#from now on the updates to all of my stories will be irregular

[mangowillow]

last to know | ch. 3: today's curtain opens

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst, hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: somewhere in this chapter, seokjin punches jeongguk

word count: 12.7k

author's note: oooh look at her coming back after more than a YEAR!

i have no words, no excuses to offer. most people would have forgotten this story already. BUT I DIDN'T and that's all that matters right now <3

gentle reminder that italics are flashbacks! please forgive any oversights or mistakes or whatnot; as of posting, i am sick and i just wanted to post this chapter that's been sitting in my drafts for the longest time now.

one more very important thing: since i haven't updated in so long, i lost track of my taglist i am very sorry! to make everything more organized, i came up with a google form that readers can fill out if they're interested in being included. i know this is such an inconvenience but because i am a very irregular poster, i will need all the help with tracking i can get!!!

so if you're interested in being tagged for this fic, please fill out this form. any requests for tags in the comments or ask box will not be considered at this time. tysm!! enjoy this very humble update!

As usual, you didn’t notice time passing until you realized it was already nighttime.

You are still cleaning up the art room at the university where you were teaching until you heard the pitter-patter of the rain. Big, fat raindrops relentlessly hit the window, creating a steady beat. The sound calms you but at the same time, it seems to mirror the turbulent thoughts that are running through your mind. Not that the thoughts were anything urgent or worrying; your mind just can’t seem to stop… thinking.

You pack the last of the paintbrushes your students forgot to return to the crate when your phone starts to ring. You wipe your hands across your paint-stained apron before picking up. You place the phone between your ear and shoulder as you start packing your bag.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Mrs. Jeon ____?”

You haven’t heard that name in years; let alone be addressed as such.

“I um— may I know who is speaking?” you ask, your grip on the handle of your bag tightens. 

“This is Kim Ae-jung calling from Gangnam Heights Medical Center. I’m calling regarding Mr. Jeon Jeongguk,” the caller states. Your heart starts to beat faster, knuckles almost turning white as you now grip your bag strap even more.

“Oh. Right. Is everything okay?”

“I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Jeon has been admitted to our hospital. There's been a health emergency and they're currently receiving medical attention.”

The moment you hear “medical attention,” the thumping in your ears becomes louder. You clutch your heart tighter as the caller goes on, “I understand this is a lot to take in. The situation is being taken care of by our medical team. It's important that you come to the hospital as soon as possible to be with them—”

You didn’t have to be told anything further. You start gathering your things, hastily putting them inside your bag, and run out the door. 

It didn’t matter that you got soaked in the pouring rain on the way to the bus stop. Of all days, you had to have your car at the shop for an oil change. You gnaw at your nails as you anxiously wait for the next bus to come. You look at your watch: 9:30 PM. You wonder why Jeongguk was in the hospital. You wonder why he was here— in Seoul.

As a self-proclaimed overthinker, you start to spiral and descend into negativity. You try to recall if Jeongguk has ever had any illnesses while you were still together. You try to remember if you missed anything then— a symptom, a cough, a fever. 

The moment you sit down on the bus your heart starts to steady a bit and it allows you to think a bit clearer. Gangnam Heights Medical Center was a few kilometers away from the university. You can’t help but glance at the time almost every minute, your leg bouncing in agitation.

In that seemingly long bus ride, you are flooded with so many memories of Jeongguk almost instantaneously— the day you met him, the day he held your hand for the first time, the day he kissed you after a fireworks display—

The day he married you.

All of the memories you have tried so hard to keep buried in the recesses of your mind— they all came rushing back like no time has ever passed.

When you are reminded of Jeon Jeongguk, you are reminded of pain. But you are also reminded of the deepest love you’ve ever known your entire life.

As the public announcement on the bus declares that the next stop is the hospital, you hastily push the STOP button above you. 

And you have never run as fast as you did to the hospital lobby. You were met by a very kind nurse who gently asked you to fill up a form before anything else even though you were clearly in distress. 

You didn’t know what to write on the form. Legally speaking, you aren’t Jeongguk’s legal guardian. Not anymore. You grip the pen tighter, the ballpoint hovering just above the line that asks for “Spouse Name”. Your eyes start to blur and because of the adrenaline, you don’t realize right away that you are in near tears. For whatever reason, you didn’t know what to do.

So many questions run through your mind— why did the hospital call you? Why isn’t anyone coming to Jeongguk? Was he alone here in Seoul? Does he have anyone at all? 

Your hands shake as you give back the form to the nurse. She gives you a small smile as she directs you to the room where Jeongguk is. Inside was the doctor in charge, as well as a different nurse.

They tell you Jeongguk had a panic attack on the side of the road. They also tell you that the attack was quite alarming because he fainted from sheer panic. You were asked if he had been taking his medication– a question you couldn’t straightforwardly answer. The doctor continued to advise you on his condition and what you could do to support him further but their words barely registered.

All you cared about at that moment was that Jeongguk was here with you in the same room. Lying on a hospital bed. 

“Is— is he going to be okay?” you ask softly, your eyes never leaving Jeongguk’s form.

“Yes, he will fully recover. However, I do advise that he monitor his triggers and form a safety plan should another panic attack happen when he’s out in public or when he’s alone. Your husband was lucky because kind strangers helped take him here.”

You wanted nothing more but to cry, but your tears cannot seem to fall. You thank the doctor as he leaves the room, leaving you and Jeongguk completely alone.

You didn’t wake up today thinking that you’d see him again. Under the worst circumstances yet again, you look at the man who you used to call your husband. Jeongguk is no longer the lanky 21-year-old you married. He's more muscular now, with his physique sculpted in all the right places. Although his face was covered with an oxygen mask, you could still see the prominent eye lines, perhaps due to exhaustion and sleepless nights. He now sports a full tattoo sleeve on his right arm, a striking blend of intricate designs that flow seamlessly down to just above his wrist. A delicate lotus flower blooms amidst the ink, its petals unfolding with quiet elegance, while scattered stars add a celestial touch, as if mapping constellations across his skin. He finally did it, you thought. You look at Jeongguk and see that everything and nothing has changed. 

You step closer to his bedside, your movements hesitant, almost fragile. With a trembling hand, you reach for the one free of the IV, your fingers brushing against his skin as if afraid he might break or worse– wake up. A shudder runs through you and your bottom lip quivers. You swallow hard, desperate to contain the sob threatening to slip past your lips.

Since when did Jeongguk suffer from panic attacks? No matter how hard you search your memory for warning signs, for any fleeting clue, you come up empty. Jeongguk was always strong, always steady—if anything, it was you who carried the weight of a restless mind.

Jeongguk had always been the one to carry the both of you.

You remain still, fingers laced with his as silent tears slipping down your cheeks. You mourn not just for him, but for everything you’ve lost—the Jeongguk you once knew, the love that once consumed your world, now reduced to fragments of what used to be.

"Mind telling me about you and ____?" Jeongguk starts, voice steady but laced with something ugly underneath.

He had been discharged just a day after—against Yoongi’s insistence. It wasn’t just the recklessness of it all that pissed Yoongi off—it was Jeongguk’s sheer stubbornness, his refusal to rest, his insistence that keeping himself busy was better than being left alone with his thoughts. He claimed it was for his mental health and that working was preferable to rotting away in self-pity.

But the truth was simpler. Jeongguk didn’t want to be alone.

Not after seeing you again.

Not after seven years.

Yoongi exhales sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets, already anticipating where this conversation is headed. He meets Jeongguk’s gaze—there’s something raw there, something unsettled. He tries to deflect. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? Because I am and—”

“I’m not in the mood to eat,” Jeongguk cuts in, his voice quieter but firm, the weight of his words sinking deep. “I need you to tell me what the hell is going on.”

Yoongi stills. The moment Jeongguk’s tone changed to his CEO voice, he knew—there was no dodging this.

The worst part is, Yoongi doesn’t even need to deflect. He just doesn’t think this is the time. They had barely even settled back in Seoul, and already, they’re reopening old wounds that never really healed. Then again… had he really expected Jeongguk to just let it go? To come back here, breathe the same air as you, and not at least try to find you?

Yoongi sighs. Over the years, he’s learned something that even Jeongguk himself refuses to admit—your name still undoes him. Every single time. Jeongguk is haunted by you— in ways he doesn’t even realize. It’s written in the way he grows quiet, in the way his jaw tenses, in the way his eyes darken with a sadness that only those closest to him can recognize.

And now, with Jeongguk looking at him like this—like he’s grasping for something, anything—Yoongi knows there’s no way out.

“It’s not a big deal, Jeongguk.” Yoongi hates downplaying anything especially when it comes to his friends, but even he doesn’t believe his words. “We just talk sometimes. I send her wishes on her birthday, greet her during Christmas, check in every now and then. But it’s rare.”

If Yoongi had any sense, he’d realize he sounded defensive. And if Jeongguk had any sense, he wouldn’t care.

But he does. Of course he does.

Jeongguk lets out a breathless scoff, shaking his head. “And you just… what? Didn’t think to mention that to me?” His tone is sharp, but not out of anger—out of something deeper, something resembling hurt. “Because everything you just said doesn’t sound like ‘rare.’”

And the worst part? Jeongguk isn’t even mad at Yoongi for keeping this from him. He’s mad at himself—for the fact that it even matters. That even after all these years, anything to do with you still destroys him.

God, Jeongguk hates himself for it—because it reminds him of all his past mistakes.

Yoongi sighs. “Because I knew you’d be like this.”

Jeongguk stills. His grip tightens. “Like what?”

Yoongi meets his gaze, exhausted. “Like this, Jeongguk. Tearing yourself apart over something that’s already gone.” He pauses, measuring his next words. “If I told you, would it have helped? Would it have made you feel better to know that your ex-wife still keeps in touch with your best friend?”

Jeongguk blinks, stunned into silence. Yoongi referring to you as his ex-wife is a fresh kind of pain he hadn’t anticipated.

"But you’re supposed to be my friend, Yoongi—” His voice wavers, cracking. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

"I am your friend, Jeongguk. I am on your side.” Yoongi’s voice is steady. Then, softer, “But ____ is my friend too. And you know damn well that I don’t condone what happened between you two.”

That shuts Jeongguk up. His mouth opens, but no words come out. Because he knows. He knows exactly what Yoongi is talking about. He knows the extent of the damage he caused. He’s known for years, and yet, it still hits him like a freight train.

His bottom lip trembles but he forces himself to keep it together. “It just… really hurts.”

Yoongi’s expression softens. “What does?”

Jeongguk swallows, looking past the city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Everything.”

Yoongi exhales, his gaze dropping to the floor. In the heavy silence that follows, the only thing Jeongguk can hear is the thick sound of him trying to keep it together.

Then Yoongi speaks. “She panicked that night, you know?” His voice is quieter, careful. “Last night was the first time I heard her voice in a long time. She was worried about you.”

Jeongguk turns, eyes glassy. “She was?”

What Yoongi doesn’t tell him is how worried you were. The way your voice cracked when you said Jeongguk’s name. It wasn’t just panic— it was also helplessness, the way you sounded just as lost as Jeongguk feels now.

Yoongi hesitates, but Jeongguk speaks first. “I’ve always thought about it,” His voice is quieter now. “What it would be like… if I ever saw her again.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “And? Was it what you expected?”

Jeongguk lets out a humorless chuckle, one that sounds more like a sigh. “Definitely not me lying in a hospital bed because of a panic attack.” He rubs his face, shoulders slumping. “I thought about it a million times. But never like that.”

Yoongi watches him carefully. “You know what’s interesting?” His voice is almost amused, though his eyes remain heavy. “You never changed your emergency contact.”

Jeongguk doesn’t move.

Yoongi shrugs. “Jeongguk if the same thing had happened while you were still in New York—”

“I know.” Jeongguk cuts him off, a pang of something sharp hitting his chest. His voice drops. “I just… never got around to changing it.”

There’s a beat of silence. A kind of silence that carries the weight of all the things left unsaid.

Yoongi nods, almost to himself. “I guess that’s just it, huh?”

Jeongguk exhales. “I guess that’s it.”

And for some reason, those words feel heavier than anything else.

Yoongi sighs just as his phone notifies him of a text message. "I'll see you later, kid, okay? Take it easy, will you? You're still healing."

Jeongguk scoffed, "Healing is such an understatement, hyung." Yoongi gives him a look. "Fine, fine, I won't work too much today. Happy?"

Yoongi nods and walks out of Jeongguk's office. He takes a look at the message he received once he closed the door behind him.

It was you.

"How’s Jeongguk?"

NEW YORK, 2016

The golden hour light had long since faded from the university's art room windows, replaced by the harsh fluorescent glow that buzzed overhead. You sat motionless on the paint-splattered stool, your brush suspended mid-air above a canvas that remained untouched since morning. The half-finished painting— a landscape of a giant tree where you and Jeongguk used to find shade when you were in high school— seemed to mock you now with its vibrant colors and brushstrokes.

The divorce papers lay beside your easel like a death sentence— a few stark white pages against the chaos of paint tubes and dirty water jars. You hadn't moved them. Hadn't touched them since a stranger had placed them in your trembling hands eight hours ago.

"Ms. ____? Papers from Lee & Associates Law Firm."

The memory echoed in the silence.

The sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway broke through your trance. The footsteps paused, then quickened, and suddenly the art room door burst open with enough force to rattle the supply cabinets.

"____! Thank God, I've been looking everywhere for—" Yoongi's voice cut off abruptly as he took in the scene before him. His chest heaved from running, dark hair disheveled, but his eyes immediately found your slumped figure, seemingly spaced out looking outside the window. The color drained from his face.

You didn't turn around. You continued staring out the window at the empty courtyard below where university students had laughed and studied just hours before. Now it was nothing but shadows and abandoned benches.

"____..." Yoongi's voice was barely above a whisper. He stepped closer, his usual confident demeanor cracking. 

You finally moved but only enough to quietly acknowledge Yoongi’s presence. Your movements were eerily calm, like someone sleepwalking through their own nightmare. Without a word, you picked up the papers and slowly extended them toward him, never meeting his eyes.

Yoongi's hands shook as he took them. The sound of rustling paper seemed deafening in the still room as he scanned the first page. His face went through a series of emotions—confusion, disbelief, and then a rage so pure it made his jaw clench.

"That bastard," he breathed, his voice trembling with fury. "That absolute—" He looked up at you and the words died in his throat.

You had finally turned to face him and the sight nearly broke him. Your eyes were dry but hollow. Dark circles shadowed your face, and your lips were pressed into a thin line that spoke of hours spent holding back screams.

Or sobs.

"____, I... I didn't know. He didn't tell me he was—" Yoongi's voice cracked. He crumpled the papers in his fist, then immediately smoothed them out again, as if destroying them could somehow undo what they represented. "When did this happen?"

"This morning." Your voice was barely audible, hoarse from not speaking the whole day. "Around ten maybe."

"It's past six now." The realization hit him like a physical blow. "You've been sitting here alone for eight hours?"

You shrugged, the gesture so small and defeated it made his heart ache. "I kept thinking... if I didn't move, if I didn't acknowledge those papers, maybe they weren't real."

Yoongi sank into the chair across from you, the divorce papers still clutched in his hands. He wanted to storm out, to find Jeongguk and demand an explanation, to shake his best friend until he came to his senses. But looking at you—really looking at you—he knew he couldn't leave. Not like this.

"Why didn't you call someone? Call me?"

"What was I supposed to say?" Your laugh was bitter, maybe a little broken too. "'Hi Yoongi, your best friend just divorced me through a law firm'? 'Could you come sit with me while I figure out how to breathe again'?"

"Yes," he said fiercely, almost frustrated. "Exactly that. You should have said exactly that."

Your composure finally cracked. Your shoulders shook, and you pressed your hands to your face. "I don't understand, Yoongi. We— we fought three days ago and he never came home after. He— he did that sometimes. But I always thought he’d come back, you know?" Your voice rose with each word, years of pain spilling out. "B-but how do you go from an argument to divorce papers in three days?"

Yoongi felt his own eyes burn. He'd known Jeongguk since they were teenagers, and had watched him fall for you like a man falling off a cliff— completely and without reservation. He'd been your witness at the courthouse wedding, had celebrated with you both, and had listened to Jeongguk talk about growing old with you just last month.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice thick. "I swear to you, ____, I don't know. He hasn't said anything to me about problems, about wanting... this."

"Maybe that's the problem," you whispered. "Maybe he never talked to anyone about us. Maybe I was the only one who thought we were okay."

The words hung in the air like a funeral shroud. Yoongi wanted to argue, to tell you that wasn't true, but the evidence was literally in his hands. No one files for divorce if they're happy– were you and Jeongguk happy? But no one serves papers through a stranger if they still care.

"I want to confront him," Yoongi said quietly. "I want to find him and demand answers. Maybe punch him. Definitely yell at him." He looked down at the papers, then back at you. "But now... God, ____, I can't leave you alone like this."

"You should go to him. He's your best friend. This probably hurts you too."

"You're my friend too," Yoongi said firmly. "And right now, you need someone more than he does."

You stared at him for a long moment, and he saw the exact instant you stopped holding herself together. Your face crumpled, and the sob that escaped you was raw and devastating. Yoongi was out of his chair in seconds, pulling you into his arms as you finally, finally let yourself break.

"I loved him so much," you cried into his shoulder. "I loved him so much, and it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough."

"Don't say that," Yoongi whispered fiercely, his own tears falling now. "Don't you dare say that. This isn't about you not being enough. This is about him being a coward."

You cried until you had no tears left, until your body was exhausted from the force of your grief. Yoongi held you through all of it, one hand stroking your hair while the other kept the divorce papers from falling to the floor. Even now, even in your pain, he found himself protecting you from having to see them.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen and red, but there was something different in them. Not peace—you were too far from that—but a kind of terrible clarity.

"I need to sign them," you said.

"What are you– no. Not tonight." Yoongi's voice was gentle but firm. "Tonight, you need to go home and rest. The papers can wait."

"What if waiting makes it worse?"

"What if rushing makes it final when it doesn't have to be?"

You looked at him with something that might have been hope, if hope could be so fragile. "Do you think... do you think he might change his mind?"

Yoongi's heart broke all over again, because he could see how much you wanted him to say yes. How much you needed him to say yes. But he also knew Jeongguk, knew that his friend never did anything without thinking it through completely. The divorce papers weren't a mistake or a moment of anger— they were a decision.

"I think," he said carefully, "that you deserve someone who doesn't make you question whether you're enough. Whether he changes his mind or not."

It wasn't the answer you wanted, but it was the truth. And somehow, that seemed to be what you needed to hear.

You nodded slowly, then looked around the art room as if seeing it for the first time. "I should clean up. I've made a mess."

"Leave it," Yoongi said. "Just... leave it all. Come on, I'll drive you home."

As you gathered your things, you paused at the easel. The unfinished painting of the tree stared back at you, beautiful and incomplete.

"I don't think I'll ever finish it," she said quietly.

Yoongi looked at the painting, then at you. "Maybe that's okay. One battle at a time, hm?"

You nodded, understanding. Some stories didn't have happy endings. Sometimes love wasn't enough to make someone stay. And some paintings would forever remain half-done, frozen in a moment before everything fell apart.

The muted hum of the café outside your art studio filtered through the walls, but inside, the space remained still, save for the quiet strains of piano music playing in the background. The scent of paint and brewed coffee lingered in the air as you moved through the space, half-distracted by the canvas in front of you— until you heard your friends’ voices.

"Holy fuck, are you kidding me?"

You paused, your brush hovering mid-stroke over the canvas. That was Hoseok’s voice.

"Jesus wouldn’t be too pleased with your manner of expression, but no, I am not kidding." Taehyung’s response was calm, almost deadpan. "Can you keep your voice down? You should be feigning ignorance about all this."

"What good would that do?" Hoseok huffed. "Feigning ignorance, are you crazy? This is big, sweetie, and you know it."

Taehyung sighed like he was explaining something to a particularly slow student. "Honey, you’re acting like this is news. We already knew Jeongguk was back in Seoul."

“Yes, obviously, because you told me like five minutes ago!” Hoseok shoots back.

You froze for half a second before rolling your eyes. So that’s what they were talking about.

"It’s different knowing and talking about it," Hoseok shot back. "You’re gossiping."

"Of course I’m gossiping," Taehyung replied, unfazed. "We are gays, babe. We live for piping hot tea."

Hoseok groaned. "This is not the same as discussing someone’s bad haircut, babe—"

At that, you stepped into the room, making sure your voice was casual. "Someone had a bad haircut?"

The effect was immediate. Hoseok nearly jumped, eyes widening like he’d just been caught committing a crime, while Taehyung— though externally composed—blinked a little too fast.

"Ah," Hoseok choked out, his voice a little higher than usual. "____! Didn’t see you there. You, uh, move so quietly."

You arched a brow. "I literally opened a door."

Taehyung shot Hoseok a glare before turning to you, slipping into his usual laid-back demeanor—except for the way his fingers twitched against the edge of the table. "Nothing important," he said smoothly. "Just... discussing world events."

You bit back a smirk. "World events?"

Hoseok nodded a little too quickly. "Yes. You know, global issues. The stock market. The weather—"

"The weather," you repeated, unimpressed.

"Yes! Very unpredictable these days."

There was a beat of silence where you let them both squirm under your gaze. Internally, you were highly entertained. Two grown men who dominated the fashion industry– usually so confident and self-assured, reduced to awkward messes right in front of you.

You sighed, pretending to contemplate their words. "Hmm. The weather. That’s funny, because I could’ve sworn I heard Jeongguk’s name before I walked in."

Hoseok visibly winced. Taehyung dragged a hand down his face. "Goddammit."

"You two do realize that I already knew Jeongguk was back, right? And that I heard you both talking about it just now?" you asked, amused.

Taehyung exhaled, resigned. "Yeah, but we didn’t know if you were, like, in a place where you’d want to talk about it."

You hummed, considering. "And instead of asking, you decided to whisper behind my back like two teenagers?"

"Technically," Taehyung said, "only Hoseok was whispering. I was speaking at a reasonable volume."

Hoseok scoffed, offended. "Excuse me, I was being discreet!"

"You said ‘holy fuck’ loud enough for the café and for Jesus to hear."

Hoseok looked away. "Can you stop it with the holy jokes–"

You shook your head, lips twitching. "You two are ridiculous."

"But... are you okay?" Taehyung asked carefully.

You took a slow breath. The truth was, you didn’t know what you felt yet. Maybe it would hit you later, maybe it wouldn’t. But for now, you only had one response.

"Yes," you said simply. "I think I am."

Hoseok let out a breath like he’d been holding it for hours, while Taehyung gave you a long, measured look before nodding. They do not believe you— not even one bit.

But they let it slide for now.

"Alright," Taehyung said. "But if that changes, we’ve got you."

You smiled, softer this time. "I know."

The first time Woosung came to your art studio, he didn’t say much. He just wandered the space with his hands in his pockets, eyes drifting over your half-finished paintings and the faint smudges of color on your fingers.

Now, years later, he was here again, seated at the small wooden table near the windows while you worked, a book in his hand and a cup of coffee cooling beside him. You weren’t sure when it started— when he began showing up like this, keeping you company without needing to fill the silence with words.

Today was one of those days. Rain pattered against the glass, the sky outside dark, but inside, the air was warm.

You stood by the canvas, brush in hand, completely concentrating on your work. You had long since tuned out the world, lost in the rhythmic strokes of color. You always tie your hair up in a bun whenever you work but you also barely notice the strands of hair that keep falling in your face, sticking to your skin when you become so focused on the work.

At some point, you felt your lover’s quiet presence beside you. Without a word, Woosung reached over and gently tucked the stray strands behind your ear. His fingers were warm, his touch like a feather, and when you blinked out of your trance to look at him, he just smiled—soft, unhurried.

"Better?" he asked.

You nodded and smiled. "Yes. Thank you."

He hummed, stepping back, but before he could return to his seat, you reached for his wrist.

"Wait."

Woosung stopped, his eyes curious.

"Stay here. Just for a little bit," you murmured, not even sure why you said it. Maybe you just liked having him close.

Woosung didn’t question it. He just nodded, pulling a stool and positioning himself beside you. He watches you paint in comfortable silence.

Every so often, he would tilt his head, his gaze intent as if he were memorizing the way your fingers moved, the way the colors blended together under your touch.

"You’re really focused today," he observed after a while.

You hummed, biting your lip as you tried to perfect a small detail. "I am. It’s nice, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think it’s because you’re here."

You said it without thinking and you realized how easily the words had slipped out. Woosung smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He lifted his hand, brushing a smudge of blue paint off your cheek with his thumb.

"Then I guess I’ll stay a little longer," he murmured.

And he did.

A little while later, the rain had softened to a drizzle, leaving the air thick with that post-rain stillness. Your brush hovered over the canvas, but your mind had long drifted elsewhere. Across the room, Woosung sat at the table, still flipping absently through his book, but you could tell— he wasn’t really reading. He was waiting.

It had been like this since last night.

He had held you while you cried, rubbing slow circles into your back, whispering, "It's okay, I’ve got you," even though he had no idea what had shattered you. He never asked, never pushed. But now, with the night stretching thin between you, you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down.

"You didn’t sleep much," Woosung finally said, his voice gentle, as if he were testing the waters.

You swallowed, still dragging the brush along the canvas in slow, aimless strokes. "Neither did you."

Woosung exhaled a small chuckle, but it was knowing. "You cried yourself to sleep, ____. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I slept soundly through that?"

You winced at that—at the truth of it. At the guilt that curled in your stomach. He wasn’t accusing you of anything, but you felt like you had placed something heavy between you both.

You took a deep breath, still not looking at him. "It was just… a hard night."

Woosung nodded, his gaze steady. "Because of what happened at the hospital?"

Your fingers clenched around the brush. A long pause settled between you.

You could lie. You could brush past it, act as though it was just one of those nights where the weight of everything caught up to you. But Woosung had always been careful with you, had always made space for you to be honest in your own time. You had told him that you saw someone unexpectedly at the hospital before you went silent all over again last night.

You exhaled. And you poised yourself to tell Woosung the rest of what happened.

"I saw him," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Jeongguk."

Woosung didn’t react—not right away. He just closed his book, setting it aside, like he had been expecting this. He didn’t ask how it happened. Didn’t ask why you hadn’t told him immediately. He just let you sit with it, let you offer whatever you were willing to.

You hesitated before continuing. "I didn’t even know he was back in Seoul, but then I got a call… he was in the hospital. I don’t know why they called me, but they did, and I—I went."

A deep breath. 

You could feel Woosung’s eyes on you, but you kept your gaze on the canvas, focusing on the way the paint streaked across the surface, trying not to feel the way your throat was tightening again.

"I didn’t stay long," you added, half-truthfully. "I just… made sure he was okay before Yoongi came."

You heard the shift of a chair, and then Woosung was beside you. He didn’t say anything at first. Just reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist before curling around it lightly.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t know. Everyone keeps asking me that today."

“Everyone?” Woosung asked.

“Taehyung picked me up from the hospital. He uh, of course, he told Hoseok about it right away.”

Woosung nodded as if he understood that more than words could ever explain. Without hesitation, he pulled you against his chest, his chin resting atop your head. His arms around you were steady, warm. A grounding weight.

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," he murmured. "Just… let yourself feel it. Whatever it is."

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He smelled like rain and coffee, like the warmth of something familiar and safe.

"I’m here," he added, voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it. "Whatever you need."

And just like that, the ache inside you loosened, just a little.

The apartment in Seoul was vast and hollow. Open-space style with high ceilings and sleek, modern finishes—everything about it screamed luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows spanned one entire wall, revealing the bustling Seoul skyline, lights flickering like stars.

It was the kind of apartment regular people dream of having. But right now, Jeongguk thought it felt more like an empty shell.

Half-unpacked boxes scattered all over the floor, some opened, some untouched. The air smelled of unlit scented candles, the kind his assistant had left, thinking they would make the place feel more like a home. He hadn’t bothered.

Jeongguk went through his things with quiet efficiency, pulling out clothes, books, old notebooks filled with immature, maybe even brilliant thoughts. His movements were mechanical— until his eyes landed on a single, still-sealed box in the farthest corner of the living room.

Something in his chest tightened.

For a long moment, Jeongguk just stood there, jaw tense. When he finally mustered up whatever courage was left of him, he crouched down, pressing his fingers into the packing tape and tearing it open. Inside, neatly stacked and untouched for years, were remnants of a past he had buried but never truly let go of.

Art books, their covers slightly worn. A few pieces of clothing, folded carefully as if waiting to be picked up again. And at the very bottom, almost like a cruel afterthought— photographs.

Jeongguk swallowed as he reached for them.

They were yours– belongings you never brought back to Seoul with you. And the photographs were from his high school years. Senior year. Before New York, before the weight of adulthood, before everything fell apart.

In one, you were laughing, head tilted back, eyes shining under the golden autumn sun. Jeongguk was next to you, hand in his pocket, pretending to be indifferent, but the way he looked at you even then—it told a different story.

Memories rushed in, sharp and clear as if no time had passed at all. Jeongguk braced himself for a fresh wave of unshed tears.

Busan, Hanseong High School - Three Years Before New York

Jeongguk had been at Hanseong High for three weeks and already, he was used to the routine.

The stares. The whispers. The way people spoke his last name like it carried weight, like it meant something.

Jeon Jeongguk. The son of a powerful real estate family. The new kid who was rich, handsome, untouchable. He was already bored of it all.

That afternoon, he found himself lingering in the school’s indoor gym—not because he had a reason to be there, but because he had nowhere else to be. The air smelled of sweat and old wood, the faint echo of bouncing basketballs in the distance. He leaned against the railing on the second floor, watching the scene below with disinterest. Maybe even boredom.

A group of girls sat huddled together on the bleachers, giggling. Among them was you— though you didn’t seem to be part of it. Not really.

You sat slightly apart, a book open on your lap, fingers idly turning the page. Your expression was neutral, but Jeongguk had already spent the last few weeks observing you in passing. You were in the same classes as him and yet, not even once did you acknowledge Jeongguk’s presence, let alone look his way. You weren't loud like the others and weren't desperate for attention. You had this quiet presence— one that didn’t demand space but somehow held it anyway.

You intrigued the hell out of Jeongguk.

But then it happened.

One of the girls suddenly stood, walking up behind her with a smirk. It was a slow, seemingly calculated movement, the kind that sent an uneasy feeling crawling up Jeongguk’s spine.

“Oops,” the girl said mockingly, just before tilting her hand.

A full carton of milk tipped forward, spilling over your head, soaking through your uniform, dripping onto the pages of the book.

Laughter erupted around you after that.

Jeongguk didn’t move. He should have done something. But he didn’t. Other people who were in the gym stopped whatever they were doing– waiting to see what you’d do next.

You sat there for a moment, milk running down your hair, shoulders stiff, fingers clenched into fists. Then, after what seemed like an eternity– silently, you shut your now soaked book, stood up, and walked away.

To this day, Jeongguk does not know what compelled him to follow you. His feet, at the time, moved of their own accord, his heart knowing he needed to do something. Anything.

He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was guilt because he could have warned you of what was going to happen. Maybe it was something else entirely.

You had made it outside to the back of the school, where the sky stretched wide and empty, where no one could see you. You stood with your hands braced on your knees, shoulders shaking—not in sobs, but in silent frustration.

“Hey.”

You flinched at Jeongguk’s voice, turning sharply. Your wet uniform clung to you, strands of milk-dampened hair sticking to your cheek. Your eyes flickered with something unreadable before you schooled your expression.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly as you turned away from him in humiliation.

Jeongguk shoved his hands into his pockets. “That was messed up.”

He hears you scoff. “No kidding.”

For some reason, your sarcasm made the corner of Jeongguk’s mouth twitch.

“Here.” Jeongguk shrugged off his school blazer, holding it out to you. “You’re cold.”

You looked at the blazer, then at him. “I don’t need it.”

“Well clearly, you’re shivering.”

You straightened. “I don’t need your pity.”

Jeongguk tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “Who said I pitied you?”

Silence. You stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to believe him. After a few seconds, without another word, you turned away, arms crossed tightly over yourself.

Jeongguk didn’t leave.

Instead, he sat down on the steps nearby, watching as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement. You didn’t tell him to go away.

And Jeongguk, for the first time since moving to this school, wasn’t bored.

The memory faded, but the feeling remained, lingering in the quiet of Jeongguk’s new, empty space.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. The box remained open in front of him, pieces of the past staring back at him. He should have put them— the whole box— away. But instead, he picked up the photograph again, tracing the edges with his thumb.

It had been years since that day in the gym. Since he saw you stand at the cramped space at the back of the school looking so defeated, arms crossed, yet too stubborn to accept his help.

And yet, even now, you remained the only person who had ever made him feel like he wasn’t just Jeon Jeongguk—the boy with a name too heavy to carry.

Maybe, he thought bitterly and quite sadly, he had been trying to follow you ever since.

Yoongi stared at his phone screen, your message glowing back at him: "How's Jeongguk?"

Three simple words that felt like a loaded gun.

He set the phone down, then picked it up again. Typed a response, deleted it. Typed another.

His apartment felt suffocating suddenly. He walked to the window, looking out at the Seoul skyline—the same view Jeongguk probably had from his new place. With a scotch in hand, Yoongi clenched his jaw, thinking about how everything that was starting to unfold was quite funny.

He hadn’t counted on Jeongguk finding you so soon– even if it was by accident. Yoongi chuckles to himself like an idiot. “I guess this is what they call fate.”

Yoongi exhaled slowly and finally typed back: "He's physically fine. Discharged yesterday."

Your response came quickly: "And mentally?"

Yoongi closed his eyes. How could he explain that Jeongguk looked like a ghost of himself? That he'd been carrying this weight for seven years?

"He's struggling," he typed. "But then again, so are you."

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

"Did he ask about me?"

Yoongi's heart clenched. The honest answer was complicated— Jeongguk had asked, but not in the way you'd want to hear.

"He knows you were there that night— you already know that."

"That's not what I asked."

Yoongi found himself smiling despite everything. Even through text, you were still sharp, still direct.

"Yeah," he typed. "He asked about you."

Yoongi's thumb hovered over the keyboard. He could discourage you, protect you both from reopening old wounds. Or he could do what his heart was telling him to do.

“What now?”

“I just want him to be well,” you respond.

Yoongi purses his lips– you were still the same girl he met all those years ago. Selfless, kind-hearted.

Self-sacrificing.

And he will do anything in his power to protect you.

It was nearing closing time when the bell above the café door jingled softly, signaling one last customer. The warm yellow lights reflected on the glass, casting long shadows along the wood-paneled walls. Jimin, who was wiping down the counter, looked up instinctively and froze mid-motion.

Jeon Jeongguk stood just inside the doorway.

For a moment, Jimin simply stared, cloth in his hand. There was something surreal about it— Jeongguk, in this space, under this light, in this cafe of all places, with his hair slightly damp from the rain and his hoodie slightly crumpled from travel. Seoul clung to Jeongguk in an unfamiliar way, the years since New York etched into the way he carried himself. But Jimin recovered quickly, stepping forward with a practiced smile.

"Welcome," he said, his voice pleasant and casual. “Long day?”

Jeongguk blinked, slightly thrown off. He nodded, eyes flicking around the café. “Yeah. Just needed a place to warm up. This place looked...” He trailed off. Familiar? Safe? He didn’t finish the sentence.

Jimin gave a soft chuckle and gestured to the counter. “We’re just about to close but I can still get you something. Americano? Or do you want something sweet?”

There was a flicker of recognition in Jeongguk’s eyes as he looked at Jimin more closely. “...Have we met before?”

Jimin paused before giving a small nod. “New York. At a student exhibit in university. You came with Kim Namjoon.”

Jeongguk’s brow furrowed, but nothing clear surfaced. “Right,” he said quietly, though it was clear the memory didn’t fully register. “Sorry— I’ve had a long few days.”

“No worries.” Jimin’s smile didn’t falter but there was something distant in his eyes. “What can I get started for you?”

“Oh, um… a hot latte would be nice.”

Jimin worked the register but when Jeongguk was about to give him his card, Jimin smiled politely. “It’s on the house.”

“Oh, god no, I don’t want to—”

“It’s okay, Jeongguk-ssi,” Jimin smiles. Jeongguk honestly does not have the energy to argue further. Slumping his shoulders, he nodded and quietly thanked Jimin.

“You are very welcome. Please take a seat. I’ll get your drink started for you.”

Before Jeongguk could move toward a table, another door swung open at the back of the café.

“Yah Jimin-ah, did we confuse the flour with the cornstarch this time—”

Seokjin.

Still wearing his apron, flour smudged along one sleeve, Seokjin halted mid-step the moment he laid eyes on Jeongguk. The tray in his hands clattered onto the counter as his face twisted— recognition sharp and instant.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The words cut across the room like a knife. Jimin looked up sharply from behind the espresso machine.

Jeongguk straightened, confusion flashing across his face before he registered who it was. “Seokjin?”

Seokjin didn’t give him a chance to speak further. He strode toward him in a blur of fury, fists clenched at his sides. “You have the audacity to walk in here? Like nothing happened? Like you didn’t fucking destroy my sister—?”

“Seokjin—”

“No,” Jin snarled, closing the distance. “You don’t get to say anything.”

Before Jeongguk could defend himself, before he could even raise a hand, Seokjin’s fist landed squarely against his jaw with a sickening crack.

Jeongguk staggered back, clutching the side of his face. He didn’t fall but the impact left him breathless. “What the hell—?”

The doors to the art studio burst open from the sound and you emerged, paintbrush still tucked behind your ear, paint smudges along your forearms. “What’s going on—?”

Your voice faltered as you took in the scene: Jeongguk standing by the counter, blood forming on the corner of his mouth; Jimin frozen; and Seokjin, chest heaving with rage, his knuckles still clenched and red.

“Jeongguk?” Your voice broke around his name.

He looked up slowly, eyes meeting yours like he’d been hit a second time. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out.

You turned sharply to Seokjin. “Did you hit him?”

“He deserved it,” Seokjin snapped.

“What the hell, Seokjin?”

“You’re really going to defend him?” Seokjin barked, disbelieving.

“I didn’t say that—” You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “But punching him isn’t going to fix anything.”

Seokjin let out a sharp but bitter laugh. “Oh, so now you're protecting him? After everything?”

“I’m not protecting anyone, I’m trying to de-escalate this.”

Jeongguk wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his sleeve and stepped back, unsure whether he was allowed to speak, to breathe, to even stand there. It felt like trespassing. Maybe it was.

Seokjin turned on you now, jaw tight, voice low but shaking. “He broke you, ____. And now you’re defending him like he didn’t spend years forgetting you existed.”

You clenched your hands into fists, shoulders squaring. “I’m not defending what he did. But I am asking you not to turn this place into a battlefield. This is our café, Seokjin. Not a fucking war zone.”

Seokjin looked at you for a long moment, anger still coursing through his veins— but it was your eyes, calm but hurting, that finally made him yield.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t ask me to be civil. Not with him.”

With that, Seokjin turned on his heel and stormed back toward the kitchen, door slamming shut behind him.

The silence that followed was tense. Jimin still stood behind the counter, lips parted as if unsure whether to speak.

You turned to Jeongguk. You didn’t step forward. You didn’t smile. Your voice came out quieter this time. “Why are you here?”

Jeongguk looked at you with wide, pained eyes, as if trying to memorize you all over again.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know this was your place.”

You nodded once as if that explained everything and nothing.

“You should go,” you added, softly. “It’s late and it’s raining.”

Jeongguk didn’t argue. Only glanced once more around the space, at the painting above the pastry display, at the polished wood tables, at you.

Then he turned and left, the door closing quietly behind him.

You stood there for a long while after, the paintbrush behind your ear suddenly feeling like the heaviest thing in the world.

After what seemed like an eternity, the clang of the swinging door echoed louder than it should’ve. You stood in the middle of the café for a moment longer, letting the silence settle like dust, before turning and pushing your way into the kitchen.

Seokjin was by the sink, aggressively scrubbing a saucepan that didn’t need cleaning. His back was tense, shoulders rising and falling with every breath like he was trying—and failing—to calm himself down.

“You didn’t have to hit him,” you said, voice steady, but your chest still trembled.

Seokjin didn’t look at you. “Didn’t I?”

“You don’t get to make that call.”

He whipped around at that, eyes blazing. “He left you, ____. No— he ruined you. And now what? He shows up here, like nothing ever happened, and I’m supposed to just, what, smile? Be polite? Serve him coffee?”

You folded your arms– not out of defiance but to stop your hands from shaking. “I’m not asking you to be polite. I’m asking you not to lash out like this is still your fight.”

“It is still my fight!” Seokjin’s voice cracked. “____ do you really think I forgot what you looked like after he walked out? I remember how quiet you got. How you stopped painting for months. How I had to sit with you in silence night after night because you couldn’t even cry anymore. You were gone, ____. He didn’t just leave you. He took the best parts of you when he did.”

His words stung because they were true. You bit your lip and looked away. “I let him in. I let him love me. That was my choice.”

“Don’t you dare turn this into your fault,” Seokjin said, voice softer now but still full of that same frustration. “You didn’t deserve what happened.”

“I didn’t say I did.”

There was a beat of silence. The sound of the refrigerator humming in the corner filled the space between you.

“He’s not the same,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “His eyes… he looks like someone trying to hold the world together with fraying thread.”

“I don’t care,” Seokjin said but it was a lie. You both knew it.

You stepped closer to your brother. “I’m not defending him, Seokjin. But I’m also not ready to hate him as much as you do. I never did… I don’t know what that says about me… but it’s how I feel.”

Seokjin exhaled, hands braced on the countertop. “It says you’re kinder than he deserves.”

You gave a small, broken smile. “Or stupider.”

Your brother didn’t argue. Instead, after a long pause, he turned to you again. “Just… promise me one thing.”

“What?” You realize your exhaustion was already weighing you down.

“Don’t let him back in just because you think he’s broken.”

You nodded slowly. “I won’t.”

That was a lie too. But you both let it slide.

The door of the café closed behind Jeongguk with a dull thud and the cold Seoul air hit him like a wave. The rain hadn’t let up but he didn’t pull his hood over his head. He decided to walk slowly even though his car was still parked near the cafe, no destination in mind, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as water soaked through the fabric.

His jaw ached where Seokjin had punched him but that pain was nothing compared to the one building in his chest.

Seeing you again had cracked him open.

You looked like someone he’d only ever see in dreams now—still ethereal, still grounded in color and softness. But the way you looked at him… like he was a stranger wrapped in old clothes. Like he didn’t belong in the same room as you anymore.

And maybe he didn’t.

Jeongguk wandered for blocks, barely paying attention to the street signs or blinking storefronts. He only stopped when he reached the Han River. The wide stretch of water lay quietly under the moonlight, blurred by the drizzle. Jungkook sat on the bench, shoulders hunched, and stared out at the current as it flowed without him.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen. No new messages. No missed calls. He unlocked it anyway and scrolled to his contacts, hovering over your name.

Still there. Still untouched.

His thumb brushed against it but he didn’t press.

Instead, he leaned back, eyes closing. Rain kissed his cheeks, soaked into his lashes. He welcomed it because it was easier than crying.

He let himself remember. Your laugh echoing across a sunlit room. The way you’d wrinkle your nose when you were concentrating on a painting. The way you used to trace circles on his palm when you thought he was asleep.

And he remembered the day it all fell apart.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. He didn’t know what he wanted.

No— he did. He wanted to rewind time. To walk into that café and see you smile at him like you used to. But time didn’t offer that kind of grace. It only offered consequences.

Jeongguk let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t know how long he sat there— just that eventually, the rain stopped and he was still alone.

The apartment was quiet when you got home.

Too quiet.

You slipped your keys onto the dish near the door and toed off your shoes slowly, trying not to make any noise. The familiarity of home—the throw blanket on the couch, the books stacked near the lamp, the faint scent of jasmine from the candle Woosung lit earlier—should’ve grounded you.

But it didn’t. Not tonight.

You stood in the dark for a moment longer than necessary– unsure whether to head straight to the shower or collapse into bed. You weren’t expecting to find Woosung still awake, let alone waiting for you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a warm mug in his hand.

“I made tea,” he said gently, as if his voice might spook you. “It’s probably cold by now.”

Your throat felt tight. “I didn’t think you’d still be up.”

He gave you a soft, crooked smile. “You said you were heading back late, not that you'd come home looking like you fought a ghost.”

You offered a weak laugh. “It kind of feels like I did.”

He didn’t press. Just walked to you, slowly, like he always did when he sensed you needed space and presence at the same time. When he reached you, he simply wrapped his arms around you, grounding you in the warmth of his chest, his chin resting lightly atop your head.

You didn’t cry. Not this time.

You just stood there and let yourself be held.

After a long pause, he spoke, voice low and careful. “Was it him?”

You didn’t need to ask who. “Yeah.”

You didn’t miss the way he stiffened just slightly before exhaling. “Did you talk?”

You nodded against his chest. “Not really. Seokjin hit him. I… I stopped it. Then I told him to leave.”

Another silence.

Woosung's hand moved in slow, rhythmic circles on your back. “How do you feel?”

You let the question hang there because you weren’t sure. Hollow? Rattled? Like someone had opened a box in your chest you’d long sealed shut?

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Woosung didn’t respond with reassurance or try to fix it. He just kissed the crown of your head.

“I’m here,” he said.

You finally pulled back to look at him, eyes scanning his face. Kind. Patient. Still here.

You hated that part of you wished he weren’t.

The sun was already high in the sky when Jeongguk dragged himself into Yoongi's studio. He hadn’t slept. He looked like hell— bloodshot eyes, jaw bruised, hair a mess. But he moved like he had unfinished business burning in his veins.

Yoongi noticed immediately.

“Jesus, you look worse than yesterday.”

Jeongguk ignored the jab and dropped onto the couch with a sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Yoongi didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the screen in front of him, tapping a few keys absently, before finally swiveling in his chair to face Jeongguk.

“Didn’t sleep, huh?”

“I walked for hours. I don’t even know how I ended up by the river.”

“You always end up there when you’re falling apart.”

Jeongguk let out a dry laugh. “You know me too well.”

Yoongi leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So? What now?”

“I saw her. I mean—I really saw her. It wasn’t just a memory or a picture in some gallery post. She was right in front of me, looking at me like I was…”

“A stranger?” Yoongi offered.

Jeongguk nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

“She didn’t look angry?”

“No,” Jeongguk muttered. “She looked… tired. Like she didn’t know whether to scream or hug me. Like she’s been trying to forget me and I just made it harder.”

Yoongi sighed. “That’s because you did make it harder. By showing up unannounced. Walking into her safe space.”

“I didn’t know it was her café. I swear.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Jeongguk stared down at his hands. “I think she has someone.”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away, which told Jeongguk enough.

“Where did that come from?” Yoongi asked.

“I’m not sure… but just thinking about it… it hurts more than I expected,” he added quietly. “I don’t know what I want from her. I just… wanted to be seen. Not hated. Not erased.”

Yoongi’s voice softened. “She did see you.”

Jeongguk shook his head. “But not the way she used to.” He slumped further into the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers.

“I used to be her whole world.”

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “And then you burned it down.”

Jeongguk didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

“What do I do now, Yoongi?”

Yoongi looked at him for a long, quiet moment. “You ask yourself if you’re ready to rebuild anything. And if you’re willing to accept that the pieces might not fit the way they used to.”

Woosung watched you sleep from across the room, hands loosely wrapped around his coffee mug. The pale morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the floor—and across your face, peaceful but withdrawn, even in rest.

You hadn’t said much since last night. Just that you were tired. Just that it had been “a long day.”

But he wasn’t dense. He saw it.

The tremor in your voice when you said his name. The way your arms wrapped around him like you were bracing yourself for a storm that hadn’t yet passed. The way your body felt warm against him but your mind had drifted somewhere far, far away.

He knew what a closed door looked like.

Woosung loved you. That wasn’t in question. And in most moments, being with you felt like being home— quiet, anchored, enough. But there were times—like now—when he could feel something slipping between his fingers. Something he couldn’t hold, no matter how gently he tried.

He knew you had a past. He’d accepted that. But he hadn’t prepared himself for what that past would look like when it returned, not as a memory, but as a man.

Jeongguk.

The name alone was a ghost in his mind. You rarely said it but when you did, it was with the kind of softness that didn’t belong to pain. Not completely. Woosung didn’t want to be the jealous type. Didn’t want to become the man who questioned the cracks in someone else’s heart. But when you looked at him last night, it wasn’t just sleep in your eyes— it was absence.

And he hated that he didn’t know how to bring you back.

He walked over to the window, mug still warm in his hand and stared out at the quiet street below. He’d give you time. Space. Safety. Whatever you needed.

But part of him already knew: if Jeongguk was back in your world, he would have to brace for a future that might not include him in it. 

And he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

The rain had finally stopped by the time you stepped out of the university gates that afternoon, sunlight peeking out from behind thin clouds. You hadn’t planned on stopping by the park, but your legs carried you there anyway. The world felt too loud lately— colors too sharp, memories too close— and you needed quiet after teaching the whole day.

The small café near the entrance of the park wasn’t busy. A few students occupied scattered tables, chatting over drinks, the occasional laughter bubbling into the air. You stepped inside and ordered chamomile tea.

You didn’t see him right away.

It wasn’t until you turned toward the window seat—your favorite one—that you noticed him. Sitting at the far corner of the room, hood pulled low, black journal open in front of him, pen tapping against the edge.

Jeongguk.

Your stomach dropped.

He looked smaller here somehow. Not in stature—his presence still drew attention—but in energy. Like someone trying to disappear into the corners of a page.

He hadn’t seen you yet. You froze, cup warm in your hands, unsure whether to approach or flee. You could walk away. You should.

But then he looked up.

Your eyes met. And time, once again, forgot how to move. He didn’t smile. He didn’t stand. He just looked at you like he’d been waiting. You walked toward him slowly. Carefully. 

“Is this seat taken?” you asked, quietly.

Jeongguk stared at the empty chair across from him then shook his head. “It’s yours.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. The air between you was heavy but not hostile—more like something ancient and sacred. Something that didn’t know how to begin again.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, finally breaking the silence.

“I didn’t expect to be seen,” Jeongguk replied, eyes flickering to yours. He looked down at his journal, then closed it slowly. “I’m sorry. About the café. About… all of it. I didn’t know it was yours and Seokjin’s.”

You didn’t respond right away. You let the words hang there.

“I know,” you said eventually. “I believe you.”

He blinked, surprised by how easily you’d said it. But you weren’t done.

“That doesn’t change what happened,” you continued, voice steady, even if your heart wasn’t. “Seokjin was right. It doesn’t erase what we lost.”

“I know,” he said again. “I’m not here to fix anything.”

You looked at him then— not as the man who hurt you but as the man who now sat quietly with his regret. Not demanding anything. Not begging. Just… present.

For the first time in years, you didn’t look away.

“You don’t have to walk on eggshells,” you murmured. “Not with me. Not anymore.”

Jeongguk swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m trespassing.”

You gave a faint, sad smile. “Then don’t try to be anything. Just… be here. If you want to be.”

Jeongguk nodded, jaw tight with the kind of relief that was almost indistinguishable from grief. And for a while, you both just sat there. Not as lovers. Not as exes. Not even as old friends.

Just as two people who once loved each other so deeply.

Jeongguk left the university café feeling hollow. The brief encounter with you—unexpected, painfully gentle—had undone something in him. You hadn't screamed. You hadn't walked out. But your voice, your eyes, the way your fingers gripped the edge of your mug—it haunted him more than any shouting ever could.

He had rehearsed nothing and left with everything unspoken lodged in his throat. It hadn’t been enough.

Not by a long shot.

So when night fell, his legs carried him somewhere he hadn't planned—your café. The one you shared with Seokjin. He didn’t expect to see you. Not really. But part of him hoped, in the smallest, most reckless corner of his heart, that maybe you’d still be there. That maybe you’d let him speak.

That maybe he could try again.

“I’m telling you, I nearly salted the croffle again,” Seokjin said as he wiped down the counter with exaggerated flair. “That’s the third time this month.”

“Hyung, you’re not cursed,” Jimin laughed, nudging the sugar shaker toward him. “You just have poor labeling habits.”

“It’s not labeling. It’s sabotage. Someone moved the sugar again. Probably Hoseok. He always looks guilty when I serve the wrong order.”

“He looks guilty because you gave someone a tuna melt instead of a vegan sandwich last week.”

“That was one time.”

Jimin smirked. “You are the chaos. Don’t drag Hoseok into your crimes.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes, drying the last mug. “Speaking of chaos, where’s my sister?”

“Still in the studio,” Jimin said, nodding toward the door to the attached workspace. “She’s been trying to finish that commission all week.”

At that moment, you emerged from the studio door with paint on your sleeve and a weary but focused expression.

“You guys can go,” you said, waving them off. “I want to get this done tonight.”

“You sure?” Seokjin asked, frowning. “I can stay—”

“I’m fine, really. The piece is almost done, I just need a few more hours.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You just want to be alone with your tortured genius.”

You snorted. “Exactly.”

Seokjin opened his mouth to argue again but you raised a hand. “I’ll lock up. Promise.”

“Okay, but if a raccoon breaks in again, don’t call me,” Seokjin muttered as he grabbed his coat.

“Noted.”

Jimin gave you a kiss on the cheek before heading out. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

You nodded. “Goodnight, both of you.”

The café door clicked shut behind them, leaving you with the hum of quiet jazz and the smell of old coffee grounds. You turned back into the studio, prepared to pull an all-nighter.

You were cleaning brushes when you heard the door chime. Without looking up, you called out, "We're closed today, sorry—"

"I know."

The brush slipped from your fingers, clattering into the sink. You turned slowly and there he was.

Jeongguk stood in the doorway of your studio, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, shoulders tense. 

"Hi," he said quietly.

"Hi." Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between you. Jeongguk's gaze wandered around the studio—taking in your paintings, the organized chaos of your workspace, the coffee-stained easel in the corner.

"It’s a really nice cafe… it has an art studio just like how you wanted it," he said, for lack of anything else.

"Thank you." You wiped your hands on a towel, grateful for something to do with them.

"I wanted to thank you," Jeongguk continued. "For coming to the hospital. You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." The words came out sharper than intended. You softened your tone. "I mean... when someone calls and says you're in the hospital, of course I'd come."

His jaw tightened slightly. "Right. The emergency contact thing."

"Why didn't you change it?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Jeongguk looked down at his hands. "I don't know."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

You set the towel down slowly, trying to still your hands. The air between you had grown heavier, charged with too many years of silence and everything neither of you had the strength to say before now.

"Why are you really here, Jeongguk?" you asked, your voice low but steady. "Because if it's just to thank me—"

"It's not," he interrupted, voice frayed at the edges. He ran a hand through his hair—a gesture so familiar it knocked the breath from your lungs. "I don't know, okay? I’ve been back in Seoul for three weeks and I can’t stop thinking about you. About us."

"There is no us, Jeongguk."

"I know." His voice cracked. "Trust me, I know that better than anyone."

You leaned back against your workbench, exhaustion creeping in like a tide. “Then what do you want from me?”

“I want to explain—”

"Seven years too late for that, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. Probably. But I have to try.” He stepped forward instinctively, then caught himself, freezing mid-step like he didn’t trust himself to be closer. “The way I left… the way I ended things… it was wrong.”

“Wrong?” You let out a short, breathless laugh— one with no humor in it. “Jeongguk, you served me divorce papers through a stranger. A fucking stranger from some law office. I found out my marriage was over from a man who mispronounced my name.”

Jeongguk flinched, visibly. Shame seeped into the curve of his shoulders, the downturn of his mouth. “I know.”

“Do you?” Your voice wavered now, frustration bubbling up with the grief. “Do you know what that did to me? I sat in a room for eight hours—eight, Jeongguk—just staring at those papers, waiting for someone to tell me it was a mistake. That maybe they got the wrong person. That my husband wouldn’t do something so… something so….”

“____…”

“Do you know I reread the papers so many times I memorized the clause about 'irreconcilable differences'? Do you know I hated that phrase because it sounded so... neat, like we were just a bad spreadsheet?”

His face crumpled. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so—”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it,” you snapped, voice breaking. The tears came before you could stop them, burning hot trails down your cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t give me back the part of myself I lost when you decided I wasn’t even worth a conversation.”

There was a beat of silence so loud it pressed against your ribs.

“You think this was easy for me?” His voice rose slightly, hoarse and unsteady. “You think I wanted to hurt you like that?”

“I don’t know what you wanted. That’s the problem. You never gave me the chance to understand anything. You just... vanished, Jeongguk. I know we didn’t really resolve anything after our last argument. I knew we had our problems but…” Your tears continue to betray you. You bite your lip to keep yourself from sobbing even further.

“I didn’t think you’d leave me, Jeongguk…” you whisper helplessly.

Jeongguk took a deep breath then exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to keep standing there. He wanted to come closer, maybe wrap you in his arms but he didn’t. He stood where he was. “I was scared.”

The words landed like a stone in water.

“Of what?” you asked, quieter now.

“Of everything,” he whispered. “Of not being enough for you. Of waking up next to you and realizing you were slipping away and I couldn’t stop it. Of becoming a burden. Of watching you look at me and wonder why you ever said yes.”

You stared at him, stunned. “So you left instead.”

“So I left instead,” he echoed, bitterly.

Your tears had stopped but your chest felt hollow.

“You didn’t even let me choose,” you said. “You didn’t give us a chance to fight.”

He looked at you then, something desperate flickering in his eyes. “Would you have? Chosen me?”

The silence that followed wasn’t cold—it was aching.

You wanted to say yes. To scream it. But the truth was heavier than that. The truth lived in long nights and unanswered texts and waking up alone.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, and it hurt you to say it. “But I would’ve tried.”

Jeongguk nodded slowly like he had already guessed your answer but hoped hearing it might change something. It didn’t.

“I think about that night a lot,” he said, his voice lower now. “Our last fight. I replay it all the time, trying to figure out where the breaking point was.”

“What was it even about?” you murmured. “I’ve tried to remember but all I can see is you walking out.”

He hesitated. “Money. My parents. My crazy ambitions. But it wasn’t really about that, was it?”

“No,” you whispered. “It was about the silence. About how we were living side by side but stopped reaching for each other.”

“Yeah.”

You stood in that shared quiet for a long beat, surrounded by the smell of paint and memory.

"I loved you Jeongguk," you said, your voice barely audible. "Even at the end, even when everything was falling apart, I loved you."

“I know.” His voice broke entirely now. “And I loved you. That’s why I thought letting go was the least selfish thing I could do.”

Another silence stretched, not as sharp this time. Just tired. Real.

Jeongguk rubbed at his jaw, the movement weary. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… needed you to know. I’ve carried this for so long and it’s eaten me alive… ____ I’m really sorry. I know there’s no apology that can ever make up for everything I’ve done to you but… I’m just really sorry.”

You look up at Jeongguk with your tear-stained eyes and it breaks Jeongguk more than he can ever describe in words.

“____ I am so sorry for leaving you the way I did…”

You nodded, barely. “I— I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied gently. “You’ve said more than I deserve.”

The studio had grown darker without either of you noticing.

Only the soft light from the café filtered in through the open door, casting long shadows across your half-finished painting and the uneven flecks of dried pigment on the floor. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed. A door slammed. But here, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you—and the distance between what was and what could never be again.

Jeongguk looked down at the floor then back up at you, his mouth pressed in a tight line, like he was still deciding whether to say one last thing. Maybe something small. Maybe something huge.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped back, slowly, like approaching a cliff’s edge he’d finally accepted he couldn’t jump from. His gaze lingered on your face a moment longer—memorizing you, or maybe just letting go. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it again. Whatever words he might’ve said had dissolved before they ever formed.

“I should go,” he said finally, and his voice was hoarse in that way people get when they’ve cried recently or haven’t slept in days.

You nodded. It was all you could manage.

He turned to leave, his footsteps almost soundless on the studio floor. When he reached the door, he hesitated—just long enough to make you wonder if he’d look back.

He did.

A brief glance over his shoulder. Nothing dramatic. No tears. Just that same familiar sadness in his eyes, now quieter. A little more surrendered.

“Goodnight, ____,” he said softly.

And then he was gone. The door closed behind him with a soft click. You stood there for a long while, staring at the space he’d just vacated, your hands still smeared faintly with color and time. The silence returned—but it was different now. Not peaceful, not exactly painful either.

Just... honest.

[bedheaded-league]

I find it so hard to believe that Holmes would really let Watson believe he was dead for 3 years because even though he often doesn’t understand how his actions affect others emotionally, he’s definitely smart/empathetic enough to understand how much that would hurt Watson. And I also think he trusts Watson too much to believe that he couldn’t keep the secret of Holmes being alive.

My personal headcanon is that after Reichenbach, Holmes found a way to let Watson know that he was still alive, that he wouldn’t be back for some time, and that Watson needed to keep up the lie that Holmes was dead in order to keep them both safe. Which is honestly just as deliciously angsty to me as the idea that Watson actually thought he was dead for 3 years.

Imagine 3 years of Watson having to grieve a man he knew was still alive. His loved ones comforting him and him not being able to tell them that the reason he suffering so much wasn’t because he knew Holmes was dead, but because he spent every day worrying about his safety. Knowing that the love of his life is out there facing danger without him there to protect him, and meanwhile all he can do is wait breathlessly until the next time Holmes can manage to send him a message to let him know he’s okay. Knowing that at any moment, Holmes might be dying somewhere, and he might never know where or when or how.

Maybe he told Mary, because honestly I get the impression that she’s incredibly good at keeping secrets. Maybe it just came out one night while she was holding him after he broke down sobbing in their sitting room. I think she’d be angry at Holmes at first for causing her husband so much pain, but after Watson explains the whole story, she’d understand. The next time he got a coded note from one of the irregulars with an update from Holmes, he immediately runs to tell her. She’s so relieved to see such happiness on his face, even if it secretly breaks her heart. But it’s alright, in the end. She’s always known that Watson’s heart had never truly belonged to her. Their marriage is practical, almost fraternal, and that’s okay. What they have together is enough. She hopes that one day she can meet someone that she’ll love with the same ferocity that Watson loves Holmes, and she knows that if that day comes, her husband will be more than understanding.

And then Mary gets sick. It’s clear that she’s going to die. And all she can think about is how cruel it is that the two people Watson loves most should be taken from him.

“That man of yours had better come back to you soon,” she says in the weak voice of someone in their final days. “If he doesn’t, I swear that my ghost shall haunt him until he drags himself back to London and apologizes to you in person.”

Startled, Watson laughs. Mary smiles. It’s the first laugh she’s heard from him in weeks.

And then Mary dies, and the one person that Watson could have leaned on for support as he grieved is still lost. And now there is no one else who knows that Holmes is alive, or that Watson spends every waking hour waiting for him.

I do think the part about him fainting when Holmes comes back is true, though. Not from shock, but from pure relief.

Anyway I can’t stop thinking about this sooooo I guess I’m gonna have to write a fic about it. Goddamnit.

[mocharacha]

Iridescent Part 1: Sunflower Yellow

Summary: Y/N and Hyunjin are back at it again, they’re slinging color palettes and side-eyes as they hate each other like a perfectionist hates uneven brushstrokes. But when a project forces them into close quarters for a part-time job, spilled drinks and sharp words might not be the only thing flying. Underneath the sarcasm? Tension. And maybe not just the angry kind. Pairing: Hyunjin x Female Reader Genre: College AU, Academic Rivals to Lovers A/N: This is a story I revamped when I wrote for another fandom, but never posted it. Updates will be irregular cuz I'm finishing up my degree :'). Taglist is open Warnings: mild profanity, verbal conflict, mentions of emotional distress, joking fantasy violence, embarrassment, and light sexual innuendo (Minors DNI) Word count: 4,3k

Masterlist | Aesthetic | Next Part >

Well….Fuck!

You were running...running late, that is. Footsteps echoed through the empty hallways of JYP University.  Black converse squeaked on the floor as you turned to charge up a flight of stairs and put your sorry excuses for lungs into additional trauma.

You stopped on top of the stairway because you enjoyed the view of the old stairway (and definitely not because you felt your burning legs threaten to give out).  While trying to catch your breath, you reached for something to drink out of the side pocket of your canvas backpack.

The burning of your lungs matched the pricking sensation in your reddened eyes, who had not yet recovered from all the tears you spilled last night over that stupid guy.

Fortuna was really smiling down at you today. You realized when you saw that you'd forgotten your water bottle. With a loud groan, you zipped your backpack open to grab another bottle of the thickly yellow liquid.

Your dear roommate made you a smoothie before you woke up, and he had gone to morning practice. The beverage's color was pretty, a rich sunflower orange, but right now, it was too bright for your swollen and puffy eyes.

You took a sip, winced because the Banana-mango-turmeric smoothie had too much turmeric in it.

Once more, you wondered why you decided to rent an apartment far from the campus? Why couldn't you live in the dorms nearby?

Then again, your city apartment had access to a special storage room in the attic, and you needed that space. And your roommate can cook…and care for you if he even though he was a complete menace once you got to know him. 

Seriously, he was a year older than you…why was he such a maniac sometimes?… That crazy cat people....

Distracted by the earthy taste of the drink, you forgot the reason, why you were drinking this in the first place……right…you were late to class,

"CURSE you" you yelled at the liquid in the bottle for distracting you.

It didn't answer.

Rude.

So, you hastily screwed on the cap before you started moving again. One more hallway, a sharp turn left, and you collided with a wall…you didn't remember that someone had built.

The heck?? Why was there a wall in the middle of the hallway?

The impact made you stumble backward a little and slip, and you had just enough reflexes to tilt a little, so you fell sideways and didn't crush your backpack, which had your tablet in it. It still hurt, thankfully, it was your left hip you fell on.

Before you could comprehend what happened, you felt something wet and icy cold seeped into the fabric of your blouse. The liquid smelled familiar, coffee…and as you glanced down, you saw a prominent patch of the brown drink blooming on your chest.

Oh, no… you had to work this afternoon and wouldn't have time to get something to change because your apartment was too far from campus to do so.

"You gotta be kidding me…" a groan from across you snapped you back into action

The initial shock from your collision seeped into anger, clinging to your skin as the fabric of your pale pink shirt did. You saw him.

Hwangfucking Hyunjin in his freakish tall glory, dressed in tan brown slacks and a white shirt, looking like he was better than everyone else, and a condescending expression to match his outfit.

He looked devastatingly handsome, long, dark hair, like ink in motion wrapped in a bun, just a few strands of hair framing a face too perfect to be real. His light brown eyes, laced with daring golden flecks, held a quiet fire that made it impossible to look away. Annoying!

He was tall, muscular, actually had some brain capacity, and dressed very nicely.

He was also Satan personified.

"CAN YOU….FOR ONCE WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING?" he snapped at you from under his glasses, checking his messenger bag.

He sighed in relief as he saw that his own laptop wasn't broken but groaned at the empty cut of iced coffee he must have gotten from outside the campus.

"BACK AT YA," you snapped, struggling to get up to gather you on things and shoot deadly glares at the bane of your university life. You hated that guy ever since the first year of uni.

The iced coffee was soaking your shirt, and you couldn't risk that the light blazer you wore being ruined too, so you proceeded to shrug it off while muttering, "I thought those ugly glasses are there to help you see."

"You need to pay me back for that drink you made me spill." the boy replied.

Hwang bent down to retrieve the plastic cup. Grimacing at the lack of content, he tossed it into a bin close by, so painfully accurately, just with a flick of his wrist. It looked so effortless that you blinked at the bin for a few seconds in awe.

You admitted that he was good, but the fact that he seemed so good at this made you hate him even more. The freaking audacity.

Then your head whipped around to stare him in his stupid brown eyes

“The fuck I will do Hwang! You ran into me! How about you paying for dry cleaning?”

"For that shirt?" he sneered, "I know that you don't have a sense of fashion L/N, but even you must notice that it's clear to everyone that you are wearing a discolored shirt. Did you get dressed blindfolded in the dark or was it a dare?”

Unfortunately, his statement was true. Your stupid roommate had accidentally sneaked in a red sock alongside his clothes when you did laundry the other day and blamed one of the cats…. so all of your white clothes came out pink.  

That morning you indeed had just grabbed the shirt from your room in a rush. 

It wasn’t really usable as clothing but was a good rag to clean. 

Why did he have to be so painfully right in his observation….it infuriated you.

Stupid Roommate, this was all his fault. Maybe you should take revenge on him?….but then again he could cook…still.

Yeah, you would have to take revenge on him one day...maybe tonight (after dinner), but you didn't really know how to get away with crime just yet...and those things need planning. Besides you could not leave the cats orphaned….and  he'd tried to make it up to you by making the smoothie...

However, before you could retort, Hyunjin cursed again when he realized that your clothing wasn't the only one that a drink had been spilled on. On his tan pants, a long line of orange smoothie was across the mids of his thighs, to be exact.

Although, the smoothie wasn't as quick to seep into the fabric in as the coffee. It would, however, definitely leave a permanent stain.

You snorted in grim satisfaction, serves him right.

"The fuck you're cackling about?" Hyunjin snapped as he frantically tried to dab away the stains with tissue, no a handkerchief from his pocket. Because, of course, he'd have one of those...pretentious prick.

"Looks like peed yourself," you sniggered and grabbed the half-empty smoothie bottle from the ground.

And because until lunch, this was your only possibility get a drink. You capped the bottle and secured it in your bag while Hyunjin still tried to get himself clean.

Ofcourse, you noticed the glares he was sending you, but you frankly didn't care and wanted to get moving.

"Oi…Short Stuff!" you heard his voice yell out as soon as you made a few steps,pointing in the other direction, "Class is this way…."

He pointed the finger at the door to the lecture hall you didn't realize had been there because you and Hyunjin had collided right in front of it.

"I knew that!" you retorted, spinning on your heel and stomping your way back.

Hyunjin grunted in frustration as he saw that the stain on his pants was permanent, and he shot a glare at you, grumbling something about you ruining his appearance.

"Serves you right evil spawn," you spit out, put your hand on the lecture hall door "If you're so self-conscious about your appearance pretty boy, go ahead and go home to change…"

"Then I would miss the lecture you idiot…" he rolled his eyes and eyed you up and down. "and don't you talk about fashion sense…"

You glanced down yourself. Black converse, a loose-fitting, paint-splattered, ripped light washed blue jeans, a pinkish white blouse, tugged in, and a black blazer that was secured safely in your backpack. What the heck was he talking about?

"Look who is self-conscious about appearance now?" he sneered.

"Fuck you Hwang!"

"Get going or get lost Pipsqueak," he simply replied and put his hands over yours to push down the door handle and push the heavy door open.

"Hands off," you hissed, pulling your own hand away from under his. It felt like it was burning.

Hyunjin hissed a, "Shut up." since the lecture had already started

The two of you sneaked into the last row of the lecture hall. Luckily, your professor was one of those who kept on talking and didn't mind an interruption by late students.

The Art History professor was one of the more elderly professors and had seen and heard every excuse for tardiness that he simply stopped caring. As long as you settled in quietly and didn't interrupt class with made-up reasons, he didn't bother with reprimanding students and dealing with possible paperwork.

At this point, you doubt that anything would interrupt Choi-gyosunim from his monologues about European art history. Not even his own death.

You noticed that he glanced up at the two of you, though, and gave you a short nod and the hint of a smile on his lips, which reflected on your own. 

You grabbed your tablet and stylus from your bag, opting for handwritten notes because you had already downloaded Choi-gyosunim's slides.

Being his student assistants had its merits, after all. 

Hyunjin, next to you, groaned because he missed the first few slides, and you noticed his darting eyes on you as you scribbled something into your notes.

"What?" you hissed from the corner of your mouth.

"Do you have the slides?" he groaned, sounding like he didn't believe he was asking you for them.

"Awww….Hyunjin–ssi are you asking me for a favor?" you grinned, eyes fixated on the tiny-looking professor far in front of you. From this far up, he looked like a cloud with his fluffy white hair and beard.

"Nevermind …" he started to say but stopped when you flipped the cover of the tablet.

"Make it quick," you retorted and handed him the device, "You just missed slides 1-7."

"Thanks…" he grunted.

 You smirked, cocking an eyebrow amused. "What was that?"

"You got pain on your nails….." Hyunjin pointed out, and you glanced at your fingers…. indeed. Apparently, you hadn't cleaned up your hands enough after your late-night painting escapades.

Grumbling, you tried scraping the paint off your nails and swore you could hear Hyunjin mutter something.

You couldn't care less. Who did this guy think he was. You were nice to him a second ago, and he repaid your kindness by telling you that you looked gruesome?

You had more significant issues you noted as you glanced down and still saw the now drying patch of brown on your chest.

You needed a hero…and decided to text the biggest savior you knew.

The ninety-minute lecture went over slowly, but you didn’t mind listening to Choi-gyosunim’s joyful little rants. As his student assistant you knew this lecture’s outline because, frankly, you helped the elderly sensei to make those presentation slides and helped him with his computer.

You leaned forward on the desk, chin propped up on your palm, and fiddled with the stylus entranced by his words of brush stroke techniques.

The lecture was slowly coming to an end because Choi-gyosunim was revising some of his points. The lecture hall relaxed, and some started to stretch out their limbs.

The soft tapping of fingertips across the laptop keyboard next to you stopped, and you peered over your shoulder to glance at Hwang, quickly rubbing the corner of his eyes, suppressing a yawn. For a second you could have sworn that he had been looking at you…and were unsure whether you had something on your face?

“What are you looking at?” he snapped at you while you shrugged. “Better write that down…I think it’ll be on the exam.”

You turned around and noticed with smug satisfaction that he hastily started tapping something into his computer, but Choi-gyosunim already shut down the presenter, and the last slide was gone.

There was another thing about Choi-gyosunim’s lectures…if you didn’t show up to class…you didn’t have a chance to get the lesson’s content because even though he used slides, he didn’t put them online for access. Once he was done with a presentation…you were done taking notes. Simple.

“Bad Luck” you smirked and closed your tablet so Hyunjin couldn’t peek at your own notes.

“Tsk,” he huffed, “You’re just lucky that you’re a little teacher’s pet…”

“Jealous? If you were nicer I’d offer you my notes.” You rolled your eyes at him. “But you were a jerk earlier, and now I won’t.”

“I’ll still get the better grade” Hyunjin grabbed his things and stood up as the other’s in the lecture hall did the same.

You remained seated because you had back-to-back classes in this lecture hall and wanted to wait before going down to personally apologize to Choi-gyosunim for your tardiness.

Hyunjin hesitated, as if he was waiting for you to retort. You did, but waited until a few of your peers were closer.

“Don’t worry, Hyunjin-ssi. Nobody will notice that large yellow pee stain on your trousers,” you said loud enough for them to hear but not loud enough to reach sensei’s ears.

Some of them glared at Hyunjin’s pants and sniggered behind.

Hyunjin snarled an insult at you and hurried out of class, trying to escape the snickering glances of your peers.

You waited until the hall was empty, then grabbed your bag and skipped down the stairs to talk to your teacher. He wasn’t angry, maybe a bit concerned about your whole attire. Yes, he commented on your reddened eyes and asked if everything was okay, but you quickly assured him that it was stupid boy trouble, and he chuckled in response.

The two of you checked your next meet up for the slides you had to prepare and some scans you had to make from a book in the library, then he off wished you a nice day and fun at work later. He knew about it because Choi-gyosunim was the one who recommended you for the job at the museum.

You settled down in the fourth row for your next lecture held by a relatively young professor keen on class participation. By the time this class was done, you were three things.

Hungry, thirsty, and tired. The smoothie didn’t help much for doing anything against your problems. You grabbed a coffee on your way to the cafeteria, where you’d meet Nari.

You met the soft girl at the start of your university life, and you had shared some basic art classes. But since she was going for Ad Design and you were more into Historical Arts, your paths split academically.

“Y/N !” she said as soon as she saw you standing in front of the vending machine.

“Nari-ah my lady and savior bless the heavens you’re here!” you gave her a small hug, and she then presented you a bag with several clothes.

“I brought you a blouse and the grey pullover you left at my place the other day,” Nari grinned, holding up a finger. “I don’t want you to get a cold.”

“It’s still pretty warm outside…it’s barely September.”

“Nights still get chilly and as I know you’ll end up staying at the museum for way too long” she grinned, then glanced at the Kimpap you were holding in your other hand.

“What’s this?”

“Lunch, Nari” you stated simply, and saw her rolling her eyes at you.

“You need to eat something proper,” she scolded.

“I also have a banana, an apple , and a chocolate bar,” you said proudly, to which she just sighed, “Join us for lunch….Ni-ki wouldn’t mind, really…”

“I don’t mind Ni-ki-ssi,” you stated. “He’s nice, but his friend is another thing…and speaking of the devil.”

Nari turned around to see that an engineering student, Ni-ki was approaching, chatting animatedly with Hyujin, your personal devil.

“Ew…” he commented when he saw you. Giving you a second of his time, he nodded politely at Nari and busied himself with his phone.

“Y/N-ssi” Ni-ki said after he greeted Nari with a small kiss on her temple. 

Yeah…they were totally just friends, my ass, you thought.

“Are you joining us?”

“Can’t sorry…” You smiled at the guy. “I gotta run…thanks for offering though…you’re so nice and have such manners.”

Not like some other guy. You glanced at Hyunjin, who didn’t look up from his phone, and commented with a smirk, “Nice blouse L/N.”

“Fuck you, Hwang,” you grunted. 

He had time to change into other pants, so you couldn’t come up with a better insult.

“Yeah, no thanks…” he shrugged, “Ni-ki…I’m heading inside…someone is smelling like sweat and moldy coffee…pitiful really.”

When he sneered at you, you flipped him off.

What a bastard. Joining them for lunch…yeah, right…no one would ever make you spend more time with Hyunjin than necessary. It was bad enough that the two of you shared classes…most of the time, you avoided the lanky linguine like the plague.

But enough thoughts wasted on the human embodiment of the Dead Sea. 

You had work later, which would be stressful and loud enough, so you’d better calm down before the big rush.

Your second job was at the Seoul Museum of Art. 

It didn’t pay much, but it allowed you to enter an intern position for the compulsory internship that would start soon, and you hoped they would give you bigger responsibilities.

Sometimes, you gave guided tours to school groups. However, your main job was to give afternoon art courses to grade-schoolers. Sometimes, the kids were just too unruly. On other days, they worked fine and were angels.

Since the colleague you usually worked with, a middle-aged woman, had a baby, the workload doubled in the last few weeks.

Thankfully, the group that visited today was supervised by their charming young teacher, who seemed to have experience calming down little tornadoes.

He wasn’t much older than you but made an effort to visit with his class as often as possible. It turned out that their primary school had decided to come by every week, formed an art club because they liked the program, and sent the young teacher to chaperone the club.

As the program was dubbed, Little Leo’s Art Class educated the kids about famous artists and helped them recreate their paintings and sculptures. You first told a story about the artist and then instructed them while they painted. Today’s work was Van Gogh’s sunflowers; the kids could use acrylic paint on their little canvases.

They brushed and dabbed their paintbrushes, turning white into bright colors.

Afterward, they helped to clean up, and the handsome grey-haired teacher assisted you in helping the kids clean and put away the brushes the right way. Before they thanked you and went back to school.

You cleaned up afterward, looked that the canvases were put away safely to dry. That the brushes, containers, and tables were properly cleaned and checked. Pushed open the heavy door to the supply closet and sorted the material into the correct spaces.

A quick glance around. 

No one had left something behind…good.

Checked your phone, no messages then again connection in here was terrible per usual.

Taking out your Ipad, you settled down to study a little bit in the quiet of the small studio. Another group was supposed to be here, but they’d cancelled because of a sudden flu outbreak in the school.

You were halfway through your revision when someone knocked at the door, and soon after, your supervisor entered the door with a smile 

“Ahhh..L/N-ssi…I thought I would catch you here…everything done?”

“Yes, Kim-seonsaengnim …everything is cleaned up…I only had one class today,  the last one canceled on me…so I’m studying if that is okay…” you said and put down the apple you were chewing.

“That’s too bad...I thought we could have caught you while you were so high spirited and in your element.” he said with a smile, “Anyway…. I wanted to introduce your new colleague to you. He’ll be working mainly as a guide and will intern here alongside you.”

A new colleague? Intern? So soon? As far as you knew they were just starting the job interviews today.

“Yes, I was surprised too…but he just came to the job interview and was perfect fit…” he smiled once more and glanced back.

“Don’t be shy boy….come in…introduce yourself…”

You stood up and tugged down the apron you were waiting you stood, then lifted your head to smile at the newcomer. But as you saw him, your smile died on your face.

The same happened to his face, with the difference that the newcomer wasn’t smiling in the first place.

“Oh…you know each other already?” Kim-seonsaengnim’s eyes shined as he saw the recognition in both of your faces.

“Yes…” Hwang Hyunjin said shortly.

He had changed again, wearing a dark brown blazer and matching slacks.

He closed his eyes for a second as if he had to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating you did the same…nope still there….

“Peachy!” Kim-seonsaengnim clapped his hands. “If you know each other you’ll get along just fine! Looking forward to a good and prosperous corporation you two.”

Well…. Fuck!

> Next Part

[luzial]

Writing Masterpost

I write Solavellan. You may see some other stuff on my AO3 and I love that stuff too but let's be real, I'm pretty much just the one thing and I am obsessed. It used to be all Angst and UST all the time but now there's plenty of Fluff and Smut as well. Asks are always open. I love prompts. Chat is also fine.

Here's the stuff I wrote that I'd love for you to read:

Overgrown Solavellan | Modern AU | Enemies to Lovers | Eventual Smut Rating: E | Complete | 93,911 words | 27 chapters

Ellana Lavellan is an investigative journalist assigned to cover an excavation in the Arbor Wilds. Her editors have received a tip that the dig may uncover new information about the "Final Inquisitor," a mysterious figure from the Dragon Age about whom almost nothing is known. Ellana teams up with a history professor to investigate the story.

Roots (sequel to Overgrown) Solavellan | Modern AU | Idiots in Love | Occasional Smut Rating: E | Actively Updating (aprox weekly)

With the identity of the Final Inquisitor now revealed to the world, Ellana Lavellan (an investigative journalist) and Solas (a history professor) team up again to dive deeper into the mysteries of the Dragon Age as well as a series of strange phenomena that have been reported across Thedas.

the best of you, honey, belongs to me Solavellan | One-Shot | Smut Rating: E | 3,759 words

Hunt well, he told her. And she has. She may as well wear their pelts like trophies across her shoulders.

They have lined up to dance with her, to offer her gifts, to make her promises - all of it hollow. They want her for the power and the pleasure she can bring them. They want the world to see her in their arms as they swirl her across the floor. They want to feel the press of her body against their chest and imagine an intimacy which is his alone to claim.

Solas gets jealous at Halamshiral and his pride nearly gets the better of him.

In and Out of Time Again Solavellan | Letters | Angst | Time Loops Rating: M | Complete | 14,499 words | 14 chapters

I tattooed everything you said to me on my still-beating heart and while that may sound like nothing more than hyperbole, I swear to you that if you clawed open my ribcage you would see the truth in the ink that spilled through your fingers.

A Solavellan take on “This Is How You Lose the Time War." Two unlikely correspondents reshape infinite versions of Thedas, each manipulating events of the world’s past to create the future their faction desires.

in the cracks of light / i dreamed of you Solavellan | One-Shot | Angst | Pre-Veilgaurd Rating: T | 2,731 words

He slips into a cafe to pass the time. It is an alluring place on the water where lilac lanterns spill light on lovers and assassins alike. In the distance, something bright catches his eye. Two felines, perched side by side on the base of a pillar that overlooks the canals. One of them is such a vivid white he swears it’s glowing in the afternoon sun.

By day, Solas investigates an irregularity in the Veil in the Streets of Coin and encounters a spirit cat. By night, Lavellan dreams of Treviso.

Ruins Solavellan | Time Travel Fix-It | Angst | Slow Burn Rating: M | WIP | 109,325 words | 19/? chapters

More than 20 years after the Exalted Council, Thedas is in ruins. Finally, a hardened and desperate Lavellan conjures a dangerous spell that has the power to stop the Dread Wolf once and for all. But when plans suddenly change, Lavellan and Solas find themselves transported back to when everything began - one year before Corypheus opens the breach - and given "one last chance" to set things right.

Miscellaneous Solavellan

Solavellan Prompts

Short one-shots collected from various prompts. Mostly set in Inquisition, one in Veilguard.

First/Second

Who fell first prompt. Four short scenes, two from Solas' POV and two from Lavellan's.

[sttudnobright]

Planet of the Apes: Singing and Speaking (Updated: 08/02/2025)

Before Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes came out, I was hooked by the trailer and in response I binged watched the Caesar trilogy and read all the novelisations including the ones that covered the time after Rise and Dawn.

My favourite excerpt out of all of the books was a small excerpt from War for the Planet of the Apes: Revelations where an orang-utan named Ray hears humans singing for the first time.

I really loved how Ray was trying to find things he had heard so far in his life to try and compare it to. It was a tiny part of the story and wasn't part of the plot but it was a sweet little interlude.

Now after seeing Kingdom and learning how important song is to Eagle Clan in order to bond with their eagles, I can't help but be anxious and hope that they hear humans sing too.

Singing and music has been integral to humans regardless of culture throughout our history in order to express joy, hope and excitement to anger and grief.

I don't think apes in the reboot are capable of singing in the same way as humans yet, as the actor of Proximus Caesar, Kevin Durand mentioned in response to a question at the London premiere that his character might keep some humans around to sing him songs. Seen below:

1:00 onwards, Kevin describes making Proximus' voice and from 1:51 is when he mentions Proximus keeping humans to sing.

Considering Proximus has a love/hate relationship with humans, I don't think he'd keep one around to sing if apes were capable of singing in the same way.

Either way I hope there is an opportunity in future films for this to happen. (Not a musical of course :D lol )

Speaking: Apes vs Humans

There can be a scientific reason the franchise could use as to why apes are slowly getting better at speaking and perhaps one day singing. It turns out there's slightly different morphological differences in the larynx (voice box) between apes and humans.

According to this article:

The main difference is that apes have 'small ribbon-like extensions of the vocal cords... called a vocal membrane' and 'ballon-like laryngeal structures called air sacs' . According to the article these structures help some apes and monkeys produce those loud and resonant calls and also helped prevent hyperventilation, while vocal membranes '"...allow other primates to make louder, higher pitched calls than humans - but they make voice breaks and noisy vocal irregularity more common," said evolutionary biologist... W Tecumseh Fitch of the University of Vienna.'

This could explain in part how most of the apes in the Caesar trilogy relied heavily on sign language because despite ALZ-113 affecting their intelligence, it didn't appear to do much for their vocal structures. The exception of course being Caesar, Koba and Bad Ape.

The argument can be made that Koba and Bad Ape learned to speak through sheer effort and strain albeit for different reasons. Despite their efforts however they still had to use shorter words either because they didn't have/know them or they couldn't continue the sound long enough to say them. As a result where a human could speak in longer sentences without pausing, they had to break their sentences up as they couldn't vocalise the longer words and sustain the sentence.

Caesar could be a slight exception. It was shown in War that he can speak in longer sentences with fewer pauses and could probably handle longer words. This may be because he was exposed to ALZ-112 while in utero and any slight physiological changes could have happened to his development before his birth.

Fast forward 300 years to Kingdom's timeline and most apes are speaking similar to how Caesar was in War. Though there are slight differences depending on characters. For Eagle Clan, the apes there do speak clearly and to the point. Only using the words they need to make themselves understood, however there are still pauses in the sentence and there's no noticeably long words. They don't seem to use any words longer than two syllables and if they do use words longer than that, it was uncommon.

While with Proximus, he's trying to walk a line between ape and human, so he's training himself to speak for longer and learning more complicated words though there are rare instances where he still needs to pause now and then while speaking them. For example, while he had no audible problem saying words like 'advancement', 'familiar', 'dangerous' or 'wonderful'. He did sound out the word 'evolution', breaking it down into syllables (this might have been because it was a new one he had recently learned), and when he accused Mae of being 'duplicitous' he had to pause before speaking it out loud (though he was getting quite agitated when he said this and it could have just been emotion).

This could signal that with every generation of apes (at least in this part of the world), their vocal membranes and air sacs (if they have them) are being used less and less and will run the risk of them becoming redundant and likely phased out of their physiology altogether.

The researchers stated in the article above that the loss of these tissues and our larynx evolving to be situated lower in the windpipe than in other primates. were vital to the ability of speech in humans. their loss enabled us to have 'excellent pitch control with long and stable speech sounds,' giving us '... the ability to express thoughts and feelings using articulate sounds.'

In summary it appears that our simplified voice box has allowed us to have more range to not just speak but sing as well.

In the Planet of the Apes franchise it appears with every new film that the apes may be slowly gaining this simplified structure too or at least their version of it. So who knows, maybe if there's another trilogy after Noa and Mae's story arc, apes may have evolved enough where they have the same vocal range as humans do/had.

[elbdot]

I love your Pokemon comics so much! I've reread them a ton of times, EAA has become such a comfort read. I just adore how you make Alola feel so alive, and the characters all feel so much more complex and interesting. Out of curiosity, were there other comics (Pokemon or otherwise) that inspired you? And are there other Pokemon fan comics you like or would recommend?

AWWWW Thank you so much!! 🥹🥰 Actually, I wasn't really inspired by any other Pokemon comics at the time I began making my first short comics. Despite Pokemon having one of THE most MASSIVE fandoms on the internet, it's honestly surprising how little ongoing fancomics there are. I've seen many artists starting Nuzlocke comics but I only know of ONE artist who ever finished drawing one (And I'm ebarrassed to say I didn't fully read it yet and don't know the name of it anymore, it's been so long 😂)

I think if there was any comic inspiration at the time in 2016, it must have been the webcomic Avas Demon. Not in terms of STORY or genre, but in terms of how the story was told in a 16:9 format like a storyboard or color test for an animated movie. I took a lot of inspiration from that in the way I boarded the comic and wanted to make it feel like a movie sequence, making more individual panels with varying expressions. But that ALSO ABSOLUTELY blew my work-load on each comic out of proportion, thus resulting in VERY irregular updates due to how detailed my backgrounds and shading became plus A LOT of additional poses like here for example:

I'm proud of what I created back then, but after the most recent Arc I have decided to step BACK from this approach and have now heavily simplified my shading and am experimenting with reusing backgrounds and using new panel sizes and formats 😂 You'll see what I mean in the upcoming update this week. Surprisingly enough, I don't think the quality of art has dropped because of these changes! Also my love for adding additional expressions between panels has remained, they're just my favorite thing to do to bring life to the comic!

[haru-natsuka]

Second Male Leads Are all Yanderes but I Won't Rest Until I Win My Love Back (Female Reader x OCs)

CHAPTER 1 << CHAPTER 2 << CHAPTER 3 << CHAPTER 4 << CHAPTER 5 << CHAPTER 6 << CHAPTER 7 << CHAPTER 8 << CHAPTER 9 << CHAPTER 10 << CHAPTER 11 << CHAPTER 12 << CHAPTER 13

Author’s Note – From Haru Natsuka

Hi to all my lovely readers!

This is Haru Natsuka, the author of SMLAY. I hope you’ve been enjoying the journey of this story as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Honestly, I never expected to complete the first season in 2025—but here we are! And it’s all thanks to you. Your support truly made this possible.

SMLAY was meant to be a short, light, and lively novel—something I wrote just for fun. It started out of frustration, actually, with how many manhwa stories have the soft, kind second male lead left behind. I wanted to give that type of character a little more spotlight.

I never anticipated the overwhelming positive response, so instead of irregular updates, I committed to releasing a chapter every month as consistently as I could. And now, we've reached 13 chapters for Season 1—what a ride!

Do I know what will happen in the future? Certainly not! >.< This story has changed a lot from the original draft. At first, it focused mostly on Y/N and Adrian. But as I wanted to raise the status of the second male lead, I added more drama—introducing Cyrus and even the red-haired guy. It’s been a fun challenge letting the story grow naturally.

And just to clarify—this is not a transmigration story. Personally, I’m not a fan of that trope. For me, the future should be a journey—unpredictable, uncertain, and full of discovery. Adrian may appear to be the second male lead from Y/N’s perspective, because that’s how she saw him at the academy: the boy who once lost to Cyrus for Liesel’s heart.

There are many small details scattered throughout SMLAY that I’ve intentionally woven into the story—some subtle, some seemingly insignificant. But trust me, they will have a big impact on the plot later on! So, if you’ve noticed anything that seems like a clue or a hidden hint, feel free to share your theories in the comments. I’d love to hear what you suspect might become important. 👀✨

Before I end this note, I just want to let you all know that SMLAY will be going on a short hiatus. I’ll be shifting my focus entirely to The Fate—my second series and a fan-made novel based on Who Made Me a Princess (WMMAP), available exclusively on my Tumblr.

It may take me a few months to finish one season of The Fate, but once that’s done, I’ll return to continue SMLAY with renewed energy and ideas. 🌸

Thank you once again for all the love and support. You’ve made this journey unforgettable.

With warmth, Haru Natsuka

[therealtrunko]

Hello, you beautiful people!

My name is Trunko, like the mythical marine creature with white coat and trunk, and I’m a writer. I like to write fantasy books and stories, plus fanfiction of any fandom which I love or any fandom plot concept I want to explore. Also, I like to write alternate history works, because I always found interesting learning how certain changes in the past could have led to a different present and future.

I also have a Ko-fi account, where I post all my current writing project and stories’ new chapters and updates every week, plus all covers and artworks for my fics and stories I’ve commissioned over the years. I am also open to writing commissions, if you are interested: However, I haven’t set guidelines and fixed prices yet, so if you want to commission me something, contact me in private or by DM. I’m hoping to expand content there in the future as well.

I'm not a fan of asking money for my fics; however, if your donations could help me cover my expenses, I'd be able to fully focus on writing and the stories I love to create. I'm not asking anyone to donate, but I'd be thrilled to have your support. If you're willing to help me earn enough to support my family and myself, while pursuing my deepest passion of crafting stories to share with the world, I'll be forever grateful.

I also don’t use social media very much, because I always preferred using my time to write or spend time with my family or loved ones. Nevertheless, the life of a modern writer requires I put myself out there somehow, so here I am. Ask me questions, behold the weird stuff I reblog, and feel free to contact me (unless you’re a scammer, then you can scram): I’m just your everyday young writer with big dreams and hopes, trying to make their own way into the world. My fanfiction sites links:

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheItalianConstant

FF.NET: https://www.fanfiction.net/~therealtrunko

FIM.NET: https://www.fimfiction.net/user/812026/TheAlicornHerder

SufficientVelocity: https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/members/trunko.20340/

Bibliography

Our Second Chance is Called Amphibia

Fandom: Amphibia

Instead of being scattered all across Amphibia, Anne, Sasha and Marcy find themselves together in Wartwood alongside three additional characters: Jacob, school troublemaker and old friend of the trio; his cousin Amelia, a know-nothing know-it-all on Eastern culture, always wearing an Asian cone hat and a wooden training katana; and James, a British kind-hearted exchange-student with a passion for stargazing. Far away from familiar places and forced to band together, the six humans will be forced to walk a path that will lead them to personal growth, healing and redemption.

Now with a Tvtropes page!

Season 1 is complete; Season 2 is currently ongoing.

The Doctor and the Swan

Fandom: The Swan Princess/ SCP Lore (crossover)

A twist of fate brings SCP 49 on the path of Odette and her friends, kickstarting a series of drastic changes from the plot we know and setting the story onto a new direction…

Currently ongoing; irregular updates (will try to focus more on it once my economic situation stabilizes)

Mein Krieg

Fandom: Youjo Senki – The Saga of Tanya the Evil

An unlucky boy ends dragged with the Salaryman when Being X shows itself, and he too gets reincarnated into the body of a child, forced to live ‘in dire straits’ in a world of war and famine. The Epic saga of the two Silver Wings of the Empire had officially begun!

Ongoing, currently my oldest and longer-lasting work, with over 290+ chapters!

Lauren Faust, Queen of Equestria

Fandom: My Little Pony – Friendship is Magic (G4)

Lauren Faust wakes up in Equestria, with no memories of what she was doing or how she got here. After finding herself just outside Ponyville, she decides to do what every writer could do if given a chance to see the world they themselves created. Namely, to visit it and try to meet her characters, of course!

Currently ongoing; story available both on AO3 and Fimfiction.

Alicorni vita et opera, vel quomodo fabulosus species Equestriae resurrexerit

Fandom: My Little Pony – Friendship is Magic (G4)

(This story is an anthology/collection of short stories and oneshot chapters set in the same universe as ‘The Great Alicorn Hunt’ by Ralph Hayes, Jr/RealityCheck)

Twilight Sparkle and her friends, thanks to Starswirl’s spell, have by now ascended to alicornhood and became the newest princess of Equestria.

Now embolden in their new mission to search for other ‘ascents’, the six Elements, alongside several of their friends and companions, are going to face new challenges and obstacles as they further grow in their new lives as princesses and alicorns, struggle to adapt to the changes not just to themselves, but to how others behave with them, as well as countless others new trials and test tied to their new nature as Alicorns.

Shall they prevail or shall they fall? In the end, their decisions will decide it all!

On semi-hiatus (I’ll update it whenever I write a new chapter); story available both on AO3 and Fimfiction.

[ladykailitha]

Posting Schedule and Story Update

I know, I know I don't have a posting schedule, not really. At least in terms of what gets published when, only the days of the week stuff gets posted.

Well for the next four weeks there will be one:

Never Hold Back Your Step...- Sundays

Well Met By Moonlight- Tuesdays

Icarus- Thursdays

Special- Saturdays*

But I'm also getting worryingly low on my backlog (like I'm about dip into single digit range) and I hate having it that low.

So what I usually do is take a week or so off posting and build it back up. And I would normally take the week of my birthday off (Aug 14) to play catch up, but...

Yeah, I'm planning on posting the final chapter of Well Met By Moonlight (werewolf Steve) on the 13th. One year after it's release and since I'm releasing on that day, it doesn't make sense to only post that day and none of the rest of the week.

Also depending on what I am doing on the 14th (as whether or not my husband works) will decide whether or not I'm doing WIP Wednesday that day because if I'm not really doing anything, than I would prefer hanging out with you guys and writing. But I'll keep you posted the closer that gets.

But if he does have it off, I'll take it off and have two days the next week to make up for it. It would also be that week that I would take off posting and probably the next week as well. It depends on how much I get done.

But here's the exciting part, during this time between now and Aug 18th I will continue to work on the exotic club one and will have a ton of fun chapters to share when I get back from my break.

I will still be doing WIP Wednesdays and posting ideas and meta and headcanons and all that fun stuff. And maybe some fun polls too.

Also it is looking like "Never Hold Back Your Step..." (boy w/a bat) will be only 17 chapters long (maybe only 16 depending on how much of the Mind Flayer fight I put in it). I'm hoping it'll be only 16 really so that it can end the same week as Well Met.

I think a lot of people are hoping for their favorite parts of season 3, but this story was never meant to re-write canon. It was just meant to look into the idea that Eddie picked Steve up as a lost sheepie between season 2 and 3. Something that at the time there wasn't a lot of.

We'll see.

But expect to see me start posting again on Sept 1st for sure or on Aug 25th, if I have a really good week. And I'll be kicking it off the exotic dancer one, which I'm really excited for.

*Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate will be finished this Saturday. Leaving the Caged Bird Still Sings (sugar baby!Steve/sugar daddy!Eddie) to take its posting slot on Saturdays.

Tagging my permanent list to make sure everyone who needs to see this can.

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[cheerfullycatholic]

Hello, I'm a Catholic who recently signed up for Tumblr and I unfortunately feel like I really did not understand what I was getting into with this website. For the last several weeks, I've been subjected to a campaign of internet stalking by a large gang of insidious thugs on this site. And I would brush it off as normal internet trolling, except that they seem to really know a lot about our faith!

The problem started a few weeks ago, when a "Tumblr famous" user known as "r4cs0" messaged me. He claims to be the closest living relative of Pope John Paul I, who died after only 33 days on the throne. When a Pope dies, the death must be verified by striking him three times in the head with a silver hammer. According to r4cs0, a church historian has recently examined the hammer used on John Paul I and learned it was only 87% silver. Per the canon laws of 1919, the hammer must be at least 90% silver to be considered true silver. Because of this and other "irregularities" regarding the death, r4cs0 insists that Pope John Paul I is still LEGALLY alive and still the Pope! And as his closest living heir, this makes r4cs0 the highest living authority in the Catholic Church until the corpse is exhumed and struck with the correct hammer!

Now if this isn't crazy enough, it gets worse. r4cs0 has written a Papal bull called In Tergo Intrantes. Of course it's in Latin so I can't read it, but r4cs0 says that it authorized certain Vatican authorities located in the Tower of Nicholas V to grant special dispensations to bi-sexual women who are seeking to enter into plural marriages, but only if they submit DNA samples to the Vatican Bank which prove they are free of any Asian heritage (this part has something to do with the Vatican agreement with the CCP). And I'm not even going to try to explain it, but after he told me this part of the story he suddenly went off on a tangent about how the Missing 411 series can be explained by extra-dimensional abductors hunting German people. I still can't figure out the connection, but it may have something to do with the Synod on Synodality.

But the point of all this is that "r4cs0," his allegedly bi-sexual girlfriend "tooiconic," and a large host of their followers have been tormenting me non-stop for the last several weeks. They say that when In Tergo Intrantes and Fiducia Supplicans are considered together, it obligates me to officiate a plural marriage they are planning to enter into with another Tumblr user named "takashi0" (who is a BRONY, just to make this whole thing even creepier). If I refuse, they claim they will call my bishop and have my actual marriage annulled by the church! I don't believe they can really do it, but they can certainly keep sending their followers to harass me! One of them called my boss at work today and started asking a bunch of questions about where he was when Catherine Cesnik was killed.

What do I do???

I am, wow, I don't have words. Wow. Just keep blocking them and try to remove any personal information from your blog

Important update: it's all fake apparently

[werosmyss]

So remember that story I mentioned a few days ago?

Put out the first chapter. It's a bit shorter than all the other chapters I have written so far, but we've gotta start somewhere, right?

Also now is a good time to plug my brand new bluesky where I will be doing the exact same thing I'm doing here!

(literally I only made it so that I could see some art that got linked in a post I saw like an hour ago.)

Friendly Neighborhood Poltergeist (1513 words) by Werosmys Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne | Morningstar/Vaggie, Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino/Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Rosie (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Velvette & Vox (Hazbin Hotel)

More tags + Summary below the break

Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Velvette (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Rosie (Hazbin Hotel), Lucifer Magne | Morningstar

Additional Tags: OCs used as plot devices, Minor Staticmoth not for a bit though, Poltergeists, Vox's One-Sided Psychosexual Obsession With Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Can't Control Alastor's Shadow (Hazbin Hotel), Alternate Universe - Human, Possession, Obsessive Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Serial Killer Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Demiromantic Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Military PTSD, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Vox is From the 1950s (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is from the 1930s, Period-typical American Patriotism, Police being police, Police Incompetence, OOC Valentino when we meet him, Post-World War II, Slow Burn, like seriously slow burn, Fluff, Angst

Summary: Vincent Olcott gets home from the European front and wants nothing more than a shower and to curl up in bed with his beautiful fiancée, but he's rebuffed at the door and forced out on the street. Grappling with his demons, Vincent is forced to rebuild his life all over again.

Alastor Wiles is shot and ripped apart by dogs while disposing a body one evening in the muggy Louisiana summer. He doesn't expect to wake up, as one usually doesn't wake up from a bullet to the head. But awaken he does. It seems that even in undeath, a higher power is allowing Alastor to continue his righteous mission to eradicate the scoundrels and scum of the earth, and who is he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

Irregular updates, don't expect a schedule from me. All of arc 1 plotted out; half of it written.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Rulebook June 6th 2024 Update and Changelog

It’s the first Thursday of the first month of us doing a regular patreon rulebook update on the first Thursday of every month, and that means a major update!

It has been so nice to be able to finally work on the rulebook again instead of doing nothing but Kickstarter prep and promotion, and man have I been hard at work. Last week, if you count my A.N.I.M. job and my “normal” job, the shortest workday I had was 9 hours and several of them were 14 hours. At least I enjoy both jobs!

We have started getting more art into the rulebook, and getting those stretch goals taken care of. One stretch goal (the forgery rules) has already been added in full, with another stretch goal about 75% done, plus a complete overhaul of how Chase Scenes work and a whole new mechanic for determining how the police react to the actions of the PCs. Now, as the PCs are investigating crimes, if they’re not careful, the police could be investigating their crimes in the background too!

In addition to all the changes from the changelog below, we now have new and improved character sheets, and the Eureka adventure module “FORIVA: The Angel Game” is now fully finished, not counting the artwork, but that is going to get its own post.

Here is the full changelog! Remember, you can get a copy of this beta version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, along with three adventure modules, two short stories, and a novella, all for just $5 on our patreon page. And there’s no better time to do so, because of the Gorgon Initiative! Long story short, the playable gorgon monster type is a Kickstarter stretch goal we didn’t hit, but if we can reach 50 total patreon subscribers before the end of June, we’re going to be adding it to the book anyway! At the time of writing this, we’re at 41/50! You could make the difference, and get all this new Eureka content to boot!

CHAPTER 1

Have started working on replacing the examples of play with updated ones that actually fit the current and slightly more stable version of the rules. These will be found in various chapters. You can see them in the table of contents.

Added a Foreword, a section on other media to offer you inspiration when playing eureka, and a section on some of the subtler themes of eureka

Copy-edited Foreword

A few minor clarifications in the Making Rolls section

Added a chart explaining the percentage chances of failures, partial successes, and full successes for modifiers from -7 to +7. 

Added Heat optional rule. A whole new set of mechanics for tracking how much police attention the investigators may be drawing, as well as how law enforcement will respond. Currently a work-in-progress, but mostly functional already.

CHAPTER 2

Added the Forgery skill to write-in skills

Many new snoops have been added. 

Removed the “Seating” stat for vehicles, you know how many people can safely fit in a car

Removed the placeholder boat entries from the item list because we did not hit that kickstarter stretch goal

Added Skateboard to item list. 

Added four-wheeler to item list. 

Added Acceleration values to all vehicles in the vehicle list. Acceleration is a new stat used with the new way that Speed is calculated for Chases.

Adjusted the Driving bonus of motorcycles and dirtbikes.

Changed Large Mansion cost to 25 Wealth Points in character creation.

Started copy-editing this chapter.

CHAPTER 3

Added vehicle crashes to irregular forms of damage section

Tiny tweak to Drowning/Suffocation rules.

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

Completely revamped the way that Speed is calculated. 

Added a mechanic to determine how many nodes ahead a fleeing character starts.

Added an optional rule for bringing an end to chases 

Added vehicle attack rules for use during car chases

Added more guidelines for how to make your own obstacles

Added recommended numbers of nodes for chases and recommended distance between obstacles 

Added the work-in-progress random obstacle tables

On-Foot Urban Chase Obstacles table is finished but not edited

Vehicle Urban Chase Obstacles table is finished but not edited

On-Foot Wilderness Chase Obstacles table is finished but not edited. 

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

Increased capacity of an unfurled thing from beyond’s ‘stomach’ from three to fourteen.

Thing from beyond can now more easily attempt to engulf more victims after already containing one or more. This now prompts an escape attempt by victims inside rather than automatic escape.

Thing from beyond can now get a bonus to mimicry attempts by consuming a sample of the intended mimicry target’s DNA. 

Thing from beyond can now attempt to mimic a person they have never seen or heard by consuming a sample of their DNA, but narrator makes a hidden roll about it, so accuracy of mimicry will be unknown.

Gave acceleration value to witch’s brooms and other flying transportation

Gave Acceleration of +6 to Superhuman Speed trait

Gave vampire small bat manifestation +2 Acceleration

Gave vampire wolf manifestation +4 Acceleration 

Gave vampire massive bat beast manifestation +4 Acceleration

Gave wolfman wolf form +4 Acceleration

Gave lycanthrope wolf form +4 Acceleration

Added ability to resist curses to fairy and witch

Added ability for fairy to transfer curses to different names as a means of protecting themselves from curses. This gives them more of an incentive to collect names. 

Added a tiny bit about the fairy world

Added Monsters Eating Monsters section to provide rulings for some edge cases where monsters might eat other monsters and what would happen if they did

Stay tuned for a post about "FORIVA: The Angel Game", a terrifying Eureka adventure module, soon!

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but our Kickstarter page is still the best place to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, and where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more than just status updates, going forward you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and it’s adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[brightoakgame]

Bright Oak Long-Range Planning Update!

Hello, dear friends!

First off, I apologize for the prolonged radio silence! I've been repeatedly sidelined by (thankfully minor) health issues since last fall, and it's made forward progress frustratingly staccato. With that being the case, posting more granular updates feels out of place, so I wanted to put together a more macro view of where Bright Oak currently stands in development. ✨

I'll start with the important stuff: Bright Oak is not on hiatus, and a full release is still on the near-ish horizon--but exactly when is a more nebulous matter. This is a passion project I've invested blood, sweat, years, and tears into, and no one wants it finished and out in the world more than I do.

As for where the game as a whole stands: it is now almost completely rough-coded (I'd say 85-90%?), with only a handful of backgrounds remaining to sketch, paint, and implement. There are some other little details that remain to be ironed out, but overall, the remaining work largely hinges on coding in expressions, backgrounds, sound design, and music.

With so much of the heavy-lifting already done (all very much thanks to my wonderful team of commissioned artists!), the delay I anticipate hinges on myself: the lion's share of the remaining work is the sort of detailed scene sculpting I revel in, but which requires time and focus. Unfortunately, both those resources are in short supply due to some shifts in my life (quite apart from health issues, I'm also preparing for a major move!). Rushing through to reach a self-imposed finish line has never felt like a viable option, either from a practical standpoint or a personal one. The notion of placing Bright Oak on hiatus also holds little appeal for me, though I did give it long consideration. For now, it feels like the best way of proceeding is to continue on when I can, as I can, and accept that the pace of progress is going to be irregular for a time.

While slow and unsteady might not win me any races, I do look forward to seeing you all when Bright Oak does reach the finish line sometime within the next year. ❤️ Thank you all so very, very much for your kindness, support, and patience through this process, and I look forward to sharing the rest of the story when I can!

[formulaorange]

2024 Spring Anime

Kaiju No. 8 This series started the same time as SpyxFamily and I've been waiting years for it to be animated. It's a series I was instantly hooked on. The animations in the teasers were incredibly sus but I'm glad to see it's pulled together. This is a must watch for this season. Noteworthy On-going Shows: Delicious in Dungeon - Episodes 13-24 A Character based comedic fantasy that honestly has me hooked. New Seasons:

Demon Slayer - Hashira Training Arc I can't believe we're already here. I think this will be one of the last 2 or 3 seasons of the show. This is one I'm not sure what to expect in terms of story but I'm looking forward to it regardless.

That Time I Got Reincarnated As a Slime - Season 3 One of the Og's is back baby. This is one of my all time favourite shows, one of the original fantasy/isekai series. This series gets better and better and I'm so hooked to each character. 100% biased opinion but if you haven't seen this, go check it out.

My Hero Academia - Season 7 This is one that I haven't caught up on the anime for so I'm not 100% where we are but I'm pretty sure it's about to get real dark. I think lots of people have put this show on the backburner or have dropped it entirely. But I really have to say we're starting to head into some of the peak of the series. It gets much darker and more serious and starts to shift from the original shonen high school style.

Additional New Seasons: Mushoku Tensei - Season 2 Cour 2 I won't lie, this arc honestly doesn't look very appealing to me. That said, I have faith in the writers and will be watching and updating if it picks up. Both of these shows from 2008 coming back were not on my bucket list but here we are: Spice and Wolf - Looks to be a re-make of the original series Black Butler - Public School Arc - New continuation of the og series Also: The Misfit of Demon King Academy II - Part 2 The Irregular at Magic High School - Season 3 Laid-Back Camp - Season 3 New Noteworthy Shows:

Wind Breaker A new series about a delinquent who moves to a school where it's all about being the strongest and beating each other up. Honestly it reminds me a little of Food wars but if it was actually about fighting instead of food lol. The animations look stellar, I'm actually pretty excited to check this one out. ( I'd also say it looks completely different to Tokyo Revengers so I wouldn't compare the two.)

Mission:Yozakura Family A newer shonen jump series about a kid who tries to integrate with a mismatched family of spies. Looks like a lot of fun and has a similar vibe to some old school SJ series.

Go! Go! Loser Ranger Why does this look so good. This series genuinely looks so cool, the animation look out of this world and the story looks killer. From what I can gather it's a guy who always plays the villain and is sick of his role. The story shows the heroes as villains and gives me a bit of Invincible vibes. (This is a Disney+ exclusive) The Fable I've heard that this is one of the most legendary comedies. I know there's a few live actions for it on Netflix but I haven't had a chance to check it out. I feel like the trailers don't seem to get anything across so this'll be one I'll follow up on.

Going through the extra shows is now the bane of my existence. I want to go back to before all the isekai light novels were being animated. After doing this I feel defeated that some of these look half-decent. Whisper Me a Love Song Wholesome girl's love series about figuring out what kind of love they feel for each other: 3 Episodes The Many Sides of Voice Actor Radio 2 girls who's offline personalities are total opposites, their rivalry in a brutal industry. Looks like it could be a fun slice of life series: 3 Episodes Jellyfish Can't Swim in the Night Looks like a really well done series about a group of girls forming an anonymous idol group: 3 Episodes

I Was Reincarnated as the 7th Prince so I Can Take My Time Perfecting My Magical Ability The animations actually look amazing from the trailer and this series could be cute: 1 Episode An Archdemon's Dilemma: How to Love Your Elf Bride I think this might be a guilty pleasure show. I like the idea of the awkward romance between these two. Likely wouldn't reccommend this for a normal watcher: 1 Episode Grandpa and Grandma Turn Young Again Animations and concept look fun: 1 Episode Notable OVA's: Code Geass: Roze of the Recapture A prequel to the original series. The animation looks just like the OG and I'm so stoked that this is coming out.

[lowstakesvampires]

The Sketchbooks

Just some info for you all, so my tagging system makes a little more sense.

This is a comic that has been almost entirely drawn in whichever sketchbook that I had on hand at the time, sort of unintentionally at first, so of course it'll be a little bit more unorthodox in its... pretty much everything, sure. It's not even drawn in any linear fashion. It's an accidental sketchbook webcomic, going with the flow.

Without further ado,

01: small beginnings

April 2017 - June 2017

This sure was where everything started!! Weirdly accurate, too. I swear it wasn't intentional.

This wasn't even a proper sketchbook, it was more of a notepad, and as of last time I went through it, it was falling apart due to the glue literally not holding it together anymore. But yeah - Morten shows up for the first time in this. Bat followed soon after.

02: the pink one

June 2017 - April 2018

A lot of firsts in this one - the beginnings of Einarr, Helena and Rune, for example.

And yeah, it came with printed flower and butterfly graphics inside. I just grabbed whatever sketchbook I had, man. And once I had started using one, I was not going to let go until it was finished. No exceptions.

03: teddy bear

April 2018- June 2018

Just three months!! Probably because it only had 50 (100) pages in it. but yeah. Speedy bear.

Einarr started becoming a character in this one, going from just being Bat's mysterious sire who died, to this strange old beardless viking who constantly chopped his hair off for some reason. I mean, he definitely still had a way to go before he became... himself?

04: linnanmäki

July 2018 - October 2018

Another somewhat speedy one! Bought in Finland, incidentally.

This is also where something resembling longform comics started to form. Some rather significant early characterization happening in this one.

05: moomin

October 2018 - April 2019

So just about half a year. A lot of shorter comics in this one. I really love the cover of it.

Not sure what else to say. This one feels like kind of the transitional phase of my books.

06: duct taped spine

April 2019 - September 2021

OHOHOH THIS IS A THICK ONE..... This one lasted two and a half years. TWO AND A HALF YEARS. IT WAS LITERALLY FALLING APART BY THE END.

This sketchbook had way too many pages for its quality - it split apart by the time I got to the middle, the spine fell off, it has been absolutely wrecked to bits from my frequent usage and I love it.

So yeah, this one was pretty good. A lot of the longer main stories start in this one. It's also causing me issues when it's the only book here with square pages.

07: the green one

September 2021 - November 2023

Two years also, though the speed was a little halted by my bad phone habits and also the way I've gotten increasingly more thorough with my art!

For sure one of my favorites, especially art-wise ♡

By the end, the spine had fallen off, but unlike the previous one, it still wasn't completely falling apart. So that's nice. Around the time it was about to finish, I also drew on its cover - it represents the one story arc that just kinda slowly ran through nearly the whole book.

08: navy blue

November 2023 - now

The current one! Same brand and thickness as the previous green one. Will be interesting to see if it ends up being any faster or slower. It has had some good comics so far!

Miscellaneous sketchbooks

Random small sketchbooks, and maybe even loose paper that has been used alongside the main ones. Ironically, one of my very first comic doodles was actually not drawn in any of the aforementioned sketchbooks, it was actually in one of my irregular ones!

------

This post may get updated as time goes on.

[amypihcs]

Hello humans! Let's see this letter, what do you say? Let's see if it will lift my heart (no it won't but... FOR ROLEPLAY!)

For starters, Watson is getting a scolding by Holmes

Well, Holmes you COULD be a bit more tactful. Post hiatus Holmes wouldn't behave like this. At least he has something to offer apart from criticism. Let's see

HEY BUT THAT'S THE CHAP WHO- Watson, my dear doctor, YOU are the one who approached him THAT way. He's no t innocent, but let's recognize our mistakes, uh? Holmes introducing his husband is always the best, btw. Let's see, man tells his story, we set for him to go back to London and leave the stuff to HOLMES

And Holmes tries to make up a bit for the scolding he gave to his Watson promising some (mrs hudson's) good dinner once back home. Well, they get there and YES! A telegram

Urgh! Torn? Also Holmes pouting because Watson didn't answer the telegram. And Watson. DO be honest, you also took it for a bad taste joke. Well, what do we make of it, anyhow?

Bitten. In. a saloon fight. I'm gonna puke for a bit. Anyway, at least we identified the man and we know that the lady Frances is in DAMN BAD DANGER. crap. What do we do? Holmes?

I LOVE when he calls Lestrade friend Lestrade. It's so cute, he values his friends very much! And Lestrade, of course, BUT THE IRREGULARS! They are also on employed to solve this!

---

and nothing moves.....

---

FOR A WEEK! BUT THEN!

FOUND A TRAIL OF BREADCRUMBS! Ah! I can SYMPATIZE with that feeling Mr Green... Well, Holmes CAN help with that!

And so YOU now should...

AND FOR GOD'S SAKE NO VIOLENCE, THINK BEFORE YOU ACT. For a couple of days nothing happens, on the third...

FOUND HIM! FOUNDHIMFOUNDHIMHOUNDFIM!!

Shut up, sit down, calm down, drink a sip of water an TELL US THE FACTS. (Holmes is quite good in saying these things)

Buying a COFFIN. Suspicious AS FUCK.

SEE! Holmes can even COMPLIMENT people in a NON SARCASTIC WAY! Now, you out of my hair, bring this to friend Lestrade

Our Victorian husbands HAVE GOT THIS. What do we have now?

Now Watson... would you please go ask? People LIKE you -puppy eyes-

Tbh Watson's theory of a false certificate wasn't a bad one at all. But now we shall see...

Damn! All appears legal! Well, there's only a thing to do now!

Fucking around. So they'll find out... SOMETHING BECAUSE WATSON LEAVES US HERE!

Holmes would've loved to kiss his Watson after the last sentence. And Watson not having a gun? UUUH... pre hiatus, definitely!

We'll se what they'll find out in the next update!