to move from the comfort of the Moon to the creative and boss energies of the Sun.

Leo Moons are forever child at heart even if they are over 50 years old, they strive in these care-free and joyous energies, love to receive and give the attention, and I've noticed this is true even with one of the toughest Sun placements - Capricorn.

Capricorn with Leo Moon is like a soft bear who is very tough on the outside, but is very sweet and affectionate on the inside. also I've noticed that Leo Moons take their hobbies very close to their hearts, same goes to Moon in 5th. when playing with other people, they might get competitive as fuck.

Moon in Scorpio are one of the sweetest people: attentive and caring, very focused if the person is feeling good and comfortable, they can get very anxious to ensure that the person is feeling good to the point it's very cute. I might he highly biased here as my Venus in Scorpio loves LOVES lOvES LoVeS Moons in Scorpio. Moon in Scorpio also respects the privacy of other people as they want their privacy to be respected since they've experience a lot of privacy and boundary violation in childhood.

Tauruses no matter what is the Venus sign are very good at spotting beauty and know best how to make things beautiful, and they in general appreciate the beauty and comfort around them, and they might be very artistic from the very young age, and sometime get clingy, especially in childhood. Taurus vibes to me is: comfort, money, good sleep, food, relaxation, their fashion, skin-care, routine, sex, and again sex, relationships, convenience, consistency, stubbornness, calm confidence, and care.

in general Taurus placements are prone to being very conservative to the point of using very old versions of the OS in their laptop as they know it works best for them, and even if they realise that the new one might be better, but they are still attached to what they are used to. Taurus placements in general they have their own speed of doing things, but Moon in Taurus comes first of being very slow to changes and they need time to prepare for things and occasions to come.

Mothers of Moon in Taurus can be very controlling and dominating but they will give the child the financial prosperity and ensure their child have some stuff in their possessions: like some property.

Taurus x Scorpio axis gives me the vibes "let's make love and make money" 🥰

Sun and Moon in Aquarius love to tease people, especially with other Scorpio placements. they are funny sometimes to the point of being socially awkward, but always happy if people can have funny banter with them. if you want to know if the person with Moon in Aquarius feels good about you, then observe how they behave with you: the weirder it gets - more comfortable they feel themselves around you.

Mercury in Aquarius art definitely leans towards some absurd and grotesque stuff, and might be difficult to grasp the genius of their verbal creativity, but it's doubtlessly unique as they have their OWN way of expressing their thoughts.