#and yet they never catch my interest its always the tragic ones

[inkcovens]

tell me why every wlw ship i start liking ends up tragically/is not canon

[snowballseal]

hihiiii I adoreee your writing, it’s so good! genuinely so fun to read. if it’s not too much trouble, could I possibly request some sylus fluff?

maybe something along the lines of MC craving lots of affection/being a bit clingy towards him and just wanting to be near him after a while of being apart?

absolutely no rush or obligations if this doesn’t exactly pique your interest!! have a lovely day ❤️

Soft

Sylus X Reader (LaDS)

Summary: Just a little fic of you and Sylus reuniting after a while apart. You doesn't want to be apart from him and he obliges.

Word Count: 818

Note: Hi anon! I know this isn't super long, but I hope you like it! I love describing how soft Sylus can be for MC, and it felt like a cute, simple piece. I can write something longer if you'd like, just let me know!

---

“Sylus!”

The man lets out a low chuckle as you practically throw yourself at him. He catches you with practiced ease, arms wrapping securely around your waist as he spins you around. It’s like one of those cheesy romance flicks, other travelers rushing around you to greet their own waiting families, a bubbly yet tired kind of mirth warming the frigid, fall air.

It had been a month since you’d seen Sylus. A long, grueling, horrible month. While you love your job, you hate the extended training camps you have to attend every few years. Always in the middle of nowhere. Always with limited contact with the outside world. Limited contact with Sylus.

You don’t know how many nights you spent staring at the blank walls of your tiny dorm room, sleep nowhere to be found when all you could think about was how much you missed his touch, his warmth, him. It was like being terribly homesick, and all you wanted was to be back in his arms.

And now you are.

Even when your feet touch the ground again, you don’t want to let go. And neither does Sylus. His arms stay curled around your waist, face tucked against your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer, just breathing you in. You all but melt into his warmth, nuzzling against his chest with a happy, content noise.

“My, my, it seems my little kitten missed me,” he murmurs, low and teasing against your ear. You can practically hear the smirk curling his lips.

“Can you blame me?” You draw back a fraction to pout up at him. Those vermillion eyes glint down at you with a smug amusement, but you don’t mind fanning his ego a little right now. “We barely even got the chance to talk on the phone. It was awful and cold and exhausting. I don’t know why they wanted us training in the north, we were all just a bunch of sad popsicles.”

“Mm, sounds quite tragic,” Sylus hums, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly. Your theatrics are endearing, and who is he to not play along? Hands tracing slowly up and down your waist, Sylus gives you a look of teasing sympathy, “Poor kitten. Perhaps I should take you home and find a way to warm you up, hm?”

Home. God, you love the sound of that. You’re home. With him. The thought fills your chest with a fluttering sort of excitement.

“Home sounds perfect,” you sigh, nuzzling back into him with an absolutely giddy smile. “Just, don’t let me go, mkay?”

The man softens and for a moment, he’s not Sylus the leader of Onychinus. He’s just Sylus. Your Sylus.

You make him different. You turn him into something soft, something tender, with your love. Like a balm soothing his sharp edges, his harsh nature. He never thought himself capable of such gentleness until he held you, until he felt the plushness of your body in his hands. Even though you are one of Linkon’s most capable hunters, something in him desires to treat you like porcelain, something otherwise vicious and bloody. Like a feral dog, licking your chin, body curved to be small and nonthreatening despite the sharpness of its fangs pressed against your skin.

And you never once flinched. Never once pulled away from his hands, even when his grip would edge on painful, even when his teeth would sink into your skin with a sinful need to possess something so soft, so sweet.

Though, he’ll play nice tonight, seeing as your body curls so tiredly into his, practically all your weight in his arms.

“Alright, sweetie,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, “I accept your conditions. You won’t have to worry about anything tonight, I’ll take good care of you.”

You hum your approval, though it sounds more like a purr. A smirk dancing across his lips, Sylus leans down and curls an arm under you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. He grabs your bag with his other hand, and starts back towards his motorcycle.

You forget all about the cold that night. Even the soreness in your muscles seems to fade away as you lay curled against Sylus’ side on his couch, a large, fluffy blanket thrown over the both of you, some movie humming quietly in the background.

And Sylus keeps his word. Not once does he let you go. Even when you start to yawn, eyelids heavy with sleep, Sylus simply lays out across the couch and drags you over his body, until you can stretch out like a cat over his chest. He keeps an arm locked around your waist, making sure you won’t fall as you finally, finally give in to the sleep your body so desperately needs.

It’s perfect.

He’s perfect.

And you hope you never have to go on another blasted training mission again.

---

I'll be real, I think my personal headcannon is that Sylus is like a feral yet loyal dog. I use the comparison a lot, I feel. Like, he can be vicious and wild, but he'd bow for you, he'd get himself killed for you (if he could lol). He would have a loyalty so unwavering, and that's terrifying in a way. But also? Kinda sexy 👀

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

🥀 Unwary 🥀

After working on and off for MONTHS and staring at it a long time, here’s the Théodwyn story many of you have heard me agonizing over. I can’t look at it anymore, so we’re just hitting “post”!

It’s called Unwary, which is one of the few words Tolkien gives us to describe Théodwyn’s husband Éomund. He was a “hater of orcs” who often rode against them “in hot anger, unwarily and with few men.” That got him killed and, shortly thereafter, Théodwyn herself died of an illness. This story is my attempt to tie all that together.

Note that Théodwyn’s 3 (canonical but nameless) sisters are here; they came to help after Éomund’s death. You’ll see I gave 2 of them Gondorian names; more explanation of that at the bottom if you’re interested.

There is a fire inside Théodwyn that will not be doused.

It has smoldered for years, just waiting for the breath of air that would coax its glowing embers to life and send a wave of flame racing through her as though she were made not of bone and blood but of kindling and fuel. Now lit by Éomund’s inevitable death, the fire burns bigger and hotter each new day that dawns without him, and it laps at her heart, singeing and charring until there is nothing left but heat. Gone is anything soft and pliant, anything tender or understanding, replaced instead by blistering fury.

She stalks the plains outside of Aldburg in the dark, crunching heavily over glittering, frost encrusted grass. She is trying to outrun that fury, though a fortnight of this new nightly ritual has achieved no such thing so far. But if she cannot leave her anger behind, maybe she can still exhaust it, tire it enough that it can be wrestled into submission and leave her in peace. Deep down, she suspects the effort is in vain, but she has no better plan. She is bereft of ideas, just as she is now bereft of laughter and sympathy and hope. Her husband is just one of many things suddenly missing from her life, and he is not the one she most wants back.

Sweat soaks into both her dress and cloak, and large red blooms form on her cheeks. Each gale of frigid wind catches the dampness at the small of her back or along her hairline beneath her hood, and sends a wave of wracking chills across her heated skin. But her pace never falters despite the passing of long hours and long miles. Over the sound of her boots grinding delicate ice into so many shattered crystals, she mutters her mantra again and again, hissing out the words in time with the rhythm of her steps.

I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen.

The night is her time to let this anger out, far away from Éomer and Éowyn, both much too young to be burdened with the knowledge that their dead father was a reckless fool. Someone who couldn’t control his own impetuous need to act and, worse, refused to accept a cautioning hand even from one he professed to honor and cherish. She had begged him not to go, to delay for even a single hour until more men could be gathered to join his small party of riders. But he had been blind, as ever, to anything but his own rash impulses and instincts. He had scoffed at her fears, swept aside her concerns, given bold assurances that weren’t in his power to make. And now he was being hailed as a fallen hero while she was left alone with the consequences of his folly, to manage a tragic loss that she knew to be entirely of his own making.

She hadn’t always felt this way about him. There was a time when she found his passion and spontaneity exciting. Stirring. Romantic. To be the object of his attentions, to be the desire that he would overturn the world to sate, was a special brand of intoxicant, and she drank it in willingly. His quickness to action and his unfailing courage set him apart from other men, and he gained much by risking more than others could stomach. She felt his every gain as her own, and they ran heedless together through the world, two free souls as yet unchecked by the realities of life.

But what felt brave and thrilling and decisive when they were twenty had begun to look much different on the doorstep of forty, when he had already gained more than most men could dream of and only stood now to lose what had been so daringly won. Slowly, creepingly, she began to see his whims as childish, his zealotry as self indulgent. It surprised her every bit as much as him, but somewhere along the way, with age and responsibility and perspective, she became the person who would check him as life never had. The person to ask questions, to say no, to thwart his boldest ambitions and disappoint his most absurd hopes.

Whenever she did, he would look at her as though he looked upon a stranger, an unrecognizable drudge that had stolen the body of his daring and passionate wife. He would look at her as though she had broken faith with him, betraying their bond by choosing to accept that they lived in a world of constraints and limitations. And then she would hate herself, and him, too.

A dull, thudding pain hammers away in the space right behind her eyes, and her muscles and joints ache with every wearied step, calling out for rest. To sit or lay quietly for a while might ease the strain that has increasingly weighed on her body these last few days, the strain of too little sleep, too little food, too little protection from the harsh bite of winter. But she no longer cares for physical ease or comfort. She can endure without them; it has always been the way of the Rohirrim to bear such things without complaint. What she cannot bear is the seething in her mind during moments of stillness, those times of lonely silence while others sleep and she can only gnaw on the bones of her grievances and look with contempt at her memories now tainted by abandonment. And so she stomps through the cold desolation instead, the frozen cloud of her breath drifting along in the wake of a body indulging in the only escape available.

She knows she should be at home in case her children need her, and she knows that her sisters disapprove of how she has been acting. You’ll catch your death out there, says Edlenniel each night as she walks out the door. You need to start taking better care of yourself, clucks Théopryte, a critical eye cast over her increasingly bony figure, her unkempt hair. And this, too, makes her angry, the insistence of her elder sisters on treating her as though she is still a child even now. Nothing she does is ever good enough in their eyes – her home is too untidy, her language too profane, her daughter too much at liberty to run wild rather than learning the ways of respectable girlhood. And now she cannot even grieve correctly.

In truth, she had not expected to mourn this way. The day Éomund rode off, she had imagined her own reaction to the eventual return of his meager company without him. Sorrow, longing, despair, regret – these had been anticipated despite her frustrations. But when Éothain knocked at her door with the news, watery eyes rimmed with red and a battered horse-tailed helmet in hand, she felt none of those things. They vanished in an instant, disappeared from her heart and mind, perhaps never to return. Instead, she became like the cicadas that come to Rohan every dozen years and litter the ground with their delicate molted shells, perfectly formed images of themselves that have been deserted, no longer fit for use and liable to shatter under the slightest of pressures.

Now every interaction, every well-meaning friend or suffering relative, is at risk of being the next target of the dull blade of her anger, always at the ready to hack and slice ineffectually at those who draw her attention and, thus, her scorn. The neighbors who look at her pityingly as they pass by. The men of Éomund’s company who expect her to join them in their grief. Even her sweet son, all knobby knees and gangly elbows, works an inflamed nerve as he swings a sword much too big for him, vowing to protect their house now in his father’s absence. It’s a mother’s job to protect her child, not the other way around, she says to the thin frame and slight shoulders that are not yet grown enough to bear his own charge. You have years left just to be a boy, safe under my care. But it is said through gritted teeth, her tone emotionless, and he doesn’t believe her.

She has enough awareness still to see what she’s become, and though she cannot change it, she knows to try to hide it. She labors each day to be the mother her children need, sitting with them as they cry and holding her tongue when they paint Éomund in their remembrances as a valiant hero, a man to rival all the greatest legends of song. But they know that something isn’t right within her; some voice inside their childlike minds warns them of peril in the one place where they were trained never to expect it. Éomer has stopped asking why she doesn’t cry, and Éowyn now clearly prefers to seek her comfort from Tadiel, whose soft arms, doughy middle and doting indulgence provide what Théodwyn’s sharp, angular body and brittle bearing simply can’t or won’t.

As it inches toward sunrise, she reluctantly turns toward home again, where soon the rest of the household will begin to stir and her absence will be noted, frowned about and tsked over. The judgment of her sisters is no real concern, but she doesn’t want to add to the worries of her children. For them, she will fight to maintain even the barest pretense of normalcy. For her children, she will sit in that house among the remains of Éomund’s life – his belongings, his clothes, his scent – and she will struggle to breathe through the poisonous resentment that is trapped in her throat because she cannot allow it to pass her lips. For her children, she will choke.

The gate comes into view and, beyond it, the garden that she once loved and nurtured into glory, now gone dormant for the winter. She stumbles on the rise to the path, and a knee drives into the frozen ground. She rights herself with difficulty, grunting in the effort, and she curses at this clumsiness. Weakness of body has never been a challenge of hers, and she cannot understand the heavy, dragging feeling that follows her to the door. For the first time, she considers whether everything – the throbbing head, the sweating skin, the screaming joints – is not just a product of exertion but something more serious. Something brought on by the refusal to rest, to eat, to stay warm, to accept comfort and support. It is an unsettling thought, and she tries to push it from her mind as she slips quietly inside.

The frozen sting in her fingertips and toes is a strange counterpoint to the burning heat of her forehead and cheeks, and she collapses into a chair by the fire, waiting out the gradual thaw of her frost-dulled limbs and the eventual return of her body to how it is supposed to feel. But though her fingers slowly lose their bluish tinge and sensation tentatively returns to her feet, the heat in her face and the exhaustion in her muscles only grow. Time ticks by, innumerable minutes that seem like hours, and she can feel it all continue to worsen. What little energy she had now spills from her body like the blood of the stags that Éomund used to hunt, their carcasses sliced open and left to drain. A shiver runs through her, once and then again and again and again, every time stronger until the shivers are full-body spasms that clack her teeth together, threatening to catch her tongue in each jolt. A low, groaning noise fills the room, and she discovers with surprise that it is coming from her own throat.

Good gods, Théodwyn. What have you done to yourself? Edlenniel is in the doorway, and the horrified alarm in her voice is enough to smother the instinct to snap in response. What has she done? She tries to stand, but her legs don’t respond. A strange distance has crept in and inserted itself between the intentions of her mind and the obedience of her body. She wills herself up again and lurches forward with great effort. Is she standing now? She cannot be, not with the cool, smooth stone of the floor somehow pressed to her flushed cheek. She would lift her head to check, but the exhaustion is so heavy that it pins her down, the turning of a screw that secures her, motionless, to wherever she has landed.

Her mind becomes slow and hazy, her sight flickering in and out as though she is passing quickly between rooms that are brightly lit and others that are in total darkness. Théopryte is there and then not. Calls for help are relayed down the hall, and more people rush in. Tadiel pulls Éomer from the doorway, a hand over his eyes as though the sight of his mother is too frightful for him even to look upon. Clamoring, urgent voices echo around inside Théodwyn’s head until they are no longer intelligible to her, just a whirling churn of volumes and tones. She floats, alone and disconnected, in a sea of others’ panic.

A man’s face appears in her field of vision, lifting her up and carrying her to a nearby couch. Théodred? It comes out as a hoarse whisper, and the face shakes its head. No, of course not. Her beloved nephew doesn’t live in Aldburg and never has. A neighbor, then? Or servant? She loses interest before she can unravel the mystery, distracted by a painful new sensation that prickles across the surface of her skin like a thousand small needles. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to exhale the pain with her every labored breath.

Uncounted hours pass, and she is now in her own bed, though she cannot recall being brought there. It takes all her effort just to keep her eyes open, and each time she blinks, it feels like scraping her eyelids over sand. She drifts in and out of lucidity, bobbing in a current of confused thought like a small boat tied up at the edge of a running river. When she’s lost, she is certain she can see Éomund in the corner, watching her in grave silence. When she’s present, she hears bits and snatches of hushed conversation, all in the voices of her sisters. The healer says there is nothing more to be done, says one. Such an awful waste, sniffles another. I knew this would happen, sighs the third. But who could stop her from running herself into the ground this way? She’s always done just what she wanted, no matter how rash or irresponsible.

Amidst all her pains, these words hit her like a blow, and an immediate, convulsive heaving in her stomach has others running for the healer again to manage this fresh symptom of her malady. But she knows it for what it really is: the retching out of unwelcome truth, her body’s rejection of this simple distillation of her fate. Recovery is not coming. She will die here in this bed, and her death will be needless. Pointless. And all the more shameful because she should have known better. She could have heeded the cautions and warnings of others.

Edlenniel leans her over a bowl as she empties herself of what little she’s eaten in the last day, and the bitter taste in her mouth lingers even after she has swirled and spat out many mouthfuls of water. It lingers as she collapses back into the sweat-soaked sheets that cling to every inch of exposed skin. It lingers as her addled mind struggles to reckon with the weight and cost of her mistake, this tragedy of her own making. It will always linger, for all the minutes she has left in the world and for the eternity that stretches out into the boundless, unknown future beyond it.

Her head lolls weakly to one side, and she can see Éomund in the corner still watching, silent and attentive. His face is not impassive, but calm. He accepts what has happened, is happening, will happen, and she must accept it, too. He dissolves into a vague blur as hot tears begin to spill down her cheeks, and whether they are tears for him or for herself, she isn’t sure. When she blinks her eyes clear again, he has moved closer to the bedside. He smiles softly, the wistful look of one who knows what it is to carry the burden of self-blame past any hope of remedy, and he reaches toward her with an open hand. A hand of consolation and invitation.

She will take it, but not yet.

Bring the children, she rasps out.

There is a moment’s debate in the room, furious whispers that drift to her ears. Not something a child should witness, she hears. There may not be time to wait, is the response. She repeats her request, louder this time, and the debate intensifies, rising in pitch and strength. But before the argument can resolve itself, Éomer has pushed in from the hallway, towing little Éowyn by the hand. Her words have reached them on their own.

She struggles to bring her son and daughter into focus, just as they struggle to see the outlines of their strong, capable mother in this frail, spiritless form. She craves nothing more than rest, but she knows she cannot; if she rests now, she will not wake again. She takes each one by the hand, their skin cold and dry against her own clammy fingers and palms, and presses those hands to her lips.

Be good for your uncle, she tells them. Your cousin will love you as a brother.

Éomer, quicker to understand, begins to cry, and his tears trigger Éowyn’s. Soon all three are crying together, for both the first and last time.

You deserve better than this, she should say. I have failed you, she wants to say. But would it give them any comfort to know that she belatedly understands her own mistakes? That left to do it all again, she would guarantee that they would never be without their mother? What can she tell them now that will help and not hurt, that will be a gift and not a hindrance? She swallows hard, and it is like swallowing gravel. Your father and I did the best we could, she whispers. The two of you will do better, and we will be proud.

She drops back to the pillow, exhausted beyond measure, and someone bundles the children back out into the hall again. Éomund smiles at her, and she nods. Her eyes drift closed as his hand wraps around hers, and the burning in her heart and skin slowly fades, the fire extinguished at last.

A note on the sisters of Théoden: Their father, Thengel, ran away to Gondor as a young man and lived there for a huge chunk of his life. He married Morwen, a Gondorian woman, and Tolkien tells us he only went back to Rohan “unwillingly” to take up the throne after his own father died. 2 of his daughters and his son were born in Gondor before that happened, and my HC is that all 3 of them had Gondorian names because, at the time, Thengel never had any intention of ever going back. So that gives us Edlenniel (“daughter of the exile,” since that’s how he saw himself) and Tadiel (“second daughter,” so overshadowed by her siblings that Thengel couldn’t be bothered to even give her an interesting name).

Théoden himself had a Gondorian name as well (Arnhereg, “royal blood”) but he changed it to something Rohirric (Théoden means “leader of the people”) when the family went back to Rohan both because he wanted to fit in better and because it seemed only appropriate that the future king of Rohan have a Rohirric name. Then when the other two sisters were born in Rohan, they were given Rohirric names as well (Théopryte, “pride of the people,” who was extremely beautiful; and Théodwyn, “joy of the people,” who was full of spirit).

3 of the 4 sisters were dead by the time of the War of the Ring (Edlenniel from old age, Théopryte from an accident, and Théodwyn as described here), and Tadiel had gone back to Gondor. Edlenniel never had any children and Tadiel and Théopryte had only daughters, which is why we don’t hear anything about other cousins that might have competed with Éomer for the throne after Théodred’s death. I’ve made a backstory for each of the sisters, but no use putting that all here since I’ve already gone on too long!

(Dividers by the wonderful @quillofspirit !)

[tanith-rhea]

Carnations

It was beautiful, in a morbid way, that this would be the way you'd go. A botany teacher whose lungs were filled with flowers.

Author's note: absolute angst on this one, I won't promise tears cause different people sail different ships, but I can say that there is no happy ending, a good old character death which I suspect is over-described, and the illusory or not certainty of unrequited love.

You may do with this information whatever you please 💛

You'd always had a fascination when it came to flower diseases. Hanakanjō always seemed to you like the worst thing that could happen to a person, flowers sprouting from one's skin and betraying their emotions to others around them. In the end, you wish you could trade it for yours, it would be mortifying to burst into pink carnations every time Larissa walked past you, but at least you wouldn't have yellow ones choking you up at night when you replayed her words repeatedly in your head.

"I could never fall in love with an employee," she'd said, nursing what little wine was left in her glass.

"Do you think you could control it?" the question had nothing to do with your fondness for the principal, it spoke of how much of a romantic you were, actually, how tragic it would be if it happened.

She seemed to consider it for a while, before settling for "I'm fairly certain. I have no interest in falling in love and even if I had I would make sure to not harbour any feelings for someone I could not pursue. I wouldn't be so careless as to set myself up for heartbreak," her voice sounded sure and final. She finished her drink and inhaled carefully before eyeing your glass and seeing you'd also finished yours.

"I'm afraid it's rather late," she continued softly, "This was supposed to be a work meeting and I kept you for far too long," she paused, and you felt something tighten in your chest as you realized the conversation (and your lovely evening) was over. "Thank you for indulging me, though."

Larissa would never fall in love with a teacher. And you, pretty much a teacher and "one of the few she considered a friend", would never have your feelings reciprocated.

It was rather lovely, to be in love, and you discovered you didn't mind to love alone that evening when you left her office. It was really such a shame that your lungs begged to disagree.

The first time you coughed you were in class. You were about to explain to a second-year student how a certain plant could be made into poison and medicine depending on the situation or its handling when you broke into a fit. You hadn't caught a cold and no flowers were blooming quite yet, so when you couldn't stop for a whole thirty seconds you thought it rather odd.

The blood in your elbow pit once you finally stopped was also curious, but you carried on until all classes were finished.

Later that same day, you were at the quad waiting for a student who had asked you to take a look at his potted plant which he said didn't look so good. He had left class just a few minutes before and passed through the quad to tell you he would go to his dorm take the plant and come back in two beats but he was taking his time, apparently.

Distracted, you didn't notice someone approaching the table you were sitting at and squeaked like a scared squirrel once Larissa's hand laid on your shoulder.

"My, my, I did think you were a bit lost but it seems you were in fact stupefied," she sounded amused. Your face was catching fire.

"You absolute menace, why did you sneak up on me like that? Do you want to kill me?" your voice was still squeaky; like you'd inhaled helium.

Larissa laughed, full of mirth and fondness, and you couldn't pretend to be displeased with her when your lips were insisting on twitching up. You were probably making a funny face while fighting back your smile because she only continued on, if softer, as you shook your head and looked away.

"I'm sorry to have startled you, I was only passing and wanted to know what you were up to." Her hand was still resting on your shoulder and her thumb was now soothingly stroking small circles on the hollow of your clavicle.

She smiled affectionately at you while you composed yourself enough to answer. You had close to no dignity left but you would fight to recuperate it.

You cleared your suddenly tight throat, "I'm just waiting on Ajax for plant advice. He's babysitting a Dahlia for a friend of his and is worried it might be dying."

"A dahlia?" Larissa arched an eyebrow.

"Yes... why?" what was so curious about a boy caring for a flower to her?

She shrugged, "Nothing, just-" she paused, her fingertips pressing a bit as if gripping you lightly for a second, "their meaning, I imagine, but boys his age probably don't know these things anymore," she smiled dismissively.

She squeezed your shoulder softly again, eyes glinting a bit before saying, "Well, it's always lovely to run into you, dear," and leaned down to kiss your cheek, hand sliding from your shoulder to your chin as she held your face gently and pressed her lips right under your cheekbone.

She eyed the spot where her lips had been, probably because they left a mark redder than your blush, before smiling once again and leaving. Once she was out of view, you brought shaky fingertips to your warm face and suddenly you were doubling over with coughs; unstopping, burning things scorching your throat as blood springled your trousers and then, like it was just another product any coughing fit could conjure, there were two yellow petals, tinged half red in blood, laid on your lap.

"Professor...?" Ajax's voice caught your attention, and frankly people had to stop surprising you like this. You looked up to see terrified eyes staring at the stains on your lap. "Is everything alright?"

You definitely didn't feel alright. "Yes, it's just an inflammation or something," you pretended to dismiss it and he didn't seem too convinced, "Is this the child?" you pointed at a perfectly healthy dahlia.

"Yeah... I left it on the window this morning and it seems a lot better now." He shifted from foot to foot, "I brought her here just to confirm she's alright," he completed.

"She?" you couldn't help a smile. It was a joke when you said the child.

His face reddened a bit and it was amusing but mostly adorable how uncomfortable he suddenly seemed.

"Xavior and I have this thing that we talk about her like she is a person," he appeared to be immensely interested in her since he couldn't take his eyes off the plant to look at you while explaining, "We read on a website that plants can communicate with others and respond well to being praised and stuff so it because sort of a thing and-"

His words were coming more and more like undistinguished mumbles so you took pity on him and interrupted, saying "She's alright, Ajax. A healthy little girl as far as I can see, don't worry."

He visibly relaxed, deflating like a cloak of lead was sliding off his shoulders. He finally looked you in the face, still unsure and stealing glances at your lap.

"Thank you, prof." He nodded forcefully and marched quickly back inside.

The tricky thing was that you loved life, but you also loved Larissa, and you didn't want to stop doing either of those, even if they might terminate each other and you in the process.

Love is such a beautiful sentiment and dying from it was just your luck. If you could choose, in all honesty, you might have chosen to die exactly like this.

That didn't mean you were eager to do so. And that was why you decided to distance yourself from Larissa. You loved her, and you knew your love would only grow stronger and having her around did not help to keep you from diving deeper into the magnificent, all-encompassing feeling of completion that filled your heart and soul so absolutely it spilt.

In the first few weeks, she didn't seem to notice, but after your third refusal of a shared glass of red at her office she appeared at your door, concern written between her brows.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, dear, but I have the feeling I don't see you as much as I'd like this past few days and was wondering if something happened."

She had no business looking so caring and... worried, fretful.

You were still standing at the doorsill, feeling thin roots curl and clench inside your chest like anarchist veins looking for tissue to spread themselves onto when the thought occurred to you for the first time. Why can't she love me back?

It was nonsense. You knew her, you knew why, and of course your life was on the line and it mattered more than school rules or power dynamics but she was not looking for love. She made it clear not once, but several times when she'd repeat incessantly every time someone brought up the fact that she was single.

"I don't see why I need someone, Tish," or "I don't mind being alone, Vlad," and "No, dear, I don't feel incomplete, I have everything I ever wished for".

You hadn't had a problem with it before, but now, seeing her standing there, gloved hands clasped together in front of her elegantly but not fooling you at all. The air was charged, she was waiting for something; an invitation to enter, an explanation, reassurance. Her hands in front of her were not a sign of grace but an attempt at not fidgeting. She never fidgeted, you suspected she practised so much that now every time she felt uncomfortable she'd instinctively adopt certain poses that evoked control.

"Finals are coming soon," you said with no thought at all, and her brows furrowed deeper, "I mean... Preparation for finals," you tried to salvage, "I like to do a pre-review with smaller classes."

She clearly did not buy it but also didn't question you. Instead, her posture impossibly improved as she cleared her throat quietly, "Well, I'll leave you to your evening plans then," and she motioned to leave.

"Which-" you said quickly before she could go, she stood attentively, "I don't have," you said, voice breaking at the end as you felt petals clog up your windpipe.

Larissa smiled, surprised and clearly pleased, and you stepped out of the way so she could enter.

"Give me a moment," you whispered with what you hoped was an easy smile as you excused yourself to the bathroom.

As soon as you closed the door you tried your best to vomit, expel? Get rid of the petals slowly rising with as little sound as possible. If you coughed there was a chance Larissa would hear and ask questions. You weren't sure you could lie to her if she asked why you were coughing petals like you're the embodiment of spring. Even if she'd know the reason, you couldn't trust yourself not to tell it was because of her.

But you can't vomit something coming from your lungs, and there is no such thing as "gracefully letting a foreign solid thing leave travel through your respiratory system". You just grabbed a towel from the cabinet and muffled the screeches and choking and sobs on it.

After an unknown amount of time, a knock took you out of your breathing exercise to regain control.

"Is everything ok in there?" you weren't coughing anymore, but her small voice made you want to cry. Your face was still flushed from all the exertion and the tears brought by pain were still drying on your cheeks.

Your breathing quickened as dread and heartbreak occupied the emptiness left by bloody petals. You screamed without a sound, air leaving your throat, face twisted from grief. You'd die from loving her and you knew you would do so soon.

Larissa didn't wait for an answer much longer, and as she opened the door you curled into yourself, hiding the petals between your legs and chest, burying your face on your knees so she wouldn't see how ugly you looked when falling apart.

"Love, what happened?" she breathed, kneeling beside you without another word and taking you into her arms.

Why was she calling you love? Why did she have to do that? You were her friend, dear and darling and sometimes sweet. You weren't her love, you would never be and that was going to kill you. Why did she have to be affectionate when it cut you deeper than any cruelty ever could?

You couldn't make a sound, your throat could barely manage between you not breathing from all the muted crying and you scrambling for air when you realized more petals were coming as Larissa's smell filled the air, easily overpowering the flowers' while she hugged your body with one arm and kept the other around your shoulders, fingertips massaging your scalp under the crown of your head where she kept her face pressed.

This was so close to love. Why was it so hard to take that final step? You shared evenings together like a years-old couple, talked easily as if you'd spent a life together and not two years of acquaintanceship, you thought of her every second of every day, nurturing her in your heart and her rejection in your lungs.

You wished you could make her fall for you. You didn't mind before, and it wasn't the prospect of death that made you yearn for it so much now. You realized you were sick because it was too much. You had too much love inside of you and if she didn't want it there was nowhere it could go, no one to belong to, so it had to cease to exist, one way or another.

As your tight muscles started to tire and your body to fail, Larissa helped you to your bed. You were less than a person, more like the hollow ruins of a once beautiful castle that was now being conquered by nature, retaken, reclaimed.

When you stood and full flowers fell from your hiding place to the floor, you heard Larissa's surprised intake of breath. A few uncertain second passed as you looked down to the beautiful blooms you couldn't help but longingly admire, wishing them to finish you before Larissa continued to care for you like it wasn't just make it worse.

You were so drained she practically carried you across the room, laid you down on the bed and looked for the Nth time uncertain. After a few seconds she seemed to reach a conclusion and slid under the covers beside you, pulling you half conscious to her chest.

Before you completely blacked out, you heard her whisper, "I wish it was me."

The next day she wasn't there. When you woke up with very few memories of the night before, you had the sense that something was missing and as snippets of images and vague recollections started to pile up into a sequence of tortuously sweet moments, you had your worse fit of coughs that date.

That was it. You were done for. Larissa cared enough to wish to die in your place but not in the way that could save you.

You'd do anything for her but she simply couldn't do the one thing you needed from her. And it wasn't her fault, you knew she could try, hell she did try the night before for all you knew but it just was not possible. No one could force people into love and you wanted nothing of the sort. Even if you hungered for Larissa like a person starving to death you were happier knowing she would have a good life, everything she ever wished for, as she said, than being forever bound to you when she didn't want it.

You knew you didn't have long now, you weren't really coughing as flowers with the semblance of thin stems were lodged in your throat, so you fumbled desperately for something to write on while you still could.

When Larissa found you, she didn't see the paper, the tray with tea she'd gone prepare to wake you up with fell with no sound she could hear, the shattered porcelain not registering underneath the deafening white noise. She lifted your body from the floor beside the bed where you'd slipped off only to scream and let you fall onto the mattress as she saw glassed-over eyes.

She screamed and wailed and didn't notice the countless people rapidly entering and immediately leaving the room to look for help. The love of her life lay on a bed of flowers, yellow and red while their skin was almost translucent. Choked on the stems of what could be a small bouquet, blood slowly pooling beside their mouth.

"Dear Larissa, I hope you forgive the state I'm bound to be found, and that whoever has the misfortune of finding me has it in themselves to remind this scene as a terrible but miraculous love letter.

I loved you so much that it killed me.

Doesn't that sound nice? Maybe not nice, I'm dying so I don't have time to weight my words too carefully.

I'm writing this to thank you. Thank you for every time you smiled at me, talked to me, touched the back of my hand while handing me wine or made me nothing at all other than company.

Life was harder but infinitely sweeter while I was fortunate to love you. I am in love with you, and I hope after I'm dead I'll be able to still be. I know you'd be kind to the point of letting me haunt you, but I love you more than I can put into words and want you to forget this ever happened and be happy.

It's ok that you don't love me back, it's ok that I'm dead now, I died loving you and there is no other way I'd rather have died. If the price for feeling this deeply is death then you could say I chose to pay, even though I didn't. I know you wished it were you, but I was happy to pay.

If I coul"

Part of the unfinished sentence was covered by a dark stain, the rest was simply not written.

Larissa sobbed brokenly reading "I know you wished it were you," over and over, what she'd meant the night before was "I wish I was the one you love."

I listened to this while I wrote if you'd like to listen to some soft, nice music. As always, @alder-saan I hope you like it. Unless you don't want to read sad stuff which I completely understand

[athousandbyeol]

discussion #6 (only friends): boyfriend, bed friend and friend with benefit— are these colours a possible 'spoiler' to their ending?

three couple posters were released, and i'm thrilled to see three primary colours representing each pair. after sanray's green bed friend and topmew's red boyfriend were shared, i speculated bostonnick's to be yellow. one of the reasons this prediction arise is because of the nature of their relationship/personality and also my personal opinion on these pairs' possible ending.

however, i saw this tweet last night and i thought it was very insightful. thanks to op for sharing their input. it's interesting to observe these colours associated with each pair from the viewpoint of the traffic light. :)

thus, in this post, i wish to highlight some core points and assumptions about the dynamic/nature of each pair that corresponds with their designated colours; red, green and yellow.

as always, this (and any) of my discussion post is a space to welcome a disparity of thoughts from everyone who watches this drama. please take it with a grain of salt. :)

[warning: a very long post ahead].

let's begin.

topmew | boyfriend [jealousy and manipulation]

first and foremost, when this poster dropped, i was surprised. i didn't expect topmew to get this colour. i was expecting red to represent sanray because of their passion and overall fieriness. even in the trailer, we can see how tense those two are, like fire on fire, one inciting the flame and the other just making it worse.

however, after watching the trailer again, i understand the purpose of red as topmew's colour.

before we jump into the assumption, let's dive into the meaning behind the colour.

red: an emblem of true love and revenge

red often symbolises strength, passion, action and energy. the simplest example i can use in this context is the red rose. usually, a red rose is given to glorify the profound love a person has for someone. it's ironic considering red is also the colour of blood— and blood is somewhat a sacred and eerily beautiful symbol of infatuation in many love, tragic, horror and sad stories.

despite its positive connotations, red also means danger, anger, revenge and aggression. as i've mentioned, red is another classic symbol/motif/metaphor of anger used in many stories or movies— the best example is also blood.

why red is topmew's colour?

jealousy

interestingly, aside from the poster, there's something else in the tweet that needs attention.

เราเล็งใครไว้ ไม่เคยพลาดนะ translates to whoever we aim for, we never miss. this is the line top says to mew when they are playing laser tag (which looks so fun).

i find it fascinating when top says this because it happens after top catches mew hugging ray;

why does this matter? well, i believe this is the start of top's jealousy.

the clenched jaw, his body tensing, and a tiny bit of sadness in those eyes— i have to say, this is one of the points that can potentially be top's moment of epiphany. this (or the kiss in the shower) might be when top realises he likes mew.

additionally, it's very ironic that topmew are playing laser tag; a game that focuses on strategising and 'killing' your opponent. this somehow makes me view topmew's relationship as a hunter hunting its prey. however, in their case, top believes he's the hunter (as explained in top's introduction post, top is the top of everything). yet, top has never met the best opponent. not until mew.

p'book explained that mew is helpful and generous with his friends. but one thing he despises the most is dishonesty. people who take advantage of him will face the greatest disaster. these are very strong representations of mew's character, already denoting mew's colour as red. my initial thought was mew was generally blue (calm and level-headed), but his colour will change when his trust on top falters.

furthermore, as i've mentioned in my previous discussion posts, mew is more than what we think he is. the introduction post is already giving so much of mew's personality and vibe. he doesn't smile that much, and his eyes are very dark and hollow. the smirk he wears is not really evident, but it promises a sinister and potent impact. (once again, kudos to p'book for portraying these nuances of mew so well even in the intro video. i still get goosebumps when i watch it.)

top thinks he can outsmart mew. i believe he's going to eat his words someday.

side note: boston displays lenience when he's with top. boston is more of the submissive type with top, proof is taken when they had sex in the car, boston does all the work. this illustrates the power top has over boston and his reluctance to lose. it's also likely that boston was the one who called top that night, even though he (might have) known top was with mew before.

when top knows he likes mew— genuinely likes him and experiences jealousy for the first time— this is why he (and mew) represents red; you're mine. don't be someone else's. just mine.

manipulation

next, in the shower scene, top says—

—and is followed by a kiss.

as p'force mentioned in his intro post, the word love that comes from top's mouth is never sincere.

side note: i'm a bit conflicted when i learned about this because it made me think of two possibilities, 1) top genuinely falls for mew after they become boyfriends or 2) top never likes mew and he's just playing with him (like his other boyfriends/casual hookups). i hope top will like mew for real because if he doesn't, it won't really add much to his character— or simply, it'll just make him a flat character at the end. also, it doesn't give significance to mew's character as well, given his transformation is deeply rooted in top's dishonesty.

in both scenes, top says things that i personally don't understand its significance, but it's his way of claiming ownership and setting foot in mew's life, an indication that mew is his and he wants mew (and everyone) to know that.

it's a form of subtle manipulation from top— masked with sweet promises and again, (faked) honesty. top knows it's the only way to gain mew's trust: by making mew believe that top only sees and wants mew.

top surprises me in this frame because is that jealousy and anger on his face? (i think it is).

it's the way he says it. the slight quiver of his voice, the quietness of it almost brings forth his insecurity about losing mew's trust. although he's certain mew likes him too, ray is mew's friend and they've known each other longer than mew knows top. in one way or another, mew will possibly believe ray more than top, given mew hates dishonesty in a friendship/relationship. mew will treasure anyone who treasures him, but top worships and bends mew's trust simultaneously. something painful will be the price top has to pay after the truth unfolds.

another act of manipulation i noticed from mew is when top hugs mew and cries.

i believe mew might want a break-up at this point, but top doesn't want to. the little smile mew wears is an indication that mew knows he won this fight— he successfully manipulated top into thinking yes, i'm wrong. yes, i lied to you. yes, i can't live without you. an honourable mention includes mew's little smirk when top hugs him on the bed.

mew has it in him— that instinct— the hey, this top guy is interesting. mew keeps his cards safely in his hands, and once he thinks it's best to use them, oh, he will.

it's going to be very fascinating if this is the shift of mew's transformation— if this will be the second mew starts kicking off his plans on destroying top.

topmew's possible ending

as red signifies revenge, i think topmew won't be the endgame.

i personally think it'll be silly/unrealistic if mew still gives top a chance even after discovering about him and boston. it also doesn't add up to mew's personality as someone who is determined, resolute and sticks to his virtues. them being together at the end isn't what i want. the ending i want from topmew is 1) top will learn from his mistakes and 2) mew doesn't rely on love and friendship to determine the route of his personal life (he should take charge and make decisions for himself).

i assume topmew's break-up will be the start of mew's character growth and a revelation of top's true personality. but them being the endgame? i hope they won't. hehe.

//it's funny to me considering i adore forcebook but i don't want topmew to end up together...//

sanray | bed friend [safety and envy]

previously, i correlated sanray with greed and gluttony (thoroughly explained in this post). i view sanray as the right person and right time, but ray is somewhat too afraid to admit it, and san is somehow 'weak' to make ray believe it's true.

however, despite the turmoils they face in this relationship, there's a strong feeling of positivity i get from these two (and also bostonnick). why?

do you notice: sanray and bostonnick have always been honest with each other?

ray says he just wants someone to keep him company. san wishes ray can just focus on him. boston says he doesn't love nick that way. nick wishes boston can only love him. from the start of their relationship, they always vocalise what they really want from each other.

side note: topmew is different because they aren't honest, to begin with. we can expect a painful downfall from a relationship that is based on deceit.

but what is green, and why does it symbolise sanray's relationship?

green: a token of hope and balance

the colour generally has a positive meaning. green often resembles nature, and nature encompasses home, balance and relaxation. yet, green also means envy and judgement, hence the saying, green with envy.

why green is sanray's colour?

safety

ray (and i assume, top) are battling with different mental health issues. possibly, ray suffers from depression (assumption made by the bathtub scene when mew hugs ray),

and top is insomniac (pills scattering near the sink).

(i can be wrong).

what i'm trying to say is ray might feel 'bare' and 'naked' as his feelings for mew aren't reciprocated. this also roots in his insecurity in knowing that this won't change— mew won't ever like him— especially after he likes top. ray knows he no longer has a chance with mew despite still liking mew. and that messes with his head.

what does ray want in his life? security. a home. a place to be and feel safe.

i don't know if i can explain this well, but there's always dread whenever something doesn't go how we want it to be? i think that's ray's major problem: he can't come to terms with his feelings. he sees the world as a solid entity. he doesn't possess the fluidity to 'shape' himself differently from that belief. thus, this is why ray is so afraid of the growing infatuation he has for san, because san isn't in that box— it has always been mew. but mew doesn't want to be in that box— san does.

ray is a ticking bomb in the sense that he's very unexpected and volatile. there are many instances in the trailer that shows ray's explosive reaction and approach when he confronts san. one of the examples is when ray says having san in his life won't make it better (it's the opposite. ray knows this too.)

all he wants is safety and assurance. ray also wants clarity and an end to the doubts in his head. befriending san, having this 'bed friend' relationship helps ray see that it's possible. but as i explained, ray doesn't know if he can have that with san. it's a very sad and (twisted) understanding of love. ray believes he's 'cheating' on mew by having romantic feelings for san. yet, i reckon, mew doesn't want ray to feel that way. mew also wants ray to find his happiness, even if it's not from/with him.

i do believe ray's perception of love will change. there's going to be a cathartic moment he experiences one day that gives him the certitude he needs. san has always been the door that ray can open anytime. it's only a matter of acceptance and forgiveness that will save ray from his own devils. it's only a matter of time for ray to accept his feelings as they are— to take san's hands and walk on this journey together.

envy

envy is a potent driving force between san and ray. even though it's mainly from ray, san also shows nuances of envy.

in one way or another, san knows ray likes mew. but san likes ray— ray (who isn't ready) to like san back.

the pattern i see in every couple is they're each other's reflection. they might not realise it now, but they will when they're about to lose their other half.

in sanray's case, san hasn't fully grasped ray's train of thought. although he assumes he knows what ray is thinking, his speculations aren't entirely true. it's also because san has his own ideas about ray and how this relationship should work.

san wants to fit ray into his mould and expects ray to abide by it, but he knows too well that ray is still bound to mew. this will frustrate san the most and further amplifies his anger/despair/jealousy.

(why must first cry in every role he acts in? my heart is breaking for him...)

i guess it has to do with san's personality as a survivor (extracted from san's intro post). he battles with himself every day to make ends meet. he isn't financially well-off while ray is rich.

furthermore, from this line included in the poster tweet;

เพื่อนกัน เค้าไม่คิดตังค์เว้ย = friends, they don't think about money, parallel this scene—

—which adds another layer to san's character as a faithful/sincere/kind person/lover. he doesn't blur the lines between friendship and love if his feelings aren't involved (making him a bit selfish, but it's a given when a person so strong-headed and passionate like san starts loving something/someone). from the beginning, san never wants ray's money even though that's the most important thing in his life.

different living status promises a different set of challenges. i don't mean to be biased, but the reality is, the poor will always endure the toughest battle. therefore, san's insecurity is valid, and his confusion is necessary. why?

as san's feelings for ray grow, he starts doubting his worth. he doesn't have much to offer, only his body, soul and time— that's all. san will make deductions— am i just only that to ray? just a bed friend? can he ever be more than that to ray?

sanray's possible ending

sanray is the pair that i hope (and somehow confident) will get a happy ending.

there's so much to them that fits the holes and gaps in each other. they do feel like two people finally finding one another after all the chaos and heartbreaks. they make me want to root for them because the pain they've endured is just so gut-wrenching that i insist they'll be the endgame no matter the circumstances.

i also believe since green is their colour, sanray will achieve that balance and harmony in the end. despite not knowing how and when they'll get to that stage, i'm quite certain they'll be together. these two incendiary characters can finally simmer down the rupturing fire in them by being together, taking and discarding the positive and negative, and also achieving the clarity they've always wanted— together.

bostonnick | friend with benefit [happiness and egoism]

from the two trailers, we get so little of boston and nick's dynamic. it touches on the core elements; lust and envy (further explained in this post). we're seeing only the gist of what and who they are to each other and other people, which attributes to a wonderful surprise awaiting us once only friends airs.

i expected bostonnick's colour will be either yellow or orange, and i'm happy my assumption hit the jackpot this time hehe. although boston's character is likely the antagonist of the story, nick balances his negativity really well. nick's brightness manages to dull boston's darkness.

yellow: a sign of happiness and egoism

yellow is generally a happy colour. it reminds me of the sun; bright and hot. yellow is often associated with cheerfulness and energy. it's a colour that incites many good emotions.

even though this colour shines with positivity, yellow can also represent cowardice and lies; it also acts as a precautionary sign; kind of like the traffic light; yellow— prepare to stop (not to speed up hahaha).

why yellow is bostonnick's colour?

happiness (light)

i see bostonnick as yellow because i think they're genuinely happy when they're together.

boston to me is very red, and nick is somewhat white. they're from two different ends of the colour spectrum, with nick being the bright sunshine while boston is the dark clouds. however, i see only positive influences nick has on boston, mainly when they meet outside of the bed and in the red (developing) room.

their relationship might begin because of boston's habit/obsession with capturing moments of sex with his partners. nick might be the tech-savvy guy that is coincidentally working on the day boston pays a visit. the universe really wants them to meet somehow.

i can't exactly picture how they go from this;

to this;

i guess the attraction is mutual from the first encounter (or one of them is very horny at that time [read: boston]), and they begin to confide in each other afterwards.

although we know the foundation of their relationship is mainly boston seeking nick's help (with his equipment (?) and urges), there are also moments of them spending time with each other like how lovers do. the wakeboarding date (?) and other possible meetings are just happy days spent together.

moreover, it's evident that nick is happy to be boston's favourite.

regardless of boston still having an on-and-off connection with top, boston will cave into nick more and more because nick can give him everything he wants fast. nick's availability appeals so much to boston. this makes nick his favourite because again— boston and his idea of controlling the things he likes— applies to nick too.

side note: i don't know if boston is a sex manic or he's insatiable, but i assume nick doesn't mind feeding boston's constant need for intimacy (even though it'll hurt him the most eventually).

ego

boston has a big ego, and he knows this. that ego is one of boston's strongest (and toxic) traits. like top, boston believes he can have everything and anything he wants. why? because of his brazenness, boston doesn't really have much fear in him as well as decency. he's the go-big-or-go-home type of person. this portion of boston is also one of his most appealing qualities, and nick clearly takes the bait.

however, boston's ego is also his greatest downfall. he thinks he won't be affected if someday, nick decides to leave him for good (and go to p'papang's character, which i honestly approve of). when that day comes, it will make boston realise (hopefully) that the truth is; he does love nick all along.

but this is the thing boston and top have in common: they don't understand what love is. the concept of love to them is vague and stupid. they don't know if true love exists, and i'm guessing it has to do with their (painful? embarrassing?) past experiences. they perceive love in the same manner; sex. they objectify their loved ones to benefit their pride and ego. if they don't get something in return, it'll be useless. they won't use them.

boston says he never loves nick because he knows he has never given nick anything but pain and pleasure. a part of boston is aware that he's unforgivingly mean, but it's a feature he can't discard easily; this ego. boston can't see himself falling to his knees and acknowledging his feelings for nick because that hurts his pride.

boston is a walking disaster, and he doesn't want to lose that title— he glorifies that label— because it makes him feel powerful and in control, a common trait of a narcissist.

and because boston clouds himself by believing nick is just an object, he gets angry when nick stops serving his purpose; to satisfy boston. it infuriates boston that nick found his voice and wants boston to listen to his needs. boston can't let that happen, mainly because of his ego. he's just too prideful to be at anyone's mercy.

it's not because nick can't get enough of boston— it's boston who never thinks nick is enough.

side note: let's be real— top chooses mew. top wants mew. top sees boston as an object of lust. that's all. what he does to nick is what top does to him. it's like boston's cry of protest— feeling unwanted by someone he (thinks) he wants.

yet, boston also uses his ego to control, play and manipulate nick's feelings.

sadly, nick's honesty gets the best of him because boston prefers to overlook that sincerity; nick's desire for love.

กูแค่อยากให้มึงรักกูคนเดียว = i just want you to love only me; boston can't. his ego doesn't let him.

bostonnick's possible ending

i'm inclined to bostonnick having an open/ambiguous ending. like the colour yellow, there's going to be a balance of optimism and cowardice. nick might still want to be with boston despite the hell boston brings into his life because he really loves boston. unlike mew, nick doesn't have malicious intent (i don't see this in him, really) in seeking revenge etc. he reminds me of the character that is truly broken by a person they love the most. nick somehow illustrates how pure love is and how painful it can be.

also, it'll be exciting if there's a redemption arc for boston as he's likely the antagonist of this story (honourable mention will be mew). he might realise nick's worth and start things over. there'll be hesitation and doubts— does nick still loves me?— but if boston is honest and willing to fix this, nick is always open to accepting him.

nick has a soft spot in my heart and i'm genuinely hoping better days will come to him (because mark shared in nick's intro post, nick cried so much. it's rare to get a smiling nick).

conclusion

colours play an important role in telling or showing intent, purpose and significance. it's a widely used symbol/motif/theme/metaphor to give the audience a better picture of the storyline, plot, characters, etc.

as always, i find it interesting that these primary colours are so basic but it gives so much depth to these three couples. all of them are distinctly unique with so many humane attributes. it's riveting almost to see three different dynamics in a series.

their red and green and yellow will bring forward so many colourful emotions from us. are we ready to be painted black at the end of the drama?

side note: do you know? the first step in making black is mixing red, green and yellow.

(i tried it with pencil colours and it's almost black. all it needs is a touch of blue.)

what awaits us? are these colours the possible spoiler to each pair's destiny? let's find out starting this saturday. surely, it'll be a hell of a ride.

[1 | 2 | 3 | 4 (i) | 4 (ii) | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12]

references:

only friends twitter page

only friends pilot trailer

only friends official trailer

colour meanings: red | green | yellow

[flowercrown-bard]

for a prompt, if it catches your interest: jaskel reuniting after time apart?

It very much does catch my interest :D thank you!

And his heart is a bird

Jaskier's heart was a flighty one. That's what people always said. Just heart would jump from lover to lover like a bird leaping from one branch to the other.

Whenever Jaskier heard such rumors about himself, he'd laugh and wink and pray no one noticed how fake those things were. If Jaskier was a bird, perhaps he would be a parrot. Always mirroring what he saw, always saying what others expected of him.

He never said the truth to those rumourmongers. He never told them that his heard had already found its nest, where it wanted to stay for as long as it was allowed. His heart's resting place was by the side of a witcher. Curled up against him, when the nights got cold. Laughing and making jokes until Eskel forgot his fears and allowed himself to laugh as well. Dreaming, about all the things they would do together once they reunited for spring.

Because that's the thing. If Jaskier's heart was a bird, it was one that left for the south come winter. And Eskel - Eskel went north, where Jaskier was not allowed to follow. He hoped, prayed, dreamed that maybe one day, Eskel would invite him to join him in the mountains. Until then, Jaskier was forced to stay where it was warm and people liked him only for his birdlike song and colourful plumage.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

For spring, for the day when he would fly from the guided cage that was the court. For the day, when he could see Eskel again.

If Eskel even wanted to see him again. It was a nonsensical fear. Of that, Eskel had assured Jaskier many times. Yet it was a persistent one.

Because maybe Jaskier's heart was a cookoo. An imposter, who took up too much space and attention and resources. A distraction that would one day be the reason why those who cared about him didn't have enough space in their own nest anymore.

He couldn't be that for Eskel. He couldn't be the reason why life got even harder for him.

So Jaskier contented himself with waiting, instead of seeking out his witcher.

He would come.

If Eskel had spoken true and Jaskier really was no nuissance, then he'd come for him. And with him he would bring tales and days filled with laughter. All the days of spring and summer and autumn.

Winter too, if Jaskier had any say in it.

Because he was selfish and greedy like that. Because maybe his his heart was a magpie, always wanting more, never content with what it was given. Eskel was already giving him so much. And Jaskier's foolish, selfish heart wanted more, more, more. Above all, it wanted to steal Eskel's heart.

But that was one thing he could not take. Eskel's heart was too big. Jaskier could not claim it all for himself, when he knew how much love Eskel had to give for his brothers and friends and all the animals he cared for so sweetly.

Jaskier could not take this. So instead, he waited.

Ever so slowly, winter turned to spring.

And Jaskier waited. And he sang. Jigs and celebratory tunes turned into elegies and tragic ballads about all the terrible things Eskel had told him about. All the pain of the Path. All the loneliness Jaskier felt when Eskel got a little respite from the hardships and could get comfortable at his keep.

Maybe his heart was a mourning dove. Mourning the possibility of being abandoned and forgotten about, as he had been so many times before. Mourning the thought of Eskel being all on his own.

Eskel, who wanted nothing more than to help people. Eskel, who was so gentle and so hurt. Eskel, who -

Eskel, who pushed open the door to the tavern Jaskier was currently playing in.

Jaskier's heart fluttered and his fingers fumbled in the lute strings.

"Eskel!" He called out and flung himself into his Witcher's arms. Immediately, Eskel pulled him closer, cradling his head against his broad chest. Jaskier closed his eyes and felt the beating of Eskel's heart. "You came for me."

"You waited for me," Eskel replied softly, "my little nightingale."

A bird that sang when the night was darkest and coldest. Who gave comfort to those who were alone in the dark.

Jaskier's heart leaped - and just as he titled his head up to press his lips against Eskel's, he heard someone behind them shout, "Get a room, you love birds!"

Maybe. Maybe, Jaskier's heart was a bird. But if it was, then it wasn't one that sang alone.

[the-bar-sinister]

Lucifer Was an Angel As Well (57000 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth

Summary: A sheltered young artist with a tragic past finds herself caught in the web of dark affection by a beautiful and sinister murderer, and his carefree rockstar brother.

catch up here

September 05, 2028– 12:25 pm

 “...my Guardian Angel is my demon as well. Kristoph Gavin.” 

Pearl gasped, and her fingers covered her mouth. The moment seemed to hang in the air if in the wake of an explosion, or the ringing of a bell.

"Oh! Gosh!"

Vera shifted to sit on her bed and reached over to grab the bottle of nail polish she’d recently unpacked, as well as the letter held in her pocket “I’ve been writing back and forth with him for two years or so.”

"Two years, huh? That's almost right as soon as you woke up, right? Or… do you mean it started before that?" There wasn't any judgment in Pearl's voice, but there was curiosity, and she leaned closer with wide eyes.

Vera flushed, looking down with a quiet smile. The fact that Pearl wasn’t judging her; that was a good sign. She’d been so scared to open up to anyone, scared that Kristoph’s frightening reputation would lead to others taking action…in removing her say in the matter.

But it was like as Simon had said– her fear was keeping her from becoming a person in her own right.

“They started coming regularly after I woke up, only a month or so later.” she murmured quietly. “but he’d written me before that, though it was mostly details about the job. He visited me back when I was younger, and took off his mask to talk to me about the Gramarye show and give me my nail polish…but the letters really started after my coma.” 

"Gosh," Pearl repeated. "And he became your guardian angel? What's he like? I never got the chance to meet him."

Vera turned the bottle around in her fingers, feeling its smooth crystal against her skin. 

“He became my guardian angel. He’s…” she paused for a moment “breathtaking. He’s polite and kind…he writes like a poet, and speaks like an angel.”

Her smile grew wistful, lovesick…she hoped that Pearl hadn’t noticed “He’s been giving me advice since I woke up. What cosmetics are good to use, how to face the world, ways to come out of my shell. He’s wise, and helpful, and is happy to listen and respond when I tell him about things I like or the world around me.”

Her fingers tightened on the bottle. “but he’s also the devil…a demon with a warm smile. He can be calculating, he draws people into his orbit and holds them there…he poisoned multiple people, beat a man to death…but he did so to save others. He saved me from my father, yet he almost killed me.”

She chuckled quietly “he’s a contradiction…but he’s always watched out for me, and I’ll always call him my guardian angel. I’ll always hold him in my heart.” 

Pearl listened with rapt attention, her fingers covering her mouth as she watched Vera with wide, dark eyes.

"Wow…I never realized there'd be someone else who could relate."

Vera’s eyes widened and she looked up to Pearl with her best attempt at a smile “you too, Pearl??”

Vera hadn’t thought there’d be anyone else who could relate either…but suddenly Pearl had her whole attention. 

Pearl seemed to feel the spotlight on her, and went scarlet, covering her full face. She nodded embarrassedly, her short, fluffy hair bouncing around her ears.

"I guess you could say I had a guardian angel too– me and Mistress Maya."

Vera’s fingers went to her lips in surprise , her other hand clutching her nail polish to her chest.

“You and Mistress Maya have a guardian angel too?” She smiled behind her hand. “so you understand…who is it? Did your guardian angel try and kill you too?” 

"Not exactly," Pearl replied, biting her lip for a moment. "But he put a bunch of people in danger and he killed my aunt– Maya's mom. But it was to protect us."

“Wow…” Vera leaned forward with interest. The circumstances were only a little different– but to think one of her best friends also held a guardian angel close to her heart. Someone who would, and had, killed for her and her cousin Maya.

The Fey Family’s Guardian Angel…and Vera’s own.

“That’s amazing, Pearl…can I ask who it is?” 

She nodded embarrassedly. "Mr. Diego Armando. He only got out of jail a couple of months ago, and now he's working as a prosecutor again. So, I was kind of hoping…"

 Vera blinked.

“Oh! I’ve heard of him…Mr. Edgeworth mentioned him a few times now that he’s back in the field…” She trailed off, a smile on her face as she leaned on her hand. “You were hoping that you could be assigned to him? That’s my dream for my guardian angel too. He’s being allowed to work like Mr. Blackquill had been, and I want to be his detective. If you’re in the same position…maybe talking to Mr. Edgeworth can help?” 

"Oh wow!" Pearl grinned widely, finally uncovering her face, and putting her hands in her lap as she fidgeted. "I was hoping you know, but I figured that I just had to let things play out– do you really think you can get assigned to Mr. Kristoph?"

“I’ll put in a good word…” Vera smiled warmly, brushing her fingers over the ‘palm’ of the bottle’s hand. “Because I think you deserve to be assigned to your guardian angel, Pearl…and Miles is a kind man.”

She tilted her head to the side “...I don’t know for certain, but…but I really hope I can. I’ve asked Miles…and told him that I’d do anything to manage it. So I simply have to hope that I excel at the Academy and…and follow my heart.” 

"That's so romantic," Pearl cooed. "Gosh… thank you so much for telling me about this! I bet it's something a lot of people don't know about, right? At least, you seemed awful quiet about it before!"

“Only a few people,” she said with a shy smile. “Mr. Edgeworth found out by reading my angel’s mail– I had to confide in the court psychologist, Mr. Blackquill. Trucy, Klavier, and you. That’s all– I was scared. Scared that if I said something, someone would take him away from me.”

Pearl's smile brightened even further. "I'm so glad that you trusted me with it. I promise I won't tell anybody if you don't want me to."

Vera ducked her head. “Of course I trust you with it, Pearl– you’re one of my best friends. I– I know you’ll keep my secret, even if I’m trying not to be so secret with it anymore…” 

"You're not trying to be secret about it any more, huh?"

“Mr. Blackquill said…b-basically…that I shouldn’t be afraid. That if I play a role and hide my feelings, I’m more a tool than a person. So I should…make the effort…try to live how I want. And I know exactly what I want.”

Vera looked down at the letter in her hands. She knew more than anything what she wanted. It was a vortex for her thoughts, pulling them all down into the part of her that was still so devoted to her guardian angel.

She wanted to be his– his detective– just as she wanted to be part of his strange ‘family’ with Klavier.

She knew it’d disappoint people she cared about, but Mr. Blackquill was right. Nothing good ever came of pretending to be someone you weren’t. 

"Well, you know, that sounds like really good advice," Pearl said, running her fingers through her short hair. "I've kinda been trying to do the same, lately.

She hopped up and scrambled over to her, throwing her arms around her in a hug.

Vera squeaked, snapped out of the mire of her thoughts enough to hug Pearl back. 

“oh!! He’s a pretty smart guy when you get to know him…a little frightful though.” She gave Pearl a squeeze “but I can tell…you look great, Pearl. You look happier.” 

"Awww, thanks," Pearl smiled broadly as she squeezed her in return. "I hope that'll be the case for you too, soon. I think you already do."

Vera couldn’t help but smile as she held her friend tight. It was true…she already felt lighter. Far from the rotting old house that smelt of acetone and mold, filled with purpose as she set forth on a path she chose for herself …with new connections and old bolstering her along the way.

“And it’ll only get better from here…Detective Fey.” 

October 1, 2028– 6:40 pm

The first days of academy were the hardest, when Vera didn't know where she was going, or quite what was expected of her. She stumbled through those days in a haze of barely restrained panic. Too many new faces mingled with too few comforts to make a cocktail of anxiety that nearly drove the words straight out of her and into the mutism she’d struggled to keep under control.

It was difficult, especially with the sharp tongued drill instructor and the battery of tests and lessons, but it slowly got easier. With the support and commiseration of Pearl Fey, and the arrival of the first of Kristoph’s letters, she could remember what she was fighting for and push on. 

Pearl did her best to help, but it was clear that she was struggling, too. Still, they had each other, and even more so she had Kristoph's letters, which came regular as clockwork, and were deeply interested in how she was faring, and full of encouragement and advice about how to navigate the social realities of the school.

She could imagine him, some nights quite vividly, smiling at him with his angelic expression as he told her how to survive the rigors of the police academy…telling her that she could and would make it out the other side.

It was advice she shared with Pearl, and before she knew it, the routine began to set in. Like a magic trick, the days became easier. Her body got stronger in increments, the faces around her became a little less frightening. It never became easy– she and Pearl still faltered of course, but Vera found herself smiling more and more through every target practice and protocol test.

Her guardian was her main source of strength, but her brother, too, checked in on her every day. And by the time a month had gone by they had a long chat history on her phone. He'd taken to wishing her good night every night as a reminder of when to go to bed– and when he was late with them, she knew it was because he was out late, and had started partying early.

Every time a late text came, she would playfully chide her ‘big brother’ in the morning…and every time she asked him how the hangover was going. She missed him very much, and part of her wanted to be out there with him experiencing the overwhelming feeling of the club– but he inspired her to keep going. Every message was another morale boost to push her through another day. Her Guardian Angel, and her big brother looking out for her as she pushed forward.

At some point, she’d found the time and materials to try showing Pearl how to make a stuffed animal…something that had soon become a bit of a mistake when some of the other recruits found out. It had become a little bit of a business for her– mostly to cover the costs of materials and trips to the store, as well as the time spent not doing homework– and it was a point of pride how many of the police academy students, many of whom were big, tough young men– had commissioned a plushie from her.

This exchange had apparently put her guardian angel's mind at ease. Her potential bullying, and tactics to avoid it or cope with it, had been a common thread in his letters early in the month. But once she'd settled in and started spreading her little toys, his worry had eased. He'd congratulated her on managing such a feat.

She still felt proud when she put needle to fabric– the congratulations ringing in her head as she worked on the first art projects to make her happy in a long time. The concerns of bullying evaporated…and she even began making friends with people she’d have never even imagined meeting only two years before.

Friends, appreciation for her art, a best friend by her side…and the joy of her weekly letters and good night texts. In almost no time at all, the Police Academy had gone from a frightful, confusing nightmare to an experience she wanted to remember forever. 

She was in the middle of work on a plushie when she got a text from Klavier.

She set aside the plushie, poking the needle into a small cushion before reaching to her end table to flip it open and take a look. 

Hey fraulein! Hope you're having a good evening! I have some personal news.

Personal news– that probably meant it wasn't an update about Kristoph or anything like that.

She balanced herself against the wall behind her, knees drawn up as she texted back.

Good news I hope…thinking of coming to visit?

His reply came quickly.

I would love to. But only if I can see you tonight? I have to go out of the country suddenly.Her eyes widened as she read it

Absolutely, if you can! You’re really leaving the country? Is it for another one of those commercials?He’d shown her a little while back a commercial he filmed in Cauli at some point– complete with the story of a stolen guitar and a bunch of silly sounding investigation. 

No, it is on a rescue mission! If you're available, I'll pick you up and tell you in person.

Vera stared at the phone for a moment, her brow furrowing as she read that again.

Rescue mission, big brother? Alright. Alright. I’ll get ready, the academy’s out of session for the moment anyway. I can finish this plush later.

Pearl was out of the dorm at the moment so she quickly sketched out a little note for her in her pad.

‘Be back in a bit, Pearl! Klavier wants to talk to me, I’ll tell you all the gossip later’ she wrote, signing it with a little sketch of herself giving her a thumbs up. 

Klavier's reply came back. Meet you at the front in 15 minutes, liebling.She typed in return. I’ll be right out. Just have to change out of my uniform!

October 1, 2028– 6:55 pm

Klavier leaned across the seats to push the door of his lilac painted convertible open for Vera as she came out of the academy. The weather was still warm enough for him to have the top down.

Vera gave him a wave as she hurried over and hopped into the seat with a smile. She settled into the seat, and smoothed out the pale white shirt bearing the LAPD Academy’s logo , before zipping up her light coat.

When she finished, she looked over at him with a cheerful smile “...it’s good to actually see you, big brother.” 

He scooped his arm around her happily, and looked her over. "It's good to see you too, little sister! You look like you've grown a bit already, ja?"

He was in a familiar outfit, with a pair of sunglasses balanced on his head.

Vera had indeed grown– it’d been a month at the academy, training day in and day out. When she’d entered, she’d been frail, barely recovered from the poison two years before. But now after it all she’d gained a little more muscle definition– stamina, only a bit, but enough that it still surprised her. It surprised her even more that he noticed.

She flushed, nuzzling under his arm “A little bit. It’s all the pushups they’ve got me doing. Still pretty cute though.” 

"Very cute, fraulein, very cute! No amount of pushups is going to change that." He pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. "It makes me aware of how long it's been since I've seen you in person, that's all. And right after I resolved to keep up, ja?"

She leaned more solidly against him, “It’s been a while…but I know you’ve been busy, and I’ve been basically working nonstop. Besides, you’ve been texting me every night!”

She didn’t blame him, she knew she was lucky enough to get this moment to slip away from her studies, her drill instructor, her new friends– all of them even for a little bit. Not to mention his own packed schedule.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t getting a little desperate for his physical company.

“Missed you though.."

"Missed you too, liebling," he said, smiling at her in the rearview as they pulled onto the freeway. Vera felt the wind whipping through her hair as they drove. "Hoping this trip won't be too long so I can come see you again soon."

She chuckled quietly as she tucked her hair away from her face.

“I’d like that…especially if you told me all about it. A shame you can’t take me with you…where are you going, anyway? You said a rescue mission right? That’s…” She looked for the right word before she settled on “alarming.” 

"It is alarming, isn't it?" he shook his head. "I'll be honest, I was pretty alarmed. You know how we haven't seen Apollo Justice in a few months, fraulein?"

He pulled her closer as he drove, his hand warm on her, and she could feel that he was a little tense.

Vera nodded quietly, resting her head against his shoulder with a catlike nuzzle. “...It’s true, I haven’t even heard from him in a while…I think the last time I saw him was for a movie night a while back..” 

"Apparently it's because he's been in Khura'in for four months! Apparently he's gone to live in the mountains and become a monk! Ha! what do you think of that, little sister?"

He pulled off the highway and cruised into the parking lot of a small ice cream shop, on one of the last open days of its season.

Vera stared at him for a moment, tilting her head up with a puzzled frown. 

“Mr…Mr. Justice became a monk? I…I can’t believe that. He’d be a terrible monk…he’s so emotional!”

The whole thing was so absurd, it had to have been a joke. Apollo Justice…he’d saved her back during her murder trial. With his booming , clear voice, he spoke out for someone so few had done for before and cleared her of suspicion in time for her to fight off the poison in her veins.

A man like that vanishing and becoming a monk boggled belief…especially without a word to anyone. “You’re joking around right, big brother?” 

"I am not joking around even a little, fraulein! Well, a monk may be a slight exaggeration. He's gone to become the only lawyer in a country of monks, as far as I have heard."

He parked the car and hopped out– offering her his hand to help her up.

Vera took his hand and slipped to her feet with a click of her short heels on the ground. 

“....the only lawyer in a country of mo—” She paused as the name finally sunk in. “wait…Khura’in…that’s the country that just had that massive revolution, right?” 

"Ja, fraulein, that's the one." He pulled her against his chest, and cupped her jaw with one hand. "Terrible, don't you think?"

Vera leaned against his chest. When she nodded, she felt the pleasant sensation of his fingertips against her jawline.

“Awful, big brother…what if he gets hurt, or worse? Is the revolution at least over?”

"That's one of many things I'm worried about, liebling," he said, leaning close and nuzzling his cheek on hers. "So I am going to bring him back."

She cherished the feeling of his cheek against hers, hugging him a little tighter. 

“please…I wish I could come, I really do…I miss him too, Klavier! I thought he..he had just gotten too busy to visit anymore.”

"I thought so too, liebling," he sighed. "or that he didn't want to see me, you know? Which I suppose still might be the case. But I don't care. I'm bringing him back, ja? I'd bring you with me if you didn't have school."

She nodded against his hand with a quiet sniffle. 

“Bad timing…if it’d been a few months ago, I coulda helped…but I’m too far into training to drop out now.” Her body pressed into his as she leaned up to meet his eyes. “so please make sure you bring him back safe and sound, big brother. I’ll train hard while you’re away…but please text when you can?” 

"Promise, liebling. Though I hear the place has notoriously bad reception. But I will make the most valiant effort."

He pulled her in the rest of the way, and pressed his lips to hers.

Vera kissed him fondly, standing on tip toes with her arms looped around his chest to part her lips in a passionate , warm kiss.

It would be sad to lose the nightly conversations…and to lose even the scant outings with him while he was gone…but…

She understood. Apollo Justice was someone dear to him, dear to her too in his own way, and he’d vanished to somewhere far, far away without a word. Someone had to go and make sure he was okay…to bring him home. 

He held her close as he kissed her, and stroked his fingers through her hair for a moment, as they stood near the car.

When he released her, he smiled. "Come on fraulein, I'll treat you to some ice cream and you can help me make a list of things to pack. I'd forget my own head if it wasn't attached."

Vera nodded with a smile of her own. 

“You would, wouldn’t you? I know how you can be when you get worked up, big brother.” She offered her hand to him with a wink. “...let me do at least that for you before you go. My memory for detail has got to be good for something.” 

"I am in your debt, little sister," he teased. And he tugged her away.

It seemed that after this, for the next little while it would just be her, Pearl, and her guardian angel's letters.

October 1, 2028– 7:45 pm

When Vera returned to her dorm, her head full of thoughts– Pearl was back, and practically ambushed her at the door.

"Oh wow, you are never going to believe what is up with Trucy!"

“Ahhhh!!” Vera squeaked, her heart rate briefly spiking in her chest before she managed to calm herself with a tilt of her head. “she’s got a new magic show?” 

"Nope!" Pearl draped herself around Vera's shoulders and pulled her into a half hug. "She's going out of the country! I'm missing another trip to Khura'in!"

Vera leaned against her, her arm halfway around her by the time the second half of Pearl’s sentence sunk in.

“...w-wait…she’s going where again, Pearl?” 

"Khura'in! Oh, you probably don't know where that is, huh? It's in the mountains, kind of close to Zheng Fa actually…"

“I…” Vera bit her lip. “I know where it is…I just can’t b-believe she’s going there too!” 

"Oh?" Pearl cocked her head looking at her curiously as she hung off of her.

Vera tilted her head to the side so they gently bonked together. “...big brother Klavier said that he…he’s going to Khura’in too. Which is why he won’t be able to visit me for a while.” 

"Ohh! Oh! She didn't mention Klavier but that makes so much sense!" Pearl nodded. "She said she was going to go get Apollo back to the country!"

Vera bit her nail before she stopped herself with a visceral shudder and the memory of the poison.

“So they’re going together…because that’s what Klavier said he was going to do. He was going to bring Apollo home to us so he doesn’t…v-vanish and become a monk. Or a lawyer for monks.” 

'Wow, now I'm even more jealous," Pearl pouted, sticking her tongue out. "But we're so busy with school there's no way we could go."

“M-me too.” Vera sighed. “I told him I wished I could go, you know? But there’s no way with school. If we dropped out now, we’d have to start from scratch….if they even accepted us again.” 

"Yeah. And there's no way we're going to give up on our dreams, right? So we'll have to cheer Trucy and Mr. Klavier on from here!"

Vera nodded, bumping her head against Pearl’s with a gentle smile. 

“and when they come back…we’ll have to catch them up on all the fun they missed out on…and show them our shiny new badges, of course.” 

Pearl grinned widely. "Honestly, that's going to be my favorite part. Well, and seeing Trucy again of course."

“Of course,” Vera laughed quietly into her hand. “Same for seeing Klavier for me…I think they’ll be pleasantly surprised by how far we’ll have come.” 

[thejollywriter]

where did Delilah Jones come from? (pt 1)

Skinner sat quietly in a dark archives on the south end of Redwood proper. Papago Welles was to the south, the Obsidian Pearle the north, and all around him, a kind of anonymity where counties find their borders.

The console glowed brightly, the only source in the dark archive aside from the green EXIT sign above the door, far away.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, tried to sooth the growing ache therein. He'd asked around about this Jones character when he'd arrived. It's what his contract stipulated, his mission was singular, but he was neither reckless not foolish.

He'd never failed to apprehend and annihilate his prey. But every target began with research. Know thine enemy, and catch them with their hubris, exploit their patterns, their blind spots.

These points of weakness weren't always easy to find, but there were always indicators of a fault in the metaphysical weld.

But for Delilah Jones, he had a contradictory confusion. His client had a veritable mountain of information that detailed the supposed personality of the target. Except, despite the depth of information, it offered almost no clarity.

The confessionals, stories and encounters drawn from any of a hundred cases that'd occurred across the city of Redwood, California, detailed a singularly driven person with an unparalleled appetite for violence and an unyielding willingness to dish it out.

Such people are not subtle. They are not careful. Skinner's experience reflected a simple reality. Psychopaths such as this are not prone to caution, nor self-preservation.

Which means there'd be evidence, tangible reports, that reflect the reality of such a person. Police reports, news articles, blog posts, incident statements. Dispassionate observers that deal in fact, not speculation.

And yet there was frightening little. Almost no reports. A single police incident where a massive bounty was placed on her head by late CEO Michael Lense. The bounty had been considered collected immediately before a catastrophic PR disaster detailed the ways a vast segment of Redwood's law-enforcement community were criminally compromised by the same CEO.

And nothing before, or since.

But he found a vaguely related thread. The name, Delilah Amelia Jones, was not as old as the thirty-something 'freelancer,' that roamed Redwood.

Pull the thread. The name was legalized seven years ago. And a different name was surrendered in order to assume the new identity.

The thread unspooled rapidly.

Jones was an orphan. Lost her parents, both, in a tragic car accident that miraculously spared her life. She was put into the care of a paternal uncle, the only living family of direct relation that could be found. She was thirteen years old at the time. Reports do not give a reason, but Delilah chafed viciously under her new circumstance.

All of this took place far north from here, in Seattle, Washington, and its outlying counties.

She made a habit of running afoul of law enforcement for fighting, gambling, and hustling, in and out of juvenile detention for the next four years, until she just up and disappeared.

There's only one further incident, when she was twenty-two. During this event, the bodies of four Italian mobsters were found dead, and despite her strongly being suspected, she was released based on lack of evidence and witnesses.

This was the end of her saga in Seattle. Six months, address chance, and this mysterious hooligan brought her traveling circus of violence and chaos to Redwood. And that's when things got really interesting.

***

Not to break character but this is an interesting idea I've had lurking in my brain that I'm going to write as short little narrative bursts that tell the story, from a slight distance, of Delilah's origins. I'll do similar things to talk about Redwood, and where the fictional city came from.

All of this comes from an effort to simply share more of my favorite OC, a righteous gunslinger living in the lawless Cyberpunk city of Redwood, California.

We'll see Skinner again as he tries to come to grips with the LEGEND that is Delilah Jones.

Until next time, if you want to read her exploits yourself, here's a link. Dollar gets access, and from there, there's TWELVE stories to sink your teeth into.

Thanks for reading <3

[brucethewannabebard]

A new approach

So anyone who stumbles across this blog of mine will be quick to notice that during the majority of its active existence I have been, and so far still am, going through a lot emotionally. So I figured I would take this time to make a post talking about the purpose of everything I put here, as well as to outline what is next for me. I don't actually think anyone will find it or care, but I am the type to do things like this for posterity's sake.

So I write what I write here to have an outlet for the emotions I feel. As such everything I have posted has been rough draft, stream of consciousness raw feelings. Any attempt as structure or pattern evolved naturally as I wrote and I have done little to no editing on any of these posts. Certainly I haven't gone so far as to revamp or polish any of them. Mostly cause I didn't have a point too. These post will continue as long as I have feelings and thoughts that cry out for expression and escape. But it is now part of a bigger project.

You see as part of my desperate plan to heal a hurt that very well may never go away I am currently working to do the craziest thing I have ever done. I am planning to build a raft, and thru-boat the Mississippi River. I will start up in Minnesota and float down to New Orleans. This in itself is an experience that other have done and continue to do. To make it a bit more me, I am planning to hunt and fish the whole way down and live off the land for the entire trip. I have done a fair share of these activities in the past, and always do them as humanely and respectfully as possible. I do not hunt for fun, and try to use as much of the animal as possible. This means for approximately 60 days I will be living solely off of my ability to catch or gather food.

I plan fully to keep writing and keep a journal as I do this. It is unclear as of now if I will be doing this trip alone, or if I will have a traveling companion. I got to thinking that the adventure might make a good travel story, maybe for a blog or memoir or something. I now plan to interconnect it with my writings here. I am now writing out the tragic events that led me to where I am now, as well as what motivated me to give this venture a try. Assuming the trip is at least relatively interesting I will then combine it with the tragedy of my life over the last 5 years, and use my semi poetic therapy posts on here to tie together things thematically.

The end result should be what I hope is a moderately interesting and insightful read, but more importantly I am hopeful that by framing everything into a project like this I can gain some kind of closure or clarity on things and maybe find a way to move forward with my life.

I will almost certainly not do anything in regards to publishing said work, as I am generally a private person when it comes to my personal life. Plus while this trip is likely to be interesting, having not done it yet I am going to guess that it will be less eventful than when Huck Finn went down the river. As such, I am sure it would in the end be a boring read. But I do think it is important I take the trip, that I chronicle the journey, and that I write out the story of love and loss that broke me.

So if I have no intention to publish it, and indeed not even the knowledge of what level of interesting the trip is yet, why am I writing this out? Well to put simply, I have a million and one reasons to not bother with this plan. I can just say it is too hard to do, make excuses. The things I have done my whole life. In which case I will continue life in mediocrity always wondering what would have happened if I really took a leap and did something a bit irresponsible. So this post stands as a way of putting out some kind of promise. Like maybe the idea that someone else can see this makes it not just and idea but some kind of mission I must deliver on. So if you took the time to read this, thank you. The knowledge that someone might see this is going to be what gives me the courage to follow this through.

I plan to build the boat at the start of 2024, and complete the trip in the spring. This is my promise to myself, and anyone else who may stumble across this, that I will do something exciting for once. That I will take the time to do something worth doing for once, and hopefully find the pieces of myself that I lost over the last half decade. So if you are seeing this some time later in the year, or after the trip should have been completed, and by some miracle you are curious about how it went or is going, feel free to ask. I have let myself down for so many years, that the thought of failing others might be what I need to keep going, at least for now.

[emeraldbabygirl]

Today I learned that J.Heart from N.Sonic married a fan, there’s a whole video of it on YouTube please I’m so drained I’m dropping green slime like the gremlin I am. I know so many older ex idols of kpop groups where and how is this happening ugh what in the y/n wattpad having ass I beg and beg and I get nothing. Where is my hot husband? I don’t think I’m being selfish I think I deserve some eye candy in my life I think I’ve been through enough. GD hello I’m single and I’m free just let me know and I’ll give you my address please. Takuya pay for my plane ticket and I go to Japan for you or wherever your sexy ass is juseyo please? 🥺 and it’s always the ex idols or older idols like I get it, relationships and communication and commitment and language barriers and sexy people and I’m LITERALLY THE LIL GREMLIN UNDER LEE JUNGSHINS BED EATING HIS TOENAILS I AM STARVING PLEASE and it’s the older male idols and the older female idols I bawled my entire pussy out when I found out Miss Ma’am Moon Hyuna from 9Muses was not only married but had a child ugh. ALL MY 9MUSES WIFES ARE MARRIED TO PEOPLE THAT ARE LESS PRETTY THAN THEM BUT MORE PRETTY THAN ME WHERE IS

IM PERFECTLY AVERAGE AMD SLIGHLTY MENTALLY UNSTABLE AND HATE LITERALLY EVERYONE AND HAVE SO MANY PROBLEMS IN GENERAL BUT KAIN MY LOVE LEE SANG THE LOVE OF MY LIFE FOR ONE MAN I CAN MANAGE.

IF I HAVE TO SETTLE FOR JAY OR NIKI FROM EPIPEN OR..KEEHOS GEN Z ASS I FUCKING WILL I WILL TAKE THEM AND RUN CAUSE I HAVE NO MORE HOPE FOR ME. Call me a dramatic lil bitch but I’m so jealous and I blame my father for my intoxicatingly tragic fear of men ??? but wanting a relationship listen I know it doesn’t make sense trust me I am a walking ball of “brain isn’t braining” as the kids say these days. Either some entity or god or fate or whatever you want to call it has something beyond my wildest dreams in store for me later or I just have bad luck and all said spiritual entities really hate me that much. I know I’m being dramatic but the greesy lil gaslighting mouthwashphobic gremlin jumped out and I can no longer hold her back. I am as unhinged as my twitter and that’s just the way I am. I just get jealous of people in relationships because I tell myself I’m not interested and then I want one and then I don’t and then I say I’m a walking self defense mechanism and then I cry that I’m single and ugly but I don’t do anything to care about being pretty or taking care of myself like I swear my 3 braincells and the 5% of my good personality are a catch. My sweet Erwin Pattrick Pennors please 💍 man jealously is one hell of a drug “frfr” as the kids say these days. I just want to be happy but I feel like if I don’t get in a relationship or if I don’t do this or this I won’t be happy or if this does happen, what if the wattpad y/n gods actually bless my shitty life and I don’t like it and I’m not happy then what? Is it the disappointment of the future fueling my rage or is it the unknown. IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE JESUS MAKE IT MAKE SENSE PLEASE IM SO TIRED OF EXISTING FOR THE SAME ROUTINE EVERYDAY YET IM TOO TERRIFIED TO DO ANYTHING ELSE IM LITERALLY PERFECT FOR SOMEONE WHO IS MENTALLY UNWELL LIKE ME 😭😭😭😭😭

ALSO YES I AM JEALOUS OF PLEASE THAT GET TO GO TO CONCERTS AND FANMEETS AND HAVE FANCALLS AND GET NOTICED BY THEIR FAVS ON THE INTERNET AND GET TO RANDOMLY MEET IDOLS OUT OF NOWHERE OKAY ITS TAKEN FOREVER FOR ME TO ADMIT CAUSE I STUFFED IT DOWN MY THROAT AS MY ANXIETY COULD NEVER I AM AFRAID OF MEN I HATE LARGE CROWDS I CANT DO IRL WITH REAL PEOPLE AND MAYBE SOME OF THAT IS TRUE OKAY I do get nervous around humans of the male species that are strangers and idols are no different but everyone gets nervous when they meet an idol right? Not just my ass thinking “I’m quirky” for whatever bs situation I made up in my head I get it I do but jeez I have to be so damn loud about it and literally no one fucking cares they don’t. Kain and Lee Sang and Daeil and Rolling Quartz and Grace and other idols don’t care about what I say they just appreciate the kind words like anyone does. I have been trying to get Kain to look at my insta for like 2 months and no it’s so dumb and not worth it like I just am not the main character and never will be I’m too mentally off and ugly and dramatic and just the vibes are like static and a sharp object to a balloon. Some things just don’t and won’t work out no matter how much you want it too. If it takes an another famously “delulu” rant on all my social media’s to discover this than so be it.

Maybe in 2023 I should stick to working on my own problems and my mental health and focus on driving and learning how to adult instead of wanting a hot husband and all these toxic scenarios I come up with in my head. I get jealous of people on social media who get famous and are followed or known by idols ya’know I think sometimes everyone does but some people just do things in a way that the pieces just fall together and that’s just it.

Good lord I think I’m done now I’m still jealous and sometimes I get sad about it and I might later cause ya’know

✨ moon tingz ✨

I’m fine fine ya’know. I just crave attention and want people to call me pretty and foam at the mouth and ya’know fun celeb stuff. I know I have friends that love me and give me compliments and I will forever be grateful for that no matter how long they are my friends but sometimes I just want one specific thing from one specific person even if it’s “delulu.” Anywee have this picture of something

[hokusu]

it's really hard to balance irl stuff with online stuff sometimes >.< I've had a lot going on in my head recently, but I'm trying really hard not to let it overwhelm me, which is easier said than done lmao overall though I'm doing well! ^-^

you hit the nail on the head regarding what's so wonderful about Christmastime!! it's also just always been a really special/nostalgic time of year for me and my family, and I also adore Christmas music haha. it all just fills me with a lot of warm, cozy feelings~ I really like winter all-around though, I'm the kind of person who prefers the cold over the hot, although I think my favorite season is probably spring cuz it's the perfect in-between! 💕

who are some of your favorite characters?? and if you don't mind me asking, what do you enjoy so much about dabihawks? I think they make a really interesting pair and would love to hear your thoughts about them!!

~your animanga secret santa❤️

So true, as soon as you're busy irl time flies so fast and it's hard to catch up with everything (cough anime in my opinion too lol, I'm struggling to edit everything I want this season 😭). Im glad you're doing well though, Santa!! 💛 I hope your thoughts leave you some peace soon and whatever it is, works out. 😊

Yess xmas music is so nice and comfy!! I love trans-siberian orchestra ones the most. Do you have a favorite Christmas song? Do you get white Christmas where you're from? 😲 I also enjoy winter more! And fall is always so dreamy, but where I live it doesn't really have much of fall either lol.

I have a lot of favs but here are some ☺️:

One Piece (not caught up yet but this anime is probably the most of my hyperfixation after dabihawks rn lol. I love it so much) - Zoro, Trafalgar, Ace and pretty much all of straw hats

SNK (been a while but they'll always be special) - Levi, Eren, Jean

Haikyuu (this is the comfort show Im always into) - Kageyama, Kuroo, Nishinoya, Hinata, ...almost everyone tbh.

Given (re-reading recently so feels are back) - Kaji mostly, but also all the mains are good lol

Banana Fish - Ash Lynx

Kny - Uzui, Giyuu

And lastly my absolute favs right now and I can talk about them forever Dabi & Hawks - I love literally everything about them individually and together. Dabi, who was told he's never been enough but consistently proving that everyone is wrong (literally living when he should be dead through sheer will power and vengence) vs. Hawks, who always remember "what is he even good for" and desperately tries to prove he can be of use? Dabi, who's ready to die while taking revenge vs. Hawks, who's willing to die to save everyone else? They're both so much more than who they pretend to be, who they wear that mask for and I think sometimes people misunderstand them for it, but its why I LOVE THEM!

I love their dynamic and how they used each other in the manga, I love that they're on opposite sides of a war both with ideals that clash so differently and they're perfect foils of each other, and yet so easily they could have been in each other's shoes. I think it makes them understand each other in a way that no one else does when all their lives, they've been very much alone. Their tragic backstories also plays into their character development very well (and every ch it shows me this!) Contrary to some opinions out there (esp. about hawks oof) , I think Horikoshi did a fantastic job writing them and they are the most interesting in the animanga by far and why I picked up the manga. There's so much to explore with them, so much potential angst and parallels between them, but even on their own they're just written SO WELL.

Hawks views are so skewed and it shows because of how he was brought up (by a family who didn't want him and then bought by the commission to be a solider) and it's so ingrained into who he is today, but he genuinely still just wants to "do good and protect people", so he's still the best hero in my eyes. 😭 And Dabi, who obviously isn't innocent, but you can't help but root for him to live at the end of it anyways bcus Dabi was genuinely good once and he tried so hard to be, he couldve been the best fucking hero. They're so flawed and fucked up in their own ways, but I love them for it and they're PERFECT. At the end of the day, I know they've done heinous things but they both deserved so much more. Latest chapter with them meeting again has me screaming too and I'm so excited to see what's next in manga!! There's so much more I could say but sorry this is so long already!! How about you, are you a fan of BNHA and who's your favs? 😁

And I'm also into a lot of other animes (seasonal or otherwise like sxf (so so good and heartwarming), csm, tokrev, jjk, mp100, golden kamuy, a lot of slice of life and lesser known ones, etc.) if you wanna know more ^^

Please have a lovely week Santa! 💛

[myristicisms]

Accidental, that's what it had been; Usually the Turk had always just known whenever he'd approach, likely because Zack wasn't exactly the quietest when he'd show up but Squall looked so focused doing whatever he was doing that he couldn't help but to try to keep quiet, a means of being polite. At least that was the intention anyways. It wasn't until he'd noticed just how ensnared in his drawing that the SOLDIER decided perhaps it would be polite to announce his presence. “ Hey! How's my favorite Tu- Woah! ”

And just as fast as he'd spoken, he'd caught sight of what had enraptured the brunette so intensely, briefly yet still he'd seen and found himself impressed, far more intrigued than he wished to admit. Of course his gaze quickly shifts to the rather irate looking Turk and he offers something akin to an apologetic smile. Guilt had always been something Zack had acquainted himself with far too often, especially as of lately. Something about feeling as though he'd continuously been prying into people's lives no matter how unintentional it was and it seemed Squall was no different in that regard.

What feels worse though is the look he's given, one that tells Zack to keep his mouth shut about what he'd seen, one that makes the raven haired man worry that the Turk thought he'd say something rude, something distasteful about what he'd managed to catch a glimpse of and that in of itself left a bitter ache in his heart. Lips part slightly, an attempt at allowing words to fall upon his tongue, to offer reassurance even despite the fact that the gaze sat upon his features warned him not to. And so he follows his gut instinct, instead bashfully glancing towards where the outline of the book barely sat, hidden away from prying eyes with thoughtful curiosity.

Warmth quickly eases its way into his once hesitant smile, finding himself ridiculously pleased that Squall's seemingly allowing him a peek into this side of his life, knows just how secretive the Turks often are (What is Cissnei's real name again? Oh wait..) and the gesture itself is enough to spark that giddiness Zack had been so ridiculously known for.

He blinks damn near stupidly, looking briefly confused before practically skipping over beside Leonhart, nearly trips over his own two feet in his excitement. Mako eyes fixate intensely on each stroke of the pencil, noting each curved line and the way the image slowly came closer and closer to completion; Two things to be impressed by, though Zack always found himself beyond intrigued by anyone that honed their skills in any of the arts.

The sudden voice breaking their admittedly comfortable silence causes his gaze to flicker to the brunette's face, interest still glimmering within his warm gaze, confusion evident once the scientific name is listed because while Zack understood flowers a little bit, Aerith never really told him their fancier long names. Even still though, he's happy to listen, ecstatic even.

“ Oh! ” Recognition morphs his features into something beyond delighted, were he actually a dog then his tail would be wagging far too quickly. “ I know those! They're some of my favorite flowers, I think... I think it's because one of the stories, the one my mom used to tell me, was so beautifully tragic, romantic in a morbid way. I'm surprised you managed to find some around here, though now I'm glad I came to say hi! ”

He pauses, tawny flesh tinting a gentle red as he falls silent from embarrassment; That was something only Aerith and Kunsel got to hear about and even then, getting him to admit he even liked flowers, the sentiment behind why, was like pulling teeth. Though it's certainly nice to not fill the silence for once, made him feel as though perhaps he'd finally managed to break through the brunette Turk's thick walls or at least made some progress in befriending him. Even more reason to silently listen, he likes listening anyways.

More silence washes over Shinra's Puppy, teeth worrying at his bottom lip in thought as he takes in more of the fun little facts about the small flowers; He wasn't as versed in their meaning as he'd like to be and so he hung onto each word spoken, as though the information would save his life some day and he simply had to memorize it. A gentle nod forces spikes of obsidian to bounce, still looking as interested as ever even if he was acutely saddened that the small lesson had come to an end. Just as quickly as his grin had appeared, it shifted into something sorrowful, wistful as his thoughts worked over themselves. “ Maybe I'll have to take some to Angeal, I think maybe he'd like the meaning, he's probably sick of me leaving random flowers I find on his... ”

A subtle twitch, his head shaking softly as he trails off before laughing softly. No need to spoil the good mood, he's happy for once, beyond just being content or slightly giddy, no he's delighted and overjoyed. “ Honestly after learning what they symbolize, I think I love them even more, thanks for sharing with me Squall! ”

Lips quirk into a proper smile, no attempts at being sunny like usual, just simply Zack being himself, being like the happy sixteen year old he'd been when he first got into SOLDIER so long ago. Perhaps he'd have to ask Aerith for some flower lessons, wants to be able to find a flower that he thinks fits Squall pretty well; Returning the favor, having common things to talk about.

“ ... What's your favorite flower Squall? ”

;; ‘ floral reminders ’ for Zack

He was always so careful in making sure his hobby stayed a secret. While nothing embarrassing, at least compared to most peoples idea of one, he still preferred to keep it tightly hidden & locked away from prying eyes. It was, in the end, something meant to be private. Something just for himself, as rare a thing as that was.

But of course he'd underestimated Shinra's Puppy. The man's nickname is huffed internally like a curse, though it's more tired over truly angry as he catches the way those eyes linger on the leather casing of his book. They flit across it's surface, the poor thing making a loud smack as Squall moves to slam it shut, instantly hiding it back along the inner pocket of his suit. A frown is already fresh on his features, irritated, embarrassed - if the furrow notching his brows & the way his jaw sets is anything to go by. The only thing that lacks is the normal sharpness of his glare, tempered out by the way his ears burn a bright scarlet as he silently grouses.

He clears his throat, fixing Zack with a pointed look that all but says 'you saw nothing' like it's a set statement over a suggestion. He expects him to make fun of him, of his hobby, chalk it all up to him drawing & slacking off on the job as a means to get a one up on him for all the times he'd been so harsh with him.

But he shouldn't have expected that when time & time again since he'd met the man, Zack had been nothing short of a living, breathing surprise. He wouldn't get too ahead of things, still treat the bubbly First with the same healthy level of distant caution as he did others, but he did keep in mind that even when he was being . . . harsh. Rude - the man had never lashed back out, had always remained peaceful, friendly. Ever genuine despite whatever ice was thrown his way.

Its that thought combined with the way the other stays silent, hands held up in a placating gesture that speaks volumes to the brunet over whatever else he could have spoken in that moment. Zack's eyes are wide, brows drawn skywards as that interest spotted from before seemingly lingers in place. Squall studies him for a few more stray beats, eyes thinning to a glacial glare, before they melt, a scoffed sound given before he shakes his head.

Darkened bangs sway before his shielded gaze as he retrieves his book with gloved fingers, lips pressing together as he hesitantly flicks it open to the page he'd been working on cataloguing before the other'd startled him.

It's an unfinished flower sketch, eyes glancing over the rim of his booklet to the flowers themselves up ahead, before flitting back over to Fair with a lightly arched brow & a jerk of his chin to signal him in closer. He sighs, but it's nothing new. It takes a bit of mental prep, an internal push, but he weathers through it to hold his book over for the other man to see. With a hum, voice quiet, he continues his idle sketching, curving out the rounded 'mouse-ear' shape of the scattered plants leaves.

"Myosotis." The Turk starts, glancing back over with diamond sights to check if the other was listening. Sure enough . . . he was. ( ' Huh . . . ' ) Continuing on, he lets his pencil glide, finishing up the drawing as he lists off a few facts on the plant itself with the barest twitching curl of his lips.

"Or 'forget-me-not's'. These are usually pretty hard to find around the closer you are to Midgar, cities especially . . . so . . . I wanted to sketch out what I could while we were here in the area. Don't know your level of knowledge on stuff like this, but . . . these here? They're a very sweet flower. Packed with hidden sentimental meaning."

He's vaguely aware that this is possibly the most he's spoken to Zack since they'd met, at least all in one go, but once the floodgate's have been opened, it's hard to turn it off, the flickers of genuine fondness slipping free as he explains himself & his reasoning for drawing them out to the dark-haired SOLDIER.

"They can be a symbol of true undying love, respect. Of fidelity & faithfulness on top of strength. If you give them to someone, it means you truly love them, or a symbol of remembrance during partings that they're always kept in your thoughts." With a snort, a duck of his head as he finishes off the sketch, he pockets the items, moving to shift from where he stands, turning to better face the other. Rare, but a bit of cheekiness bleeds through, a show of silent thanks for taking his cherished interest seriously enough to not poke fun, to pay attention when he prattled off his odd facts on the small blue flowers.

"I know there's some different folk-lore tales on them, but . . . have to brush up on those more. Feels like a flower that you'd honestly be fond of. "

Maybe it didn't quite fit him . . . but it was close enough. Especially with their close knit tie to the theme of devotion, the sentimental value behind it mirroring Zack's own honest heart to an extent. Crossing his arms over his chest, he hums.

"I could be wrong though . . ."

Flowers for One Another [ ; ] Send in “Floral Reminders” to hear what kind of flower my muse associates with yours.                       ➤ @myristicisms

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

The Spark That Split the Seas - Poseidon x Reader x Thor

(A/N)

Hey guys I’m back! I’ve been grinding hard for a new character that I’d gotten in this game, Genshin Impact, so I’m sorry for the absence! Anyways, as always, I want to thank you all for the support on my past two stories and on my account, I truly appreciate every one of you! On a story-related note, since I’d mentioned on my previous post that I had a lot of Poseidon x Reader x Thor fics written in my drafts, I decided to post one so you guys could also join me in the feels! Any feedback would be appreciated! This was originally shorter than the final story you’re seeing now, as I’d first only written their dialogues, but as usual, I excitedly itched into making a story out of it!

This is for entertainment only. Record of Ragnarok belongs to Shinya Umemura, Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

The Spark That Split the Seas

Poseidon x Reader x Thor

For more than all the millennia the gods and other species alike had known the lonely kingdom of Atlantis, never once did the crashing waves gave way to the chirping of the largest Albatrosses until now. Otherworldly flying creatures joined with the familiar exclusively earthly ones in enjoying the ebb and flow of the ocean, albeit this time, the hungry ocean appeared more satiated and seemed to follow a regular pattern ‘from sudden crash to a long calm, to crash again then back to another lengthy calm;’ life in the sea rejoiced in this odd occurrence.

Beautiful yellow sun rays poured through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope pattern on the large interiors of the kingdom ruled by the god of the seas, and catching the reflection of his nonchalant visage. The long, elegant dining table filled with every kind of seafood delectable imaginable also fell victim to the light, along with a figure that sat down opposite, whose invitation was clear.

Hidden from this heavenly atmosphere were the prying eyes of a little messenger bird who stood unobtrusively behind one of the tall pillars near the far end of the room, halting his slide just in time to witness this miracle:

The living bearer of the most fearsome title, the ruler of both this grandiose palace of the most precious gems and coral and all the oceans and waters, the almighty Poseidon, though against all reason and self-proved authority whatsoever, against the epics of Greek poets, was indulged, seemingly willingly, in the pleasure of having another’s company. In the shadows, Hermes’ red eyes shot wide open in shock.

Poseidon, the ever abrupt and rude god who had deemed most beings to be below him, received a guest, a still breathing one at that.

What in the gods’ name?

In a tone of haughty contempt, a grunt escaped from Poseidon’s lips. Finishing chewing the last bite of delicious food in your mouth, you nodded your head in earnest agreement with his point. Your next words were uttered with the firmness of an old sage who had all the answers, your beliefs shaped by the countless lifetimes you had lived.

“Existing is painful.” Your shoulders bobbed with your chuckle.

Although Poseidon felt a small measure of relief−a feeling that by habit had always been easy to brush-off with a condescending thought, his face betrayed nothing as his stoic features remained still. “If you agree, then why not allow me to kill you this instant?” As if to emphasize his strength, the crashing sound of dreadful combat between waves and rocks rang in the air, and you almost wished that a low rumble of thunder accompanied it, finding beauty in its loud peals, and additionally giving a volume of inspiration to Michelangelo below.

Despite your gaze being unrequited, you were sure you had the god’s attention. Since arriving here, Poseidon noted that your expression had always been smoothed into a calm, smiling one. “If you had intended to kill me, we would not be having this conversation right now.”

Poseidon sat rigid and silent.

“It’s a comfortingly tragic drama, my circle of life. I may not have been lucky to acquire a life as long as that of the gods, but I have definitely lived more times than you have.” Your words were so nonchalant, for a second there Poseidon thought you were kidding.

“That is for the simple fact that you mortals are weak, pathetic.” Lips as pink as young petunias touched the clear edge of the wine glass as Poseidon’s eyes closed, content to give over to listen.

“Yes, we are.” You paused. “But because of this frailty, we learned to adapt, evolve.”

“There is no need for evolution if you are perfect from the moment of conception. Hence why gods such as I, will always be above you.”

“You’re correct. Humans will never become gods after all,” Again, Poseidon found himself absorbing your words like a sponge. At the same time, he experienced an occasional sharp prick at the edge of his emotions, as if signaling him to pull back. “The same as gods will never become like humans.”

“Extremely foolish of you to think that trash is worthy of the shiniest Orichalcum. Your race has been created by us, for us, and will therefore always be inferior.”

“Humans are inferior in all aspects, this, is a fact. It is hence no accident that there is a history of rebellion and consequently, a false notion of superiority. But to be able to look beyond this, is to understand that we never truly intended to surpass animals nor the gods themselves. The nature of our desire: everything was meant for either survival or man’s search for meaning.

“We are by nature flawed and inconsistent creatures. And as you have no doubt seen for yourself as well, despite reaching all our goals, achieving our wildest dreams, we have never reached a position where satisfaction is achieved.” Keenness made your words sound almost heroic. There was a twinkle in your eye and a lilt in your voice, and Poseidon found that now he had a much clearer picture of your reputation for an irrepressible desire to see what is beyond your reach as you questioned: “If I may ask, as I have seen the gods share this sentiment of looking for meaning, do you feel an inkling of the same?”

When Poseidon had put the wine glass down, he hesitated a moment, his supposedly closed mind wavering between doubt and certainty. He would never come to understand this, nor admit to feeling this dissonance, but at last, he shook his head at his consideration, trying to reduce the unpleasantness he felt by the same way he had always used to get out of extremely rare difficulties.

“Do not disrespect me, mortal.” He knew himself that it was an empty threat.

“Those were never my intentions.” You bowed with great respect, but there was at the same time apparent in your manner the consciousness that while Poseidon would never in any way confirm your statement, he did not necessarily refute it. Your heart rose in gratitude as you regarded him with a look of affection, believing in your intellectual companionship.

“Lord Poseidon, as the fearsome god of the seas, what is the meaning of life for you?” The god surveyed your reflection in one of the golden plates, and maybe it was because he had acted in a charitable way towards you, but he saw brightness, a refreshing difference, as if there were no heavy shackles to weigh you down.

“My husband has always been in search of a worthy opponent. What about you?”

It was like a pin came dangerously close to the rational bubble of Poseidon’s beliefs. But then your words penetrated his mind, and he berated himself for almost falling prey, yet…

“Perfection.” Poseidon blurted out loud, full of self-indulgence, but uncomfortable with the thought of pity reeking from his pores, a role that was clearly uncharacteristic of him.

Tilting your head, your brows meshed inquisitively upon hearing this. “This presents the conundrum; you are already perfect, as should all the gods. Since you have explained, gods have always been pristine, perfect, the moment you all were born.

“So, if you have already achieved the meaning and purpose of your life, what is there left to live for?” There was something entrancing in your guileless form, and Poseidon was displeased that another should feel such an interest in your wise, unguarded character. “And if gods have already reached perfection, why is there an endeavor still for the dross of earth?”

For the first time in Poseidon’s life, he was receptive of contraries. Not one single time, had he ever been in the position where he listened, much more considered the act of interpretation. What he said goes, but for some frustrating reason, he was coming to terms of mutual respect; whenever he was sitting opposite you, chin in hand, the more he caught the flame.

Quickly, he stopped that train of thought and he seamed his mouth, stoic. Only his eyes betrayed a spark of defiance. “Stop asking ridiculous questions.”

Again, you bowed. “I apologize if I have overstepped such boundaries.”

“You better be.” With a look of eager inquiry, Poseidon asked, “Why are you not afraid of me? Is it because you are confident Thor would protect you?” One thing that distressed him was that the more he was alone with you, the more he saw your hands, always ungloved, noticed the wedding-ring on your finger. That closed circle excluded him, his face registering the insult. “As expected from a repulsive weakling,”

“No. I know he would be there for me whenever I should need him, and also the times when I don’t.” You said still a smile on your mouth.

Although you were unaware of the eagle eyes that were watching your every move, you had the instinct. You did not need all the information, and you had nothing to hide. Your shoulders were loose, back wasn’t ramrod straight and you exuded a carefree attitude. “The sole reason why my fears have dissipated is because perhaps, I enjoy your conversation.”

To say this whole exchange took Hermes by surprise would be an understatement. After the initial expression of shock, he laughed lowly.

You continued, “I have already accepted your beliefs. No one is entitled to those except yourself.

“If I were to die from imparting what my beliefs are, that is simply fate, a tragedy, but nonetheless, fate. Of course, I would try my best to avoid disappearing from this lifetime, seeing as I have made a promise with my husband, to continue to fight for my life, shall needed, until the very end.” Poseidon’s grip tightened the slightest bit.

“I believe that despite our obvious differences, we are simply two being who each have our own unique experiences that shape our views and beliefs. For hundreds of millennia, I’d seen calamity from all angles; mainly conflicts over a universal truth,

“But so long as there are questions, there will never be one solid concrete truth. And I’m okay with that.” You concluded.

Compliments never rolled off Poseidon’s tongue easily, since in his view they were nothing but hollow words. But this time, he could hardly slip a word in bad taste. He thought it pleasant to hear you, but it could not distract him from the uninvited presence in his throne room.

“You’re a heretic.” His usual strong voice beckoned your attention, discerning the sternness on the table of his expression to be forced. No matter, you had just enough of a last glimpse to see his face looking younger in repose.

“I have been labeled as such.” You noticed the unique rhythm of the crashing waves seemed to have settled along the sand grains, and you admitted it was so beautiful and timeless.

“You’re dismissed.” Poseidon believed in being straightforward with affairs. Since the conversation has ended, the final interchange of words was not likely to be a substantive one. Though this was his original reason, the face at the forefront of his mind right now was not yours but Hermes’.

You stood up and curtsied to show your gratitude. “Very well. It was splendid to be in your company this afternoon.”

Blue eyes followed you as you began walking away, and he watched you until you went out of sight when you began to ascend the Skíðblaðnir, a ship so completely reserved only for you by the Kingdom of the Norse. Then Poseidon’s ears turned toward the messenger’s direction.

Hermes quickly dashed to Poseidon and knelt to greet him with such a great respect akin to the expectations all elderly gods have always expected of their younger ones.

“We gods are perfect beings from the very start; therefore, we do not plot schemes nor engage in disagreements.” The implication registered with a jolt, and Hermes felt his mouth open as the real reason for your invitation became clear. He fought the urge to look at where Adamas had died brutally as a lowlife, not failing to recognize that this was the exact opposite of that faded history.

Finding quiet when Hermes immediately left, the god of the seas stared at his dominion, taking deep breaths of the air, not feeling the normal icy sting carried by the ocean. Over again he dwelt upon in his conversations with you, interested to find out if the Norse god of thunder had been able to sustain a similar type of conversation.

The very first quiver of interest sparked through Poseidon and though he did not recognize it nor perceived it, he understood the most important things, the only ones he ever needed to:

You did not seek validation nor attention. You had no fear of death, neither of the hardships of life.

Your depths of wisdom were unparalleled throughout the realms, which he would comment on its wasted potential, however, he knew Hermes already understood that part of it.

And the god of messenger did, as the word got around slowly but surely:

“There would always be those who dare to brave the ocean’s roar, but there was only one who withstood it.”

[tartagliaxx]

Oml, I am so sorry, I remember sending it to this blog but I have crappy internet in my area. If I remember right it was an albedo x f!reader one, so they get invited to a annual prom in monstadt, and as the day approached albedo had to finish up some works and lost track of time and reached there a late and thought the reader left or is angry, but instead met up with the reader still waiting for him all dressed up breathtaking and cheerful to see him, and his heart is filled with warmth and so they just danced under the moon with just both of them and sharing a few romantic moment. I hope this one makes sense and it sends. Thank you and sorry, I am dumb for waiting like almost a month and a half instead of just asking. Thank you, I hope you like this request too.

" WHERE DREAMS COME TRUE "

━━ ☆ PAIRING: albedo/fem!reader

━━ ☆ GENRE: fluff

━━ ☆ SUMMARY: dreams don't come true in a crowded ballroom. rather, they come true in a silent dance under the moonlight — somewhere in between the ocean waves and the seashore or perhaps, in between sol and luna. it's a fairy tale crafted perfectly by a pair far too gleeful at midnight with only loose scientific discoveries to accompany them by.

━━ ☆ WARNINGS: established relationship, reader wears a dress

the cathedral's bell rang thrice as the clock strikes twelve but your glass slippers didn't crack.

your voice was still whole as you hummed a casual tune and your eyes were wide open — awake and alive — as you let your gaze dance along the shadows of the night. your lips taste of honey-dipped chocolates, not poison and the rose in your hand did not wither like a tragic game of 'he loves me, he loves me not.' he does. you know he does. the answer would always be 'always.'

it's not wishful thinking — it's not a heartbroken woman's ode nor is it a desperate attempt to make yourself believe that his feelings for you are still existent in this reality. it's the truth, unadulterated and unbothered by his lack of attendance. he loves you because there's still the skip in your pulse whenever you picture his amused smile. he loves you because the world was lit up with glorious pastel shades just as he painted it when you first met. you know he loves you because he wouldn't be jogging up to you in a rush that he never found to be practical if he didn't.

"well, aren't you out of breath."

he told himself it's because of how he ran across the courtyard — five minutes and three seconds faster than what he would've called comfortable but the sudden buzzing in his fingertips told him otherwise. he's not much of a poet and the best that he could muster is a quiet 'you look beautiful' and yet, you beam at him as if you just heard a hundred and one lines that compared you to the sea of stars above.

"cute... who would've known that you're quite the charmer?"

"i'm not." he took your hand that was splayed into his view in an invitation. "i'm just being factual."

"how daring."

daring is a word reserved for a prince charming aboard a white horse; a word used for all the times he climbs up the vines to catch a glimpse of the smile that fills his heart with mirth. it's a clash of swords and an arrogant smile and it's safe to say that daring isn't albedo. albedo is a prince — proclaimed by everyone but him — who rides an intricately patterned flower to fetch you a fresh red apple. he walks you to and fro your home because he can't bring himself to leave just yet, the same way he can't bring himself to tell you his desires either. he dislikes confrontation, choosing instead to hide behind an interesting report and an uncomfortable smile of gratitude when someone 'gives him too much credit.' he's curious — experimental — but never daring. if anything, he's a little bashful and meek especially when he takes the spot right next to you just as he was doing so now.

silence wrapped you like a familiar friend, bringing focus to the way the fountain pools at its bottom, leaving occasional kisses on the patches of bare skin you have left uncovered in your dress. it's not uncomfortable — nothing ever is when it comes to him — but you felt like he had something to say so you carefully leaned your weight into him, shoulders touching as you peered at him inquisitively.

a pause. a little something to gather his thoughts. "are you mad at me?"

"do i look mad?"

"no."

"then i'm not."

he's always found you a curious little thing but sometimes, you prove to be more complex than the universe itself.

"you're furrowing your brows again." albedo felt his lips quirk up as you leaned in to smoothen down the small patch of skin in between his brows. "there! better."

"you're a strange person."

"that's not how you say thank you."

the teasing lilt in your voice had him shaking his head as his gaze falls back to your conjoined hands. "at the very least, aren't you going to scold me?"

"for what? for being so overly passionate in your work that you forgot that you had to waste your time at a party you couldn't care less about?"

he would've worded it with more finesse but the meaning still holds true so he nods in reply.

"actually, i was hoping that you wouldn't come. i don't want to force you into anything you wouldn't enjoy but knowing you, you wouldn't let me go alone either."

albedo shook his head again, half in amusement and the other half in something he couldn't quite decipher. he was right. you are strange. he could only think so much of the rumors and whispers that most likely floated around you when you came in without him by your side before he lightly grimaces and yet here you were, still as blithe as ever.

"although..." he knew you well enough to know that there is danger in the way your lips twisted into a mischievous grin. "i have something in mind if you still want to make it up to me."

"and what may that be?"

"a dance."

"a dance," he repeated, his eyes blown wide by just a fraction because of all the things he expected you to ask from him, a dance was not one of them.

"now, don't look at me like that! i'm sure you'll do well!"

albedo chuckles because he knew that he could trip all over his feet and you'll still tell him he did well. without much of another word, he lets himself be tugged along — lets his head tip down to your hands as he pressed a kiss out of courtesy.

"see? you're a natural."

"i've read about it once."

now that was a surprise. "since when have you read books about dances?"

"not dances, fairy tales. i figured that it would come in handy since you're so fond of them."

"aha," you averted your gaze from him as your smile softened to something timid, "you didn't have to do that for me."

"i wanted to." it took you by surprise but you were able to catch your steps as he spins you around, hands immediately dropping down to the small of your back to pull you back in.

"no, you... you really didn't have to. you're fine as is. you don't have to do all those fancy things the princes do in the books."

"in alchemy, results do not come out of thin air. rather, results are a product of an equal exchange. just as how a warming bottle's luminosity varies from the number of flaming hot stamens used, the same goes for relationships if i'm not mistaken."

you hummed in reply, "i suppose you're not wrong but life would be so much easier if there's a science to feelings."

"would you still fall in love with the idea of love if you are always given a uniform answer?"

you rose a brow at albedo's subtle challenging tone. "who knows... what about you? would you still love me if you've already solved my being?"

"i would."

"oh? but weren't you just going on and on about finding the truth behind this world?"

"i would've already found my answer when that day comes."

you're glad that albedo was a gentleman — that he didn't comment on the way you missed the beat in your footwork.

"you sap."

his eyes shone like teal fluorites at your words but you'd much rather describe it as the soft gradient between the blues and greens of the endless oceans. they're beautiful and they deserve only the brightest sun. you're a little bit of a poet yourself so with a cheesy grin you repeat your words — louder this time but quiet enough for them to be only reserved for him.

"then... will you be my sun?"

he said it with the intention of flustering you because he finds that his heart swells at the sight of your eyes widening in shock but in a way, he wasn't wrong. if his eyes are the ocean then you are the sun that makes them glimmer under your radiant light. you are the heat that rests in his chest — the same one that leaves his mind hazy with condensation and finally, you are the warmth that paves a way for gentle showers; to precipitation that keeps his ocean-deep eyes full of love, of trust, of contentment, of a yearning for more.

"gladly."

the night sun — the stars that came in the form of the fireflies — illuminated your skin and bones with a summer glow. it's fitting, albedo thinks, as he twirls you to the music of the cicadas. on this midsummer night, he stares at you as if you are the lighthouse in the dark and you — you stare at him as if he is the crashing tides against pearl white stone. it's laid low and bare from the silver tone of the moon that made him look ethereal, even more so than usual.

a dream. that's what he looks like but by the way he stares at you with thinly-veiled adoration, you knew that he feels the same. if his love for you was only a theory then this was the evidence that turns it into a law; an absolute truth that would remain to be true even if you flip and twirl the world upside down. he sways you to the sound of your gentle song, a love song whose lyrics are laid forgotten in some distant corner of your mind because at the forefront of it all was his name, stroked in the same elegantly rushed handwriting of his.

"i have a gift for you," he whispered out of nowhere as his hand moves to gently caress your cheeks.

"what for?"

"it's customary for the 'prince' to provide a flower for the lady so i brought you one..."

"oh my!" a gasp tears through your form as you eyed the unfamiliar flower in his hand; the prettiest you have ever seen. "i have never seen this one before... it's so beautiful!"

"it's a new species we discovered. over the past few days, we have been conducting experiments to formally publish it in the next month's journal. i decided to name it after you."

"albedo you..."

he swiftly wiped away the tears that are welling up in your eyes. "i could never be the prince charming in your books nor would i ever aspire to. i don't know how to profess my feelings nor can i promise you that you'd never dance alone again but even so... i'd like for my affections for you to never die so i wrote it in a place i know it would never do."

it's so easy to be swept away by his eyes, by the dance, by the rhythm of your hearts, by love. you, a mere woman, a little bit dazzled by the way the lamp lights seem to grow in radiance, anchored yourself to his chest. with both arms wrapped around his neck, your movements dulled to a simple sway but the feeling of wonder and wholeness never left.

"a pretty flower for a pretty girl; an equivalent exchange."

the cathedral's bell rang thrice once more but your fairy godmother didn't take him away.

cinderella is fast asleep with her mascara running down her cheeks but here you were, wide-awake and beaming as you mumbled a quiet joke that really wasn't that funny. he shakes his head in amusement — not at the joke but at your giddy state and you wonder if this was the kind of love ariel yearned for. in retaliation, you press a kiss on his jaw, and the way his breath hitches tastes like apples redder than snow white's lips.

you don't have a talking teacup to tell you that he's your own kind of fairy tale but you figured that part on your own because the flower in your hand and the text it left on history's pages are its own kind of devotion. a promise. a truth. an i love you. always.

━━ ☆ NOTES: sorry for the wait!! some mishaps delayed this for far too long and i'm just praying in my hands and knees that this was worth it bc i kinda think it isn't. thank you for requesting, i hope you liked it, and have a nice day!

━━ ☆ OOGA? BOOGA!: rb to get a kith~

tagging @rasbeaii bc this is the one albedo fic i deprived you off

[official-alan-dabiri]

I Make My Own HotS Content: Garrosh

It’s been a while since the last one of these, and that’s largely because I spent a long time waiting for the next patch. I don’t want to go through the debacle again where I write up one of these and then the hero immediately recieves a major rework and all my work is for nothing.

And then I was in mourning.

But now I’m back! From outer space! You just walk in to find me here with this dumb orc up in your face! You should have kept to your side of lane, you should have saved your escape CD, if you’d known for just one second that this guy was protecting me!

Anyhow, Garrosh is a tank hero, and has probably the most interesting tank kit in the game. He is both easy to understand and yet deeply layered. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to understand how the hero works from the outside. But it can be a real challenge to figure out how to pilot him appropriately when you’re at the helm.

The easy part, the hard part, and the connection between the two beneath the cut.

Garrosh’s game plan is brutally simple. It’s really fitting for the archetypical orc. He just wants to walk up to a dude and make that guy in particular have a really bad day. His E lets him throw an enemy dumb enough to let him waddle into range, displacing them pretty severely. Its range is also just right to set him up to land a Q as they land, applying a stun and a slow to make them be where he wants them to be for even longer. Effectively, if you are playing against a Garrosh, your effective position is always that much farther away from where you’re actually standing. Alternately, if you get past him to his squishy high-nutrient backline, he has the capacity to simply declare a do-over and chuck you back to whence you came.

He is what is called a “Gate” tank. He decides which side of the line you are allowed to stand on, and he has the capacity - nay, the duty - to put you on the side that benefits his team the most, and your team the least. And at the same time, he represents an immense threat. His simple presence on the field of battle demands your constant attention and respect. Because if you let it slip for even just a second, you’ll find yourself standing where he wants you to stand, with often tragic results.

So if that’s so simple, why does it always feel so challenging - when you’re playing as or with Garrosh on your team - to actually execute on it? Quite often, when trying to displace an enemy hero, more inexperienced Garrosh players will find that the enemy just doesn’t seem to go as far, or they lose their entire health bar chasing someone who is never in reach, or - most painfully - they throw a minion instead of the hero they wanted to throw.

The key is something that is critical to his home universe. A critical component to the way that Warcraft characters interact with their world - of Warcraft (nailed it) - is in elements. The damage types are valuable representations of how characters use their powers to approach and resolve their problems. Especially orcs, whose connection to the elements manifests very strongly in Shaman powers. Just as Rehgar channels the healing and protective powers of water and lightning and earth to heal and shield his allies, and just as Thrall channels the explosive power of water and lightning and earth to attack his enemies, Garrosh has an element he channels to achieve his goals.

The element... Of surprise!

Just as every Warrior in PvP battlegrounds in WoW, Garrosh is entirely reliant on getting the first word in in order to get the last word in. If the enemy sees him coming, and has time to react appropriately, they can prevent him from doing what he wants. They can simply run away, and when he actually catches them, they are not quite so far out of position when he throws them. They can hit him with a slow, stun, or root so that he can’t reach them. Or they can retreat towards the nearest minions, mercenaries, or summons so that there’s a chance that a less experienced Garrosh might misjudge and throw one of them instead of his actual target.

So the trick - the way to take the simple tool and get around the difficult application - is the element of surprise. Like most tanks, Garrosh is the most powerful when the enemy doesn’t have the time to react. To paraphrase the greatest tank of the HGC era who never played in the HGC: Your job as tank is best done standing in a bush, mounted, waiting for the enemy to make a mistake. And when they make that mistake, you amplify it until it fucking kills them.

[swissmissficrecs]

Favorite Sherlock Holmes fics from 2020

Usually I put a bunch of explanations and disclaimers on these lists but you know what, it was a weird year and I’m not going to try to justify or apologize for what I read or didn’t read so here are my favorites that were completed last year, in descending order of length:

and your very flesh shall be a great poem by CaitlinFairchild (151K, E, Johnlock) After a tragic confrontation with terrible consequences, Sherlock and John follow Mary as she flees to America.

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (107K, E, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being. (This one is very slightly cheating because it was finished on 30 Dec 2019, but it didn't make it onto my 2019 list because I didn't read it until after I'd made the list. And it deserves to be on a Best Of list, so here it is.)

Thermocline by J_Baillier (83K, M, Johnlock) John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Do No Harm by Calais_Reno (79K, T, Johnlock) In 1923, Dr John Watson is on trial for the murder of his lover, Mary Morstan, a writer of popular mysteries. If convicted, he will hang. Sherlock Holmes sets out to prove his innocence, but finds himself more and more infatuated with the handsome doctor, and deeper and deeper inside the bohemian world of London's painters, playwrights, and poets. Will he uncover the evidence needed to acquit him in time?

To Be Human by ohlooktheresabee (78K, NR, Johnlock) There is a serial killer on the loose with a penchant for collecting the brains of his victims. Sherlock, John and Scotland Yard are on the case, but something about the chosen victims has Sherlock on edge. While they piece together the clues that will lead to the killer, John begins to realize that the way his best friend thinks may sometimes be more a hindrance than a help….

immediate and inglorious by simplyclockwork (72K, E, Johnlock) Bodies are showing up in back alleys, with no sign of a struggle, no trace of drugs. If not for the strangulation bruises on their necks and the scythe carved into their left shoulders, they could have died peacefully, in their sleep. With New Scotland Yard dumbfounded by the Grim Reaper Killer case, Sherlock is called in to consult. The more he investigates, the deeper Sherlock finds himself drawn into the work of London's newest serial killer. As his views of good and bad begin to blur, he risks losing himself to a darkness he never imagined. And, even more pressing: where does John Watson, grieving ex-boyfriend of the Grim Reaper's latest victim, fit into all of this?

Curtain Rising by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (61K, E, Johnlock) A disgraced television star is the target of a series of death threats just after a theatre production’s adaptation of The Sound of Music is announced with her as the lead. The suspect list is a mile long and growing, Rosie Watson is in the spotlight, and Sherlock might be getting too fond of his time on stage to focus on the case. With opening night approaching, can he and John figure out who wants their client dead before her final curtain rises?

The Fire Finds a Home by fearfully_beautifully_made (61K, E, Johnlock) After Sherlock and John decide to give having a relationship a go, this is how their relationship starts to develop. There a little bit of plot, if you squint, but it was mostly an excuse to write John and Sherlock having sex in a lot of different ways and learning to love each other.

Borrowed Ghosts by DiscordantWords (57K, M, Johnlock) In the aftermath of the Culverton Smith case, John spent one painfully stilted afternoon hanging out with Sherlock. He counted the minutes, finished his tea, and left for home without ever clearing the air between them. And once he'd left, he found it very hard to go back.

You Might Just as Well Be Blind by ArwaMachine (56K, E, Johnlock) When a serial killer starts targeting couples, Sherlock and John must do what they have to do in order to get to the bottom of things. Unfortunately, John already has a girlfriend. Surely pretending to be in a relationship with Sherlock won't pose any problems with his relationship, will it?

The Broken Tether by J_Baillier (54K, M, Johnlock) Maybe he thinks that you only enjoy his company because of the Work, because of the way his dazzling intellect shines when he's in his element, but the truth is this: it is when he is at his most human, most bare, that you feel closest to him.

how the light gets in by subtext-is-my-division (Quill_A)  (54K, E, Johnlock) Red wine always makes him tipsier than usual and he finds himself saying, the words slurring a bit. “You know, I’ve got to ask. Do you always shoot cabbies for people you barely you know?” John meets his gaze over the rim of his glass, and there’s something there that Sherlock can’t pin down. “Not for everyone,” he says, meaningfully, pointedly, his smile all teeth.

Erosion by saintscully (53K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock’s father falls ill, leaving the surviving family members broken and rudderless. James Sholto shows up in London unexpectedly, his intentions unclear. John has to navigate the consequences of crime, illness and death and their impact on his frayed relationship with Sherlock.

Hold You Like a Weapon by MissDavis (52K, E, Johnlock) Eurus shows up at 221B Baker Street in labour. Things go downhill from there.

Chances Are by Berty (51K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock is spending some time in his mind palace - so far, so normal. But why is John there, why do things keep changing and why are there only two exits from the sitting room at 221B, neither of which seem to go anywhere useful? It's a case like no other for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Sine Nomine by SilentAuror (45K, E, Johnlock) As Mycroft reviews the footage from Culverton Smith's morgue, he revisits his original question: whether John Watson would be the making of his brother, or make him worse than ever. He's come to a conclusion, but decides to give John one last chance. So he gives him a choice.

Cockaigne by HollyShadow88 (38K, E, Johnlock) When John’s contacted by an old uni friend about problems in his new art exhibition, he doesn’t think it will be worth Sherlock’s time. After a glance of the crime scene, however, they’re both pulled into the project in ways John didn’t expect. Will a week of erotic performance art finally be enough to bring them together in the way they both secretly hope? (Spoiler: it’s a tropey fic, of course it will)

Written in Ashes by 88thParallel (37K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock becomes the prime suspect in a homicide case, and recently unearthed memories of his childhood are complicating matters. It's up to John to track down answers — can he help Sherlock before it's too late?

A Desperate Indulgence by LollipopCop (34K, M, Johnlock) John thinks it's 2012 after waking up with amnesia, having no memory of Mary. Sherlock, exhausted from years of tension and hiding his love, pretends they got married instead.

Inhale With Ease by Vulpesmellifera (25K, E, Johnlock) In the years after Vivian Norbury's capture, life seems to work out just as John planned. He's got that respectable job at the surgery and goes home to his wife and child. He joins Sherlock on cases a couple times per week. It's a rhythm he can live with - just enough adrenaline highs to balance out the drudgery of a normal bloke's life. Until a pandemic, and Victor Trevor, arrive in London.

The House on Rue des Boulangers by Berty (24K, M, Johnlock) After being invalided out of the army and without any other prospects, John Watson has relocated to a small town in northern France. Now he has to decide what to do for the rest of his life. One morning there's a mad stranger in his garden chasing a swarm of bees, and it seems John's decision is made.

High Mountain Tea Leaves by disfictional (23K, E, Johnlock) A mountaintop robbery on a Japanese-occupation-era train where the only item stolen was a small case of mysterious tea leaves in a backpack? An ideal Christmas gift, two days late. Sherlock convinces John to travel for tea.

Detours by saintscully (22K, M, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) During the better part of the first year following Mary's death and the events at Sherrinford, Sherlock and John are slowly rebuilding their lives and their friendship. All seems (relatively) well and John takes comfort in once again being a father, a doctor and a friend. An unexplained shift in Sherlock's behaviour catches John by surprise, and he begins to worry about his place in his friend's life. John has to examine everything he thought he knew about Sherlock, himself and their relationship in order to win his rightful place yet again.

hands full of matter by simplyclockwork (21K, E, Johnlock) When Sherlock is captured in Serbia, Mycroft cannot afford to involve the British government in his rescue. Instead, he sends John. After two years spent thinking Sherlock was dead, John finds himself navigating not only Sherlock’s rescue but their fractured friendship as well.

The Victim Experience by J_Baillier (16K, T, Gen) A case takes Sherlock and John deep into the seedy underbelly of the haunted attractions industry. With audiences craving more and more intense experiences, is a real murder the next logical step?

On the Fence by BeautifulFiction (13K, T, Johnlock) The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

Plus bonus ACD era:

"Baker Street: The Sleep of Reason": A Memoir by John H. Watson, M.D. by Gaedhal (98K, M, Johnlock, Johniarty) This is a Victorian Era story in the "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Ritchie-verse. The main characters are Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson and is from the doctor's memoirs. It was written before "A Game of Shadows" so there are differences in this story and film canon, mainly in the person and backstory of one particular character.

The Taste of Truth by sanguinity (25K, T, Johnlock) Two and a half years after Reichenbach, John Watson discovers the magical tree that caused Holmes to fake his death.

The Adventure of the Vatican Cameos by Garonne (18K, E, Johnlock) How should one behave when waking for the first time in the bed of one's dearest friend? Holmes and Watson solve a case in Catholic London while navigating the turbid waters of their new relationship.

Hot Water by wordybirdy (13K, E, Johnlock, Watson/Gregson) Dr. John Watson's libidinous affair with a respected Scotland Yard inspector abruptly judders to a halt when the former meets a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, for the very first time. The attraction between the two is strongly mutual, but misunderstandings only multiply and tensions abound, as all three men attempt to deal with the new situation.