#for me to remember things i need to read a paragraph a day. no more

[zvahlne]

Lack of communication final boss; Garroth Ro'meave

I swear to Irene that guy needs to talk about this stufffff. Like yeahhhh obv in the finale he wasn't immediately angry and agressive after seeing aph and Laurance kiss, he was sad and heartbroken with no hurtful thoughts at all. But his refusal to communicate with those two aswell as him immediately trusting Lillian is what let us into a mess that could've been avoided had he talked to Laurance and Aphmau about ut rather then a strangerrr. And just getting talked into all this. Mcd Garroth is so smart yet so stupid sometimes

it's true, he's uniquely terrible at communication. but! as much fun as it is to simplify and poke fun at him (and yell at him GRR go talk to your friends stupid!!), it was actually a complicated situation. does that mean he was RIGHT? no definitely not. but i DO understand.

...understand for SEVERAL paragraphs!!! read more time

garroth has spent pretty much his whole life taught that he had to repress all his shit. that his feelings don't matter, at best, and are a hindrance and personal failing at worst. guards! bring out the meme!

haha yeah.

so he has spent YEARS, the MAJORITY of his life, repressing everything he's ever wanted. he's not allowed to want things. that's not what he's for. but... then there's aphmau. and she's bright and warm and cares about how he feels, what he thinks. she cares about him beyond his responsibilities and what he can provide - she cares about what he wants.

and then there's laurance, who's irritating but also bright and friendly and also cares about how garroth feels and what he wants. this is important: laurance knows garroth's feelings for aphmau, and has, in the past, backed off on (implied) request!

so maybe - just maybe - he's allowed to want something? would that be okay?

but then aphmau says, in no uncertain terms, not to him but right in front of him, that she's not looking for a romantic relationship right now... which... aw man... bummer... but maybe la--

oh... that's his best friend kissing his crush...... the same day..............

so that's. devastating. it's not just about "ah! someone kissed my crush before me!", it's "someone i trusted specifically not to do that behind my back has gone behind my back and done something he knows would devastate me."

it's also total whiplash from what aphmau just said earlier, and things switching up on you like that feels awful. aphmau was lying too...?

we all talk about garroth's betrayal but it is important to remember that he felt betrayed first! and in a very personal, heart-wrenching way! a way that cuts directly to the heart of all the healing and progress he's made. i mean look at him in this screenshot!! he doesn't even have his helmet on!!! it's scary but he's trying so hard to be more open with people because maybe, just maybe, it'll be okay. maybe he is allowed to have this... and then all his worst fears are confirmed! he put himself out there and it HURT!!! relapse, go!!!

of course he doesn't talk to laurance and aphmau about how he's feeling. to laurance, what would be the point? laurance has shown he doesn't care as much for garroth's feelings as he let on, because why else would he have done this? to aphmau, he can't, of course he can't. how shameful of him to think he could have her, to even want her. she deserves anyone other than Garroth Ro'Meave, and she's found him. it breaks his heart, but he can't fault her for that. laurance has always made her smile in ways he couldn't, because he was too scared, and too slow. laurance had said he wouldn't wait forever, but garroth didn't realize how much of a threat that really was...

i think he ends up turning to lillian because he can't turn to laurance or aphmau, but he's grown more used to talking about his feelings now. he needs an outlet, but no one in phoenix drop can be an option. he's either not close enough with them, or can't be seen in such a state in front of them, or they'll tell aphmau/laurance, or all of the above.

but lillian... he holds no responsibility to lillian; he's not her guard. she's not expecting that from him. lillian won't tell aphmau or laurance; she knows them no better than she knows him, why would she? and she's here. and she wants to help him. and she cares about how he feels.

and yeah, we, the audience, know she's obviously up to no good. but garroth doesn't, and his guard is down. he is in just the right place to be manipulated like this. unfortunately, it was all orchestrated very well...

so yeah, he was being stupid. but... i guess people do crazy things for love.

[lost-victorian-sailor]

im looking at all the amount of stuff i need to learn in a year in order to score high on the exams and go to the university and i already hate it. i hate the process of learning because it is incredibly hard for me. i hate that my memory just doesn't work at most times and like i read things for the 10th time and the second after i remember like. nothing at all. honestly i do not know how i will survive this year. it only gets harder and harder.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

save me local historical attraction

local historical attraction save me

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[wrotebymii]

EVERYTHING HAS A PLACE | Date Everything x Autistic!gn!reader

Summary: How life is with the objects and their autistic homeowner.

Warnings: Fluffy, minimal angst, reader doesn’t know their household necessities are sentient at first, I’m autistic but low-functioning so a lot of what I wrote is how I go about my day/how I act. Not edited. Reader is also slightly demi-romantic coded.

Lost the plot a few paragraphs in I’m sorry I’m sleep deprived.

MASTERLIST | READ ME

Timothy, Penelope, and You are like three peas in a pod. Using each keeps you relatively relaxed for the upcoming day or eventual break in your neatly put together schedule—which gets increasingly difficult to think about when said break comes.

Sorry, Sam, but your hang session is place obscurely in our data monthly pin board since it’s pushing too close to workout and the everything shower. —Signed Penelope

They all try to accommodate your needs; Kopi making the coffee the exact same every time, Freddy keeping the fridge nice and cool so your comfort foods don’t spoil just yet, Teddy being found under your bed when you’re having a difficult time regulating, even Lux and Barry collaborating reluctantly together to find the perfect hand lotion that doesn’t give you sensory headaches.

Everyone thinks you’re charming, not in an infantilizing way. Every single person adores you but with respect and understanding.

Most of them love that you have a routine you stick by, it’s easy to remember and gives them chill periods in between. Its a nice break because they too can get tired, so when there’s a detour in the schedule that wasn’t place advanced. They worry.

Koa and Mateo would immediately be there with you, letting you curl in the comfort of your bedding and focus on yourself. While Telly puts on a rerun of your favorite show.

But this time it’s different. An immediate change in your entire routine when you got the Dateviators. Forcing yourself to ignore the urge to clean the broken glass of your door window because a drone had so rudely forced the box in. You picked them up, they were cute a little tacky but cute nevertheless. Internally, you were still freaked out that an unknown person knew your address and sent you a pair of sungla— holy shit.

You put them on and you’re not sure how it happened but there was a very beautiful smiling pinked haired stranger standing a few feet away from you. She was practically buzzing in excitement as she explained what was happening. Causing you to…

Quickly take the glasses off and pace.

You couldn’t believe it, almost didn’t want to believe it. Within the comforts of your own home every object, appliance, knicknacks, and the literal embodiment of concepts are all sentient. It made you feel all types of ways wrong that you quickly took laps around the house before collapsing on the floor of your living room.

…this could be a good thing? You mean…it could help with your social skill and facial recognition. Hell, maybe you’ll get a friend out of this?

Slowly you put them back on, your world being brightly lit up by rose tinted specs. It hurts your eyes. Though, Skylar shows up again, looking down at you with a strained smile and wave. Easying you up without touching you to your feet and continuing what she was saying. Before another bomb shell hit you.

Dateviators…dateables

The whole point of these glasses was to date multiple of your household items which freaked you out more. However, you were truly thankful that you met Dorian first. His announcement that friendship was also an option made it less daunting on you.

Thus began the 102 way to get everything to be friends with you!

Sure, the first few days was stressful and near exhausting but long talks with Timothy and Pen helped greatly. They helped with creating an entirely new schedule color coded as well that allowed time for your humanly needs and getting to know everyone.

Jerry and You got along great, earning his friendship fast when you told him to up-cycle.

Lux was easy to hate, but with your inability to know when you’re being insulted you became their unlikely friend they hurt your eyes.

Teddy was amazing, you were little embarrassed that he knows deeply about your breakdowns but the silly advice and stories made it go away.

Barry is probably your best friend, you help him with his memory by saying he can use things he’s interested in to aid him in keeping track of things.

Chance is your second bestie, nearly tackling him in feral hyper fixation so you could yap his ear off about the game you both like. He’s the most likely to fall for you. Besides Wallace.

However, the best place is Break Box Club, but only when it’s after hours. You can only sit through terrible act before you want to put cotton in your ears. The club is soothing at closing, lights dimmer Volt and Eddie do that just for you and you get to drink a lot of mocktails Eddie teases you.

You do your share, of course. Not wanting to free load off the two. You have knowledge on the breaker box because you were frantically cleaning one day and found the manual which you spent the next hour reading through and forgot the cleaning which you regretted later.

Currently, you’re seated at the bar working on a project you and Jerry are doing while chatting to Eddie about a new dateable, questioning the person initial reaction to you. Volt was to your right.

“They were flirting…” He said, cleaning a glass with a shake of his head. The corner of his lips turning up. You give him a once over and hum in thought.

“Nah” You say flatly, not believing it.

“The hell you mean nah?” He raised an amused brow. You shrug and sit up straight, gathering your words.

“They seemed…rude? And pushy” You concluded.

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t…” Eddie pauses and places the glass down, rubbing between his eyes like he has a headache.

“Sometimes…insults can be meant in different ways, live wire.” Volt says, chuckling. They aren’t teasing you for your like of awareness but amused by the conversation overall.

“But, that’s not how it’s like in Betty’s books” You say, maintaining strict eye contact with Eddies hands as the wipe down the counter. Enjoying the rhythmic nature of it.

“How was it shown in these books?” Volt asks with more interest.

“Flashy, and oddly poetic. Like you’d sing a ballad if you saw your lover in front of you” You say remembering the way Betty gasp and sigh wishfully when she read it out loud. You thought it was pretty, and by definition romantic, but not something you think you’d like.

“Ah of course, lovey-dovey shit…” Eddie mumbles, he leans on the bar his hands on the counter supporting his weight. Volt hums.

“Betty is the overtly romantic type.” Volt looks at you, multitasking on the project and the conversation.

“-what about you?”

“Huh?”

“What is your romance like, your love language?”

“You don’t have to answer, tap your fingers twice if you want me to stop him” Eddie teases, his voice drowning out with Volts as they banter back and forth.

What is your romance like? Love language? You aren’t sure, but you know you like foundation a connection to someone. Similarities but not too many.

“I think I like just being near someone…we don’t have uh-don’t have to speak or do anything but just be there in each other presence, I enjoy that. Looking up and seeing that they’re there and I get to be there with them…” The room is silence, it’s not awkward but settle.

Then it’s broken.

“I enjoy the firey and beautiful passi-“

“You ruined it” Eddie huffs.

“Oh-ho I did not, I’m merely adding onto-“ Volt defends himself, electricity tingling over his arms—the zapping noise of it pleases you.

You giggle as they continue, adding the last bit to the Jerry project. Watching as Eddie and Volt blabber on as Eddie begins to walk away from the conversation to go on and do workaholic things.

You might not fully understand where you are in romantic relationships but you’ll take anything if it meant being in the presence of any object within this house. If they’re flirty, hateful, passive, aloof.

You don’t mind, being around them is enough for you.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Descriptive Sentences

Description - what an author uses to depict a character, setting, or scene in a way that creates an image in the reader’s mind.

It’s the way that authors bring characters to life and create imaginative settings.

Well-crafted descriptive writing draws readers into the story and provides essential details to propel the action forward.

Tips for Writing Descriptive Sentences

Cut out obvious descriptions. One of the most common traps that new writers fall into is using predictable words to describe something—for instance, writing a sentence like, “The blue sky was dotted with white, fluffy clouds.” For the most part, when someone hears the word “sky,” they’ll picture it blue, and when they picture clouds, they’ll picture them “white” and “fluffy.” Adjectives like these are unnecessary and can bog down your writing. Simply cut those descriptive words out of the sentence. “The sky was dotted with clouds” conjures the exact same image and is shorter and more focused.

Use surprising words. Once your sentences are free of any obvious descriptive details, you have the space to pepper in some more interesting words. Pushing your descriptions in new and surprising directions will help your sentences be memorable for readers. For instance, if you want to describe a rainy day, the easy way to describe it would be to mention “the stormy sky”—but something a little more unique could be “the angry sky” or “the boiling sky.” Brainstorm common adjectives and other describing words and use them in unique ways to keep your writing fresh and interesting.

Remember sensory details. A common adage for good descriptive writing is “show, don’t tell”—and sensory information is a great way to make that happen. Sprinkling in specific details that appeal to readers’ five senses (sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell) will bring your scenes to life and make them feel richer and more interesting.

Make use of figurative language. One of the most powerful literary devices that writers have is figurative language, which goes beyond literal definitions in order to describe things in a more interesting way. Comparisons like similes (using “like” or “as”) or metaphors (saying one thing is something else) can help paint instant pictures of your characters or settings; for instance, “His nose was a gnarled root growing out of his face” can pack a lot more punch than saying “His nose was twisted and misshapen.” Other types of figurative language include onomatopoeia, which uses words that sound like what they mean (e.g., “the pitter-patter of raindrops”), and hyperbole, which is a form of exaggeration (e.g., “he rang the doorbell a million times”).

Think about who is doing the describing. In most points of view, you’ll be writing from a character’s perspective—either using “I” and “me” in first-person or “they” and “them” in third-person. It may not seem obvious at first, but point of view is a descriptive element that can help you build a believable world for your story. To use POV properly, make sure that you’re thinking about your character’s perspective as you describe so that the description feels true to the way they would speak.

Be wary of over-description. To create effective descriptive writing, less is more. Try to limit yourself to one or two interesting details the first time you introduce a character or setting, and readers will fill in the rest. For instance, if you say “The cabin room was sparse except for the looming stuffed grizzly in the corner,” readers can fill in the details for themselves without you needing to describe the floorboards, the windows, the bedsheets, and what your character had for dinner last week. This will help readers remember each character or setting better than if you had an entire descriptive paragraph for each.

Read good examples of descriptive writing. If you start to feel stuck when trying to write vivid description, look up a few of your favorite books or short stories and see how other writers do it. Pay attention to what they do that you like—whether it’s only writing their description in simple sentence structure or making sure that the following sentences include strong action to counteract the description. Then, sit down and try to replicate their tactics in a simple writing activity to see where it takes you.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[yapithoughts]

You grew up in a house that was full—but never warm. Where the sound of television drowned out the sound of your crying. Where the bare minimum was met: food, allowance, shelter—but not affection, not care. At two years old, you learned the silence of being unseen.

No one checked on you when you cried. No one clapped when you topped the class. No one panicked when you scraped your knee or came home from school with heavy eyes. No one showed up to parent-teacher meetings or recognition days. You existed, but you were never truly noticed.

They gave you what you needed to survive—but not what you needed to feel loved. And you never asked for material things. You just wanted someone to sit beside you and say, ‘I’m proud of you.’ Or ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ You just wanted someone to care.

So, you learned to protect yourself. You built walls out of independence and numbness. You grew into a version of yourself that never asked for help, never expected anyone to stay.

Then came college. A new beginning, but you walked through it the same way you always had: guarded, withdrawn, alone.

Until he appeared.

White-haired. Blue-eyed. A little too loud, a little too kind. The kind of boy who radiated light and warmth in all directions, even when you tried to look away. He sat beside you despite your headphones, despite the signal you gave off that said, ‘Leave me alone.’ He didn’t take the hint—but he wasn’t pushy either. He just… stayed.

Eventually, something shifted.

You became seatmates, groupmates, quiet companions. You ate together in the classroom instead of braving the noise of the cafeteria. He always adjusted to you—not out of obligation, but out of a quiet desire to understand. To be near you.

Then, one day, he confessed.

He liked you. Maybe even love you.

You froze. You had never been in love. You had never even been loved properly. So you hesitated—scared, uncertain, unsure if you were even capable of returning something so pure.

But he was patient. So patient.

You said yes, eventually.

And he gave you more than patience. He gave you a version of love you had never known. He remembered small things you said in passing. He read your silences like they were whole paragraphs. He never asked you to talk, but when you did, he listened like every word mattered.

He saw past your coldness, your detachment, your habits of disappearing when it got too much. And he stayed.

Still… that voice in your head never left.

‘How long until he realizes you’re too much? Too distant? Too broken?’

You wanted to be better for him, but life never gave you space to rest. You were always exhausted. Sometimes you forgot to reply to his messages—not because you didn’t care, but because you barely had energy to exist.

And sometimes you saw his messages. You stared at the screen and felt your chest ache because you wanted to reply—but the weight of everything stopped you.

The guilt hit you in waves.

‘Am I becoming like them? Am I making him feel invisible? Am I hurting the only person who truly stayed?’

You didn’t understand why you were like this. You just knew it was happening, and it terrified you.

Then came summer vacation.

You thought the break would help. But instead, everything crashed.

You were drained. Emotionally numb. Buried under school expectations, parental pressure, and the weight of trying to be okay. You disappeared—not intentionally, but fully. You stopped texting. Stopped updating him. One week passed. Your phone buzzed over and over, but the thought of responding felt too overwhelming.

Then—a knock.

You didn’t move for 20 seconds. Just stared at the ceiling, eyes heavy. Then, slowly, you rose from bed and opened the door.

There he was.

White hair slightly messy. Eyes red and swollen. Shoulders tense like he’d been holding back everything for days.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. But you stepped aside, letting him in.

The guilt swallowed you whole. But so did the exhaustion. You wanted to apologize, explain—but how could you explain something you didn’t fully understand yourself?

You were lost. Tired of pretending to be okay. Tired of waking up every day carrying burdens. You knew you were pushing him away. And it hurt. Because he didn’t deserve that.

He turned to face you, eyes glistening.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something? Please, enlighten me.” His voice cracked on the last word. You could feel his heart breaking in real time—and it mirrored your own.

“You didn’t do anything wrong…” you whispered. Your voice was small, like it hadn’t been used in days. “It was all me. I don’t know what to do anymore. And I don’t think you deserve someone who makes you doubt yourself because of what I have been going through.”

You still couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking… and I wish you’d let me in. I’m not only here because I’m your boyfriend. I’m also here as your best friend. Someone who you can lean on… Please don’t carry all the burdens inside you. I’m here, love…” He stepped closer, eyes soft but pleading. You could see the way he was holding himself back—careful not to break you more.

“I don’t want to see you like this… Hurt me or push me all you want but I can’t leave you. I will not leave you. Please, love. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I don’t want to change you because I know how hard life is to you, but I just want you to let me in without pushing me away.” And then he wrapped his arms around you.

It wasn’t just a hug—it was a lifeline. He held you like someone anchoring a drifting soul, grounding you to the moment. You didn’t respond at first. But slowly, like thawing ice, your hands lifted to cling to him.

There were no more words. Just two bodies standing still in the soft glow of the room, both heavy and hollow in their own ways.

You didn’t have a sudden epiphany. You didn’t become healed.

But you felt his heartbeat against yours. Steady. Unshaken.

And for now, that was enough.

He understood you even in silence, as if your silence was a language only he had taken the time to learn. With him, you felt seen—not just noticed, but understood in a way that made your existence feel undeniable. The way he looked at you wasn’t with pity or curiosity, but something deeper, something reverent—like you were a puzzle he was willing to spend his whole life studying, not to solve, but to appreciate. In his presence, you no longer felt invisible. You felt real.

And maybe, for the first time in your life… you were ready to let someone stay.

— Author’s note

For my archer girlies out there, this one’s for us. For the ones who’ve always felt a little too much or not enough at all. Who carry quiet battles and still show up anyway. Who love in silence and fear being a burden. You’re not hard to love. You’re just used to surviving. You deserve someone who stays—and more than that, you deserve to let them. So take your time. Breathe. You’re not broken, you’re just healing. Love you all <3

[nagaytoe]

THE KID AT THE BACK

-theories

(- Posted before the new version of day 1 and day 2 -)

Did i sit down and analyze this game for 3 hours straight because I'm hyperfixated on it? Yes, yes i did.

This isnt proof-read and long as hell so buckle up for a joyride, y'all (by the way, there's another TKATB fanfic in the works as we speak and also some fanart, though I'm not sure wether to post it or not... well, we'll see!)

Some of these might not seem all too thought through (??) Since i was kind of grasping at straws here (and it was like 2 a.m. lmao), so if y'all have questions/need me to elaborate or have theories of your own feel free to share!

(There's some inspiration here from other people in the Fandom, most of them from the community section on itch.io which isnt available any more)

Sol knows the player longer than we think

My theory ->

-Fantasia stated that one of her 3 biggest inspirations was the game AMNESIA

-In amnesia the mc loses her memory in an accident. One of the love interests is her childhood friend and also the only yandere in the game (at least from what i could find out)

-She already drew Sol with Forget-me-nots and in the valentines day special the boquet sol gave us also contained Forget-me-nots

-In the book (this gallery thing with all the cutscene images) on the top of sols page is written 'Remember Me' which implies we forgot about him

-Annabel Lee Poem:

+The poem contains the line 'I was a child, she was a child' which furthermore implies that Sol and MC knew each other as kids

+Except for the last two paragraphs the poem is written in past tense, which could be talking about sols POV with us

Perhaps MC had an accident, as mentioned above, and MCs father (highborn kinsmen) tore MC away from Sol to the countryside

+The poem mentions angels killing annabel lee which could also mean something like this: MC doesnt die but, however, gets amnesia. That way, the MC sol knows and loves is dead because MC no longer exists the way MC did before (also the fact that she forgot him)

Some people theorize MCs farm is near the sea and that is the reason why sol hates the sea (i believe the city is near the sea and that's where MC 'died' (maybe MC almost drowned and got Amnesia that way?(apparently its possible for people who almost drowned to get amnesia)))

+"The speaker loves annabel lee to the point of death and even after death" (MCs view how to interpret the poem) (-> Sol loves MC to 'death' (the day they got amnesia) and even after 'death' (after MC got amnesia and 'died' in a sense, as a person))

-sol says he thinks death is beautiful, i didn't really know what to make of that, the only conclusion i came to would be: If MC actually did drown and lose their memories due to that, sol might have been involved in MC drowning (or at least blames himself for that) but viewed MC losing their memories as a 'second chance' with them, since they can start from anew (perhaps he made some mistakes with MC in the past which all eventually built up to MC drowning (it could be that we were already teens at that point)

-sol states afterwards: "But people refused them to let them be together, as if fate refuses them to die together" which supports my theory that MC was taken from Sol by someone (most likely the father after he witnessed Sols behaviour and his final straw was MC drowning because of him) the 'let them die together' could mean something like their relationship 'dying' and then starting over again or perhaps he tried to die with them, who knows (all this is really far fetched i am grasping at straws here lmao)

-in a really quick scene right after he mutters "I'm won't let it happen to me... not again" (some people view this as Sol already lost someone he loved dearly but it could also be the MC who was taken from him

ANOTHER THING I COULD IMAGINE -ABOUT DYING TOGETHER COULD BE:

MC almost died, Sol went after them but they were already saved, Sol just didnt witness that and almost died himself/wanted to die but was saved from that by someone (maybe hyugo? Though, he is an exchange student)

-Another theory on hyugo. It's canon that he is an exchange student, however i do believe he is from this city (since he knows about the hierarchy and his brother Geo apparently is no exchange student), moved away and is now back for business (relating to his 'mafia schemes' but under the disguise of being an exchange student)

Maybe he moved around the same time MC left or some time after that

-Hyugo mentions on the rooftop that we remind him of someone and the pronoun of the person he refers to changes based on the one the player picked for the MC in the beginning. It could mean we remind him of someone else entirely, someone maybe not even related to sol (though i doubt that) or to the MC and he knows them from back then but maybe thought MC died as well and cant believe they actually survived (maybe he want to spike MCs memory by doing that)

-A dream within a dream: MC mentions that this poem, at least to them, talks about the uncertainty about something, like life (which could also imply that they might be uncertain about some things in their mife because they simply forgot them due to amnesia)

-THE SECOND DAY 'THE KINGDOM'

+some people think the kingdom (by the sea) refers to MCs farm and implies its near the sea, however in day 2 we find out about the hierarchy in the city and considering my theory that MC actually is from the city and almost drowned there, i believe the kingdom by the sea is the city. MC does mention in the beginning that they lived on the farm ever since they were a child, however, it could very well be that we moved there right after the incident that caused MCs amnesia (if MC was akid when it happened it would really matter because then it would still fit with the fact that they lived there since theyre a child, however if they were already a teen, perhaps the father moved there immediately to cut off all ties to Sol and told us we have always lived there on top of that (considering the previous theories)

The father also didnt seem fond of the idea that we go to the city (the fact that he is is indebted to someone from high class could imply he might be from there), that could be because he knows how dangerous the city is (and how we could potentially meet sol again)

-maybe the reason for the debt is that MCs father suddenly bought the farm land to get us away from the city as soon as possible and had to take on a loan from one of his contacts in the city

-we know that this is MCs last year at the university, if we say shes minimum 22, and was already in the school for 4 years that would mean she got there at 18. If the 'drowning theory' events took place when MC was a teen (like 16 maybe) it would explain why the father was indebted (i also think 2 years is an believable timeframe a higher class person would give someone to pay off their debt)

-at the end of day 2 sol says he's sorry for leaving us and "i dont know what I'll do if..." which supports my theory that he lost us once (and he blames himself as the reason (again, MC drowning?))

-inspirations:

+ https://www.tumblr.com/sweet-herbal-peach-tea/746168072919023616/tkatb-theories?source=share

+ https://itch.io/t/3749638/whats-the-secret-between-hyugo-and-sol

Another theory:

Sleepy Hollow and The kid at the back

-In the nicknames the boys have for MC (fantasia released that on twitter and tumblr) sol calls MC pumpkin (like the pumpkin of the headless horseman (also in the gallery there is a pumpkin above the book)) and Crowe calls them '(star-crossed) lover'

Star-crossed lovers are people who love each other but can't be together

I believe this might imply that, even though Crowe is the second romance option, MC can't be with him no matter what they do

I also found out that the nickname is a phrase from romeo and juliet (which furthermore implies crowe will die)

We know what romeo and juliet is about: romeo and juliet cant be together because their families are enemies (some people believe Crowes father might be them man MCs father owes money to(i personally doubt thah though but it would support this romeo and juliet situation)) and at the end romeo thinks that juliet died, kills himself and then juliet turns out to not be dead but kills herself after seeing romeo dead

-Jericho Ichabod is a character from Sleepy Hollow, along Katrina (the FMC who owns a farm (what a coincidence)) and Brom Bones (its implied he is the headless horseman). In the story, jericho courts Katrina at a party, she rejects him and on his way home the headless horseman kills him (in the scene where Sol accompanies MC to class he says 'it's always been you ichabod' which could furthermore imply that crowe or his family have something do to with the fact that Sol and MC arent together)

In the library scene with Crowe he asks MC about their opinion on marie Antoinette and when MC says something negative about her, his reaction seems kind of strange. MC also brought a book about torture devices and execution methods and in that book is a picture of 'The Executioner' and he has scars on his arms, wears a mask and a chained collar. This correlates with some of sols features. He has scars on his arms (as seen in one of fantasias drawings), wears a chocker (he also wears a mask when he breaks into MCs room but that's really something anyone who does that would do). This implies even more that he will kill crowe.

[sanjisblackasswife]

ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕠 𝕆𝕣𝕘𝕒𝕤𝕞

Blk Fem Reader x Sylus

Bad Summary: Sylus likes reading to you through a—girl its in the title.

CW/// Mentioned Pussy Eating, Fingering, Corny Dirty Talk, Sylus does say Kitten once i think

Sylus was a man of sassy words and also none at all. One of the many “quirks” he has that you notice he has was a rule of you wearing no panties when you lie in his bed.

You did it once because you were too lazy after your long shower to properly put on anything other than one of his shirts, when your big boyfriend came to cuddle you that evening his warm hands crept up and felt a very sweet (and slightly wet) surprise.

Now, it’s his new rules.

“Take them off, sweetie.”

You never questioned it. Many things about Sylus is that he does stuff you don’t particularly felt the need to ask about and he knew you wouldn’t so a lot of habits were formed this way without saying.

Some days when you forget to take them off he will slide them down, nearly teasing himself and take your cute little panties into his drawer.

A drawer your suspect is filled with your panties, but he replaces them everytime so you didn’t care.

“You do it.” You shrug as your eyes were glued onto a new book you taken from his shelf, hearing his dark hearty chuckle you felt the bed slightly shift and in no time arched your back lightly feeling the cool air of his room hit your cunt.

“Look at that.” He marvels, carefully taking your red panties down from your ankles, “She’s wet. What exactly are you reading, sweetie?”

You clench around nothing, hoping he couldn’t have seen your menstruations, but with those eyes he had he not only seen your clench he could even smell your arousal.

It was embarrassing to say, but the book you’ve been so glued to was a dark romance…with a lot of spicy moments, and there was a particular scene you began to read about the couple that made you reimagine it with you and Sylus.

And it subconsciously turned you on.

You felt his piercing eyes on your thighs. Jiggling with every uncomfortable shift on the bed to ignore him. It was hard though.

“Oh…” His fingers push up the book to get a good look of the cover, “That book….I’ve also read it, but never had the same reaction as you, Kitten….getting yourself riled up?”

You tsk at him and shut the book, tossing it on the night stand to face your back towards him. He embarrasses you so easily, it nearly pisses you off.

And he knew it. Sylus knows it’s easy to tease you so he begins to use his way of “apology “ by laying on his side behind you.

“Going to bed already? I wanted you to read to me. Especially the one paragraph where Johnny gets in between his wife’s thighs and…”

“Devours her whole.”

His minty hot breath in your ear made you try to arch your back off the bed but Sylus’ arm wraps around your waist and pulls you back against his bare chest. “I remember reading how he licked her clit just how she liked….but you love when I suck on it don’t you?”

You nearly roll your own eyes back, but instead your head falls on his shoulder, your breathing getting shallow.

“It was on his point of view and he mentions how sweet she tasted on his tongue, the tightness of her warmth around his mouth and fingers, as he…. Pressed his ring and middle finger inside her…”

Kind of like what he’s doing to you right now.

Sylus’ palm moved in circles as he scissored you gently, his breathing getting heavier as he is getting more turned on by how your suppressing your own moans.

“She rolled her eyes back, the songs of his name…—“

“Sylus…” You hummed.

“Repeated out of her lips as he latched onto her cute little clit before groaning against it. The tip of his tongue cold as ice in comparison to her hot cunt…”

Somehow, he managed to rile himself up, because he was no longer talking about the book.

He was talking about you.

“He uses his tongue to spell out his name, just as another way to lay claim on her beautiful pussy…”

“Sylus…”

He pulled his fingers out to gently land on your clit, tracing shapes that if you focused spelled out—

“S. Y. L. U. S.”

Eventually the S turned into a tight figure 8 , pushing you towards a familiar knot and build up in your tummy.

“Sylus…!”

“And he reacted to her ear, still playing with her and he says, cum for me’.”

His voice almost strained as if he were begging. Took you to the edge making you grind against his fingers to extend your orgasm, your loans being swallowed into his mouth.

“Then, after she releases her juices onto him, he kisses her. Reminding her that she’s right where she needs to be. With the man that adorns her.”

[pinkaditty]

Holidays with Ghouls (Sho Haizono x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

please read:

okay. big news + life update: i got into a major car accident a little while ago. my first one ever! i am in a lot of pain so things may be slow-going for a while and ill be unable to commit as much time to writing due to the tangled mess that is dealing with modern insurance companies and recovering from my injuries. thankfully its not so bad to be hospitalized, but its bad enough to limit my activity for the time being. i am somewhat ashamed to ask, but if you like my writing, please consider donating to my cashapp: $cindyfromstarbucks! my car was 100% totaled, and im gonna need to save up for a new one, and my job doesn’t pay very much. thank you for your consideration! please enjoy, regardless! (this paragraph will be on my posts indefinitely, probably until i fully recover)

a/n: LET ME START THIS OFF BY SAYING IT’S ENTIRELY SELF-INDULGENT… i have a green thumb and i’ve been growing a small garden lately (limited space. i hate captialism.) and i just thought “hm. what if we grew fresh ingredients for sho’s food truck?” and the idea stuck and didn’t leave no matter how much i tried 2 shake it off. mc is basically written as me im not gonna hold y’all, but i kept it 2 a minimum so it could still be an ‘x reader’. 

summary: self-indulgent reader x sho. in which you do something nice for him and he struggles to return the favor. 

no cw! enjoy!

big fan of the “woman that is so wound up all the time and extremely professional and tries to keep everyone at arm’s length distance” x “guy that is only a few years younger than the woman but loves calling her by age-appropriate honorifics (i.e. noona, ojou, jiejie, madame, etc) and goes out of his way to teach her how to fucking relax every once in a while” trope and essentially if i were with sho that is how the relationship would go LMFAOOOOOOO

You used to have a bit of a garden before becoming a student at Darkwick. A part of you often wondered if there were people tending to your garden now so you could return to it, well kept and exactly as you remember it, when you were cured of this curse and got this anomalous ring off of you. You'd never really had the idea to plant anything here; you were much too focused on missions and other incessant errands the ghouls saw fit to send you on. You didn't like it, but held your tongue regardless. If all went well, you wouldn't have to deal with this after less than a year. 

You were fond of a few ghouls, though. Some of them were a nice reprieve from the other harsher and more selfish ghouls. Haku was a great example of that, and so was Subaru, his dorm's captain. You'd grown fond on the Jabberwock ghouls, as they were always kind and polite. You didn't really mind the Obscuary ghouls, either. Even if odd, they were good natured, and never turned you away. You appreciated that Rui had a bit of a green thumb too, and would often stop by to assist him with plant care. 

The one ghoul you were the most fond of, despite his less than agreeable best friend, was Haizono, or Sho, as he insisted on being called. Sho, despite his friend Leo, was actually pretty friendly. You enjoyed the time you spent around him, whether that was collecting supplies from the diner, or training with him, or even helping him meal prep for the following day for his food truck. It was fun, spending time with Sho. You're almost angry the idea didn't dawn on you sooner.

Said idea is why you carefully sift through the dirt in your compost container, careful not to split any of the worms with your nails. The potatoes should be done growing by now. The idea had dawned on you one day when Sho mentioned not having enough potatoes to serve fries the following day. Potatoes were an easy crop. And they took three months, at most, to grow. Sure, if worse came to worst, you'd die, but growing potatoes was a good distraction and encouraged you to plan for the future, as though you wouldn't die. After a few favors from Benji and some begging towards the chancellor, you had a small garden behind the chapel. Granted, you'd just started it three months ago, so it wasn't as full as your garden back home, but it was good enough. It was hidden from the rest of campus by the surrounding trees, ensuring no one would find the garden unless they had reason to cut around the chapel, which wasn't necessary considering the path out front. Not only did it serve as your little place of respite, it allowed you to do nice things for others. You were just growing potatoes for now, but it felt like enough of a starter, at least. You’d just planted some tomato seeds that you’d hoped Sho would also find a use for. 

Once done harvesting a substantial batch of potatoes, you wrap them up in plastic bags to look like you bought them. It would save you the embarrassment of having to explain that you’d grown them yourself. 

It’s pleasantly chilly outside, the still afternoon air heavy with promises of cold weather and a white winter holiday. Dirt remained underneath your fingernails from all that harvesting, but it was a small price to pay. Your heart pounded with anticipation and exertion as you made the trek to Vagastrom, heading for the nearby food truck. As expected, you find Sho sitting on one of his supply boxes, far underdressed for the cold weather. You can’t tell if he’s resistant to it or rebelling against it, but you can tell he’s cold. His cheeks and nose are tinged red and his eyes are squinted against the cold wind. You can even tell he’s sniffling with how often he inhales. You exhale both fondly and exasperatedly. The stubbornness of these ghouls was simultaneously attractive and irritating. 

You make it no secret you’re approaching, the bag of potatoes crinkling with your upbeat steps and your own runny nose sniffling in response to the cold wind. You place the bag of potatoes beside him with a heavy ‘thud’, to which he finally looks up, appearing jolted out of his thoughts. 

“Here,” you start, taking your scarf from around your neck and tying it around his without waiting for a reaction. “You must be an idiot to sit out in the cold with just your uniform on.”

“Senpai.” He greets you with wide eyes, watching but not protesting as you tie your scarf around his neck. He appears confused at first, his lips pursing at your actions, but seems to relent as he buries his face into the scarf. You watch as he settles into it, his eyes sliding shut against the cold wind, his nose and lips finding warm solace in the comfort of your scarf. Before long, he pulls it away, revealing himself back to the chilly air with a slight wince. “...No need. Thank you, though.” He glances up at you with a smile before rising to his feet and dusting off his knees. “Whatcha got here?” He gestures to the plastic bag before picking it up, far more effortlessly than you, and inspecting it. 

“Potatoes.” Your breath puffs out in a white cloud. “They’re for your food truck. I remembered you mentioned you were running low, so… I decided to help and buy you some.” At some point, you’d shifted your attention to the ground, toeing at a rock as you realized how ridiculous that sounded. Surely Sho could handle himself. He might even find your help embarrassing, when you really think about it. 

You sneak a glance at him and are relieved to see a small smile on his face as he observes the potatoes. He huffs out a light breath, his face visibly softening. “You didn’t have to do that.” He slings the bag over his shoulder, using his other hand to ruffle your hair and return the scarf. “Come on,” he turns around, headed for the door of the food truck. “You can help me prep.”

‘That’s only helpful if you’ll have any customers in this cold,’ you think to yourself, but decide not to say aloud. Instead, you watch the slow smile on his face as he nods towards you, and continues towards the truck. Crazy, how a simple glance of his could make your heart race. Something about the warmth of his smile, the feel of his fingers carding through your hair, and the leftover scent of his cologne lingering on your scarf tugged at your heart, just a little bit. 

You briskly follow after him, throwing the scarf back over his neck. “Keep it,” you say sternly, watching as he turns to you quizzically. “Have you seen the state of yourself in this cold?” The phrase ‘I want you to have it,’ lingers on your tongue, but you decide not to voice that, instead letting a small amused smile rest on your face. You vaguely gesture to him, your gaze flicking to his red cheeks and nose. He rolls his eyes, noting your point, and keeps the scarf around his neck, opening the side door to his food truck.

“Alright, fine. I’ll wash it and return it.”

As he steps inside the food truck, even from standing behind him you feel a wave of warmth. You follow, stepping inside, feeling the sweet relief of pleasant warm air and smelling the scent of roast chicken. The environment is warm and cozy, wrapping around you like a cushy blanket or a hug from a loved one. Sho closes the door behind you and you note your scarf is still around his neck. Something clicks.

“Wait a minute. You won’t need that.” You point to his scarf, your nose crinkling in mock displeasure. He instinctively flinches away, looking at you with a raised brow. He was seemingly already protective of your scarf, even though he’d only just received it. “Hand it over.”

“That’s hardly fair.” A crooked smile forms on Sho’s face and his brow raises higher. “Why do you assume I won’t need it?”

Indignantly, you gesture to the warm space surrounding you. Sizzling meat, a warm oven, and heaters in a corner, adjusting the temperature of the truck. “Vagastrom is literally right next to here. What do you need that for?”

He doesn’t answer directly, instead tilting his head at you. “I seem to remember a certain someone insisting I keep this scarf. Are you going to go back on your word?”

You clamp your mouth shut, remembering what you’d said and did earlier. He was right, you had insisted, even if only a little. You huff out a frustrated breath, crossing your arms and furrowing your brows. He laughs at your display, pulling the scarf off of him and tossing it on a high shelf of boxes you couldn’t reach. “Like I said, I’ll wash it and return it.”

You decide to swallow this loss. You had other scarves at the chapel anyway, and if he was going to use it, at least it wasn’t going to waste. 

You look around the space again before taking off your coat and hanging it on one of the hooks on the door. “Any plans for winter break? Will you be going anywhere?” 

“Nah.” Sho shook his head, checking on the chicken in the small oven before continuing to stir fry a vegetable medley on the stove, jutting his shoulder out towards the cutting board, covered in various vegetables. You wash your hands before heading over, carefully scraping at the dirt built up under your fingernails from digging. “Unless my… brother… goes, I’m not going. He’ll beat my ass if I don’t and he does.” A look of displeasure crosses Sho’s face, and you have to hold back a laugh at the thought of Professor Hyde chastising Sho for not seeing his family over break. 

You head over to the vegetables laid out on the cutting board, and start with the garlic, peeling it out of its husk. “Sounds like a struggle.”

He scoffs, pouring soy sauce over the vegetables and tossing them before scraping them off on a nearby to-go container. “Holidays are always a struggle with pushy family.” Despite his outward scowl, amusement lights up his eyes for a moment. 

You chuckle, having finished chopping up the garlic and moving to a green bell pepper. You slice it open, its seeds spilling onto the cutting board. “Your family’s pushy?”

“Yes, too pushy sometimes.” Sho shakes his head, shooing you to the side as he grabs potholders to pull the chicken out of the oven. “My brother’s more like my parents than I am.” He carefully places the roast chicken down on a short counter. It’s golden brown, stuffed with rosemary sprigs, lemon slices, and garlic cloves. 

He places it to the side, readying the frying pain and reaching for the peppers you’d chopped, tossing them into the oil. You finish a pepper and reach for a leek next, slicing it into thick chunks. Your eyes flicker back over to the chicken momentarily, rosemary stems sticking out of it like a tail. “The rosemary stems look like a chicken tail.” You voice the thought absentmindedly, smiling to yourself. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sho glance over at the chicken himself. You hear a huffed laugh as he returns his attention to the peppers, sizzling in the oil. “Yeah, it does.” He’s silent for a moment before speaking up again. “Speaking of, it was hard to find fresh rosemary this time around.”

You look up, having finished cutting the leek. A confused expression crosses your face. “Where in the world would you find fresh rosemary in the dead of winter?” You look away, reaching for a carrot, slicing it thinly.

“Rosemary’s an evergreen,” Sho states flatly, reaching for the leek and garlic you cut earlier, mixing it in with the batch of peppers on the stove and stirring them. “You can find that fresh anytime. What’s harder to find, however…” Sho trails off, leaving the stove for a split second, reaching for the bag of your potatoes he’d placed on the ground earlier. He opens the bag and pulls one out, some dirt still stuck in the indents of its skin. “...Is fresh potatoes. They’re typically harvested in the fall.” He smiles at you, before turning away to rinse it off.

Realizing you’d been caught in a lie, you turn away from him, putting all of your focus on the carrot in front of you. You hear his footsteps slowly approaching before he places a freshly washed potato right in front of you, his hand shaking with mirth. 

“Come on, MC. Don’t think I didn’t notice the dirt under your fingernails.” He chuckles before turning back to the stove, stirring the vegetables again. You drop the knife with a clatter and hide your hands behind your back, too nervous to check if you’d missed any spots. 

You sneak a glance up at him, mistakenly making eye contact with him. His eyes gleam with amusement and his smile is soft and fond. “...It can’t have been that obvious.” You decide to admit to it, realizing the heat in your cheeks probably gave it away. 

“It wasn’t.” Sho nods to you, pouring soy sauce over the stir-fried mixture and tossing it before scraping that off in a different to-go container. “I just happened to notice the dirt when you handed the scarf to me, and your potatoes smelled extra earthy.” He takes the pan off the heat, moving over to the chicken and carefully cutting out the breast. 

It’s silent for a few moments, you staring at that freshly cleaned potato and Sho slicing through the chicken, placing the breast in one to-go container and the wings in the other. Sho finally speaks up, though his voice is low. “...You didn’t have to do that, you know.” You look up again, just to find him turned away from you, his ears turning red. Silence falls again as you watch him check off the to-go containers he’s finished. You assume he’s trying to distract himself from the obvious blush on his face, but you can’t say for sure. Something about it makes you feel similar, your heart rate picking up and your face reddening more. It wasn’t due to your embarrassment anymore. “I dunno, I’m bad at thanking people. Just, well…” Sho trails off, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, hiding his face from you. His voice lowers significantly, and contrastingly, the blush on his ears brightens more. “Thank you. I know potatoes take a while to grow. And…” He trails off again and swallows thickly. You don’t bother asking him to finish his sentence. The implications of his words grow somewhat heavy in your heart, and you wring your fingers nervously. Of course it was profound, growing potatoes for someone when you’re doomed to die, now in nine months. The thought of dedicating your time to anything that wasn’t curing your curse was odd, but this distraction had done you well nonetheless. You didn’t want Sho to feel bad about it at all. You were certain that, if anything, the gravity of being recognized by a girl doomed to die was dawning on him. 

The words spill out before you can really stop them. “Don’t worry about it, Sho. I did that because I wanted to.” Confessing this was almost as raw as confessing your feelings, and your chest tightens at that thought, but you continue despite that. “You’ve been kind to me since after our first mission. And I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, including things as mundane as meal prep!” You gesture vaguely to the setting before you, hoping to get your point across. “I just randomly had the idea, and figured it couldn’t be so bad to act on it. It’s been a good distraction anyway, and what with all that happens here, a distraction does me some good.” Silence falls once more, and Sho finally turns to look at you, face flushed. He wipes his palms on his apron and worries his lip between his teeth, his gaze flickering between you and the floor. “...So what if I used up three months to grow potatoes? The time will pass anyways.” You turn away from him, looking at the washed potato. You reach for it and pick up the knife, beginning to cut it into cube chunks. 

“...I guess you’re right.” You can hear a gentle smile in Sho’s voice, and it warms you up internally, feeling thankful he’s accepted the gift. You glance towards him, giving him a smile, and catch him staring. There’s an odd glimpse of admiration in his eyes, which makes your cheeks warm.

“Go on and finish cutting the chicken.” You wave off his stare and jerk your gaze away from him, hiding your blush and focusing on the cubed potato. 

He scoffs and turns away, picking up his knife. “Giving me orders in my own kitchen, huh?” 

You don’t respond. You don’t need to. The warmth of the heaters settles into your skin and the warmth of the previous pleasant conversation settles into your heart. You glance down at the bag of potatoes that started it all. The eyes of the potatoes seem to stare up at you knowingly.

You’re carrying a short stack of to-go containers outside to Sho’s bike, Bonnie, your boots crunching the frosty path beneath you. Snow would surely be coming soon. You gently place the stack in the box on the back of Bonnie, careful to make sure none of them tip over. You hear more crunching footsteps and turn around to see Sho, carrying the rest of the boxes. He places them in the box as well and organizes them before securing the box with a few straps. He steps back and exhales, smiling to himself. You can’t help but smile at his pride.

“Now, to deliver these…” Sho approaches Bonnie and gets on, patting her twice affectionately. The gentle thrum of the engine comes to life in response. He looks to you and smiles, and you notice he’s wearing your scarf. “Sure you don’t want a ride back to the chapel?”

You eye the box of food already on the back of Bonnie and shake your head. You wouldn’t test fate today. Your eyes find your scarf again, sitting snugly around Sho’s neck. “Well, at least you have a use for it.” You say, resigned. Part of you wonders if you’ll ever get it back. 

Sho smiles, reaching up to touch the scarf. “Again, I’ll wash and return it.” He looks up to the sky, and you follow suit, noting the pale white blanket of clouds blocking the sun. “That said…” He starts, lowering his gaze to you again. “It is cold out. I may need this for longer than I expected.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice and his smile turns crooked, as though suppressing a smirk. 

“...I’m not getting that back, am I?”

Sho shrugs, revving up Bonnie. “Who knows?” He smiles fondly at you one last time before speeding off, the wheels of Bonnie leaving tire tracks on the frosty path. You watch him as he leaves, his hair lifting in the wind, the tendrils of your scarf billowing behind him. You watch until he turns a corner and you can only faintly hear the rumbling of Bonnie’s engine. ‘I guess he really did have customers, even in this cold…’ You think to yourself, a faint smile growing on your face. You inhale the crisp cool air, feeling a bit cooler around your neck now that you’re missing a scarf. You idly look back up at the sky again, wondering if it really would snow today. Despite you enjoying the stillness of the winter air on Darkwick campus, the cold eventually bites at you, urging you to return to the chapel. Your footsteps crunch along the frosted path, following Bonnie’s tracks.

It’s Christmas evening, and things are finally winding down for the day. You’d been to Frostheim and made snow angels with Luca and Kaito, had coffee and played chess with Tohma, and Jin, despite himself, hadn’t asked you to run any errands for him today. You’d been to Vagastrom and exchanged gifts with Alan, tolerated Leo’s selfies with you, and looked around for Sho, but hadn’t found him. You’d been to Jabberwock and fed the animals with Haru, watched a romance movie with Towa, and played a holiday-themed horror game with Ren. You’d been to Sinostra and done some gambling with Taiga while Ritsu tagged along to ensure Sinostra’s reputation wasn’t damaged further, and had a surprisingly pleasant conversation with Romeo despite him saying your large coat made you resemble a slug. You’d been to Hotarubi and had tea and holiday sweets with Haku, Subaru, Zenji, and Lyca, who was visiting Subaru. You’d been to Obscuary and had Rui’s new holiday-themed drinks with Ed, chattering time away at the bar. You’d been to Mortkranken and reluctantly exchanged gifts with Yuri, aware of the fit he’d throw if you hadn’t gotten him anything, and pleasantly exchanged gifts with Jiro, reminding him to take good care of himself. 

Finally, after a very long, exhausting, and eventful day, you were back at the chapel, counting the vines growing under your skin, glowing lavender like the flower on the back of your neck. Some small flowers broke your skin and bloomed here and there, leaving the exit wounds somewhat inflamed. Granted, you didn’t have much time left, and these vines made that clear, but this holiday had been much better than you’d expected it to be. You appreciated the effort most of the ghouls put forth to make this holiday at least somewhat enjoyable for you, especially considering it may be your last. 

You sit by the fireplace in your room, watching the snow fall from the sky through your window. You had a tiny pine tree near your bed, decorated with handmade tinsel from the three Hotarubi ghouls and some small ornaments from Jin. You wore new pajamas from Romeo, though you weren’t sure how in the world he knew your size. You had a new bracelet from Taiga, who had originally forgotten who he’d gotten it for. On your nightstand lay a dreidel from Kaito and a snow globe from Luca. The hot chocolate you sipped on was a gift from Tohma, and some wine awaited you in your fridge, a gift from the Obscuary ghouls. You had a few new ugly holiday sweaters from various ghouls, Yuri and Ren included, and some not-so-ugly ones, thanks to Haru and Towa. A thick, heavy book about the origins of the laws of Japan sat on a nearby table, a gift from Ritsu that you had no plans to read. You had lit a scented candle from Leo, which you thought was surprisingly thoughtful, and had set aside the wax melts from Alan, planning to use them after the candle ran out. The new watch from Jiro was wrapped around your wrist, displaying the increasingly late time. In all of this, you wondered where your gift from Sho was. You hadn’t been able to spot him today, and the thought made you feel a little down. You’d wanted to spend some time with him today, but guessed he was probably too busy preparing Christmas dinner for all of Vagastrom and Hotarubi that he simply hadn’t had the time. You set your hot chocolate down on top of the accursed thick book and sprawl out in your chair, turning to the window again. Regardless, this had been a surprisingly wonderful holiday. The ghouls had given you gifts and willingly spent time with you, doing various fun activities and filling you with holiday cheer. It was a nice escape from the reality of your situation, even if it was only for a little while. 

You check the vines under your skin again, resisting the urge to scratch at where a new white flower had bloomed near your elbow. You could feel that, soon after the holiday season mellowed down, it would be back to reality, and you’d have to face your own death once again. Part of you dreaded the eventual change in weather and in the length of days, knowing your predicted end was growing near. But a part of you was also resigned to it. Regardless of whether you were due to die soon or not, this had been a nice holiday. And you could stand to live in the now, just this once. 

You carefully pluck the flower from your skin, wincing at the sharp pain. You bleed for only a few moments before it clots up. At least you could stave off the growth of the curse for now. 

You hear a gentle knock at your door. Physically, you’re too exhausted to have much more fun at this point, but mentally, you could use a pick-me-up. You head down your stairs towards the door, opening it crack by crack, trying to prevent too much of the cold wind from slipping inside. You peer through the open doorway, jolting in surprise when a familiar pair of dark blue eyes meet yours. 

“Hey,” Sho starts, lifting two boxes in his hands. “Thought you could use a warm holiday dinner.”

Your heart swells and all at once, a wave of emotion hits you. Sure, you didn’t have much time left, but that didn’t stop these ghouls from caring, and that was evident in the gifts piled up in your room, the fun you’d had all throughout the day, and the ghoul now standing at your doorstep, seeking more time with you. There was a reason he was your favorite. 

You swing the door open wider, unable to hide the smile that breaks across your face all at once. “I was looking for you, you know.” You cross your arms and narrow your eyes in mock disappointment. “Where’ve you been all day?”

“Cooking.” Sho lifts a brow and shrugs, tilting his head at you. He smiles fondly at you, and you notice he’s finally dressed appropriately for the season; a hat covering most of his hair, a matching coat and gloves keeping him warm, and your scarf, tucked snugly against his neck inside his coat. Yet again, you realize you are probably never getting that scarf back. 

“That scarf is still mine.” You gesture at his scarf, and he laughs, reaching up to brush the built up snow off of it. 

“And I’m still using it.” He replies, smiling wider. “So… Gonna let me in or what? It’s cold out here.” His breath puffs into white clouds, and you notice his cheeks and nose are tinged red again thanks to the cold. You smile and step aside, letting him in. 

You close the door behind him and he shakes off the snow built up on his coat. When he looks at you, his smile holds the warmth of a thousand candles and his voice holds the joy of a thousand holiday carols. “So… got any mistletoe? If not, we can start with gifts. Either works for me.” A blush covers his face as he pushes the boxes towards you, his smile growing wider and fonder.

You figure, regardless of how much time you have left, it wouldn’t hurt to spend a holiday with your favorite ghoul.

Bonus:

The gift, wrapped surprisingly delicately inside one of the boxes, is a knitted scarf in your favorite colors. It’s not bad, but you can tell it was done by a beginner. Holding it in your hands, a small smile grows on your face, and you sigh, totally resigned. 

By god, you are never getting that scarf back. 

“Well, thank you for your collateral replacement, but I expect that scarf back one day.”

Sho shakes his head, smiling as he chews on your shared meal, packed in the other box he was carrying. “No can do. It’s still cold and I still need a scarf.”

“I’m withholding the mistletoe, then.”

Sho huffs, rolling his eyes and continuing the meal. At his lack of a reaction, you purse your lips, thinking of another thing to withhold that might gift you a victory. Sho speaks, having swallowed his mouthful, “I can find other reasons to kiss you-”

“I’m withholding the potatoes.”

Sho looks at you in shock, dropping his forkful back onto his plate. “...I’ll think about it.”

Maybe you would get that scarf back, after all.

----------

a/n: it's done. finally it is done. finally! i've been writing this romance fic 4 a long while so im glad it is finally done

thank you all so much for reading!! as usual, i love likes, but especially comments, reblogs, and asks detailing how much you enjoyed my work!!! please feel free 2 fill up my inbox with whatever, i love talking 2 u all! but be warned my responses will be slow... im still recovering!

happy holidays 2 you all! i hope, whether you're surrounded by family, friends, or by yourself, that it's a wonderful and fulfilling holiday season 4 u. merry christmas 2 those who celebrate, and happy kwanzaa 2 those who celebrate that as well!! not very well versed in other winter holidays, but may they be joyous and merry!

[mister0ctopus]

We Are All Sinners 07

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Summary:  You left Jungkook and this town behind, but every visit pulls you back into his arms, chasing a high you can never leave behind.

Ratings: 18+ ONLY!!! MDNI!

‼️CHAPTER WARNINGS ‼️

This chapter contains sensitive and potentially triggering themes including grief, loss, miscarriage, mentions of unhealthy family dynamics, implied death (non-major character).

Please read with care. Your well-being comes first.

Word Count: 8.4K

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

ex·o·dus [ˈeksədəs] noun a mass departure of people, leaving a place or situation

THEN

“Hey, you sure you’re good to close? I’m so sorry for dipping early again. Husband got called in early for work, and I just can’t afford a nanny right now… I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Jada, the school librarian you’d been working with, gave you an apologetic smile as she slid the last book into place.

“Yes, oh my god, go! Go spend time with your family. Leave me alone!”

You swatted at her jokingly as you turned back to your laptop.

Working in the school library had its perks.

Free Wifi. Quiet corners. And best of all, getting paid to do homework.

You and Jungkook were graduating this year, and things had started to feel like a blur.

“I haven’t seen Jungkook around lately. You guys okay?” Jada asked it casually, zipping up her bag. But you knew she meant it.

You glanced at your phone again. No notifications.

Not unusual, and definitely not new.

The last message was before his first class, and it’s already 7pm. 

A long paragraph, all about his day.

A rundown of their late-night session in the studio, his dad’s latest scan, what he ate (just ramen, while reminding you not to skip a meal), and the fact that he nearly passed out during class. 

A lot has happened in the past months.

His dad being diagnosed with late-stage cancer definitely changed everything.

Lately, you felt more like his diary.

He talked to you when you were asleep.

Your classes were in the morning, his in the afternoon.

After that, he’d head straight to either band practice or a studio session, then rush to the hospital to stay with his dad at night. He and Jin took turns, depending on the day, so their mom could catch up on sleep somehow.

Then he’d crash into bed in the morning, barely catching a few hours of sleep before doing it all over again.

The last time you saw him was four days ago, and it was brief. He walked you to the library, gave you a quick kiss, and then sprinted off to his next class.

You realized you haven’t answered her, and she’s still waiting for a response.

“Yeah… we’re good. You know, he’s super busy.” You sighed and locked your screen, trying not to overthink and worry too much.

“Yeah, his dad, I heard… how’s he holding up?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully.

“He’s doing well… considering. The cancer’s spreading to the lower parts now, so he needs more help.”

You remembered the last time you visited – it was painful, seeing the man you were used to seeing strong and full of life now looking frail in a hospital gown.

Jesus,” Jada muttered, pausing mid-zip as her expression crumpled. “How is Jungkook even functioning? I mean, classes, the band, hospital duty…does he even sleep?”

“I know…” You swallowed, voice quiet. “He’s trying his best, and he always tells me not to worry, but…”

Jada gave you a look. “Of course you’re going to worry. You think I haven’t noticed you check your phone like a hundred times in the last five minutes?”

You sighed, finally leaning back in your chair. “I really try not to. I just… I’m trying not to look like I worry too much. Because you know how he is, he’s going to feel guilty or burdened or– ” You stopped, pressing your lips together. “I don’t know. I just want to help him... I just don’t know how.”

“I think just being there for him is helping,” She said softly. “You’re allowed to feel this way, you know? Your feelings are valid too. And the best thing you can do for him is to take care of yourself. Him seeing you well… that probably gives him more comfort than you realize.”

You hadn’t noticed how tense your shoulders were until she reached over and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah…” You exhaled. “Thanks, Jada. That really means a lot.”

“Now go,” you said, giving her a playful tap. “Your husband’s gonna be late for work again if he has to wait much longer for you to get home.”

“He’ll survive! Should’ve thought twice about putting a baby in me in this economy!” she laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek before leaving you with a soft smile.

“Take it easy, okay?”

You nodded.

It helped, having someone to talk to.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed it.

Ever since Jungkook’s dad was diagnosed, you hadn’t really let yourself vent to anyone. There was Jimin, who shared the same sentiments as you, so it helped to hear things from someone a little outside the circle.

You glanced at your phone one more time, though you already knew it was on loud, and it hadn’t buzzed.

Then you turned back to your laptop, willing your thoughts to settle.

The library was empty now.

Silent. 

You’d just switched off the main lights, leaving only the soft amber glow near the entrance door as you zipped up your bag.

A glance at your phone said it was just past 8pm.

At this hour, Jungkook was probably buried in practice, or at the studio, or– if the universe had a shred of mercy– napping.

You had texted him all day. Like you always did.

Little updates.

All unread.

You sighed, slinging your bag over your shoulder and stepping outside, ready to crash into bed as soon as you got home.

You’d been exhausted and sleepy lately, and you were praying it wasn’t the flu coming down on you, especially with exams just around the corner, right before semestral break.

You startled slightly when you realized it had been raining, the pavement glistening with puddles.

Great.

You hadn’t noticed. The library was practically soundproof.

You really hated the rain.

Which was ironic, considering you moved to a town where it rained half the year.

And, yes, of course you forgot your umbrella. Again.

What now?

Back to the library and wait it out?

Or just say “fuck it” and walk home? But your laptop in your bag, and who the hell was that beautiful man running toward you?

You squinted.

Oh. 

That..

…was your boyfriend…

Running toward you, breath fogging in the cold air, black hoodie already damp, carrying a massive red umbrella.

“Jungkook?!” You blinked, stunned. “Why? What are you--?”

“Knew it!” he shouted through the rain, grinning as he pushed back his wet hair. “You didn’t bring one.”

He stepped right up to you and swung the umbrella overhead.

Your mouth fell open. “You’re supposed to be in the studio! Or sleeping? Why are you here—”

So warm. 

He was so warm.

And his lips were soft and plush and sweet against yours.

You kissed him back, hungry and eager and messy.

“You didn’t answer me,” you mumbled against his chest after the kiss, pouting.

“I just did,” he grinned.

“You didn’t, you just kissed me.”

“Yeah.” He smirked. “I’m here for that.”

You smacked his chest, but couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. Then you wrapped your arms around him, tight. So tight he let out a soft “oh”, before squeezing you back like he was trying to merge your bodies into one.

“Where were you before coming here?” you asked, voice muffled against his hoodie. 

“Studio,” he replied with a grin. “We were almost done when it rained.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here, Kook.”

“It was raining.”

“So?”

“So of course I had to come get you. No way I’m letting you walk home soaked.” He chuckled, kissing your head again. “Plus, I really, really needed to see you. I needed this.”

Another kiss, more tongue on throat, hips grinding, hands on your ass kind of kiss, but you weren’t complaining.

You finally pulled back, and he reached for your bag without a word, slinging it over his arm before wrapping the other around your shoulder.

You walked side by side through the rain, tucked under the oversized umbrella and suddenly, the rain didn't matter anymore.

The yellow street lights reflected his beautiful face, and though it was dim, you could see it: the exhaustion in his eyes. The dark circles. The way he blinked a little too slow, like even now, his body was fighting to stay upright.

“Baby…” you said quietly. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

“I slept last night,” he said quickly. “I’m fine, babe. Don’t worry about me.”

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “You know you don’t have to pretend you’re ok with me all the time, right? Ever since your dad’s diagnosis, you’ve been… non-stop. Of course I worry about you. Sue me.”

He was quiet for a moment, then gave you a small nod. “I’m managing, I swear. Just… take care of yourself for me, okay? While I can’t. Not the way I used to.”

That – that right there – made your chest ache.

Even now, with everything he’s holding, everything he’s going through, he’s worried about you.

“Jungkook,” you said, stopping in your tracks. “That’s your concern right now? That you can’t take care of me while you’re going through a lot?”

He blinked, then gave you a soft, sheepish grin. “Hey… babe. Don’t be mad, yeah?”

“I’m not mad?”

“You’re getting upset,” he said, gently tapping your forehead. “This spot right here always gives you away.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Well,” he continued, “how about we agree it’s impossible not to worry about each other? I worry about you, and you feel bad. You worry about me, and I feel bad. Vicious cycle, huh?”

You cracked a smile. “Okay, fine. Okay! Just… promise me you’ll tell me when it gets too much. I’ll bring an umbrella every single day so you don’t worry when it rains. And sleep when you can.”

“Yes, ma’am. I promise,” he said with a smug grin.

You reached your dorm after a few more steps under the rain. You were ready to pull him into one last tight hug before he rushed off to the hospital again.

But the moment you stepped inside, he was already kicking off his shoes and tugging off his damp hoodie in one smooth motion.

You opened your mouth to ask if he was staying, maybe just for a few minutes, but he turned, eyes gleaming, and pulled you straight toward the bed.

“Jungkook–what are you doing?” you squeaked, laughing as you stumbled forward.

“I really, really, really need to do this,” he murmured, grinning as he fell back on the mattress and dragged you with him.

You landed on top of him with a surprised yelp, hands on his chest, your knees bracketing his hips– then his mouth was on your neck.

Fuck, it had been too long.

You couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped out, until you remembered his tired eyes, the deep shadows under his lashes. 

“Jungkook…” You brushed your fingers through his hair. “You staying for a bit?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve got two hours. Mom’s with Dad,” he mumbled as he flipped you over effortlessly. In a blink, he was hovering above you, his eyes tired, but hungry.

“Then maybe you should be resting instead of doing this,” you said, breathless but trying to sound stern.

His eyes fluttered open, and that handsome smirk curved his lips. “Babe, I told you, I’m fine. I’ll show you.”

You bit your lip. “Show me how?”

He chuckled low, fingers ghosting over your waistband.

“Why don’t you spread those pretty legs for me and find out?”

You snorted, raising a brow. “Aren’t you too tired for that?”

“I’m never too tired for that.”

“Jungkook…”

“YN.”

He matched your tone, unbothered.

You sighed, brushing your fingers through his damp hair.

“We don’t have to do anything,” you murmured, softer now. “You should rest.”

“I know,” he whispered, brushing his nose against your neck. 

“But I really, really wanna taste you again,” he added. “I miss your taste on my tongue.”

“You’re crazy!” 

“Baby… you have no idea. Pussy that tastes like that? Who wouldn’t be?”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it caught somewhere in your throat because his fingertips were already slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

God, you missed him. But as much as you missed his touch, you couldn’t ignore how tired he looked. How sleep-starved he was.

So you reached up, cupped his jaw, and kissed him softly. 

“Baby, I missed you so much. I know it’s been a while… but I also know how exhausted you are. Please, just rest. Take a nap with me? I’m sleepy too.”

Your thumb brushed over his cheek.

“Please… rest? Just for a little while.”

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, and he let out a shaky breath against your collarbone.

“Yeah,” he mumbled and buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around you.

“Sleep, baby,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Need you to sleep.”

Within the next minute, you felt his weight soften beside you. You drifted off soon after.

When you woke up, it was to the soft press of his lips kissing all over your face, a silent goodbye before he headed out to repeat another busy day.

You had already decided to skip class today.

Actually, not decided.

More like… surrendered to the exhaustion.

You’d been tired.

Nauseous.

Throwing up for a week now.

You hated a lot of things about yourself.

And you hated that you hated so many things about yourself.

But what you hated most was how indecisive you could be.

Like you’d rather be forced to choose between two things than be handed ten.

And right now, you were standing in front of a wall of pregnancy test kits, unsure whether to get the digital or the analog.

A decision that shouldn’t have taken twenty minutes.

You had opened another Google tab on your phone to read more about pregnancy kits, closing the one about early signs and symptoms.

You took two analogs – just to be sure – and marched toward the cashier.

You just wanted to go home and rest.

At first, you thought it was the flu.

But then you missed your period. 

Then another week passed. Now your brain won’t stop spinning, someone nearby smells like citrus, and it’s making you nauseous. The tag of your shirt scratches at the back of your neck, and everything feels too hot and too loud. 

When you got home, you kicked off your shoes, stripped off your clothes, and headed straight to the bathroom.

You tore the boxes open with trembling hands.

You had read the instructions twice. Maybe three times. Didn’t matter.

You knew what to do.

You just didn’t know what you’d do after.

You peed.

You waited.

One minute. 

Two…

Too long.

And then –

Two pink lines.

You stared at them like they might change if you blinked long enough.

Like if you tilted them just right under the bathroom light, one of the lines might fade.

Disappear. 

Undo itself.

But it didn’t.

You sat on the toilet, underwear around one ankle, heart pounding against your ribs.

Two fucking lines.

Oh my god.

Your mouth went dry.

You wanted to cry, but for some reason you just sat there, arms wrapped around yourself, cold tile biting into your skin.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that.

Long enough for your hand to start shaking.

Then your leg.

Then all of you.

At some point, you slid down onto the floor, curled sideways on the cold, chipped bathroom tiles of the dorm, eyes fixed on the only thing moving –  

A single line of ants, crawling out from a crack in the wall, toward the window, carrying the body of a moth.

Wings torn, but still beautiful.

And you wanted to think that the ants found the moth and carried it to its final destination, where it would be laid to rest in peace.

But you know the moth serves a purpose even in death. That its body will be broken down, piece by piece, fed to something else.

Not all losses are mourned.

Some are simply repurposed.

And you cried at the thought that you were thinking about the dead moth on your bathroom floor. You’re pregnant, and you’re crying about a dead moth.

“I’m only telling you this because someone has to knock sense into you!!!”

…Huh?

“He’ll trap you in this town, don’t you see that?”

“Throwing your life away for a boy!”

“Waste every ounce of potential you have!”

“What a waste!”

“Waste!!!”

Your mother’s voice lingered,

Louder and louder right in your ear.

“--in this godforsaken town!!!”

You jerked awake, chest heaving.

Confused and disoriented, you opened your eyes and tried to gain consciousness. 

Only to realize you couldn’t move.

Something heavy. No – someone.

Sprawled across your chest.

What the hell is going on?

Oh right…

You had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor and woken up cold, then dragged yourself to bed after texting Jungkook that you had skipped class.

At some point, he must’ve let himself into your dorm. He had probably come straight from the hospital, dragged himself through lectures, then crawled here.

The band had been working so hard ever since they started gaining more recognition and attention, with their late-night studio sessions and out-of-town gigs – on top of his duties for his dad, so maybe this was the first real sleep he had gotten this week.

You watched him, eyes tracing over features you knew by heart: the thick lashes, that tiny scar from a childhood fight with Jin, the mole under his lip. His arm was slung over your waist, clinging like he always did...

You noticed the tattoos that had accumulated slowly – some born out of impulse he now regrets, and some from visions he had as a teen. You loved them all so dearly. You ran your fingertips lightly over the ink. He twitched but didn’t wake.

You smiled. He looked so peaceful.

And God... you wondered – if the child you’re carrying will look like him.

Will it have his nose? His lips? That warmth in his eyes?

Will it inherit his loving nature, his loyalty, his selflessness, his ridiculous laugh?

You wanted to tell him.

Should you tell him now?

But before you could do anything, his eyes fluttered open – and he was staring right back at you.

“Hi,” he said, voice low from sleep.

“Hi.” you croaked.

“Why’d you skip class?”

You shrugged, trying not to fidget. “Just tired.”

He frowned and reached over, placing the back of his hand on your forehead. It was warm – his hand, not you.

“Are you sick?” 

You shook your head. “No… I’m not.”

God, you wanted to tell him. 

But what did you even feel?

You hadn’t had a second to sit still, to process any of this.

You were still trying to push the fear down.

Shove it somewhere dark and quiet.

You were terrified. Of everything.

And your mother’s voice was still ringing in your ears.

But he was sitting in front of you now, and you didn’t know how to hand him this, too.

“Alright,” he sighed, straightening his back. “Then you need to rest more. But we gotta eat first. You can’t sleep on an empty stomach, deal?”

He was already opening the food app on his phone.

“Are you… leaving soon?” you asked gently.

“Yeah, love…” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you something. Just… everything’s been so hectic.”

Your whole body went still.

“What’s going on?”

He exhaled slowly, sitting up straighter.

You already knew it was bad.

“Dad’s scans came back. It’s worse than before. The doctors walked us through options but… they said the chances of recovery are really low at this point. So… we have to prepare. For the worst.”

Your heart sank. 

“Baby…” You reach for his hand, your fingers curling over his.

He swallowed hard. 

“Mom’s still holding onto hope, and Jin and I... we’re pretending like we are too. But watching him go through it, the pain, the exhaustion… it’s killing us.”

His voice faltered. He tried to keep going.

“We decided on chemo. It’s aggressive. Expensive. But we’ll figure it out. Jin’s job helps. The gigs, too. We’ve just… cut back on some things, sacrificed a few things. We’re selling mom’s car, which is fine. It’s just –” 

He exhaled shakily.

“It’s hard. Seeing him like that. Hooked up to machines, barely talking. I’m used to him being strong, you know? Always laughing, joking…now he can’t even stand, can’t even use the toilet by himself. I don’t know how to be okay with that.”

You squeeze his hand gently, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. Maybe to calm him, or yourself.

“I’m so sorry, Kook… I know you’re trying to be strong for everyone, but you don’t have to carry it alone.”

He didn’t respond. But his grip tightened just slightly. So you kept going.

“Whatever happens, whatever you need… I’m here. Even if I don’t always know the right thing to say, I’m here.”

He leaned into you then, arms wrapping around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, and your heart broke with how hard he clung.

And then, he stilled.

His breath shuddered against your neck.

And you felt it, the damp warmth soaking into your skin, his uneven breathing, the quiet tremble in his shoulders.

So you held him, and let him fall apart in your arms.

“It’s okay, baby,” you murmured. “Let it out. Everything’s going to be okay.”

You glanced at the clock. He’d have to leave again soon. Back to his responsibilities. 

There would be another time to tell him. 

Not tonight.

So for now, you just held him.

And that had to be enough.

The bus ride from your dorm to your mom’s house felt surprisingly short.

Maybe because your thoughts were running faster than the bus.

Or maybe it was your mind spinning with one hundred and one questions, wondering if there would be any telltale signs that you were pregnant, besides the throwing up and the constant sleepiness.

Your mom wasn’t going to be able to tell, right?

Until you decided what to do, it was best that no one knew.

Normally, you would spend the semester break at her house, even though you usually just stayed holed up in your room the entire time. Still, it was a routine.

When you were younger, you used to go on road trips and camping with Jungkook, Jimin, and friends, but a lot has changed since then.

Your mom’s words played in your head like a curse you couldn’t shake, and you weren’t ready to face her.

Your fingers tightened around the folded papers tucked into your hoodie pocket, the ones you had picked up from the OB-GYN clinic a few days ago. They were crumpled now from being opened and closed so many times.

Pamphlets about what to expect over the next nine months: milestones, symptoms, what foods to avoid, what vitamins to take, check-ups.

If you chose that path.

You hadn’t told Jungkook yet.

And it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him. That was the thing—you did.

You trusted him so much, and that was exactly what made it harder. He was already shouldering too much, and you knew he’d drop everything for you.

He was already giving so much – to his dad, to his dreams, to you. How could you hand him this, too?

You weren’t trying to keep it from him forever… just… not now.

But one thing was certain: You weren’t ready for this.

If you went through with it, everything would change.

You’d have to stop school. Press pause on your dreams. Stay home for the baby.

Jungkook, of course, being Jungkook, would take care of you. He would graduate just as the baby arrived, and you already knew what he’d do next – work himself into the ground to take care of you. Of the baby. Of everything.

Because that’s who he is. 

You remembered the nights you dreamed about raising a family with him – how he used to say he wanted to give you the world.

But how could he give you the world when you were both still trying to survive it?

Still in college.

Still stretched thin.

Still learning how to take care of yourselves, let alone someone else.

What if choosing not to be a mother right now was the most motherly decision you could make?

What if the only way to protect the both of you… was to not bring a child into a life built on sacrifice and survival?

And worst of all, what if your mother was right?

You hated her for saying it.

You hated yourself for starting to think she might be right.

You pressed a hand to your belly, unsure if you were seeking comfort or apology.

A text from Jungkook paused your racing thoughts. Just a quick rundown of his day, and an apology for not being able to drive you to your mom’s. They were out of town for two days to play at a music festival, the one they’d been preparing for weeks.

You assured him that everything was fine.

And it was clear now how much his dad’s condition was taking a toll, not just on Jungkook, but on everyone. With hospital bills piling up, the band had been accepting every offer that came in.

Even if it meant going out of town more often. Even if it meant spending nights in the studio, hours and hours at a time, chasing deadlines and checks.

But somehow, he was still showing up for everything.

For you.

And even if it was only a few hours, he spent it holding you close.

And you were scared. Scared of what the future held.

“Have you been doing well at school? I take it you’ll graduate this year?” your mother asked, her tone as neutral as ever.

“Yes, hopefully,” you answered.

“I hope so too. Your father’s been calling me non-stop about your internship right after your graduation. Why don’t you give him a call and talk to him about that?”

You nodded and just said, “Okay, Mom.”

“It’s nice that you finally decided to come home for your break,” she said, not even trying to hide the bitterness in her voice.

“I was starting to think you’d officially moved in with that boy. Following him around like some groupie while he wastes time on those silly gigs. What, does he actually believe he’s gonna make a living off that noise?”

She scoffed and set her fork down with a loud clink.

You bit your tongue and clenched your jaw.

“You don’t even visit me on weekends anymore. I guess that’s what love looks like to you now, skipping your own mother for some tattooed dropout waiting to happen.”

“He’s actually doing well in school,” you said flatly, not looking up. “On top of making music and doing gigs. Their band’s doing great, too. It’s actually pretty impressive.”

Your voice was calm. Bored, almost. She thrived on reaction, and you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction.

Then, without much change in tone, like she was commenting on the weather – 

“Did you gain weight? You need to watch out for your figure before you work with your father,” she said casually.

“You need to show everyone from that family that you deserve that place in the company, better than your cousins. Make yourself presentable all the time.”

“Didn’t know my weight had anything to do with my competence or skills,” you replied evenly.

“It doesn’t,” she shrugged. “But you know how your father’s sisters are, vicious bitches, all of them. And I won’t be there for you this time. So if you show up looking tired like that, bloated, sloppy, don’t come crying to me when they start whispering about you.”

She set her fork down and leaned back, like she was waiting for you to react. 

“You think they care how smart you are? No. They’re looking for flaws. Don’t give them one.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t react.

It was a moot point. You were used to her by now, but god, she always knew how to make you feel like killing yourself, and you were already starting to feel drowsy, your body begging for rest.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long before you both finished your food. 

After cleaning up, you went straight to bed and changed into your comfiest pajamas, scrolling through your phone, reading Jungkook’s texts. Photos from soundcheck. Backstage stolen shots. Clips of the band playing to a massive crowd at the music fest.

He looked so happy. They looked happy.

You sent him a quick selfie from bed, skin dewy and glowing in all your skincare glory – and he Facetimed you right away. 

“I miss you,” he said before the call even connected properly, voice a little breathless, like he’d run to a quieter corner just to call you, though it was hard to hear with all the background noise. 

He was smacking Jimin, who kept trying to squeeze into the frame and god, you missed them so much. You wanted to tell him everything, about so many things, but it was too damn noisy and his reception was crap.

So you both gave up on talking, and just spent the next ten minutes smiling at each other in silence – him munching on snacks, you blinking through sleep, barely keeping your eyes open.

Eventually, your phone slipped from your hand as you surrendered to sleep.

Pain.

Pain woke you.

Sharp.

Like something tearing inside.

You sat up, heart in your throat, and that’s when you saw it –

blood.

It soaked through your underwear. Streaked your thighs. Spotted the sheets.

You bolted to the bathroom, breathing too fast.

You pulled your shorts down, and your ears were ringing and your chest was pounding and you saw more blood. Too much red.

You were shaking. You didn’t know who to call. 

What do you do?

So you cried. Biting your knuckles just to keep from screaming. You reached for a towel, trying to wipe the blood that kept coming.

But it wouldn’t stop.

And the pain, oh the pain, like your insides were being wrung out, and you hadn’t felt anything like it before.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

You folded onto the floor, pressed your back to the wall, knees to your chest as you sobbed.

That’s where your mother found you.

She stood in the doorway. She didn’t say anything, but she stood there just looking at you.

“We’re going to the hospital.”

Cold stirrups.

Bright lights.

Nurses talking like you weren’t in the room.

The ultrasound screen turned away.

The doctor tried to speak gently – "It’s a miscarriage..."

And you couldn’t hear a word past that first sentence.

You blinked, the doctor’s mouth still moving, but everything was just muffled noise.

You weren’t sure how long you cried after that, or if you even cried at all. It didn’t make sense.

Because how could something you barely felt… just disappear? 

You kept waiting to feel something – grief? Pain? Maybe even relief?

But all you felt was the void.

Was it even real? Did it really happen?

Maybe it didn’t feel wanted. Maybe that’s why it left.

You didn’t know what to grieve. You didn’t know what you lost.

But why did it feel like you lost a whole chunk of yourself, like your body remembers something your mind can’t make sense of?

You told your mother through broken sobs that you knew you were pregnant. 

She just stared at you with confusion and slight disgust, like she couldn’t comprehend a word you were saying.

You were given medication to help with the pain, and you wished it was something that could make you sleep forever.

You woke up, unfortunately, hours later.

The room was dim, and the pain was still there.

And your mother, sitting by the window reading her subscription magazine, not even looking at you when she said:

“Well. At least it’s gone now. The universe removed it for you, good lord.”

And you felt it, like a dam being cracked open, the rage bleeding out of your mouth. And you closed your eyes for a second, as you felt like your head was going to burst in anger.

“How could you say that?! It wasn’t some thing – it was mine! It was a part of me! You are so mean, and vile!I hate you!!!”

She didn’t flinch. Just crossed her arms and turned to face you with that cold, condescending look you knew too well.

“You’d look back one day and thank the gods this happened. That thing would have ruined your life just like I warned you,” she spat, her eyes nothing but disgust. 

And you were so angry that you were shaking, but she kept going.

“Use your brain for once and think about what was going to happen. You’d drop out of school, raise a baby on what? Hope? You thought love paid the bills? You thought Jungkook’s little hobby was going to keep food on your table? Grow up.”

Through gritted teeth, you yelled, “Shut up! Stop saying that! He is doing great! We were going to graduate, and – ”

“You’d been playing house with that boy, and I let you because I thought you’d come to your senses and grow out of it, thinking you’ll leave him after college anyway. But no. You really went and proved how reckless and selfish you are. You thought life was all about love and romance and dreams? I had bled and scraped and clawed to give you a better life, and this – this is what you do with it? Throw it away for some boy? And where is he now, huh? Where?”

Defeated, and feeling weak, you sobbed.

“Stupid girl. One day, when you’re older, broke, and exhausted, you'll remember this moment, and you will be thankful that this happened.”

You had imagined your graduation day so many times.

It always felt like the light at the end of a long, brutal tunnel. Like hope.

A gleaming exit.

When home felt like hell, this was the moment you clung to.

This was the plan: survive college under her roof, then work for your dad, move out, and finally live the life you always wanted.

You were supposed to feel relief.

But now, you were lying awake in your bed on your last night in this town, staring at the ceiling for what felt like eternity, as your entire world quietly caved in on itself.

Your graduation cap sat proudly on your desk like a trophy. 

Across the room, your new and expensive luggage – pink and purple, bought with your dad’s money – zipped and ready.

You broke up with Jungkook this morning. Right after graduation.

It was quick. 

After all, you had practiced the speech for weeks – rehearsed every word until you memorized every word and intonation. 

You just said it wasn’t going to work. 

Not with him staying in this town.

And you…

Well, you were never meant to stay here anyway.

You didn’t cry, in front of him at least. 

No matter how much he pressed. How he begged.

How his voice cracked, how his hands trembled, how his eyes searched your face like he could find a different answer hidden there. 

You walked out of his dorm with your head held high, back straight. Chin up.

Just like you practiced.

You hadn’t told him about the miscarriage.

You wanted to. God, you imagined it a hundred different ways.

But there was never a right time.

First, his dad got worse.

You watched him juggle school, rehearsals, and hospital visits, hope thinning out a little more each day. And just when you thought you’d finally tell him, thinking ‘what the heck, this is Jungkook, the love of your life’ – his dad died.

And if there was one thing you never truly understood — because you had never experienced it— it was the love that came from family, and the depth of grief that followed when they were gone.

For months, the whole family sank into a deep, consuming grief.

So you didn’t tell him.

His grief made him quiet. Yours made you quieter.

You mourned separately. 

You stood by him. Held space for his pain. But no one stood by you. 

But you couldn't blame anyone, because how could you?

You made the choice, and it was all on you.

You didn’t even know if you were allowed to call it grief, or if you were even allowed to call it your child. All you knew was that something inside you was gone, and you never told him. And now, that silence felt like betrayal.

And after enough silence, you convinced yourself maybe he was never meant to know.

It was taken from you too early, anyway.

You fell asleep hugging yourself. 

And you woke to a knocking on your bedroom window.

Jungkook stood there, glowing as he bathed in moonlight, grinning wide. His eyes were wide and glossy.

“I’ll come with you,” he whispered. “I already talked to the band. Told them Jin can take over vocals. It’s fine. I can find a job in the city. A good one. I swear, I’ll figure it out.”

Your heart ached. Oh how it ached.

Because he was cutting out pieces of himself just to follow you into the unknown.

Everything he loved and cherished was here. You couldn’t take that away from him.

Just because you were miserable here didn’t mean he had to be miserable somewhere else just to be with you.

So instead of answering, you kissed him deep, and you kissed him hard.

And somehow, in that kiss, he understood that this would probably be the last time.

So he made love to you, and you made love to him, like it was.

You still remember how his solid body felt. How he made you feel at home when he was inside you, filling you, pumping his seed deep. 

And afterward, when he lay on top of you, sweaty and spent, you told him:

“You’re holding me back. If you really love me, you’ll let me go.”

It rained that night.

And you swore the sky cried with you.

Maybe it was the universe’s way of mourning the tragedy of it all.

Right place, wrong person.

How he was the right place.

And you were the wrong person.

He held you tight against his chest, his whole body trembling, shaking with silent, broken sobs. You felt his tears seep into your skin, felt his grief in the way his arms refused to let go. 

And by morning, he was gone.

You cried all your tears that day, because you never cried after that. 

Maybe you used them all up.

The rain tapped against your window as if it, too, has something to say. 

Maybe – just maybe – it’s crying for you. 

But that thought feels self-indulgent. 

Why would the sky mourn for someone like you?

After all, you were nothing but a selfish bitch, willing to lie and betray the only love you’d ever known.

Jungkook gave you his entire world, offered in open palms.

Every piece of him.

But it wasn't enough.

NOW

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

You turn to one of the investors with a polite tilt of your head, the smile on your lips still perfectly in place. Your cheeks ache from smiling. Family. Family friends. Business partners. Everyone your father and Kole deemed important enough to attend this pre-wedding dinner.

The wedding– your wedding– is in two weeks.

But apparently, everyone’s here to celebrate your father and Kole’s company merger.

It really shouldn’t surprise you how many private jets a private island can accommodate. But it still does. The extravagance is nauseating.

“Mr. Chen was asking if you plan to take over the Hong Kong branch after the wedding,” your father chimes in for you. “I told him it’s up to Kole if he wants you to work right after the honeymoon.”

You blink.

Up to Kole?

If he wants you to work?

You laugh.

And then finish your champagne in one go.

Where the hell is Kole, anyway? You haven’t seen him since dinner. Probably talking business.

You excuse yourself and make your way to the bar. The bartender asks what you’ll have, you don’t hesitate.

“A beer,” you say.

She raises a brow in amusement but doesn’t question it, and a pint of draft is placed in front of you.

You take it, gratefully, and walk toward the beach, away from the hushed conversations like everyone is talking about secrets.

You used to think this was normal.

The way they spoke in riddles and metaphors, like a dance.

It wasn’t until you moved with your mother to the town that you realized:

Normal people don’t speak like that.

They speak with their hearts full and their chins high, unafraid to talk about the things they love.

You pass by the softly lit cabanas and hear faint laughter near the main house, but the further you walk, the quieter it becomes. The huts here are empty. Just the sound of the shore. 

You find the furthest hut, the one tucked farthest from everything, and slip inside.

But the moment your foot hits the floor, you hear it.

Breathy gasps.

Soft moans.

Whoops.

The hut’s not empty, obviously.

And really, you’d hate to interrupt a guest enjoying themselves at your party.

Maybe try the hut before this one?

You’re already turning around, ready to slip out quietly, when– 

“...yeah, like that. Love it when you do that.”

A man’s voice.

You pause.

Kole’s voice.

Then, another voice - a man’s, laughs low and hums something in return.

And it sounds… familiar.

Curiosity tugs at you. So you look.

The curtain separating the lounge from the inner room is half drawn. Through the gap, you catch movement.

Kole is pinned against the wall, panting, shirt undone. His perfectly styled hair is now a mess, sticking to his forehead with sweat. His hands are buried in another man's dark hair, fingers guiding - as he kneels before him, head moving with a rhythm that has Kole’s eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering forward.

Your gaze flicks to the shirt the guy’s wearing.

You know that shirt.

You and Kole picked it out together last month during your vacation in Europe.

A birthday gift for your cousin.

Holy shit.

What the actual fuck.

Have they been… fucking?

For how long?

Kole and your cousin?

You didn’t even know about Kole’s sexual preferences. It’s not something the two of you ever discussed openly.

Not that there was space for that kind of conversation between you anyway.

What else don’t you know about him?

They don’t notice you.

They’re too lost in their own world. 

After collecting yourself, you quietly turn and step back out into the night.

You walk away calmly, beer still in one hand, your phone on the other.

You’re already in bed, in a satin nightgown, the glow of your phone screen casting light across your face as you scroll through nothing.

When Kole enters, he offers you that charming smile of his.

“Long day,” he murmurs, undoing his shirt. “You were wonderful tonight. Truly. The guests adore you.”

He disappears into the bathroom without waiting for a response.

You hear the water run. Then stop.

When he returns, he’s in his maroon pajama set, hair damp, skin freshly dewy with that aftershave you used to like. He slips into bed beside you and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Good night, darling,” he says casually. “Excellent job today. I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your side more, you know how it is, investor talk about the new branch. But tomorrow’s for us. Golf, then a massage. Yes?”

You look up from your phone and set it aside, then turn to face him fully.

“I saw you,” you said softly, calmly. 

You’re devoid of emotion.

You haven’t felt anything in months.

And honestly, nothing surprises you anymore.

“In the hut. With my cousin.” You wait for a reaction from him, but he only blinks once.

Then lets out a short, airy chuckle, the same chuckle he gives when the wine’s poured a little too generously.

“Oh? How unfortunate. That wasn’t my intention at all. Still… I do apologize you had to witness it.”

“That’s it?” Your voice remains calm, your face unreadable. “You’re sorry I saw?”

He sighs, folding his hands neatly across his chest.

“Darling,” he begins, composed, “what exactly would you have me do? Apologize for indulging in my own preferences? We both have our… pursuits. I’ve never interfered in yours.”

“What?”

He raises an eyebrow, utterly unbothered.

He is eerily calm.

You trained yourself to stay calm. It was survival, really. A skill honed through years of navigating your mother’s moods and your father’s expectations.

But this is something else entirely.

This is detachment - bred from an environment where emotions are inconvenient and consequences are optional.

It makes your skin crawl.

“Come now… Darling, I know about your affair.”

Your blood runs cold.

“I’m not an idiot,” he continues still in that maddening calm tone, as if explaining something obvious to a slow student. “I'm well aware you were fucking your ex every time you visited your mother.”

Your lips part, but you don't say anything.

“But I also know it wasn't serious. Of course.” He exhales softly. “Just like mine wasn’t. These things – flings, indulgences – they’re inevitable. Necessary, even. We all have our vices.”

He looks at you with amusement, as he continues.

“I never stood in the way of yours because I knew, at the end of the day, you’d come back to me. You always do.”

He leans back into the pillows, perfectly composed.

“Because no matter how good he makes you feel, no matter how well he fucks you,” he murmurs, “he’ll never be able to give you the life you want. The one you need.”

And then, he smiles.

“And you and I both know, you’re not about to give up this life,” he laughs softly, “that man? He can’t give you any of it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “This life?”

“Oh, don’t play coy. You love wealth. You love security. You love summers in Saint-Tropez and winters in the Swiss Alps. You love not having to think about money. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Bile rises in your throat as a tangle of emotions churns in your chest. But you say nothing. You let him speak.

“I don’t blame you,” he says smoothly. “Living in that charming little town must’ve been… enlightening. Poor you, having to experience what life is like for the rest of them. It must’ve reminded you just how different we are.”

He leans back and sighs. “I don’t fault you for it, darling. I never have. It’s simply who you are. This is where you belong.” 

He picks up his phone from the nightstand, casually scrolling for a moment before dialing.

“Cancel golf tomorrow,” he says. “The investors and I will meet on the yacht instead.”

Then, he sets the phone down, turns back to you, and adds

“Wear that pretty white dress I gave you. It’ll match mine tomorrow. You’ll look magnificent in it.”

And with that, he switches off his lamp and goes to sleep.

Kole was right about one thing–

the dress does look good on you.

But then again, what doesn’t?

You’ve sculpted yourself into perfection. 

It’s true that being part of this society requires effort to always be perfect, so you invest in yourself.

You sip at the champagne and glance out the plane window. The clouds drift past like marshmallows – soft, white, pure.

Far below, the island looks impossibly small now. Like an ant. The water surrounding it glistens, like blue Gatorade under the sun.

It’s not your first time flying on a private jet.

But it’s your first time flying alone.

And that thought feels… liberating.

You’ve been alone all your life, haunted by the isolating feeling that your life was never truly yours.

It’s true, you were an obedient child. You never once strayed from the path your parents laid out for you.

Except for Jungkook.

Being with him throughout college was an act of rebellion in itself.

It was the only reckless thing you ever did.

And it was the best time of your life.

It’s ironic how the best time of your life happened during the darkest.

Right person, wrong place, or right place, wrong person, or whatever it was Namjoon said.

The pilot says the flight is going to take two hours.

You plan on taking a short nap so you have the energy to pack as soon as you arrive at the apartment you share with Kole.

You have no concrete plan after moving out of the apartment, and that thought should scare you, but it doesn’t.

You didn't speak a word to anyone before leaving the island. 

Everyone was still asleep when you left.

Even Kole didn’t notice you leaving the villa. He was sound asleep on that stupidly large bed.

They can all go fuck themselves.

And as you close your eyes to take a short nap, you turn off your phone that’s been vibrating since you left, with people trying to reach you.

You probably have dozens of missed calls by now.

Maybe asking where you are.

Or maybe asking what the hell is wrong with you.

You can’t blame them, not when you emailed a few pictures you took of Kole and your cousin last night to your family.

To your father, your step mother, her sisters, their husbands, all your cousins… and Kole himself.

Just one email, sent to every single name on the recipient list before your plane even left the ground.

You debated whether to send the video, but it’s always nice to have extra ammunition, just in case.

You smacked your forehead when you realized you’d forgotten to add a subject line to the email.

But oh well.

Mistakes happen.

No one’s perfect.

We are all sinners, after all.

taglist: @softhaes @investedreader @whoa-jo @mageprincess7 @daskewl

a/n: thanks for waiting, told you it was a looong one! took me a bit longer to finish because, well… life happens. hope you enjoy the chapter and please let me know what you think. THANK YOU! 💛

feedback? asks? 💌

[suskz]

Not my fault

pairing: sub!Felix x dom!fem!Reader

tw: jealousy ; smut ; mutual masturbation (m!rec) ; mommy kink ; cock slapping ; orgasm denial ; begging ; overstimulation ; there are safe-words between Felix and reader but they don’t use them

w/c: 922

a/n: this is just a thought I had about Felix a couple of days ago remembering those smut audios of whiny lixie that make me damn hot. and wanted to share it with you. This is literally just pure smut, so I had no idea how to title it lmao. You’ll understand the title reading one of the paragraphs; literally, it’s just one paragraph (not that the whole thing is that long lol), the rest is smut, but it makes sense anyways, so.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Felix didn’t think it would end like this. With him sitting on the edge of your bed and you kneeling between his legs, your hand moving skilfully up and down his length.

His eyes are filled with tears that haven’t yet fallen. They’re tears of pleasure, or perhaps irritation. He doesn’t even know.

His cock is hot, wet, and it feels almost swollen. Pre-cum drips from its tip, which you occasionally collect and spread along its length.

“S-sweetheart…” his voice is low and trembling, but he doesn’t use his deep voice —it wouldn’t come out as sexy and dominant as he’d like, only desperate.

You interrupt him immediately, “Oh no, don’t try to sweet-talk me now,” you tighten your grip around his cock, and he whines at both the gesture and your words. “You won’t come until I let you.”

A sob escapes his throat, and he feels tears might start streaming from his eyes any moment.

His moans become louder as he feels that immense pleasure building up in his abdomen, only to be taken away just before it completely takes over. You remove your hand from his cock, and he cries out, pushing his hips up into the air instinctively with heavy breaths, feeling his release slipping away.

His mascara is ruined because of his eyes that had been closed too tightly, and now there are black dots on his cheeks above his freckles.

As soon as he lowers his hips onto the bed, you reattach your hand to his cock, and he moans obscenely and thrusts up into your palm, but you detach it after a few strokes.

“P-please,” he whimpers looking at you, “Please, mommy please,” he chokes on a sob.

You give his dick a light slap, making him gasp, “Stop talking and take it,” you start fisting his cock vigorously again, and Felix throws his head back, closing his eyes and feeling small tears forming at the outer corners of his eyes.

Breathy moans leave his throat. His face contorts from the slight pain that the tight grip of your hand causes on his sensitive cock.

When he feels his climax approaching, he expects you to remove your hand, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, you warn him.

“You won’t come until I allow you, understood? And stop being whiny.” Felix feels like crying. He squirms to escape your touch and tries everything to hold it in. But it’s difficult after all the times he’s been denied to come.

“Y/n— mommy please I can’t, please stop—” he wants to be good, he really wants to; in fact, he keeps his hands in place without moving them to stop you or, earlier, to touch himself, just as you told him; but it’s too hard for him right now. His hands clench into fists, gripping the sheets in his palms, and he takes deep breaths, trying to resist as much as possible and hoping that you’ll allow him to come soon.

Because he promised you he would be a good boy for you, after you two got home and you got angry because he talked to a girl who was hitting on him. “I didn’t realise, I promise you.” he said, but that didn’t sweep away your jealousy, so you forced him to stay still where he is and take what you give him because next time he needs to pay more attention to the people he talks to.

But it’s too much for him.

“Fuck…” he breathes, “I’m… I’m so sorry, I can’t,” the tight knot in his stomach grows tighter as pre-cum oozes from his tip, caught by your palm and used as lube, your hand not stopping its movements. “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t hold it, please mommy—” he cries and his hips begin to move back and forth, thrusting into your palm.

“Lix…” you try to get his attention but he’s too lost in pleasure to really pay attention or answer you.

“Mmmmh fuck I’m cumming, fuckfuckfuck oh my god— fuck mommy, I’m cumming—” he whimpers openly, his voice breaking. His head is thrown back while his hips keep moving and you milk him dry. Ropes of cum spurt in your hand and shirt —the only thing you’re wearing—, and a little also finishes on your chin

Lewd moans leave his lips, and he would be embarrassed if he weren’t fucking coming after being denied for so long. Other people probably heard it, but he couldn’t care less at the moment.

His body trembles as he comes down from his high.

You detach your hand and wipe it on the sheets.

“You can’t even follow a simple rule, can you?” you scold him. He tries to steady his breathing, but you don’t give him the chance. You climb onto his lap, and he looks at you with wet eyes.

"Do you think I’ll let you get away with it? You need to be punished for not following the rules."

When your words sink into his head, he looks at you with alarmed eyes, “Y-Y/n…”

Suddenly, you grasp his cock in your hand again, making him flinch and gasp from the overstimulation. You align him with your warm and wet entrance, then sink down on it, moaning as you’re finally filled. Felix groans in pain and grips your hips tightly, as if trying to keep you in place and not let you move.

“Now I’ll ride you, and you won’t move or let a word out of your mouth, understood?”.

[study-diaries]

How To Study Anything At 10x Speed

This is not a bs guide, these are some tips that have actually worked for me and they can work for you too. The thing is, it's fairly really easy. I have sometimes managed to prepare for a test before 15 mins by just reading through it. It's fascinating if you break it down.

Mindset Change

A mind set change is everything. If you think it is easy. The topic will be more bearable. If you think it's tough, it's going to be more tough. So, first thing is first. Be open. You are not dumb, you can easily understand everything if you just remove the concept of "It is too hard or boring"

I once heard that the subject isn't boring, you are bored. So, change your thought process. Start with, "I can handle this"

Break It Down

Not your chapter. I mean the topic itself. Line by line if you have to. I did this exact thing for accounts whenever i had to do ratios. It was a pain. An unwanted pain. I couldn't understand anything. But i sat down one day and read every single line of the textbook for that topic. I made what i call "Line Visuals". This is simple.

You read a paragraph => You don't understand anything.

Read every line => Draw it

Understand the key terms used there

And then draw a single visual representation for that entire topic.

I'll guarantee you, you will understand it. Review it once a day for a week and then once a week.

Story Method

People remember stories more than normal facts or random pieces of data. Stories allow you to link different facts together and make it easier for you to process.

The easiest way to do this is using "FTF" (First, Then, Finally).

First, the main character (you or anyone else you imagine) will start on a journey. That's scene one. You will need to associate some points to this scene. This will mostly include the overall concept. Basic understanding.

Then, the main character will face a problem. This will include all the major questions revolving around the topic.

Finally, the main character will find the answers. Let's break it down more.

What i love about this is that it can be used for sudden test/ pop quizzes because all you need to do is just remember the story.

If you want to read more about it, check out: How To Study Using The "Story Method"

Use Mnemonics

Learn with this. It helps you to remember easily. Make catchy phrases to remember points/facts. These are like the building blocks of studying anything. Stick small notes to your books writing the phrases beside the topic so the next time you want to revise it, it's easy.

Connect Similar Topic

Connect all your related subjects. Everything in school is somehow connected. I usually used to connect economics and business studies concepts. Sometimes even computers so... Connect them.

Active Recall

Active recall is like the number one tip i'd recommend. It's easy and most of you probably do it already. You just have to keep revising and testing yourself at the materials periodically. It's easy and effective.

Teach What You Learn

You learn the most when you teach. I had taken my friends for this. Study and teach it to them. This helps because you have to have a clear understanding of the material first rather to teach them and you may end up with some important feedback. Your friends might ask a specific question you didn't know the answer to and now all of you are trying to perfect yourself with the material.

___________________

Additional Tips:

Tips for understanding complex topics

How To Self Study

Tips To Study Concept-Oriented Subjects

How To Study For Longer Hours

How To Study Multiple Subjects

___________________

I hope it helps! :)

By the way, all of these tips are from my previous posts. But honestly this is what i do to actually study faster. It actually works for me and i hope it works for you too :)

__________________

[alessiasfreckles]

amnesia - part 4 (ona batlle x reader, alexia putellas x reader)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

warnings: none!

---------

“Well, what’s the story of our friendship? Is there anything I should know about there? Any drama that happened, any secrets? Please, no more secrets,” you said with a wry smile. 

Alexia took a deep breath.

“We became friends pretty quickly, when you moved to Barcelona. You’re a very easy person to be friends with, an easy person to like,” Alexia said. “You spent a lot of time with me, and a lot of time with Ona. At the start, I… I was jealous, actually.”

“Of me?” you asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe? Of Ona, of both of you, I think.”

“Why?”

She took a breath, picking at her nails. “Like I said, you’re a very easy person to like. You’re very pretty, you’re amazing on the pitch, you’re kind and funny.”

Her words hung in the air for a minute. 

“You liked me? As in, romantically?” you asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Si,” she said, looking down at her hands. Her cheeks were pink.

“Your hair- it used to be pink, right?” you said suddenly, images of a pink ponytail flashing to mind.

“I- si, did you remember?” she asked, looking up at you. 

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Um, do you still like me? Like that?”

Alexia shrugged noncommittally, not meeting your eye, then sighed. “Si - but nothing has to change. I do not want anything to change between us. We are very good friends, I would never want to lose that.”

“Okay, then. Nothing will change,” you agreed. “Although, I don’t really remember much about what it was like before, so for all I know this could be entirely different to how things used to be. It’s kind of weird, not really knowing what I’m like or what my life was like. Really weird, actually.”

Alexia, who had been quiet since her admission, brightened up. “I have an idea!” she said, sitting up straight. “What if I show you what your life was like before? I can take you to your favourite places, show you what you usually would do!”

“That sounds great!” 

“It will have to be after training,” she said, frowning. “Will you be okay during the day on your own?”

You waved her off. “I’ll manage. It’ll give me time to go through everything here, try to remember more.”

By the time Alexia left for the night (after repeatedly asking if you were sure that you’d be okay on your own, and if you needed anything to call her, or anyone else from the team), you were exhausted, both physically and mentally. Despite how tired you were, getting into what was supposedly your own bed felt wrong, and you spent the night twisting and turning, unable to get comfortable.

Still, waking up and seeing something other than the hospital walls felt like a step in the right direction. You spent the morning going through everything you could find in your apartment that could give you clues about who you were. A journal from when you’d first moved to Barcelona (that you’d only managed to write three entries in before giving up) described your first days with the team, how nervous you’d been and how welcomed Alexia made you feel, and how you were so intimidated by Ona and how attractive she was but that she was so friendly to you, immediately putting you at ease. A paragraph about Alexia made you pause, the way you had written almost made it sound like you had a crush on her, the way you described her, raving about how good she was at football, how nice she was, how pretty. It was followed by another paragraph about Ona, and how amazing she was, and you rolled your eyes at your past self.

Reading about Ona felt weird, and you put the journal back, trying to push the thoughts of her out of your mind. Still, when you got hungry you were reminded of her once again, the fridge full of food that she had prepared for you. You pulled a covered bowl out to find a handwritten note on top, telling you what food was inside, with a smiley face and a heart. You told yourself that the funny feeling in your stomach was purely due to being hungry, nothing else, but you carefully left the note on the counter, not wanting to throw it away. 

By the time Alexia arrived you were starting to feel a little stir crazy, your leg making it hard to move around. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you told her as you opened the door.

“Hello to you, too,” she laughed. 

“Yes, hi. I miss going outside, and I’m all ready for our trip!” you told her, waving your crutches in the air.

“Woah, okay, I can see that!” she ducked as you waved your crutches a little too close to her head. “Okay, the first place we are going to go is a café nearby. It is your favourite. Usually you walk but I think we will drive.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you said, slumping a little. You’d been looking forward to moving a little, your body feeling tense from inactivity. “You’re too sensible.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards as she suppressed a smile. 

It didn’t take long for you to arrive at the café. You took a deep breath as you hobbled inside, and the smell of coffee and fresh pastries filling your lungs. It instantly felt familiar, and you were drawn to a seat by the window. 

Alexia watched as you moved to sit down, smiling. “That’s your favourite spot. You always sit there.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I like to watch the people going past.”

She raised an eyebrow, and you cocked your head, then realised what you’d said. “Huh. I don’t know where that came from, but it feels right.”

You watched Alexia as she ordered at the counter, thinking about what she’d told you last night. You weren’t sure how to feel - remembering her words made your stomach flutter, but you weren’t sure why. When she sat down, a drink for each of you and a pastry on a plate, you felt a sudden wave of emotion. 

“This is my favourite, right? This is what I always get,” you asked, and she nodded, smiling shyly. “You remembered?”

“Of course, chiqui,” she said. 

As you ate, you talked about football, which seemed like a safe topic. Your mind kept wandering though, thinking about the way that Alexia had known where to take you. She knew your favourite café, your usual order, she had known all the right things to say to you. You felt your cheeks warming up as you realised how much she cared about you, your old journal entry coming to mind, and you caught yourself wondering why nothing had ever happened between you.

“You seem distracted,” Alexia said, interrupting your stream of consciousness. “What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, uh, not much,” you quickly said. “Just about training, when I’ll be able to go back.”

“Ah,” she said, frowning. “I am not sure. Maybe you can ask the doctor on Friday?”

You nodded, your cheeks still pink. As you reached for your drink, your phone vibrated on the table. 

[Ona:] Please can we meet, and talk? Tomorrow?

[blunt-force-karma]

I think we, the people, should talk about Barry the Butcher more. For real, I think we should, both in the grand scheme of things of the narrative of Disco Elysium and just cus it'd be a bit funny to. Think about it, how many people even really KNOW who Barry the Butcher is, or who remember Barry the Butcher? Do you, human reading this possible unhinged post remember Barry the Butcher? Do you recognize this man? Hell, do you think he could even be real? Well, those are all valid questions, dear reader! For one, he's named, yes, but all we really know about him is that he's friends with the man on the water lock (said by the Man on the Water Lock so who knows if they really ARE friends from what we see but let's just assume they are), he's stuck on the other side of the water lock, wears overalls, and looks disappointed that the water lock is broken and about about his salami being eaten by his friend. We can also assume that yes, he is a butcher. His name is Barry. He can make salami. Very astute observations.

This is the only bit we got of him too. Again, no portrait, no looking into the window of his soul. No can-opening. Nope. Nothing. Nada. All this man does is wave and look sad. You know this guy's irrelevant to the plot when we get more information from corpses. And sure, maybe that's not fair to Barry. The main corpse is related to the case and the other is related to a side case you can chose to do that has it's own emotional core to it. Only in Disco Elysium.

You never see the Man on the Water Lock or Barry the Butcher ever again by the way. After you interact with the Man on the Water Lock and MAYBE go back to talk with him again, once you enter a building and come back, he's gone, alongside Barry the Butcher. Day 1 exclusive guy's too. I am pretty sure if you never interact with the Man on the Water Lock, you can just never see him in the game after Day 1. Hell, I would not be surprised if you were to go into the game and the minute you're done talking to the Man on the Water Lock, Barry just despawns. Barry the Butcher doesn't get mentioned ever again to my knowledge, neither his salami eating friend though that makes sense. We never get to learn more about Barry the Butcher or get a callback about him. Nothing! And that's just so fucking FUNNY to me. On a game level, Barry the Butcher is probably one of the rare characters we meet that has a name, has his name in the dialogue box AND never gets a portrait while also never having any speaking lines either or just more than one paragraph of text related to him. He is probably actively one of the most irrelevant characters in this game which is definitely an interesting achievement to have as a character specifically in Disco Elysium of all games. On a meta level too, it's just funny. Like, Barry the Butcher was made and he was put in the game and he was given a MODEL! He has a MODEL! Like, some characters WITH portraits have no models. Barry the Butcher is so fucking SPECIAL in his mediocrity and that needs to be acknowledged. He doesn't matter at all but is so fascinating in how little he matters and the unique circumstances of his existence. Then, on a story level, it's fascinating to me. In the grand scheme of it all, Barry the Butcher is just a guy. He really is. He's not relevant to the story cus he's not relevant to the case. So, we simply never hear from him again. He's not even relevant in terms of thoughts cus he's just not that impactful to either the player OR Harry. None of Harry's skills can even chime in and give commentary on what they see about this man either. Barry the Butcher isn't even like those few people you can interact with who have stuff to say but you can never TALK to them cus they're just talking to themselves. Plus, they never get named cus Harry just never thinks about them ever again. They don't impact him. Barry the Butcher to me is fascinating on the fact that he IS named though. That he's given a model and not a portrait and never speaks and who knows. Maybe he just doesn't speak. We don't know that as the player or as Harry. And we'll NEVER know simply cus we're not meant to. Our story does not collide with Barry the Butchers. It barely even grazes whatever life Barry has going on. And, I think that's just beautiful. It's beautiful that a game like Disco Elysium can fascinate me on the fact that a character like Barry the Butcher exists. This game is in a world where people can just have different lives going on and not everyone in the plot "matters" plot wise. Yet, the fact that they're here and exist makes the world feel more alive. And not even in that way of filling the area with character models which I mean, not that there isn't characters like that in DE. There are. There's a good chunk of people you just can't talk to in the Whirling-In-Rags. Barry the Butcher is just like, so crazy to me though. He's so close to just being like one of those characters who just exist to fill space but it doesn't feel that way cus we're in DE and cus he at least gets the opportunity to be named and shown on screen to any extent. So, what I'm saying here is that we, the people, should come together on this. We should come together and unite for Barry the Butcher. I dunno how and I have no clue if this dumbass post will have any impact. I just needed to let this all out. Do it for Barry the Butcher. DO IT FOR BARRY!

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 1!

happy new year, everyone!! we're kicking the year off with a slightly shorter rec list than usual - i've been spending a lot more time with family, and a lot less time reading - of lovely, lovely fics. enjoy!!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all i want for christmas... | Tizniz/@tizniz | 3.4k | GA

“So…I don’t think we’re gonna make it back for Christmas.” Buck closes his eyes and takes a breath, letting the full impact of Eddie’s words hit him for a second. “Y-yeah, man. Of course. I totally get it.” He swallows, “Your family is there, anyways.” i am still thoroughly enjoying a few more holiday fics and this one was an absolute highlight this week!! so soft and lovely <3

'cause i took the long road to find you wanting me | BekkaChaos/@bekkachaos | 6k | T

Buck can't bring himself to act normal around Eddie in the days after he reveals he's looking for houses in El Paso, he knows that Eddie leaving will be one of the most painful things he'll have to endure, but he refuses to tell him that he shouldn't go. After a few days, Eddie comes to Buck's loft unannounced to confront him about it, and everything becomes even more complicated. i LOVE this fic's characterisation of buck so very much <3 so good!!

every corner of this house is haunted | justhockey | 2.5k | GA

And now that love is everywhere, is in everything. It’s worn so deeply into the grooves of his skin that it’s changed the very structure of his fingerprint - is burrowed so deep inside of him that it has rewritten his DNA. His love for Eddie and for Christopher is carved into his bones - etched onto his heart like an epitaph: love lived here. Love left here. the excitment i feel whenever i see a new justhockey fic <3 i mean seriously, do you need to read more than those two little summary paragraphs to be convinced to read this gem of a fic? i don't think you do. click the link, you know you want to <3

honey came in and she caught me red-handed | lizzybizzyzzz/@lizzybizzyzzz | 9.3k | E

buck accidentally sends eddie nudes; they fuck it out. so hot so good so them <3 oh how i love buddie accidentally sending each other nudes, and this fic is right there among the very best of them!!

if only in my dreams | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 9.2k | GA

Eddie moves to El Paso a month before Christmas. Buck goes a little bit insane about it. at this point a michelle rec list isn't a michelle rec list without a fic by songbvrd on it lol. what can i say, i know what i like, and this author happens to write a lot of it! i love buck going a little bit insane over eddie moving and his decorating and the buddie and just everything <3

pluto is not a planet. | gooondocks (happyhauntt)/@happyhauntt | 3.2k | GA

buck finds out that pluto isn't a planet anymore and takes it very personally. this fic is so so gorgeously written. the most beautiful character study introspection buck fic. genuinely just that good <3

with all the clouds around (it's never been clearer than now) | seachanged | 2.4k | T

It happens on a Saturday. Or, it starts on a Friday that turns into Saturday, the easy joy of the night tipping over into the pale, vulnerable light of the morning; dazzling in its inevitability.  the buddie dynamic here is so so good, a little teasing and a little flirty but mostly so very soft <3 lovely fic!!