#but this time it exists out in the world and I love that it does!!!

[idotdonut]

"Sore Spot" Pt 4 FINAL PART A Zosan Comic by Donut Guy

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS STUPID COMIC!!!

I cannot tell you how happy I am seeing people laugh at my sleep deprived work thank you for being so patient and waiting for this final part :] I have a lot of things I'm working on art related along with getting ready to move, my 8-4 job, and getting my name legally changed. It's a lot but I'm happy to find time to work on what I love most, gay people. /hj

Happy end of Pride Month to everyone, I know this isn't the best time for my American pals, I promise we can get through whatever the world throws at us! :)

Be hype for my Sanuso comic I'm making that I may or may not turn into a fanfic because ngl making a fully colored comic does not sound appealing right now after this part taking about 2 months to complete.

Along with the comic, I may make two side stories/illustrations of some concepts in Sore Spot that I never went with.

Thank you, Halo, for helping me out with the grammar and spelling mistakes. I know it's still not perfect, but that's what I get for handwriting this entire thing instead of just using text. :] Ily bro ❤️

Also, apologies for the buns quality tumblr, and its 10 images only will be the bane of my existence!

Anyways Ima probs sleep or watch Kpop Demon Hunters, that or go flirt with inanimate objects (👀) for a lil. (Look forward to fanart of Hector)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Here!

[thenanamis]

BUILT TO BREAK YOU!!?

that's what their dicks are ୧⁠(⁠͝⁠°⁠͜⁠ʖ͡⁠°⁠)⁠ᕤ

KENTO NANAMI

Kento’s cock is long and intimidatingly thick, with a beautiful curve upward and a pronounced vein running beneath the shaft. It feels like being slowly impaled, every inch dragging against your walls like he’s carving his name inside you. When he fucks you, he does it with purpose — precise thrusts, hips snapping in at just the right angle to make your legs shake.

The stretch alone leaves you gasping. He loves missionary, folding you in half, holding your wrists down while he watches every twitch of your face as he sinks in deep and slow.

"Breathe, sweetheart. Let me in. There… that’s it. You’re taking me so well."

When he pulls out halfway and slides back in slowly — just to feel how tight you're squeezing him — you start sobbing. And that’s when he smiles.

SATORU GOJO

Satoru has a cocky, pretty dick — decently thick, but long enough to make you arch away when he first pushes in. It always surprises you how much it stretches your walls — and he knows it. His tip kisses your cervix when he slams all the way in, and he groans like it’s a drug.

"Shit, baby—this pussy was made for me, huh?"

He fucks you with his entire body. Loves when you ride him and struggle to take it all, sinking down inch by inch while he watches your face twist.

He’ll guide you with one hand on your hip and the other on your throat, whispering filthy encouragement while his cock drags against your sweet spot.

"Go on. Take all of it. Be a good girl and sit on this dick like you mean it."

And when you finally bottom out, trembling? He thrusts up, hard — just to hear you scream.

SUGURU GETO

Suguru’s cock is thick, heavy, veiny, and shaped like sin itself. It curves slightly to the side, hitting spots you didn’t know existed. His favorite thing in the world is watching you struggle to take it, shaking, fingers curling into the sheets.

He likes to ease it in while holding you tight against his chest. Whispering into your ear how good you’re doing, how tight and warm you feel, how badly he wants to fill you up until you leak.

"Almost there, baby. Just a little more—ah, fuck, you’re gripping me like you never wanna let go."

And when he’s all the way in? He doesn’t move right away. He lets your cunt pulse around him, cock throbbing inside you, soaking in every twitch and sob you give him.

He lives for overstimulation. He wants to make you cum around his cock three times before he even starts chasing his own.

CHOSO KAMO

Choso’s dick is thickest at the base, with a flushed pink tip and a prominent vein running along the top. He’s not the longest — but it doesn’t matter. The stretch is still mind-blowing, and the pressure he hits you with is deep and unrelenting.

He loves slow, grinding thrusts that keep the head of his cock pressed against your g-spot the entire time. He moans a lot — shaky, choked little whimpers as he watches his cock disappear inside your soaked cunt.

"You’re so tight, I-I can’t… fuck… feels like you’re swallowing me."

He cries when you tell him how good he feels. And when you beg him not to stop? He thrusts a little harder, a little deeper, losing control as your pussy sucks him in.

He cums hard, body shaking, and doesn’t stop even when you start sobbing. He just presses his forehead to yours and murmurs, “Again…?”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

Toji is hung like a fucking monster.

Thick. Veiny. Heavy. It drops against your stomach when he lines it up — and your first instinct is to pull away. He’s proud of it, too. He grins when you stare.

"Too much for you, sweetheart?"

He doesn’t ease it in. He doesn’t warn you. He splits you open with one brutal thrust, shoving the full length inside you while you scream and writhe beneath him.

Your walls clamp down. You’re shaking. You’re crying. And he fucking loves it.

"C’mon, take it. You said you could. That mouth of yours was running nonstop—let’s see you talk now."

He doesn’t just fuck you — he uses you. Makes you drool. Makes you beg. Leaves you stretched wide open, thighs quivering, ruined and dripping and still twitching around his cock.

And when he pulls out, it’s with a wet pop and a groan.

"You’ll feel me for a week."

RYOMEN SUKUNA

Ryomen has a beast of a cock — long, thick, with a cruel curve and ridges of veins that drag against your insides like he's punishing you. The tip is flushed deep red, and when he shoves it in, it stings — not from pain, but from how overwhelming it is.

"Too much for you already?"

His voice is sharp. Teasing. Drenched in mockery.

He watches your body convulse around his cock like it’s the only thing keeping you conscious, hips grinding until you're sobbing and gushing all over him.

He fucks you like he owns you. Like he’s claiming territory. Your cervix? His punching bag. Your g-spot? Targeted relentlessly until you’re choking on your own moans.

He makes you say thank you with his cock still inside. Spits in your mouth. Chokes you with your own moans.

And when he cums, it’s deep, hot, overwhelming — and he doesn’t pull out.

"If you’re lucky, I’ll give you more."

[huntressofartemis3]

I am not Trans but this is beautiful and true. Trans people have ALWAYS been here, they were here at the beginning of time long ago. They are here NOW and they need support and understanding because they are humans too! For fucks sakes, they are human and they deserve so much love!! Some people are blind to that beauty and they are missing out on so much. And, this is the important part, they WILL ALWAYS BE HERE!! NO MATTER WHAT LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE WILL WIN AGAINST HATE AND BIGOTRY. So, if you are Trans, I love you. Don't know you but you are beautiful and valid and you deserve the world. If you are an ally like me, just keep learning and listening. And if you're a Terf, well, I'm sorry. You are missing out on a lot. I hope you grow to see that someone else's existence does not hurt your own.

i love AJW's writing bc to me its screaming WE EXIST. WE EXIST EVERYWHERE AND IN EVERY TIME PAST PRESENT AND FUTURE WE EXIST WE ARE HERE HEAR US and it makes me crazy and i feel like ive been cut open and im the one bleeding out

[shimjake]

flowers in december

pairing . jungwon x fem! reader (ft. sunghoon) about . 16.2k+ words, angst, unrequited love + hanahaki synopsis . jungwon doesn't think there's anything scarier than watching his best friend, who he's secretly been in love with his whole life, get married to another. however, as he coughs up blood and tries to ignore the ache in his chest, he starts to believe that maybe, there just might be something worse: death.

warnings . major character death, blood, throwing up, alcohol/drinking, cursing, themes of suicide and death overall, this is a hanahaki au so i cannot stress enough how much grief there is in this, miscommunication, heavy angst, depression, sickness, there's like 1 suggestive line, its barely implied reader is shorter than jungwon but it doesnt matter too much, if you are reading this hoping for a good time there is none ok

playlist . flowers in december by mazzy star, bonfire by wave to earth, no one noticed by the marias, romantic homicide by d4vd, space song by beach house, favorite crime by olivia rodrigo, beaches by beabadoobee

notes . first fic on this account hello!! also this was written for @hoonigiris i hope you enjoy my grad gift to u! (let's ignore how this was supposed to be done by last august.) also thank you to @sungbeam for dealing with me crashing out every single time and for beta-ing, i love u so much. genuinely writing this has ruined me i'm so sorry jungwon for putting you through this much pain but at least i finished the fic yknow 😭

The light that streams in through the blinds is unbearably bright today.

Usually, Jungwon can ignore it. He can reach over to tug the blinds shut or bury his face into his perfectly fluffed pillow. He can pretend he has no other obligations and surrender to the slumber that consumes him once more. At least, until his alarm rings, he can exist in a world of peace where his only soulmate is the quilted pattern of his blanket.

Unfortunately, though, he cannot replicate this sequence of actions today. Mainly because no matter how hard he tries, the ever-so-persistent buzzing of his phone doesn’t seem to quell. 

Jungwon reaches for his bedside dresser unquestioningly, not wanting to open his eyes, which currently feel weighted down by dumbbells. His fingers fumble around the hardwood until they land on something smooth, and he grips his phone with whatever strength he has this early in the morning. With one eye, he peeks at his phone screen to see a flashing call appear on the glowing screen. With a grumble, he picks up.

“Hello?” he whispers. Only then does he register the dryness of his throat, that scratchy, aching feeling he gets after one too many vodka shots at the club. 

“Jungwon, finally!” he hears from the other end. It takes him a little bit to recall your chirpy voice from the other end of the phone. “Do you know how many times I’ve called you? This is–”

“Y/n,” he starts, his eyes scanning the clock hanging across his room. “It’s seven in the morning. I never wake up this early. You never wake up this early.”

Jungwon hears a rustle of sheets next to him, a soft whine echoing out from his sleeping hyung. Jay’s tired eyes blink open, and he throws an arm over his eyes as if the light streaming in personally insulted him.

“Fuck, my head hurts. What time is it?” Jay mumbles.

“Seven.”

Jungwon’s headache makes its presence known on cue, and flashes of last night’s misadventures spring through his memory. He groans, already regretting tagging along with Jay to the bar near his house, the one with Jay’s bartender friend that always gives them half off on drinks. Nights like these are ones he always regrets, never too fond of the aftermath of a raging headache, but sometimes he just needs a little something after a long day of work.

“Are you with Jay?” Jungwon hears on the other end, and he hums softly. “Good, because I have something important to tell you both!”

Your voice is wispy, full of breaths and almost-stutters as if you landed in some sort of unescapable trouble. Jungwon’s heart picks up, worry pounding through him as he puts your call on speaker and climbs out of bed. He fumbles around the room, tugging on a shirt and searching for his keys as he responds.

“What’s wrong? Did you miss your bus again? I can come pick you up–”

“No, Won, nothing’s wrong.” Your breathing staggers on the other end, as if you were controlling every inhale and exhale, and he finds himself not believing your words.

“Are you sure?”

“Jungwon. Listen to me.”

He stops, pausing for a beat, and listens. He listens, just like he always does.

“He proposed, Won. Sunghoon proposed.”

And suddenly, Jungwon feels like he’s suffocating.

He doesn’t register much after that, only Jay expressing a small ‘congrats’ as you both continue talking. His knees buckle, and he’s forced to sit back down on the bed with his shirt half-on and shaking hands. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he hears shuffling across the room and finds his tears staining Jay’s bare torso, pressing into his chest as Jay brings him in for a hug.

Jay doesn’t say anything at first; he just rubs circles into his back with a touch so delicate that it barely registers. When Jungwon cries harder, he breaks, whispering apologies into his ear as if they can do anything to crush the tidal wave of anguish that just swept over Jungwon. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats, over and over again like a mantra, but Jungwon doesn’t understand why. Did he do something wrong? Did you do something wrong? Is loving someone who isn’t him wrong? 

Or is it he that’s wrong, loving you irrevocably despite your heart belonging to another? Loving you and lying to everyone about his true feelings with only a selfish desire to keep you close. Was it so wrong that he just wanted to be with you, even if it was as your best friend and nothing more?

All the memories of you suddenly resurface, handpicked moments where he could’ve confessed at any moment, but instead remained silent. Moments where he watched you chase your happiness, even if that didn’t involve him. A small, gnawing feeling in his chest makes itself known, crawling its way up his intestines and up his throat.

“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers. Jay pulls back, searching his eyes and anticipating any sort of grief-filled reaction that comes Jungwon’s way. “I… I think I’m going to throw up.”

Jay frowns, already reaching for the pink Hello Kitty bucket in the corner of Jungwon’s room, reserved for hangovers, rough nights, and maybe in rare cases like this, heartbreak. Jungwon’s eyes flutter shut as he heaves, and heaves, and heaves, all his yearning leaving through his mouth until nothing remains and he’s pulling the bucket away with a slight cough. 

“Won, you need to rinse your mouth,” Jay starts, patting his back. Jungwon stares into the bucket, his face contorting into something of confusion.

“Won?” he hears again, but this time he rubs his eyes in disbelief, blinking three times before tilting the bucket towards his hyung.

“Look, hyung. Petals.”

White, curled petals, sitting against the baby pink interior of the bucket. A sight so unrealistic that it doesn’t even look real until Jay shakes the bucket and the petals flutter to the bottom. Jungwon can only stare in shock, almost in wonder, until he throws up again.

(He finds out later, after he’s calmed down and the tears on his cheeks have become one with his skin, that Sunghoon proposed to you on that mountain. The one that you and Jungwon discovered first together, back in high school when you ventured off the trail for your senior pictures and stumbled upon the view of a beautiful sunrise studded with pine trees. The mountain that you’d revisit with Jungwon every summer, dragging him, and later Sunghoon, along because it became something of a tradition, sitting at the top of the world with the whole forest spread beneath you.

You would stare at the view. Jungwon would stare at you.)

In retrospect, it’s not like Jungwon didn’t see it coming.

He’d anticipated it for a while now, or at least started expecting it after Sunghoon had pulled him aside during a house party months ago and shyly asked him for his photographer friend’s number, the one who specialized in weddings and surprise proposals. Sunghoon had stared at him so cutely from behind his thick-rimmed glasses that Jungwon had no choice but to ignore the sinking feeling as he forwarded his friend Riki’s phone number, tapping him on the shoulder and wishing him good luck.

(That sinking feeling that he’s always had when he sees you with Sunghoon, as if he doesn’t have a Pinterest album of his ideal wedding that he’s imagined you walking down the aisle in. As if he hasn’t daydreamed about sliding a ring on your finger since he was seventeen, mourning the distance between you two as you headed off to college without him. As if he hasn’t imagined how he’d get down on one knee in the midst of a rainy afternoon and ask to be yours forever.)

It’s just that Jungwon didn’t expect it to be this soon. He thought he’d have more time to bury his reverence for you, to pretend as though you really just were two best friends. He’d wanted to imagine himself cradled in your arms one last time before he lost you for good.

Instead, he has to settle for watching you from a distance. He glances at you one too many times today, admiring the flowy sundress you have on as you sit in the wicker chair next to Sunghoon. It’s like his body knows that you’re slipping from his grasp, because his eyes flicker over to you like it’s second nature, and he has to fight to regain his focus. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you, physically, in a long while. You look different, almost as if you’re glowing, so giddy with every movement that Jungwon feels it radiate off you. Conversely, Jungwon feels as though there’s a storm cloud brewing in his stomach, twisting and turning and flipping over and over again as though he’s sick. The complementary croissant from the restaurant lies untouched on his plate, and he busies himself with his phone, reading through the influx of messages from Jay about what’s supposedly wrong with him and his newfound ability to throw up petals.

“Jungwon,” you start, abruptly enough that he almost drops his phone before his eyes glance back up towards you, “and Jake. Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome? What is this, an announcement?” Sunghoon’s best friend chimes in, stifling a laugh at your formal behavior.

“Sort of, actually,” Sunghoon responds, observing Jungwon’s confused expression. “We, um,” he clears his throat, the pink rising to his cheeks. “We’re getting married. In two months.”

Time seems to hate Jungwon. It trickles down at moments where Jungwon’s impatient, watching the clock tick as he taps his foot in rhythm, and it crashes through like a tsunami when he craves some peace and quiet. Time seems to slide through his fingers like sand from a broken hourglass, escaping through every crack as if it's running away from something. He never seems to have enough of it, either too much or too little, and right now, he wishes that it was more friendly to him because he knows that getting over you will take a lot longer than two months.

(Really, he’s had a lifetime to do this, but he’s deluded himself into thinking that getting over you is measurable. A process he can start once he needs to. It’s not. Getting over you is an immeasurable entity that he will be battling for the rest of his life. It’s not time that’s unfair to him; it’s himself.)

“That’s so… soon,” Jungwon finds himself saying lamely.

“Yeah,” Jake echoes. “Didn’t you guys just get engaged?”

“Sunghoon has a work trip early next year, so we thought it’d be best to tie the knot before he goes off,” you explain. Your ring glints from the soft sunshine as you meet Sunghoon’s gaze, like a cheesy romance scene in a movie Jungwon wishes he’d never seen. “And we’d like you both to be part of the wedding party.”

The swirling in Jungwon’s stomach intensifies.

“Like, I’d be your maid of honor?” Jungwon lets out, drinking a glass of water to calm the weirdness in his chest.

“Or like, a dude of honor,” Jake comments. Jungwon’s too preoccupied waiting for your reaction to notice Sunghoon’s eye roll.

“Yeah, basically.”

He can’t stop his brain from overthinking, trying any way to get out of something he’d regret. Something you’d regret.

“Are you sure about this? I mean, like, what about Wonyoung?” he asks, knowing how close you are with your college roommate. “She probably knows more about this wedding thing than I do. Or what about Ningning–”

“Won,” you interrupt, placing your hand over his. Your touch is delicate, like always, but he finds it scathingly hot today, as if you’ve set him on fire. “You’re my best friend. Why would I want anyone other than you by my side?”

Oh, how he wishes he could be by your side, not just as your best friend, but as your lover. Sometimes he thinks you know this gaping secret he’s hiding, choosing to say innocent little musings about him and you as if they have no effect on his sanity. He feels sick again, that same sickness from when he gripped Jay’s shirt tightly as tears cascaded down his face, and all he had was the overwhelming urge to get it out. He can’t necessarily do that now, though, not when Sunghoon’s stare is piercing into the side of his head, waiting for a response.

No matter how fucked up this all is, how you unknowingly take and take from him until he has nothing left to give, he still prefers this over not knowing you at all. So he agrees, just like he always does.

“You’re right. Okay,” he says numbly, watching your face light up in a grin as you clutch his hand a little tighter, as if his skin hasn’t been burnt off enough. Even though the whole table radiates with joy, infectious from your laughter, he feels like his heart is being ripped to pieces with every smile you throw his way.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom a few minutes later, the urge to vomit becoming unbearable with every word he watches you say. He watches the petals float down into the toilet basin, scoffing as he slumps down on the gray tile and wipes his mouth. His hands are finding Jay’s contact before he can even register it, and he tries his hardest not to cry and make a fool of himself in front of you as the phone rings.

He wishes he could go back to a time when he wasn’t in love with you. When all you were to him was just another friend, when he didn’t feel guilty for staring at you a little too long or wanting you more than he wanted anyone else. He wishes he could go back to that time, even though he knows that it never existed, because all he’s ever known is how to love you. He knows he’s been put on this Earth to love you, and to wish otherwise would mean he’d cease to exist.

“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers when the call goes through. His throat is raw and scratchy again, aching just like his feelings for you.

“It’s called hanahaki disease, Won,” Jay whispers slowly, as if it pains him to say. “It’s rare, but it happens when you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. You’ll keep coughing up petals until eventually you die from it.”

Jungwon laughs bitterly because somehow, death doesn’t seem that bad compared to losing you for a lifetime. In the end, death seems better than this sick and twisted fate of his.

Jungwon has always known that you wanted to get married in a garden.

He knows that it’s been a dream of yours to get married with the river flowing behind you and the dandelions peeking through the blades of grass. Early enough that the morning dew still prickles beneath your feet, but not too early for you to complain about your heavy eye bags from lack of sleep.

Jungwon hates that he knows little details about you like this. He hates that he has the ability to read you faster than he’s read himself, as if you’re a book filled with annotations and dog-eared pages from a life well-lived. If Jungwon were a mere acquaintance, crushing on you from afar, he thinks it would’ve been easier to distance himself emotionally. It would be easier to stop loving you without the weight of the world crashing down on his shoulders.

To his dismay, however, Jungwon is not a random nobody to you. He’s your best friend, your other half, the one who completes your sentences and ties your shoelaces. Jungwon knows you like to think of yourself as a star, a tiny, twinkling star that somehow found its place, but to him, you are the epicenter of every universe. A universe where he handpicked all the stars and galaxies, painted the darkness behind you with a soft brush as if it barely exists in comparison to your glow, because he sees you for all that you are. A universe where he settles for being a small planet that orbits you because he is bound to you by heart and soul, and he won’t be able to escape that, no matter how hard he tries.

Your relationship is so tightly knit that he’s the one helping you pick out flower arrangements today instead of Sunghoon. He adjusts uncomfortably in the too-smooth leather couch in the floral shop, watching your fingers flick through the guidebook and trying not to stare at the ring that has now become a permanent placeholder on your body. He subconsciously makes note of the flower arrangements that you linger on for too long, knowing that you won’t remember them until you retrace your line of thought.

(It’s okay, though. He’s always been there to remember things for you. Like the time you forgot your notecards for your sociology presentation, and he printed out spare just in case. Or when you forgot to ask for mango sago in your drink, so he pulled the cashier aside after to let her know. Even if you’re not aware of how much he does for you, he’ll still continue to do it just to see that glow on your face. That same glow that spreads slowly, the one that barely appears, but the one he still notices because he loves you.)

“They’re all pretty,” you murmur, flipping back and forth through a couple of different arrangements. “What about the petunias?”

Jungwon eyes the multicolored flowers in the photo, his brows arching skeptically. “You didn’t want flashy colors, though,” he reminds you gently, taking the book from your hands.

You sigh, slumping against the couch as if you’re over this whole ordeal, even though it’s only been thirty minutes. Jungwon flips to the next page, ignoring your disinterested gaze because even though your eyes glaze over, he knows how important this is to you, and therefore how important it is to him, too.

He scans the pages until his fingers pause, pressing indents into an arrangement with white colored flowers and pretty green springs. His heart rate spikes as his mind races with every intention to turn the next page, to forget about the same flowers that continue to plague him, but you’ve already noticed his silence and leaned in curiously to examine the page.

“Those are pretty, aren’t they?” you echo, your fingers tracing over the white crysanthemums. Even in the picture, they look delicate, as if one harsh gust could blow away the petals, and all Jungwon can think about is how much they remind him of you.

(They’re the same white flowers he wanted to ask you out with. He’d preordered the bouquet weeks in advance, waiting until the cherry blossoms bloomed to plan the perfect date. The collared shirt he picked out matched how pure the flowers looked in his hands, and he purposefully waited to get his hair cut because he knew you liked to run your fingers through the silky length. 

The date never happened, though, because you told him about your crush on Park Sunghoon three days later. The cute barista who always drew hearts on your coffees and added extra boba to your tea. Jungwon smiled back at you as if every word didn’t pierce through his chest, and the bouquet stayed in his dorm, shriveling up until the color became unrecognizable.)

“They are pretty,” he whispers. “Are you sure, though? White flowers tend to wilt faster.”

“They’ll only be for the centerpieces, Won. Besides, the color is versatile enough to go with everything, so it’ll be easy to make a theme around it.”

He wants to tell you that he won’t be able to bear seeing you walk down the aisle with white crysanthemums, a pointed reminder of what could’ve been if you had reciprocated even an ounce of his feelings. He wants to tell you that he’ll die because of this very flower, that the petals he throws up because you don’t feel the same way are the same ones you want to center your entire wedding around.

He wants to tell you that white chrysanthemums mean death, not for you, but for him.

He can’t say any of that, though. Not when you speak so happily to the cashier, discussing logistics and deciding this is the one you want. He can never say no to you, because denying your happiness is like denying his whole existence, even if it causes every part of him to wither away until all that remains is a singular white petal.

The wind whips through Jungwon’s hair as he peeks his head out of the car window, but even that is not enough to stop the ever-so tumultuous feeling in his stomach.

His disease is getting worse. Initially, he’d only throw up after being close to you for prolonged periods of time, or when you sat a little too close for comfort, a little too close to even function. The petals were annoying, and it felt hard to breathe at times, but it was bearable enough that he could deal with it. He could pretend everything was fine when you stared him in the eyes or when your voice fluttered through his ears.

It’s harder now, though, because even the mere thought of you is enough for him to find solace in the Hello Kitty bucket again. There are more petals, too, stained with blood at the tips as if they really are a part of his body and not some figment of his imagination. He chokes on his words more often, always accompanied by a cough and wheezing. He’s gotten paler, enough that he has to apply copious amounts of foundation to resemble his usual self, and his lips are chapped from the number of times he’s had to throw up in the past month.

Jay has moved into his apartment indefinitely, treating him like a sick patient because, well, that’s what he is. There’s no cure, no medicine that can make him feel better, and he has to suffer with this terminal illness until he either dies or kills himself at your altar. Jungwon just hopes he dies after your wedding, while you’re blissfully aware on your honeymoon with Sunghoon. He hopes that when he dies, your last memories of him consist of nothing but happiness.

The Hello Kitty bucket joins him on the way to the cake shop, becoming a permanent fixture in his hands as Jay drives in the seat next to him. Jay’s fingers grip his thigh every time Jungwon coughs, but he manages to make it to the store in one piece.

At least, until he sees Sunghoon’s car parked outside, and all that he has tried to hold back spills out (all the secrets he has buried, one flower at a time).

“It’s okay,” Jay says, wiping the blood from the corner of Jungwon’s mouth, “I’ll be here. I’ll come up with dumb excuses when you need a break.”

The soft aromatics of the bakery waft through Jungwon’s senses as he steps out, and he just prays that he’ll be able to hold on for long enough today in your presence. He wonders how he’s supposed to survive your actual wedding if he can barely even make it through cake testing today, but he knows he’ll have to figure out a way without making you suspicious of what’s going on.

As much as he hates that Sunghoon loves you, it’s hard not to see why. You’re incredibly perceptive, even having noticed the lack of color in Jungwon’s skin despite his best efforts to try and hide it. You’ve seen how much he’s been coughing recently, even calling him more often to check in on him. You make him chicken noodle soup when he feels notably worse, and even if he doesn’t have the heart to see you, you deliver little gift baskets to his door with medicine. If anything, the question is, how could someone not love you?

The doorbell jingles when you walk in, and your eyes immediately light up when Jungwon walks in. Already, you’re skipping over to him and shoving some flavor of cake in his mouth. Knowing you, you’re probably on some sugar rush from all the sweetness, but if anything, it just makes you seem even more adorable in his eyes.

“Red velvet,” he says through bites and shaking his head, “It’s good, but it’s a hit or miss for a wedding cake.”

“Back to the drawing board,” Sunghoon sighs behind you, picking up another slice of cake and sliding it over to Jungwon. He shovels it into his mouth, already grimacing at the sour lemon taste and glancing over to see your reaction.

“God, I hate this,” you say, and Jungwon hands you the water glass before you can even reach for it. You thank him before taking a big swig, finishing the water in the cup, and you step aside to refill it with Sunghoon in tow.

“Can you be any more obvious?” Jay whispers from his side, and Jungwon quirks an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, man. You look at her with googly eyes. You have to be a little more subtle with these kinds of things before Sunghoon catches on.”

“Yeah, but,” Jungwon sighs, running his hands through his hair, “that’s how we’ve always been.”

“You have to understand that it can’t be like that anymore.” Jay rests his palm on Jungwon’s shoulder, gripping it to emphasize his words. “They’re getting married. You can’t take care of her forever because that’s Sunghoon’s job, not yours.”

Jungwon already feels it crawling up his throat before Jay can finish, and his feet fly towards the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he empties his stomach. Jungwon watches in horror as the once white petals are now blood-stained to the core, soaked in deep red as they make their way down the drain. One look in the mirror shows the blood coating his lips, and he tries his best to wipe off the residue so he doesn’t leave the bathroom looking like a vampire.

Loving you is destroying him, he admits to himself with a bitter laugh. He’s living in this sick, twisted version of fate where he’s punished for wanting what his heart desires. 

(When in reality, loving you has always been a form of punishment for him. Watching you at your college graduation as Sunghoon pulls you in closer with your purple graduation stole, leaving featherlight kisses on your cheeks as if you two were the only ones to exist in this world. Knowing that, as he recorded you throwing your graduation cap high in the air, he’d never be enough for you. The sleepless nights when he’s agonized over you, haunted by being in your shadow because he’s simply not worth it, have already burned his soul to ashes. His heart is already a decayed, shriveled version of what could’ve been; he’s just too late to realize it.)

Jay is waiting for him by the door as he steps out. One look at his face, and Jay can already tell how much worse his condition has become, but he chooses not to comment on it as they walk back into the room.

“Are you okay?” you ask, scanning his face in worry as he walks over to you. “You were in there for a while.”

“Yeah. My stomach was kind of acting up from the lemon flavor.”

“I didn’t like that one either,” Sunghoon responds, eyes trailing over Jungwon before his brows furrow. “Hey, you have something on your lips.”

Jungwon’s thumb runs over the corner, pulling back to reveal a smidge of blood he’d missed in the bathroom. He pales, and Jay tenses up next to him, trying to think of an excuse so you wouldn’t overanalyze things.

“It’s probably from the dark chocolate raspberry, right?”

Jungwon laughs, dry and hollowed out. “Yeah! I had a lot cause it was pretty good.”

“I wanna try,” you say, scanning the tables for the flavor. Your fingers reach for the cup, and Jungwon watches your eyes light up as the fork disappears behind your lips. “This is pretty good,” you say between muffled bites, “not too sweet and not too tart.”

Sunghoon grips your shoulder, and you turn slowly, facing him with wide eyes. Your eyes lock, and he blinks once, twice, a silent exchange passing between you both before he pulls back to disappear behind the cake counter. 

(Jungwon can’t help the bitter taste in his mouth that spreads when he looks at you. Once, that was you and he, sharing secrets between your eyes in a language you both could only understand. Now, he has to watch his form of love being exhibited by another. A love that he’s now a bystander in front of.)

“Thanks for the save,” Jungwon whispers to his hyung when the noise has settled down.

“Don’t mention it.”

Jay passes him a leftover cake slice, and Jungwon shakes his head. The back of his throat burns, and he can’t tell if it’s from throwing up earlier or the raw intensity of his feelings pounding through his chest every time he looks at you. And even though his heart echoes in his ears, he knows you can’t hear it. 

He has always been on mute for you, just static background noise in a world where only you and Sunghoon exist.

Jungwon doesn’t like looking at his reflection in your mirror.

It’s not that he hates how he looks, per se (although he does look like a shell of his former self, vampirish with how pale his skin is and how chapped his lips are). He’s just constantly reminded of how out of place he is in your apartment, all long legs, floppy hair, and that constant nagging feeling that he doesn’t really know you anymore.

He feels a little more disconnected every time he visits. Even though he’s seen it evolve from beige walls and empty floors, even though there are remnants of him everywhere he looks, he’s always felt like an outsider looking in. 

From the stain on your carpet when he spilled beer in a drunken stupor to the cat magnet on your fridge, which he’d bought at an Asian market years ago, physically, he knows you. However, Sunghoon’s things scattered throughout the apartment remind him that, emotionally, you are not the same person you once were. A casual hoodie draped over the bar stool is enough to make his stomach stir.

(These days, he has to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. However, so many ins and so many outs cannot help him hide how left out he feels in your presence. He hates to bear witness to you and Sunghoon sharing glances, as if he is the only one that matters to you. He hates the thought of Sunghoon trailing kisses down your stomach, of whispering breathy words against your thighs like a poem made just for you. He hates knowing that no matter how much Sunghoon loves you, he could love you better.)

Jay was right. Your eyes don’t search for his anymore. They search for Sunghoon’s.

“Stop thinking,” Jay chastises. “I can practically hear your thoughts from here.”

He can’t, though. To him, you’re second nature, a permanent fixture in the back of his mind like an itch that won’t stop bugging him. It’s so irrevocably easy for him to think of you because he searches for you in everything. In every flower bouquet he passes by at the market, in every banana pudding recipe he finds on the internet, in every gray cat he sees running by on the street. Asking him to stop thinking of you would mean losing the very thing that’s been keeping him going.

He hears Jay sigh beside him, turning to place an envelope and a wedding invitation card in his hand.

“Focus on this first. You can think about her when you cry yourself to sleep at night.”

Jungwon nods, slipping the card inside the pocket absentmindedly. His heart is never really there during your wedding preparations, or really anything that has involved you lately, but he hopes you appreciate the effort he puts into trying to show up. It’s hard, especially when he feels the blood swirl in his stomach after seeing your name carved next to Sunghoon’s on the envelope, but he’d rather sacrifice his happiness for yours instead of being apart from you.

He’s gotten better at training himself, though. Focusing on his breathing and counting down from ten seems to do the trick most of the time. However, it comes with a heavy price tag. The blood gets worse when he holds back, and it almost feels like he’s hyperventilating once he does find a chance to empty his stomach. It’s always worse in your presence, too, but good thing you’re not here today, leaving your friends to mail out the invitations as you figure out the decorations.

“Jungwon,” Jake calls out from beside him, “do you think the white stamp or the gold stamp looks better?” He flashes both colors in front of Jungwon’s face, the lights glittering from the clear reflection of the gold one.

“Gold. She’ll like that it’s shiny.”

Subconsciously, his eyes flicker toward Sunghoon, looking at him for approval. He nods, not looking up from the table, and Jungwon’s eyes linger before turning back to his own task.

Jungwon doesn’t really harbor any resentment towards Sunghoon. He’s always viewed him through your eyes, always your boyfriend before anything else. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong other than being the unfortunate human being that you happened to be in love with, the person that took everything away from him. It’s hard to see why not, too, because Sunghoon loves in that silent, caregiving way that you don’t realize until you really get to know him. Sticky notes you find on the counter after you come home from work, dishes cleaned if you’re feeling particularly down, holding your hand in his jacket pocket because he loves deeply, not openly. In many ways, Sunghoon is everything Jungwon has ever wanted to be for you.

Jungwon has always wondered if Sunghoon knows about the extent of his feelings towards you. He always stares into Jungwon as if he’s reading his soul, with that piercing gaze that’s not harsh or unkind but rather, telling. They’re not ridiculously close, but they play video games together sometimes and share a cup of coffee after a long few weeks. Sometimes, late at night, when Jungwon gets roped into Jay’s drinking escapades and doesn’t want you to know, Sunghoon will pick him up and let him sleep over. He’s always gone by the time Jungwon wakes up, but he never leaves without leaving fresh hangover soup and painkillers on the bedside table next to him.

Sunghoon is not a bad person, which makes everything incredibly difficult. In fact, he’s the ideal boyfriend, and the guilt eats Jungwon alive whenever he interacts with you and Sunghoon stares a little too long.

“Jungwon,” he hears. It takes him a moment to register that he zoned out, staring at Sunghoon’s face. Sunghoon smiles awkwardly before asking him if he’s alright.

“Sorry– I was just lost in thought.”

Sunghoon hums, and he feels Jay’s stare burning into him as Sunghoon continues.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the orchestra arrangement.” He stands abruptly, beckoning Jungwon to follow him into the kitchen.

Already, Jungwon has that sinking feeling in his stomach because he knows this conversation will be about anything but the orchestra arrangement. He wipes his sweaty palms against his cardigan, and Sunghoon frowns.

“Look, Jungwon. We’re all excited for this wedding, and I’m sure you are too, but if it’s too much, we’ll understand, okay?”

Jungwon looks at him with a blank stare.

“I– I just mean, you just look exhausted, Won. And I know that,” Sunghoon sighs, running his fingers through his hair as if he’s bracing himself, “I know that I’m not exactly your best friend, but I’m here if you want to talk about it. I care about you, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Jungwon feels horrible. In his mind, it’s always been him and you, or you and Sunghoon, but he’s never really considered how Sunghoon thinks about him. Sunghoon is genuine, caring about Jungwon’s health, even though he’s five seconds away from ruining his marriage.

(Jungwon doesn’t deserve any of the good around him. Not Jay, who loves him more than he loves himself. Not Sunghoon, who has always tried to be there for him when no one else was. Not even you, who cares for him even when there is nothing left to care for.)

“I’ve just been feeling a little under the weather, hyung. I’m feeling a lot better, so don’t worry about it.” He coughs, and Sunghoon looks unconvinced. “I promise.”

“Are you sure, I mean–” Sunghon starts, reaching out with his fingers in an attempt to graze his cheek. Jungwon flinches, and his fingers pause midair. “Sorry, you’re probably right. I’m just overthinking.”

Sunghoon has that shyness to him, the one that makes his cheeks pink. He looks guilty, and Jungwon’s heart breaks.

“Thank you for checking up on me, though, hyung. It means a lot.”

Sunghoon smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Jungwon turns to leave before the room feels too suffocating, before the walls close in on him and taunt him for how much of a horrible human being he is, but he pauses once he feels Sunghoon’s palm on his shoulder.

“Wait, Jungwon, I–” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “I know, Jungwon.”

Jungwon stills.

“I know that you love her.”

It feels like his heart is decomposing, burning alive from just the mere mention of you. It hurts a little too much, and he doesn’t even register that he’s crying until he sees the droplets staining the floor. He’s not standing in your apartment anymore, crafting wedding invitations with his friends and debating what color looks better under your cheap lighting. All that he now knows is himself, the tears that slide down his face, and the weight of Sunghoon standing behind him.

“I’m sorry, Jungwon-ah. I’m so sorry,” Sunghoon chokes out. Sunghoon’s fingers grip his shoulder tightly, and Jungwon can distinctly feel the way he trembles underneath Sunghoon’s touch.

He can feel the cool metal of Sunghoon’s rings through his thin shirt. The tears fall too freely now, silently as if he’s afraid to make himself known, and a singular teardrop finds its place against the smooth skin of Sunghoon’s hand.

“Why are you apologizing?” Jungwon whispers so quietly that he’s not even sure Sunghoon hears it. His chest feels too tight, as if he’s curled into a cocoon. “I should be the one apologizing. It’s my fault.”

Jungwon has been hearing a lot of apologies lately. Apologies for loving too much, apologies for loving not enough. He doesn’t really know whether he deserves these apologies, if they really mean anything, or are just words that are intended to fill that gaping hole in his heart, but what he does know is that he’s sick and tired of hearing them. These apologies symbolize that there is something to blame, someone who is guilty, when really, there is only one culprit here.

When really, everything is his fault. Jungwon is the one who learned to love, and now he has to learn to forget. The apologies that fly around his head, whether of pity or sorrow, are worthless to him because, if anything, he is the one who should be saying sorry. Sorry to Sunghoon, sorry to Jay, sorry to you, and sorry to the universe for loving so much that it hurts even to mention it.

“I was too selfish,” Sunghoon whispers. The word sounds foreign in his voice, too unassuming and soft, as if Sunghoon doesn’t even know what it really means.

Jungwon laughs bitterly. Right then and there, he realizes exactly why you fell for Sunghoon and not him.

Sunghoon is too kind to the world. He cares about everyone and everything, from the little caterpillars in the weeds to the dandelion waiting for its dying wish. Jungwon is the opposite. His heart is blood-stained. He feels only for one person, you, and only you. His heart beats too fast because his love for you is like that, someone who feels too much and too intensely. Jungwon’s love is ruination, destroying everything along its path until it’s just the two of you in this universe.

Maybe Sunghoon is selfish, but at least he knows moderation. Jungwon’s love has no limits. He only knows how to take, to take and suck you dry until all you know is him.

“You’re not the selfish one, hyung. It’s me. It’s always been me.”

After he goes home, he throws up. Jay brushes his hair out of his face, and when Jungwon pulls back, all that meets his eye is dark, soul-crushing blood. No more petals. Just blood.

“Maybe you should tell her,” Jay suggests off-handedly as Jungwon drinks water. “It might be good to let it out of your system.”

He can’t, is what he tries to tell Jay. He can’t because admitting he loves you is like confessing the worst of his mistakes. Speaking it into existence will only force him to confront the horrifying truth that you always viewed him as a best friend, or worse, a brother, and he would rather live with the what-ifs and the daydreams than let you leave because of one stupid confession.

Instead, he finds himself nodding. “Sure,” he squeaks out miserably, with every intention of not doing what he’s told. And then he throws up once more.

Jungwon wakes up from a nightmare.

He doesn’t remember what exactly it’s about, only that he’s now dehydrated and his phone is buzzing on the counter next to him despite how late it is.

He sees your name flashing on the screen, and he’s already tugging on his jeans as he answers. It’s like clockwork to him, answering your calls, worrying about you even though you’re probably fine, but he still can’t stop his racing heart or his trembling hands.

It’s as if his brain is hardwired for you. Every beat of his heart, every blink of his eyes, every twitch of his legs, it’s all for you. Jungwon has never lived a single moment without being reminded of your existence in some shape or form. He has never lived a single moment without knowing how to love you.

“Hello?” he asks, almost tripping over his keys.

It takes him a few moments to recognize you crying on the other end.

“Where are you?” he whispers, gentler this time, so as not to scare you away.

“Practice room,” you mumble, so softly as if you don’t want to say it.

He finds you slouched on the ground as he walks into the studio a couple of minutes later, tears staining your light-washed jeans as you furrow into yourself. You’re not crying anymore, not visibly, but somehow knowing that this is the aftermath makes him feel ten times worse.

He’s never really heard you cry before. He knows you’re a private person, someone who likes to share your happiness but keep your sadness to yourself. So, the fact that he could hear your hiccups over the phone meant you were holding back too long, trying to do it all and ruining yourself to the point where you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore.

He hates that you never recognize he’s right here for you. All he’s ever wanted was to be the person you could lean upon, the chest you could curl into as you cried your heart out. He wants to be that person that you share your sorrows with, the one to take hold of your burdens and shoulder them himself, but you never let him do it.

(So it brings him, with sickening greed, a small amount of satisfaction to be the one that’s here for you tonight. Even though his mind tells him not to, even though his body physically forbids him to be near you, his heart only beats your name as he slides down next to you.)

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” you mutter. Your fingers pick at the dry skin near your fingernails, and he can see the redness of your eyes as you look up at him. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I won’t judge,” he says, repeating himself when you don’t respond. “Please.”

You sigh. “Hoon and I had dance practice today. You know, for our first dance. But I–” you laugh, wiping away the tears that make their appearance, “I can’t seem to do it right. He moves so effortlessly, and it feels like I’m stumbling and picking up the pieces. It’s dumb, but I can’t stop thinking about not being good enough.”

One thing Jungwon has learned about you, so subtle that he doesn’t even think Sunghoon knows it yet, is that you’re fragile. He knows you hold your heart in pieces, begging the universe to glue you back together, even though he knows it can’t. So, in lieu of the universe, Jungwon tries. You never give him direct liberty to, but he holds you. He holds you and your broken pieces, and even though it eats him alive that he can’t help you more than this, somehow, it works. It always works for you because he treads carefully, gently, never pushing too hard to keep you grounded.

Right now, as you stare up at him with glossy eyes and the world in your hands, Jungwon knows he has to prove to you that, truly, you are enough. Just as he always has, like when you failed your physics exam in ninth grade, or when you didn’t get that promotion at work even though you tried so hard for it. All he knows in this life is how to be there for you, even if you’re not there for him.

He takes your hand in his, pulling you up from the floor as he turns on the music. “Let’s practice. I’ll help you until you get it right.”

A soft melody floats through the air, spinning around the two of you until he’s clutching your waist. His touch is so light that he’s pretty sure you can barely even feel it, but already he’s regretting being in such close proximity with you as the blood swirls throughout his stomach. Your hands clasp each other behind, wrapped around his neck, and you can’t see the way Jungwon stares at you because your eyes focus on the ground with staggered steps. You stumble as he moves you left, and then right, and the concentration in your gaze wavers as you try not to step on his feet.

“I can’t do this, I–”

“Shh,” he whispers. Your arms loosen, and he grips your waist a little tighter. “This isn’t a performance. It’s just a dance.”

You’re still unconvinced, a frown working its way onto your face. One of his hands comes up to cradle your chin, tilting your face up so that you can meet his gaze.

“Just focus on me.”

You let Jungwon lead you, your eyes never leaving his as the music flows between you both. A slight blush makes its way across his cheeks, but he reminds himself to focus on the steps, back and forth, as if you’re not right in front of him. Jungwon moves like magic, flitting across the dance floor as if he has wings, and you quickly learn how to soar with him, to match his pace and create a rhythm of your own. He notices how relaxed you’ve become when he dips you, a little too low, and you just giggle and hold onto him tighter. 

“Thought you were going to drop me,” you gasp after he lets you up. He shakes his head, twirling you around before bringing you in.

“Never,” he murmurs. “I would never drop you.”

He’s so close that he can see the texture on your skin and the light reflecting across your hair. Your irises seem to swirl, lulling him in, and your lips have the curve of a faint smile that he’s worked hard to bring back to your face. He’s so close that he could kiss you, so close that every inch of his curiosity could be satisfied if he just leaned in, but the music behind him slows to a stop as you pull away from his grasp.

“Thank you,” you say, breathless. Then, teasingly, “It would be easier if it were you up there with me instead of Sunghoon, right?”

And suddenly, Jungwon remembers his nightmare. It wasn’t really a nightmare, not something that was frightening enough for his heart to race in fear. Instead, it was a dream tinged with blurred lines and all his what-ifs, a dream of him kissing you after your first dance and how brightly you’d smiled. It was a dream tinged with his blood, a dream that could never be true because you would never think to look at him the way he looks at you.

You busy yourself with packing up your stuff, too focused to see the absolute pain on Jungwon’s face as he clutches the barre next to him. The world caves in around him, and he has to try his absolute hardest to wave goodbye to you as if he’s not crumbling on the inside. Of course, his feelings are nothing but a joke to you, as if they’re not the very reason he’s currently on his deathbed surrounded by a pool of flowers.

He wishes it were him, too. As the blood spills from his lips, dripping down his face, his arms, down to the very floor he stands on, all he wishes is that it could be him dancing with you, being in your arms legitimately, instead of yearning from afar as he twirled you around today.

Maybe, if it really were him dancing with you at the end, this wouldn’t be his last dance alive.

You look happy.

It’s the first thing he notices as you climb into the car, already a little tipsy from the alcohol you’d consumed at your pregame. Your friends, not faring much better than you, help you keep your balance as you buckle your seatbelt and motion for him to start the car. You look genuinely happy. Not just in the way a drunk person looks, but in the way that it’s infectious. You radiate with that kind of energy that makes him want to tug close and kiss the life out of you.

The streetlights twinkle through the window as he drives, filtering out the loud bass of your music and your friends singing along in the backseat. The club you’d chosen for your bachelorette party was a little far from your apartment, but your group doesn’t really seem to mind as they control the aux on his phone and queue another Britney Spears song. The air is charged with that upbeat feeling, the kind that has him drumming his fingers along to the music as he steps on the gas.

He notices your silence in the front seat, watching your head tilt out of the window and the wind whipping through your hair. Usually, you’d be singing along, especially after a little bit of alcohol in your system, but you seem lost in thought today, and it makes him a little worried.

“You okay?” he asks. He wonders if you even hear him over the loud karaoke of your friends, but you turn back to him with a soft smile.

“Yeah. It’s all just kind of hitting me right now, you know?”

“What, the alcohol?”

There’s a soft pause before you look back at the window, pressing the button and watching it roll up.

“No, the wedding,” you say, playing with your engagement ring absentmindedly. “It just feels so surreal.”

Jungwon chooses to say nothing, turning up the volume of the music instead. He feels your eyes on him, but he doesn’t know what to say as he grips the steering wheel tighter. He’s glad he chose to stay sober tonight because maybe he would’ve responded with something not particularly appropriate. Perhaps he would’ve decided to tell you that he does wish this wedding were just a figment of his imagination. Maybe, he would’ve told you that he’s scheduled to die soon because of your surreal wedding, your surreal love for Sunghoon, and his not very surreal love for you.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. He keeps his emotions in check and drives, watching the headlights of the car next to him race by. He drives until the bright neon lights of the bar flash through the mirror, and he barely has a chance to park before you and your friends clamber out, giddy with excitement.

The club has this dizzying sort of atmosphere, the flickering lights from the dance floor and the loudness of the music hitting him all at once. He feels like he can’t breathe, he really, really can’t breathe, and he’s already making his way to the bathroom before you have a chance to drag him to the center.

I can’t do this, he texts Jay. The multicolored ceiling tiles blur before his eyes as he slumps against the bathroom stall door. He hears someone throwing up next to him, and he wonders briefly that if everything were normal, that if he weren’t dying because you loved him back, maybe he’d be a drunk idiot throwing up in his Hello Kitty bucket too.

He’s not normal, though. Every time he inhales, it feels painful as if something’s stuck in his throat. His voice has become too raspy, and he swears he can feel the weight of his lungs through every breath, pounding against him particularly hard whenever he’s near you. Every ticking moment reminds him that you are genuinely content with all this. Content with Sunghoon, content with this wedding, and content living a life Jungwon may not even be in.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in the bathroom stall, pouring his feelings out, but he wipes the blood off with a tissue and leaves the stall. His eyes look bloodshot in the mirror, and his heart pounds with every beat of the EDM music reverberating through him. He hasn’t had a sip of alcohol, but this is the sort of effect you have on him, world-spinning and regret seeping through his every vein.

His eyes scan the dance floor for you, and he relaxes slightly when he finds you swinging your arms in the air to a Charli XCX song. You’re in your own little world as your friends dance around you, and Jungwon feels like he’s standing on the edge of it, one foot in and one foot out. It's as if he’s almost there, but not quite.

(Lately, though, he’s been choosing to stay out. Choosing not to get devoured by the force that is you, all-consuming and leaving him with no room to breathe. Once upon a time, he would choose to drown every time, to feel the burn in his lungs as he swam towards you.

Now, there is no more burning left in his lungs. There is no more you. It’s just him and his thoughts, floating endlessly in the ocean until the point of no return.)

He’s scrolling on his phone, slouched against the bar stool, when he hears two taps on the marble next to him. He looks up to find the bartender sliding over a glass of fizzy liquid, topped with a sliced lime and a salted rim.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” Jungwon sputters, reaching to push it back, but the bartender clasps his hand and wraps Jungwon’s fingers around the glass.

“It’s on the house, and it’s non-alcoholic, so don’t worry about it.” The bartender smiles, a contagious sort of grin that makes Jungwon want to smile too, and he leans over slightly to speak closer to him. “You look like you need it.”

Jungwon thanks the bartender, sipping at his drink slowly and feeling the bubbles fizz down his throat. It’s a Sprite, mixed with something a little fruity, and already it has him feeling lighter than a couple of moments before.

“I’m Sunoo, by the way,” he hears. Sunoo’s nameplate flashes from the strobing lights, dancing from all the colors around him. “So, tell me, which girl is it?”

Jungwon coughs, the drink going down the wrong pipe, and Sunoo merely blinks, watching him.

“What? What girl?”

“The girl that’s you’re heartbroken over, silly!”

Jungwon sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re like a dejected puppy. Even a five-year-old could probably tell.”

Jungwon sips at his drink, carrying it while peeking back over his shoulder. His eyes search until they land on your figure, now at the far left near the DJ.

“That one, over there,” he says, pointing at you. “The one in the white.”

“She’s pretty,” Sunoo says absentmindedly, and Jungwon finds himself agreeing before turning back to face him. “Did she reject you?”

“No,” Jungwon starts. His throat feels parched, suddenly, despite his dedication to sipping the drink in his hands. “I– I never told her. She’s getting married next week.”

Sunoo’s gaze softens. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

The drink tastes bitter now, prickling in Jungwon’s mouth. His lips press into a line as his fingers play with the straw in his glass. He swishes it, around and around, watching the little cyclone that appears when he moves the straw too fast. He wants to tell Sunoo that it’s okay. There’s no reason to apologize, and he’s sick of every sorry that comes his way because it’s fine. In a normal world, Jungwon would have moved on, slowly but surely, and he’d have come back to this bar in the future as a healed person.

It’s not okay, though. It’s not okay because how can Jungwon move on when you make up every inch of him? How can Jungwon move on when the reason he lives and dies is because of you? You pour life into him and take it away from him all at the same time. You are the one to poison him and you are the one to heal him, and Jungwon just has to stand there and take it until he physically isn’t able to anymore. Jungwon will never be able to find someone who loves him just as much as he loves you, because he only has space in his heart for you and no other. So even if it means that Sunoo’s last memory of Jungwon is right now at this bar, pining after you from afar, he’s forced to accept it. 

After all, there is no him without you. 

There is only you without him.

Jungwon should be at the venue already. Instead, he’s lying against his mahogany rug, fingers twisting in the strings that are woven into it as he tries to reach for his phone.

He was having a good day, or at least, he thought he was having a good day. He woke up early to run some errands before work. His presentation proposal went spectacularly well, and there was barely any traffic as he sped home. He got a free hot chocolate today with the welcome of a new month, a new December, and he didn’t have to spend any portion of today hunched over a sink waiting for his guts to spill out.

He was having a good day until, well, everything started to go wrong.

He was searching for his keys as he straightened his suit tie and fixed that annoying strand of hair that kept falling in his face. He was on call with Jay, who had offered to drive him to the restaurant where your rehearsal dinner was being held. It was all fine. 

He was fumbling around for his suit jacket when suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He doesn’t know how he ended up on the floor, or how the sharp, radiating pain spread from his lungs to his heart. All he knows is that he’s crying, and Jay’s voice is somewhere distant, telling him to stay calm and to wait for him. He can’t respond, every hoarse attempt to speak failing miserably with a cough. His insides feel like they’re being burned alive, and distinctly he can feel the tears drip down his cheeks, or maybe the blood spill from his mouth.

He can’t seem to move, not when he tries to reach for his phone, not when Jay shows up and shakes him by the shoulders, not when the paramedics show up at his apartment and shine a bright light in his eyes. He can’t move when he’s hooked up to the oxygen mask, or when the ambulance shudders beneath him and Jay’s tears drip down his arm.

Somewhere along all of this, he fades in and out of consciousness, dizzy from the bright lights and the emergency siren. He can’t tell if the pain gets worse or if it gets better, but he tries to focus on the beeping of his heart rate and how grounded Jay’s hand makes him feel.

And throughout all of this, despite his best efforts to ignore it, he thinks of you. He thinks of how you’re probably at your rehearsal dinner right now, holding hands with Sunghoon. You’re probably talking about how you met him, how you fell in love with him, and how you will continue to love him just as he loves you. You’re probably talking to all your friends and family and serving your homemade banana pudding recipe that you worked hard to make. He knows you probably have that stupid little grin on your face, the one he sees in his daydreams of you and him, and other words that don’t belong together.

He’s still dreaming about you when he wakes up, barely registering the pain from the IV needle as he scans the room. His eyes land on Jay in the chair next to him, who’s already rushing over as soon as Jungwon’s eyes open.

“Where am I?” Jungwon says groggily. His free hand clutches his forehead, aware of the dull headache that rests on the sides of his forehead. “Is this the hospital?”

“Jungwon,” Jay breathes, cradling Jungwon’s face. “You’re awake.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Not long,” Jay says, pulling away and sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers clutch Jungwon’s hand tightly, as if he’s still in disbelief over Jungwon breathing and talking right in front of him. “A couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours?” Jungwon shrieks. He tugs the needle from his arm, wincing from the sharp pain as it rips out. “We’re so late. So late. She’s probably waiting for me! I told her I was gonna help set up the decorations–”

“Jungwon,” Jay whispers, gripping his wrist. Jungwon sees the frown lines etched on his face and pauses. “I sent her a text about us being late. She never even responded.”

“No– that’s– she would never,” Jungwon scoffs. His fingers reach for this phone on the bedside table next to him, dialing your number before Jay can even stop him.

The line rings, once, twice, too many times before the sound of your voicemail filters in. He tries again, and again, and each time feels like a stab to his freshly wounded heart. His eyes fog up, and he can’t stop the tears that escape him as he dials over and over again. His tears fall on his phone screen, staining the glass until he can’t even click on the call button, and the phone slips from his grasp.

His body pulses in his hyung’s hold as he hugs him, heavy sobs erupting from him as he finally lets go. He lets go of all the pain and misery he’s faced from you, about you, like an asteroid that burns up when it reaches too close to the sun. No matter how hard he tries, it’s impossible for him to accept that he’s just another person in your orbit, fading in and out when you need him.

He remembers all the times he’s centered himself around you. Every moment when he thought he was wanted by you, even if it was just as a friend. Now, all he can see is how convenient, how easy he is for you. How pathetic he is to fall in love with you, to keep loving you even though he knew you would never love him back. And yeah, he’s always there when you need him, but even now, as he sits inches away from his death, you’re never there for him.

“You always put her before yourself,” Jay murmurs in his shoulder. “Even if she’s the reason you’re dying, you’re still addicted to her.”

“I can’t help it, hyung. I love her.”

Jay exhales, pulling away from Jungwon. Even though Jungwon is stupid, the never-give-up kind of stupid, he appreciates Jay for still trying to save him, even if there is nothing to be saved.

Jay reaches over to grab a folder from the table, the bright blue color matching the print of his hospital gown. He flips through a few pages before pulling out a black, semi-translucent slip of film, flipping it over for Jungwon to see.

It takes a few minutes for Jungwon even to register what he’s seeing. The scan is zoomed in on his upper half, centered on his lungs and vertebrae, but what’s in his lungs is anything but typical. Flowers bloom through every crevice of his lungs, sprouting, growing as if they’re meant to be there. They’re still small, but Jungwon can already see the buds and even tiny flowers that have sprouted. There’s not an inch of space left empty, every alveolus filled with a leaf or a stem or a flower.

“Is this what I was coughing up?” Jungwon asks, fingers tracing his chest where his lungs reside. “That’s inside of me?”

“Yeah. The doctors said that as the disease progressed, there were too many flowers to cough up, so they started growing in you.” Jay speaks with incredulity, as if he can’t even believe it’s real.

“What do you mean, progressed? Is it not still progressing?”

Jay turns to him, and only then does Jungwon register his bleary eyes and the tear stains that have dried on his cheeks. His fingers tremble as he holds the page, and he speaks so softly as if he refuses to solidify the statement’s existence.

“You’re in your final stages, Wonie. You have a week left at best until the flowers bloom fully and you’ll die of oxygen poisoning.”

Jungwon thinks that if he weren’t so adamant about making it to your wedding and seeing you at the altar, he would’ve killed himself a long time ago. Maybe the day you asked him to be your maid of honor, or maybe even as early as when you got proposed to. Killing himself would’ve rid him of all this yearning, yearning that presented itself in the form of this disease that takes and takes until his very last breath. This disease, that no matter how hard he tries to avoid, reminds him of you. 

You with the soft fingers that he wishes he could intertwine his with. You with the eyebrow you always arch expressively when you dislike something. You with the back tattoo of a sparrow that’s a little chubby, just the way you wanted it. You with the soft voice that he’s blessed to hear through the little song covers you’d always send him. You who’d never notice the cherry blossoms that fell in your hair, the ones that he’d have to pick out imperceptibly every time.

You who he’s so irrevocably in love with. You, who despite having a heart full of love, have never loved him back.

And then, there’s him. Jungwon. That same Jungwon, with a heart full of love to give only to you. Jungwon, who stays by your side even if you never notice it. That same Jungwon, who worries about you when there is nothing to worry about. That same Jungwon, who kept a mental list of your favorite foods so you won’t feel indecisive at restaurants. That same Jungwon, who holds your hair when you drink a little too much and whispers that it’s okay in your ears, that it’ll all be over before you know it.

They say moles are marks of where your soulmate kissed you in your previous life. Jungwon knows where all of yours are: the one on your eyebrow, the two on your lower torso, the ones on your hands that he noticed when he interlocked fingers with you, and even the one on your forearm that he memorized as he watched you fall asleep during a sleepover. He doesn’t know if he was your soulmate that kissed those moles into existence in a previous life, or in any life at all, but he’s tried his hardest to be the one for you, even if you’re destined for another.

And even now, knowing that you two are never fated to be together in this life, he’ll still try. Because who is he, if he doesn’t even exist to love you?

And distinctly, he remembers the time he did confess to you. The time that he tells no one about because it’s a moment too pathetic to remember.

It was during break, the summer before his senior year of college. You and a couple of others, newly graduated seniors, were at a karaoke bar five minutes away from campus. Jungwon had to watch as you cozied up to Sunghoon from the other end of the couch, a little too drunk and a little too loose. His heart had simmered beneath him, tinged with jealousy every time Sunghoon had pressed a kiss to your cheek or pulled you closer.

He didn’t really mean to avoid you that day. He just didn’t want to third-wheel you and your boyfriend, especially since he was a little tipsy and didn’t trust himself to remain sane around you. You looked so happy, with a giddy voice and a bright smile, and he didn’t want to do anything to hurt your mood.

So, he stayed on the other side of the room. Even when you wanted him to join you in a karaoke battle, to that one song you always queued while he drove you around, he shook his head and remained in his spot. He didn’t drink too much, just enough to feel the buzz, but he still couldn’t shake off how pretty you looked in that dress, or how much you laughed as you curled into Sunghoon’s side.

After some point, the lights in the room and the loud bass of the music start to get too suffocating. He excuses himself for some air, grabbing the empty boxes from the food you’d ordered to throw them away. He doesn’t notice your eyes on him as he balances the carts and slides open the door.

The hallway is long and winding, and by the time Jungwon finds the trashcan and a water fountain, he’s a little out of breath. The walk has sobered him up a little bit, so he doesn’t feel as dizzy as he was when he walked here on the way back. He turns, wiping the corner of his mouth from the dribble of water that slid down, but he finds you standing right behind him instead, with a frown on your face and a bottle of Pink Whitney in your hands.

Already, he knows you’re more shitfaced since the last time he saw you. Pink Whitney has never treated you kindly, and as he sees you struggle to stand upright with your heels on, he knows you’ve passed that limit of tipsiness and charted into dangerous, drunken territory, the kind that he knows you’ll regret the next morning.

“That’s enough of that,” he says, grabbing the bottle. You protest weakly, attempting to snatch it back, but he holds it behind his back so you can’t reach. “Why did you leave the room? You can barely walk.”

“I missed you,” you hiccup. He notices how your tears pool in your eyes, as if you don’t want to cry but can’t really stop it. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“What?” he breathes. He didn’t really think you’d notice the distance that he’d tried to maintain, assuming you were too preoccupied with Sunghoon to even care that he made no effort to talk to you.

“You refused to share your fries with me. You always share your fries with me.” You’re full-on sobbing at this point, and your fingers find home in his jacket lapel as you sniffle. “Did I do something wrong? Why do you hate me?”

His heart hurts seeing you like this, being the reason that you’re reduced to this mess. His arms curl around you, pulling you in closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. Your fingers grip his jacket tightly, and he’s too focused on your feelings to notice how your tears stain his shirt.

“Why would I hate you?” he murmurs against your ear. “Don’t say stupid things like that.”

And he means it. Not one inch of his body could feel any sort of resentment towards you, no matter how hard he tried. He wishes it could, so he could hate you peacefully and move on from all the grief he’s been shouldering, but there’s some invisible string tied between you two that he can’t seem to break, no matter how far he goes.

“Then why haven’t you talked to me today?”

He sighs, thumbing the strands of your hair. “I was just giving you space since you were with Sunghoon.”

You pull back, and through your glossy tears, he sees your lips pull into a pout.

“But, I want you too.”

You say it so simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him in your life, even though you already have the world with Sunghoon. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to admit that sometimes you love unfairly, and he doesn’t have it in him to seek anything otherwise. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him even though you have no more love left to give.

Like a puppy on a leash, he glows after hearing those words, even if they hold no weight coming from you. He cradles your face, brushing away the tear streaks across your cheeks.

“You already have me,” he says honestly. “I’m already yours.”

You smile with your eyes closed. It’s the kind of smile that’s earnest, one that stretches across your whole face. Jungwon would run to the ends of the universe if it meant he could see it again.

“I love you.”

The confession slips out of his mouth, raw and unfiltered, as he stops breathing. He didn’t mean to admit it, especially not in front of you like this with your boyfriend a few rooms over. It was supposed to be a secret he carried to his grave, not some abrupt confession he said in hushed tones in front of a karaoke bar water fountain. He was supposed to say it on that day, the day when the cherry blossoms bloomed, and he wore that white shirt to match the flowers in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to say it like this, holding an uninhibited version of you and taking advantage of the fact that you’re not sober enough to process his words.

He stills, like a frame paused, in time waiting for your reaction. He knows you’re going to hate him, not want him anymore, even if it’s selfishly, and he knows this is the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this. His heart pounds against his chest, erratic as if it’s escaping, and he can’t seem to find the words to apologize or take it all back before you slip from his grasp.

You don’t do any of that, though. You remain in his hold, with his fingers holding you like a porcelain doll, and that soft smile. Instead, your hands wrap around his, your fingers sliding between the crevices as you open your eyes.

“I love you so much, too, Wonie. You’re the bestest friend ever. My best friend.”

His lungs release the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, but it’s not loud enough to disguise the sound of his heart breaking. You don’t hear it, of course, oblivious to the tumultuous storm that rages inside him, and you just pull him tighter as you hug him again.

He cries. He cries against you just as you cried against him, only stronger with the weight of all his unsaid confessions pouring out of him. It’s silent enough for your drunk self not to notice, but the droplets plink against your hair, and he has to wipe away the tears rapidly before you catch on. It hurts so, so much. It hurts more than anything else he’s ever felt because, while you’re the center of the universe to him, he means nothing to you. While you’re everything to him, he’s just a fleeting moment to you.

Unmistakably, he wonders if anything would’ve even changed had he confessed to you properly then. Or if anything would’ve even changed if he confessed to you now, mere days before your wedding. If maybe the pain in his lungs would’ve eased away, if maybe the flowers would’ve withered and died right inside him.

Deep down, though, he knows that confession wouldn’t have healed him one bit, because you have never felt anything for him in return. From the very first time he laid eyes upon you, sculpting castles in the sandbox alone, to now, he has always cared for you and your impression of him. Even when that impression is anything but what he really is, what he really wants to be, he still cares.

He knows that even if he confessed to you, the flowers in his heart would still continue to bloom, unconstrained without the very thing he desires from you: love.

The air is a little breezy today.

Not breezy enough that Jungwon feels cold (although his suit jacket provides him plenty of warmth already), but just enough to make the blades of grass sway softly, as if they’re dancing along to the faint melody of the music in the background. It’s early in the morning, a time when he can still hear the birds chirping and the sun rays peeking above the horizon.

On a regular day, he’d still be in bed waiting for his alarm clock to ring. Or maybe he’d be hungover from a long weekend with his friends, choosing to sleep in and ignore a headache. Today, though, he stands under the drapes of the altar, next to the podium where Sunghoon shifts nervously.

Waiting for you.

Jungwon’s fingers fumble with the flower in his pocket, a singular, white chrysanthemum against the black of his suit. Your bridesmaids have the same flowers as corsages, but Jungwon’s is different because the flower rests right in front of his heart, beating, echoing with every pulse.

And already, Jungwon knows today is his last day alive, because today is your wedding. Today is the day he’ll lose you forever, the day that you step out of every daydream of his and into another man’s. Standing here, as your man of honor, is the most twisted punishment the universe could make him face. On the day of his reckoning, instead of wishing him away with peace, you’ve decided to make him bear witness to the very act that caused his ruin.

Sunghoon stares at him knowingly. He can’t tell if it’s with pity, or even worse, with pride.

All Jungwon wants is to get this over with. He’s agonized over this moment for months now, from the beginning of autumn to last night as he wrote his man of honor speech. Once upon a time, he had hoped he would be able to accept your marriage with a healed heart. Now, as the music shifts into something slower and the audience hushes, he knows he will leave with nothing but pain. With nothing but pure, raw desire simmering through his heart and burning every flower that grows inside of him until he no longer remains.

He feels like he’s dreaming when he finally sees you.

You, in your long, white gown, with handwoven patterns of silk and thread stitched across the front. A dress with patterns of all kinds of flowers, patterns of every stem and leaf that glimmer against the white cloth. The flowers sprout against the exterior of the mesh, with petals that sway with every step as you make your way to the altar.

And beyond all that, you’re wearing that smile. That same smile that he’d give up everything for. That same smile he’s yearned for his entire life, from the very first moment up until now. That same smile that he’s now dying for.

He doesn’t recognize his breath staggering until he feels lightheaded, hands finding purchase on the decoration behind him as he steps back. I’m so close, not now, is all he can think as you step even closer to the platform. He starts to see spots in his vision, black circles dancing around, and he’s thankful enough that everyone’s eyes are too focused on you to see him stepping off to the side and rushing to the bathroom.

Jungwon doesn’t make it that far, though. His eyesight blurs around him, and his fingers grip some random door handle before he stumbles inside. Faintly, he can recognize the mess of your makeup room around him, but he trips over a spare piece of clothing and falls before he can fully register his surroundings.

Sharp, dull pain blooms on the side of his head, but he can’t seem to move his arms to feel for any blood that might’ve been triggered from his fall. The pain in his head is nothing compared to the strain on his lungs now, though, as if every breath of his is poison. His senses are painfully aware of the weird, cracking noise inside him, but he can’t seem to figure out what it’s from. His ribcage? His neck? His throat? Or maybe even everything? He feels like he’s choking on air as the blood spills from his lips. His speech, the man of honor speech that holds everything he wanted to say to you one last time, falls out of his jacket pocket, and blood drips across the corner as if it’s ink. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t even think anymore as his vision fades out into nothingness.

And even in his final moments, like this, he remembers you. This universe is so, so unkind to him, to his soul that hoped to see you like this one more time before he left forever. Oh, how he wishes he were still alive to watch you recite your vows. To hear what it’s like to be loved by you, to be cherished until death do us part. To hear what maybe, in another life, what was meant for him instead of Sunghoon.

As it all comes crashing down before his eyes, all he wishes is that you will find peace. He hopes the flowers that bloom in December will treat you kindly, and every white chrysanthemum will be a poignant reminder that you are always loved. Even if he is not physically present with you on Earth anymore, he will love you through the gentleness of the breeze, through the swaying of the grass blades, through the sun rays that appear before the horizon, and through the smiles of everyone you hold dear to your heart.

And with this clarity, he is able to let go. To let go of all that he’s known of you through every flower that blooms in his heart. To let go of a timeline in which you and he coexist.

To let go of you, and therefore, him. Because without you, there is no him. And without him, there is only you.

Jay has never understood love. Or rather, the unbecoming of it. 

But he has never seen it ruin someone so wretchedly as it did Jungwon.

It’s Jay who finds Jungwon first, lifeless in a pool of his own blood and tears. The world blurs around him as he kneels down, shaking Jungwon’s shoulders in every effort, every plea for him to wake up. The words fall on closed ears. Dead ears. Jungwon is long gone, from misery only his heart could produce. He’s long gone from the flowers that surround every inch of him, buried in his own, sickly love for you.

His fingers clutch tightly onto Jungwon’s man of honor speech, one he refuses to read because he can’t justify that torture. It’s you who needs to read it, to recognize the consequences of your actions, of how greedy you were to have the most wonderful human being beside you and still yearn for another. He needs you to read this speech in all its glory, tear-stained, blood-stained, flower-stained, until you recognize the extent of how much Jungwon truly loved you. 

Of how much he truly still loves you.

The funeral happens on a Tuesday evening. The once forgiving December now releases its inhibitions, pouring from the sky as if it has been holding back this entire time. The universe thunders with anger and rage, and every strike of lightning is a furious reminder of what’s all been lost in the process.

Jay stands before Jungwon’s coffin. He has no umbrella to shield him from the fury of the universe, but he doesn’t care. He deserves this form of retribution for not trying harder, for not being able to save him, even though there was nothing more he could do for him.

You stand next to him. Sunghoon holds an umbrella above your head, and it sways with the sudden wind gusts and cracks of lightning. You haven’t said a word all day. You haven’t said a word since you found your best friend dead, veins protruding and eyes rolled to the back of his head.

(Your fingers trembled as you brushed his eyelids shut, watching as they carried him out with a stretcher. Even with his eyes closed, he still looked like he was in pain, shouldering it all upon himself, no matter how hard you’d tried to get him to open up. You’d wanted to shake him open, for him to let go of everything he’d held back, but he stayed in place, eyes boring into yours as if he had nothing more to say. Closing his eyes felt like finality, like he was finally gone from every memory you’ve had together and every memory you were supposed to have together in the future.

Now, all that was left was the remains of him and his soul. You cried against the pool of blood he’d left behind, letting it stain the pearly whites of your gloves until you drowned in his essence.)

Jay watches as you grab something from Sunghoon’s hold, walking over to the edge of Jungwon’s grave. The freshly buried dirt sinks slightly under your steps, and you place a bouquet at the center before you walk back under the protection of the umbrella.

Jay cracks when he sees the familiar white chrysanthemums against the dirt.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Your head twists sharply toward him, not expecting him to say anything of that sort, or anything at all. The wind whips through your hair as you stare at Jay with bloodshot eyes, and it’s only then that you recognize the single tear that’s slid down his cheek.

“What? What did I do wrong?”

Jay laughs, sharp and twisting. You feel it through your bones, the hatred seeping through you until you, too, start to cry. Sunghoon stares at Jay from behind you, begging him with wide eyes not to say anything that could ruin you even more, but Jungwon’s unsaid confessions rush out of Jay’s lips like the roar of every lightning strike behind him.

“What haven’t you done wrong? Were you that fucking stupid to see that he died because of you? Because of how you never loved him back?”

His words hit you like a truck, slamming into you with the impact of the wind behind you. You stumble back, one, two steps before you’re rushing forward and grabbing the lapels of Jay’s jacket.

“What are you talking about? What do you mean, he loved me?”

Jay gives you a stare that is almost murderous, his voice dropping octaves as he responds. “He loved you. He’s been in love with you since the day you two met. He died from a disease caused by unrequited love, you fucking asshole!”

Your tears stain the edges of Jay’s jacket, and although he tries to push away from your grasp, away from you and everything you stand for, your grip on him remains tight.

“God,” he continues, laughing bitterly, “he loved you. He loved you so much that in the end…”

He can’t even finish his sentence because his voice breaks and he can’t breathe. And in that moment, he wonders if this is how Jungwon felt, if he was experiencing even a fraction of the hurt, the suffocation he had to endure on a daily basis.

“Jay, please,” Sunghoon echoes from behind him.

Your fingers finally release themselves from their grasp as you turn back to look at Sunghoon. His eyes never leave yours, and although he tries to lean forward to shield you from the rain with the umbrella, you push him away.

“Did you know about this?” you ask, even though you already know the answer. The rain seeps through your hair, wetting your eyelashes and streaming down your face, but even it cannot hide your cries as you sob in front of him. “Did you know he loved me?”

Sunghoon swallows so audibly that he doesn’t even have to say any more, and you start laughing. Ballistically, without any form or reason, you laugh with that crazed look in your eyes, your hands swaying against the wind as you turn back toward Jay.

“So you all knew about this and decided not to tell me?”

“You don’t get to act like the victim in this.” Jay’s words feel like a harsh slap in your face, but he continues. “How were we supposed to tell you months before your wedding? Oh, hey, by the way, Jungwon is in love with you, and he’ll die if you don’t love him back. Jungwon was an idiot for loving you, for sure, but he wasn’t stupid.”

He hates that he has to speak about Jungwon in the past tense now. He hates that he has to talk about Jungwon to someone who never reciprocated his feelings, someone who never saw him for who he truly was. He hates that he can’t put into words the extent to which Jungwon loved you, even if it meant putting you before himself and committing to death.

“What– what was I supposed to do?” you whisper. Jay has to restrain himself from telling you that you don’t have the right to cry, that you’re a murderer in his eyes, and he can’t even bear to look at you.

“You were supposed to love him back. All he ever wanted was to be loved by you.”

And, as if the universe is responding, the rain picks up. It drowns you, completely, as you stand in a sea of graves for the one person who maybe loved you more than anyone else ever could.

You remember meeting Jungwon for the first time. How he tapped your shoulder politely after watching you play in the sandbox alone, asking if he could build sandcastles with you, even though his other friends waited for him beside the playground. He always did that, putting you first before anyone else, and you can’t believe it took you so long to realize truly how much Jungwon really cared for you.

Even in all the little things, you’re reminded of him. From the buttons on your coat jacket that he thrifted to your shoes that he scrubbed clean after a long hike, Jungwon has always been that stagnant reminder that life keeps going. Even during your darkest days, when all you wanted to do was hide from the rest of the world, he sat beside you and nursed you back to health, piece by piece. It’s taken you so long to realize how Jungwon is your center, the gravity that pulls you back to Earth and keeps you grounded, the star that orbits around you in every universe.

How Jungwon has always been yours.

As Jay leaves, his footprints tracking through the dirt as a permanent reminder he was always there, he presses a slip of paper into your hands. The corner is speckled with blood, and your eyes flicker up to Jay’s gaze, already knowing what it is.

“Have fun on your honeymoon,” he mutters. He’s gone just as quickly as he came, the wind sweeping him away until he is no more.

As you sit in Sunghoon’s car, shivering underneath the heater from your wet clothes, you find your fingers opening the paper in your hands, smoothing out the crinkles from Jay’s rough grasp. And as you read, the warmth is not enough to stop the frigid cold that suddenly rushes through you, that crazed feeling that you can’t shake off, no matter how much time passes.

As you read, you cry. You cry for what lived, and now, for what you’ve lost, because this piece of paper represents all of Jungwon in his entirety, all of what’s left of the boy who paved the Earth so that you could walk on it. Of Jungwon, who sacrificed himself just to sustain a world with you in it, even while knowing that he and you are two parallel lines never meant to intersect. 

Of Jungwon, who didn’t know what love meant if it wasn’t made of you.

Dear you,

First of all, you know I have performance anxiety. So, making my speech come last feels like some sort of specially-inflicted torture that you and Sunghoon designed for me (cue the audience laughter. I hope they laugh).

I wrote many drafts of this. They’re all sitting in my trash can right now, because coming up with a speech to summarize everything I want to say about my best friend just isn’t something that can be done in one sitting. No amount of words can describe the extent to which I feel for you, of how much joy you’ve brought into my life and everyone around us.

I should probably be talking about Sunghoon and how he’s perfect for you, which, I mean, he kind of is (let’s hope the audience laughs again). I should probably be wishing you a happy married life, where you get that gray cat you always wanted. And I genuinely do want to convey all that to you, and so much more, because you deserve everything good in the world.

But I wanted this speech to be about you. For you to realize how much I, and everyone in the audience around us, care for you. I’ve been your best friend since childhood, watching you grow from that awkward little kid to the beautiful person you are today. You have uplifted and supported me in so many ways that no one else has, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we are so grateful to have you in our lives.

Sunghoon, you are so blessed to have the most wonderful wife in your life. Cherish her, adore her, lift her up with all your strength, and twirl her around until you hear that beautiful laughter and see that beautiful smile. It’s so worth it. So, so worth it. As her best friend, I resign all my duties to you, for you to be her new best friend and her life partner. Love her wholeheartedly, with every fiber of your being until it hurts, and then a little more.

And you. No matter what comes your way, never lose your energy, your resilience, your joy, and everything that makes you who you are. I love you, and I can’t wait to see where life’s journey takes you, one step at a time.

From your now ex-best friend,

Jungwon

[gin-juice-tonic]

Hi! I really love your comics and the 80s ford sim! The time you took to make it is amazing and I like reading the dialogue you post :D I love seeing transfalls comics and just, the dialogue and scenarios are a comforting and funny read!

I was wondering if you have any advice or tips on how to write Ford? Have a wonderful day!

Hello, thank you for the nice words. I'm happy you like my things.

Instead of telling you my own beliefs about how Ford acts/talks specifically, I thought maybe I could break this advice down into something more general. At least to start. Writing for a pre-existing character to me is generally broken up into two big things: Their Personality Traits and their Manner of Speech.

When you are trying to figure out how to write someone, I think it would be helpful to think about things that really stand out in your memory that they either did or said, and then try to find commonalities between those things. And what they have in common may indicate a character trait or the way they talk.

If we were to use Ford as an example, some things I think of when I think of him are (under the cut):

The grin on his face when describing his very illegal infinity-sided die in DDmD, His "My face is on fire!" stunt from vs the Future, and his re-arranging of Fiddlefords cube in J3.

If we were to look at what these moments have in common, I would say they indicate Ford is a bit mischievous.

Another set: his "Princess Unattainabelle beckons you" from DDmD, his "Say Hop! It helps!" and "Your turn!" after using his magnet gun in vs the Future, and his general love of puns in the Journal.

I think these are all good examples of Ford's goofier side. That he's a playful guy.

Those would fall under the Character Traits half of writing him.

For the Manner of Speech bit, it helps to look at how certain lines are structured, or the context under which he says them. These examples will be a little longer due to being a whole line written out...

Set #1:

"On the dark, weird road I travel, I'm afraid you cannot follow. ...Welp! call me for dinner!" From DDmD

"If I rolled it, anything could happen. Our faces could melt into jelly. The world could turn into an egg! ...Or you could just roll an 8. Who knows." Also from DDmD

"So this is how the world ends, not with a Bang, but with a Boop-Boop." From Weird Part 1

All three of these lines have Ford speak in a manner that gives the feeling he is talking about something of some importance/seriousness. Only for him to end his line with something silly and tone breaking. He does this pretty often I feel. Or at least I'm guilty of overusing it, because I always find it funny lol.

Set #2:

"I like this kid! She's weird!" From Tale of Two Stans

"Your math is no match for my gun, you idiot!" From DDmD

"I can assure you if there's an owl in this bag he's long dead." From Last Mabelcorn

There's three different moods going on in these lines, happy, mad, and just kinda neutral. But personally I find them all to be instances of Ford speaking in a very frank manner.

Now, further context in this case is I think important here. This is sort of in a way a variation of the first set I mentioned, because outside of these lines Ford spends a lot of his dialogue speaking in a more formal, intellectual/eloquent way. So this is sort of another way he breaks his own tone.

Another notable piece of context about these three lines is they're all reactions to something said/done by someone else. (The first and third are after talking to Mabel, the second being a reaction to a threat from Probabilitor.)

So to put that all together, you get "Breaking his standard manner of speech, Ford (sometimes) reacts in a frank manner to other characters." Generally this happens as a joke.

So those are some examples. Of both the character trait thing and the speech pattern stuff. I did them as sets, but if an individual line or action feels prominent enough, you could analyze it by itself too.

Obviously there's a lot about Ford that this doesn't encompass, but I hope the method helps you think about how to portray what YOU see in Ford. And you do not have to follow the way I view him. "What lines/things stand out to you" is going to be different for person to person. Maybe you have other lines/ideas you find more defining for him, or maybe even viewing the same lines/ideas, you have different feelings of what they indicate. That's okay too.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Unbreakable

bob reynolds x fem!reader

Warnings: depression, trauma, emotional spiral, suicidal ideation, recovery, manipulation, insecurity, intense healing

You found him in the hallway.

Collapsed on the floor, knees drawn to his chest, shaking hands clamped over his ears like the silence was too loud to bear.

He didn’t flinch when you knelt beside him. He didn’t speak when you whispered his name. He just sat there, drowning in a storm no one else could see.

“Bob,” you said, voice soft and breaking. “You’re safe.”

“No, I’m not,” he rasped, shaking. “You’re not. Not with me.”

Don’t tell me I’m not good enough

Times like this, I wish I never existed

Nobody wants to listen

I’m screaming out for help

He broke, right there on the floor.

You gathered him into your arms and let him sob into your shoulder. His cries were ragged, deep, almost childlike. And it gutted you.

Times like this, I wish that I could let go

And open up a window, free to be myself

“Why are you still here?” he asked, voice muffled. “You should’ve leftwhen you saw what I was.”

“I saw you,” you whispered. “Not the Void. Not the Sentry. Not the chaos. You. Bob Reynolds.”

He flinched like it physically hurt to be seen.

But then there’s you

Standing over me, tryina make a fool of me

Tryina get the best of me

Oh, then there’s you

Tryina shut me out, tryina kick me when I’m down

That ain’t gonna stop me now, no

“She said I’d never be more than a weapon,” he murmured. “That I’d drag you down with me. That I’m too broken to be loved.”

“She’s wrong,” you said.

“But what if she’s not?” he asked, voice barely audible. “What if I destroy you, too?”

How does it feel to know that I don’t care at all?

Your words don’t mean a thing at all

I choose to rise, you choose to fall (ahh)

How does it feel to know that I am capable

Of more than you will ever know (ahh)?

You pulled him back to look into his eyes—bloodshot, brimming with tears, desperate.

“You are so much more than what she made you believe.”

Don’t tell me I’m not good enough (ohh)

Don’t you bring me down (ohh)

I’m moving up (ohh) and you’re over now (ohh)

You gave me fire (ohh)

Every time you came around (ohh)

My feet are steady on the ground (ohh)

And you won’t knock me down

No more, oho, oho, oho

Now I’m unbreakable

Oho, oho, oho

Now I’m unbreakable

⸻

The days after were like walking on glass.

Bob couldn’t sleep without flinching. Couldn’t touch you without pulling away like he was afraid he’d burn you. He stopped wearing yellow and blue. Said it felt like putting on someone else’s skin.

“Some days I wake up,” he said, “and I wish I hadn’t.”

You let yourself cry when he wasn’t looking.

But never in front of him.

Times like this, I’m picking up the pieces

I’m making up the reasons

Not to tell a soul

He stopped answering the door. Stopped checking his phone. The only time he spoke was to ask, “Do you still love me?”

“Yes,” you said, over and over, until your voice cracked. “Yes. Always.”

Times like this, I’d rather speak to no one

I just wanna move on, and stand up on my own

But he wasn’t ready.

One night, you found him staring at himself in the mirror.

“If I disappear,” he asked, “will the world be safer?”

You shoved the mirror off the wall. It shattered around you both.

“No,” you whispered, grabbing his face, eyes wild. “If you disappear, I’m gone too.”

But then there’s you

Standing over me, tryina make a fool of me

Tryina get the best of me

Oh, then there’s you

Tryina shut me out, tryina kick me when I’m down

That ain’t gonna stop me now, no

“You don’t get to leave,” you said, shaking. “Not like this. Not while I’m still holding you.”

How does it feel to know that I don’t care at all?

Your words don’t mean a thing at all

I choose to rise, you choose to fall (ahh)

How does it feel to know that I am capable

Of more than you will ever know (ahh)?

⸻

The first sign of light came slowly.

A post-it note on the fridge: I ate. Thank you.

Then a half-smile when you cracked a stupid joke.

Then, one night, you found him outside. Barefoot in the grass. Just standing there, breathing in the night.

“I missed this,” he said. “The quiet. The real kind.”

You stepped beside him and took his hand.

“You’re still here,” you said.

He squeezed your fingers. “I’m trying to be.”

Don’t tell me I’m not good enough (ohh)

Don’t you bring me down (ohh)

I’m moving up (ohh) and you’re over now (ohh)

You gave me fire (ohh)

Every time you came around (ohh)

My feet are steady on the ground (ohh)

And you won’t knock me down

No more, oho, oho, oho

Now I’m unbreakable

Oho, oho, oho

Now I’m unbreakable (yeah)

⸻

Weeks passed.

He started doing small things—making coffee, folding laundry, touching your arm without fear.

One night, you walked into the kitchen and found him sketching. You hadn’t seen him draw in months.

He looked up, startled. “It’s just… a rough one.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“It’s me,” he said. “Before everything went wrong.”

You knelt beside him, kissing his temple. “Then let’s start again.”

I remember getting teased as a kid

‘Cause at the place that we lived

We never had it easy, believe me

But that don’t excuse the things that we did

Wouldn’t accept that I was never accepted

Shed so many tears like I fell in depression

But if I changed, I wouldn’t get called names

But it was all the same, I was feeling rejected

Putting someone down, that’s a low blow

What goes around comes around like a yoyo

Wish that I could stop time like a photo

But we stand strong, bounce back like a pogo

⸻

Months later, he looked different.

Not because his hair was longer or his voice steadier.

But because he stood tall. Like the weight on his chest had finally lifted.

You walked into the living room one morning to find him holding his old cape.

You froze.

He looked up.

“I’m not putting it on,” he said. “Just wanted to remind myself… I survived it.”

Don’t tell me I’m not good enough (What?, ohh)

Don’t you bring me down (ohh)

I’m moving up (ohh) and you’re over now (ohh)

You gave me fire (ohh)

Every time you came around (ohh)

My feet are steady on the ground (ohh)

And you won’t knock me down

No more, oho, oho, oho

Now I’m unbreakable

Oho, oho, oho

Now I’m unbreakable

⸻

He kissed you that night like it was the first time.

And when he pulled away, he looked at you—eyes full, not empty.

“I used to think I was the light,” he said. “But it was always you.”

[stlllle]

Headcanons: What It’s Like Dating Choi Su-bong (Thanos)

Content: angst, possessiveness, protective façade, soft moments and a very peculiar sense of humor.

Author's notes:

"I like to think that being in a relationship with Thanos would feel like this. Am I wrong? Maybe. Do I care? Not at all! (Honestly, everything I post is just silly little daydreams from my head 😛)

Anyway, if this made you smile, feel free to check out my masterlist! And if you ever feel like it, my requests are open too 🙂 (just don’t forget to read the rules before sending something!)

Masterlist –[link]

---

In the beginning:

He’s not easy to get close to. The kind of guy who’s always watching his back, guarded, intimidating without even trying.

You’d have to push a few times, tease him, start random conversations. He’ll pretend not to care… but he does.

Once he realizes you’re genuinely into him — not out of pity, not for gain — he starts to lower his walls.

Your first kiss happens after a stupid argument, where he grabs your wrist, mutters “Fuck, you drive me insane” and crashes his lips to yours without a warning.

---

His personality in the relationship:

Jealous. Very. The kind of jealousy that doesn’t show in tantrums but simmers under the surface, and if some other guy dares to look at you, his brain is already listing 50 ways to end him.

He’s not the type to say “I love you” all the time, but he shows it: fixing your coat, buying your favorite snack without a word, or pulling you close while walking through the streets.

His humor is dark, sarcastic. He’ll call you names affectionately just to get a reaction.

He hates showing weakness — but when you’re alone, he melts.

---

Private moments:

Loves spooning when you sleep together, but you better never mention it to anyone.

When you’re anxious or upset, he doesn’t know how to comfort with words. So he just sits next to you, holds your hand, runs his fingers through your hair in silence.

Low-key affectionate gestures — like stroking your palm with his thumb when no one’s watching.

His kisses are possessive, always like he’s trying to brand you, needing to prove you’re his.

---

Things he does but won’t admit:

Keeps your pictures saved on his phone.

Watches you sleep and sometimes smiles, but if you catch him, he’ll turn away and grumble “Stop staring, fuck.”

Gets irrationally angry when you’re hurt or sick, like he could protect you from the entire world.

Secretly imagines a future — a small house, just the two of you away from everyone.

---

If someone messes with you:

This man turns into a storm.

It doesn’t matter if it’s verbal or physical, he’ll deal with it immediately.

His glare alone is enough to make people shut up, but if needed, he’ll get physical.

And afterward, he’ll scold you too, like: “Are you insane? Don’t get involved with assholes like that!” — while checking if you’re okay.

---

If you fight:

He’s stubborn and hot-headed.

Will say harsh things in the heat of the moment and regret it hours later.

The type to apologize without words, showing up with your favorite snack or putting on your favorite movie, sitting next to you until you give in.

If you cry, he breaks immediately and feels like shit.

---

In the end:

Loving Choi Su-bong isn’t easy. He’s rough, aggressive, proud. But he’s the kind of man who’d protect what’s his until the very end.

Deep down, all he wants is a safe place to exist — and you become that place.

He’s chaos and home at the same time.

📖🔥 NSFW Headcanons: What It’s Like to Fuck Choi Su-bong (Thanos)

Content: explicit language, rough sex, possessiveness, jealousy, marking, light choking, dirty talk, unprotected sex, primal vibes, rough aftercare.

⚠️ Warning: This is explicit smut content. If you're underage or uncomfortable with possessive and rough themes, skip this one.

---

The Build-Up:

He’s not the type for romantic candlelight setups. Most of the time, it starts with tension — heavy looks, sharp words, a fight, or jealousy.

--

He loves when you snap back at him, it gets him hard instantly.

That “don’t fucking talk to me like that” turns into “come here and say that again” real fast.

--

He’ll corner you against a wall, one hand on your jaw, voice low and dangerous:

“Say it again. I fucking dare you.”

--

And you both know where it’s headed.

---

The Sex:

Rough. Desperate. Unapologetic.

He fucks like it’s a war — like he needs to leave you shaking, marked up and ruined so you’ll remember who owns you.

Loves hair pulling. Neck biting. Pushing you down onto the mattress and taking what he wants.

His favorite thing? Making you beg. Doesn’t care how tough you act, he’ll break you down, whispering in your ear:

“Look at you, begging for my cock. Knew you’d fold for me.”

Low, growled moans and filthy words in your ear.

---

Favorite Positions:

Doggystyle, no question.

Loves gripping your hips so hard it leaves bruises, pulling you back against him, watching the way your ass bounces with every thrust.

Also loves you riding him — watching you take him, controlling the pace, hands on your waist, murmuring “That’s it, baby. Take it like a good girl.”

On rare nights when he’s softer (but still possessive), missionary. Holding your face, staring into your eyes while he fucks you deep.

---

Jealousy and Marking:

If someone flirts with you? You’re not walking straight the next day.

Will bite, suck, and scratch you until you’re covered in marks — shoulders, thighs, neck, inner thighs.

And he makes you show them off.

“Pull your shirt down. Let them see who you belong to.”

Possessive growls when you moan his name. Nothing makes him come harder than hearing you scream “Su-bong” while falling apart for him.

---

Aftercare (His Way):

He’s not good with words but takes care of you.

Gets you water, cleans you up, holds you close afterward, even if he pretends it’s nothing.

Runs his rough hand through your hair, brushes kisses on your temple.

Grumbles if you say you’re sore, but secretly loves it.

“Told you to be careful, brat.” — while pulling you tighter against him.

---

Extra:

Obsessed with cumming inside you.

“You’re mine. All of you. Inside and out.”

Gets harder when you talk dirty back — it triggers something primal in him.

Will absolutely fuck you against a wall, in a car, wherever. He doesn’t care.

If you ever tease him in public, expect to be wrecked the moment you’re alone.

---

📌 Summary:

Sex with Choi Su-bong is wild, dangerous, and addictive. It’s rough hands, possessive kisses, bruised skin, and a love so obsessive it hurts.

And beneath all that violence is a man so terrified of losing you, he���d burn the world down before letting you go.

[left-in-latin-is-sinister]

I think I've realized why there was such a fundamental difference in how Tom perceived Amanda's relationship with Clarissa as the creator of the character (attracted to her but overall not too bothered when she only wanted to be with Mark) and the general fandom perception (she is deeply in love with Clarissa).

It comes down to the way that queer attraction is or is not typically expressed in queer-straight female friendships (or at least, friendships where someone is presumed straight).

(This may well also be true for male friendships, but I wouldn't know enough to speak on that, and also it's irrelevant to this ship.)

For this analysis, I'm going with the idea that either Clarissa is straight or she hasn't explored or shared her non-straightness, due to the way she never once expresses interest in women, and seems very oblivious to Amanda's attraction.

Ok! On to the crux of the issue:

For the most part, homophobia and its effects either don't exist or are very toned down in SFTH plays. And that's for good reason - a comedy show where you're trying to get general audiences to have a good time isn't the best place to seriously explore that topic, and (mostly) straight and cis men probably aren't the best people to tackle it either. So when Tom as Amanda is hitting on Clarissa, he's doing that without worrying about homophobic or similarly negative reactions, because he knows his scene partners won't take the story in that direction, and he wants to portray a corner of the world where that just isn't an issue.

But us as fans are contextualizing what we see in the play from what we know of real life. And so so often, if you're just passively attracted to a straight close friend, especially a best friend since childhood, you won't mention it for fear of changing the dynamics of the friendship, or at worst, having it ruined entirely. There's the risk of true homophobia if you haven't talked about LGBT people (particularly lesbians) enough to know the straight friend's true feelings on them. And there's some people who are totally okay with the concept of gay people, but when someone close to them is attracted to them, suddenly it's gross, and it unearths some deep-rooted homophobia. Even if you think that's an unlikely outcome, just the chance of it is enough to make many people think twice. And then even if you know your friend is 100% not homophobic, there's the risk that knowing one of the people closest to them is attracted to them will still make them less comfortable around you in some ways. Female best-friendships tend to be super close, and bringing one-sided attraction into it has the genuine potential to destabilize it by making certain things, like physical contact, sleepovers, changing in the same room, etc, suddenly seem take on a different layer of meaning once the feelings are out in the open.

So, keeping in mind that risk, for many people, the only thing that would cause them to hit on their best friend as consistently and enthusiastically as Amanda does to Clarissa is being so in love with them that they decide that they want or need to express that. Maybe it's killing them to hide it any longer, or they want to take the chance at a relationship, however small, because if it works the reward would be worth everything. If the attraction wasn't that serious, many people just wouldn't take the risk, or would feel that it wasn't even worth mentioning.

(Disclaimer: of course this isn't always true. There are definitely straight friends who make it clear that this kind of thing 100% would not bother them, or queer friends who are forward enough to take the risk anyway, or friendships where quite intense flirting is the norm. But I'm talking about the statistically common experience, and the experience that so many queer coming of age stories have used as a trope, etc.)

So when the audience, many of them queer, see this portrayal, they're bringing their own experiences as well as the common tropes of the queer experience as context. And that leads them to believe that Amanda is 100% in love with Clarissa, no matter how much she downplays it, or how Tom says that it wasn't his intention with the portrayal of the character.

[naneun-no]

1. You get what you seek. And it shows that you have made it so that on your side that is all you see because you purposely seek it out. You do realize that on SM when you see post and go into comments sections, it’s different for everyone. You know this right?! You built your algorithm to be what you wanted it to be. I never see these things you guys speak of. On my side none of these things pop up. I didn’t build my algorithm with purposeful hate. That was all your own doing. Maybe it’s time to start over and build it with actual positivity because you and the rest sound like you’ve gone off the deep end.

2. Let me preface this with I am 🏳️‍🌈 and what you and the lot are doing is literally one of the most disrespectful and scary things you could do to someone who may be 🏳️‍🌈. “But we do it to show love and support!” Nope! You are doing damage and it’s scary. You literally scare us! Never actually taking the time to think of what this could do to them. You just want your “Ha Ha I was right!” point made. You can see it in all of your guys posts. They are just token to you and you have definitely proven that. You guys are the ones giving ammo to the people who hate us (and risking our lives, how do you not get that!?!! Especially the two grown men you are speaking about!

3. I say this sincerely but you (and the rest of you) need help. I highly recommend therapy because you have gone waaay past parasocial…… Others people opinions (which they are allowed to have, just like you have, and you’re stating they aren’t) should never matter to you this much. You are spending too much time in a world where you don’t even exist to them instead of living in the real world. You put more time and effort into their lives and those who hate them, than on your life. Do you deep dive your life this much? Do you deep dive current events this much? People are literally being slaughtered and dying all over the world right now. I understand the need to escape because of how bad the world is right now (trust me I get it) but you guys aren’t even diving into a good thing. If their lives make you happy then sure enjoy it and be happy but you and the lot seem to focus more on the hate and fighting than just staying in the happy bubble that has been created. Stay within the content and leave out all the rest. You are doing yourself and those guys a disservice doing all that. If you truly care about them, love them (like you claim), and care you wouldn’t be behaving this way. Report and block buttons exist for a reason!

4. This was probably a waste of time because you will all remain the same, but I tried. I wish people thought more of the consequences of their actions and especially what that does to those you are “fighting” for.

Hi, so, I’m gonna attempt to answer this in good faith, even though I don’t necessarily think it was asked in good faith (especially since you did it anonymously, but that’s cool. I turned on anons for the first time in years because I felt open to being challenged and discussing, and that’s what you brought). I am a fan of self-reflection, even though you (without knowing me at all) suggested that I’m not — so let’s give it a go.

1. Sorry… gotta ask. How did you come across this post exactly? You know, given the positivity and purity of your own algorithm?

Ah, I had to, sorry. But you see how it works?

I don’t “build my algorithm with purposeful hate” either. That was, in my opinion, an unnecessarily spiteful and self-congratulatory thing to say. I also wasn’t referring in my last post to hate — I was referring to the way that a lot of this fandom refuses to acknowledge Jimin and Jungkook’s particular closeness. Idk what kind of algorithm you want me to have, but given that I am responding to what “normal” army — presumably people like you — are saying, I don’t really get your point.

2. Okay, you’re 🏳️‍🌈. I’m going to give you a spoiler alert and let you know that a lot of “this lot” is 🏳️‍🌈. You might be aware that gay people are not a monolith.

For some people, the bond that they’ve seen between Jungkook and Jimin and the people that celebrate it has helped them find solace and encouragement and empowered them in their sexuality. I have had discussions about that with gay people on this very site. So while you evidently find this kind of shipping discourse a wholly bad thing, not every gay person does.

I think for a lot of gay people, when they witness and react to Jungkook and Jimin’s content, they have raised eyebrows and wonder if they are closeted. I’m bisexual myself, and I wondered about Jimin a long time ago, but idk. I could be wrong. I don’t think he’s particularly scared of being seen as bisexual, but maybe I am projecting.

I’m genuinely sorry that you felt scared or threatened by my post or my words. I did not intend what I said to be a scary thing, but if it felt that way to you regardless, I apologize. I have no desire to use any gay people (or any people period) as a token or a chess piece. To be honest, sometimes it can get kind of competitive on here when talking about different fandom takes, and you’re right about that. I don’t really see my most recent post as a “ha ha I win” post, I more just was sort of frustrated by the way people tend to refuse to talk about jikook in a normal way, in the way they would talk about any other celebrity duo — but in doing so, I suppose I end up not talking about them in a normal way myself. And that’s fair to call out!

When you say “what I’m doing is dangerous for them” I think I need to better understand what you mean. Genuinely. I’m not sure how saying “hm, I see something here but maybe I’m wrong” is dangerous. I have not spread or reposted any photos people took without their consent. I have not followed them (ever) or gone to where they are to take photos or share their location without their consent. I have not called for anyone to do them harm. In fact, maybe it will cheer you to hear that almost my entire algorithm is people shaming and discouraging others from sharing the intrusive photos and videos. And I agree.

If you’re suggesting that more people seeing content that points out that they may be gay will make more people think they’re gay, which would then make them more visible to people who may wish to harm them — okay. Maybe. I doubt that hateful, homophobic people are trolling the ship tags on tumblr, of all places, but maybe. I removed their names from the tags of the post so that only the ship names are tagged (so that people who are okay with encountering that kind of content will be the ones to see it. Hopefully. And the good people with good algorithms won’t).

Listen. I do not want to put them in danger. I am reacting to their public behavior and the language I see surrounding it. I posted this on a blog site that is generally a pretty safe space for the 🏳️‍🌈 intentionally. I do not post very much about them on X and I do not post at all about them elsewhere.

Still, I’m sorry to hear that you find my post exploitative or scary. If I may make an intrusive suggestion similar to the ones you made — maybe you should avoid this kind of discourse if it causes you distress. Then again, you wouldn’t get the ego boost of telling me all the ways I’m a yucky, bad, not as good as you person. So maybe keep it in the rotation.

3. Point number 3. It’s a big one. Most of it is absolutely none of your business, but I’m going to address it anyways. I’m also choosing to believe you meant this with the best of intentions and that the preachy, holier-than-thou tone was unintentional and just a product of how much better than me you think you are.

Which is fine, and I mean this genuinely: maybe you are healthier than me! Maybe whatever impulse drove you into a stranger’s inbox to anonymously recommend that they seek therapy is healthier than the impulse I had to rant on my own blog about a trend I’ve noticed in a fandom I’m a part of. If you are mentally healthier than me, please accept my congratulations. I wish you many warm cups of herbal tea while your feet touch grass and the sun shines on your cheeks. I wish that for everyone, really.

But anonymous hall monitor, hear me when I say this: You don’t know me at all.

I don’t know the two grown men I wrote about either — you’re right! I yap, and I rant, and I tap up silly essays with very little editing, but it actually is a lot less deep to me than it probably seems like it is. Know why? Because you happened to come to a place where this is the only thing I do. The title of the blog is “ranting & writing & shipping” or something to that effect. I have reserved this space specifically for silly fandom thoughts about two celebrities. In the same way that some people have blogs for Tom and Zendaya, and some have blogs about certain reality shows. I have never written about them in a way that suggests I know them in any way other than a fan “knows” an idol. I only ever make comments on the content they have shared with us through official channels. I may seem as though all I am is a brain dead, zombified shipper, but I am other things too. I just am not those things here, because I have reserved this little space for that.

Is it the healthiest of my hobbies? Probably not. You’re right about that. But rest assured, random stranger who does not know or care about me in any way, other than the moral high ground you awarded yourself at my expense — I do have other hobbies.

I actually do, believe it or not, “dive this deep” in my personal life. I do in fact stay informed on current events and I do in fact have hot takes on things other than this one topic. It’s just that this blog, which you somehow came across and then trolled for evidence to back up your anonymous takedown of me, is pretty much only about this one topic.

I get that you think you know me because you’ve read a few of my posts, but they are typically typed up in a whirlwind of random half-baked thoughts formed during an hour or so spent online and then never really thought of again. I’m a good writer, so maybe that makes you think I spend more time on these posts than I actually do. In actuality, I have spent far longer trying to fairly and without too much defensiveness respond to this ask. Believe me, if anything has inspired me to log off for the day, it’s you. So. Well done.

You so magnanimously suggested that “my lot” should choose to only see the positive and not engage with the negative. Setting aside the fact that PLENTY of my posts are positive, and about the music, and fashion, and hyping them up, you just haven’t seen those ones (darn it! Why didn’t your perfect algorithm show you my nice, happy posts? I promise they exist): If you’re taking issue with the overall tone of my last post — which was a bit sarcastic, a bit argumentative, I’ll give you that — then maybe my style just isn’t for you? I promise I am not having a bad day because people don’t see Jungkook and Jimin the exact same way I do. I promise I’m allowing people to have their opinions, even if my phrasing made you think I’m not. In fact, I’d argue that I might be more tolerant of different opinions than you are. Sure, I made a rant post on my own blog space about how I’m annoyed with a certain trend. But you’re the one who sought out my inbox and told me to seek help. So which one of us is less tolerant of an online stranger’s opinion?

4. I suspect this might have been a waste of my time, too. It’s why I closed anonymous asks years ago; because I got tired of hearing vitriol from strangers. But I like to imagine that we’re all real people, behind the screens, so here’s my good faith summary:

You’re right, I probably am too invested in a relationship that doesn’t involve me. I should have learned my lesson from Channing and Jenna (and Tia and Cory 😭) to stop getting invested in celeb relationships 😅. I actually have a long, unpublished draft about the obsessive culture of shipping in fandom, of which I am guilty! and how and why we become so hooked on this particular stimulus, and all the healthy and unhealthy results it can have, and blah blah blah.

But I don’t think you care about that. Because you don’t care about me. You don’t know me. You’re not a friend. You’re not someone who can provide tough love and tell me what I need to hear, because there is no love to begin with. Your ask reeked of judgement, and shaming, and accusatory finger-pointing, not of genuine concern. Your ask was to make you feel better, it was an outlet for the emotions my post brought up for you — nothing more.

You could have posted about the concerning trend of shipping in fandom on your own blog (and maybe you have, I don’t know). But instead you chose to come to the space I have for myself where I talk about BTS fandom and how it relates to two of the members and tell me I need to seek help. All because I pointed out that people don’t call Jimin and Jungkook best friends, when they clearly are.

You’re too invested too, babe. And that’s the beautiful hypocrisy of it all. “Don’t engage with the negative!!” While sending me a hateful ask. “Other people’s opinions shouldn’t matter to you this much!” How much? Enough to write a silly rant post, or enough to crawl into someone’s asks and accuse them of “not living in the real world”?

Maybe I am an embarrassing person for poring over shit that doesn’t concern me, for finding joy in a relationship I observe from afar. Maybe I’m a loser and I need to step back (I’ve stepped back before, I do it often. You wouldn’t know that, because you don’t know me). But I made a non-direct, untargeted rant post that you could have scrolled past. I was primarily just preaching to the choir. But you took it a step further by sending me a targeted, personal, insulting message designed to make me feel bad. Do you see the difference, in our two posts?

I think while I’m self-reflecting, maybe you should too.

[fr3akshow-d4rlin]

Universal x reader

Warnings: none, just lazy writing?

Sorry for being away for so long..?

He doesn’t smile when you meet him.

Actually, he doesn’t even look at you—just mutters something gruff as he brushes past, shouldering through the crowd like he’s fighting it. You’re standing in front of the community center bulletin board, taping up flyers for a neighborhood food drive, when he stops beside you.

“That won’t do anything,” he says.

You glance at him. He’s got tired eyes, a scar near his jawline, and an expression like he’s permanently disappointed in everything.

“Excuse me?”

He nods at your flyer. “People only show up when there’s something in it for them. You’ll see. No one wants to help for free.”

You blink at him, stunned, but something about his bitterness isn’t cruel—it’s just worn out. Like someone who gave up hope a long time ago and hasn’t found a reason to pick it back up since.

“Well,” you say brightly, “maybe they just need a reason. Sometimes people surprise you.”

He scoffs. “Not in this world.”

But he doesn’t walk away.

He stands there while you finish putting up the flyer. Watches as you smile and wave at a passing kid. And then, oddly, asks when the food drive is.

---

You don’t expect him to show up.

But he does.

Quietly, on the day of the event, dressed like he doesn't belong—dark clothes, hands shoved in his pockets, staying near the edges like he’s allergic to being noticed. You watch him help an old woman carry a box of canned goods anyway. When you thank him, he just shrugs.

You learn his name in pieces.

You learn he fixes things—motorcycles, old radios, anything broken. You learn he doesn’t like crowds, small talk, or people who smile too much.

So naturally, you keep smiling at him.

You run into him more often after that. He always insists it’s coincidence, but you catch the way his eyes search the room for you when he walks in. The way his shoulders ease when you say his name.

He challenges everything you say—about people, about hope, about kindness—but over time, the sharpness in his voice softens.

“I don’t get you,” he says once, when you bring him coffee just because it’s cold and he looked like he needed it. “Why do you bother?”

You grin, handing him the cup. “Because I like making people’s days a little better.”

“But what do you get out of it?”

“Seeing them smile,” you say simply.

He stares at you like he can’t tell if you’re lying or just deluded. But the next time, he brings you coffee.

Without a word.

One night, he finally lets something slip.

You're sitting on a bench under a streetlamp after helping out at the shelter. You’re swinging your feet a little; he’s hunched beside you, elbows on his knees.

“People don’t stay,” he says suddenly. “They take what they want and leave. That’s how the world works.”

You don’t rush to argue. You just rest your head on his shoulder and say quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes a moment. But then you feel him breathe out—like he’s been holding that air for years.

---

He doesn’t call what’s growing between you “love.” Not for a long time.

But you see it in the little things: the way he saves the last piece of your favorite chocolate, even though he pretends not to like sweets. The way he starts fixing things at the shelter without being asked. The way his walls are still there—but now there’s a door, and it’s cracked open just for you.

You don’t fix him.

You just remind him the world isn't all broken.

And slowly—slowly—he starts to believe it.

Because he believes in you

Weeks pass.

You keep showing up—sometimes with purpose, sometimes with snacks, sometimes just to exist in the same space as him. He still grumbles every time you call his name with that bright, sing-song tone of yours, but now? There’s a small smile hidden in it. You’ve learned to look for it—not in his mouth, but in his eyes.

He’s all edges, but you’ve found the corners where he softens.

The first time he lets you into his apartment, he says, “Don’t touch anything,” and you immediately pick up the weird little ceramic turtle on the shelf.

“Seriously?” he deadpans.

You grin. “It’s cute. Did you make it?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He doesn’t answer.

But he doesn’t take it away from you, either.

---

There are questions you want to ask, but don’t. Not yet.

Like why he flinched when the shelter coordinator raised his voice. Why he keeps his fridge almost empty. Why he won’t ever let you walk him home—only the other way around.

Instead, you ask smaller things.

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Come on, everyone has one.”

“…‘The Iron Giant.’”

You light up. “That’s such a good choice!”

He shrugs. “Didn’t say it was a choice. Just… stuck with me.”

You don’t press. But later that night, you show up at his place with two cups of instant noodles and a blanket, and you say, “Let’s watch it.”

He protests, of course. Grumbles about how you’re always barging in and that you’re too damn cheerful and why are you always cold and stealing his hoodies.

But you notice he lets you stay until the credits roll.

And after the movie ends, you find his hand inching toward yours, like it’s accidental.

It isn’t.

---

He doesn’t say much, but when he does, it matters.

“You make things feel different,” he murmurs one evening, when it’s late and neither of you want to go home. “Lighter.”

You blink, stunned

“That’s… good different, right?”

He glances at you. "You know it is."

Your heart does a stupid little skip.

---

Then one night, everything almost changes.

You’ve had a bad day. Nothing catastrophic—just one of those days where the world feels too heavy, and you don’t know why you’re crying in the stairwell.

He finds you like that. Silent. Curled in on yourself.

You expect him to say something blunt. Or leave. Or panic.

He doesn’t.

He sits down beside you without a word.

Doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t try to fix it.

He just puts his hand on your knee, firm and steady, and says, “I’ve got you.”

You lean into him like he’s gravity and you’re so tired of floating.

He lets you.

And for once, his guard is all the way down. There’s no sarcasm, no eye-rolling, no careful half-smile.

Just him. Real. Raw.

“I don’t trust people,” he says. “But I’m starting to trust you.”

You turn to him, wide-eyed. You want to say something, something soft and big and terrifying like me too.

But he’s already looking away.

So instead, you reach for his hand again. No words.

He doesn’t let go.

[dirtytransmasc]

Spider is never allowed to make anyone uncomfortable. he is never allowed to need or take space. to need more, god forbid ask for it.

I have noticed, that in the minds of this fandom as a whole. Spider is never allowed to make anyone uncomfortable.

I see arguments that his lifetime of neglect is just something he had to deal with, though people put it in less direct terms, because it would have been too hard, or too awkward, or too complicated, or too uncomfortable, or too much.

Jake was too busy, he was chief, he had his own kids! what about his own past! Norm was too busy, he had his own kids too! Neytiri shouldn't be forced to accept him! he wasn't their responsibility! it shouldn't be on them to raise Quaritch's son!

while there are some valid points here, why does it boil down to Spider's treatment being acceptable in some people's minds?

cause Spider was thrown to a random human family that very clearly did not want him. did not accept him as he was or give him the love and affection and time a child needs or allow him to truly be himself without constantly being pushed out the door.

and I'm not saying a single one of them even had to be a parent. cause they didn't. the McCoskers provided a good enough roof over his head. I get that it would be difficult to home him with anyone who wasn't human or was working a lot. but Spider had not one adult truly in his corner.

kids need more than a friend. and Nash nor Mary seem like they actually made themselves a safe space for the kid.

so who do you think he was crying to when he was upset, like any teenager gets? who do you think he asked for help, even when it was embarrassing? when he was a teenager and his body was changing and he was uncomfortable? or if he was hurt? or if he did something wrong and needed help to fix it? who would give him a hug when he needed one? who would let this kid grieve in front of them, and talk it out, because missing some of the worst monsters in history is so much for a kid?

who was there to deal with all the things a teenager needs a safe space and a safe person for?

or how about just someone defending his honor? that's an easy one. you don't even need to be that emotionally involved. but still, no one. Jake only argued for him when what people were saying was making him uncomfortable. and he's the first to try and rip Spider from the only home and life he's ever known to be a citizen or prisoner of the RDA (both fates hell; and Spider would probably rather the latter, cause he wouldn't have to pretend to be a cog in the machine of the RDA while it killed the world he loved) whenever it was slightly convenient for him.

I mean. Spider is an independent kid who has lived mostly on his own since he was old enough to bolt out of his foster parent's apartment and put into the forest. would one extra body at High Camp really be so invasive that it was worth putting this kid through the hell of losing all he's ever known? this kid who has fought day and night to prove he belongs? that he's not his father?

but it was more comfortable for Jake to send him away. more comfortable for Jake to not defend him unless he was defending himself or, at the very least, keeping someone from putting their hands on Spider. and we see no other adult pleading his case. he's just alone to defend himself while everyone else gets a free pass to exist. even other humans accepted by the Omatikaya (the we see in the comics. who have no avatar. but are just. part of the people).

people fight so hard that Spider "wasn't their responsibility" or "he was the humans responsibility" and"the people at Hellsgate should have done something"

ok. well. if you see some kid in your life every single day who is probably pretty clearly showing signs of neglect. would it not be the half decent thing to do to step up or say something? for people like Jake and Max and Norm, leaders and pillars of the resistance, the clan, and Hellsgate, wouldn't you argue it actually was their responsibility. I mean, we don't know a ton about the politics and leadership going on in the Western resistance. but they definitely be runners up for who's responsible for the orphan boy who most people don't want or accept because of the father he had no say on. who's responsible when his needs, even if not physical, aren't being met. that's not "asking too much". that's not "complicated". that's not wished away by "too busy". that is basic decency one shout have for a child.

in Spider's case, with a safe but neglectful home, he wouldn't need much. something just above stray treatment? I mean he obviously deserves more. any child deserves a happy life in a safe home with a family that loves him. but I'm working with what I've got.

he truly just needed one adult to vouch for him. when things got tough, when there were conflicts, when they had to leave for high camp. someone to speak for him, so this kid wasn't constantly fighting to just be seen. to be accepted like every other human who wanted to be accepted into it around the village was accepted. and not just for his sake! I think if one adult stepped up to give him a safe space that wasn't the Sully kids, made another place to feel accepted and wanted, his relationship with Neytiri would be much better, because he wasn't constantly forced under her nose. she wasn't having the scab pulled every day. and if someone like Jake, perhaps, could help her face her trauma instead of just trying to skirt past in issue in 5 seconds, I think they'd both do some proper healing.

trying to force him to the RDA should have *never* happened. having 0 adults on his corner should have never happened. a child needs people to help him, to meet his needs, to give him love and attention and affection. even just a hug. and I know that no one can force themselves to love a kid. but the bare minimum should be expected.

I don't care what anyone says, I will criticize the main adult cause, minus Neytiri who has an actual reason why she does not like him, for not taking the most minor responsibility over him. they were obligated. the way people say they weren't makes me feel sick as someone who was in and around the system as a kid, the way you talk about this orphan in a foster situation, is fucking weird. and the blood on his veins isn't justification for him being treated like a stray. for having the most an adult with do for him is be his friend and then leave him hanging when he desperately needs an adult to step in.

especially because every adult on Pandora chose to be there. every adult on Pandora has blood on their hands and it was a choice and yet they live lives that forgiveness has given them. they are accepted. they have homes and families and a clan or a resistance community or both to fall back on. they live, relative to the situation, the high life. while Spider living that a stray cat, given affection like it's a blessing he should be grateful for some times, and them being kicked to the curb tower times, is justified by a choice he never made by a man and a woman he never even really met, and actions they made before he could even toddle.

they get to be uncomfortable. they should be. a child's needs should come before what's comfortable or easy or convenient.

[eldritchdemigodskywalkers]

#considering the central question of the movie is whether he still exists or if he's been so consumed by hate that he's gone forever #and the big triumph of the movie is him abandoning the vader thing and saying “yes i do still exist” #i would argue that destroying the second death star is presented as like an afterthought triumph compared to this #yes luke does go several places in this movie but i don't think they named the whole thing for the “look who's back from dagobah” moment #and if it's about The Jedi as a collective group they forgot to have any of the characters at all show any sign of that #at the end it's just luke and some ghosts and no one is saying anything about rebuilding the order. the whole focus is on anakin being back (tags via op)

#i love this take bc its visceral relief after he spent half of his life digging himself further and further down #like. after all that there was STILL a way out #theres no real punitive element in his redemption bc thats not how the light works (& thats some of what he got wrong too) #like yes he suffered but that was his own fault and palpatines fault. it was pointless suffering really #and now that hes dead and so is palpatine the movie doesnt waste any time on talking abt how hes never gonna make up for it all #like the bro just pops up w the jedi force ghosts in what should be the worlds most awkward coworker reunion #cuz being a jedi was genuinely never abt revenge or punitive justice. the violence they were taught was abt stopping the horrors #which he did! eventually! so he gets to consider himself a jedi (via @ozvezdja)

my turn to do discourse! yay! anyway i think the jedi whose return they named an entire movie after is anakin skywalker

[slavicafire]

Can we hear the empirical analysis Zmija. Of the 4 options

you sneaky little horny creature. you sneaky little thing. of-fucking-course you can! and with joy. please keep in mind this is entirely and absolutely subjective. random order.

blacksmith...what can I say: bicep, stamina, incredibly amazing smell. ability to focus for a surprising length of time on one important thing while keeping up tempo. persistent. reacts to failure with an honest readiness to try again right away and deep-seated certainty they can improve. knows the context and circumstance can matter as much as the underlying material reality of the situation. have I mentioned arms. also: fingers good at prying things apart, or testing things. not afraid of a particular sort of pain. and: fire. smoke. also can actually make cool shit which, let's be honest, we are all hopeless for. in my personal experience, will talk to you about various properties of various sorts of steel immediately post-coitus which will, inevitably, make you want to go again right away.

fight athlete. I am a simple animal and I find violence hot. you'll have some incredible bruises to marvel at while in a variety of incredible positions. bleeding and cuts might also be a thing. you can soothe a horrid loss or reward a vicious victory, and both will feel very good albeit in different ways. they might be very into the idea of thinking up some scenario where they can fight in your honour or for your safety which, if played right, is even more of your power fantasy than just theirs. not afraid of pain, and multiple types, which is always a great bonus. in my personal experience, might have very complex issues that can be worked out amazingly through united, honest effort in a well-developed kink scenario. and the v word again. often, those who dominate in the fighting ring like the scenario to be flipped in the bedroom and goodness what can be better than that.

weight athlete. well, let's not kid ourselves here: big. big and strong. very stubborn and persistent, and does not give up easily; when faced with adversity, has an incredible talent to grunt and groan in a way that will make you all hot and bothered. personal bias is that I love lifting weights and having had a weight lifting lover in the past gave me the best work out partner in existence - and there is something very, very special about an intense workout session followed by an even more intense sex. double happiness, double soreness, double gain. additionally, often on a bulk which means getting a lot of very good food, in amazing amounts, and then hopefully fucking after, too. and can lift you, and will be happy to lift you, and know how to respect your spine. super crucial.

park ranger. please be aware I am using this here in a very narrow meaning and largely incorrectly in relation to the whole poll - hence I didn't vote for it - because what I actually mean is a mountain rescue. GOPR/TOPR. this is the most potent combo of physical activity in an adversity context, paired with the genuine drive to do good - and, you guessed it, mountains. and I will be honest with you: had the pleasure only once, and it became a religious experience, and I can't focus enough to even write about it. I think the knowledge of trails, survival, first aid, and various more technical, very specific fields makes a person so exponentially hot it should be banned across the world for the good of horny bastards like me. only so we can break that law and make it even hotter and, most likely, perish.

[ghostly-bat]

Been following your teen parents/pregnant Dami au and the Kryptonian biology from @now-listen-here and I've been thinking it'd be fun if we mashed them together

Like, Jon hearing the baby's heartbeat and smelling the hormone change in Damian and immediately switching into nesting mode

He just picks Damian up and carries him into their team's hc so he can take care of him better. He's modified the room to be as soft and cozy and comfy for Damian as possible.

He devotes all of his time to Damian. He's got service bots doing the chores and he just does whatever Damian wants (usually to be held, occasionally run an insane errand like getting him a treat from another planet. Jon doesn't even bat an eye)

The Kents would rather not this be the case, but they also recognize that there's no curbing his instincts. Forcing him to go to school or on missions would probably end with a fight at best and, at worse, with someone getting a finger bit off.

The Batfam are going CRAZY. They want the baby of the family with them and try to get him back, but it just ends badly for them cause, again, going against an instinct-driven Kryptonian, especially one as temperamental and territorial as Jon is NOT going to end well

The only people who are allowed free access to Damian are Steph, Talia and Lois, because they are helpful. The others need to check first.

Also, I really liked the ask where Damian chose Jon to have a baby with, so I like to think that this is exactly what he planned: he asked Jon because he was his safe space and favorite person in the world (and he's been dreaming of a sweet domestic existence with him for years now), but also because he was well aware he'd be VERY well taken care of. He loves the attention and, while he loves his family, they would just be unnecessary stress

Ugh anon I was smiling the whole time reading this. This was me by the end of it!

And yes of course Damian loves the attention! And along with his emotional ups and down because of hormones Jon is there by his side the minute he hears even a little sniffle, and if Damian was already clingy enough his 100x more clingy now. Everytime Jon has to leave for something Damian is either pouting or clinging onto the back of Jon's shirt like a child would there mother and how can Jon say no? He says his not going to be doing any hero work for the time being so don't even ask him there are plenty of other supers to ask. Most of the time though Damian really just wants to be held, he has his own worries and anxiety about the whole pregnancy so when his anxiety spikes Jon is there to just hold him and Damian's trying to nuzzles himself as close to Jon as possible.

Talia is more than okay, more than delighted to know that her one and only child, along with her son to be grandchild are protected by one of the strongest beings out there.

And I love the thought that both their families assume that the whole thing was an accident when in reality it's just Damian confessing "It wasn't an accident I wanted this. Though it is happening a lot earlier than we expected"

[sturnixblogger]

Stuck in a shadow || sturniolo x lil sis ||

Summary: you struggled with mental health and self harm and you were admitted to the mental hospital months ago and you started to hallucinate. this is part two. part one here

Trigger warning

This story contains themes of mental health struggles, emotional neglect, and references to psychiatric hospitals, voices, hallucinations It may be triggering or upsetting for some readers. Please take care of your mental well-being and skip if you need to.

You are not alone. If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out: You can call or text 988 , the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. They’re there to listen, 24/7

You’re sitting in the quiet room.

Faint screams echo from other patients.

You’ve been admitted for four months now.

You haven’t gotten better.

You haven’t been able to see your family.

You’ve started to hallucinate.

You miss your family, but then you think about it. They are the ones who did this to you.

Why couldn’t I just be normal?

I’m sitting here all alone in a quiet room.

Each day the hallucinations get worse.

Why am I such a burden to the family?

The last month you’ve been faking it to the workers, pretending you were getting better.

The mental hospital didn’t make you feel better.

It made you feel isolated from the rest of the world.

It isolated your feelings.

You’re scared to show emotion because they might add time.

All you wanted was to be with your brothers,

But you just felt numb to your existence.

⸻

One month later

Today is the day you’re getting released.

All morning they’ve been running tests on you to make sure you’re actually getting better.

You feel like you’re getting better, but are you?

Or did you just shove down emotions and let your personality become a shadow?

You always felt useless and wished the attempts worked.

Suffering in this hell with nobody to comfort you.

Does this place actually care about you or your emotions?

Or do they bring you here to completely silence your personality and feelings and call it mental support?

As you walk out of the hospital, you see your family.

You don’t even show excitement.

Deep down you’re happy to get out of this hellhole.

But they were the ones who put you here.

As much as you try to bring out an emotion, you can’t.

You just walk past them and get in the car.

All you needed was love and support from your loved ones,

But they gave the responsibility to people you never met and who probably didn’t care.

Your mind goes blank.

Someone grabs you, pulling you out of the car and dragging you back into the hospital while you’re screaming.

Everything becomes muffled and smaller.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” a voice says.

You’re in the car still.

Your dad is driving.

Nick, Matt, and Chris are in the seats in front of you while you’re sitting in the back.

“Are you okay?” Chris says.

You completely lie, scared that if you tell the truth you’ll be ripped away from your family and shoved into a room.

Every second of the car ride, the voices get louder around you.

Not the ones in the car.

The ones in the back of your head.

Negative ones,

Telling you that this is another hallucination.

Telling you that you’re still at the hospital.

Whispers fill your mind with negative words.

Before you know it, you blink and everyone is staring at you, confused.

You have been at home.

in the driveway

everyone waiting for you.

Everyone has been trying to get you to answer them,

But it was like you weren’t there.

a/n : i’m obsessed with this?!

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Hello! I was curious in the last chapter of 'Like I was made for it' Phil makes a comment about how Techno's turning was different from Wilbur's because Techno remembers everything so I was wondering if Wilbur also hadn't wanted to be turned?

Ohohoho, I'm glad you asked because this allows me to yap about my favorite piece of world building for this AU that didn't make it into the actual fic :3c

Basically, how turning works in this universe is that if the human is alive when they're turned, they keep their memories. However, there also is a short window after a human dies where the vampire venom will still work. If a human is already dead when they're bitten/the venom is injected, they will lose all their memories upon turning.

Around the same time that vampires figured out the whole human cloning and genetic engineering thing, they also figured out the needed technology to cryofreeze bodies and keep them 'fresh' indefinitely. So when they took over and relocated the surviving chunk of humanity to being feeders, they also put a whole bunch of dead humans into the freezer. This is where all fledglings come from, because turning a feeder is actually illegal and very frowned upon (Phil is just built different lol).

When a vampire wants to sire, they go through a process that's basically a weird combo between child adoption and pet adoption. They are evaluated and need to get approved (Fledglings are a finite resource in this world, since vampires only have a finite amount of preserved bodies left. Hence the process to become a sire can be quite difficult). Then once approved, the sire may pick a fledgling from the freezer based on their preference of age, gender, and physical appearance.

Since all the fledglings turned this way were dead before being turned, they do not have memories. Vampires probably prefer it this way. Their new addition to the family will be a nice blank slate upon waking up, not having a single memory of human life (in fact, Techno is probably one of the first and only fledglings in literal centuries that has an active memory of being human).

Wilbur is a freezer baby (you could say his mother was literally a fridge /j). Phil picked him because he looks like Kristin - who does exist in this universe, just never appeared in the fic. By contrast, both Phil and Tommy were turned long before the vampire takeover. I tried to reflect that in Wilbur's behavior too. He's a little off because he literally has no concept of what it's like to be anything BUT a vampire, on top of the food chain and endlessly loved by his family.