#and their art on an unreachable wall

[idliketobeatree]

a gentle reminder to myself: slow down when you're met with someone else's creation. just because it's not in a museum, doesn't mean it's not worth your time. you can skim through your life all you want, you can jump over the annoying cracks and never look back, but when someone presents you (in the most literal meaning of this word – as a gift) with their art you should sit down and pay back with attention. people need creativity that is shared and appreciated, and it needs your focus and care to bloom properly. briefness kills both the idea and the community around it. so, slow down.

[dullahandyke]

Films good movies good banshees of inisherin was good

[nxzz-skz]

'guitar' strings attached~

ᯓ★ rockstar!hyunjin x journalist!reader

ᯓ★ warnings: angst, hyunjin is cold at first, kissing, fluff

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The first time you met Hyunjin, it was overwhelming to say the least. It's not just his striking looks-the sharp jawline, the dark hair loosely coming down to the nape of his neck, or the way he moves and dances with the effortless grace of someone who belongs on a stage. It's his presence, cold and magnetic, like an unreachable star way up above that you can't stop staring at.

You're standing in the backstage dressing room of Stray Kids' sold-out concert in Busan, your laminated pass clutched tightly in clammy hands. The incredible performance still lingers in your veins like adrenaline, the echo of screaming fans and thunderous music reverberating in your chest. When the door opens and the band walks in, your breath catches.

Bangchan is the first to greet you, his energy warm and inviting. "You're the one who wrote that article about our lyrics, right?" he asks, his dimpled smile comforting. "Hyunjin wouldn't shut up about it."

Your gaze instinctively shifts to Hyunjin. He's standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his phone in hand, pretending not to notice you. But when Chan mentions him, his head jerks up, and for a brief moment, your eyes meet. His expression hardens, and he looks away almost immediately.

“I didn’t—” Hyunjin starts, but he stops himself, the tips of his ears faintly pink. “Don’t exaggerate,” he mutters, brushing past Chan and settling into a seat farthest from you.

You try not to take it personally, but the sting of his dismissiveness lingers.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Despite Hyunjin’s aloofness, your paths seem destined to cross. The article you wrote has gained you some attention in the music journalism world, and your editor secures you another opportunity: an exclusive interview with the band.

The second meeting is no less nerve-wracking than the first. Hyunjin answers your questions with short, measured words, his tone lacking warmth. But there’s something in his eyes—an intensity that makes you feel like he’s trying to read your mind.

It’s not until later that night, after a press event, that you see a different side of him. You step out onto the hotel balcony for some air, and there he is, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a sketchbook in his lap. The soft glow of city lights bathes his face, making him look almost ethereal.

“I didn’t know you draw,” you say softly, hesitant to intrude.

Hyunjin looks up, startled, but he doesn’t close the sketchbook. “It’s just a hobby,” he says after a pause.

You take a tentative step closer. “Can I see?”

For a moment, you think he’s going to refuse, but then he turns the book toward you. The drawing is breathtaking—a city nightscape, so detailed that it looked exactly like the view ahead of you, with delicate lines that seem to pulse with life.

“It’s… beautiful,” you whisper, genuinely awed.

His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a smile, but he quickly looks away. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insist, sitting beside him. “Do you use your art for the band’s visuals?”

“Sometimes,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “This might be the cover for our next album. If Chan likes it.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that catches you off guard. In this moment, Hyunjin doesn’t feel like the untouchable rockstar the world knows. He feels human—guarded, yes, but achingly human.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

From that night on, something shifts between you. Hyunjin doesn’t suddenly become warm or openly affectionate, but he starts seeking you out in small, unspoken ways. He offers thoughtful answers during interviews, defends your questions when others brush them aside, and once, when you trip over a cable backstage, he’s the first to catch you.

“Be careful,” he murmurs, his hand lingering on your arm for just a moment too long.

The walls he’s built around himself don’t crumble all at once, but they begin to crack.

One evening, during the band’s tour in Tokyo, the cracks deepen. The group is out for dinner, and everyone’s relaxed, laughing over drinks. Felix, always the playful one, leans over and grins. “Hyunjin, when are you going to stop brooding and just tell her you like her?”

The table falls silent. Your face burns, and you risk a glance at Hyunjin. His expression is unreadable, but his knuckles whiten as he grips his glass.

“I don’t,” he says stiffly, his voice colder than usual. Without another word, he stands and walks out of the restaurant.

You hesitate for only a moment before following him. You find him outside, leaning against the railing of a bridge that overlooks the city.

“Why do you always act like this?” you ask, your voice trembling with frustration.

“Like what?” he snaps, turning to face you.

“Like you hate me,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Did I do something wrong?”

His expression falters, and for a moment, he looks lost. “You didn’t do anything,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “It’s me. I don’t know how to do this—any of this.”

You take a step closer, your heart pounding. “Do what?”

“Let people in,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been hurt before. It’s easier to keep everyone at a distance.”

Your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his words. “Not everyone’s going to hurt you, Hyunjin.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and before you can say anything else, he closes the distance between you. His hands cup your face, and his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s both desperate and tender.

It’s like the world fades away. His mouth moves against yours with a mix of urgency and hesitation, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. You kiss him back, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you.

When you finally break apart, his forehead rests against yours, and he exhales shakily. “I’m scared,” he admits.

“So am I,” you whisper. “But I’m here.”

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The road ahead isn’t easy. A paparazzi photo of you and Hyunjin together surfaces online, sparking a media frenzy. Fans accuse you of exploiting him, and the backlash threatens both your career and the band’s reputation.

Hyunjin retreats into himself, blaming himself for the chaos. “This is my fault,” he says one night, pacing his hotel room. “I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“Stop pushing me away,” you plead, your voice breaking. “We can get through this together, but not if you keep shutting me out.”

But he doesn’t listen. The walls go back up, and just like that, he’s gone again.

It isn’t until weeks later, after you uncover the real source of a leaked song draft—a disgruntled former crew member—that Hyunjin comes to his senses. He finds you on the rooftop of the studio, sitting alone under the stars.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sitting beside you. “I should’ve trusted you.”

Your throat tightens, but you manage to say, “Yeah, you should’ve.”

He takes your hand in his, his grip firm yet gentle. “I’m done running. I’m done being afraid. If you’ll still have me, I want to try. For real this time.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you nod, squeezing his hand. “I never stopped wanting you.”

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

At the band’s final concert of the tour, Hyunjin surprises everyone by performing Strings Attached. Halfway through, he pulls you onstage, his hand trembling in yours.

“This song is for her,” he says into the microphone, his voice steady despite the roar of the crowd. “For the one who taught me how to feel again.”

Tears stream down your face as he sings, his voice carrying a raw, aching vulnerability that leaves no doubt about his feelings.

When the song ends, he turns to you, his lips brushing against your ear. “I love you,” he whispers, so quietly that only you can hear.

And this time, when you look into his eyes, there’s no trace of the Ice King—only Hyunjin, raw and unguarded, finally letting himself fall.

ᯓ★ reblogs appreciated!

[cybrasigilism]

All Mine (Player 333/Lee Myung-gi X Reader Drabble)

warning: smut | not proofread | lowercase intended | possession kink | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinion on the character differs from your own

character: lee myung-gi (player 333)

A/N: been straight up desiring to write for this diva again, i got inspiration for this little drabble after listening to “ALL MINE” by brent faiyaz, hence the fic name. enjoy to all my fellow myung-gi fans!

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, readers discretion is advised

if anyone is into possessive, jealous sex, it’s myung-gi without a shadow of a doubt.

you’ve seen jealous before. you’ve been in your fair share of relationships with guys who felt as though they needed to stake a claim on you if someone even so much as looked in your direction, but with myung-gi it was on a different level entirely. when you first met, you didn’t clock him as the kind of guy who would be into that sort of thing. when all is said and done though, if he feels like he has to prove that your his— you will not be walking right for the next few days.

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

you can’t deny that it totally turned you on; the way he would become totally thankless with you. pushing you up against the wall, leaving marks and hickeys all up and down your neck, whispering in your ear how you’re his— you were certain you couldn’t get enough of him like this. he was so rough, yet so gentle at the same time. it was as though he was taking out his frustration and envy out onto you while still reminding you how much he loved you. you really couldn’t say you minded how tenacious he became when eating you out during these fits of jealousy, working wonders with that tongue of his as if in an attempt to raise the bar to an unreachable point for all other men. trust he will take moments in between to dish out possessive comments, only because he knows it gets you going that much more.

“no one else can eat you this good, isn’t that right?”

“fuck, this is all for me right? nobody else’ll ever get to know how good you taste”

you better believe he becomes totally controlling when you guys fuck, too. he’ll demand that you tell him who you ‘belong’ to as he thrusts in and out of your pussy. even through tears, he won’t cease until you’re screaming his name.

“do i need to remind you who this pussy belongs to?” “a-ah! fuck! it’s yours— oh shit, it’s all y-ours!”

he may seem much rougher than usual while he’s fucking you in this jealous rage, but it’s completely out of love. he just despises the idea of a guy thinking he could take you from him so easily, that’s all.

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thanks for putting up with my brief self indulgent post! i apologize if it’s ooc, i just got the idea and wanted to share it inbetween working through requests!

as always, any advice/constructive criticism on how to improve my art is appreciated and requested! have a spectacular day/night lovelies!

tags: @gongyoosgf @strangelife122 @agornotsworld @kvstjwonnie @marymustdie @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet

[esther-dot]

Jonsa Reunion

Safe and Sound 1k (I just have to highlight that this was posted in 2014)

Sansa escapes Baelish and finds her way to Castle Black.

Kiss of Undeath ficlet by @haraways

Sansa brings Jon back with a kiss.

Without You I Am Nothing 1k by @asbestosmouth

Castle Black is monochrome, but Sansa blazes like the fires of Rh'llor. Jon cannot help but burn.

Gifsets: Jonsa Hug by @joanna-lannister, Jonsa Hug by @c-sand, The Girl in Grey, Jonsa Hug 1, 2 by @kitnjon

Art: Jonsa Hug, Jonsa Hug by @vierverdeen, Jonsa Hug by @themarmic

Jon Comes Back Wrong

grave-dirt 3k by @charmtion

The edge of the world. The yawning dark. In his chest, a strange sluggish beat.

back in the pulse 2k WIP by @chispas-and-broken-bindings

(Who are you?) A dead man. A monster. The mistake of many and one. (And what have you lost?) Everything. (And what have you found?) You. (And what will you do with me?) Protect you. Always.

Made of Echos and Ice 1k by @thewolvescalledmehome

Ever since coming down from the Eyrie, Sansa has had the same dream. A wolf with white paws pacing in the snow. When she learns of the betrayal at the Wall, Sansa decides to do something about her dream.

i fall to pieces (when i'm with you) 70k by usuallysunny

"Go North. Only North. Jon is Lord Commander at the Castle Black. He'll help you." He'd had good intentions, this broken shadow of a man who used to be Theon, and he couldn't have known. Sansa finds a Lord Commander at Castle Black. He has steel-grey eyes, her father's eyes, and a dark beard framing a strong jaw, and he looks and sounds and moves like Jon... But he's not Jon.

Always Her ficlet by @temporal-tempest

Jon Snow came back darker, unreachable until her hand touched his face. This is what happens when you threaten that which has become the only warmth in a dark heart.

At Castle Black

My eyes were wide open 10k by @eruherdiriel

She hesitates, then reaches for his free hand, his other still tangled in Ghost’s fur. Their palms meet, hers warm against his chilly one, and the relief that rushes through him at her touch almost makes him close his eyes and forget the throbbing pain. “Do you remember what happened?” All he recalls are knives in the dark and cold, bitter cold. * It is in dreams that Jon begins to remember who he is.

Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten 2k by QueenOfSloths

She remembers the kiss that he took. The only thing she doesn’t remember is him taking it. There are times when she is almost certain that she gave it willingly.

'cause i know that it's delicate 4k by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

Set during "Book of the Stranger," immediately after Sansa arrives at the Wall. He goes to build the fire back up, and for a few minutes he stays silent, kneeling at the hearth, not looking at her. Finally he clears his throat. “I know,” he begins, “it’s not exactly what you’re used to — ” “You’d be surprised what I’m used to.”

make your fingers soft and light 10k by @ladyalice101

Jon goes quiet again, and his hand retracts, but just as quickly he is touching her again, oil on his fingers. He works methodically, moving from one wound to the next, one scar to another, from the base of her back to the top of her spine. It’s so gentle, so caring, and the longer it goes on the more Sansa relaxes, the safer she feels. Her eyes dip close under his rhythmic ministrations, and her mind goes blank, and she starts to feel the familiar lull of sleep edge around her mind. “This is supposed to make the scars fade?” Jon asks as he finishes up, his warm hands leaving her back, making her feel cold and startling her from her reverie. “Yes.” She isn’t sure she imagines the tightness in his voice when he speaks again. “If you are to do this every night, then I will gladly assist you.” // Jon rubs a soothing balm into Sansa's scars every night. But that's it. Nothing more. Definitely not. He's just there to help her do what she can't do herself.

as the night came down in a Nordic sky ficlet by @miazeklos

During her first night in Castle Black, Sansa reunites with the true North, and Jon welcomes her home.

Cold Nights at Castle Black ficlet by @estherruth-jonsatrash

They were grown now, childhood behind them. Yet they had been sharing a bed more like children, with the cold at Castle Black leaving them in need of warmth. At least at first.

How I wish you would take me for granted ficlet by @trollslanda

Sometimes her hands would shake- Solely in private, when she broke her quiet surface to gasp for air. Around others she still had a mental block, passively guarding her, bringing out the Stark iron. It made her keep her back straight and eyes steady, put up a solid front. Sometimes it felt like she was rusting from the inside and her brittle bones would never be whole again. --- Set shortly after Sansa has arrived at Castle Black, when she's still learning to feel safe. As it turns out, Jon is really good at that kind of thing.

Remedy ficlet by @wildflower-daydreamer

The night Jon and Sansa reunite at Castle Black.

To break and to mend ficlet @dreams-for-spring

In those moments nothing else matters and they forget what they have lost; in those moments they are more than the sum of their broken parts.

In the quiet of the night 4k by dreams-for-spring

It becomes a habit; each night she unlatches her chamber door, and each night Jon enters just as bashfully as before. Some nights he brings terrible sour wine, and others bitter ale for them to share as they sit around the hearth speaking of everything that has happened–everything except what has passed between him and his black brothers. She knows that is a topic he is not ready to share. Still, she does not find sleep when he leaves, but at least for those brief hours she is not alone, and something small inside of her begins to burn brighter with each night that passes. She tries to ignore the voice that tells her it is hope; hope is a dangerous thing for people like them.

Tous Deux On est Repartis dans le Tourbillon de la Vie 1k by @melimelo-ao3

He couldn’t even begin to picture what she had endured, what she had lived through. Yet, hearing her pleading in the night, he would give anything to know, to be able to understand her, to soothe her. He had only ever wanted to soothe her.

Gifsets: Where Will We Go by c-sand, Brienne Reacts to Jonsa, New Dress by @jonstarks How Could We Know, Sansa Tries Ale, Where Will We Go, Sansa Making Jon's Cloak, I Made This for You by kitnjon

Traveling the North

Five Times They Touch 1k by @justchunkit

She doesn’t touch him for days. Weeks. They travel from keep to stronghold, living in close quarters as they’d never done even as children. She is so close, but an icy veneer has covered the exhausted girl he’d started to know, and they can hardly exchange a good morning without it evolving into an argument.

Some Love Stories Need a Little Help 2k @graceverse

Or how Tormund effectively makes Jon share a tent with Sansa

Unnatural 2k by @amymel86

Once he is close enough, she leaps at him, arms wrapping him up and his nose buried in her copper hair. The shuddering exhale he expels is the most amount of sound he’s made in days but all he can hear is Sansa’s sniffling and the way their two hearts talk to one another in beats of the same song.

Gifsets: Arguing, Eye Contact, Jon Reacting to Sansa by jonstarks Side by Side by @baelerion

Pre Battle of the Bastards

we may only have this night 2k by wearycities

She summoned an image of Jon in her mind. When he saw her, at Castle Black. His eyes, his face. His hands letting go of the railing, like it had burned him. She could not stop thinking about his hands. She had turned the memory over and over in her mind on countless sleepless nights, wondering what it meant. After her argument with Jon the night before the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa returned to his tent.

The Madness of Dead and Broken Things 1k by @estherruth-jonsatrash

The first time, Jon tells himself it’s the last time. Jon gives into his feelings for Sansa the night before the Battle of the Bastards, telling himself he'll die the next day. He isn't prepared for the after of survival.

the night before the fight ficlet by @sailorshadzter

jon & sansa spend a night together before the battle of the bastards. pre parental reveal hookup, read at your own risk. nsfw.

Before the Storm 1k

Snowflakes fell from the grey sky, covering the ground in white even more than it already was. Grey and white, Sansa thought to herself. The Stark colors.

A gaze across a field 1, 2 ficlets by fedonciadale

Sansa's thoughts as she contemplates the possible outcome of the battle.

Gifsets: Arguing, You Don't Have to Be Here, I'll protect You I Promise by jonstarks, Pre and During BotB by baelerion, Jon Pummeling Ramsay by kitnjon, Jon Pummeling Ramsay by c-sand

Post Battle of the Bastards

Bloodstains and Stitches Chapter 1 and 2 by @trollslanda

Two scenes set after Battle of the Bastards: 1. In the courtyard, Jons pov. Post-battle calmdown and fluff I guess but also there's dead bodies and stuff. I dunno. 2. Sansa cleaning his wounds and stitching him up, her pov. A pretty sweet scene where they get a moment to breathe.

A Little Friction ficlet by @justchunkit

“You don’t know anything about me.” “Because you won’t tell me anything!” After the Battle of the Bastards, Jon and Sansa try to get to know each other.

Of Justice and Ghosts 1k by @lurikko

He knows his sister is watching him carefully like they are the only two humans left in the world, as they in a way are, and that makes his every remaining piece crumble.

Ghosts that We Knew 7k @the-prophet-lemonade

In the wake of the Battle of the Bastards, and the proclamation of the North's fealty to the Starks once more, Jon and Sansa see the ghosts of their family all-around. Sometimes, it becomes difficult to separate the past from the present when so many that they love are dead. A series of vignettes based around "nostalgia", and Jon & Sansa compared to Ned & Catelyn and the rest of their family.

they say that we’re out of control and some say we’re sinners 14k

Doesn’t have enough time to reminisce on the past because she’s turned around, and he’s seen her face, and it’s her. Can’t be anyone but her even underneath all that smudged dirt on her pale cheeks. Would know the red of her hair anywhere, he thinks. Doesn’t linger on the why, and instead descends down the steps and towards her. She’s turned her body so she’s facing him now, her eyes tracking his every move, his doing the same. They’re so in sync it’s terrifying, really.

Five Kisses 1k by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

The five kisses that Jon and Sansa have shared.

Undisclosed Desires 4k Nina36

“Why did you stop?” She asked. I was ashamed. He was yours. I was terrified that you saw who I am. He was yours to kill. It was what you needed.

bet you didn't know that i was dangerous 4k by @ladyalice101

“I mean that your brother took a woman to bed, and when he had his way with her, he said your name into her ear over and over again.” // In which Littlefinger tests for Jon's weaknesses, and discovers a secret.

Soiled 5k by @orangeflavoryawp

"'Talk to me, Sansa,' he pleads, voice wavering, and she shuts her eyes to the sound. Like a gale. Like a mountain coming down. This is how it empties from her. 'What do you want me to say?"' she bites out, voice quaking." - Jon and Sansa. The start of their descent.

Dark in Bloom 8k by orangeflavoryawp

"His gravity wavers, the axis of his world tilted to the measure of her lips." - Jon and Sansa. The stain of desire bleeds slowly between them.

Hallowed 5k by orangeflavoryawp

“’Tell me,’ he growls, more demand than he’s ever given her – crown or not – and the feeling is heady in its fervency. Sansa stares him down, mouth a harsh frown. She doesn’t resist his hold, doesn’t ease into it either. ‘He says your affections for me aren’t… brotherly.’” - Jon and Sansa. An encounter with Lord Baelish brings the truth of their desires to light.

but still you stumble, feet give way, outside the world seems a violent place 3k by @parkersedith

When she looks at him, she cannot see anyone other than Jon, especially with him wearing a simple breeches and tunic, divested of all ornaments, even Longclaw. She can only see Jon, not her bastard half-brother, not the King in the North, not the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, not a wildling, but only Jon, the Jon who took Winterfell back with her, the Jon who fought their battle, the Jon who has been there, at her side, ever since she found him again. or; instead of roaming winterfell when she cannot sleep, sansa goes to jon, and to jon's bed. it's not quite as illicit as it sounds, and gives them a chance to finally, truly, talk

In the quiet of the night 4k by @dreams-for-spring

It becomes a habit; each night she unlatches her chamber door, and each night Jon enters just as bashfully as before. Some nights he brings terrible sour wine, and others bitter ale for them to share as they sit around the hearth speaking of everything that has happened–everything except what has passed between him and his black brothers. She knows that is a topic he is not ready to share. Still, she does not find sleep when he leaves, but at least for those brief hours she is not alone, and something small inside of her begins to burn brighter with each night that passes. She tries to ignore the voice that tells her it is hope; hope is a dangerous thing for people like them.

love is more than telling me you want it 2k

When he smiles at her, she feels warmth flooding back into her bones. She’d almost forgotten what it feels like, she’s been cold for so long. Sansa and Jon learn to be something other than ships passing in the night.

Gifsets: Jon Looking at Sansa by jonstarks, Sansa Looking at Jon by baelerion, Forehead Kiss by joanna-lannister, Winter Is Here by kitnjon, Forehead Kiss by c-sand

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - next week -> ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

[lectern-fullcauldron]

no no there's something in that. hang on, let me try and grasp the thought. Joe's builds reach into the minutia - they are a study of what was, and what is. they are replicas built in absolutes - malicious compliance to reference texts. the castle walls must align with reality, or something will be lost. something something Plato's forms and the idea of art as imitations striving for unreachable perfection.

cleo's builds reach into the minutia too, but in a different way. Cleo reached for the human minutia - letting minecraft be lived in and letting spaces breathe. Cleo deals in stories, rather than blueprints, mapping out murders and battles and weddings.

they started season nine in a set of ruins and a haunted house. Joe haunted with architecture, Cleo armour-standed the dead. time is static at cleo's ruins, the petrified statues forever frozen, and history forever lost. whereas, at the house of horrors, the trees bloom still, and burst into leaf and blossom, falling and decaying as the seasons turn.

Cleo controls the time in their bases, grabbing and freezing a moment in place - be it a flying cannonball, or children being eaten by zoo creatures. Time consumes Joe's bases, ever ticking, ever skipping. And with the passage of time, the haunting grows and the ghost of what used to be grows ever stonger, built on a legacy of iteration

The zombie is frozen in a moment of decay. The ghost slips ever further from temporality. There is a difference between the time of the dead and the undead. the first thing they built together on hermitcraft were the hanging gardens of babylon

[sqsupernova]

Title: Painting Walls of Memories and Unglanning Stories Their Beginnings and Ends Unreachable Link: Click Here To View and Comment Artist: 1attheedge Find them on: -Twitter: 1attheedge -Tumblr: 1attheedge

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Title: Painting Walls of Memories and Unglanning Stories Their Beginnings and Ends Unreachable Link: Click Here To View and Comment Author: TalesOfOnyxBats Find them on: -Twitter: -Tumblr: bellatrixobsessed1 Rating: Teen and Up Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply Words: 28k Summary: Emma finds herself intrigued by the Amospheric Doom Metal/DSBM band that performed at the venue she works at. The night after, she begins an impulse road trip on which she keeps running into that very band.

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Remember - writers and artists spent months creating the fics and art you enjoy, so it would mean the world to them if you commented to tell them what you liked! A creator who feels appreciated is a creator who is more likely to write or create art again in the future!

[liora-vespera]

The Ghost Who Loved - Taehyung Oneshot

Genre: Supernatural Romance, Fantasy, Angst, Mystery, Drama

Warning: This story contains themes of supernatural elements, ghosts, and lost memories. It includes emotional tension, romance, and scenes involving the exploration of identity and self-discovery.

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The park was unusually quiet that morning. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and children’s laughter echoed in the distance. Y/N sat on her favorite bench, staring at the world that continued to move without her.

She didn’t know how long it had been since she became a ghost. Days? Weeks? Months? She couldn’t remember. The only thing she knew for sure was her name: Y/N. Everything else was a foggy, unreachable blur.

The solitude was unbearable. No one could see her, no one could hear her. She was alone.

Until today.

A man approached the bench and sat down, his sharp features catching her attention immediately. He was tall, with dark hair styled effortlessly, dressed in a sleek black coat that screamed sophistication. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

Y/N found herself leaning on the armrest, admiring him closely. What does it matter? He can’t see me anyway.

But then, his eyes flickered up from his phone and landed right on hers.

“Excuse me, miss?” he asked, his tone a mix of confusion and annoyance.

Y/N froze.

“You... can see me?” she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course, I can see you. You’re standing right there.”

Y/N’s emotions flooded her all at once—relief, confusion, and excitement. She peppered him with questions, her words spilling out like a waterfall.

“How can you see me? Are you... like me? Are there others like us? What’s going on? Please, tell me!”

The man leaned back, looking at her as though she were insane. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Before Y/N could explain further, another man’s voice interrupted them.

“Taehyung! Let’s go, man. We’re gonna be late.”

The stranger—Taehyung—glanced over his shoulder and waved dismissively. But when he turned back, Y/N was still there, staring at him with wide, desperate eyes.

“Stop following me,” he hissed under his breath, standing up abruptly.

But Y/N didn’t budge. “I can’t! You’re the only one who can see me! Do you know how lonely it’s been? Please, just talk to me.”

Taehyung groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair. People around them were starting to stare.

“Who the hell are you talking to?” one of his friends asked, looking concerned.

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. “No one,” he muttered, glaring at Y/N. “Go away.”

But she didn’t. Instead, she followed him, determined to stick with the only person who could acknowledge her existence.

“Don’t talk to me,” Taehyung snapped, turning to her as they walked.

Y/N tilted her head. “Then stop answering me. You’re only making it worse for yourself.”

Taehyung’s friend grabbed his arm, whispering urgently. “Taehyung, people are staring. Are you okay?”

He shot Y/N one last glare before letting his friend drag him away. But as he walked, he kept glancing over his shoulder, his expression a mix of irritation and confusion.

Y/N followed at a safe distance, her mind racing. She didn’t know who Taehyung was or why he could see her, but she was determined to find out.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she had hope.

---

Taehyung’s mansion stood in stark contrast to the chaos of his life. On the outside, it was a modern architectural marvel—pristine white walls, enormous glass windows, and surrounded by lush greenery. Inside, it was a sanctuary for his art, every wall adorned with paintings, sketches, and sculptures. But for Taehyung, it was a hollow, lifeless space.

Returning from his art gallery late that evening, he barely had the energy to kick off his shoes. Flopping onto his bed, still in his dark turtleneck and slacks, he exhaled deeply. His thoughts drifted to his messy life—his failed marriage, the stress of trying to create meaningful art again, and the bizarre encounter with that girl at the park.

“A ghost,” he muttered to himself, scoffing. “I need sleep.”

Unbeknownst to him, Y/N had followed him all the way home.

Slipping through the locked front door, she marveled at her surroundings. The house was like something out of a dream, with its grand chandeliers, sleek furniture, and a vast collection of art. Her fingers brushed against the canvases and sculptures, careful not to disturb anything too much.

“This place is incredible,” she whispered to herself, wandering room to room.

Eventually, she found herself in Taehyung’s bedroom. He was fast asleep, one arm draped across his forehead. Y/N tilted her head, watching him curiously.

“I wonder why he can see me,” she mused, walking around the room. Her fingers grazed the edges of his sketchbooks and brushes. She was fascinated by the small details of his life but careful not to wake him.

The next morning, Taehyung woke up groggily, running a hand through his messy hair. After a quick shower, he headed downstairs to make himself breakfast.

But the smell of something savory filled the air.

His brows furrowed. He hadn’t even started cooking. He turned the corner and froze.

There she was.

The girl from the park, standing in his kitchen, humming softly as she stirred something in a pan.

“What the—?!” Taehyung stormed over, grabbing her wrist. “How the hell did you get in here?!”

Y/N yelped in surprise, staring at his hand clutching hers. “Y-You can touch me?”

“What are you talking about? Of course, I can touch—” Taehyung froze, his grip loosening slightly. “Wait... I can touch you. But... how?”

Y/N’s lips parted in shock, but before she could say anything, Taehyung dragged her toward the front door, muttering angrily. “I don’t know how you got in here, but you’re leaving. Now.”

He shoved her out and locked the door, breathing heavily as he leaned against it. “She’s gone. She has to be gone,” he told himself, peeking through the window to confirm.

But a soft tap on his shoulder made him whirl around, his heart pounding.

There she was, standing in the middle of his living room, a playful smirk on her lips.

“How did you—?!”

“I’ll show you,” Y/N said simply. She walked over to the door, phased through it like it wasn’t even there, then stepped back in the same way.

Taehyung stared, dumbfounded. “You’re not real,” he muttered under his breath.

“Really? Does this look unreal to you?” she retorted, pointing at the table where she had set the steaming plates of food.

Still unconvinced, Taehyung pulled out his phone and called his mother, his hands trembling slightly.

“Mom,” he said when she answered. “Can you see the food on the dining table?”

“Food? Yes, I can see it. It looks delicious! Why do you ask?”

Taehyung hung up without answering, his eyes darting to Y/N. She was invisible in the reflection of the nearby glass, and the security cameras showed an empty kitchen.

He sank into the chair, running a hand over his face. “This isn’t a hallucination,” he muttered. “You’re real.”

Y/N grinned, perching herself on the armrest of the couch. “Told you.”

Taehyung looked up at her, his mind racing with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to.

---

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, staring at Y/N with narrowed eyes. She sat across from him, perched casually on the edge of his coffee table like she belonged there.

“So, let me get this straight,” Taehyung began, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “You want me to help you figure out who you are? A ghost with no memory of her past?”

Y/N nodded earnestly. “Yes. You’re the only one who can see me. The only one who can help.”

Taehyung sighed, rubbing his temples. “And what makes you think I can do anything about this? I’m not exactly an expert in the... supernatural.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, her voice softening. “But I’m alone. I’ve been alone for so long, and now... now you can see me. That has to mean something, right?”

Her vulnerability gave Taehyung pause. For the first time, he saw the fear and loneliness beneath her playful demeanor. It tugged at something inside him—something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll help you. But on one condition.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “Anything!”

“As soon as we figure out who you are and why you’re here, you leave. No hanging around, no haunting my house. Deal?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Deal.”

Taehyung extended a hand out of habit but quickly pulled it back, realizing how strange it would look. Instead, Y/N gave a mock salute, grinning. “You won’t regret this!”

---

Over the next few days, Y/N settled into Taehyung’s home like she belonged there. She explored every nook and cranny, commenting on his choice of décor, admiring his artwork, and occasionally teasing him about his messiness.

Taehyung, on the other hand, found himself adjusting to her presence in ways he hadn’t expected. For the first time in years, the house didn’t feel so empty.

But she had her moments.

“Taehyung!” Y/N called one morning, her voice carrying through the mansion. “Have you seen my—oh, never mind, found it!”

Taehyung groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. “It’s six in the morning, Y/N! Ghosts aren’t supposed to need sleep, so why do I have to suffer?”

Y/N poked her head through the bedroom door. Literally.

“You’re the one who agreed to help me,” she reminded him with a cheeky grin.

Taehyung threw the pillow at her, but it went right through, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

“Annoying,” he muttered under his breath as he got up to start his day.

---

When he had to leave the house, Taehyung made a point of wearing his earpods, pretending he was on a call whenever Y/N decided to chat with him in public.

“Why do you care so much about what other people think?” she asked one afternoon as they walked through a crowded street.

“Because unlike you, I have a reputation to maintain,” he replied, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, come on. You’re just talking to yourself. It’s not like people are going to think you’re crazy or anything.”

Taehyung stopped walking and turned to face her. “Y/N, people already think I’m crazy for arguing with thin air in the middle of a park. I’m not giving them any more reasons.”

Y/N just laughed, skipping ahead like she didn’t have a care in the world.

---

At night, Taehyung often found himself staring at the ceiling, wondering why he, of all people, could see and touch her.

“Do you think it means something?” he asked one evening, breaking the silence as they sat in the living room.

Y/N looked up from the sketchbook she was flipping through. “What?”

“That I can see you. That I can touch you.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a random thing. Like fate messing with us for fun.”

Taehyung snorted. “Fate? That’s the best explanation you’ve got?”

Y/N shrugged. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

As frustrating as she could be, Taehyung had to admit that her presence had started to fill the gaping void in his life. His house no longer felt so oppressively quiet, and the constant company, while annoying at times, was oddly comforting.

But there was still the matter of figuring out her identity—a task Taehyung had no idea how to approach.

“Where do we even start?” he muttered to himself as he stared at his computer screen, searching for articles on the supernatural.

Y/N leaned over his shoulder, peering at the screen. “Don’t ask me. You’re the expert now.”

Taehyung sighed, closing his laptop. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

Y/N grinned. “Welcome to my world.”

---

Taehyung sat at his desk, scrolling through endless social media profiles in a futile attempt to find someone resembling Y/N. She hovered behind him, peeking at the screen and occasionally making unhelpful comments.

“That one looks like me!” she chirped, pointing to a random woman.

“That one has pink hair,” Taehyung deadpanned, glancing back at her.

Y/N shrugged. “Maybe I dyed my hair as a ghost and forgot?”

Taehyung groaned, closing the laptop. “This is getting us nowhere. If you’re not online, maybe it’s because...” He paused, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Because what?” Y/N asked suspiciously.

“Maybe you’re from decades ago,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “You know, before the internet existed. That would make you ancient. Grandma Y/N.”

Y/N gasped, spinning to face the mirror across the room. She touched the surface lightly, her fingers brushing against it.

“I don’t even know what I look like,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.

Taehyung’s teasing smile faded instantly. He stared at her reflection—or lack thereof—and felt a pang of guilt.

“Hey,” he said gently, standing up. “Come with me.”

Y/N turned to him, confused, but followed him to his painting room. The space was as much a sanctuary as it was a workspace, with shelves of paints, brushes, and canvases stacked against the walls. The faint scent of oil paint lingered in the air.

Taehyung pulled out a wooden stool and motioned for her to sit. “I’ve never done this before, but...” He gestured at his easel. “Let’s see if I can paint you.”

Y/N’s face lit up. “You’re going to paint me? Like, for real?”

“For real,” Taehyung confirmed, already setting up his supplies. “Now sit still, Grandma.”

She rolled her eyes but sat on the stool, clasping her hands in her lap.

For the next two hours, Y/N watched him work. The way he focused, his brow furrowing as he mixed colors and his brush gliding over the canvas with precision, was mesmerizing. She didn’t dare interrupt, not wanting to break the quiet concentration that filled the room.

Finally, Taehyung stepped back, setting down his brush. “Done.”

Y/N jumped up excitedly, rushing to his side. When she saw the painting, she froze.

It was her.

Her face, her soft features, the glimmer in her eyes—all captured so vividly it almost felt like she was staring at a photograph. But there was something more to it, something only Taehyung could’ve brought to life.

“I... I look so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Tears welled up in her eyes, and as they fell, they disappeared before hitting the ground.

Taehyung turned to her, startled. “Are you crying?”

She threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she murmured against his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

Taehyung chuckled softly, patting her back. “It’s just a painting.”

“To you, maybe. But to me, it’s... everything.”

Pulling back, she looked at the painting again, then grinned mischievously. “You know, if this is what I look like, then you’re going to look like an uncle standing next to me.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “Uncle? I’m only in my thirties!”

Y/N smirked. “Exactly my point. I look like I’m in my early twenties. You’re practically ancient.”

He rolled his eyes. “There are plenty of women my age who look just as young, for your information.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Uncle Taehyung,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him.

In playful retaliation, he dipped his finger in a nearby jar of paint and flicked a small splash at her.

“Hey!” Y/N yelped, jumping back.

She grabbed a paintbrush and dabbed it into another jar, aiming at him. “Take this!” she declared, flicking paint at him.

The paint hit Taehyung square on the cheek, making her burst out laughing. But when he tried to do the same, the paint went right through her.

“Nice try!” she mocked, holding her sides as she laughed harder.

Taehyung narrowed his eyes, then smirked. “Oh, really?”

Before she could react, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, smearing the paint from his cheek onto her face and neck.

“Taehyung!” she squealed, trying to wriggle free.

But he didn’t let go. She was standing between his legs while he remained seated on the tall stool, their faces just inches apart.

The laughter faded, replaced by a heavy silence.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Taehyung’s gaze locked onto hers. For the first time, there was no teasing, no playful banter—just an unspoken tension that made her heart race.

Her lips parted slightly, and before she could say anything, Taehyung leaned in and kissed her.

For a moment, she froze, her mind racing. But then, she kissed him back, her hands resting on his chest as her eyes fluttered shut.

Time seemed to stand still, the world outside disappearing entirely.

---

Taehyung couldn’t shake the guilt that gripped him. After the kiss, he couldn’t meet Y/N’s gaze. He avoided her completely, retreating to his painting room or bedroom, hoping the silence would help him process what he had done.

How could he kiss a ghost?

He sat at his desk, staring blankly at his phone. His finger hovered over the screen before he finally sent the photo of Y/N’s painting to his friend, Joon, who worked in law enforcement.

Taehyung: “Hey, can you run a search on this girl? Name’s Y/N. I need to know if there’s any record of her.”

Joon responded almost instantly.

Joon: “You’re really asking me to identify someone from a painting? What is this, a historical mystery?”

Taehyung: “Just do it. It’s important.”

Joon didn’t push further but agreed to help. Taehyung sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Y/N peeked into the room, hesitating for a moment before stepping inside. “Hey,” she said softly.

He glanced at her briefly but quickly looked away, his jaw tightening.

“Taehyung,” she said, moving closer. “About what happened... it’s okay. I didn’t mind it.”

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, his voice low. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Why not?” she interrupted, tilting her head. “You didn’t force me. I kissed you back. It’s not like I’m mad about it.”

Taehyung stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it, Y/N. You’re... you’re not even—” He stopped himself, unable to finish the sentence.

“Not even alive?” she supplied, crossing her arms. “That’s what you were going to say, right?”

He flinched, guilt washing over him.

Y/N sighed, her voice softening. “Taehyung, I’m not upset. Honestly, I...” She hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I like you.”

Taehyung froze, his eyes widening slightly. He turned away, unable to process her words.

“I need some air,” he muttered, walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

---

That night, Taehyung lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep eluded him as his mind raced with thoughts of Y/N. He tried to rationalize everything—her presence, their interactions, the kiss—but none of it made sense.

He closed his eyes, hoping exhaustion would eventually take over.

A few minutes later, he felt something light but noticeable pressing on his stomach. His eyes snapped open, and there she was—Y/N, sitting on him with her legs on either side.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of surprise and exasperation.

She leaned down, her face inches from his. “You’re impossible,” she said with a teasing smile before pressing her lips to his.

Taehyung was too shocked to react at first, but when she pulled away, he could see the sincerity in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I like you, Taehyung. I don’t care if it’s crazy or impossible. I like you.”

Taehyung let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” His tone was light, but his heart raced as he looked at her.

He pulled her to lie beside him, tucking her under his arm. “You’re going to drive me insane,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

Y/N smiled, resting her head on his chest. “Maybe. But you’ll survive.”

For the first time in years, Taehyung fell asleep with someone by his side.

---

The next morning, he woke up to an empty bed.

“Y/N?” he called, sitting up. He expected to find her in the kitchen, maybe cooking breakfast like she often did. But the house was eerily quiet.

He searched every room, his panic growing with each passing second.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty mansion.

She was gone.

Taehyung sank onto the couch, his hands trembling. Was she even real? Had he imagined everything?

His mind spiraled as he considered the possibility. The kiss, the painting, her laughter—it all felt so vivid, so real. But what if it wasn’t? What if his loneliness and depression had created her as a coping mechanism?

Tears pricked his eyes as he buried his face in his hands. “No,” he whispered. “She was real. She has to be real.”

He glanced at the painting he had made of her, still propped up in the corner of the room. It was the only proof he had of her existence.

And yet, the doubt lingered.

---

A month passed, and the once lively mansion Taehyung called home had fallen silent again. The paintbrushes sat untouched, canvases collecting dust, and the only sound was the occasional sigh from Taehyung. He tried to convince himself that Y/N was real, that the memories of her were more than just figments of his imagination. But as the days dragged on, doubt began to creep in.

When Joon visited one evening, he found Taehyung sprawled on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“You look terrible,” Joon remarked, sitting across from him.

Taehyung groaned. “Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

Joon sighed. “Taehyung, I think you should see someone. A doctor, a therapist, anyone. You’re spiraling, and I don’t want to see you like this.”

“I’m fine,” Taehyung replied curtly, though his voice lacked conviction.

Joon hesitated before continuing. “About the girl in the painting... I found her.”

Taehyung sat up so quickly he nearly fell off the couch. “What? What did you say?”

“I said I found her,” Joon repeated, watching as a spark of life returned to Taehyung’s eyes. “Her name is Y/N. She’s 21, and she’s a student. She was in a car accident seven months ago.”

Taehyung’s heart raced. “And?”

“She was in a coma but woke up a month ago. She’s home now.” Joon handed him a small piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.

Taehyung didn’t even wait to hear the rest. He grabbed his car keys and bolted out the door, leaving Joon behind in his living room.

“Taehyung!” Joon called after him, but it was no use. The sound of Taehyung’s car engine roared to life, and within seconds, he was gone.

---

The address led him to a small, modest house near a church. It had an air of simplicity, with neat flower beds lining the path to the front door. Taehyung parked his car and stepped out, his heart pounding in his chest.

This is it, he thought, his palms clammy with anticipation.

He noticed a figure stepping out of the house—a young woman with long hair tied back, wearing a modest dress. Beside her was a little boy, likely her brother.

It was her.

She looked even more beautiful in person, her features more defined and radiant than he remembered. But there was something different—her eyes didn’t carry the familiarity he expected.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his legs moving before his mind could catch up.

He ran toward her, his emotions overwhelming him. “Y/N!” he called out, reaching for her hand.

She flinched, startled by the stranger who had suddenly appeared. The little boy beside her quickly stepped forward, pushing Taehyung’s hand away.

“Don’t touch my sister!” the boy said, glaring at him protectively.

Taehyung stumbled back, realizing how strange he must look to them. His heart sank as Y/N looked at him with confusion rather than recognition.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Y/N frowned, stepping closer to her brother. “Do I know you?”

Taehyung hesitated, his throat tightening. How could he explain? Who would believe him?

“No,” he said finally, shaking his head. “You don’t know me. I just... I thought you were someone else. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

He turned and walked back to his car, his chest tightening with every step. He glanced back once, just in time to see Y/N and her brother walking away.

---

As he drove home, Taehyung’s mind raced.

She doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t remember anything.

But deep down, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. There had to be a connection, a reason why he could see her as a ghost and why she looked so much like the Y/N in his painting.

And now, more than ever, he was determined to find out.

---

The art gallery buzzed with quiet chatter as Y/N wandered through the halls with her friends. She wasn’t particularly interested in art but had tagged along for their sake. The walls were adorned with paintings of landscapes, abstract pieces, and portraits that seemed to capture emotions frozen in time.

“Y/N, come here!” one of her friends called, waving her over to a corner of the gallery.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued as she approached them.

Her friend pointed to a large painting hanging on the wall. Y/N froze when her eyes landed on it.

It was her.

The girl in the painting was unmistakably her, sitting on a wooden stool, her head tilted slightly, and a soft smile playing on her lips. Her eyes sparkled with warmth as if she were looking at someone she trusted implicitly—someone who mattered.

Her heart pounded as she stared at the painting, her head beginning to throb. Flashes of a man appeared in her mind, blurry and fragmented. She clutched her head, her knees buckling slightly.

“Y/N, are you okay?” one of her friends asked, holding her steady.

She nodded weakly, her eyes scanning the room. In the corner, near the entrance to the terrace, she saw him—the man from her fragmented memories, the one who had held her hand outside her house.

Taehyung.

He stood still, his eyes locked on her. But the moment he noticed her gaze, he turned and walked away, heading up the stairs to the terrace.

Y/N didn’t think twice. She broke into a run, ignoring her friends’ calls, and followed him.

---

The terrace was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Taehyung stood near the edge, his hands in his pockets, gazing at the horizon.

“Taehyung!” Y/N called, her voice trembling.

He turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“You...” Y/N’s voice faltered as she stepped closer. “You’re the one, aren’t you? The one I saw... the one I remember.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” she insisted, her voice firm. “I don’t know how or why, but I remember you. Blurry, incomplete... but I remember you.”

Taehyung’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a shaky breath. “Y/N, I thought I lost you.”

She stared at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “You didn’t lose me,” she whispered.

Before he could respond, Y/N ran to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Taehyung staggered slightly, caught off guard, but instinctively held her close.

Y/N pulled back just enough to look at him. “I don’t care about the how or the why. I just know that I feel something for you, and it feels real.”

Tears welled up in Taehyung’s eyes as he cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “You have no idea how much I missed you,” he said softly.

Y/N smiled through her own tears. “Then don’t miss me anymore.”

Before he could say anything else, she leaned in and began peppering his face with kisses—his forehead, his cheeks, his nose. Finally, she paused, her lips hovering over his.

Taehyung hesitated for a moment before closing the distance, their lips meeting in a kiss that was tender and filled with all the emotions they couldn’t put into words.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, they stayed on the terrace, holding each other like they never wanted to let go.

For the first time in a long time, both of them felt whole.

The End

[ukranianacearo]

Everybody's falling in love, while I'm falling behind

Aroace!Reader, no pronouns mentioned

Tw: angst/no comfort

Pairing: Mitsuya -> Aroace!Reader

Synopsis: Mitsuya's friends always tease him for not seeming to be attracted to someone. The truth is, he has fallen in love way long ago, when he still was a teen, but the person he loves doesn't reciprocate his feelings. In fact, the person can't feel anything like that at all.

Genre: Hurt without comfort

Author's note: just wanted to write this because I was bored lol More under the cut

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Mitsuya knew it all well since the beginning, but he still managed to fall for you. Oh you, so beautiful yet so unreachable. You always seemed to know so much and he's sure that you know about his feelings for you, maybe you knew about them even for longer than he did. Guilt always seemed to take place on your face when everyone teased Mitsuya about not falling in love. But you always brushed it off and joined in the teasing.

On one particular day, he overheard your conversation with Emma. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, he swears. It just so happened that Mikey asked him to look for Emma.

- "So, do you still think he's in love with you?" - Emma's voice could be heard clearly from where he stood, behind a wall, while you and her sat on a bench.

- "Do you mean Mitsuya? I don't know... I hope that not. It would be very sad if he did." - You voice was like a beautiful melody to Mitsuya's ears, but your words were the cruel lyrics that accompanied the melody. He knows it; he knows it's most probably impossible for you to love him like he loved you. But he hoped. Hoped for nothing. Call it desperation or foolishness, it still wouldn't change the situation.

- "Yeah, it would be. But it seemed to me that he started to fall out of love." - How could he? When it's you who he has fallen for. He must be a fool to not love you.

- "I hope so. I really wouldn't like to have to tell him directly that I don't love him." - Mitsuya couldn't understand this feeling yet, but his chest felt uncomfortable. Breathing became more difficult, but he tried to calm himself. He still had to call Emma. Finally calming his breathing, he relaxed his face the best he could and walked out of his hideaway as if he wasn't just standing there for the last minute and something.

- "Yo, Emma. Mikey's calling you." - He said with his signature smile on his face and in the most casual voice possible. His eyes were closed, so that he wouldn't look at you right now, because he just might shatter; his right hand in the pocket of his uniform and his other hand in a punch with the thumb out, pointing at the direction where Mikey is.

Years went by since that moment, but his love for you haven't faltered. And in all honesty, it might just be the most devastating and the most beautiful thing ever. Your beauty and talent in art always inspires him for new designs, but the knowledge that he'll never be the strongest inspiration for you will always put him on his knees, and not for the good reasons. Since the day he overheard your conversation with Emma, he tried to treat you just like he treats everyone. But it was difficult. Because it was you. His ultimate curse and blessing was loving you. You were like the forbidden fruit, so beautiful yet so lethal for those who love you. And you were not someone easy to fool, yet you tried to believe that he didn't love you no more. So did he, but he knew better than to lie to himself.

- "The first love will always be sad in some way." - His mother told him once in a soft voice, when he told her why he was feeling down. But what is he supposed to do when his "first love" is the only love he has for someone?

- "Everybody's falling in love, while I'm falling behind" - Was his answer to his mother's words. Her gaze expressed sorrow for his son's unrequired love, but she hoped it would pass soon. But it never did. 'Cause the sun is engaged to the sky. And Draken married Emma. While he is only getting older, longing for someone who can't come.

He always hoped for someone to call his since little and when you came into his life, he thought that he finally had that someone. But life is unfair. So now everybody's falling in love, while he's falling behind.

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HAPPY PRIDE MONTH AND MEN'S HEALTH AWARENESS TO EVERYONE it's funny how I started writing this months ago, and just now I had the feeling to finish it lol anyway, I hope you liked it, there's one more personal idea to write and my requests will be open xD also AROACE INVASION I'll moot everyone who's aroace/aromantic/asexual/ase spec/aro spec on here and tiktok (anime_s)

[missbadideas]

An angel’s grief

—

" Hey, you're fine." Their voice is as smooth and comforting as it always has been. Steady, like a rock she could lean on before picking herself back up. " Focus on your work, I know that's important to you. Just don't push yourself, and make sure you take breaks, yeah? "

Her shoulders relaxed, and a hint of a smile was on her face.

" Thank you, you take care too. Next week?"

" Next week."

And then one week passed.

One week, two days, six hours, fifty minutes.

Being away from her lover wasn't new, Maria de la Rosa was someone whose life intermingled with her job, but she tried to make up for all the time they spent apart whenever they met up. Dinner dates with just the two of them, watching movies that she would dissect while they listened and held her close. They'd talk about their writing, ask her how she's been, look at her as their muse- it was perfect, it was theirs.

It's just, they've been unreachable for the past week.

<Goreboy>

they haven't Been online Either.

She feels the urge to pick at her skin rise. Her head's aching, and she wants nothing more than to get into contact with her partner. Her partner who wasn't answering calls, wasn't responding to texts, wasn't online anywhere Ronin's checked. Was she being obsessive ? Maybe they just need their space, and she's overthinking things, but they'd usually at least leave a message, or something.

<Angelic>

i tried texting them they didnt reply

also they dindnt respond to my voice mail

this is myt fault i messed up i messed up i messed up

Her vision was blurry and she choked on a sob as she deleted the last few messages after sending them.

What if they realized how horrible she's been to them? focusing on her work, neglecting them- Did they feel neglected? did they feel as if she didn't care? She should've done better, she could've taken a break on Christmas to spend time with them or even just had longer calls to make up for when they couldn't be together.

It's her fault.

Her phone keeps ringing. She doesn't want to answer. She does anyway, after wiping her tears.

" Hey." Her voice is tired, but only has a slight waver to it. She doesn't want to show that she's been crying, but she has a feeling Ronin knows anyway.

"Can hear the self-deprecation from here, de la Rosa. " His voice had an edge to it. Ronin was tense, her mind supplied to her.

The words are caught up in her throat. " I don't know what to do, Ro." Her voice breaks when she utters his name. She had thought romance died with Ronin, but then they showed up, accepting and loving, taking her as she is.

And now, that person is out of reach.

" Stop blaming yourself, for one? Not your fuckin' fault they- " He let out a groan of frustration.

He went silent for minute. She knew it was a minute because she felt every second in it.

" Look, breathe in and let it out, okay?"

In, hold, then out.

In, hold, then out.

They stayed on the phone for the rest of the day. Angel didn't feel any calmer by the end of the call.

One week, four days, eight hours, fifty minutes.

That was how long it took for their body to be found, and for them to be declared dead. A hopeless case, some said. Angel wasn't the person who found the body, she wasn't anywhere near the crime scene. It was Ronin who sent her an article describing the scene, and then-

He told her who it was.

The group chat was silent. No one's said anything yet, out of respect for Angel or to process their own grief she doesn't know.

She put her phone down, because if she didn't then she would end up chucking it at the wall and screaming. Then, she began to check her fanmail.

There were pictures.

It was rotting, their body.

Their limbs were strung and sewn together in some grotesque piece of art. Their organs, their heart, were gone from their body. Their mouth was cut, and Angel had to wonder if that was done before or after their death.

She felt numb.

'Poor thing, but really it's their fault-' 'Oh poor Maria, did you hear what happened to her lover?' Disgusting commentary, disrespectful of them even when they died. Angel was sick and tired of hearing the same things over and over again.

It was hard to reason what was going on, she didn't understand. Why? How? Who took them from her? What bastard hurt them so much?

She doesn't know.

All she can do is stare at their body while gripping those pictures.

She wanted to burn them. She wanted to burn those pictures and any

Maria de la Rosa wasn't needed right now. She wanted to bury herself alongside her lover who was so horribly violated and brutalized, their innocence marred on the street like some sick vile piece of meat to be ogled at. She wanted to pick at her own skin until it bled and she could finally join her lover robbed of her too soon.

One week, five days, ten hours, fifty minutes.

Found you. She thought as she readied up her shotgun, aiming it to the man’s neck. She wanted this man to suffer, to die afraid and alone.

Maria Del La Rosa wasn't needed, but the heartsick angel was.

Bang

—

Lmao this was rushed as hell bc I have an exam today, but I’m not mad with how it turned out? I think I could’ve stretched it out and maybe added reactions for other KC characters, but aaaa it’s okay. This is okay for a first work in this fandom lmao. I’ll post on my ao3 account later MAYBE

[cherry-onthe-rose]

The night without you

A short [love] story.

Character x …

I just woken up from a dream. A dream I don’t remember but it felt like I lived another life. I am walking toward the balcony, the curtains are closed. Strangely enough they have the same color as a deep night. « It misses something ». I extend my hand to open them up and see the actual sky but I refrain, « I’m thirsty ». I leave my bedroom and head toward the kitchen.

« It’s very dark here. And it feels… lonely… » I am looking around at any corners my eyes might see in the depth of the darkness in the lonely room I find myself in, my heart beating fast, my body becoming hot. I am standing because of the wall to my right, if it was not there I would be on the ground already. My ears are wide open and my brain in focused on one thing… a thing that I will never see ever again…

He is hoping. Desperatly hoping for it… but poor him… he lost what his soul needed the most.

I sight. « What am I doing? The lights are right there! ». Once the lights are on, I look silently and calmly the room I am in. My throat is dry. I take a cup and fill it with water, the sound I’m hearing makes want to go back to bed but I can’t. Not right now.

As I am drinking and sat on the sofa I notice that some pictures are facing the wall. « Did I do it? » I can’t remember why I did it but it’s making me uncomfortable, it’s as if I was in a room that was not mine and I should be ashamed of my presence. I’m nervous. I let the cup on the table, get up and go open the backdoor.

As he left the cup on the table, he also left a part of him in that room. Something he is looking for but that turned his back to him.

The fresh air! It fills my lungs, it’s been a while I didn’t left my house… it started to smell like dust a bit. I will need to clean my house and throw anything that is old enough that it lost value in my eyes.

As he look up in the sky, he notices the amount of stars that are right in front of him. He is delighted by the theatre that is playing before his very eyes. The air contrasting with the summer wheaver warms his heart and eases his mind. Is he becoming hopeful?

I like it better. Whenever I look at the sky I can’t help but cry. I feel like you are next to me, loving me dearly. I miss your touch, I miss your voice, I miss your smile, I miss your odor, I miss your every little part of you. Why is that you had to leave me? You are unreachable… I could reach you but you stoped me. You changed every little piece of my life and colored it and now I am doomed. I am doomed because I do not have the colors needed to paint my art. I have the tools, but I don’t have the objects. Tell me. What can a worker do with its hammer if he doesn’t have a nail or a wook plank?

I love you from the bottom of my heart, I love you more than the planets love the stars and more than I need to breath. Where are you? What are you doing? Why am I stuck here when I could have been with you? Don’t you think you went too far for pushing me away?! I could have been the one being where you are now. You never message me, you never call me, I don’t even see you smiling to me anymore. Did you stoped loving me? No. Why am I even doubting your love?

You know I still love you right? I love you a lot. I love you too much, I love you, I love you, I love you…

And just like that he falls asleep after repeating those sentences for long minutes. He slept to join her in spirit maybe. Or to forget about her. But his soul does not want to forget, it craves for it to the point that it is breaking our friend’s heart… but as his heart was beating slowly and his soul getting colder, a shooting star ran through the sky and drew a shining message.

[allthewayout]

Curtains

[1/5/2025]

It was a Monday in January when the humming first started

Quiet at first, near inaudible, but present

Its low C natural lying at the bottom of the day

Perpetually distant, unreachable, like a rainbow

Beneath the basement’s concrete floors

The roads and sidewalks shot the sound up people’s legs

The soft grass of the wilderness like a bed of nails, each blade standing straight up

And our skies seemed greener 

Like algae resting at the top of eutrophied waters

The air was getting tighter

Tuesday, the hum grew louder

Human bodies vibrated like subwoofers

Couldn’t hear myself think

The neighborhood dogs, barking since Monday

Now they were louder

I felt like my eyes might fall out of my skull

This slow-motion earthquake seemed to split the sky

A black band growing across the verdant heavens

Choirs of angels joined the hum, approaching crescendo

All of man falling down, glued to the Earth

The street lights grew brighter as the sky turned to nothing, not even dark

All of time slowed to a crawl, the hum now beating at a steady pace

The angels shot low growls through our chests

Body after body sunk into the floor like it was quicksand

But many stayed buoyant

The wicked, the evil, and the indifferent

Said prayers like this was rapture

Time picked up its pace

The music died down and the people could move freely

But the sky never returned, torn apart by the misery of our horde

On Wednesday we began trying to rebuild it

Giant umbrellas were erected on rooftops

Their inner canopies held painted clouds

It looked like a set from a cheap school play

One about the firmament

Or some subversive abstraction

Or the walls in the hospital room of a dying child

The walls that never knew our names

Staring down at the masses

But that nothing that hung up there

Poked holes in the fabric

Tore through and reached the eyes of the hopeless

Who took it as a sign to dig to where the righteous sank

But as they cracked the Earth

There, too, was nothing

Biting from both sides

The jaws of the void erasing our towers, and the foundation they stood on

We cowered in the middle ground

Telling stories about our times before nothing

Before judgement was passed

Before our impending erasure

Before now

When nothing bites at my feet

When it gnaws on my skull

When nobody around me can speak or listen

When it’s all gone

When there is nobody

No art

No music

No science

No advancement

No reasonable explanation

No force above it all

No deception

No truth

No you

When I’m alone

[tubbytarchia]

I think part of the reason you’re one of my favorite life series blogs is because you’re so authentic, and the blabber posts make it that way! The way you respond to asks and talk about yourself and your art is so real, it makes it feel like there’s a real person behind the screen and not just a talented artist

I'm SO glad to hear that!! I don't know what it is that makes so many people and especially creators so easily unreachable? It's so strange how alienated and distant they can feel when the internet should be our gateway to connecting with each other regardless of the circumstances on either end of the screen! But then I also figure that a lot of people like that probably have proper friends and stuff irl lol. To me though, especially as someone who needs frequent affirmation that I'm wanted, my old 'puter friends and the people supporting and engaging with me mean everything to me, and I'll let them know every step of the way. If my sincerity can get across this glass wall then that makes me really happy, that's exactly what I want to achieve!! Thank you kind anon <3

[meg-noel-art]

My OC blorbos Sam and Lucy as kiddos! Also included an excerpt of chapter one of the WIP I’m writing for them! Enjoy!

Sam was only nine years old when she accidentally cooked her father’s prized sheep alive. 

It was an accident, of course. Up until that point in her short life, she had remained entirely unaware of her latent ability to harness the power of solar energy. Solar sorcerers were not unheard of. In fact, there existed guilds of many sorcerers of varying abilities all across the neighboring towns, cities and kingdoms.

And Sam was just a simple, lowborn girl - until she wasn’t. 

When one afternoon she stormed out of the little cottage she shared with her father and sick mother - angry that the world was insistent on worsening the health of the one person who cares about her most; her power revealed itself.

A scream and toss of a stray branch turned into a ball of flame that burst from her palm in searing, pulsing waves. Sam sleeve, along with the nearest - and dearest - sheep were instantly singed into non-existence. 

Sam blinked, frozen in shocked, eyes glued to the charred dirt where the sheep had once stood. The rest of her father’s herd ran in panicked circles, braying into the otherwise quiet afternoon. 

The noise drew her already frustrated father’s attention - and he stormed out of the cottage after her. He did not wait for an explanation, upon seeing his missing sheep and Sam’s smoking arm. I was always her fault, in his eyes. Unspoken, Sam was certain he blamed the waning health of his wife, her mother, on her too.

Even still, his prized sheep was enough to garner a more severe beating than usual. As Sam wept quietly in the corner of her room later that evening, hungry and bruised - she found her gaze drawn to the center of her right palm. Her skin looked no different than usual. Pale, calloused palms from working the small farm day in and day out. 

Part of her wondered if she’d imagined the flames. Perhaps a god had struck the sheep down out of spite for Sam’s very existence. Quite honestly, the possibility seemed more likely than the reality that she might be a magic wielder. Sorcery was for persons of high parentage - long lines of sorcery ancestry. Rarely, if ever, did magic show itself in a bloodline that hadn’t been imbued with said abilities for generations.

Quietly, Sam began to test her power as she grew. At first, the power was inconsistent, unreachable and random. As time passed, it became easier to tap into at will. However, controlling it was another challenge entirely. Despite her best efforts, attempting to regulate her power on her own led to accidents, damages and punishments. None of which ever stopped her from trying again. 

If Sam was one thing, it was headstrong.

///

Lucy Edevane was born with the weight of her family’s legacy placed squarely on her shoulders. From the very day she came screaming into the world, every second of her life was laid out before her. Every beat planned, every path accounted for. Every goal, hope and dream decided. Both she and her older brother were buried beneath burden before they could walk.

When she was four years old she was punished for painting the walls of her bedroom with the acrylics she’d stolen from her art tutor. Her mother, Emilia Edevane, had not only confiscated her paints and brushes - but she’d dismissed Lucy’s art tutor for an entire month. And Lucy was made to scrape paint from her own walls, with clumsy four year old hands. 

Her ability to control lunar magic surfaced when she was only five - two years younger than it had appeared in her brother. The Edevane family line was famous for their natural talent in wielding this particular and rare branch of elemental sorcery. Elias could as well - although Lucy attacked her studies and training with much more vigor than he had. And her efforts made themselves known as she progressed more quickly than her brother.

By the time she was twelve years old, Lucy was considered a prodigy by her family.

[sunriseverse]

you want sunrise zhang propaganda? no? to bad! have 1.2k of propaganda!

In the final year of Zhiyuan, on the outskirts of Dadu, there were born a pair of twins. On the night of their birth, two stars fell from the sky, striking the young mother, and embedding themselves into the infants. Thereafter, when the two children were born, first the daughter and then the son, they were clear-eyed and able to speak and walk from the moment of their first breath in the world. The parents, seeing their skills, grew frightened, believing that the infants were possessed by spirits, and so they abandoned them on a ledge of rock a day’s walk outside the city, for the heavens to claim as they so wished.

However, unexpectedly, the heavens did not send down lightning or great beasts to claim the lives of the infants. Instead, the girl led the boy down the outcropping, where, at its base, they were found by a pair of Daoist nuns who had come to collect rare herbs that grew there. Laying eyes upon the infants, the nuns were amazed, and grew certain that the children were a blessing. Thereupon, they took the infants, and named them Zhang Yihai and Zhang Yishan, for their skills were sure to be as great as the seas and the mountains. 

Until the children grew to adulthood, they lived in the cloister with the nuns, and were trained in the arts of ritual and martial skill. The children surpassed all expectations, and so it was that, in the third year of Zhida, they set out from the cloister to search for a master who would be able to lead them to advance their skills.

Unexpectedly, however, they travelled a great many years, and were unable to find a teacher who could surpass them in skill. Therefore, having travelled for nine years, in the sixth year of Yanyou, they were in the mountains in the northern region of Goryeo, having sought a sage who had been said to have the powers of heaven. In the seventh month of the year, with the moon being full, a great storm came upon them, and the two young people, knowing that to try and fight the will of the heavens would be folly, therefore sought a cave within which to shelter until the storm passed. They had with them a number of cured and dried foods, and a number of small prey they had been able to capture previously on their way through the mountains, and so they built a fire and broke fast, and thereupon fell into a sleep as deep as the great seas.

Upon waking, they found that the storm had passed, and their fire had been extinguished, and upon the walls were written the following: to the righteous, before whom the people bow, upon you bestows the heavens a gift. Follow this path within the mountain, and choose of the treasures what you will. And so, knowing it to be the words of the heavens, our founders ventured deeper into the mountain, and thereupon were greeted with a sight that awed them: before them lay mountains of jades, gold and bronzewares, pearls, and many other treasures of the six colours, stretching high above and disappearing into the cavernous ceiling that lay above, unreachable to human means.

However, they had been raised to abstain of excess, and practice the art of the balanced Way, and so it came to pass that, rather than availing themselves of the many wonders of the mountains, they wandered for a great many hours until they came upon a small alcove hidden at the rear of the chamber, and sitting in that alcove, a plain earthen vase, neither its colours nor its designs remarkable, but they, being knowledgeable of the world, could sense this was the truest object within the trove of treasures. And so, taking this vase, they ventured out of the cavern and into the clear world. 

They had come to search for a sage, but instead, they discovered in the following days, they had found something far more valuable. When they held on their person this vase, their bounds would be enough to clear an ancient pine with ease, and their gazes would be as sharp as a hunting eagle’s, and their blows strong enough to cleave in two a tumbling boulder. Zhang Yishan wished to trade the vase between them when necessary, but Zhang Yihai, knowing that such a solution could not be sustained, instead devised of a plan. Upon their return from the mountains, they therefore retreated to the countryside, and there built a humble single-court home, and ground the vase to dust, combining it with the blood of the qilin, which, when combined, formed an ink that, when painted, would change in shape to reflect that which it was painted upon. Thereupon, they took a sharpened bone and, in the practice of the Southern peoples, made upon themselves a great burst of ink, whereafter this transformed into the qilin which our sect now bears as its emblem.

For five years, the two grew in ability until they rivalled the ancients, who had consorted with dragons and lived in the heavens, attracting disciples, and the one-court home was steadily built into the many-winged manor befitting of a great sect. Naming themselves the Zhang of the Sword and the Flower Manor, they grew in fame. However, in the fourth year of Taiding, there came about a rift between the masters of the Zhang, the siblings Zhang Yihai and Zhang Yishan. The venerated elder Zhang Yihai believed the Zhang must make their mark through action, while the younger Zhang Yishan felt the Zhang would best serve the people as a reposit of knowledge. Thereupon, the sect was divided, and the masters grew distant, until in the second week of the fourth month of the fourth year of Taiding, the younger, forgetting his duty to unity they had once sworn, provoked the venerable elder, and thereupon the two came to blows.

Both siblings were masters under the heavens, but only one of them was judged as righteous beneath the heavens. Therefore, after only seven blows, the venerated elder bested the foolish younger, and the floors were washed with blood. Thereupon, the great venerated master, in accordance with the familial edicts, despite the shame her brother had brought, took upon the title of Zhang Qiling, and, being generous and great, did not banish those who had followed him, instead declaring that, until such a time as a worthy heir took the title, the sect was to be divided into North and South, of whom the North would devote itself to martial skills, and the South to knowledge.

Now, after many years, our great sect has once more been united by the great Zhang Qiling, and the division between North and South is no longer necessary. Rejoice, for the venerable master has found her heir! And so, in the first year of Hongwu, with the blessing of the great Son of Heaven, begins the new era of our great sect, and before us, a prosperous future.

- On the origins of the Zhang Sect, as related by Zhang Qianhai of the Former Northern Zhang, per the orders of the great Zhang Qiling in the first year of Hongwu, at the Zhang Ancestral Hall in Beiping, as collected in Zhangjiashi, or, The Collected Histories of the Great Zhang.

[insectsinsects]

yesterday,

i hopped into a car with no qualms. the rental and the parking situation went pretty smoothly. everyone was nice to me and did a lot of the heavy lifting while i organized the room back to its original state: i re-hung a piece of art that i'd found creepy from the beginning back onto the wall, put the furniture back where it belonged, and expelled any organic matter/proof that anyone had ever been there. it was a clean and efficient operation. i sat in the car for nine hours, having only slept two hours the night before, deadpan and staring at the road. i read a letter a dear friend gave me and couldn't muster tears, though it was a very sweet and a sentimental summation of life in the past year. i told her as much: "i read your letter! it was so sweet. i may have been too tired to cry, though." and we had just barely gotten out of jersey.

my sister was insistent upon getting back early. she had a friend to say farewell to, too. a friend of one year, a friend that i'd witnessed her meet the summer before. he's moving to california this weekend. it was his final show in DC. for him, she played a set with four originals and two covers, all about missing and loving and going away, and i couldn't help but feel every single thing i plugged up and shut away in the car. i had felt weird and awful and juvenile in the middle of this crowd. i was just a little sister in that moment. i wore clothes that were comfortable and i did everything right for my own well-being, and yet i felt like a foreign body rejected by an immune system. i hogged a bunch of beers and sat in the back, dealt with very punctuated conversations with my sister (in addition to failed ones with new people, her friends), and it all merely became a reminder that i do have to start over and that the road to elsewhere (anywhere but here) would be paved with hardship and loneliness of the likes i have never had to endure before.

i'm sitting around now wondering if this was right. i am situated between two people who love this city. my only friends are my relatives. but they've got lives of their own. i am only reminded how now empty things are. my life is in boxes all around me still. i feel like unpacking them is a sign of defeat. everything i know is broadcast to me through a screen and it feels hostile, unreachable, manicured for my destruction. it's also my only means of connection. so i've come around back here to elaborate. to tell a story that my older sister wanted to hear last night when she found me outside the venue, sobbing profusely, but couldn't exactly put into words at that moment.