#god I love hurt comfort so much

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[lazylittledragon]

ok i swear i'm not going to talk about my breakup forever but the thing that just keeps bothering me:

i know that not getting what you need in a relationship is a COMPLETELY valid reason to end it but also. i feel like having a very vulnerable moment where i opened up about my struggles with intimacy and being relieved that i didn't have to keep doing things i wasn't comfortable with, then being dumped a YEAR later because of my lack of intimacy. is something i should be allowed to be very hurt by???

[elsecrytt]

so i had a thought.

what if 236 is actually jujutsu tech propaganda?

mei mei is broadcasting this entire thing, right? what better way to protect gojo from bounty hunters etc., than convince the entire world that he's already dead?

the final battle happened offscreen, with significantly less fanfare. gojo rescued megumi, defeated sukuna. the day was saved.

at a cost.

gojo gave up everything - at least, everything he valued. the six eyes, his abilities as a sorcerer. he assumed that would make him a normal man, and he was right -

what he didn't realize was that it would also make him blind.

so now... you live in a nice apartment complex. a guy moves in next to you.

you can't help but notice he happens to be blind - at least, he's wearing a blindfold, uses a cane, but he's often swearing and stumbling through his porch, over his entryway. he is very, very blind.

you, wondering what the fuck up is with your obviously blind neighbor who seems to have no sense of self-preservation.

he walks into objects all the time, especially hitting his head on things, since he's so tall. forgets his cane when going out. the dude just left his door open the other day, like, WIDE OPEN, who DOES that?

helping gojo learn, not only how to be human, but how to be disabled. how to not be disgusted with being disabled.

gojo learning that being blind isn't the end of his life, nor the end of his happiness - life is still worth living, even without one of his senses.

helping gojo mourn his lost sense while still finding things to enjoy. gojo who learns to cook by taste, by feeling heat or texture, with your help. gojo learning to organize things so he always knows where they are from memory.

bringing gojo audiobook versions of your favorite stories even if he teases you for your taste. he listens to them when he has nothing to do, which is most of the time, now.

he goes out on walks all the time because he doesn't have a job, you learn. while it's nice to not have to work, you can tell he comes from money, his life comes with a gaping hole inside it, one that isn't entirely explained by the blindness.

gojo who's overstimulated all the time because he no longer has infinity as a barrier, but somehow also as touch-starved as ever, alone in a foreign country away from all his students and colleagues.

gojo, who has only ever done Big Things with his life, who has only ever been an Important Person doing world changing things, now, just an ordinary guy.

he barely cares what happens to himself now. it's not that he wants to die, or anything. it's just that he doesn't have a reason to live.

and that wouldn't change overnight. not with cooking lessons or audiobooks or friendly greetings whenever you see him by the door. not with smiles or waves (he can't see them) or a braille rubik's cube you find online (how did he solve it in under a minute??) or karaoke (he has an AMAZING singing voice, and he knows so many songs better than you do?).

it wouldn't change overnight, because nothing worthwhile forms in a day, or two, or even a week or a month.

but gojo's life doesn't have to be amazing a day after he's gone blind. or a week. or a month. it's okay if it's difficult, he learns, it's okay if he hates it, hates himself, hates every choice that brought him here, even if he would never take it back.

it's okay. it gets better. with you there? it's getting better.

[flowercrowngods]

@steddie-week

part 1 (bc this is one big 7 part story)

day 02: bittersweet & angst

1 new message

eddie The Problem munson: engagement party on saturday babyyyy 🥳🥸🕺

Steve’s been staring at the message for two days now. It's sitting in his notifications, staring at him like a painful reminder of what happened exactly seven days ago. A week. It's only been a week, and Steve somehow it feels like it was both only one day or seven months ago.

It's an almost liminal experience, walking through life without texting Eddie every second of the day – because texting him would mean opening his message. It would make this real.

And that's the last thing Steve wants.

"I'm not going," Robin declares as they're cuddling on the couch, wallowing in their misery as Mayday Parade's Oh Well, Oh Well is playing for the eighth time on repeat. "Tell me you're not going, Stevie."

"Robbie," he sighs, squeezing her tighter as she tries to wriggle out of his arms to glare at him.

"Steve."

"I can't not go."

"Yes you can." She pokes him in the ribs, but he doesn't budge. She pokes him again. "Not going to things is literally the easiest thing in the world. It's a hundred times easier than going to things. You should try it sometime, trust me. You go to too many things, and–"

"Bee," he hums to get her out of the rambling spiral before she can get lost in it.

"What I'm saying," he interrupts herself dramatically, "is that you can't do this to yourself. They're engaged. They're getting married. We're going to keep our distance until our brains and hearts and the traitorous little chemicals in our bodies catch up to reality, and then we get over them, and then we can go back and see them ever again. That's the logical thing to do, Steve. But you can't... You can't just go and get your heart broken and talk yourself into thinking it's the right thing to do. It's not."

Steve sighs into her hair and buries his face in her neck. He knows that. Technically, logically, he does.

But not going feels wrong. Wronger than anything else that's been hollowing out his chest and leaving nothing but emptiness and the ghosts of every smile, every touch, every baby, love, sweetheart, sunshine. Every imaginary future, every scenario where Eddie meant it. Meant those words, meant those smiles, meant it when he took Steve's hand to hold it.

But Eddie did mean it. Every time, he meant it; because he calls Argyle and Jeff and Gareth baby and sunshine and sweetheart, too. He takes their hands, too, leans in to kiss their cheeks and just holds them when he needs to. That's just the kind of person Eddie is. Always has been.

To go and assume he never meant it would be unfair.

To go and hope it could ever mean more when Chrissy has always been right there would just be stupid.

Well, good thing Steve has that kind of reputation with a few people anyway, so it's not even a statistical outlier, that one. It's not even worth a side note.

"I know," he rasps, his eyes beginning to sting as the next lyrics are carved into the empty space of where his heart used to be.

Oh well, oh well I can't live with myself As I'm climbing in your window to get to your bed.

And I'll be what you need, You can call me anything. Just as long as we're still friends.

Tears prickle in his eyes and he doesn't bother to hold them back. Not now, not with Robin. They've both been crying on and off all week, even though Robin took it better than him.

"I know," he sobs, wrapping his arms around her even tighter as she lets herself be held because she knows that's what he needs. "I know, I know, I know. But I have to. I can't just... I can't just stop, Bee."

"I know," she sighs, climbing out of his hold eventually to wrap her arms around him in return as he cries into her shoulder.

The world (read: his Spotify playlist) makes it worse by playing Sum 41's With Me next, ripping out even the newly carved words.

Robin holds him for the rest of the night, even as he finally opens Eddie's message and types out a reply.

—I'll come!

And especially when there's a new message immediately.

—hot 🥵❤️

He leaves Eddie on read after that.

~*~

Saturday rolls around in a haze, and suddenly Steve finds himself looking at the front door of the little house Chrissy inherited after her mother passed a few years ago. It's a nice little house. Quaint. Perfect. Everything Steve could ever dream of, actually. And she deserves it. All of this and more.

There's noise coming from the garden, where people are laughing and having a great time. A happy time, celebrating their friends and all the good things in life that come with a love well placed.

God, what is he doing here? He can't do this. There is no way.

He's just about to pull out his phone and call Robin, tell her he's coming home, or ask her to tell him everything's gonna be alright, when–

"Steve!" Chrissy hurries towards him, throwing her arms around him in a tight, warm, perfect hug. God, he loves her so much. He melts right into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her middle to spin her around with a grin.

She giggles in delight and tells him to let her down again, which only makes him spin for another round, his grin turning into a genuine laugh.

"No, I hate you!" she laughs, but still doesn't step away from him when he puts her down again. Instead, she leans up and brushes a kiss to his cheek. "Hi, asshole."

"Hi."

He grins and takes her hands in his, just smiling at her for another moment before his eyes trail down to a ring he's never seen her wear before. Ah. Right.

"Oh shit! That it?"

"That's it," Chrissy says, looking down at her hand to look at the ring with a fond, happy little smile, her cheeks flushing red. It breaks Steve a little, but it also fixes something inside him to see her so truly, genuinely happy. "Pretty huh?"

"Very," Steve breathes, hiding the lump in his throat with a sound of awe.

Chrissy hugs him again for good measure and then takes his hand to drag him into the backyard the same way she just came out front, through a little gate off to the side instead of through the house.

Steve loves their backyard because it's always covered in sheerly endless colourful strings of light that are wrapped around decorative arches or poles, framing the back doors and the canopy swing set on the lawn, and just give it the most homey and comfortable atmosphere.

"Stevie!" Eddie exclaims immediately and jumps off from his chair, interrupting a conversation he's apparently been having with Argyle and Nancy to run up to him with such a giddy expression that Steve wants to cry. His heart leaps in his chest, coming back to life and saying one last goodbye at the same time.

"Hi," he says, hugging Eddie close before he can so much as think about what he's doing. But no matter how hurt he is, there will never be a world in which he won't want to hug Eddie Munson. "Sorry I'm late."

"No sorries, it's fine," Eddie murmurs into his neck, staying in the embrace endlessly, and Steve takes the chance to breathe him in. He smells so good. So, so good. It clogs his lungs and renders him unable to speak.

But who needs to speak when they have Eddie in their arms? Who needs to speak when all they have to do is never let go?

Eddie squeezes him a little tighter, and Steve wants to cry. He slowly, gently pushes away from the hug and turns towards the other guests, greeting them with a grin, a hug, or a handshake if they're not familiar.

When he gets to Wayne, the man eyes him with a look that Steve doesn't want to read too much, and his embrace is just a little longer, just a little stronger than usual.

“You look tired, son,” he says by way of greeting, and Steve can’t help but snort and shake his head a little.

“Good to see you again, too, old man.”

Wayne eyes him for one moment longer, then breaks into a small smile and pats Steve’s shoulder before stepping around him to go grab another drink.

After that, the night passes in a blur of talking to his friends, trying to understand what the hell it is that has Nancy and Argyle arguing so profusely, but with smiles on their faces. He fails. But it’s good to see them again, so he just basks in it for a while.

Or, he tries, because every second that he’s not talking or listening to someone, his eyes flick back to Eddie. Eddie, who’s lifting Chrissy from behind and smacking a loud, wet kiss to her neck, her jaw and her cheek, accompanied by her delighted squeals and laughter.

Eddie, who’s looking larger than life, a happy grin permanently plastered on his face as he reminds their guests that Chrissy was his bisexual awakening.

“I swear, she just swept me off my feet after years of thinking I was only into dudes. Knew I had to marry her, but man, I don’t know why she said yes.”

“I’m settling, honey,” Chrissy calls from the other end of the table they’re sitting around. “Only in it for that rockstar money and all.”

The whole table laughs at that.

“Hear, hear,” Eddie snorts, lifting his glass in a toast. Steve and the others lift theirs, too, even though Steve’s hand and arm and whole body feels numb and he’s not entirely sure he’s breathing.

A while later, he grabs a drink and retreats to the canopy swing, illuminated in the soft pink flow of the fairy lights wrapped around it. Eddie’s eyes land on him for a second and Steve thinks that he’ll come over and join him — but then one of Chrissy’s friends says something that distracts him and seemingly makes him fall into a monologue of sorts.

Steve watches, feeling only loss and longing as he does. Eddie is a force of nature. A spectacle. Something beautiful, something powerful, something secret that only a select few get to witness. To know. To appreciate.

Staring as he is, blind to the rest of the world, he startles a little when the swing jostles with another weight settling on it. He didn’t see Wayne coming to join him, and he’s not quite sure whether he should be grateful for the company or apprehensive of what the man who’s like a father to him might have to say.

“How are you doing, son?”

He frowns. “I’m alright.”

Wayne only hums, and Steve’s frown deepens. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him Wayne knows something. That he knows.

“Y’know,” he continues after a while, not looking at Steve but rather at his nephew and his fiancée. “I always figured it would be you.”

Steve crumbles. Yeah, me too, he wants to say, but that would be a lie. Watching the way Chrissy sits on Eddie’s lap with his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder as he tells her something that makes her laugh that cute, pretty, adorable laugh that Eddie then can’t help but join — that’s just something Steve would never compare to. Nothing he’d ever want to come in between.

Eddie and Chrissy are perfect. They’re happy. They fit, they match, they work. They worked so hard and treat each other so right.

They look giddy and serene at the same time, and it makes Steve’s eyes sting. Because he can never make Eddie look like that. He can never make Eddie look at him like that.

I always figured it would be you.

But he couldn’t. That bubbly kind of love, the sunshine kind of love. He knows that’s not for him. Steve’s too much for that. He would never be enough for Eddie — even if without Eddie, there’s nothing left of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wayne continues, unaware of Steve’s thought spiral. “I love that girl, I do. Always will. I think she’s too good for Eddie. Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds hastily, and Steve smiles through the tears that threaten to fall again.

“They’re perfect,” he rasps, laughing wetly as Chrissy starts chasing Eddie, who’s hiding behind a very distressed Argyle, who just wants his brochachos to chill!

Maybe it’s a laugh, maybe it’s a sob. He doesn’t have it in him to find out or care.

“They are. Doesn’t mean they’re right, son.”

Steve sighs and tears his eyes away from Eddie. “Wayne.”

“I know, I know.” He lifts his hands in defence. “Shutting up.” After a long pause of holding Steve’s eyes, he asks, “Will you be okay?”

No, he thinks immediately, the lump in his throat too big to say anything. So he just shrugs and swallows. “Sure.”

Maybe. Hardly. Probably not. Definitely not.

"No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me. You’ll always have a home with an open door with me, you hear me?"

"I’m not going anywhere, wayne," Steve says, though for the first time ever he doesn't really believe that. Maybe he needs to leave. To leave Eddie behind. Get over him. Cut out his heart and leave it here, run away to heal somewhere else, come back as a new person, or just stay away forever.

The thought makes a tear spill as an empty kind of desperation spreads it’s ugly wings inside his chest, and he's too frozen to wipe it away.

"You hear me?" Wayne repeats, gentler this time, but no less urgent for it.

"Yeah," steve rasps. "Thanks."

Another tear falls as Eddie gently pulls Chrissy closer to him and kisses her in the soft glow of the fairy lights above and around them. Their friends cheer. Steve wants to cry his heart out again.

“I—“ he swallows, wiping at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. I can’t do this, he wants to say. For the first time, that’s what he wants to say. “I think I’m gonna head home soon.”

“You bring your car?”

He shakes his head, feeling foggy and dazed and empty and endlessly, endlessly sad. “Was gonna, uh—“

“Let me drive you.” There’s no room for debate or argument there, and Steve wants to crumble again, but still he shakes his head.

“Wayne, no—“

“I’m taking you, son. Make sure you get home safe, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Don’t wanna keep your old man up all night, do ya?”

Steve concedes with a fond eye roll and a grateful smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They sit like that for another ten minutes — and if Steve leans into Wayne’s side a little, then that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

The car ride is quiet, but it feels weighted even as Wayne pretends not to see the way Steve keeps wiping at his cheeks as the silent tears keep falling, leaving him powerless to stop them.

I can’t do this, he keeps thinking over and over again.

“Just a little warning,” Wayne speaks up again as he pulls up to Steve’s building. “I think he’s going to ask you to be his best man, Stevie. Don’t do anything you’re not ready for, okay?”

I can’t do this.

He nods, numb again.

“I’ll do anything for him,” he breathes.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, yeah.”

He gets out of the car before he can find out what exactly Wayne means by that. The car stays where it is until the front door closes behind him, until he’s up in his bedroom and finds Robin already asleep.

Ten minutes later, he cuddles close to her and tries hard not to cry, but tonight’s memories have burned themselves into his mind. And he shouldn’t have gone. He knows. He knows.

I’ll do anything. I can’t do this. I’ll do anything. I can’t do this.

He can’t breathe, and Robin holds him through it, whispering sleepily to him as he cries himself to sleep, wishing for a world where he’s not absolutely and utterly in love with Eddie Munson, but failing to imagine one.

I’ll do anything. Anything but this.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen come back tomorrow for idk which prompt | read part 3 here

[signanothername]

Delicate and fragile treasure, just like your little soul

Bonus sketches cause your honor… they’re both autistic af

[turtleblogatlast]

I will never be over how good Leo and Hueso’s dynamic is and how both of them get so much out of having the other in their lives.

In Leo’s case, he gains that older male figure in his life that he is willing to trust and lower his walls for. He gains a confidant where he has none elsewhere, too busy keeping up his many masks with his family to ever consider showing them his true thoughts. He gains an authority figure who is willing to hear him out, no matter how reluctant said figure initially appears.

In Hueso’s case, Leo’s direct involvement in the skeleton’s life has undoubtedly benefited Hueso so unbelievably well. For one, it’s Leo’s choice to ask Hueso for help finding his brothers that ultimately leads to the clearing of Hueso’s Hidden City ban. Then, it’s Leo and Mikey that Hueso brings on to help him with two mob bosses, ending with the bosses no longer being a problem for Hueso. And of course, through Leo’s decision to come to Hueso for advice and later the slider’s insistence that Hueso try to make up with his brother, Hueso’s estranged relationship with Piel is finally mended.

Sure, Leo causes no small amount of strife and damages to Hueso’s business and person, and Hueso is often annoyed by and speaks callously to Leo, but there’s a reason Leo feels comfortable enough to continue going to Hueso, and there’s a reason Hueso ultimately always hears Leo out.

They really do end up feeling like a nephew and uncle, don’t they?

[ragnarokhound]

Hey hun are you ready for our date tonight?

Anyways not to #wifepost twice in one day, but you could definitely write a filthy little dirty story about jason digging a bullet out of tim but it’s like a sex thing. Lots of potential for dirty dirty sex (I’m the only one allowed to leave marks on you)

Oh my god, babe!! Let me throw together a fit, this is such a nice surprise~ 😘

And twice in one day? 😳you're spoiling me, omg

Anyone who's read my 15k teen wolf fic or my soulmates!au for jaytim week this year should already know that I am a sucker for 'bullied into the bathroom and gruffly taken care of' so this scenario activates all of my symptoms at once

I could definitely write a filthy little dirty story that's just one scene i prommy it'll just be the one scene because that's all you need right

Jason busting down the door of a safehouse with Tim in hand, Tim hissing while also trying to lie to Jason that he's fine, it's just a graze--

"Bullshit," Jason snarls at him. Bullshit it was a graze. The blood on Jason's gloves says otherwise.

(AAAND I'M NOT ACTUALLY GOING TO WRITE IT TODAY BECAUSE I DO HAVE WIPS I NEED TO FINISH IN A TIMELY FASHION, BUT THANKS FOR ADDING ANOTHER ONE TO THE PILE, LOVE)

But for reference, things this ought to feature:

Tim making whimpering, bitten off and breathy moaning noises that are all rooted in pain

Jason getting angry because those noises aren't for him, not really, it's someone else's bullet lodged in Tim--

Jason getting angry because he shouldn't be thinking like that, Tim's hurt and Jason needs to take care of him, but he also needs to stop looking at Jason like that, with low, hooded eyes and tears leaking out of the corners to streak past his red, panting mouth--

Jason so afraid because Tim's eyes are fluttering closed, stay awake babybird, stay awake baby, please--

Tim waking up with Jason curled around him, a possessive hand on his neck, a protective hand on his bandages, and wishing in the privacy of his own mind that at least one of the bruises throbbing under his skin had been given to him by Jason instead

[spotaus]

Hi guys, this is usually what a doodle page ends up looking like <3 (oh, and @ancha-aus thought you might like this! Not writing but certainly fuel to my fire lol-)

This one is New Age filled!!! (Close-ups abd Lore beneath the cut!)

1) Night and Cross!

Night is actually very clingy once he's a teen. He doesn't usually realize it, but around the castle he'll snake to be closer to his Knights so long as there's no one he needs to keep his composure infront of is nearby. Cross is the one who's not used to physical touch (when it's not Ink ofc) so Night in his personal bubble makes his heart melt but also scares tf out of him <3

2) Error and Night's Meeting!

Error was carrying his whole life on his back and trying not to get arrested for unintentional property damage at this point, so when he saw the chance to get back at his brother and prove he was strong enough? Yeah, he got that on chance instantly. And was VERY smug when Nightmare chose him. (Also, Error is wearing gloves, so less Haphephobia)

3) Dream and Blue designs!

I think these are good tentative designs! Dream probably has a more regal fit, but he likes to play up that rugged exile look- He's inspired by Archers, while Blue takes on that classic Knightly-vibe. Their equipment is mostly stolen from Night's troops or brought with them from Blue's home kingdom.

Also, Dream is approx Killer's height at this point, shorter than Cross and *much* shorter than Apple!Nightmare. (Hc that Skeletons tend to be tinier in stature thanks to weird monster beauty standards. Horror and Geno's fam are outliers.)

4) Horror and Dust designs!

Horror is naturally a very *large* monster. He's very malnourished when Nightmare meets him, but by the time he's a Knight Nightmare has made sure that's no longer the case. He actually loves comfy, simple clothes, but to play up the whole 'strong mysterious' bit he wears a more barbaric Knight's garb. He doesn't mind acting scary, it's more fun that way :]. Dust is very very small, and envies horror sometimes for his size, but his tiny stature let's him control his body and move a lot quicker. He's very much based on a rogue, and usually covers the lower part of his face w/ a black cloth, and the upper part w/ his hood or mask. Dust only removes both to bathe, eat, or relax in a safe location. (Ignore that I can't draw the stupid gaster blaster lmao-)

These last two were space-fillers, but Cross and his Borzoi (Windmill, otherwise known as Milly (Killer named her-)) and really bad first wips of Ccino! I think Ccino was a chubby, happy toddler, but lost a lot of 'weight' (bone mass? Magic?) due to stress and pressure and bad eating habits. So it isn't until a while after the Coronation that he starts to relax abd feel safe enough to eat normal meals (Nightmare used to guilt him into eating snacks together, but as his boss (and younger brother) he can encourage it more often). By the time Killer shows he's still not quite healthy, but he's better. As more weight is lifted off his shoulders, the better he is. (That 'beauty' most people saw was a more stereotypical slimness, but Killer never stopped seeing Ccino as beautiful-) I think he never looked traditionally underweight, so no one noticed, and it was only much later that Night processed it. (And maybe it's why Dream hardly recognized him later on-)

[seventh-district]

Sam: "Look at me. Hey- look at me a second. I know. I know you're tough. I know how strong you are. You have every right to be proud of that. But being able to handle somethin' doesn't mean you should have to. Least of all when I'm right here trying to help. Please let me help. If not for you then for me, because I don't like knowin' you're hurtin', especially when there's somethin' I can do about it."

Me, shaking my head, fighting back literal tears: "B-but it's gonna give you another headache!"

[accio-victuuri]

sir, this has always been my wish. the people who gave birth to me are my parents. the person who teaches me is my mentor. mentor shen, let me bow to you three times. { war of faith episode 16 }

[bow-of-aros]

Come Back For Me

Summary:

They're on the staircase, guns pointed at each other, but it goes a little differently this time around. (Or - I wanted them to yell at each other more. I'm an Owen Carvour apologist first and foremost)

This musical has taken over my entire life. One Step Ahead is the only song that exists to me right now. I wanted more of a confrontation that what we got BUT I also wanted Owen to not die so this is what resulted from that. Hope that y'all enjoy <33

There they were. After years of grief and rage and praying to God for the chance to go back and change that night, Owen Carvour and Curt Mega stood on a staircase, pistols loaded, pointed directly at each other.

It was familiar, in a way. If they shifted their aim a few scant inches to the side, they were back in Italy, Japan, Finland, Guatemala, working as a team. Watching each others backs.

Owen hasn’t had anyone watching his back for a long time.

Let’s just say that it didn’t work out very well for him in the past.

“Owen,” Curt started, and Owen had to will his hands to remain steady, for his aim to stay true. Four years and it was still the same goddamn voice.

The same voice he’d argued with on their first assigned mission together, the one he’d found so arrogant and grating coming from the brash American he’d been stuck with. The same voice Owen had started to grow fond of, as time went on and the arguing shifted to bickering, light-hearted jabs as they tore through everything in their paths. The same voice that had whispered sweet nothings in his ear on the rare quiet morning where they could play at a domestic life.

He’d trusted that voice.

He’d loved that voice.

Owen was falling again, slipping on that damn banana peel and staring up at his partner as he crashed to the ground. Curt had called his name, he could remember that much.

That voice was the last thing Owen Carvour ever heard before everything inside him that mattered died.

“Please. You don’t have to do this.” And suddenly he was back in the present, Curt on the steps below him, staring up pleadingly. As he spoke, Curt’s target moved from Owen’s head to his heart and, well, wasn’t that just fitting?

He wanted to cry. Owen wanted to fall to his knees and weep about how unfair it all was, to let the rot that had been festering inside him spill out and infect everything around him.

Instead, he opted for a sneer, “Oh, don’t I? Humour me, love, what would you have me do instead?”

The old pet name found its mark with brutal accuracy and Curt flinched as though he’d been struck. Normally, this is when he would explode, when he’d close his eyes and start swinging without any regard for the consequences.

That didn’t happen. Curt took a deep breath and looked right back at Owen, eyes alight with an old fire.

Owen found himself slightly unnerved.

“You could come back with me,” Curt inched forward, freezing as Owen refocused his gun at the movement, “We could take down Chimera together. We could make things right.”

One of the fine threads holding Owens composure snapped.

“Come with you? Why on Earth would I come with you?! You left me.” Owen’s shoulders heaved and his eyes were bright, but his voice continued to hold that cold, calm fury. “Do you have any idea what they did to me? How long I was down there thinking Curt will save me. Curt will come back for me?”

“They asked me about you, you know. The great Curt Mega,” He spat out Curt’s name like poison. “I didn’t tell them shit. I knew how proud of me you’d be for not breaking but you never showed up.”

Curt’s face had gone pale, all bravado leaking out of his voice as he stammered out, “Why— Why didn’t you, uh…”

“What? Why didn’t I sell you out?” A sharp, humourless laugh escaped him, “Maybe because we were fucking partners, Curt. Maybe because, no matter what, we were supposed to have each others’ backs. Maybe it was because I was foolish enough to believe that you were only moments away from breaking down that door right up until I managed to claw myself out of there.”

Despite all Owen’s efforts, his voice hitches and he can feel the tears he’d been willing away start to roll down his cheeks.

He can count the amount of times he’d cried in front of Curt on one hand. Mostly from when Curt had to stitch up something that Owen couldn’t reach, once from a few too many drinks and the crushing weight of the lives he hadn’t been able to save.

Never because of Curt.

Not until that night, at least.

Curt’s voice comes out fractured, “Owe, I—”

“Don’t call me that.”

The shaking anger in Owen’s voice must shock Curt into silence, because he freezes with his mouth half-formed around some empty platitude. As if mere words could fix the agony that consumes Owen’s every waking moment, the lingering ache where bones had broken and never set properly.

As if words could fill the gaping chasm in his chest where love used to keep him warm and chase away the cold that had settled into his bones.

“Only people who don’t leave me to die get to call me that. Only people who stand by me no matter what get to call me that.” Owen pauses, ensuring that what he says really sinks in, “You don’t get to call me that.”

The anymore echoes unsaid between them.

Once, hearing that name fall from Curt’s lips had filled Owen with what could only be described as starlight. Something bright and beautiful, but unlike the sun where it burned if you looked for too long. He’d always adored the stars, would’ve watched them every night if given the opportunity, tracing the constellations and sitting in awe of the stories that surrounded them.

That’s how Curt had made him feel, something to be in awe of, something that could be gazed at forever without every getting tired.

Now, that name burned. It prodded at tender bruises and reopened festering wounds, dangling everything Owen had lost in front of him and then snatching it away before he could even begin to reach for it.

“Owen,” Curt corrected himself, and Owen felt that sense of loss all over again, “I swear that I wanted to come back for you, but mission protocol dictates—”

“Mission protocol?” The words were drenched in disbelief, “You know what else mission protocol dictates?”

Owen started numbering things on his fingers, angry enough to take one hand off his pistol, “Mission protocol dictates that you don’t drink on the job. It dictates that you don’t leave anything with DNA evidence behind, like a banana peel. It dictates that we set the detonation time with enough space for us to make our escape. It dictates that we keep each other safe.”

“Now, tell me again about mission fucking protocol.”

Instead of answering, Curt takes advantage of Owen’s loose grip on the gun and shoots it out of his hand. He’d always been a better shot than Owen, even though he was loathe to admit it, but he couldn’t argue that it had helped them out of tight scrapes before.

The bullet didn’t even graze his hand, hitting exactly where it had intended and leaving Owen unarmed.

Leaving him vulnerable.

“I can’t let you do this,” Curt’s voice shook, but his hands remained steady, every angle lined with determination. “I loved you. I still love you, Owen. I love you so much that I spent every night drinking myself to sleep and hoping that I wouldn’t wake up the next morning. The only time I was ever actually happy was for that brief moment after waking up and I didn’t remember that I had killed you.”

Owen opened his mouth to speak, but it snapped shut when Curt cut him a sharp look, “No. It’s my turn. I need to say this. I need you to hear this.”

And, well, what else could Owen do but nod? This is what he’d dreamt of every since he’d realized that Curt had left him behind, the knowledge that it had destroyed him as much as it had destroyed Owen.

“I was a coward. Is that what you want to hear? I was a fucking coward when I left you behind. I made a mistake and it cost me everything that mattered, and I couldn’t face it. You died, and I died with you.”

They were both crying now, years of emotions finally rising to the surface.

Curt wasn’t done. “But you’re here and you’re alive, and it’s everything I’ve been dreaming of for years. You lost everything, your beliefs were shattered, and I know it’s all my fault, but it’s not too late.”

The pistol lowered, not pointed away, but no longer aimed at his heart.

“Come with me, Owen. Please.”

And he wanted to. Despite everything, Owen ached to return to Curt, to let him fight for Owen’s trust, to fall into his arms and try to believe him when he said that everything was going to be alright.

“I can’t.”

The mask that Owen had so carefully cultivated had surely crumbled to dust by now, leaving the desperation and heartbreak he was feeling on prominent display for anyone to see.

“I’m too far gone, Curt.” He had to make Curt understand, he had to, “I’m broken. They took me apart and put me back together wrong. I have nothing to go back to, I’m a traitor to my country and dead to everyone else. You left me.”

He felt like a broken record, but when something turns your life to ash and is the foundation upon which you rebuild everything you are, it’s hard to let go of it.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you. You were everything, and then you took everything.” Owen flung his arms out to the darkness around him, “This is all I have left! I have to do this.”

Curt’s face shuttered, and Owen knows what comes next. It’s what this whole thing was leading up to, no matter how much he pretended that he could change the story.

“You know that I can’t let you do this, Owen.” Curt tightened his grip around the pistol, and something like relief washed through Owen.

Finally.

“Shoot me then,” What was meant as a taunt came out more like a plea, “Finish the job you started four years ago and just fucking kill me.”

As Curt raised the gun up higher, Owen couldn’t help but laugh.

“I always did say that you were going to be the death of me, love. Can’t say I imagined it turning out quite like this.”

And of all things, that is what made Curt falter. Maybe it was the reminder of Owen’s last words before he fell, maybe it was what Curt had said after.

I’d never let you down.

The click of the safety being engaged sounded throughout the room, and Owen watched in an odd combination of wonder and despair as it was placed back in its holster.

“What are you—”

“I won’t do it again.” Curt wouldn’t even allow Owen the decency of confusion, the fire in his voice burning through everything he thought he knew, “I will not kill you again, Owe.”

There it was. That damn name.

Owen didn’t say anything.

“I know you. I know that you are good. I know that, buried under all the hurt and the betrayal, you still want to make the world a better, safer place. And I know that you just need to remember that.” Curt stepped out of his way, tucking his hands in his pockets and leaving Owen a clear path to leave, “I know that you’ll make the right decision. You always do.”

Cautiously, bracing for an attack that never came, Owen walks past Curt, making it down the stairs and walking towards the door.

“Oh, and Owen?” Curt calls after him.

He stalls, not turning around, he’s not willing to cede that yet, but also cocking his head to the side ever so slightly to show that he was listening.

“I’ll come back for you this time. I’m never going to stop coming back for you until we’re back on the same side again, I promise.”

There were a million things Owen could say to that, from scorn to despair to turning around right then and laying all his broken pieces at Curt’s feet.

In the end, he didn’t say anything and pushed through the door, leaving Curt to his decision.

But, as Owen heard footsteps echo behind him, he finally let himself hope.

[statementlou]

Hi,

Is the liam article that you read the new one behind a pay wall? I can't access it but I would be really interested to see what it says about how things went. Would it be possible for you to tell how does it explain what led to his fall? Maybe under a cut so anyone who doesn't want to see can skip it?

Thank you and you don't obviously have to do it if you're not comfortable.

oh that's weird it wasn't blocked for me- here this should work for everyone if not lmk. @ other anon there aren't really very graphic pictures imo that's just the clickbait bs but text is below

basically he suggests that the hotel staff took Liam up to his room and then he changed into incognito type clothes (black jacket and cap) and attempted to sneak out of his room by going from the balcony along the side of the building, as we know he (and others of them) have done many times over the years, and which he apparently is documented as having done pretty recently, and presumably lost full or partial consciousness and fell. The waiter Braian who he spent time with in the weeks in Argentina talked in his first interview about Liam jamming the keycard slot in his door previously, which would explain the part here where employees say they can't get into his room.

It is a picture that will shock music fans around the world: the late British pop star Liam Payne being manhandled through a hotel lobby by three men, just minutes before his fatal fall from a third-floor balcony.

The tragic image, which has been given to the Daily Mail, was taken from CCTV footage recorded inside the CasaSur Palermo Hotel in Buenos Aires where Payne was staying at the time of his death on October 16.

High on drugs, Payne, whose face we have chosen to obscure, appears to have been picked up by the trio of hotel employees – he had, according to one witness, been ‘convulsing’ on the lobby floor. He was taken, via the elevator, back to his third-floor suite. 

The question is, why did they move him at all, if he was so ill? Why did the hotel not call an ambulance straight away?

The timestamp on the still image shows 16:54:48. Bizarrely, however, a second picture taken from CCTV outside Liam's room shows the three employees and Payne at 16:54:37. In other words, apparently eleven seconds before they were in the lobby.

The journey from the lobby to the third floor takes at least 90 seconds, according to one guest. Clearly at least one of the timestamps is incorrect.

In an image that will shock music fans around the world, the late British pop star Liam Payne is manhandled through the CasaSur Palermo Hotel lobby by three men, just minutes before his fatal fall from a third-floor balcony. One witness claimed he had been 'convulsing' on the floor

He was taken, via the elevator, back to his third-floor suite. The tragic footage given to the Daily Mail was taken from CCTV recorded inside the hotel in Buenos Aires - where Payne was staying at the time of his death on October 16

This picture outside Liam's room shows the three employees and Payne at 16:54:37. In other words, apparently eleven seconds before they were in the lobby. The journey from the lobby to the third floor takes at least 90 seconds, according to one guest. Clearly at least one of the timestamps is incorrect

What we know for certain is that shortly after 17:00, Payne fell 13 metres from the balcony of his room into the hotel's inner courtyard. He died instantaneously.

At 17:11, an ambulance arrived and certified the singer's death. A subsequent autopsy found Payne had suffered 'multiple traumas' causing 'internal and external bleeding.' The toxicology report found traces of 'alcohol, cocaine and prescription antidepressant.'

Just days after Payne's funeral, which took place on Wednesday at St Mary's Church in Amersham, Buckinghamshire, the images perhaps offer a somewhat clearer picture of what happened leading up to the tragic accident. They also raise two serious questions.

To repeat, the first is why would hotel staff – who expressed concern in their call to the emergency services that Payne could come to serious harm on his suite's balcony – take the intoxicated singer up to his room and leave him there alone?

And second, for reasons I will explain, did Liam fall from the balcony while attempting to leave the hotel undetected - a trick he had been pulling since his days in One Direction and which he had repeated just a month previously to evade a concerned bodyguard in Florida?

If the CCTV timestamp is accurate, the sequence of events begins at 15:53 on October 16 when Liam enters the hotel with his friend, the Argentine-American businessman Roger Nores.

Liam is at this point wearing a black cap – which he donned to avoid being recognised by his legions of Latin American fans – and carrying a small bag containing his personal belongings.

The star appears in good spirits and chats with fans in the lobby before heading up to his room with Nores shortly after 16:00.

Payne died after he fell from the balcony of his third-floor suite - just minutes after hotel staff escorted the pop star through the lobby

Payne's suite was found in disarray, with drug paraphernalia strewn across one of the tables. Furniture had also been destroyed

A few minutes later, at 16:05 if the timestamp is right, the pair return to the lobby. Liam has brought his laptop down with him and – crucially, where this timeline is concerned – left his cap and bag up in his third-floor suite.

He continues to chat with a small group of American fans, discussing his life in Florida, where the singer was renting a $12,000 a month house with his girlfriend, the American influencer Kate Cassidy.

At 16:06, Nores says goodbye to Liam and leaves the hotel. At this time, Liam remains in good spirits and continues to interact with hotel guests. At 16:26, Liam is pictured lounging in the lobby, scrolling on his laptop.

Two minutes later at 16:28, Liam is photographed making one of what witnesses later described as three or four trips up to his room in a roughly 30-minute period. Each time he returns to the lobby, his behaviour appears increasingly erratic.

At one point, a witness recalled Payne receiving an email to which he exclaims: 'F*** this s*** mate,' before striking his computer on the floor.

In a separate outburst, he tells another hotel guest: 'I used to be in a boyband – that's why I'm so f***** up.'

It now appears that on the occasions Payne is said to have gone up to his room, he is likely to have been ingesting narcotics. The next known picture of him is this desperately sad one of him being hauled away by the hotel staff at 16:54:48.

Two of the men pictured carrying Payne away are dressed in the uniform of CasaSur reception staff. The Mail understands that one of the two is chief receptionist Esteban Grassi. The third man – wearing trainers, shorts and a T-shirt – works as a masseur in the hotel spa.

A vigil is held by fans for Payne in Buenos Aires the day after his death. Mourners were filmed singing his songs in candle-light

Heartbreaking moment Liam Payne fans break down in tears at vigil

A few minutes after taking the singer back to his room, the hotel put in a call to the emergency services.

'I'm calling you from the hotel CasaSur Palermo,' says chief receptionist Esteban Grassi. 'So, we have a guest who is high on drugs and who is trashing the room. Erm, so we need someone to come.'

The line then cuts out, but Grassi calls 911 again and continues: 'We need you to send someone urgently because, well, I don't know whether his life may be in danger, the guest's life. He is in a room with a balcony and well, we're afraid he might do something.'

The transcript from the 911 call shows that the operator asked reception staff whether they could gain access to Payne's room. The staff replied that they could not.

But why on earth, if Esteban Grassi was indeed concerned that Payne's life was in danger because his room had a balcony, did the hotel allow the singer to be taken up to that room and seemingly left there? And why would they call 911 just a couple of minutes after doing so? At the time of writing, the hotel has not responded to a request for comment.

It would surely have been more appropriate to hold the 'convulsing' Payne in the lobby and call an ambulance immediately. Did hotel staff prioritise keeping the lobby clear for other guests over Payne's safety and well-being?

The Mail understands that no members of the CasaSur hotel staff – including the three men who carried Payne away – are being investigated by Argentine authorities.

Three individuals have been labelled as 'people of interest' in Payne's death. They include 24-year-old Brian Nahuel Paiz and 21-year-old Ezequiel David Pereyra, both on suspicion of dealing Payne drugs.

An Instagram post by 24-year-old Brian Nahuel Paiz, who stands beside the late singer before he fell to his death last month. The post reads: 'Fly high, Chief. Thank you for having enlightened me and for crossing you into my reality. I will always remember you'

The third man is Roger Nores, who – despite having left the hotel long before Payne's erratic behaviour began – has been accused of 'abandonment of a person before death'.

Nores strongly denies the allegation and told the Mail two weeks ago: 'I never abandoned Liam, I went to his hotel three times that day and left 40 minutes before this happened. There were over 15 people at the hotel lobby chatting and joking with him when I left.'

The prolific entrepreneur – who in 2017 featured in the Forbes '30 under 30' list of influential young people for his role in the energy industry – continued: 'I could have never imagined something like this would happen. I'm really heart-broken with this tragedy, and I've been missing my friend every day.'

But while the behaviour of hotel staff leaves more questions than answers, this new picture published by the Mail today leads back to that second question – and a new possibility as to what actually happened when the singer died.

Quite clearly, the picture shows that as the pop-star is taken back to his room, he is neither wearing his black cap or clutching his bag.

And yet, when Payne's body was recovered by the emergency services at 17:11, he was found to be wearing the black cap and to have on his person the small bag he used when out and about.

In other words, it appears that between being returned to his hotel room and being found dead, Liam Payne got dressed to go out.

Could it be that Liam Payne slipped while attempting to leave the CasaSur hotel via his balcony, in a bid to avoid detection by hotel staff?

The Mail understands that hotel staff remained outside his room – according to a statement in the prosecutor's file – seemingly to ensure he did not return to the lobby and disturb other guests.

Police found a host of drug paraphernalia in Payne's room, including burnt pieces of tin foil and traces of white powder. It is certainly plausible Payne may have panicked in his paranoid state and made an ill-fated attempt to purposefully climb out of his room from his balcony.

In a further revelation, a source close to Payne has confirmed to the Mail that the pop star frequently climbed out of hotel balconies in order to avoid detection. In fact, it was a trick he and his bandmates learnt in the early days of their fame to evade their management team while on tour with One Direction. And, shockingly, the Mail can reveal it is also a trick Payne used just one month prior to his death in Florida.

My source revealed that on September 15, while staying at his rental property in Palm Beach, Payne wanted to go out and purchase drugs. His bodyguard, aware of the singer's problem with narcotics and attempts to stay clean, had closed the door to his room and urged the singer not to go out looking for a 'hit'.

Undeterred, my source says the singer escaped via his balcony, stringing a set of sheets together to act as a rope.

Further proof of Liam's high-risk stunts emerged shortly after his death when a picture resurfaced from 2014 showing the then 20-year-old singer standing on a narrow exterior ledge of the 34th floor of his London apartment building – some 350 ft in the air.

The photograph was taken following a night of raucous celebrations marking One Direction bandmate Zayn Malik's 21st birthday.

Later that day, the singer issued an apology to his impressionable young fans, saying: 'You may have seen a photo of me today, taken on top of a building. I regret being there and having a photo taken of me.'

'I do not endorse any fans trying to repeat this as it is extremely dangerous,' Payne's apology continued. 'It was a stupid and irresponsible thing to do. I am sorry.'

Fans have since taken to social media to point out the tragic foreshadowing between the 2014 picture and Liam's death five weeks ago.

The truth is that no one will ever know for sure what Liam Payne's intentions were on that fateful afternoon of October 16. However, the release of this latest picture from the CasaSur hotel lobby helps fill a hole in the sequence of events that led to his fatal fall.

One thing is for sure, the image of Payne as he is taken out of the lobby, at a time when he appears to have needed care and immediate medical attention, raises new and profound questions about where responsibility lies in the tragic tale of the deeply troubled star.What the fuck

[sillyguysss]

Drops Genesis Rhapsodos hurt no comfort angst in your lap

Runs away

[not-poignant]

Daily excerpt from chapter 8 of Underline the Gold:

Temsen made a sound between his teeth, and then he huffed.  'Goodness, how brutal, this is fully corrupt, isn't it? All right, there's nothing else for it. Both of you are coming to the medical suite and we'll allocate you one of the proper rooms. I'm not happy with it continuing here, at any rate. Not when you have an omega whose organs are still recovering from severe malnutrition. This could progress to organ failure, and I'd like to take some blood to make sure it hasn't.'  'You could take the blood here,' Anton said.  'I admire how protective you're being,' Temsen said, like someone who didn't admire it that much at all. 'But your job is to care for your omega's welfare, and right now you need to put the physical first. You can care about his mind as much as you want once I know he won't die on us. Get some blankets, I expect you'll be fine carrying him?' Anton didn't answer, but he must have done something, because Temsen left the room a moment later.  'I'm sorry,' Flitmouse managed. 'I'm so sorry.'  'This is so far from being your fault,' Anton said, ruffling Flitmouse's sweat-damp hair. 'Come on, I know this sucks, but Temsen's one of the best.' 

[moonsavior]

Happy Snowhunt Day! I'm on to you

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

*sad Victorian child voice* Please, I need some more Prince Soma x reader, with Soma rescuing reader from her abusive home life. When I first was in high school and gushing over the prince, I always imagined a passionate love affair that at first is limited to letters (perhaps they met through Cole who is a mutual friend that introduced them to cheer up reader) And then eventually this beautiful man shows up on a white horse (elephant? It’s Soma after all, he’d save you in the loudest most obnoxious way possible) to save the day.

well reach into my chest and rip out my heart why don'tcha

I love this so much tho he's such a good boy!!! <3

You feel bad about it, but you’ve sometimes thought that you should burn all the letters that SOMA has sent you.

It would be better than your family finding them, wouldn’t it? Your parents have always tried to crush any good thing you’ve had. If they found these messages from a man you’ve fallen in love with, if they read the contents of these letters, they would put a stop to it immediately. That’s the only reason you’ve considered burning the letters after reading them.

You can’t bring yourself to do it, though. Every word that Soma has ever written you is like a ray of sunlight shining into your life. That very first one he ever sent you started with, Dearest (Name), We do not know each other yet, but I’m hoping to change that. My name is Prince Soma Asman Kadar, and my close friend Maurice Cole asked if I would write you because he knows you’re lonely and your family does not treat you nicely. So, I am writing you in the hopes that I can be your friend! Hello! It’s very nice to meet you!

God, if only you’d known what would follow. In the beginning, Soma became a good friend of yours… one of the few you have. You can remember writing Maurice and thanking him, mentioning that if Soma didn’t want to continue talking to you, he was free to tell Soma to stop sending letters.

However, the prince’s enthusiasm for speaking with you became clearer and clearer with every letter he sent. He uses too many exclamation points, perhaps because he’s always excited about everything. About talking to you, in particular, it seems. Soon enough these friendly correspondences slowly transitioned into ardent love letters.

People would be shocked to see the things you and Soma write to each other. He has no sense of shame; you think that’s one of the things you love about him. He wants to kiss you, all over your body, and he says so plainly as many times as he can, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

No matter how isolated and worthless you feel at home, trapped here despite being an adult who should be out on her own by now, you can always count on Soma to tell you how much he loves you. You haven’t burned those letters because Soma’s love has brought you back to life, and rereading them when you feel alone and unlovable has pulled you back from the edge of despair so many times.

When the latest one arrives, however, you’re not sure what to think except that your mind is trying to panic. This letter is uncharacteristically short for Soma, and there isn’t a single exclamation point to be seen.

Dearest (Name), Princess of My Heart,

Your pain is almost over.

We are going to be together soon, I promise.

And when I come to you, “happily ever after” will be yours at last.

Wait for me, priya.

Love Forever,

Soma

Weeks pass after that letter, without another one. It’s not unusual to go for a week or sometimes two without any messages from Soma, so you try to tell your heart to settle down.

This time just feels different. That last letter you got from him carried some air of finality, and although he’s said similar things that the two of you will be together soon, the way he wrote this one sounds like a sacred vow.

Like he really is on his way, after all this time.

You’re rereading it for what feels like the millionth time, up in your room, when suddenly, you hear something outside which sounds like… the trumpet of an elephant?

Your heartbeat freezes as you remember Soma mentioning that he owns elephants. There was at least one letter he sent you wherein that he made you a solemn promise that he’d take you riding on one someday after he came to rescue you.

Sometimes you think all that talk was just that ― prattle of things that would never actually happen, even if they were nice to think about.

Then you hear the door open downstairs, and someone is calling for you. “(Name)! Excuse me, ma’am, I’m here to see (Name) (Surname)! Yes, I am Prince Soma Asman Kadar! She knows me very well. (Name)! Priya, I’m here! I’m finally here!”

You’ve never gone down the stairs as fast as you do upon hearing all of this. So that’s what Soma’s voice sounds like…? That beautiful accent of his, that bubbly tone, the way you can hear him smiling even though you can’t see him yet. There’s no mistake.

That’s him. That’s your prince, trying to fight his way past the maids.

You’re down into the foyer before any of the staff can summon your parents. “Soma!”

You race toward him, this gorgeous man you’ve never seen before but who your heart would know even if you were blind. His hair is violet, his eyes are gold, and his smile is just as incredible as you’ve dreamed about.

“Soma!” You’re crying as you run into his arms. He catches you like he’s been waiting his whole life to hold you, and you can feel him kissing your head while you bury your face in his neck. You may be holding him too tightly. You don’t care. “Is it really you…?”

His laugh vibrates through your entire being. However tightly you’re holding him, he must be holding you twice as tightly. His arms feel so secure, some safe place you’ve never known until him. You’ve dreamed about this moment a thousand times.

“It’s me, priya. I’m finally here!” As soon as you move your face from his neck, he leans down to kiss you. Your whole body responds, arching into him. You swear your soul is a flower turning toward the light of his. He kisses you ferociously, yearningly, and his hands press in against your back. When you draw apart, his eyes sparkle at you. “I’m sorry we had to wait so long. But guess what? I’ve come to take you away.”

Your heart almost stops again. He can’t mean…? “Take… take me away?” Is this happening? Are you actually going to leave this horrible place and start a life with Soma like the two of you have talked about?

He nods eagerly. “Yes! I have a ring for you at the townhouse, but… there are lots of things to plan. You’re going to come be with me, though, from now on. You won’t stay here with people who don’t treat you like a princess. Are you ready to ride on an elephant?” he grins. As if it’s the most normal question in the world.

You don’t even know what to say. All you can do is let your tears fall down your face as you return his nod, and he reaches up to cup your face in his hands.

The way he looks at you is a way you never knew anyone could look at you. It becomes apparent to you that as much as you’ve been searching for your prince, he’s been searching for his princess. The two of you have been waiting for each other, and you can finally be together.

“I’m going to take you away from here,” he murmurs, before kissing you again. “We’re going to get married, priya. We’re going to find a big, beautiful house of our own, and we’re going to have babies, and you’ll never have to worry about anything ever again. I’m going to take care of you, and I’m going to tell you every day how much I love you.”

It sounds perfect. Too perfect. This isn’t another dream, is it?

You break your gaze from him, only to look over at the shocked maids. “… Tell my parents that I’ve run off with a prince, and I am never speaking to them again.”

To their credit, the maids exchange one glance with each other before nodding. “Good luck, Lady (Name).”

Soma sweeps you up into his arms, and right out the door.

Part of you feels a little bad that you’re leaving the letters he wrote you behind.

But you don’t need them anymore.

You’ve got him now, and you have no doubts that he’ll make you feel just as loved as you felt reading his letters.

‘Happily ever after’ was never an ending, you think. It’s the beginning of the rest of your life.