#as a viewing experience i think it's worse but for me it's better.

[brokentoys]

❝ Some like them older, ❞ Eddie sings, sipping on the drink. It's the truth, Eddie often finds attraction to older men. His psychiatrist may suggest that stems from childhood neglect, that he yearns for a father, so, he seeks one in a lover instead. Due to other childhood trauma, Eddie finds that suggestion to be quite insensitive, he believe he knows his own reasons for his attraction, with is different from what a psychiatrist would think.

❝ Older men are more experienced, sometimes wiser. ❞ Sometimes. Because Eddie views himself as the smartest man in the world, therefore the younger, 30 year old, is sometimes wisest. It appears he has the opposite of Jon's problem. Instead of being insecure, he's too full of himself. Or, perhaps that he is insecure, but it manifests in different ways.

He pouts, staring at his cup which is already damn near empty. He wants more, but knows better. ❝ I already wasted time. I spent aaaaaall last night looking you up; looking at every school you went to, where you were born, your childhood town on Google Maps, everyone who knew you. That would all be a waste of time if you're telling me this is a waste of time. ❞

Still, his eyes do not leave the cup. He looks inside it, at his own reflection — difficult to make out his own image in the light orange - brown hue. ❝ Not many people can handle me. No matter how attractive & brilliant I may be, many people find it hard to be with someone who's in & out of a mental hospital. ❞ Not to mention, the severe symptoms that come along with his usually untreated mental illnesses. There is also his very illegal habits — habits much worse than the alcohol intake. But Eddie isn't going to bring those valid points up.

❝ Or . . . I am simply too puzzling. ❞

Finally, he peels his eyes off the cup, gazing at Jon instead. The man who he sees experience in each wrinkle, a man who has lived a whole fascinating life he'd love to learn even more of.

❝ With you, I feel like there's more of an understanding between us. That maybe . . . you are able to handle the riddle that is Edward Nigma. ❞

Still frazzled, Jonathan picks up the bottle Edward chose as his drink, and he pours it into his cup. He's mixing liquors on purpose now. Anything to make it more potent. It's certainly not that Jonathan dislikes the flirting, not at all. He simply can't handle it, can't handle how it makes him feel.

He hates that he desperately wants that attention.

"As brilliant as you are, I'm not convinced," Jonathan replies, swirling the cup in his hands. "The best I can offer is agree to disagree because all evidence points to me being a crusty, old bastard." He punctuates the comment with a dry laugh. It's an attempt to take it all in stride, but the self-deprecation is impossible to avoid for him. His insecurity is deep-seated.

The whiskey is half-downed. His stomach feels full of liquid, and it's probably all going to hit him at once. Deeply stupid behavior of an alcoholic. "Edward, I do hope you aren't implying you want to waste your time on a scarred-up dinosaur of a man," Jonathan adds.

Because that's what it is. A waste. Edward's certainly able to pull someone much more attractive. When Jonathan looks in the mirror, all he sees are lines. Lines of age, lines of scarring, lines of lips that seem to always be scowling. "You're too fine a man for that."

[ssahotchnerr]

yes! i do!! you have jj’s role and an unsub is shot dead infront of you and his blood literally soaks you and you’re shaking and speechless and aaron’s focus is to get to you and keep you safe and bring you back to earth 🥲🥲

stay with me

cw; fem liasion!reader, protective!aaron, multiple blood descriptions, panic attack descriptions, no established relationship but aaron and reader are close, there's also one small mention of aaron's shirt being big on reader, fluff <3 wc; 1k

your ears are ringing. whether it's from the gunshot or the blatant shock, you have no idea.

you're frozen in place; everything's fuzzy, your body is buzzing and your lips, hands, everything is numb.

you're not used to this. this isn't what your job usually entails. you look at pictures like this, you don't live or experience it.

in the haze, someone's approached you. someone's talking to you. someone's embraced you. there's a hand on your back, an arm attempting to shield you away. but your feet don't move. internally, you're screaming at them to move.

why won't they move?

"hey," it's aaron. you don't hear him, or process that it's him, until he shakes you ever so gently and again, he says, "hey."

you don't want to be used to this.

"i..." you rigidly stand there, staring at the unsub laid in front of you, the pool of blood around him growing as the seconds pass. you think you're articulating words, but you're not sure.

aaron follows your eyes - he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. a swirl of emotions fill him - first and foremost, relief you're safe and unscathed, but also horror at what you just encountered - what you shouldn't have encountered.

"it's on me." you manage to choke out, feeling rather lightheaded as you view your shaky hands, and then your blouse, both spattered with red. it's on your neck, your face, and it's like you can feel every singular dot, singeing into your skin like it's bound to be permanent. a new fear fills you - will you ever be able to not feel it?

"don't look, just look at me." your head whips towards aaron, finding his gentle and concerned brown eyes. the sight allows your chest to loosen, finding the smallest bit of normalcy when it comes to breathing. you're remembering how to breathe.

aaron wants to bring the cuff of his sleeve to your skin, to wipe away the residue but he can't. he fears it would make it worse, and remind you again that it's littered on you - the last thing you needed. he wanted to calm you, not further panic you. "or better yet, just close them, sweetheart."

the term of endearment goes right past you, as you grip onto his vest, the sleeves of his shirt, anything your fingers can hold onto as he's guiding you out of the house. he's talking to the rest of the team, relaying instructions, but you only focus on keeping your eyes shut.

"it's okay, you're going to be just fine." aaron assures you, his voice low and even, soothing. "hear the leaves crunching under your feet? there's a cool breeze tonight, too. can you feel it?"

you nod gingerly. the sound is distant, but it's there. and just as he stated, you feel the cool air hit your cheeks, the wind also tousling your hair. it feels colder than cool, though, due to the stream of tears trailing downwards - have you been crying too? "i can hear it in the trees."

"that's good. how about smell, can you smell anything?"

copper.

aaron realizes his mistake the second the sentence leaves his mouth, your face paling as well as his.

"your aftershave." you blurt out, surprising yourself. despite the sheer panic, it was fairly easy to redirect your mind to him. your fingers clutched onto the fabric of his shirt more forcefully. "it smells spicy, sweet too. it smells like you. familiar. safe."

you resist the urge to tuck your face into him, but after a moment's thought, you do. you need it. you need him.

and to further secure you, aaron holds you to him, his large hand spanning the side of your head and keeping your face buried close to his chest.

your eyes open when you reach the suv; when the two of you come to a stop, when aaron's hold is suddenly absent, the sound of the door opening deeming it safe - far away from the scene.

but at the loss of his contact, involuntarily your eyes fall back to your blouse. it's stuck to your skin, soaked by the... blood.

"stay with me." aaron manages to grab your attention before you begin spiraling again, his hands lifting and hesitating. "may i?"

you nod, frantically and this time, you can feel the tears resurfacing. "please get it off me."

first, aaron unvelcros his vest, and then removes his tie, his dress shirt, leaving him in just his white tee. he drapes it over the passenger seat - at the ready.

aaron ushers you closer to the interior of the car so the open door fully covers you, blocking any view that isn't his. he unbuttons your blouse with gentle fingers, acting rather quickly as well. and respectfully, he averts his eyes - either looking strictly at his hands, the buttons on each shirt, or your face, checking in on you.

he helps you into his shirt, holding it open so you can slide your arms in. it envelopes you, and just as fast as he unbuttoned, he fastens it shut.

it feels as if a small weight is lifted off your shoulders, and aaron tosses your soiled shirt onto the ground in the backseat. he leads you to sit sideways in the passenger seat, facing him.

"i don't want to be alone." you don't know why that's the first thing to exit your mouth, but it is. your eyes lift to his, frightened and pleading.

aaron nods as he gets down on a knee, cupping your cheek with his hand. "you're sleeping in my room tonight."

"with you?"

with a stroke of his thumb, overtop those bloodstains he's desperate to wash and rid you from, he nods again. "with me."

[corviiids]

one man's journey of his entire mental health resting solely on how good he can do the nyt daily puzzles

(takes more than 1 minute to do the mini) i am a worm. i am a wretched, horrible creature. why was i made. to blight this earth (takes less than 1 minute to do the mini) god made me in his image never to be stopped

[fancyperfectionsweets]

❤️‍🔥 Astrology Observations 3❤️‍🔥

🔮 the more charts I observe, the more I understand that the houses the planets are placed in are equally important as the zodiac they are placed in. Let me explain. A virgo venus in 8th house will have the qualities of both virgo and scorpio (since scorpio is the 8th sign of the zodiac). How will it manifest? Your want would be to experience love as a scorpio/understand love as a scorpio (obsessive partner that understands you deeply) but how you go about it would be virgo-nian (not giving in early, paying attention to your partner's finer details like moods, words, actions).

🔮 I have kemdrum yoga in my chart. It's not auspicious, lol. This happens when your moon is sitting alone in a house and the adjacent houses are also empty. It is said to make the moon lonely and since moon needs the sun to reflect light (a.k.a, of highly dependent nature), it makes the person lonely. However, to me it doesn't make me "lonely" but rather harder to adjust in a social space for a long time. I literally am the person who runs out of social battery easily. And if I force myself to be social for a long time, it affects my daily routine (moon is in the 6th house which is the house of daily routines, pets, etc.)

🔮 a debilitated mars doesn't make you incapable of standing up for yourself. It makes you passive aggressive 😭. It makes sense why mars debilitates in cancers. Cancers are the kings and queens of passive agression.

🔮 when it comes to appearances, I've kind of found astrology inconsistent. Many people use nakshatras to predict "features" but even though I have a shravana on my first house, I feel like I embody vishakha more (my sun nakshatra)? The most accurate depiction I could find is the first house appearance reading. Cap rising makes my stature small but my face has the strongest influence of the three planets in the first house that conjunct my ascendant capricorn: Jupiter (enlarged features), uranus (asymmetrical features) and Neptune (doe eyes). Your rising sign signifies your height and your planets influence your appearance.

🔮 I'd always be thankful for my gemini moon for helping me detach from situations and viewing my emotions from a third person perspective. 😪

🔮 pluto conjunct moon in synastry is all about the pluto person wanting to baby the moon person?

🔮 also, men who have lilith conjunct my ascendant are... Ummm... Always tryna be weirdly protective? Like I can come across as scary and bossy to the entire line of men and there will be that one guy who just thinks I need to be "protected" (I love the attention tho🤭)

🔮 moon + neptune + rahu (north node) = delulu pro max of the themes of that house. Worse, moon in the area makes you emotionally vulnerable too

🔮 money placements according to astrologers that I've heard: 11th house and 2nd house connected in any way (e.g., 11th house lord is Capricorn = Saturn's zodiac and Saturn is sitting in the 2nd house, the if the lords exchange positions, that's even better), moon + mars sitting together (called laxmi yog), exalted moon or moon sitting in the second house, Venus sitting in the second, sixth, eleventh or twelfth house, Jupiter in second or eleventh house, ketu in 5th-rahu in 11th (not good for relationships but good for money), if your seventh lord is sitting in either 2nd or 11th house, it indicates to your spouse coming in with money or you get money when you get married

🔮 pluto/scorpio in 7th house or 7th lord in the 8th house/scorpio often points to painful transformations after marriage. If not painful, I've seen people sacrifice their jobs and move for their partners or change job lines or give up their education for their partners.

🔮 I know someone who has a very well adjusted chart (exalted sun, moon, jupiter, mars, uranus, venus, ketu) and the ascendant in Aries. The planets are also in the houses they exalt in: Sun in 1st, moon in 2nd, Jupiter in 4th etc. I gotta say, she's easy to be friends with everyone, is successful with whatever venture she's in, is the favourite child of her parents and a very nice person overall. Her only issue is that she sometimes let's other people take advantage of her kindness even when she KNOWS they're hurting her.

🔮 Moon in Libra, moon in 7th and 19 degree moons is such an attractive person placement. Adriana lima, ariana grande, Megan Fox, Marilyn Monroe all have these placements.

🔮 Mars darkaraka men are toxic imo. Most of these men like toxic women. They seek these women out, feed their toxicity and then act like THEY are the victim in public. Their type is literally "pretty women but toxic". A lot of times these women are "toxic" because these men have painted the women in public like that. 🙄

[sanjisleggy]

take care of you (trafalgar law x reader)

summary: Trafalgar Law discovers you’ve been hiding a severe injury from him

a/n: another req from the end of dec last year! back then i still wasn’t very confident with Law’s character but i think i should be good enough with it now :3c

contents: pre-relationship, descriptions of bodily wounds, infection, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, very soft!Law

wc. 1.5k

wanna be on my taglist?

the first thought that comes to mind when you wake up in the infirmary feeling super groggy and sore is: “fuck.” pulling aside the blanket draped over you reveals an impeccably clean, fresh bandage wrapped firmly around your torso where, the last you remember, underneath it lays a gunshot wound you hoped the others would never find out about 

you can barely recall the lightheadedness and nausea you felt before you passed out. it turns out re-stitching and re-dressing your own infected wound is a lot harder than doing it for someone else, especially when you have to muffle your groans of pain during the process

you’d gotten the injury during a battle against enemy pirates and you’d decided that since the bullet made a clean exit, you needn’t bother your captain for medical assistance–especially since, at the time, he was busy helping the Straw Hat’s doctor with the more severely-wounded allies. having some experience doing first aid, you foolishly assumed you’d be able to handle it all on your own, that it was a small matter not worth adding to your captain’s already-overflowing plate

on top of the bedside table sits a jug and two plastic cups, one of which looked like it’s been used. there’re also numerous boxes of different medication and a handwritten note that says “do NOT leave this room until you’ve finished your entire course of medication” in Law’s familiar handwriting

knowing that he’s aware of your state–and most likely the person who treated you to begin with–eases your anxiety a little. at least now you don’t have to stress over hiding it from him and your other crewmates 

what doesn’t help with your nerves is how for the following week you spend recovering, you don’t see Law at all. everyone else has taken turns coming in to spend time with you: Bepo takes naps with you, Shachi brings you comics to read together and Penguin sneaks you little snacks but not once has your captain shown up at all. your crewmates don’t seem too keen on talking about him when they’re with you, too, which only means one thing: he’s super pissed

you begin to worry and overthink as you near the end of your mandatory bedrest, dreading the inevitable moment Law finally shows up and you have to face the consequences of causing even more trouble for him than if you’d just asked for help right after the battle a week ago

it gets worse when you’re alone with no one to distract you from any intrusive thoughts. what if he thinks i don’t trust him to be my captain? what if this ruins his view of me as his crew member permanently? what if he kicks me out of the crew entirely?

you end up lamely falling asleep with tears staining your face and end up in such deep sleep that–like every night before–you don’t stir at all when Law enters the room and takes a seat by your bedside. he sighs deeply and rubs his face, eyes burning from sleep deprivation, as he leans back in the chair and readies himself for yet another whole night to watching over you and leaving right before the sun rises

Law notices your tears and feels a pang in his chest as he recalls a conversation he had earlier with Penguin; the latter had asked him to come see you while you’re awake since it’s obvious to everyone you’re worried he’s mad at you

“i’m just saying, Captain, it might be better to clear the air sooner or later,” Penguin said as he scratched the back of his neck. “(Y/N)’s been looking more miserable by the day.”

“good. she should be.” Law’s response comes out a lot colder than he wanted it to but Penguin knew him well enough to understand that. “what was she thinking hiding an injury like that? had she hidden it any longer or if Bepo hadn’t found her passed out in her room that day, a near-fatal fever would’ve kicked in at any moment!”

he stopped himself before he could get even more riled up, knowing it wasn’t Penguin’s fault so he shouldn’t be suffering the brunt of his captain’s fury.

as he sits in the darkness of the infirmary, the room only barely illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the open window, Law thinks about what he held back from saying aloud: how learning that you’d fallen unconscious with a badly infected wound made him question everything he thought he knew about his capabilities as a captain

he knows he doesn’t need to sit by your side every night–and deprive himself of much-needed sleep–but he’s deadly paranoid. just a week ago he’d ignorantly assumed his crew members were fine and directed all his attention to Luffy’s crew, only to find out days later you’d been walking around with a bullet hole through your body this entire time 

what if i’m missing something else? he wonders, eyebrows furrowing as he rapidly blinks away the sleepiness in his eyes. what if her condition worsens if i leave? 

giving in to temptation, he picks up your hand and holds it carefully, before idly running his thumb over your knuckles and the individual joints of your fingers. it’s something you do to him often, especially during the nights when he shows up to your room unannounced, silently pleading for company

you aren’t dating. not yet, at least. though it’s obvious to the two of you–as well as everyone else–that your relationship doesn’t quite fall under the category of ‘friends’, either. for a while now, you’ve been something in between for him; someone whose opinion of him he’s more sensitive about and whose company he yearns for any time you’re not within his sight. he knows you feel the same way, too, from how you spend all of your free time ‘bothering him’ endlessly to how willingly you let him crawl into bed beside you when he needs your warmth and companionship to keep away the nightmares

Law’s pulled out of his own thoughts when he catches a glimpse of the tears still clinging to your face, the moonlight having reflected off the wet surface in a way that caught his attention. without thinking, he reaches out to dry them only for your eyes to flutter open once his fingers make contact with your cheeks

“Law?” you croak and almost instantly he begins pouring a cup of water for you before bringing it to your lips. wordlessly, you drink as he tilts the cup gently, careful not to spill anything. there’s an odd pause between the both of you when he places the cup back on the bedside table and then turns back to looking at you without saying a thing. 

he catches the way you fiddle anxiously with a corner of your blanket and a single word fumbles clumsily out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“sorry.”

you look at him, confused. he swallows thickly.

“i’m sorry i haven’t come to see you. i heard from the others you think i’m mad at you.”

“are you, though?” you reply, biting your lip. “mad at me?”

Law sighs and rubs his face again. “no,” he answers honestly. “i’m mad at myself for not noticing sooner.”

“i’m so sorry,” you gasp suddenly before fresh tears begin pouring down your face. he panics internally and  reaches out towards you almost as if to grab your shoulders but he pauses before any contact is made, his hands hovering over you. “i’m sorry i hid it from you and the others, i just didn’t want to cause you any trouble but i just ended up making things even worse.” you wipe frantically at your face, almost embarrassed to be crying about such a thing in front of your captain.

“no, no, (Y/N),” Law shushes, finally finding the courage to touch you, resting his large hands on your shoulders before squeezing gently in an attempt to ground you. “don’t cry. i forgive you, okay? just don’t hide such a thing again. it’s my duty to take care of you. it’ll never feel like trouble, no matter how busy i am.”

you nod as you sniffle and smile wobbly at him and the sight sends an arrow straight through his chest. his heart begins to race when you reach out as if asking for a hug.

“sleep with me tonight? and maybe tomorrow night, too?” you ask softly in such an innocent manner it knocks the wind right out of his lungs. not trusting himself to speak without fumbling like an idiot, Law simply responds with a smile and a nod before crawling into bed beside you.

the infirmary bed is much smaller than your personal one–seeing as it’s made for only one adult–but neither of you have an issue with the proximity forced upon you two due to the lack of space. if anything, you welcome it happily, humming with content when you feel him wrap his arms firmly around you, holding you pressed to his firm chest. Law buries his face in your hair as he feels you nuzzle into the junction of his neck while he falls into some much needed sleep. 

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage @lunaizhere @saint-atlas @goldenpanda16 @Jordan03400 @rebeccawinters @glorywielder101 @slytherinambitious @the0twst0shrimp0mc

[honestlyvan]

On Tumblr it's pretty common to follow people based on the fact that they're good at curating (ie. you like the things they reblog) as opposed to following the OP of every post you like immediately, because despite the ravaging discoverability on this site has taken, especially on the fandom side, there still are people on here who run fully curatorial blogs and like doing the digging it takes to find the "good posts".

In fact, I feel like the historical presence of both themed and unthemed curatorial blogs on this site is probably the reason it's so reliant on reblogs, and the weakening of their ability to find things is one of the big reasons why posts lose momentum faster now. (The other reason people reblog less is because of the damage a culture of harassment caused to this site's identity, but that's out of scope for this conversation.) It used to be that if a big fandom blog reblogged you, you didn't have to worry about your post getting buried, because their followers and peer network would give you exponentially more notes.

Which isn't to say that you shouldn't follow the OPs of posts you like, but it's often not the most efficient or even the most interesting way to get a dashboard full of interesting things. And if you do want to follow OPs directly, you could be the next highly curatorial blog that gets followed because people like your ability to find the "good posts" and be the one with the "good commentary".

The critical thing here is that follower count isn't actually something that is visible to anyone but yourself, so that's still not exactly "popularity". However, popularity on this site gets you basically nothing other than an inbox you can never empty fully and probably a snide hatedom from people who resent having to see your URL because blocking someone doesn't hide their additions in the threads, and you can't filter out the additions of specific people without hiding the whole thread.

Reblogging is essentially a conversation tool, and has multiple registers. All the "rules" you might hear about when it's okay to add commentary and when you should keep your commentary to the tags are derived from the old way the site used to display your activity. People who have been here for a long time expect certain "manners", even when most of them have forgotten or never knew what the origin of those manners was, but I think because tags and comments are now so embedded into the OP's experience of their own posts, people forget that the middle layer of commentary and curation is what made this site what it was.

So, in my opinion the best way to think about reblogging is not as you talking to the OP -- it's you talking to people who follow you, with the OP just having provided the conversation starter.

People keep telling newcomers that they must reblog posts here because that's the only way to boost a post. And while that isn't not true, it also wildly misrepresents the reblogging culture that Tumblr actually has.

The posts like that keep talking about things as if the OP ("content creator") is someone who needs eyeballs on their work and the rest of us peons ("consumers") owe them the number-go-up an algorithm handles on other sites.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Tumblr isn't a popularity contest (note how you can't see follower count), and it's not structured with creators at the top and audience at the bottom. It's egalitarian, we're all in the same crowd, and yes, some of us have 2 followers and some have twenty bazillion, but no one actually knows which is which.

You reblog a post not as a favour to the glorious yet suffering content mill, but because you want people who look at your blog (all two of them now, all twenty of them once more people look at the notes on the posts you reblog) to see that post in the context of your blog.

Your blog is your space, and you're meant fill it with things that you want seen there. That can be your original posts, reblogs with commentary, or just a collection of things you think are neat.

Reblogs chains are often how people find other people to follow, too. So reblog to show off a post that you like and to attract more people who like the things you like to show off. It's that simple. And it's about you.

And because everyone does this, reblogs posts they want to be seen on their own blog, when people make posts that a lot of other people enjoy, that post blows up and is seen by even more people.

Tumblr's reblog system is a network of people picking something up and going "look at this cool thing I found!". It is not a service to content creators.

[taegularities]

candles & flames: breeze | jjk (m)

(final) bonus chapter III: breeze

Summary: One day an end might near – but never with him.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; angst!!, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: mmmkay, they are at a weird place, but love each other so much; insecurities and sadness, jk grovels a lot, jihyo/illegitimate child mention, tears and overthinking, their kids <3, fears, abandonment issues, dad!jk, brief mention of a past death, yearning, an event, manyyy memories and references to the other parts, mention of post-sex memories, orphanage!!, kissing in the rain, jihyo sigh, oc makes him better fr </3 the ending bc that's what this chapter is </3 ➳ wc: 19.6k ➳ a/n: ah yes, the end of an era :') not sure if it was due to this being the definitive finale or just them in general, but i cried a lot, once again. thank you for giving them the amount of love that you did. i hope you like this one <3 ALSO, listen to the playlist, trust me!! ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3 and the collaborative playlist here!

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s interesting how a routine turns every night into the same returning experience.

Somewhat soulless, people awake in the morning, treading through their days and hours to fall back into the deep slumber that their bodies so desperately beg for. Back into the peace from the moment that the sky reveals its stars and its moon.

Then, the cycle repeats: cracking up their eyes at the same dawn or noon as the day before, or when the sun sits at its highest point, greeting and smiling, or hidden.

For you, it’s been different.

The nights always shift their personality, and the mornings unravel yet another unfelt, unseen emotion. Love, then longing, then misery, then near paralysis. Numbness. 

You don’t recall ever having been much of a victim to fate; you consider yourself more or less lucky, born under just the right constellation. But something about the odd way your mind has been circling around its own axis for a while now doesn’t feel natural.

An indicator of something bad, and you know. You know the phenomenon and know the reason and know the pain it accompanies.

With the nights, the seasons change, too. The more time passes, the warmer it gets. The cold has left. Left the shivers behind; left your head hanging. The dark and grey clouds floating above have vanished for the most part, clearing like a mist to boast the sky’s beauty.

You love the view. You love how rays of sunshine fall into your room like giving it a halo, golden and warm.

But above all, you have changed the most. In every shape and form, you’re somebody entirely new. As if you’re pottery, forged into something solid before smashed flat again. Inconsistently moving up and down, building and crashing, to the better and worse.

Healing isn’t linear, you have realised. You have known; you have seen it on him before, too. Sometimes, you do ponder whether you’re overreacting. Whether you’re supposed to move on the way so many other women do when their husbands come home late.

But no.

Your husband did not come home late.

You were the one who was late.

He never did you wrong; he didn’t intend to hurt you, did he? And thinking about it realistically: not a soul in this world summons even a fragment of the life you breathe into him. Nobody comes into any close proximity of who you are in his eyes and in his heart and in his mind.

But the pain never subsides so easily. What a shame, though. Your sister always appeases you by insisting that you have every right to hurt; that envy can be part of a deeply-feeling empath, and that love elicits these emotions naturally.

That one day, it’ll get better. That for now, you’re allowed to hate people, and allowed to hate him.

But you don’t. You do not hate him. You guess if you did, it would hurt much less.

It would hurt less to stand in the bit of sun shining through the window, letting it prick your skin. It would ache less to sleep next to him every night; to get up and leave at times, wandering the lonely mansion, just so his touch doesn’t stun your body or keep you awake.

Sometimes, you turn to see him awake, too, tossing and turning. Lifting his lids to meet your eyes wordlessly, at times with the smallest, weakest of smiles.

And it would pain less — stepping over the threshold, silken robe draped around you, and into the spacious room downstairs. It’s brighter than the corridor; the latter would’ve been quieter, darker, but certainly more depressing, too. Colder. 

You can’t just roam around there. Weird, though — who knows what dragged you back into this room of all, right where you first broke down; where your perspective changed.

It’s often the same; you tend to land here, as if to relive the moment and to convince yourself that it wasn’t as bad as you make it out to be. Or that it was, but that you need to look past it. You promised Jungkook to work on this, to not give up.

Told yourself that distance hurts more than closeness.

And it does. If you were to pack your bags and leave again, you might not be able to come out of the pitch black void again. At least he’s here; where you are.

You and me, in every damn life.

But you’re in a loop. Still right there, in this heart of his, but so forlorn, too. Always the same shit. If she hadn’t come, life would pain less. If you hadn’t been here, life would hurt less. If, if, if…

If you didn’t love him, you could look him in the eyes. If you didn’t love him, you’d care less. But you do. And you’re tortured by the fact that he constantly seeks your gaze. All the time.

Even now.

Right now, as he stands near the dead chimney, staring up to you from whatever document he was reading. You don’t have it in you to meet the dark brown eyes beseeching you to forgive. Sometimes, you do — in a moment of strength, you do.

But not right now.

And you guess you have forgiven him. You converse with him; but the change is palpable, just like the weather is.

From afar, you watch a smile appear on his still-gorgeous face, though a bit more sunken since last fall. His steps are timid when he nears you, and you mimic, walking towards the man whose arms you so desperately seek.

“Good morning,” he greets, and you answer in kind before he adds, “You still look tired. Do you need to sleep more? I don’t mind, I have a bit of time to take care of—”

“Oh, no, no,” you reassure, coming to a stand in front of him. Your fingers twitch to reach out, but your mind refuses; you hate this constant occurrence. “I feel fine, actually. And Hana will get up soon as well.”

“If you are certain.” Jungkook nods; then rolls his eyes again, more in a manner of amusement and sarcasm than annoyance. “That girl runs to her pony so fast these days that she barely ever acknowledges us anymore. So not a lot to do there for us.”

You chuckle a little. “Isn’t that right?” You observe as his head tilts just slightly; a gesture you well associate with affection. “What about you? You are awake early, too.”

A shrug of a shoulder as a response, no word uttered. He blinks once, just slowly, before his hand surrenders to the urge yours suppressed — and moves up, up towards your face. It happens in slow motion, an unnatural pace to it; but a moment later, you feel the touch.

A palm cradling your face. A familiar, somewhat ancient feeling. Known yet so estranged these days.

You close your eyes. Take in the warmth. Let the delusional relief wash over you for a second. And you feel better; much better when he presses in a tiny bit. You forget the pain still lingering.

Every fibre of you yearns to jump into his arms and to remain right there. To inhale his scent, to feel his lips in your hair, to feel the longing in his touch. And he would succumb to each sensation within a moment, a walking white flag, waiting for you to bring him to his knees.

He has been craving every bit of you in every little way, and you know. You know because you have been, too. But whenever his parted lips linger on your burning cheek, perfectly rosy and inviting and as beautiful as ever, or his thumb grazes your trembling chin, you just…

You trap yourself in this cramped cage of your own miserable thoughts; questions arise.

Such as—

Did he touch her like this, too? What did her skin on his feel like? And did he look at her with the same glint dancing in his dark gems? The same hooded gaze, pining and erasing every other thought, so incredibly desperate; like your own eyes offer oxygen for another day? 

And—

How are you different? 

This is what has been undeniably wounding you the most. The recurring thoughts you can’t turn off. The queries popping up. The fact that you can’t and won’t ask, and that you know what the answer would be, and that you would still burst your head overthinking.

Jungkook knows you’re drifting away day by day.

He’s crept up on you and learned about every single piece of you, has understood you on a level so detailed that even you can’t quite comprehend about yourself. So it’s only natural that he sees it when your mind doesn’t reside with him.

When you’re in pain. And he is in pain, too — perhaps in greater distress, even. But you have told the petty inner voices that this isn’t a competition; that no matter what the bad parts of you demand, he is not supposed to hurt worse than you. None of you is.

But he’s told you. Told you about the torment. The night you came back, as he held you for dear life, glued to you under the thin sheets until you could barely breathe against the fabric covering his chest, you heard him say—

“I cannot figure out what to do… I— I lost myself once. I wouldn’t recognise myself again if I lost you, too.”

You wonder — did he already know what future to expect if you weren’t in it? The time you were gone; did he see a version of himself he didn’t recognise?

You want to ask, but your mentality keeps slipping. Always absent but deep in his own emotions; you hate that you’re so aware of his thoughts. That even right now, he doesn’t expect you to quite look at him or to reciprocate his touch, even though sometimes, reluctantly, you do.

And he doesn’t expect you to smile. He has never known you otherwise — but he doesn’t expect it, consumed by his guilt. He knows you’re entitled to feel the way you feel. Doesn’t expect you to talk to him as you used to either, or to love him the way he’s always known.

He knows you love him… but he misses the moments when you showed him you were in love with him.

Months and years of affection passed, and the weeks since Jihyo entered your life shattered part of the idyllic paradise you had built for yourself. Covered it in clouds.

Yet, he accepts it. To you, it sometimes seems that he is content that you’re here at all. He won’t tell you what happened, how he felt, what he did while you were away, but it seems that his most prevalent fear is you vanishing again.

As long as he sees you standing here, in flesh and blood and not just in his wanting mind, understanding that you are not a figment of his imagination, he is satisfied.

Then again, you don’t think there is an absolute way of not hurting. So you’re not surprised when he brings you back to where you stand, into this moment, and says, “Hey,” he tries to lift your head, “I miss looking at you properly.”

You try. You meet his eyes. They’re filled with sleepless hours and the same sadness as yours.

You keep looking at him, eyebrows slightly moving, breath accelerating, and say, “I do, too.”

“And I miss your voice.”

“I know.”

“And I want you to laugh again. About anything at all.”

ƒrims Well. Maybe you were wrong. Or maybe not — he doesn’t expect you to smile, but… he can still want it, right?

Your body reacts fully automatically, closing in until your forehead gently collides with his. You hear it when he sucks in a sharp breath, hopeful and so hopelessly adoring, before he whispers, “I love you so much.”

Translates to: I need you back.

Translates to: I need you here.

Translates to: Stay.

For a moment, you keep staring into his pupils. A little longer… and then a little longer. It’s hard to look away; as if they harbour a spell and he’s practicing it right this moment. But then you feel another ache in your heart.

Familiar, but never less painful. The same damn one that your mind and body have been shooting through you, keeping you from giving in.

You move back just a little — but he understands. Accepts that you need more distance, just for a while; that it’ll take time. But as if to tell you he’s nowhere near giving up, he grazes your cheek again, warmth in the back of his fingers; hot as the fire that he is.

When he lets go, you feel breathless. Drowning. 

“It seems that our daughter is awake,” he comments. You only now notice her tiny voice. Drowsy little girl waddling to her beloved father. Cheek to his shoulder, quiet in the morning, eyes closed again once she’s settled. He adds, “Let’s get breakfast.”

And you follow, but the appetite isn’t too big. Your heart is still beating in your stomach.

Hana has now learned to express herself enough to ask what’s wrong. She understands basic emotions. Sometimes, you let yourself feel in your twins’ presence alone, solely for the reason that they do not pose questions.

But Hana knows.

And you adore her with everything that you are and everything that she has become; but so does she. She sees it when your eyes droop; notices when her father misses a thing she said or two. When he looks at her with deeply rooted affection, but with dead and stinging pain, too.

You think that sometimes, gaping at her round, bubbly face, he remembers as much as you that she’s not all there is. That she and the boys do belong to his blood, but that somewhere out there, another boy gets all excited about visits every now and then.

A child older than any toddler in your massive mansion, residing in a warm home so small and compact in comparison. At times, you think that your husband knows, too: That sweet Minjun is truly all that has ever defined Jungkook.

The art; the smile; the dimples. The politeness and gentleness.

You take a deep breath.

How does anybody ever get over this? You promised Jungkook to fight, and you will, with time you will because you love him, but…

How will you move past this? Will you stop seeing all that happened in everything one day? Grow out of it, find a way to hold onto him and onto who you are, to hurt less?

“Mama… did you hear?”

“Hm?” You glance at your daughter as she wipes her bangs out of her face, eyes too big on it. She’s holding a toy pony towards you. “Hear what, sweetheart?”

You stretch out a hand, carefully holding the toy in your palm. It’s still beautiful, solid snow white porcelain, albeit missing one of his four legs. Hana cried for a whole while when it happened.

“What I just said!” she tries again, her voice reprimanding, disappointed. Then she sighs, pouts, “You didn’t hear.”

It’s the enormous doe eyes that pierce your heart. When he’s sad, he looks the same. Awakens the urge to protect and to love and to keep him far from even a scratch. You sigh, too; keep yourself together.

“I apologise, baby,” you shift closer to her; she’s a bit older now, more forgiving. Still feisty, but very forgiving. “Mama is just tired. But I’m here, yes? Tell me again, please?”

Whenever Hana starts a thought, she needs to finish it. Your absent mind can’t keep her from it; so she soon turns to you, her voice much louder than yours. “I was saying,” she starts, easy to persuade, “I want to see Tee.”

You laugh.

Tee.

A self-made abbreviation for the term auntie. Somehow, it was too odd of a word for her to pronounce, so she settled on this one syllable to define your sister. She has accepted it; grown to love it, in fact. You guess her name is now simply Tee because Jeon Suhana says so.

“How convenient.” Your laugh dies; replaced by a little jump as his posed, soft voice suddenly joins the room, echoing through it. You give him a small smile. “Right?”

Jungkook walks in with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, two buttons of his dark shirt open. His chest peeks golden from underneath, with light spots of red, as if he rubbed the skin over his heart, soothing it.

The usually lifted collars are falling lazily to the sides; the baggy, loose sleeves rolled just below his elbows.

He looks as breathtaking as he did when you met him all those years ago; when you fell for the soul he revealed. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t fade, in any way at all. He still emanates the same confidence, even in times of desperation. Radiates pure attraction.

You guess people would be fooled by this, fall for the untamed, silky, dark hair if they didn’t know him well.

But you do — and you see the change in hue under his eyes. How the fragile, thin skin is a tad bit darker, and how he usually takes care of his mane so well. The way his strands stick out isn’t his usual appearance. Your husband used to be more put together.

But he’s smiling. For your sake and for hers, perhaps even for his own.

Hana is beaming back at him, though a bit timid in face of the change she’s surely seen in him.

But she couldn’t focus on more than the grand city right now, you know. Somehow, you reckon he planted this thought into her mind. He’s been mentioning an upcoming ball this spring, not too many days from now.

If you went, it’d be an excuse to visit your families again. For him to see his mother, and for you to spend an afternoon with your sister. He’s spoken about this once or twice, told you to think about it.

That—

I, however, understand if it is uncomfortable. If it hurts.

Of course it does. Going back to the one place where he handed you his bleeding, beating heart, yours for taking. But the place where he almost became hers, to. The place you met pain and then embraced love.

You were going to give him an answer soon, and you haven’t, and you know how goddamn unfair it is to him, but…

Your heart has been so delicate, and your tongue too mute to truly verbalise a proper response. Yes or no is all it takes, but you can’t stop pondering about the pros and cons.

“Daddy…” Hana calls, palms on the ground, butt up to lift herself upright. “Daddy, what?”

Ever-the-curious daughter. She probably got this from you. Too many unknown flowers that you picked together.

He lifts his trousers to his ankles and then crouches down to her, on the carpet that the two of you have made yourselves comfortable on. Hana drops back onto it. “We could see Tee, if we can make time, baby.”

If your mother agrees.

“Really?!”

Her legs are folded, her upper body leaning forwards, as if she can’t contain the joy in her little heart. She’s delighted, fists on the carpet, and for a moment, it lifts your spirits.

His eyes shift to yours carefully as Hana does a little victory dance, and you feel a prick in your chest. Is it okay to go back? You want to. You don’t want to. Will your heart withhold the pain and take the weight the trip might bring? Or perhaps the opposite…

“Wait,” Hana interrupts, suddenly solemn, “who will play with Leehi if I go?”

Leehi, her favourite nanny, young and beautiful and gentle. You chuckle, and Jungkook follows before he hums for a moment, responding, “Well, she will certainly miss you. Perhaps you should go and tell her that you might go away for a bit?”

Hana gets to her feet again, still your teeny tiny baby as she lifts a finger and declares with raised eyebrows, “I will tell her to not miss me.”

“You do that, love. Leehi is in your room, making your bed.”

Your daughter bolts away with such determination that you can’t help but laugh; her two braids move back and forth.

And once she’s out of sight, Jungkook plumps down on the carpet, knees pulled in and arms around them. He tilts his head with a tender smile, chest rising before he asks, “Did you have time to think about it? Going home?”

You remember a time not too long ago when you’d sit here like this, too; despite the couch in the back, you’d play with the twins and Hana right here, on this warm carpet, and Jungkook would join after work. You’d place your head on his shoulder and whisper-converse with him.

Sometimes, you’d fall asleep and wake up in his arms, in your bed, with the children secured in theirs. You never needed proof for how gentle Jungkook handles you — but if he could carry you into your room like a feather without disturbing a moment of your sleep, you were at utter peace, right?

He did that to you. He still does; his presence calms you, though it stirs your heart, too.

You want to put your head on his chest again, slumber there. Instead, you nod and say, “I did, yes.”

“And?”

“Hana wants to go.”

His eyes move to the side, down to the floor, then back to you as he tries again, “And what about you?”

You shrug a little. “Can I really refuse my daughter’s wish?”

He moves closer; a very small distance, but noticeable to you. His eyes are intense as he emphasises, “What’s your wish, love?”

Yours? You have a lot of wishes.

Whispered upon falling stars and eyelashes. You can’t utter most of them now, though, can you? But maybe you should. Maybe, rather than the universe, it could be him granting you what you desire.

He can read your thoughts anyway. Because he encourages, “You can share your mind with me. I’m your husband, darling.”

You nod; let something in you break and break until your fingers move, up to one of his knees. He immediately puts a palm onto your digits, holds onto you as you say, “You are.”

“Only yours.”

You inhale deeply. The tears are less these days, but never truly gone. You blink before they can reemerge, quickly adding, “I will go if you want to go. Your wish is my wish.”

“It is?”

“Of course. I am yours, too.”

A fresh colour dusts his cheeks, as if he’s falling in love anew. But his gaze betrays him; still sad when he wonders, “Then… Can I say something very kitschy?”

You feel yourself melt just a little. A hint of a smile graces your face. “Always.”

“My wish is… that I want you back.” He drops his head the moment your heart sinks, too. Even from here, you see the damp waterline. “I want you to be mine the way you were. I wish to give you the same joy I used to. I just…” His voice shakes. “I need my girl back so badly.”

And then, another whisper, stuck in a loop, “I miss you.”

You nod again, tell him, “I know.” Because if you said anything more, you’d cry. You know you would.

He looks up at you, the rims of his eyes red, trapping the tears in. He sniffles; shuts his lids, as if preparing for something. And then asks—

“Do you still love me?”

Do you?

Does he truly need to ask?

His presence still calms you, though it stirs your heart, too.

You love him irreversibly. You love him with an intensity that has nestled into your heart and is here to stay. Jungkook will never leave its crevices, no matter what. You just wish…

You wish you could show these sentiments to him better. Easier.

You’re the only one in your way now.

Mustering strength, you admit, “If I had stopped— I might’ve been long gone.”

He nods right away — it seems to be enough for him. Encourages him. Like he needed the confirmation; like, even for a moment, he’s glad that your life and soul and being are still merged with his. You haven’t strayed as far as he always fears and it relieves him.

Relieves you, too.

He licks his lips, clearing his throat, and says, “If you don’t want to go… we don’t have to, yes? I am sorry for putting pressure on you.”

“No,” you hold onto his fingers, just weakly, “no, we can go. I want to and… It might be a good alternative to the usual routine.”

Another bop of his head before he sees the pony in your other hand, reaching for it. You give it to him, and he inspects it. Comments, “Oh… It broke.”

“Mmh… damaged but still here. Hana makes sure of it.”

Jungkook looks at you. You understand your words; understand the hope behind them. And it makes him smile.

The same smile that you remember from before; the one you saw in the orphanage, in the carriages, in the rain. Months ago when you pestered him in his office until he came to bed with you.

You don’t know if he hears it when you add a quiet mumble under your breath; you guess he registers at least pieces of it as he finds your eyes soon again, so tender and vulnerable and speechless.

Pained and comforted at once as you whisper, “I miss you, too.”

This is far from your first time entering a hall that exceeds all expectations you have of pre-summer events and boasting the riches.

Jungkook and you have hosted parties before and attended even more. The number accumulated over the years; to a sum that made you immune with time. To the lusters and the dances; to the lights and the food.

Never to his touch, but much to the noise and the giggle. Most of the conversations are superficial, and when they’re not, you’re barely part of them. In your town, people respect you, but they have their own little culture that you’re not always too well versed with, up there in your mansion.

And here in this town, you stopped being a true, proper member of the peerage long ago. Even when you’re welcomed with wide arms and open hearts. People encourage you and admire you, but your life has long evolved.

These people don’t know half of it. To them, you’re the co-ruler of a beautiful town, far from here and deep in your own head. Living your days with gorgeous children and a wildly desired husband.

But you have perfected your act. Nobody suspects a thing, and you don’t want them to. So you cling to Jungkook’s arm, a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach when you enter the brightly lit hall and take in what you know.

The place is familiar; many years ago, you flipped to a new page right here, following the same steps. You probably walked the same line to the middle of the room, too, and then up to a dark hallway, meeting Jungkook in a corner before you turned your lives around.

For a while, this spot was connected to memories you would’ve rather forgotten. Tears and pain and betrayal and lies and eventually, the truth. But aches have dimmed over time, despite the fact that neither of you will truly ever forget.

You replaced these miseries. You live through your own and resolve them with a priority unmatched to all you ever experienced.

Yet, this very moment feels different somehow.

It has been years since you danced here together. Months since you danced properly at all.

Back then, there was envy in his touch, you so vividly recall. Affection in his words, concern in his thick eyebrows, fear in his dark brown pupils. Gems, is what they always were, and you would always fall for them; when you’d sneak up to empty rooms or hurt in vacant hallways.

When he was still younger than he is now, and you were, too; when you had so many other issues to forget about, the world seemed much bigger. Like there was hope somewhere out of these walls; and there was.

You were children so in love, inevitably possessed by a powerful force that never quite left you after that. The heartbeat, wild and thumping, never calmed.

All you used to be and all you remained is in your chest and in your mind. On your lips and in your words. No wonder everybody behaves so normally. Who could think otherwise than to be absolutely certain that your days are still the same as they always were?

Jungkook pulls up his arm gently, glove-clad hand lifting up to offer to you. He isn’t interested in conversing with others today. He allows a little greeting or a smile, but he doesn’t indulge in more or divulges his innermost emotions.

And they don’t bother. He isn’t trying, so they don’t either just yet; being a royal plants timidness in other people.

No, what he is focused on is your weak self next to him, knees as wobbly as many years ago. The palm shown to you is beseeching you to come with him, and to do him the honour of being his for another night.

You didn’t ever stop being his, but you don’t need to reveal this to him. Even when he nods a little, moving his hand up just a little to urge yours into it, you know he knows.

But you still accept with soft fingertips lightly kissing upon his warm hand, debunking all possible thoughts of doubts and erasing them out of his mind. And he seems relieved when you gulp down the stress, following your silent husband across the room.

You remain as wordless as you watch familiar and stranger faces float by. You nod when they do, pressing their digits when they reach for yours, a soft and quiet greeting with a smile or, on the other hand, a delighted, “Hello!”

You find your voice when you respond, find it when Jungkook does, reciprocating the others’ eventual, brave curiosity and joy upon seeing the two of you. Hearing him helps you bring your vocal cords back into swing.

And you feel as though you haven’t spoken for ages when you finally tell Jungkook, “You know…” He turns a little, not quite in the middle of the room just yet. “You used to be worried about me rejecting you.”

You aren’t sure why you’re saying this at all. Perhaps because he isn’t fearful of distance anymore — or at least, not the one he used to be afraid of. This is different. Back then, he was scared he’d lose a presence in his life that he hadn’t been able to call his own just yet.

Today, he knows exactly what he’d be letting go.

Maybe he isn’t overthinking it as much as you, though.

Because as you look at him, head a little tilted and carrying a big, dreamy mind, you lose yourself in his twinkle a bit. The smirk is crooked and saccharine, the same old as when the two of you met. 

There aren’t that many couples on the dancefloor yet when you reach it, but it seems that you two being one of the few to make the start helps. Inspires others; pre-wedding season is always an interesting event to witness. People are just waiting for an opportunity.

And when his hand reaches the small of your back, body close in front of you, you catch yourself taking in a breath too deep. You’re enthralled when he once again reminds you of the sugary undertone in his voice, so cautious when he says, “You know, I do not think I was ever worried.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You weren’t?”

“Well, worried would be the wrong word. I would rather argue—” He shrugs a shoulder, eyes drifting to the side, to the floor, and then back up to you as he scours his thoughts for a proper term. “You teased me, and I indulged in it.’”

You laugh softly, blinking slowly. Encouraged by the sound of it, he laces his fingers with yours, and you let him. Let him burn your skin through the gloves. Amused, you whisper, “I teased you?”

“You always did, did you not?”

You’re not too certain about this. If he is referring to your little sarcastic taunts, playfully threatening to keep his dance cards empty, he might be right. But you remember more than just this—

“You were the one to make short carriage rides adventurous,” you playfully accuse.

Another chuckle, and you’re nearly sold. As he twirls you a bit, leading you across the shiny floor, you find enough time for yourself to reminisce for a moment. Wherever you went, whenever the world called you to some nearby thing to attend to, his lips would find you.

Innocent or not.

Your clavicles, your neck, the spot behind your ears.

Or — your knuckles, your shoulder, your wrist.

People might have wondered how your love could bud this fast when only weeks had passed back then, but you knew and saw and felt it all. You never questioned any of it.

Jungkook says, “Maybe I should again.”

Hm…

“Maybe you should.”

Weren’t you just as breathless and faint back then, too? You think so. And you think he fared no better, did he?

He’d sigh, too, the moment you arrived at your destination, whispering promises and plans to you through similar symphonies as you are hearing right now. But even with the familiarity of the strings, reality has changed now.

Because as you rock, you don’t hear the cheerful music playing. The strings are dim in your ears and the dancing a reflex. Rather, for you, there is a piano in the background, keys singing the tune of what you were.

The more you talk and the more you listen, the more you see. Behind your eyes, fabricated by your mind, you register all the fleeting pictures of a distant yet vivid yesterday. And some of it still aches, but…

You can’t stop talking, and you can’t stop listening, either.

The nostalgia, paired with the movements dragging your feet across the floor and into his arms, keep catapulting you back to a place you know and one you crave to return to so deeply. But at the same time, you can’t be that young again.

You will always be in love, but you won’t feel the same sickening beginning again. Truths are harsh.

But are they always as thorough as you valued them to be?

Because if you can’t be who you were, why does your heart still hammer like this? If you’re so hurt, why do you still feel transported to another lifetime, like you never really left? As if you’re trudging and wading and crawling through it again to relive it all?

Maybe because you are. Maybe you never truly left indeed.

A voice interrupts your thoughts, the lights coming into focus again. Jungkook’s breath is close to your cheek as he hushes the words, wondering, “What are you thinking about?”

Yes, what are you thinking about?

You’re thinking about a plethora of things; none of which you can arrange into rational, lucid thoughts. Words don’t come easy to you these days, so you rely on what you feel. Rely on your senses.

On how he looks at you. How he touches you. How he speaks to you. And on how he moves.

You swallow again, hoping for your voice to overshadow the violins playing and the piano’s tunes taking form in your head. You tell him, “I am thinking about how gracefully you still dance.”

“Hmm,” he hums, “can that ever change?”

Your left shoulder lifts a little. “We don’t dance as much as we used to. But I suppose not.”

“Or perhaps it can change and I just find it easier with you.”

Your eyes expand a bit, but you don’t know if he sees it.

Easier with you.

With you, of all the people he has known over the decades. A life filled with touches so godless that you can barely wrap your head around still being the only one.

And you try to blend them out so badly. The thoughts of his body swaying as easily with somebody else’s, or hiding in another nook, far from creeping eyes. Feeling another heat on a chilly night.

You are truly trying to focus.

To focus on the heartbeat against your back when he releases you and turns you in his grip. For a moment, he holds you there, against his vest, the buttons cold on your bare arm. Your skin reacts, goosebumps scattered all over, helped by the proximity his lips come into.

They graze your ears, as if he’s doing this to you on purpose; as if he’s attempting to draw out the message your soul delivers. Responding with your name, spelled out by the pumping of his heart. He’s trying to make you receive it.

Every damn second, he has been wanting you to focus on him, and you have been. More so now than ever. On this and this only.

But it’s never easy. It hasn’t been.

You turn back in his arms. Even the piano fades a little now; you barely hear any of it anymore, let him lead you, relying on the pure trust you still put in him. It burns as much as all you see in those eyes of his.

Two tiny flames, red and orange, flickering blue sometimes. Behind them, a dark and sweet and gorgeous void; it still leads to his heart.

You have never seen this much love in anyone’s glance. Except for when he looks at your children, you guess. But this is different. The two of you are always, always different.

Jungkook loves you. Jungkook loves you with all he has and all he ever had and all he’ll be able to give. Jungkook intends to love you to your last exhale, and will love you into the next life; and Jungkook will wait for your soul in order to merge back with it someday, in the great unknown.

No matter who of you leaves this cruel world first — you have never caught him looking at someone like this. Like he will be sitting on his cloud impatiently on the other side, holding onto the fate bestowed upon you.

You know this much. You know the nature of the two of you because you are part of this constellation. So it should hurt less. Eternity should relieve you.

And he understands, too, that you’ll always be here, patient as he watches you come closer step by step, back to him. No matter in which universe and which time; he’ll be there, in an uncertain future and when humanity has changed into something far bigger.

But…

Right now, right where you are…

The same lights, the same light steps. The same love and the same scent announcing the change in season. This place and the memories attached to it; the fragility of your mind and the still fresh wounds to your heart.

They extend in size much too fast, much too ruthlessly.

You unlace your fingers when the sound ebbs down, just in a moment all too fitting to not raise much suspicion. The bodies around you are bowing, chattering, smiling. They don’t notice you.

So you step back by mere inches, parting from him with a frail smile. You offer a slight bow, as well, watching him imitate it with muscles just as feeble. You bring a hand to your face. Touch your cheek first, still feel the heat brushing your skin.

Then, you fan air against it, feigning the warmth that a near-summery event such as this often brings. They won’t know. You breathe out, as if overwhelmed by the heat, and then begin to walk away. But he realises your intentions immediately.

For a second, you see his mouth forming your name. Then, his voice changes, as if you’re the only one who can hear it through the crowd, adding a tiny, “Sweetheart—”

So aware of it all.

But you’re already stepping away because you can’t stop now. Because your feet won’t halt, their heels pressing into the floor as if they’re moving by themselves, carrying you away.

And because the wind outside helps, even if just a tad; even if only until his shoes clack against the floor, their sound all too known to you. He catches up to you right away; not that you expected otherwise. Jeon Jungkook would not stand there and let you go.

Not again.

You hear your name again, wondering about the next syllable to utter. Your mind is obscured, and you don’t want to say the wrong thing, no matter how obviously you just ran away. So you sniffle a bit and then suck in some air, as if to blame the now colder night.

It’s a lie. It’s still pleasant; you aren’t cold despite the still-present gooseflesh. Maybe that’s why you find it so hopeless to contain your silent cries or to wipe away that one stray tear as you respond, “Yes.”

And the moment allows some time again. Time to think back to more that you never experienced, that you’d rather still not be a part of.

Because you still can’t stop comparing. All you ever see is her when he never does. Whenever you think about how much he loves you now and loved you then, you remember that he was in the same halls with her, staring from a far end, hoping for something she could never grant.

That he stood at the same spots in this damned world as the two of you did many years ago — but without them ever further advancing. Because none of them could, not because they wouldn’t. Because they were veiled, forbidden.

You start to pour your heart out the moment you turn to him, at the end of the porch, watching his mouth open to speak. You aren’t prepared and haven’t written a mental speech, so you’ll need to improvise.

Which means, you need to shield yourself as you speak, expecting how pain-struck he looks when you begin, “My mind keeps saying…”

It’s already a miserable start; but Jungkook still urges, “It says what?”

“That,” you clear your throat, so absolutely fazed and dazed when his thumb reaches out, catching the tear only followed by many others, “that it could have been her. That she is still there and—”

You pause to breathe, looking past his shoulder. Nobody else is outside, and you see the crowd through the door. A pair of eyes or two peeks out, but you’re clearly not interesting enough right now. So they diverge their gaze again.

You don’t care about whether somebody sees. You only care about them possibly thinking that he hurt you. That the grand, famous son of the former, beloved duke has done something to break a heart.

You don’t want them to.

So you drop your head, keeping your voice in check as you try to add, “I am afraid that you might start regretting that it was not her.”

Jungkook silences. The lips so close to your ears before are locked now; not because he thinks you’re right or because he’s ever entertained the option of a reality where she replaced your role in his life.

But because he’s told you the truth so many times. Over and over; circling round and round. It won’t carve itself into your mind as it has onto his tongue, words repeated like crazy.

He pauses a little longer; much until you glance up. And despite each of his failed attempts at bringing you back to where you used to be, he refuses defeat and tries again—

“And does this not tell you otherwise? Does it not mean anything? This…”

The thumb wanders from your cheek to your jaw. “That it ended up being you and not her.”

You tilt your head again; it’s different now than from a couple minutes ago. Maybe you truly are being a tease. Giving him hope one second, crying the next. Asking things like, “What does it mean?”

You know. Of course you do. But you’re being selfish for the first time, waiting until he tells you, “That it was supposed to be you. Always, and even now. I can’t tell you how all the days without you pass, but I just…”

A shake of his head, a drop of his hand. His head falls like yours did, and he closes his eyes, bringing two fingers to the bridge of his nose to pinch it a little. You wait. His lips, full and pink, form a circle, breathing out, and then he says,

“I am running out of words.”

Maybe he doesn’t need to add anymore. The former ones still echo. All of them always echo.

The eyes looking at you and the whispers he utters. The stare that wants to bring you the stars. They want to freeze the moment, the wind, the clouds in place — it all echoes his heart.

“Jungkook…”

It’s all your strength allows.

And what else can you say at all?

You can only listen as he pleads again, “Please stay.”

What else can you do? You see him everywhere anyway, hear him all the time. The love never vanishes either way, no matter what the world does to crush you. And you don’t want it to.

You want to remember it.

Even if any of this came to crumble to pieces and left you with merely half of what you’re able to call yours. Even if one day, you were deserted and alone and started forgetting his voice or the way his hands moved or the warmth of his touch, you’ll remember this much.

The intensity of the burning in your stomach as it spreads, a wildfire that consumes. But if you’re smart enough, you’ll listen. You’ll stay. You’ll add to the memories instead of erasing them.

Build a world that’s both old and new to you and leave whatever you survived throughout these months in another universe, one that you didn’t ever live in but solely visited.

You were wrong. His name isn’t all that your strength allows. There’s more left in your wobbly, fragile body. A rising of your chest; a lift of your head, blinking of your eyes; and a step or two, enough to close the distance.

He’s pleading on repeat, the same little request that has accompanied you the past months. Still whispering a little, “Stay,” as he watches you close in, lodged in place because this time, it’s your feet dragging you to him instead of away from him.

You feel it in every fibre when your body collides with his. Head to chest and arms wound around him as if clasping some support to keep you afloat. Your legs, no matter how aflame your heart, are weak somehow; you might falter.

But Jungkook helps you fare better. Keeps you in place when his hand finds the small of your back, slowly, unsurely. Cautious as it drifts up your spine, leaving something in its wake that you missed so fiercely.

You need to stay like this. Just for a while. Perhaps tonight, if you don’t, you might die. With a feeling eating you up, blazing as it could get, and tears rolling down that you’re certain could be acid.

They have been for a bit; everything has been for a bit.

But right now, somehow, somewhat, they’re still as different as you prayed for them to be for so long.

That night, you don’t stay in his humongous mansion that is resplendent in this picturesque town of yours. In truth, Jungkook doesn’t spend much of his nights over there when you visit the place you once knew.

His mother and brother mind less, but to him, the bright walls are tinged with a darkness only he sees, perceptible under the touch of his palms and in the endless, empty hallways.

Instead, you spend an hour of the night staring at the door you grew up gazing at, big and comforting and closed, a portal to your younger years and turbulent moments. Just a minute walk from that door and down the stairs, there is an entrance that Jungkook once stood in front of, begging, stepping over the threshold to touch you just once.

To tell you what you needed to know, without his tongue ever working. And you remember bringing him back here one day then, with a ring on your finger and an arm slung around his. Listening as he told you, looking around, “So cosy.”

“Pretty?”

“Beautiful. And the scent helps.”

You smiled. You had given the kitchen staff an entire list of Jungkook’s favourite dishes. He is an omnivore; he will eat almost anything presented to him, never too picky. Before you were married, he had enjoyed every bite and every drop given to him.

But he was here as your husband for the first time, and you wanted to pamper him as much as he spoiled you daily.

He looked sweet as he sniffed, nose crinkled, dark, dark eyes so enthusiastic and happy. That moment had long killed all the pain you’d felt burning in your blood a year prior, and you knew he’d keep your veins clean and your heart pumping.

And today… years and years after.

It felt different as he came in. This is still his home, too. Your mother loves him. Your father loves him. Your sister, while empathic, no matter what past she shares with him, adores him as her brother-in-law, too.

And despite all the trails of dryness on your face, where the tears flowed, you love him, too.

His calm breathing behind you offers a source of relief. His warmth is palpable under the blanket, the mattress filled. When you came here with Hana last time, you truly noticed how big your bed was and how you’re not used to the space, how you don’t even want it anymore.

And when Jungkook moves, sighing, evidently turning, you close your eyes. If he notices, he will ask why you’re awake, and if you tell him why, you will cry, and you can’t cry again.

Too late, though.

He knows; but he doesn’t ask.

What he does do is touch your waist just a little. The fingertips send a shiver up your sides. Gentle goosebumps and a fiery pain, well-known but so far away that it catapults you back to what you were.

Your throat is clogged when he, well aware of how awake you are, analyses the pattern of your breathing so easily that you should’ve known you needn’t act. He whispers, “May I…”

You don’t answer. Not because you don’t want to, but because you can’t. You want to turn around and cuddle into him, so close to holding the side of his neck and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

But before your body can react, he does, an arm slinging around you when you put a hand over his. He pulls you close to him, a trembling lower lip sinking to your shoulder, and your inhales break.

Quickly, you close your eyes, thinking of the wind in your hair a couple hours ago. It was balm to your heart, the way his hug was; but the sobs echoing in front of the porch added a couple stones to your heart, forcing it heavier.

All these months, you have suppressed your tears in front of him, but by now, there is no need to hide and to pretend. Jungkook never has. Even now, he doesn’t veil a thing — you know when you realise he’s crying, too, shakily breathing in against your shoulder.

Between the silent weeping, you hear his voice whimper. You’re carried away when he holds you closer, still grovelling, delivering a now-rare touch to your clavicles and your jaw, as if to feel your heart and your presence.

And then, he mutters, “I love you. I am so sorry. I love you so, so much.”

The words are quiet, drowned as he presses his lips deeper into your shoulder, into your neck. His tears fall onto your skin, and you shut your eyes tight, letting out the same liquid, mixed with a longing, quiet moan. You don’t need to tell him that you feel the same.

You know he feels it. Feels it in the way you grip his hand. In how your head turns to his, and his fingers pinch your chin, and in the way you look at him. How you let him kiss your nose. Your lips.

In how you finally do put a warm palm to his neck, grazing the hair in the nape of it, mouth close to his as you shut your eyes before he does.

You remain and cry and hope and love until he falls asleep, and you follow.

You basked in the breeze.

It was scented and gentle, like the back of loving fingers caressing your cheeks. The sky was nearly cloudless; spring was slowly setting in. When you had walked the distance to this very spot, the wind howling in your ears had soothed you somehow.

Softly and sweetly; a desired change, along with the welcoming sun rays kissing your face. Warmth and love, a dress swaying. There was something about this world you breathed in that resembled a girl’s fairytale dreams.

So you didn’t mind the bugs or how ticklish the ankle-high grass made you or how hot it was getting by the hour today.

You wanted to be here. You wanted to be surrounded by the old trees, gazing at the paths between them leading to where you stood, amidst the butterflies and flowers and underneath the azure sky.

You were alone.

Saturdays were busy for the mansion and the village; people wandered about and tended to their businesses. Sometimes, they’d indulge in low-labour days and wander to this place. Some of those who could afford horses, would ride here with their kids, take a walk to breathe in the season and the worldly wonders the edge of your town offers.

But not today; and you were thankful.

You kicked the earth underneath your feet, the low boots not high enough or protective of your skin beneath the dress. You had fled from the mansion and the conversations going on. Jungkook was in the parlour and the children were playing with the nanny.

You guess this was the place to be. So you tucked your hair behind your ear, looking around the empty space, and then took a seat despite the wildness of the field. Plucked the grass.

Jihyo was probably still sitting in front of him, legs not nervously pressed together as she used to do when she visited. She crosses them now, her back a little more bent than usual, comfortable with her son and the man she once knew.

When you left, they were still exchanging pleasantries, but you knew it wasn’t long before they’d get to the business he’d promised her. Both of them pleaded with you to stay. To listen in and make decisions with him.

He held your hand until you retracted it, fingers left in his hold, and then, you pulled back entirely. 

You were terrible at being there. And you were terrible at being away, too. But the wind engulfed you with some solace at least, and this was only half as worse as the stifling air in that one room. Invisible thumbs pressing into your neck.

But this town, this village — they weren’t big. And your staff, and Jungkook, and the people knew you.

So you shouldn’t have been too surprised when she found you here, too. When you heard her voice close and recognised it immediately, swearing that the field was empty just a moment ago.

She was slow, careful. She knew you by now, at least a little; but she still always approached you as if she was waiting for an outburst, well aware that you weren’t going to snap again. But she saw a deep fault in herself, expected to be thrown out at some point.

But you wouldn’t; you never did. If you wanted to, you wouldn’t have found this very hidden spot that she’d located so easily.

Hands folded in front of her body, she smiled when you looked back at her, alarmed by the steps in the grass. You managed a little smile, just as savvy of the fact that she was harmless as she was. You didn’t hate Jihyo; but you were still wounded, insecure.

Squinting into the high sun, eyes hidden behind some of her strands swaying in the wind, she nodded towards you, standing over you before she said, “We are done.”

You reciprocated her nod, telling her, “That’s good.”

“He is giving Minjun a bit of his time, so I left. I have been wanting to find you for so long, but you always disappear.”

Of course she’d noticed. Jihyo, despite her faults and stupid mistakes in the past, wasn’t dumb in any way. She was a woman, like you, deeply tenderhearted and understanding of what swirled through your mind in her presence.

She knew that if she was you, she’d be hurting the same.

Yet, you told her, “I apologise.”

“There is no need.” Small pause, and then, “May I?”

She pointed to the spot next to you, asking to take a seat in the middle of a field that you didn’t own. Not like this; she didn’t need to ask. But you still nodded, shifting a little to the right, even though you didn’t need to.

Putting both hands under her thighs, she tucked the dress under her bottom and sat down, legs folded and fingers immediately grabbing some grass to toy with. She asked, “How are you?”

You puffed out a tiny breath. What were you supposed to answer? The shrug of your shoulder accompanying your seeming pondering was redundant, because you knew the answer very well. What good did it do to put on an act?

You responded, “It might take a while to feel like myself again.”

It was enough as an answer. She nodded once again, one eye still pinched shut as the noon sun stung in it. “It does take a while. Life would hurt less if it didn’t.”

“My mother says hardships build character.”

“Yes?” she wondered, letting out a little chuckle. Her digits wandered from the grass to her dress, picking at a stray thread. “I don’t know. I think it wouldn’t be too bad to evade these hardships. Does the character really need to be built?”

You sighed. “Right? I do not reckon I need to evolve as a person if I can just be happy.”

“Right,” she repeated.

She silenced again for a moment, the quietude broken by the whistle of the breeze. You breathed in, thankful for the oxygen so different from your hometown. You were thankful for a plethora of things around here and this was one of the aspects topping the list so easily.

Jihyo tongued her cheek and you watched for a second. When she noticed you staring, she smiled again, adding, “I appreciate your honesty. You do not need to talk to me at all, but you still do. Thank you.”

“Well,” you began, offering a tender smile, “it kills me to not be honest.”

Which was true, but not quite.

It wasn’t that you had been lying to Jungkook; you were just constantly burying your actual thoughts. What you felt and what you thought and what you needed. You felt odd about the moments you shared with him, and often waited for the right situations to be vulnerable.

It was killing you to not verbalise your mind, but you still powered through.

“I can see it,” she still admitted, “I see it even in your face.”

You were sure she could. Your face often felt contorted. Even if you wanted to, you were certain you couldn’t quite hide the emotions your brain elicited; it would always show in the eyes first. Windows to the soul and whatnot.

Did his eyes reveal the same to her? Did she see any of what she had so many years ago?

When he found out about her morals, when he felt the pang of pain in his chest back then, did he look similar to her? Or did she see a difference now?

Your stomach churned at the thought of this.

Words at the tip of your tongue, you chose to let them tumble, and asked in a voice so fragile, “How was he back then? Jungkook.”

Jihyo thought about it for a minute. Looked at you. Then gazed back down; without meeting your eye now, she said, “…Hurt.”

“Hmm…” you voiced, uncontrolled with your following words, seeking answers. “Then, he must not look different now. You know him like this, do you not?”

Another second to evaluate your question.

Your heart beat in your throat, and you let your head fall, understanding her answer until she spoke, and you realised that you actually didn’t, “I am not sure. For one, I did not know how to heal him. Back then, it was not just me. His emotions had to do with something much bigger than what we had.”

You only stared.

Your eyes begged for her to elaborate, and she did.

“He was hurt, but for another reason. Back then I was the distraction from his problems and he fell back into them once he stepped out of my life. But…” She hesitated, fumbling for words. “But you are the main reason for his heartache.”

Her words hurt deeply and violently. They had long been sitting in a space so concealed, but they floated to the surface now. As she voiced them, there was no way to deny them anymore; even if you weren’t at fault, and even if you understood your pain, validated it every day…

It was no lie that he was hurt because of you, too.

“Yes…” you confessed, your voice tiny and pained.

Maybe Jihyo understood what she had just uttered and how you’d taken it, because she shook her head in the next moment. Clarified, “Do not misunderstand, I don’t mean this in a bad way. Just that—”

She was struggling; was attempting to not be the source of your ache again. She inhaled deeply, and then tried again, “There is a big difference between me and you and his pain between us. With you, it’s so much more profound. If he can hurt because of you, and only hurt because he had lost a distraction all those years ago… doesn’t it reveal his true feelings?”

You didn’t answer. You needed to digest her words; eyes drifted to the ground, and you repeated them in your mind. She leaned into you, touched your elbow ever-so-gently. “Does it not?”

You tucked your hair loosely behind your ears. Partly, because it kept covering your eyes; partly, because you felt shy all of a sudden. Not the way you used to. Rather in a familiar in-love-way, yearning for somebody who was waiting for you just the same.

Somebody adored you for who you were, thankful for every damn breath you drew. There were moments of realisations like this; when you rethought your life and once again understood who it truly was who fell for you.

You were lucky, you thought, to be the one to be worthy enough to be loved by him.

“You’re right,” you soon agreed, “of course… of course you are.”

Jihyo didn’t answer right away. Your conversation was shaped by certain awkwardness, but it was drenched in support, too. You didn’t think you’d find yourself here, but realistically, you also knew that Jihyo wasn’t quite a bad person.

She had hurt, hadn’t she? Every woman deserves a love she can be proud of; Jihyo had never experienced it until now. Not when she hid with Jungkook in vacant rooms. Never meaning to hurt anybody when she broke into your life.

You wished you could despise her for her flaws, but you couldn’t.

Not when she looked at you like this. Those gorgeous, dark eyes so sweet, eyebrows knitted together just a little. Arched, pretty lips in a small smile, but the distress so obvious underneath her expression.

She said, “I don’t want to come in between you. I never wanted to, it’s just that…” She gulped. You already knew what she’d say and you nodded, but she explained anyway, “I need to ensure his safety. I wish there was another way.”

Perhaps there was. But no easy one. And maybe she was right anyway. If not the father, who else?

“I wish there was,” she repeated, “but as soon as I have figured it all out… I will be gone.”

The shake of your head came quicker than you would’ve assumed or expected. You surprised yourself when you defended, “But Jungkook deserves a relationship with him, too. I don’t want to take it away.” You gazed down again. “He wasn’t part of his life until now, but… can you or me or he really abandon that? Minjun is still his… his blood.”

You choked out the last words, suppressing the urge to hold onto your chest, to grip your heart and protect it, so it didn’t bleed through your digits. What could you do, really? You could’ve agreed, told her to pack her things once things were resolved.

You wished you were selfish like this; you knew Jungkook would’ve been for you if you just told him. But you couldn’t. It wasn’t fair towards anyone.

“Then…”

Jihyo’s gaze was intense, trying to communicate verbally. Maybe she knew it was hard to find the right words at the right times; she wasn’t bad at it, but it didn’t come to her naturally either, like the way it did for Jungkook so often. And he had said many times that it did for you, too.

“Then you might need to find a way to cope,” she threw out, “or to… to not hurt anymore. I’m wrong, I don’t want you to cope. I want us to stop hurting. Because I respect you.”

She let out another breath. Her hand moved in place, and you knew she was trying to reach out, holding back until you did it for her. Put a palm on her fingers. She continued, “And I do not want to lie… I am fond of you.”

Maybe because she understood. Or because, at heart, she knew you were good. Worth respecting. You wanted to hurt others just as little as she did.

You nodded, responding, “Thank you. I— I am fond of you, too, just not… of—”

“Of the situation itself. I know.” You agreed with another nodding gesture, nibbling at your lower lip for a second. Jihyo sighed. “Realistically… without lying to yourself. Do you want to leave?”

Did you? Of course not. If you’d wanted to, you would’ve. But you were too weak to fall out of love with him. Or maybe, in truth, this was one of your strengths.

Compassion. Care. Forgiveness. 

You never thought it took much to love him. But it always takes a lot to compromise, to fight through issues and circle back to love. Were you strong enough to do this?

Maybe. Probably.

Because it was him. Come on…

It was him.

“No,” you then said.

“You love him,” she stated. Not a question. A solid observation; anyone would see.

“I do.”

“…Would you regret staying more or leaving?”

Asking the right questions. Then again, the answer didn’t take much thinking. Your instinct knew, and your heart knew, and every overthinking thought, once cleared, would give way to one and only answer.

So you acknowledged, “I do not know how to leave him.”

And that was it.

Jihyo didn’t say more than that. She leaned back, one single nod, palms against the sharp grass; she didn’t seem to bother.

She stretched her chin towards the sun, indulging in the start of the spring. You saw a ladybug crawling up her clothed leg, but she didn’t pay it any mind. In fact, she didn’t utter anything at all anymore. Because she didn’t need to.

You knew, and she knew.

Because whatever she could’ve said, you already saw. Her silence divulged it.

Quietly, wordlessly made clear to you—

“Then you know where this will eventually go.”

The corners of your eyes are dry, somehow crusty when your lids flutter open the next morning. You guess that’s where the liquid traced down your face and left your skin to desiccate.

Your left side feels airy and empty, and when you turn, you see it devoid of a presence indeed. But there’s a soft, close rustling and whispering that you soon detect to be the man that priorly deserted the bed.

He’s standing close to your childhood room’s door, throwing a thin, baby blue coat over his shoulders. It’s reminiscent of the royalty he is.

His eyes meet yours in time as you blink at him, sad yet dreamy. The desire to act upon the emotions that the dream — no, the memory — called forth is vigorous. Like an invisible force, urged by the girl you expected it from the least.

She was right, you knew where it’d go. Perhaps you just needed more time; to heal, to come to terms with all the change around and inside you.

And you want to leave it behind and want to pull him back to you; but as his eyes flicker with an already established plan, you hold back, listen as he verbalises it, “Get dressed, my love. We shall go out today.”

“Out? Where?”

“Let me lead you. I wouldn’t want to ruin the moment.” And then he turns away. Adds, “I will wait downstairs. I will give you some time to get ready.”

He nods once towards the general direction of the house’s exit, hand already on the handle of the door. You start, “You can stay if you—”

But he sighs, not in annoyance but amusement. His mouth curves into a smile before he chuckles a bit, pushing down the handle. You silence, but he doesn’t leave before infiltrating each of your thoughts when he says, “I know you are fine with this, but—”

Just one more time, he turns to you, “But I want to revisit it. The moment I saw you and felt it for the first time.”

He doesn’t need to specify what it is, because you remember, too. The excitement seconds away from the door, when you’d rush to open and put your gloved hand into his. He’d bow and kiss your knuckles and offer his arm.

And you’d stare. You’d keep staring. Would marvel at the sun reflecting in his eyes or the raindrops trailing down his temple or the snowflakes melting in his hair.

You’d admire and fall, freeze and burn. Would wait for a single moment in a vacant corner, anticipate his lips closing in, holding the hand lifting to your cheeks.

The clot in your throat is thick as Jungkook leaves and shuts the door gently. And you, as lovesick as you have always been, let your legs dangle, for a minute tops before you hurry to find all you need.

Your maid helps you a little, tightening the corset and assuring you that Hana is still asleep. That your sister was planning on buying her toys today anyway, a certainly long trip. Maybe it was Jungkook who had schemed all this beforehand — it seems to work quite well.

Hana is never one to complain when it comes to her aunt or her uncle or her cousin.

You don’t notice how much time passes until you’re finished, a lock dangling on each side of your face and a summer hat sitting on top of the carefully mended hair. You only question what Jungkook did in your absence once you near the staircase.

Converse with your father? Flatter your mother? Soak in some of the sun, just outside on the porch, greeting passersby who must surely still remember him?

But it’s none of these things, really, and you should have known. Should have reminded yourself of the sincerity in his voice and the words he uttered as you awoke.

Because he’s nowhere near any of your family members; instead, he’s right there in the middle of the welcoming hall. Stands there like a lost but gorgeous, sweet puppy. Fondles with his fingers, a strand in his forehead.

His mane is as dark as his eyes when they find you at the top of the staircase, but they’re shinier, with a degree of affection you’ve known for years. So there’s something ancient in his gaze.

Something you knew back when life truly started. When he’d wait, just like this, and you’d walk down the stairs, as if descending to join him at the altar. Come to think of it, you think you remember similar sentiments in his pupils when you married him, too.

No, you don’t think so; you know. Hell might freeze over — you wouldn’t forget the way he looked at you, so vulnerable and in disbelief. Somewhat glad and relieved that you were there, putting his trust and his heart in your palms, yet expecting the worst.

You know that you taught him — to understand his worth and to see what he is to you.

And you see the same feelings now.

He knows you, knows you better than anyone. But he’s falling in love again. Seeing you again. Trying to mend what’s broken and finding an anchor in you, seeing the beauty one usually recognises in forests and waterfalls and colours.

You breathe in. Then out.

Keep watching as he watches.

His mouth is slightly apart, a bittersweet pain in his eyebrows, and once you reach him where he waits, you see him gulp. He dares not to blink as you take his hand, cherishes each moment and all he’s allowed to see of you.

Jungkook doesn’t need to say any of it. He has before. And even when he didn’t, you knew. He might have studied you over the years, but you know him better than anyone, too.

Strange, how your brain convinced you otherwise and planted doubts when you’ve never not been aware of the loyalty he always pledged to you.

But he’s so unwaveringly beautiful as you take him in. There is no moment in existence when he isn’t, but… those eyes. And the bridge of his nose, ending in that little button. The arch and curve of his lips and the moles you have kissed so often.

You’re breathless and taken when he smiles like this, madly insane when he says, “Not that I ever forgot, but,” he exhales, “I am incredibly lucky.”

Timid, you lower your head for a brief moment, fingers curling around his as you swallow the knot and tell him—

“Funny… I was going to say the same thing.”

You know the building. Know it like the back of your hand, even now.

“You brought me to…”

You look around, slightly blinded by the sun as you squeeze one eye shut. Some of the bricks look the same, some have been replaced. You didn’t realise how much you missed it here until now; not until the door of the carriage closes and it sinks in that he actually brought you here.

“The orphanage,” you breathe.

“You talk about them so much,” Jungkook says. Good — perhaps you did miss them and knew. But years passed. A new life started. Still… “We never got around to visiting this place. But I wanted to bring you this time.”

Your head turns to look at him. “Have you ever since you first asked to come to town?”

“Well… no,” he admits, “rather, I have wanted to for months. Before anything happened.”

You don’t know what to reply. There’s a little version of you in the back of your head, jumping in joy and tearing up at the same time. Another reminder of a million that Jungkook has always been attentive with you.

Maybe that’s why you fell just a bit deeper every day while other loves faded and wavered. Because Jeon Jungkook fucking cares. If not for anyone, then about you. You might die with this certainty embedded in your mind.

“Shall we go in?” Jungkook asks, and you nod, nervous and curious and so, so fond.

Once you’ve put your name in the visitors’ archive, the passage to the main hall is more or less empty, with a couple new faces passing you by. But once you reach the lovely place you’d frequent, watching spontaneous or carefully crafted performances on a small stage, names start coming to you.

It takes a second for them to perceive you. The orphanage can be a crowded place and random guests, especially unannounced, are not a given. You knew that back then, too. There are kind souls in this town, but the children are still not used to visitors.

They were used to you before you left.

And you see the month and year-long fondness they had set up for you once they do finally detect you. Some of them are new once again, but several you recognise. Just like you, they freeze momentarily, robbed of air.

For a second, they stare at you as if met with a forgotten ghost. As if they’re trying to place you into a fitting category in their lives, figuring out when you were part of it until they finally get it.

A boy and a girl, fraternal twins, are the first to abandon their game of nine men’s morris and get to their feet. You wave with a quiet, “Hello,” and they lift their hands and open their mouths, wordlessly telling you that, “I can’t believe this!”

The boy, Chul, would always hug you back when you came here. He was still so young then and now he’s grown by one or two heads. It’s easy to tell who they all are despite the time that passed; the moles and movements and smiles are still the same.

Though they have grown into such dashing gems.

Behind the twins, you see more children rushing, but he’s the first to speak your name, taking off his ivy cap, “You… it’s been so long. So long, welcome—”

“It has been,” you tell him as you allow him to take your hand. He must be around sixteen now. “Way too long as I can see. When did you start sounding like this?”

He laughs, looking around to the other kids and tells you, “You missed quite a lot. I even choose my clothes myself now.”

His sister chimes in, “Yet he’s not mature enough to see how awful they look at times.”

It is a joke, but you can’t help but feel a little sad. Even all those years ago, these two would bicker, playfully insulting each other’s intellect and appearance as siblings knowingly do. But even today, you know that the mere reason for unfitting clothes is the lack of resources at times.

The orphanage tries its best, but it can’t defy worse times. Chul is tall but on the leaner side, and the shirt is slightly too big. One day, you hope they can find a life outside from here, shape something they have dreamed of.

“You will grow into it,” you tell him, Jungkook quiet next to you, and pat the boy’s bicep, “you already look so much stronger.”

Chul blushes, carding his fingers through his chocolate brown hair. “I do try my best.”

Your eyes fall to the back, to a girl with lifted eyebrows and an absolutely delighted expression. Easily recognisable, too. She used to have flaming red hair; somehow, it has darkened with time, only by a shade. 

But her eyes are still a rare green, as unique as all of her. Lily was one of the few children who travelled from afar, in her mother’s arms that she never got to meet, like most of the kids here.

You still don’t quite know which country she originally came from, and it took her a while to accept that she’d never meet who brought her here. Almost everybody struggled with this at some point, but it took Lily longer to come to terms with it.

She was always loved, though. You recall her being mature beyond her years, and even now, she seems so put together. She must be close to adulthood by now.

And she was also one of the girls speaking to you when you brought Jungkook here for the first time. Bittersweet and nostalgic; she embodies much more for you than just the sweet girl you used to know.

She reminds you of Hana a bit, though they have nothing in common. Perhaps it’s because you hope Hana will be just as amazing one day; heighten all the wonderful qualities she already possesses.

Lily steps forward, along with the others; you soon see that a bunch is missing. A lot of those you played with and talked to — but as the conversation continues, you soon learn that they left the orphanage when they were old enough.

Saved up from the work they did as they grew old enough and then travelled the country and cities to find a college, studied what they desired, established a life. Those you knew as older children back then are now probably somewhere, hopefully happy, finding joy in something new.

You feel inexplicably proud.

The rest is still here — hoping to follow in their footsteps. Different from you who disappeared so long ago. You said your goodbyes back then, but you were sure you’d return.

Life moved so fast.

The kids, soon finding themselves in a circle on the clean floor, facing you, ask where you went and how you were doing. What life was like away from here.

They’re sweet, these people. Didn’t mind folding their legs on the spot, but insisted on offering a blanket for you to sit on. Jungkook is close to you, just a few inches behind you, allowing you space and privacy with those you cherished.

But as enthusiasm in all voices grows, he speaks up as well, curious as he asks, “Do you all remember me, too, by the way?”

Some nod enthusiastically; others stare at each other, still young and even younger then. Jungkook picks them from the circle, cocking an eyebrow in faux-offense as he curses, “Well, damn. I shall remember this.”

But the twin sister, Eunji, shakes her head, reprimanding, “How do you all not remember? He was the prince!”

Enlightenment spreads over the others’ visages. Of course it’d take them a little. They have probably heard of the Jeon Jungkook, one of the main royals the town offers, but since he left with you years ago, they wouldn’t know his face anymore, would they?

They were so little when they met him first.

“I mean, I am not really a prince, but—” Jungkook starts, but one of the older ones interrupts—

“Well, you looked like one.”

Then, one of the youngsters that forgot, “You still do.”

Jungkook chuckles. You look over your shoulder, catch the crinkles around his eyes and the bunny grin; the way he lifts his shoulders some whenever he laughs. He looks much younger like this.

Like before. Like then.

“Wow,” his candied voice utters, “thank you so much.”

“Were you already married back then?” Eunji asks.

You shake your head. “No, not for a while still. I invited you, did you forget?”

“Ooooh. I keep mixing up memories. But dang,” she teases, leaning forward, “so you fell in love when you brought him here, huh?”

You smile; see Jungkook blush. These are still hormonal, young adults. They’re probably roaming around, falling in love, too. No wonder they dig such topics so much. They didn’t care all those years ago.

But you’re delighted when you tell them parts of your and Jungkook’s story, conveniently leaving out pieces that concern nobody but the two of you. You must admit even: being here helps you forget some of it.

And as time passes, you reckon this was partly Jungkook’s intention, too.

Another girl, Hayun, hitherto quiet and listening, wonders at some point, “So why are you here?”

“I wanted to visit you,” you tell them.

The answer is easy and clear as day, though you weren’t the one to manifest the idea into actions. You don’t tell them that it is Jungkook doing this for you; that you would’ve come back for them, but perhaps not now, not with how life went for weeks.

But you don’t regret a moment. You’re thankful. If you could, you’d take his hand, squeeze it, silent gratitude, so he knows how you feel about all of this. And you’re determined to keep their smiles on, to return when you can when they ask,

“Are you going to stay?”

“Not for long… I will need to go home in a day or two…”

You could feel guilty. But you don’t; you’re not leaving for so long ever again. You adored all of them from the bottom of your heart. You won’t let all of what you came to feel be for nothing.

“But… if you’d like,” you begin and some of them straighten their posture, “I can stay here for a bit today. I will come back another time, too. Is that… alright?”

Their reaction is immediate. How did you never assume how much you mean to them, too? Of course you do. You were a frequent face and they learned to love it, to appreciate you deeply. Considering some of the lonely days they lived through, they’d never forget you.

Your waterline dampens, for the millionth time this week, and you blink it away. You won’t cry, not here, not now. They’re a source of joy, so you’ll show them this exact emotion, too.

“Of course!” they chime. “As long as you’d like. We’ll be here.”

But it’s hard, containing it all in your eyes. They must be seeing your glassy look, because theirs turns empathetic, smiles everywhere you look. Filling the seconds of noon, and then afternoon, with stories.

You’re baffled about how much has changed. Years ago, they’d tell you about their day and ask you for permission to braid your hair and draw with you.

Now, they reveal their first loves and tease you and ask about your children. And still, some of the moments are so familiar.

Because you remember that Jungkook sat next to you back then like this, too, and that he was silent, staring and caring and falling in love just like he is now. Seeing you for who you are and creeping deeper into your heart.

Things have changed and relationships have changed, but then again, they haven’t.

The young people the two of you were, flirting and rolling your eyes, pushing the other and then pulling them in. Swiftly into his arms, into his mind. You’re more mature now, but still in love, still one molten soul.

And you still see the same damn devotion when you recite a poem the children remember pieces of. You’re glad you still recall most of it, because they struggle with finding the words, reminiscing about how they loved it but not what it consisted of.

A belt of straw and ivy buds, with coral clasps and amber studs, And if these pleasures may thee move, come live with me, and be my love.

When you catch him looking, he doesn’t avert his eyes. They stay on you, aching and yearning, soft but so expressive.

There’s unspoken comfort floating between you, a sense of pleasure and beauty that truly moves you to your core, like ivy buds and amber studs, and you feel it perfectly.

Your heart — much closer to his chest than your own.

His hand is balmy in yours as it escorts you out.

The children’s day isn’t infinite. They soon find themselves busy with chores, apologising every now and then, and as the evening breaks in, you decide to leave them to their meals and tasks.

You have barely left, stepping into the carriage when you whisper, “Thank you.”

He squeezes your fingers, much as you wished to do before, and asks, “What for, love? This was long overdue.”

But you shrug, tell him, “Not just for this. But also for reminding me who I used to be.”

“You’re still who you were.” He nods a bit, a corner of his lips slightly jerking upwards. “If I saw anything today, then that you’re still you.”

“This is…” You furrow your eyebrows, not because you’re irritated but because you’re so deeply affected. Still sore from the knots in your throat, still wounded by the longing. “This is comforting… hearing it from you.”

He lets your hand go, fingers sneaking up to your face instead, cradling it. It’s not the first time, but the repetitiveness doesn’t stop him from vowing to you that, “Whatever you might assume… I will always feel the same about you.”

This isn’t what you are scared of; Jungkook has proven over and over again that he loves you more than humanly possible. It’s rather that—

“And I will never feel the same for anyone else.”

This. It’s this.

Your chin trembles and you start to give in, succumbing to the touch and the eyes and the memories. Your voice is shaky when you start, “I love you, Jungkook… I do. If there was—”

The shake of his head quietens you. “We’re not done yet.”

“What?”

“We’re not done,” he repeats, pinching your chin tenderly, “tell me all you need to once the night is over. I… I need you to be certain.”

You blink. “Certain about what?”

“About… all you need to be certain about. You’d know what that is.” Digits come back to yours, holding them again as the carriage starts with an unsteady jolt. “Only you.”

Yes… maybe nothing has changed as much as you thought.

“Back then you gave me time to think, too… Never rushed,” you say.

“I always will.”

“…Even though we live a human life that is so limited.”

“I will keep waiting.”

“I will be certain before the night is over, then,” you promise, breathe out the pain, “like I was then.”

He brings your knuckles up to his velvety lips, silky like your scarf as he presses a feathery peck onto them. They graze his cheeks and then his jaw, and you barely notice when your body drifts towards his when he speaks.

“Like you were then.”

As far as you recognise, you aren’t too far from your home.

Jungkook walked through a park and along a river with you, admiring the content fish and swans in its depths and at its shore. You didn’t come here a lot when you were younger; mostly with your parents, so there are memories attached to this place that aren’t quite his and yours.

Or at least, until now.

You assume Jungkook is giving the two of you the time you need, bringing back pieces of what was. But you don’t fully understand what it is and what he’s doing until you reach a bench and a spot you are very well acquainted with.

Jungkook’s and your name is clearly written in the sky above where you stand, like you own this place. Like it’ll be you who’ll be remembered by those passing by once both of you have left this realm.

The resemblance to the night you first spoke to Jungkook, many, many years ago when you were just kids, too, is striking. It’s when your initial enmity started; when you learned to abhor somebody you’d eventually learn to treasure.

And this… this is exactly where he first asked you about the odd deal. To be courted. When you stared at him in disbelief and dismissed him with a hundred accusations.

Why did he bring you here?

And why do you feel this way, as if things could truly be okay again? How does it all fit?

So you ask, “Why here?”

“Because… I don’t care which insufferable things we felt for each other,” he explains, “we started here.”

But I want to revisit it. The moment I saw you and felt it for the first time.

This is it, isn’t it? Jungkook didn’t just plan a random outing due to the pleasant day, the warm sun, the gentle breeze slowly introducing thunder and grey clouds. If he had, you’d have spent the day on a hill the two of you love, or strolled amongst a crowd.

No, Jungkook is retracing your steps. The ones you took several years ago, when you hadn’t each exchanged half of your hearts just yet. He wants to bring you back to a place of hopelessness and hostility, prove to you that sometimes, you can save a withering flower.

Or make something new bloom instead.

“We changed so much over time, no? I can barely remember what I used to feel that day,” he says; he’s right. You cannot even conjure fragments of the revulsion between you; it dispersed so quickly. “I can’t even believe any of the hatred ever existed at all.”

“As if we were someone else.”

“It seems like it, does it not? And then… now…”

Yes…

A shared mansion and shared offspring. A beautiful face choosing toys with her aunt and twins familiarising themselves with the grandparents they met too seldomly.

From there to here, from black to white. Then, to a hue of grey.

“As we started our life together…” Jungkook starts, his face more like ash now; the space between the clouds is narrowing. “Did you ever doubt the change? Remember how we were the years before.”

You would never dream of such a question or a thought. Would never form a doubt such as this in your mind. Even then, you were nearly blindly trusting, hopeful in people. You knew they were capable of change, because you weren’t the same anymore either.

“No,” you tell him, “I never thought you were a bad person at your core, but… it needed time for me to realise, too. And when we became what we are today, I knew who you really were. So no, I never did.”

You wait, watch him nod. He seems relieved but also nervous, distracted. Tells you, “I did a little. Doubt myself. I was scared that I wasn’t truly that kind person you saw me as. That I was still the same man plaguing you.”

“You never plagued me,” you promise, stepping near, an automatic hand finding his cheek. “You gave your all.”

“Do you remember,” he begins, halting when a quiet thunder sounds, “do you remember how scared I always was to mess up? Before Hana and anything.”

The books he’d read. The memories he’d carry. The conversations you’d have. Frightened to repeat or forward what he’d grown up with.

“I do,” you say.

“And you’d always remind me that I was easy to love… that effort is always worth it.”

“It is. It was for you, too. Our kids love you.”

The rain collects silvery in his waterline, at the same time as it does above in the sky. He’s harbouring something in this fragile heart of his — a dozen questions and a hundred scenarios. You know he’s hoping for a specific one, hoping for the right responses to all his inquiries.

So there is no surprise in the words he utters next, nor in the shaky fear in his voice, “And you?”

You're quick to answer.

“I will never unlove you.”

“D-do you also remember… how I’d always tell you how afraid I was you’d run away? Before I married you. How much I feared that I’d wake up and not find you anymore?”

“But you found me. I would never hide—”

“But I’m still scared. You reminded me that everybody’s worth loving, despite their mistakes and burdens, and despite all I let out on you or anyone else… you found a way to forgive me and love me. And I’m still scared because—”

His palms shoot up, too, holding your face much as you are holding his. He presses them in, pulls you closer, and you gasp soundlessly. Then, “Because none of this was or is ever a given.”

“I know, too, Jungkook,” you counter, “I never took you for granted. And you know it, you were never bad. Just…”

“Mistreated. You’ve told me, just… I chose to handle it all… way worse than mistreatment justifies. You never did so, no matter what or who hurt you because you’re the sound one, you know?”

“Jungkook, my coping does not have to align with yours, we’re different—”

“Yet, baby, I learned to be a proper human being because of you.”

“This is too big of a responsibility, Kook… it was never just me.”

“No…” he says, gulping, shutting his eyes for a second when another thunder rolls. Fitting spring evening for a blossoming yet blue couple. “I don’t want to attach my sanity to how you react to the things I do. I did this once and…”

He shakes his head, moving your hands with them. Your thumb brushes over his cheekbone and then sideways to his hair. He continues, “I don’t want my ability to make wise choices to be dependent on who you are to me, but…  I will never deny what your existence did for me.”

You nod, as if to pacify him; you do it with your children sometimes, make them feel heard and seen. It works with every human being. Jungkook is no different. He seeks your approval and seeks your love.

He sniffles. “Perhaps it wasn’t you making me decent but— it was you leading me back to myself.”

The sun is starting to set. You don’t know when time disappeared and rushed, but it’s almost invisible behind the pale sky. And now, the first drops fall, too. Starting slow but exploding quickly.

It’s a harsh reminder that, as a human being, you cannot repeat moments from the past. Even when you trace them back, they won’t come again; you won’t feel the exact same giddiness again.

But you can create new ones, more dizzy days.

Ones that resemble the night you stepped out of the orphanage, or any other hazy and dark evening that you spent wading through the shower instead of evading it. Or the moment you saw the duke’s son properly for the first time, sobbing on a lonely bench.

Whatever ghastly and foggy disappointment grew in your chest that very night a lifetime ago has long been replaced by guilt — guilt about not understanding better as a kid, not being able to elude the disgust that would follow your entire youth.

But most of all, sadness about how hurt he truly was and would continue to be; how you see something similar now, even though the situations differ drastically. Most of the issues from then have been resolved, and now he’s caught in something else.

Then again, losing somebody and dreading loss both induce fear, don’t they?

And it’s you who helped him last time; how deeply does the pain really run when his anchor is drowning, too?

You look around the world for a moment, lost in dreams and in your head. Jungkook calls your name, a distant sound as the rain patters onto your skin. It takes you a second to recall that you’re supposed to answer, and when you look at him, his voice is so terribly delicate—

“Do you remember?”

“…I do. All of it.”

“We’re living a new life now, aren’t we?”

“I guess we are,” you say, your hands falling a bit, grazing his neck to keep his attention and sanity just enough. “But a new life means rebirth. That does not have to be a bad thing.”

“It doesn’t,” Jungkook agrees. His hair is already soaked — when he shakes his head even a bit, the tips throw the drops into all directions. “But some things stay the same.” He stares up for a second, blinking faster as the sprinkle falls into his eyes. “The rain still connects us to the sky.”

He laughs when you do, suddenly and sweetly, breaking out of you. It has been a while. You keep your smile intact, but the chuckle stirs another emotion in you that you’ve kept at bay for the minutes you’ve stood here.

Glassy eyes find his, silence befalling the world for a moment barring the gentle storm. Then—

A sob.

It travels up straight from your throat, no way of stopping it, no matter how hard you try. Your voice stutters, eyebrows coming together, and his expression changes. Culpable, unforgiving towards himself.

His head sinks a bit, and you guess it doesn’t help when you admit, “Jungkook… I am so hurt.”

“I know,” he whispers; you’re surprised you hear him at all. “I am, too.”

“I’m so… why are my thoughts everywhere, Kook?”

Your desperation implodes and explodes, evident in every tone and tear. You hold onto the collars of his blue coat, tug yourself closer to him. You’re aching, but you need him nearer. Maybe you’ll spiral if he isn’t.

“It hurts so goddamn much to think about it, well knowing who I am to you, and… and I hate losing this part of my sanity,” you tell him.

“Do you…” he starts, swallowing. The state of his eyes resembles yours now; the salty grief is similar as it glides down his already wet face. “What do you need me to do to be happy? Do you need me go— gone?”

He barely gets the word out. Hesitates. So terrified of hearing your answer, unsure whether to take it back, as if it could make you forget he suggested it at all.

But you know Jungkook. He’d rather cut pieces of his heart and never mend them again if it meant bringing you peace and comfort.

The truth, though, is…

“How could I?” you mutter to the ground, not daring to move, like it could make reality dematerialise and throw you into one without him. “No matter the pain, I think that— that losing you would hurt more.”

His breathing accelerates. Some of the life he always breathes into you sparks anew, and he grasps your hand, lets you know that, “You’re not losing me. I’m right here.”

“What if this all, or I, ruin your life?”

“…How?”

“By being like this all the time, Kook—”

“What?” You shut up at the tone. He has told you before — he detests you accusing yourself of something when he messed up… always his words. “Do you know what’d happen if you left?”

You do. You don’t.

You have an idea of what happened when you were away, but he never told you all of it. If you disappeared for good, you’d possibly be met with a world with a Jungkook in it that you don’t even want to imagine.

“I don’t care if you ruin my life,” he emphasises, “I want you to. I want to sit at the fireplace with you and laugh and cry and fight with you. I want to see the kids grow, together with you. I want this. Okay… Okay?”

“I—”

“And I want you to keep remembering it all. How we started, how we grew, too. How I thought I’d die without you the moment I saw you walking towards me at the altar.” He brings your hands to his face as he always does, brushing your knuckles against his lips. “I… I can’t have this with anyone else.”

He moves your fingers to his eyes, and a moment later, you feel further wetness, the tears against your skin. He shakes his head, lets all he concealed for weeks flood out at once. You knew he was hurting, but he barely ever showed it as openly as he is now.

Just like you are. You remember — that he held back for you, died a bit every day.

“And I don’t want to,” you hear him whisper. And then, again. “I really don’t fucking want to.”

You’re speechless; if only for a second.

“This is… what you’ve grown to feel?”

“I always have,” he tells you through his trembling voice, a pitch higher now as he capitulates, “she was just— a fleeting memory of just one moment. And you are every second of my day.”

He has been occupied all these years — in every single nanomoment of every damn day and night, you were the main thought taking over his brain. Whatever he’s done, whatever’s he’s ever said, he’s done and said so for you.

Jungkook favours you over every existence in this universe, and you should have always known. No, you did. You were never an overthinker until the world turned upside down, until it forced dubious hesitation into you that you should’ve deemed irrelevant from the start.

Jihyo isn’t part of him anymore. He didn’t see you when she was. He didn’t see her now that you are. Does that very past matter more than this, though? This warm touch and the promises in it and the love in his eyes and the sadness in his lower lip.

“You don’t know who you are to me,” Jungkook says, not waiting for your query before he tells you, “you don’t know who you are at all, do you? Do you never see all the kindness and generosity? How selfless you are and how much you care?”

“Don’t you? See it in yourself, Jungkook?”

“This is what I mean. You’re so fucking forgiving, too, no? I—” Pause. Then, quieter, “Please forgive me…” He’s begging now, full on crying, closing in until his lips float over yours. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Jungkook has kissed you a million times. But when he does this time, he adds emotions you don’t think you’ve ever felt his lips press against yours.

And you feel it all when he leans in, parted mouth colliding with yours. He’s been so afraid to kiss you; but not now. Not when every single one of your glances pleads for him to. Not when you’re not ready to break the rhythm, not now, not ever.

Everything is already blurry around you, but it seems to vanish now. You still register the glossy streets, the silver, misty air, but all of it seems unreal. And then, you finally close your eyes, give in.

None of this feels rushed, but it feels urgent. Slow and tentative, but also desperate and thirsty. The rain combines with your tears and slips down your faces, threaded through your hair and soaking your clothes.

But you don’t care. You don’t move. You need warmth. Need shelter. This achingly gentle, still and suspended moment where everything ceases to exist.

Only skin and rain and tongues and lips. Only him and how he holds you, pulls you in, uncaring of who might see or what they might say. This waited to happen. You know it did.

It takes minutes until you gasp for air, remembering to breathe, fingers in his hair and forehead against his as you realise that you will never be able to unshackle yourself from him. You’re here to stay, following his steps, entangled with him until you cease to exist, too.

You’ll keep running back until he catches you. And you’ll catch him when he hurries to you.

And as he exhales into the air, face half lit as the moon rises, you clutch his body to yours, his ruined clothes for dear life, cheeks searing as you tell him—

“I do, too. I love you, too.”

For a moment and for an eternity.

Seasons changed again.

The twins talk now.

And ever since they learned to finally babble, it’s all they’ve been doing. Hana loves the fact, but acts as if she doesn’t. She’s an undoubtedly mature child. Knows too much for her age, still forgiving — but her ego also still remains intact, especially when it comes to her brothers.

The care she grants them rattles your heart. Protective and loving and so giving. But the fights continue; your twins are as gentle as their parents, but they do not shut up when they feel like they don’t need to.

They confront you or their sister when needed. Probably got this from you, too.

So nobody is really surprised when Hana feels as thoroughly irritated as she does most days growing up with them, a whiny voice exclaiming, “I don’t want your carrots! Eat them yourself!”

The brothers have been dumping their vegetables onto her plate for the past seven minutes; half of their meal makes a mess on the floor. You usually don’t let them eat on your precious carpet, but the kids have been particularly sweet these days.

Absolutely and unwaveringly mannered at yesterday’s gathering especially. You were celebrating Hana’s eighth birthday; maybe they were too distracted by the pastries and the cake to fight, too.

But you’re too weak, too easy to convince. As strict as needed at times, but not entirely immune to their irresistible charm. And Jungkook… he’s a hopeless cause anyway when it comes to them.

“Stop this!” Hana yells, returning the already mashed baby carrots. She emphasises each word with each piece she throws back onto their plates. “Eat. Your. Veggies!”

“I dun want to,” Jaehyuk responds, and Jaehoon, following, imitates. It fully provokes her. “You like them.”

“I am done, Jae. Let me rest.”

You can’t hold back the sudden laugh, not even when she fights back with a sigh, leaning back. Acts as if she took care of the dozen chores in the mansion when she’s merely exhausted from the party. To be a child again.

“I need my quiet time,” she told you, and you furrowed your eyebrows in delight before you granted the princess what she wished for.

The sun is setting outside, though having been hidden for most of the day. It’s colder now, but dusk is still pretty. You’re thankful for this; thankful for it all. Because this time of the day equals Jungkook close to you.

Done with work. Hip to hip on the same carpet against the couch that you once kept your distance on from him.

But you long stopped thinking of this. Whenever you find yourself here, basking in the presence of your little family, you think of the precious moments before anything happened. In hindsight, however, not much changed in the extent of affection after all.

Because you learned to cope, learned to let go. Jungkook still meets Jihyo sometimes, forms a bond with his son, provides him with a sense of fatherly love. And you let him — you don’t feel insecure anymore.

“Daddy,” his girl calls, tapping his knee for exclusive attention, “say something.”

And the father, ever so diplomatic and peaceful, settles on, “Leave the carrots, okay? I’ll eat them later. Stop fighting.”

“Hear?” Hana voices, an accusing finger scolding her brothers. They offer a full grin, absolutely aware of their effect on her.

Your eyes widen when Jaehyuk randomly and without a good reason rebukes, “Stupid Suhana.”

“Hey, hey!” you reprimand immediately, cocking an eyebrow until they go quiet. Their attention shifts to their food innocently as you chastise, “Don’t say such things. And definitely not like you’re insulting the name.”

“We are because we dun like her.”

Another giggle from Jaehoon. The boy mostly listens; doesn’t pick a fight. But if it’s about his siblings, he’ll definitely be a culprit, too.

“You so do,” Hana defends, and you agree with a nod and folded arms, “now eat. Leave me alone.”

This time, they listen; resume to their dinner, but not before sticking out their tongues to her. She ignores them, fiddling with her fingers. When she looks at you, her head is tilted, eyes curious as they are all the time before she asks, “Where does this name come from anyway, Mama?”

“Oh…” you respond, shooting Jungkook a look right away. You tell her, “You should ask your dad. It was his idea.”

Her gaze shifts to him, and he hums; then explains, “It was your aunt’s name. So you’re named after her.”

“Oh. Can I meet her?”

Your eyes drift to your lap. You register the change in his undertone as he speaks on, “I’m afraid this won’t be possible. She’s… she’s not with us anymore, baby.”

Hana’s mouth forms a silent Oh. She’s empathetic, sad when she sees a dead bird or a sick cat. She knows to grieve, but she knows to move on, too — so she says, “Well then, I like the name. I think I was named after somebody great!”

“Oh?” you wonder. “How do you know?”

“I wouldn’t have her name if she was bad.”

Jungkook chuckles, and you resume staring at him from the side, quietly finding the hand on his thigh as he answers, “I’m sure she was. I have heard only good things.”

“Good,” Hana says, much at the same time as Jungkook adds, “If I could… I’d thank her.”

You don’t know who this statement is directed to. Perhaps it’s too complex of a thought to truly expand on for your children; perhaps he’s thinking out loud for himself. But Hana doesn’t ask anyway, even though she hears it.

Too distracted by Jaehyuk, the troublemaker, who pokes her annoyance back, and she slaps his hand away, sulking. You let them handle this — sometimes, it’s easier to get rid of a situation when you let it unfold.

Instead, your eyes drift back to your husband, and you wonder, “Thank her, yes?”

“Yes.”

“What would you say?”

From the corner of your eyes, you see Jaehyuk and Jaehoon leave their posts and march to a disheartened Hana. No matter how impossible they are, they don’t like seeing her anything other than joyful.

It warms her heart as much as yours, you know. Soothes it when they position themselves on either side, cuddling into her, eliciting a half toothless smile. You’re content.

Back to Jungkook in time, you listen, “What I’d say?” He turns his hand under yours and entangles both your digits. “Hm, I would say…”

He ponders for a while. Waits for the right words to come to him.

And then, a puff of air escapes, your heart swelling when his eyes soften with his voice, “I would try and word my gratitude towards her. It was her who showed me that even the worst people can care.”

“He cared for her.”

“He did,” he squeezes your fingers, shoulder to shoulder. “It was also partly her who saved me, even if she’ll never know. And it was her who brought me closer to you. I wish I could tell her.”

“I wish I’d met her even once, too.”

“I know.” 

He nods. The Suhana you never got to know hasn’t been a topic very often. As years passed by, your mind developed its own image of the Suhana you do know. Hana, Suhana.

But when she is, this remains a common phrase. The never-to-be-fulfilled wish to see her just once. A stranger who never even knew of your existence, let alone your name.

“Suhana was supposed to stay,” Jungkook then voices. “But she didn’t and still managed to shine such light onto us from up there. So yes… I would express my gratitude for the life she gave me.”

He sighs, as if remembering somebody from a distant past. “For the life I had the blessing to witness as a human being and… will have the privilege to experience for the rest of my days. I would thank her for that.”

You cannot stop looking. You keep gazing and gazing. In truth, you don’t think you ever stopped ever since you came back from that one healing trip from your town years ago. You kept gaping. Kept falling — again and continuously.

And he’s still beautiful. Still the same mesmerising entity you once married. The same bright smile, still somehow youthful, blindingly lovely when he gives you one even now.

You and me, in every damn life.

Fingers brush his hair back, and you ask, “How could you ever doubt your kindness?”

And in response, he kisses your forehead, “I don’t anymore, I don’t think.”

You beam back at him. Hook your arm with his, settling your tired head on his chest. You hear his heart underneath, like a lullaby with a steady rhythm, and wait for the children to grow fatigued enough to go to bed.

And after that, he’ll carry you to your room, you foresee it already. Will let you fall into feathery, tranquil dreams.

Then again, perhaps you don’t need to wait for any of it. Don’t ever need a slumber for it.

Because you already live in a dream. And you are one, too.

okayyyyy. i don't cry a lot irl at all, but i'm so weak when it comes to these characters. crazy that their story is finished (once again), but i truly hope you guys will remember them for as long as you can. i know some of you grew to love them a lot and i am so, so thankful, truly. 🤍

if you can, please do let me know what you think! i shall answer everything bc it makes me giddy af anyway lol so do give this a like, a reblog and leave a comment, and talk to me about it!! <3 see you with more taegularities shenanigans soon mwah

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (II)

The two yokai men reach an agreement and you begin your journey together, searching for clues regarding the mysterious case of your incomplete reincarnation. You learn about the third of the Legendary Yokai, a gargantuan monster worshipped in times of war.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guide]

The next swish of the mysterious man's sword is parred by Kiritsubo, who managed to make his way to you in time.

"Wait! It's not entirely him, Murasaki, I can explain!" He shouts frantically.

"So you let him live. This is why you've never been good for anything." The dark haired man snarls in a low voice, disgust seeping through his sharp teeth.

It becomes obvious rather quickly that he has the advantage in terms of battle experience. You can only stare in fear, stuffing your wound with your jacket sleeve. What else can you do? You're bleeding profusely and if a demon of Kiritsubo's stature cannot compete, you'd be even less helpful.

"Listen to him, man, I genuinely don't know anything about your master!" You beg as your limbs are flooded with a prickling sensation. They're slowly going numb. "Please. I just want to go home."

Damn it. You have no idea whether the bleeding will stop anytime soon. Is this how you die? You won't even get a proper burial. Even worse, your family will live on thinking you vanished without a trace, unaware you've been stabbed to death by a crazy jackass in feudal Japan. You wish you could make them stop.

You squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to think of a way to escape, when you hear both men groan in pain. You look ahead to see them on the ground, clinging tightly to their chests, faces twisted in a grimace. Huh? They couldn't have killed each other in the few seconds they were out of your view. What is going on?

After a few agonizing moments, the yokai seem to calm down. Kiritsubo is gasping for air, clumsily pulling himself back up. Murasaki remains on the grass, forcing himself to appear collected despite the cold sweat coating his forehead.

"That's...what...I...meant..." The silver haired demon groans between hitched breaths. "Whew. You see it now, don't you? She doesn't emanate enough power to pull this off. It's coming from somewhere else."

Murasaki clicks his tongue in visible annoyance.

"So then, what do you suggest?"

"I don't know. But something is stopping you from killing her and there's a chance she's connected to the source."

"What are you guys whispering about?" You inquire, crawling closer towards the horned men. "And why did you suddenly collapse? You scared the hell out of me!"

"You didn't feel anything?" Kiritsubo questions you with raised eyebrows.

"Besides the, I don't know, stab wound? No, thankfully." You respond sarcastically.

Without a word, Murasaki stands up and approaches you. He crouches down to your level and nonchalantly slaps your hand away from your shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Have you ever tended to a wound in your life? You're shit at it." He uses his sword to cut off your sleeve and folds it over your gash with calculated movements. You hiss at the pain and glare at him. "Bite down on a stick if you can't handle it. Better than being dead."

The white haired yokai flashes you an awkward but reassuring smile.

"He might be an ass about it, but he knows what he's doing."

"Why are you helping me, anyways?" you point out, somewhat wary. "You literally tried to kill me a moment ago."

"I changed my mind. You'll help us find the damned bastard or whatever it is he's using to control us."

"What, the priest? Hell no, I'm going back to my world. I've had enough action for the rest of my life."

Murasaki finishes bandaging you and gives you one final press, almost as if messing with you, and you wince. He stands up and slides his sword back in its sheath.

"If you focus a little, you will find there was no question or request in my words. I'm not negotiating with a weakling like you."

Kiritsubo squats down before you and claps his hand together, pleadingly.

"Please think about it, (Y/N). I know you don't owe us anything, but there's a chance we could finally break the seal and be free. If you'd consider helping us. You can walk away, but that won't change the fact you're part of Abe no Nakamaro. He will want his powers back at some point, and we can protect you when the time comes."

You cross your arms and frown thoughtfully, pondering the options. He did save you twice already. So in a way, you're indebted to him. And if he's right, and you will have to deal with more crazy encounters in the future, it's probably better to have two powerful demons by your side.

"Alright, alright. I'll help you." You exclaim with a confident nod.

Kiritsubo grins, satisfied, and Murasaki huffs and looks away. There's a prolonged silence as you wait for them to continue with further instructions, but the men remain quiet.

"So...what now?" you eventually speak up.

"Oh. I thought you knew where to go next." the silver haired man retorts, confused.

"Idiot. She's not a compass." Murasaki scolds him. "Can you stand?" He adds, turning to you. "There's a shrine a few kilometers away that belonged to him. If we leave now, we should make it before sunset. Maybe we can find something there."

You try to prop yourself up, but Kiritsubo promptly scoops you with his sinewy arm and throws you on his back again.

"I'll carry you. Just hold on."

A faint blush dusts your cheeks, but you don't have the energy to argue it. You clutch onto his broad shoulders and nod.

The walk is uneventful and both yokai seem to be distracted. The gentle swaying is causing you to be more comfortable than you'd like to admit and your eyelids become heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, your head drops against the toned back and you fall asleep.

By the time you open your eyes again, you've already reached your destination. You yawn and stretch, lazily scanning the surroundings. A heavy shadow looms over you and you glance up. Still groggy from your nap, you scream before you can fully process the object towering above.

It's a statue. A colossal statue of some sort of monster. A demon with thick, wide bull horns sprawling out imposingly, almost eclipsing the ridiculously muscular build. The creature has four arms, flexed in a threatening manner, with one hand gripping a heavy spear and the other a skull. The crimson light of the sunset creeps through the windows and reflects against the chiseled clay, giving the statue a devilish glow. You feel insignificant.

"That's Suma."

"W-what?" your head tilts to Kiritsubo.

"He's one of us. You might meet him soon, if he's been alerted of your presence. This is a shrine built for him, to bring good fortune during times of war."

You cannot help but gawk at the structure.

"Is it, uh, life sized?"

"Heh, almost. He's a little taller than this." He chuckles, slightly nostalgic.

You swallow dryly. Just a moment ago you thought Kiritsubo was unusually big.

"I'd rather not meet him, to be honest." You shiver at the idea.

"Don't worry about it. Now that Murasaki has joined us, you're pretty much safe from anything. He's the strongest of us." The yokai remarks with a sad smile.

"Really?"

You peek at the dark haired man, currently flipping through dusty manuscripts, and briefly observe him. Compared to Kiritsubo, he's quite slender, with noble, elegant features. And he'd be able to defeat this enormous beast? Then again, the glimpse you've caught of his swordsmanship is enough of a convincing argument.

What a bizarre gathering of creatures beyond your understanding.

You remember to look away when Murasaki grunts and throws the remaining scroll of paper. His lips form a thin line as he rakes his mind for the next step.

"Nothing here. But I'm rather certain he has to be at one of his hideouts. We'll check each and one of them if we have to." 

"Wait, are you saying he's still alive? We saw his body before Sekiya and Sakaki took him for the embalming and burial."

Murasaki scoffs at his partner's gullible nature.

"And you believed it? That parasite spent his entire life searching for ways to prolong his reign. He's probably hiding somewhere, waiting for his renewed part of the soul to return to him." 

He rests against the wall and points a clawed finger at you. 

"This must've been his solution. Releasing his remaining energy until it found a proper vessel to grow stronger, and patiently awaiting the body swap. Then we go back to being whipped dogs fulfilling his whims."

It's your turn to be outraged, twisting your mouth downwards.

"No way, I'll pound that old man into sand!" You bark and throw a jab against the air, emphasizing your threat. "As if I'd just hand myself over."

"I'm not sure if it'll be that easy, (Y/N)..." Kiritsubo glances at you with a hurt expression. "He's a terrifying, vengeful bastard."

"Not if we find him first and take him out." Murasaki counters with a glint of determination in his eyes. "Humans need to rest, don't they? We'll spend the night here and tomorrow we head out. Kiritsubo, find me a map so we can keep track of the locations. I'll bring the wood for a fire."

And with this, he marches out. Kiritsubo scurries to his duty and you quietly follow his movements. He seems to be used to executing Murasaki's orders. You hadn't considered their group dynamic much, but it appears to have some rather complex hierarchies involved. You almost wish you could witness all of them together, wondering how they'd interact with each other. 

Who knows? If you stick around, it could happen eventually. Murasaki was surprisingly easy to convince, so the other yokai might as well agree to keep you alive until you find their source of misfortune. Heh. Almost like a harem, or something. You snicker to yourself.

Which reminds you...

The fire has been lit and Murasaki mumbles something about guarding the perimeter. This time you hurry outside after him. You reach out to the dark haired man and pull on his kimono sleeve.

He turns to you, mildly irked.

"What?"

"Teach me how to use a sword." You state with the assertiveness of an order.

"Why? I can assure you I'm more than enough. I've never been defeated." He stares at you, incredulous.

"I don't want to rely on you all the time. You're already this close to being unbearable", you explain, pinching your fingers together. "Besides, if I'm going to be stuck among beasts, I'd very much prefer being the one doing the cool stuff."

And with that, you pretend to slice through an invisible enemy, whistling the sound of your sword cutting through the air. You furrow your eyebrows, imitating the engrossed expression of a seasoned samurai in the middle of a battleground. Murasaki quickly lifts a hand to his mouth - did he chuckle just now? - and responds, the faintest amusement in his voice:

"As you wish. But I'm warning you now, I won't hold back."

"I've been injured twice in less than 24 hours, I'm sturdy enough." You answer, patting your chest proudly.

Next time one of the Legendary Yokai comes for you, you won't be as vulnerable. That's for sure.

[honeyvalleyflowers]

Those hands

Pairing: Arthur x Reader Summary: After a haunting experience, Arthur struggles seeing himself as anything but bad. You show him that there are other sides to him too. Warnings: Arthur self hate. Talk of violence (unnamed man, fate unclear). Hints at nsfw, but nothing happens. Words: 1,936 Notes: GN!Reader. Use of "you" for reader. Angst with comfort/fluff (starts off sad but has a happy end). Kind of body worship but in a wholesome way. Still trying to do accents but I might have forgotten sometimes. Don't wanna proofread. Kind of open end?

Another day gone by, the sun setting over the camp of mismatched outlaws. Thieves, murderers, all of them. Even the sweetest face or voice could hide deft fingers that would rob you of your gold, or your life. The neverending fire at the center crackled on, drowned out by chatter and song.

But it was the cool breeze that brought Arthur’s attention back to Earth and his body. The cuts and bruises from a day’s work littering his skin. By all means, he wasn’t often the one who got off worse in his encounters, yet even a punch would leave its mark on his knuckles.

He turned his hand, a sigh lingering in the column of his throat. Blood, though most of it wasn’t his. He hasn’t yet had the time to clean it off. No, more like he couldn’t bring himself to. There were somewhat clean rags everywhere, John had brought fresh water from the stream earlier that day and Arthur could just dunk the offending limbs in there until the color washed itself off.

But that would be too easy, no? Make him forget all too soon what he did to that man whom he beat up for a measly 10 dollars. The man who lost one or two teeth from every hit, begging, pleading for Arthur to stop. Nose bleeding as darkened blue eyes glared him down while his wife cried in the back. He didn’t even have enough to pay back the loan in the first place. Arthur should have stopped, should have been a better man. But he kept going until he had even the last scrap of clothes from their backs. And now the evidence stared back at him in muddled crimson and the images behind his eyes. Does he even deserve to wash his hands off after this? No matter how much he’d scrub, they would always be vile, coated by violence and apathy as they took life after life and ruined families. It was right under the skin, in his blood. This was who he was deep down. Terrible. Disgusting. “Arthur?” He hadn’t even noticed the shake in them until another color came into his view. Soft, warm as it shielded the sight of coppery regret from his misty eyes. Arthur looked up, and his stomach churned. There you were, looking at him with such worry and love that bile threatened to spill past his lips. He wanted to cut his hands off lest you touch them more, lest you realize why they looked like that. If you saw what he did, knew what those hands committed, you’d recoil like he did now. But your brows only furrowed as you inched closer, as if you couldn’t see what a monster he was. There were your hands again, encasing his, despite the grime and blood. Swallowing the lump in his throat, the man willed his eyes up to meet yours. “Shouldn’t touch me, darlin’. Gonna catch somethin’”, Arthur mumbled, not even convinced of his own words. But he didn’t want his crime on your hands as well. Those hands that stitched him up after bullet wounds and held his face so tenderly as if he wasn’t wanted in numerous states. And yet you only shook your head, the corners of your lips quirking up in amusement. “Catch what? Arthur, you're being silly again.” Taking a firmer grip, you urged him to stand, and he followed you without second thought. Thinking around you was always difficult anyway. One smile and Arthur wouldn’t know if he died during his last mission and it was you greeting him above the clouds. His large steps stumbled after your smaller ones, realizing too late where you two were headed. Two feet from the wash basin, Arthur’s legs locked up, and his hands clenched yours. “Darlin’... I don’t need no washin”, he tried to argue, plead almost. But the underlying meaning was lost on you as you simply laughed that divine sound at him. “I won’t dunk ya head like Grimshaw, Arthur, promise!” You reassured, angling your body further towards him and giving him a view of the barrel. “That’s not…” But you cut him off with an insistent tug, one thumb running over the back of his hand before tapping it twice. “Yer all bloody, mister. I reckon you DO need a wash here.” The little teasing in your retort wasn’t lost on him, and Arthur’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he let himself be lugged along. The water wasn’t as cold as anymore as it was this morning, yet the gunslinger flinched as if he touched ice. This time, it didn’t go unnoticed, and you halted your ministrations. “... Arthur?” You tried again. Softer this time, quieter. Only for him. It took a while before the man in question answered, clearly wrestling with his thoughts. But when he opened up, it was with the same guilt as if he was being shamed in court. “Hurt some feller today… Real bad.” He began, and it was at this moment he realized he didn’t even remember the man’s name anymore. Blues downcast, he avoided your gaze in case of judgement. As if you would bring the hammer down on him and condemn him to a lifetime of loneliness once more.

And yet, you only nodded out of his sight, gently lowering his hands into the basin once more. “Another loan?” Your voice matched his sober tone. His distaste for this kind of work came up a few times before for you two. It always ended with Arthur wanting more time for himself, away from everything and everyone. To overthink, surely, you figured. But this time, you wanted to be there for him, and properly.

The non-answer Arthur gave you told you everything you needed to know, eyes still not meeting yours. So you lowered your gaze as well, focusing on cleaning the worst off of his calloused hands. Once most of the stains were gone, your voice reached his ears again. “C’mon Arthur. Wanna show you somethin’.” Stealing Arthur away to his tent was easier than usual this time around. Javier strummed his guitar for the few onlookers around the fire, Kieran being surprisingly one of them. Hosea and Lenny were reading books together, seemingly talking about their respective plot points in a little huddle with Tilly and Mary Beth listening in. Dutch, for once, was busy as well, giving Molly the attention she deserved as Charles heaved a deer up onto the butcher’s table for dinner in the back. In short, practically everyone was busy - perfect for your little ‘love-on-Arthur’-plan.

Up on your tippy toes, you closed the old draped on Arthur’s tent as best as you could. You wanted privacy for this, even if it wasn’t that kind of night. “You showin’ me my tent?” Your man quipped behind you, a hint of amusement coming up from under his exhaustion from the day.

“Shush, you.” You waved your hand, unable to hide your half-smile as you ushered him onto his cot. He followed obediently, though one of his now clean hands ran down his face, smushing his tired expression.

“Don’t think I can-”

“We not gonna. Now hush, love.”

Arthur accepted you cutting him off with your cryptic replies, one eyebrow raised as you kneeled in front of him. Despite insisting he wasn’t in the mood, he couldn’t shake how you in this position made him feel. Breath caught in his throat, shifting, he never imagined what you would do instead though.

Lifting one of his bruised hands to your lips, a faint kiss was planted right over his knuckles. Then another, travelling sideways over each finger. Your eyes were closed while Arthur was sure his were about to bug out of his head, unable to form any coherent thought.

And then you spoke.

“Your hands are beautiful, Arthur.”

“No-”

“Yes.”

A frustrated groan as Arthur’s fingers twitched. Yet, you only smiled a little, your eyes much too soft and warm for his liking. Then, as if he never complained, you continued, kissing over his palm. “You might not like ‘em, but I can see what they can do.”

A cold chill ran up his spine, Arthur believing you would recount his many escapades in drunken violence. Not that you ever did, but what if this time, you would? See him for the monster he is, the monster he can never change being. Horrendous and made out of tainted blood not his own.

Your lips graced his thumb, and as your mouth opened again, Arthur forgot how to breathe.

“Y’always use this thumb to wipe my tears…” You whispered, almost reverent as you kissed from knuckle to tip, a shiver of Arthur accompanying the gesture. Moving on to his pointer finger, you murmured between kisses. “And this one, your trigger finger. Reliable, yeah, but also the one y’use to pick flowers.”

Arthur’s mind emptied, focused entirely on your show of love as you revealed your thoughts to him. Your true ones, not the ones he projects onto you in his own fear, but the ones from your loving heart that stayed with him for a year now.

Arriving at his middle finger, he huffed a chuckle at how he could feel your smile against his skin. “I know what you use this one for, Mr Morgan.” “Ain’t always vulgar, sweetheart.” He tried to joke back, feeling his heart soar at how you giggled in reply.

“That’s right. Because this here finger, it’s got that little callus on it from when ya hold your pen to draw.” Now that’s not what Arthur expected you to say, but you simply kissed the mark in question on the inside of said finger. The action and how you saw him almost made him miss the whisper you breathed at the next one in line.

“Maybe one day, Arthur…”

He wanted to ask you to elaborate, beg to tell him you really did want that ring on his and your finger. But you were already moving again, and Arthur’s hand could only twitch as his heartbeat thrummed in his ears.

“Remember what we use the pinky for, baby?” You smiled, intertwining both of your fingers together and waving them softly from side to side.

“Yer little promises, right?” Finding his voice again, Arthur fought to keep the cracks and wavering out of it. He was still shaken up, but in a good way now. A better way.

“Yeah. The one ya used to promise me to go huntin’ back out west. Remember…?” And remember he did. The first time you both went out together, though it was hardly a date. Arthur could never call it that, you deserved much better than hunting coyotes after Pearson burned the gang's last food. And yet it was one of your first outings together.

One of many firsts, just like right now.

Dragging your lips up to his palm, you promptly held it against your cheek, leaning into it. A pleased hum vibrated against his skin, and out of instinct he began to cradle you softly. “Your palm always holds me… And your hand holds mine.” You finished, gently putting his hand in yours.

Now looking up at him, Arthur could barely recall what happened today aside from this. “Darlin’…” He began, almost choking on the word, but you shut him up with another kiss to the back of his hand. As if he were some maiden and not… not…. “I love you Arthur. Your hands can do good, too.” And in this moment, Arthur fully believed you.

[ddejavvu]

oml mei plsplsplspls can we have mean!dad's best friend!logan if you're able to write for that stuff???? it would actually make my day tysmmm :)))

The cold night air bites unforgivingly at your bare skin, but nothing hurts worse than the way you're suddenly scruffed at the neck from behind. A large, strong hand curls into the back of your shirt and begins dragging you off, and you don't even have the chance to muster a scream before you realize who it is.

"Logan! Logan, thank you," You gush, squirming in his hold, intent on hugging him for his good deed, but you don't get two fingers on him before he scoffs, redirecting you with the hand still on the back of your neck and pushing you towards his car once more.

"Off." He grunts, sounding wholly unimpressed, and your stomach drops to your feet where they scrabble hurriedly across the sidewalk below.

"Thank you for picking me up," You continue, though feebler now, to tread lightly on what seems to be a bad time for him, "I really appreciate it, and- and I know it's late, and you probably have better things to do, and-"

"In. Get in." He nearly throws you up against the passenger side door, "And keep quiet."

You're expecting a lecture when Logan shuts his door behind him, but he pulls away from the curb and you settle into the most uncomfortable silence you've ever experienced. It's thick and it's suffocating, beading sweat at your collar and hands. You clear your throat and Logan stares hard at you through the rear-view mirror, a silent indication that you are so dead.

"I appreciate you coming to get me." You finally break the silence in a calm, even, collected tone.

"Quiet." He reminds you, but you hadn't really been concerned with following orders in the first place, which is why you'd landed yourself at a frat party.

"I'm fine 'now you came and got me." You grumble, voice taking a nosedive into insolence.

"Of course I came and got you!" You've made a crack in the dam now, and irritation comes pouring out, chipping away at its barrier, "I told you I would. But I thought I remembered also telling you that I'd kill you on the ride home! What were you thinking? Those parties aren't worth your time, and neither are the men there."

"You say that like there isn't a constant stream of women in and out of your bedroom," You scoff, settling back in your seat with as much disdain as you can muster.

"That's exactly why I'm saying it! Men like me aren't good enough for you." His voice isn't soft now, but it's softer, gently prodding at the heart of the issue, but not enough to break its shell, "That's why you've gotta learn to stay away from us. We're a lot more trouble than we're worth."

"Why can't I experiment with trouble?" You grumble, rhetorically but Logan answers all the same.

He laughs gruffly, ire successfully diffused, "We'll see, kid. For now, go home and sleep. We'll have to discuss experimenting tomorrow."

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

I've seen a couple of comments from someone around paying Tumblr for stuff that I want to address. I'm not going to mention the person who made these comments because I'm not trying to pick a fight, but I think they're worth talking about. The comments in question are: "you think user money is anything compared to advertisers" and in a pinned post they tell people to not give money to Tumblr.

The thing is, user money can definitely be something compared to advertisers. There are multiple ways that an online company (in general, not just Tumblr) can make money, but let's break them down into three categories:

A. From the users - selling merchandise, subscriptions, premium packages, asking for donations, etc.

B. From advertisers - selling views and space on the platform to companies that use it to try and sell stuff to the users

C. From data - selling information about the user base to other companies that might use it in a whole bunch of dodgy and malicious ways, or just try to find better ways to sell stuff to us

All three of these are viable ways for a company to make money, and many companies use some combination of the above. What matters is what the company sees as their PRIMARY method of making money, because that is what drives their corporate decisions.

If none of the methods are making money, the company will shut down, and I don't want Tumblr to shut down - I like this hellsite. If option B is what makes them the most money, then they will make business decisions that make the platform look better to advertisers and this is likely to drive everything in a more algorithm-centric direction and give users fewer options to curate their own experience. If option C is what makes them the most money, then they will focus on features that enable privacy invasion and data harvesting. If option A is what makes them the most money, then they have to think about how to keep the users spending that money. Now, option A doesn't always lead to good outcomes - in mobile/online games it can end up as loot box gambling add-ins and pay-to-win options, but thankfully Tumblr isn't the sort of site where loot box mechanics would make a lot of sense. Which makes it more likely they'll go the other option: delivering the features that users want to keep them coming back and paying for subscriptions. 

I would much rather Tumblr goes for option A than options B or C because it means that Tumblr is more likely to put the user base first when making decisions instead of advertisers. We just need to show them that it's a viable option.

Tumblr is trying what online games have done for years - crabs and checkmarks are the equivalent of horse armour DLCs and cosmetics. They're trying to make the business work through microtransactions. If enough people spend a small amount, it can add up to a large amount of money. The point of crab day is to send a message to Tumblr that option A is viable so that they make the choice to focus on that. If everyone goes, "No, don't spend money on Tumblr, you're nothing compared to advertisers," then it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy and Tumblr will have to go with options B or C if they want to keep making money.

I'm not giving Tumblr money out of naivety or because I think they're somehow deserving - I'm giving them my money because I would much rather they make money directly from me and give them an incentive to provide features I like, than by making the site worse so that they can exploit me.

[anantaru]

— taking care of his wounds

including xiao, scaramouche, diluc, childe x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & angst, crack, mentions of blood, sweet n cute

— xiao

"you do not have to do this."

"but i want to!"

deep down inside, it was imperatively embarrassing for xiao to have you mend his wounds and scratches— especially considering the fact that you were seeing him this way for once, a shelter of vulnerability and weakness, as he always seem to put it.

a good for nothing who cannot even be strong enough to defend himself, let alone the person he fell in love with.

keep in mind, you were very much aware of your boyfriend and his cruel views on himself, precisely the hurting words chosen by him, which he would insult himself with on a daily basis.

as punishment? one can only guess or say that much, but there was a translucent underlining that only a handful of people were able to take a grasp on.

"and you‘re my boyfriend xiao." that happiness in your voice, he couldn't get enough of it. but you always add the right words into the mix, catching a bolstering blush on xiao‘s handsome face the sweet moment he picks up your chosen name for him.

'boyfriend' was he worthy of such a name? he shivered, it took all his self control to not run off from this vulnerable moment.

"i‘m also worried." and you sigh so sweetly against him, melting your skilled fingers into his flesh and filling all the cold emptiness within his heart. "i don't want you to worry." his voice almost breaks in midst his sentencing but it's low, his words mumbled, "you could find someone better than me."

it's a graven fear the man held for what felt like an eternity. to see you leave one day due to his weaknesses.

because every time he experiences you taking care of him, yes, xiao does turn embarrassed— his eyes twinkling open wild, but he feels that static, as if he could actually reach the heavens behind the sky.

he suddenly hisses when you began to wrap a small cloth around a bigger wound on his hand, sneakily sealing your lips over his roughened up knuckles to kiss each and every one of them.

"there will never be someone better than you, xiao."

— scaramouche

"how childish."

scaramouche's face was mounted in a discomforting tinge while he gazed at the cute, little, not to mention pink, band aids covering the majority of his face and chest. "shut up."

you shake your head, laughing at your boyfriend's bright, assessing eyes while he hopelessly attempted to wholly conceal the agonizing pain bound within his facial features, keeping them in check with a hard look, brows criss crossed and squeezed together, "you're using too many of those."

"i wouldn't have to if there weren't that many scratches all over you."

but above and beyond, there it was; a crucial, meaningful expression that sneakily slipped past his own eyes— your current state, when you lock away the smallest amount of warm tears glinting nervously, finishing it with a soft smile, not wanting to make scaramouche feel even worse.

what confused you, and, frankly, scared you in the first place was the severe rarity of this situation— it was uncommon for him to get this beat up, this littered up with scratches and bumps, you can still remember the mere seconds earlier, when he showed up in front of your door step— dirty clothes ruptured and ripped, his bottom lip popped open and blood sliding down his chin, eyes low lidded, barely any life behind them.

by all means, scaramouche was doing better now, with the help of you and your quick responses doing wonders. needless to say did he too, catch a glimpse of your distress when you suddenly had stopped mending his wounds.

"hey." he pokes your left cheek, once, twice— "hey," and his comforting, warm voice ever so softly slips past your ears.

"i'll be okay, besides, i will take it as an insult if you think that is enough to end me."

and judging by the hitch of your breath, scaramouche felt a rambling burn deep inside, at nothing but that distraught look on your person. He opens his eyes wide, steady as glass, before sloping his head towards you, a faint, transient smile lightening his bruised face when you lean in to kiss his lips, tenderly, but compelling enough to lift the worry off your shoulders.

— diluc

patience— and the adequate plenitude of pressure were the very two notions you had channeled tonight, with your trembling hands slowly dapping the blood off diluc‘s injuries.

you truly cannot remember the last time he had shown any signs of recklessness in his usual behavior when it came to fending of intruders, so whatever must‘ve happened today had to be of graven importance or a powerful enemy catching him off guard.

"thank you." he suddenly speaks, but averts his eyes, and although his voice was raspy and chill, diluc managed to quickly snap you out of your stinging thoughts. you move to his face, tilting his chin up to catch an ideal view on the main bruises around his left cheek, allowing you to tackle those as well, "for doing this i mean."

at his words, you stop your hand, smiling serenely, almost angelic.

"you don't have to thank me for this."

"—but, do you want to tell me about what happened?"

diluc's face twitches when you retorted back to brush a splotch of dried blood from his jaw— you noticed how his lip was busted open, this thought again, of someone hurting the love of your life, it compared to sharp needles jabbing at your skin, over and over until drilled in its entirety.

but he didn't, diluc would never tell you about anything dangerous, not even when he showed up to your home, looking like that. "i rather not." there it was, that brave smile he'd manage to put on whenever he found himself in a situation like that, regardless, worry gnawed away at you, your gaze piercing through him like a freezing blast of ice.

"yet worry not." all of his attention was on you as he slants close to take your cheeks in his roughened palms, feeling them shake against your skin awakened a murky, dull feeling where you wanted to just cry in his arms, "i'd never let someone hurt you."

sigh, deep down, you wonder if diluc will ever comprehend that seeing him like that was already hurting you, was already pulling the hot air off your seized throat and clenching your heart with dread, feeling as if you could not breathe.

instead, you smile kindly at him, foreheads resting against each other, overcome by a dark sense of silence.

— childe

"hah! you should see the other guy!"

excessive boasting upon boasting, your sweet childe was out here acting like he had just experienced the best day in his entire life— a certain smile, brighter than ever witnessed before, if it wasn‘t for his black eye and bloody nose breaking the illusion he attempted to portray.

however, in contrast, childe found it exceedingly cute and appealing whenever you were severely worried and concerned about him— as is someone was ever able to greatly harm nor scratch the overenthusiastic harbinger. "you really shouldn‘t be this reckless sometimes."

you sigh deeply, then shake your head, mending the bigger wounds with a wet cloth first so they were clean and ready to be wrapped up.

but, important side note, you being brightly concerned for him made his heart flutter unexpectedly and childe suddenly expels a large wave of pride, "but you love it when i'm reckless."

"i do not."

"you don't?!" his smirk fades.

"i want you to be save." you kiss the corner of his mouth, and a vast deal of weariness sweeps over you, claiming your energy with it when you remember that this wasn't possible.

ajax was a harbinger after all.

his voice, now thick of seriousness, greets you closely, "don't worry about me." he speaks so idly, listlessly and without a care in the world, as if he doesn't care about his own wellbeing. and it left a bitterness littering on the tip of your tongue.

"because as long as you have everything in your life, i too will be fulfilled." with that, childe kisses you, all around passionate, needful and telling. on the assumption that he longed to show you his determination to protect you in a different way than solely using his own choice of words.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[weirdplutoprince]

Trauma in Solo leveling

Always haunted by what could have been of Solo Leveling if the narrative acknowledged the inherent trauma vision that guides most of Jin-Woo's actions through the series instead of glorifying him for that.

Like, it is pretty clear to me from the start that a lot of his obsession with self reliance and his increasingly cynical views of the world ("The weak are destined to be betrayed") are a direct response to the double dungeon incident, and in more ways than we initially realize.

I think it's particularly obvious in the way he is paralled with Lee Joohee; while they're both shown to be traumatized from their encounter, Joohee is supposedly 'worse off' than him. She has noticeable flashbacks to that episode and withdraws from life and work in an attempt to avoid possible triggers - becoming paralysed when she fails to do so. And because, while also afraid, Jin-Woo is instead making a point to return to dungeons we are very clearly meant to think that he is moving on when she is not. ...Except that he isn't.

Because, you see, along with withdrawing, the reenactment of a traumatic event is also a very common response to trauma. And so is the risky behaviour that might come with it. And what does Jin-Woo does as soon as he's able to leave the hospital again? Immediately throw himself into dungeons, alone, with a clear disregard for personal safety and an extreme need to both prove himself and give meaning to his near death experience before.

Not only does he goes right back into the very same place his trauma took place, but he seems to subconsciously be trying to recreate said event in a way that gives him control of the situation. This time, he wasn't abandoned to die alone in a dungeon: he did it himself, willingly. He placed himself in that position. And later on, when he risks himself with shady parties he expects to betray him, he seems almost content; once again putting himself in risk by creating a scenario where he is 'abandoned' and 'betrayed' but where he can come off on top. He is desperate to both have his belief confirmed that someone perceived as a weak hunter like he is will always be betrayed, always be left behind, and to fight that supposed fate. To prove that he has 'fixed' this aspect of himself and will thus not fall victim to that consequences of that abandoment again. In fact, he is so detatched from the current scene that he deliberately ignores the fact Yoo Jinho challenges those believes by protecting Jin-Woo, whom he believes to be an E rank at that point.

And were this any other story, all his development from then on would prove the faults of this mindset. The dangers of self reliance, of cutting yourself off from any support network, from depriving himself of any sort of meaningful trust or vulnerability with others. But instead, we're meant to respect the fact he is increasingly isolated from everyone else. That he becomes cold, emotionally withdrawn and paranoid (his refusal to join any of the existing guilds always felt to me like his need for control taken to extreme, plus the fact he could not deal with how exposed he felt working with others again). And I think that's really sad.

It would have been really interesting to have a story that is willing to challenge the notion that he is better off alone, and that trust in others is ultimately unecessary. And that would acknowledged the strength necessary to allow himself to trust and be vulnerable after everything - and the importance of surrounding himself with people he loves and knows will protect him too. Sad 😔

[laseracronym]

Yandere Aizawa?? Love to see a stoic feral man, and you always write him so well 🙌

Aw, thank you :) He's such a great character and fun to write for, I'm glad you think I write him well. ^u^

Yandere Aizawa has me just as feral as he would be lmao. I cooked up some headcanons for him and there will be some NSFW in a designated section at the end. Enjoy ;)

Content: Yandere, stalking, kidnapping, dubcon.

Yandere!Aizawa Headcanons

This one's impossible to escape. If he's set on not letting you go, then that's it, that's your life from now on.

Aizawa's the type of yandere that you might not even know who he is until he's caught you. You could be a stranger in the street that's caught his eye and he'll spend months observing you, covertly trailing you from a distance. He'll put all that experience as an underground hero into his obsession with you, stalking you, digging into your past, building up a shrine to you within his mind of who you are. You'll never see him coming.

He views you as helpless and weak (regardless of whether or not that's true). Aizawa is a man that's scared of losing those he cares about, and what drives him as a yandere is just how fragile you are, at how easily you could be hurt, or worse. He's aware that his obsession with you is unhealthy, but he keeps finding ways to justify his mindset. Who knows what could happen to you out in that dangerous world? You would be so much better off with someone like him to protect you. You would be so much better off if he just...kept you all to himself.

Up close, he’s actually quite stiff and awkward with you, so overwhelmed with his feelings for you that he reverts to a more stern, perhaps intimidating, demeanor. This isn’t a yandere that can charm his way naturally into your life, but that’s not to say he isn’t capable of manipulation. Once he has you in his clutches, he’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep you there. He’s not above blackmailing you to keep you in line. For example, say you’re a vigilante or a villain, he has no problem suggesting a harsh prison sentence awaits you should you try to escape. “Logical ruses” and all that.

While he won’t ever hurt you or even threaten violence to keep you in line, Aizawa will restrain you if he deems it necessary. He doesn’t have a problem with being seen as the “bad guy” if it means keeping you safe. Expect locked doors at every turn, being chained to the bed by your ankle or even more restrictively should you prove to be unruly enough. He’ll even hold you down himself if it means getting the point across. You’re not going anywhere.

It does ultimately end in captivity with him. His attempts at justification only go so far until Aizawa decides he doesn’t care, he’s going to commit to keeping you anyway. Even if it goes against everything he stands for, even if it makes him a villain in every sense of the word, it’ll keep you safe, and that’s what matters to him.

He does try to be a good captor (if something like that is even possible). His actions towards you are out of care and not meant to be a punishment. He tries to keep you happy and entertained, providing you with whatever you ask for, so long as it’s not your freedom. If he thinks he can trust you, he might even take you for (very limited) outings. The life he offers you is one of a well-cherished pet, which could be its own kind of hell when all is said and done.

NSFW

His decision to keep you is far from pure. Yes, his desire to keep you safe is the main driving force, but it’s not the only desire he feels for you. No one’s ever caught his attention quite like you have. Before he found you, his life was consumed by his work as a hero and a teacher. He sometimes spared time for his few close friends, but rarely for romance or sex. Then you came along and he finds himself fantasizing, hungering, for the first time in ages.

He has to admit, once he has you in his clutches, he’s glad to have you away from the eyes of others, that he’s the only one that has access to you now. There’s no doubt in him now that he’s a bad man, a good man wouldn’t do what he’s done to you, but how bad of a man is he? He has you protected and safe from the rest of the world, but are you safe from him?

Aizawa can’t help but get closer, indulge himself a little. He gets in your personal space, even if it makes you nervous, just to feel your body heat. He pats your head, squeezes your waist as he walks by, rests a hand on your knee, trying to get you used to his touch. He has enough decency left to not take too much, to not simply force his way past that final line. He hopes you’ll one day ask for more from him, banking on the fact that he’s the only company you have now, and everyone has needs, don’t they?

But give an inch, and he’ll take a mile. If you, in your isolation and loneliness, seek intimacy with him, you’ll never be rid of him. He’ll make a home for himself between your thighs, content to pleasure you for hours, your thoughts turning to mush as he unravels you on his tongue over and over. Yes, he takes great enjoyment in satisfying you, but it’s also a way to ease his own guilt. When you’re calling his name so sweetly, you must not completely hate him, right? Your captivity can’t be so bad for you if you’re clinging to him, your pussy gripping his cock so greedily. You must see something positive in this, in him.

From then on, Aizawa sees sex as a means of placation, of apology, of distraction, a way to keep you content amidst the suffocation of your life with him. He’s always been a man of action rather than words, after all. He’s never been able to talk you into accepting your circumstances, but maybe his body can convince you.

(Requests)

[tcoaal]

What's your take on the thought Andrew and Ashley were born sociopaths and doomed from the beginning?

is this a take people actually have??? anyways: ableist as fuck lmao

i am of the very strong opinion Ashley is absolutely neurodivergent with both autism and ASPD. admittingly the former is something i have a tendency to do and i won't necessarily die on the hill: something that really fascinated me in scenes in Chapter 3A is how Ashley just sincerely does not seem to understand social norms that should be obvious to anyone else. various scenes in her childhood, and especially with the campers while obviously not in the same level kinda resonated with experiences with not understanding social norms me and my brother struggled with growing up.

but also i admittingly hc and project this a lot on socially awkward characters so take that part with a grain of salt and it's not really a hill i'm willing to go die on or debate especially when i think ASPD and BPD are bigger issues with her. i highly doubt any of these terms will actually come up in the game and it will remain a headcanon, but the idea that anyone can be "born" evil and a sociopath or whatever is nonsense lmao. this is a fictional game so if we learn time travel black magic whatever influenced Andrew's and Ashley's births somehow (like the twins in Clock Tower) i really reject that.

the Graves siblings are fucked up and dysfunctional because they were born into an abusive household with absolutely nobody to rely on except eachother: something both parents encouraged and forced on them. while i do think both being neurodivergent had a part in it, it's pretty clear in the game, in the promotional images even that the root of their issues is a fucked up co-dependency forever sealed in stone by a super fucked up incident (and it was an accident, they did not intend to kill Nina, this is important and a lot of people overlook this wasn't an intentional murder carried out by psychopaths) and the oath taken between two children and the refusal of the parents to care or do anything about it.

if the Graves were a genuinely loving, happy family: Ashley's and Andrew's mental health situations would be better off. even if they are neurodivergent and mentally ill they would have access to proper support, medication, therapy, and perhaps most importantly the comfort of a parent's love more instead of a fucked up relationship between a brothermotherhusband and a sisterwife. i think Ashley would be struggling a lot worse, but they'd be better.

i think the fact that in 3A we see Leyley literally react in flashbacks actively disturbed that she could just so casually admit to something so terrible. Leyley was actively disturbed and distressed about the fact she could so casually admit to killing someone and not care about it. she tries to confide in Andy but he falls asleep and that to me, more than anything, is the moment that sets everything about the woman she would become into stone. i genuinely think if Renee or even Andy (even though that was not his responsibility) made a genuine attempt to reach out in that moment and improve things (although if it was only the other Actual Child trying to help it probably wouldn't have been enough)

everything in TCOAAL is pretty explicit the root of the sibling's problems is based in a toxic codependence, not that they were evil from birth or some shit like that. i can handwave it if magic or prophecy is involved but if not i fucking hate this take in all media so much it's unreal

EDIT: i'd like to get more of my points clarified, actually

Nemlei's own view of the game is very clear she approaches this from a place of the effect of abuse of the environment has on a child. things like Ashley being autistic and aspd are headcanons of mine: but Nemlei herself would disagree with me saying that's how i should view it and that be the end-all. she is explicit this is a case of cause and effect of in-universe events, not any result of being born a certain way. this is a critical component of Nemlei's writing, given the lore of how the color of one's soul works and how one views themself. this is one of the most critical core components of the lore.

Ashley and Andrew weren't born fucked up. they were fucked up because of the environment that nurtured them. i will die on this hill, and it is the hill that Nemlei seems to view for her fiction. this is like, one of the more important takes to the themes of the story. i'm usually someone that views word of god as secondary to what is presented in the text, but this is a really important piece of information in this story.

Nemlei's narrative isn't about the idea the two were born evil or anything, it's that the awful people they became was shaped by the environment around them. i think that's important.

[1-800-local-slut]

Hey 👋 . Hope u doing well . I got a bit of a long request that I think you will like . Imagine this with me cause the idea just came to my head as I was reading ur powerpuff girl!reader . So danny phantom inspired reader , she obviously with mark grayson but I wanna focus on a specific danny phantom episode. So like it's an average day saving lives with our man invincible and this random girl who looks exactly like reader comes needing their help . They discover that ciecil has been trying to make a clones of dp!reader incase she go's rouge and dp!reader and mark are angry as heck at this information. Now I got some many ideas on how rest of this continues but I really want the rest of ur perspective on this since you be cooking better than me .

Danny Fenton was my cartoon crush growing up, thank you for this love. Anyways, I loooove the way you think. I think I know the episode you're talking about (I'm sorry if it's the wrong one) BUT I raise you this: the reader was raised by the GDA, closely by Cecil and she never thought he would do something like this to her? Oh my heart hurts just thinking about it (I'm smiling hard asf while writing this)

Mark Grayson x Black! Ghost-powered! Reader!

Warnings: angst, rage really, Cecil sucks here guys, reader has daddy issue

Note: the main character has powers like Danny Phantom, was raised in a lab, this is written from the point of view of you and Mark so all of Cecil's actions are seen as evil even if they've been explained. We know he wasn't trying to kill Mark but to you and Mark it looks differently

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

It was always awkward to sit down and have dinner with the parents. Like when you meet your friends' parents before going upstairs to hangout and they clearly don't like you at all but begrudgingly let you and your friend leave the table. It's ten times worse when it's your girlfriends' parents.

It's 20x worse when it's your ex-boss. Like when your girlfriend was a government experiment who can transform into a ghost at will that was raised by the GDA and raised closely by Cecil, who made a clone of your girlfriend in case she turned evil that attacked your girlfriend before getting beat the fuck up? No? No one else relates? Just Mark? Well okay, he has had an original experience.

It was awkward.

The Chinese restaurant was loud, with people mingling around. Mark was trying to contain himself, just as much as you were. You were shaking from rage beside him, the forks on the table trembled beside you and your eyes were now a vibrant green.

Mark kept his grip on your hand to keep you from attacking Cecil in this restaurant. You glared at Cecil, refusing to speak a single word. Cecil stared back at you looking infuriatingly tranquil.

The three of you sat in uncomfortable silence.

Not for much longer though. Cecil cleared his throat, opening one side of his scarred face and began some sentence you did not care to hear.

"Well-."

"I did not ask."

Then back to silence.

Mark had his outs with Cecil. He doesn't take kindly to a chip being implanted in his brain, and normally he'd just try to leave. He'd get up, taking you with him. But Mark knows you. He knew there was no way in hell he was getting you out of this restaurant quietly. Maybe verbally silent but you would probably throw the fish tank at his head on your way out. The moment Cecil crashed your date he gave up.

You were either going to sit silently until the check came, or you were going to curse Cecil clean out again before leaving. Luckily for everyone else in the restaurant it seemed like you were choosing to sit silently. Luckily for Cecil he wasn't going to have to hear your scathing insults again

Unfortunately for Cecil, Mark really wanted to go home instead of sitting there looking at Cecil's face. The day was long enough. You two already had dinner planned, now he just wanted to go. Take his beautiful girlfriend and fly home. Maybe stop at Mcdonald's on the way home to get you an apple pie so you could feel better. So, Cecil's wicked self was going to have to get cursed out once more if the conversation went left. Which it was going to. Because Cecil can never say the right thing.

"What she means to say is: why are you here, crashing our date after you ruined the bond we had?" Mark opened the door for the conversation to begin.

Truthfully, he was tired of Cecil, he needed to get the circus out of the way. Your teeth were loudly grinding together, as you tried to hold it together and you yanked your hand from Mark's grasp. From the corner of his eye, he saw your shaky hands grasping the edge of your dress and pulling at it. The dress yanking was almost representative of the last shreds of your self-control being torn apart

"Well. I just wanted to have a conversation. You two know what I've done. I'm not proud of it but it needed to be done." Cecil began, straightening his tie. His blue eyes avoided your glowing green ones.

"Okay. And you are here at our dinner table because...?"

With an eye roll and a self-righteous sigh, Cecil leaned back in his seat.

"Because you two wouldn't take my calls. I had to find her somehow."

Then there was a loud slam. You were standing up, arms shaking and nails scratching into the table. Other tables went silent and even the wait staff stopped moving.

"You lame bitch!"

Well, there we go.

"You funky, fake, low down, lying bitch!" You continued, cold air slipping into the restaurant. Your curls began to turn white from the bottom of your defined curls as your arms shook. The lighting flickered momentarily. A father ushered his wife and children quickly out of the restaurant while others waived down their waiters for the check.

" 'Oh! She's not taking my calls, poor me! I'm so sad, and old and nobody likes me! It's not like I'm a lying fuck who uses teenagers like pawns, I've done nothing wrong! I only stole her DNA after buying her from her birth parents and raising her in a lab as if she was my daughter then cloned her against her knowledge then trained that clone to try and kill her if anything went wrong! Poor me, poor Cecil!' You whiny bitch, how dare you?!" The mocking tone mimicked a baby crying on the steps, as you dramatically waved your hands around to make fun of Cecil.

Mark would've laughed if the restaurant wasn't quickly emptying. He was starting to think he should've just kept quiet. Green flames roared from the kitchen; chefs screamed in terror and objects all around began to float and fly about hazardously.

"You need to calm down. I came to try to talk to you," Cecil ducked as he nearly dodged a tea pot flying at his head.

"Not end up on the ten 'o clock news. You know I care about you. It doesn't have to be this way." He continued, his voice cracked. A sliver of emotion escaped.

A dry chuckle was his response as you rolled your eyes.

"Cut me a fucking break Cecil. I already told you that I don't like you! You care about me cool; I don't care about you. You lost that chance when you cloned me and then let that clone escape and try to kill me. Which failed by the way, kind of like your first and only marriage."

You sat back down next to Mark, throwing your phone and other things back into your purse. You clearly did not care to argue with Cecil. You said your piece and Mark could see you slowly coming to a brutal realization. No matter how much you cussed Cecil out you weren't going to feel better.

Because Cecil hurt you. He hurt you bad. There was a hole in your heart, where the bond you had with the man who raised you was gone. And nothing was going to heal that but time and space which Cecil did not want to give you.

A plate smashed on the ground as your nail got stuck on the lining of your purse and you pulled in frustration. Cecil let out a sigh as Mark slipped his phone and wallet into his pocket. The best thing to do to avoid a damages bill in addition to the cheque was leave.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you. It was just a precaution. Would you just give me a chance to explain?"

For a moment you stopped. there was a flicker of the girl Mark meant almost two years ago. The girl that loved her dad. She didn't doubt him; she tried to rationalize almost everything. It was her dad. He was a good guy; he did things to keep people safe. She loved him and he was supposed to love her. Just for a moment the green eyes returned to brown but quickly went back to a glowing green. Just at the idea of finally having peace of mind.

Everything in the restaurant clattered to the ground, and the remaining bystanders quickly fled the cold room. The kitchen staff sprinted for safety and made it out the door and the sound of police sirens approached rapidly. Ironically Mark's second phone started to ring.

You dubbed it the 'Invinciphone', and it was probably ringing to report a superpowered disturbance. Your other phone began to buzz inside of your purse. The disturbances being called to handle the disturbance, how poetic. Mark would've laughed if he had time too, now he had to plot your escape.

Cecil rubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose. He was no doubt stressed, pissing off the people who he really needed as his allies and probably experimenting on puppies or some shit.

"Listen. I can get this called off. You two don't get arrested or end up with warrants out for destruction of public property." He placed his phone on the table. One phone call. But you don't need to hear out shit. Not from Cecil. Mark will take jail time over watching you destroy yourself from this conversation. Guilt seemed to possess his body, if only he just sat there and engaged in the staring contest.

"The call is on you guys. But maybe make the choice before we get tear gassed. I just want you to hear me out."

The choice was ultimately yours. Because Mark already choked the fuck out of Cecil for trying to kill him, and he choked him again that day you ended up unconscious in the hospital after fighting yourself. He had nothing else to say to the man. The choice, just like the pain you felt from Cecil's evil ass, was yours.

The gears clicked in your head slowly. Your hair went back to its original color, your eyes now their natural deep brown. No more floating items and flames erupting from the kitchen. Sadness took over your face, hanging heavy on your features like chains pulling you down.

Hands folded in your lap; you stayed silent for one minute. Then two. Your eyes trained on the phone on the table while you thought. The next emotion on your face was disappointment.

"...You set this up. You came here, you knew I would get angry. You know I can't control my powers when I get this upset. You knew how bad you hurt me then you used that to get me angry. All you had to do was wait for the police to get called. So, you could give me an ultimatum and force me to stay. Because you would let the police arrest me. If I escaped, you would let the military hunt Mark and I down.

You knew I'd be held in a prison where people with superpowers are treated inhumanely. Because you set up those systems for us to be abused in prison. And you did all this, using the pain you caused me. So, I would listen to you say a bunch of bullshit I don't care to hear."

Cecil shifted in his seat, his fingers itched on the table, and he glanced away from you. The three of you sat in a sobering silence. But things were different. As the room returned to normal temperature, Mark felt his rage heating up.

He'd been used by Cecil, and while it hurt, he didn't take it so personally. How could he? He had his own father. While that guy was a lying asshole, he was a good father. He had 17 years with his dad who was his actual dad. He didn't have to learn to trust his father only to have it broken. His entire life, up until the end, his dad loved and cared for him. Cecil wasn't his dad.

And he wasn't supposed to be yours either. He knew you were an experiment. But Cecil knows what Cecil is. So why would he even allow himself to get close to you. How could he allow himself that act of selfishness and then punish you for its years later? Then to take it further to use the love he gave you as a weapon.

Before he could speak, a chill ran across Mark. Your hand was raised in front of him in order to stop him. You needed him to just bear witness. And you're his girl, so in this situation Mark would do whatever would make you feel better.

"Call them off Cecil. Say your piece. Then we're leaving."

Cecil stood up, stepping away from the table leaving you two behind for a moment.

"...What do you wanna do?" Mark whispered, hands finding yours. He brushed a piece of your hair out of your face. His eyes found yours and a ghost of tears in your eyes.

"I just need to let him hear himself talk. If you need to leave, you can. I can get him to leave us alone, but I have to let him think I'm hearing him out."

You must not know him. No way was Mark about to disappear and leave you with this evil fuck. His forehead pressed against yours. You were tangible. Couldn't just fall through you, you weren't a ghost right now. Like most times you were tangible. The only issue was that Cecil didn't see you that way. He saw you as a weapon he couldn't fully control, the ghost girl who he could control through the human half.

"Fuck this guy, let's just leave! The police can't stop us." Mark whispered while you closed your eyes. You were giving up. Giving up on fighting, giving up on trying to stick it to Cecil. All you could do right now was play his stupid game.

"Don't let him hear you say that. He'll get the reanimen on you." You teased through the cracking of your voice and bubbling of your pain.

Cecil came back, clearing his throat before sliding into the seat across from you. You and Mark separated except your hands. He was the grounding force keeping you human here. You were his grounding force from jumping across the table and choking Cecil out AGAIN.

Instead, he sat in silence again.

"You made us stay here and did all this only to say nothing?"

"Mark."

"I can't stand this guy. Sorry."

But Cecil ignored Mark's loud disdain. He loosened his tie completely then exhaled as if he was fighting himself.

"It wasn't my intention to hurt you. You know I care about you. I raised you. But I have to look out for the people. It's my job, you know that. Yes, you were my little girl. I still care about you. I still see you as my little girl. I cloned you, because I had to be ready for the worse. Your powers are unstable. You can't control them. Tonight made that clear.

It doesn't have to be hostile between us, is what I'm trying to say. I made a mistake but I still...I care a lot about you."

The red and blue lights outside dissipated, then the crowds of people slowly melted away. You sucked in a deep breath and squeezed Mark's hand for courage.

"Okay. I don't care about you anymore. I can't. I did, and you used that and almost cost me my life by making a clone of me that was programmed to kill me if I went bad. So, I really cannot care about you anymore. I have too much pride and dignity as a young woman to let myself be disrespected by someone who has no understanding of boundaries.

It is your job, yes. Your job has consequences. One of those consequences is that you no longer have access to me. I will not come to Christmas. I will not come to dinners on Sunday. I will not invite you to any sort of milestone in my life. You have your job to do, now I hate you and your job.

I have never given you any sort of impression that I am evil. You clearly saw something in me. You made me this way. I am an experiment. I was genetically modified in a lab, you know that. I don't even know my actual birthday. My 'birthday' is the day my powers were deemed a success. My entire life was engineered by you and I refuse to have any further part of it. You made me and then punished me.

You made me, then turned on what you created, before creating something that's sole purpose was to kill me. For no reason other than you could no longer control me and you because you saw me as an object to control rather than the child you raised and said you loved."

Cecil nodded, gnawing on the inside of his cheek and looking down. Mark felt the sweat from your palms, your skin cold and clammy.

"You made the issue worse, by following us here and then antagonizing me. You showed me that when things don't go your way you will attempt to manipulate me. I can no longer trust that anything you do or say is genuine. You hurt me. You hurt my boyfriend. What we had, that bond we had is gone. You killed it. I need space and time to be able to be around you. Do you understand?"

"I don't want to lose you." For once, Cecil came out with honest emotion. He was clear with his feelings. When it didn't matter anymore, he was honest with you. When it was too late. The bond of father and daughter was long gone, and it started to die the moment he tried to kill your boyfriend.

With a sigh and a shake of your head, cold tears escaped and slipped down your cheeks.

"You already have." The conversation was done with.

Mark stood up, making way for you to get up. You got out of the booth, wiping tears from your face. Mark's arms wrapped around your hips to support you. He could feel the emotional exhaustion radiating off of you. You two went to fly towards the ceiling, instead of going for the door.

"And tell Donald to stop sending me flowers."

Then you were gone, you two went through the ceiling thanks to your powers granting you two the ability to pass through the wall. In the empty Chinese restaurant, all that remained was Cecil. Cecil, and the dead body of that father-daughter bond he killed.