#he deserves all the love and healing he can get

[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (eight)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

It takes another week for your bruises to disappear entirely and for you to get comfortable enough to join Rafe downstairs while he’s working away with Jerry.

He didn’t mind though, he liked watching you heal, loved seeing you devour whatever he cooked for you. It was almost like he was healing himself too.

Rafe glances up from under the hood of the Chevy, the clang of metal on metal breaking the heat of the afternoon.

He isn’t sure what draws his attention, but there you are, sitting on the porch steps with sunlight catching in your hair, watching him and Jerry work like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

It devastates him—how much happier you look. A week ago, you'd barely let him leave your side without that haunted look creeping back into your eyes. 

You sit there comfortably, legs stretched out, looking eerily like the girl he remembered from so long ago. Almost.

He wipes his hands on the rag tucked into his pocket, taking a moment to breathe you in. Seeing you there, in his space, still feels unreal.

Somehow, the universe had given him a second chance when he’d never thought he’d get one, hee wants to keep you that way, safe, comfortable, smiling.

“Rafe,” Jerry’s voice pulls him back to work, and he tears his gaze from you reluctantly, not before he catches the way your lips quirk just a little more when you realize he’s been watching.

He ducks his head back under the hood, focusing on the busted engine. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but the truth is, he’s already planning what to make you for dinner. Maybe spaghetti?

You’d eaten three helpings of it the other night like you couldn’t get enough. He’ll make extra.

He grins to himself, a small, private thing, as he tightens the bolt on the alternator. He isn’t usually one for kitchen work but he’d been experimenting ever since you got here, he'd been cooking more than ever.

Figured out how to make pancakes the way you liked them, even if it meant burning the first couple batches, learned the trick to getting mashed potatoes just right, and spaghetti? He can make that blindfolded by now, if it means seeing you sitting, all full and satisfied, looking at him like he’s doing something right for once.

He peeks your way again, can’t help it.

God, he could write poetry about you if he had the words, if he was smart enough for that shit. Something about how your skin soaks up the sun like it’s meant just for you, or how you make the whole world quiet just by sitting there, looking at him.

You stretch, raising your arms over your head and his chest hurts so good. You don’t know what you’re doing to him, do you? You have no idea how much he wants to drop this wrench, cross the yard, and pull you into his arms, just to feel you against him, like the good old days.

“Rafe,” Jerry calls again, this time a little more assertive.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” He mutters, running a hand through his hair, smearing grease. The old man shoots him a look but says nothing.

He blames you, how is a guy supposed to focus with you sitting there like that? Looking all pretty and sweet, like you belong nowhere else but on his porch, waiting on him to finish up.

He wonders if you’d blush if he told you.

Maybe later, at dinner, he’ll get you talking about something—something that makes your eyes light up and your hands move like they always do when you got excited. Not the whole thing, of course, not the part about how he wants to keep you here forever, how he spent the last week falling asleep next to you, scared out of his mind to wake up and you’d be gone.

He can’t say that, not yet.

He still doesn’t feel deserving, the years haven’t dimmed you a bit—if anything, you’re brighter, and stronger, especially after what had happened, after you showed up on his doorstep with bruises and trembling hands, you’re still here, looking at him like he’s someone worth trusting.

He can’t stop thinking about what your parents said, all those years ago. How they’d made him feel like the scum on their shoes, but he isn’t that same kid anymore, is he? He built a life here, fixed cars, learned to cook, stayed out of trouble. You came back to him.

The sound of pawsteps across gravel draws his attention before he even realizes he’s been listening for it. A familiar shadow pads around the corner of the garage—a big mutt with a patchy brown coat, floppy ears, and a wagging tail that never quits.

Rafe chuckles under his breath. “Look who finally decided to wake up,” he drawls, wiping his hands on his jeans as the dog, Ace, makes his way toward you, bypassing him completely.

Traitor.

You sit up straighter on the steps, blinking at the unexpected visitor, “Who’s this?”

“That’s Ace, the one I told you about,” He explains, leaning against the Chevy, arms crossed. “Sleeps in the garage most nights. Jerry feeds him scraps when he thinks I ain’t lookin’.”

“Bull,” Jerry mutters from under the hood, but Rafe just grins.

Ace stops a few feet away from you, his tail still wagging but slower now, careful, he sniffles the air, head tilting as if he’s sizing you up.

You extend a hand tentatively, and Rafe’s heart damn near fucking stops when Ace leans forward, his big nose brushing your fingers like he’s been waiting all his life to meet you.

“Oh,” you breath, your lips curving into a blinding smile as you tenderly scratch behind his ears. Ace practically melts, pressing his head into your palm like you’re the best thing that had ever happened to him and Rafe feels like someone punched him, at least a hundred times, square in the chest.

Even the fucking dog is in love with you.

“He’s sweet,” you coo as you stroke Ace’s scruffy coat. “Aren’t you, boy?”

The dog lets out a contented huff, flopping onto the ground at your feet like he’s ready to stay there forever, Rafe can’t blame him.

“He doesn’t warm up to folks like that,” He finds himself admitting, “Usually takes him a while to trust people. Guess he’s got good taste.”

You look up at him, and there it is—that little spark in your eyes that makes his knees weak. “He must take after his owner, then.”

He lets out a noise, between a laugh and a swallow, scratching the back of his neck, looking down at the ground because he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll probably do something stupid, maybe kiss you right there in front of Jerry and the whole damn yard.

“Nah,” he concedes finally, “Dog’s got way more sense than me.”

You laugh, that sound was always better than any song he ever heard, even if you haven’t laughed like that in a long time.

“You’ve got your moments.” You tease, still scratching the mutt behind his ears.

“Moments, huh?” He smirks, slow and lazy, the way that always makes you blush. 

Your cheeks are still flushed, just like he hoped they would, and you shake your head, but he doesn’t miss the way your grin only grows.

God, you’re so beautiful it hurts. He wants to bottle this moment up and keep it forever—the sun on your skin, Ace curled up at your feet, and that look in your eyes.

Jerry clears his throat loudly, and Rafe drags his attention away, turning back to the engine with a muttered, “Don’t you got somethin’ better to do, old man?”

Jerry snorts. “Not when you’re makin’ moon eyes at her like that, might as well sell tickets.”

He shoots him a glare, his ears turning pink, and you cackle again, a little louder this time. It’s worth the ribbing, worth all of it, just to hear that sound. Rafe sighs, long and dramatic. "Don’t you have a crossword or somethin' to keep your mouth busy?"

The old man sniggers, his laugh scratchy and full of life as you look between the two of them, enjoying the show.

“So,” you pipe up, resting your chin on your hand, comfortable enough around Jerry to finally ask, “How did you two meet? Officially, I mean.”

“Cameron didn’t tell you?”

He groans, already regretting everything. “Oh, come on—don’t—”

“Shut up, kid,” Jerry clicks his tongue, waving him off, turning turned to you, his eyes already sparkling with mischief in the late afternoon sun. “It was, what, five years ago? Somethin’ like that. I was in the middle of the hardware store, cussin’ out a kid who bagged up the wrong screws for me.”

Rafe ducks his head, mumbling, “It wasn’t that bad.”

Jerry ignores him, his hands moving as he speaks. “And here comes this scrappy little punk, all long limbs and attitude. He’s hanging around the counter, lookin’ like he’s ready to swipe somethin’. I figured, well, either he’s desperate or he’s an idiot, so I hollered at him.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Rafe. “Scrappy little punk? I remember that.”

He sends a faux glare your way, “Don’t gloat him on.”

“Could’ve called the cops on him,” Jerry goes on, enjoying himself. “But I didn’t. Somethin’ about him looked...he just needed a break. I handed him a sandwich instead. Figured, worst-case scenario, he’d run off and I’d be down a couple bucks.

“But he didn’t.”

Jerry beams, “He sat right there on the curb and ate the whole damn thing like he hadn’t had a meal in days. Then, after he was done, he asked me if I had any work for him.”

You try to keep your expression even, but your throat tightens a little as you take a peek at Rafe’s reaction. He isn’t looking at you, his hands are busy wiping grease from a bolt that needs no more attention.

Your mind paints a picture you don’t want to see: him, still just a teenager, sitting alone on a curb in a strange town, starving, with no one to turn to. You remember the boy you’d known back then—the one who laughed loudly, talked too big, and held your hand like you were the only thing he had in the world.

The thought of him losing all of that, of losing you and ending up so desperate, breaks something inside you.

Jerry isn’t oblivious; he sees the flinch when he mentions Rafe’s first meal here. He catches how your shoulders tense, how Rafe avoids looking at you, the old man has a knack for reading people, so, still with a knowing smile, he pivots.

“Speakin’ of this kid’s early days,” Jerry claps his hands, “Y’know, I had half a mind to send him back to whatever dock he washed up from.”

His free hand dragged down his face. “C’mon, Jerry—”

“No, no, she’s gotta hear this,” Jerry insists, grinning again now. “You ever heard the phrase, ‘bull in a china shop’? That was this one.” He jerks his thumb toward him. “I handed him a wrench, told him to take off the oil pan on an old Ford. Figured, simple job, even he couldn’t screw it up.”

You tilt your head, curious despite yourself. “And?”

“The next thing I know, I hear this god-awful bang—like a car had fallen off the lift. I run over, and there’s Rafe, sittin’ on the ground, oil pan in one hand, half the damn exhaust in the other.”

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, your eyes widening. “No!”

“I was new!” he defends, albeit childishly, his neck turning a faint shade of pink. “I didn’t know cars back then, alrigh’? Boats are different.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jerry chaffs, “Different enough that I had to spend half my day puttin’ that exhaust back together.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but there’s a sheepish tilt on his lips. “You’re lucky I didn’t quit after that.”

“You?” Jerry cackles, slapping his knee. “You were lucky I didn’t fire you!”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you,�� Rafe grumbles, though his tone is more affectionate than annoyed. “She doesn’t need to hear every stupid thing I did.”

Jerry winks at you, “Stick around long enough, and I’ve got plenty more stories where that came from.”

Rafe sighs dramatically, shaking his head, he turns back to the car, he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke if it makes you laugh.

You’re still petting Ace, murmuring something that he can’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. The way your lips move, the gentle tilt of your head—it’s enough to send his heart hammering.

He doesn’t know what he did to get you back in his life, but he’s sure as hell not going to mess it up. Not this time.

Ace moves at your feet, rolling onto his back, his tail thumping against the ground and you laugh again, that heart-wrenching melodic sound.

He doesn’t even care that Jerry caught him “makin’ moon eyes” earlier—because this is what love looks like, he’ll gladly wear the fool.

“Everything okay over there?” you call, a teasing tilt in your voice.

He clears his throat, coming up with something to say,  “Yeah, just—uh, makin’ sure Jerry doesn’t mess up the alternator.”

Jerry barks a laugh from behind the car. “Kid, I’ve been doin’ this since before you could walk. Go ahead, tell her about the time you tried to put windshield wiper fluid in the oil tank.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe mutters as your snort spills out, unrestrained and perfect. He wants to record that sound, keep it for the nights when his demons get too loud.

Jerry pops back up, smirking as he wipes his hands on a rag. “She oughta know what she’s dealin’ with.”

He shakes his head, the faintest grin on his lips. “She knows enough. Don’t you, darlin’?”

The nickname slips out without him meaning to, but it feels right. 

“Yeah, I do.”

Jerry slaps him on the back, pulling him out of his head. “Alright, kid. Let’s fire her up, see if she’ll run.”

He nods, tossing the wrench onto the workbench. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

He steps around to the driver’s side, sliding into the worn seat, the key turns in the ignition, and the old Chevy grumbles to life, sputtering a little before settling into a steady rumble.

Jerry whoops, giving the hood an affectionate pat.

You’re clapping, beaming brighter than the sun dipping low on the horizon, the pride in your eyes, you’re looking at him like he just moved mountains instead of fixing an old truck—it’s overwhelming.

He kills the engine, stepping out of the car, wiping his hands on his jeans as he crosses the yard, Jerry mutters something about grabbing a beer and heads inside, leaving the two of you alone with the fading light and the lazy wag of Ace’s tail.

Rafe stops, suddenly nervous, scratching the back of his neck, his attention flickering between you and the ground. 

“I like watching you work. You look happy.”

Happy, such a simple word, but hearing it from you feels monumental, you’re giving him something he didn’t even know he was missing.

“Yeah, guess I’m not used to having an audience,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small, sheepish grin.

You tilt your head, studying him and he feels completely exposed, knowing you remembre all the cracks, every scar, every damn thing about him, but instead of turning away, you lean forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand.

��You’re good at it, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Everything.”

He looks away, swallowing hard, “Already promised I’d make you that pasta again, don’t need to butter me up, princess.”

You roll your eyes, as you wave him off. “Don’t let it go to your head, country boy.”

He chuckles, the sound wrapping around you. “Too late for that.”

Ace stirs at your feet, letting out a happy huff as your hand absentmindedly scratches his belly. Rafe watches the way you’re with the dog, so effortless and full of love, and his heart swells.

“Y’know,” he says, his voice more serious, “it’s nice, havin’ you here. Feels... right.”

You brush a strand of hair out of your face, glancing down at Ace before looking back up at him. “It feels right to me too,” you admit.

Rafe’s breath catches, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to touch but doesn’t know how. Instead, he clears his throat, tilting his head toward the garage. 

“Guess I should, uh, finish cleanin’ up.”

You nod, smiling a little. “Don’t let me stop you, grease monkey.”

He gives you a tongue-in-cheek smirk, the side of his cheek puffing out slightly, shaking his head as he stands, but not before he leans down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, and whispers, “Keep callin’ me that, and I might start likin’ it.”

He knows exactly what he's doing when your lips part in a gasp as he leans in, how your eyes widen before you try act unaffected—it’s like you’re both teens again. He didn’t mean to flirt, not at first, but the way you look at him, it’s impossible not to. 

He pulls back, letting his smirk settle into place, giving you that lazy, self-assured grin you always pretended to hate when you were younger.

By the time you think of a comeback, he’s already halfway to the workbench, his smug grin unmistakable even from a distance.

Jerry returns with a beer in hand, catching the tail end of your flustered expression. “What’d he say this time?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly as you scratch Ace behind the ears again.

“Uh-huh,” Jerry says knowingly, settling into his chair and shaking his head with a chuckle.

Dinner comes slow but is worth the wait.

The sun's long since tucked itself away, and by now, the house smells like garlic and tomatoes, the scent that makes you feel like you’re right where you belong. 

Rafe stands in the kitchen, his back to you as he plates up the spaghetti he promised. He’s in a worn t-shirt and jeans, the grease scrubbed from his hands but still faintly streaked along his forearm.

He’d gone all out—spaghetti with his homemade sauce, garlic bread, and even a side salad, though he figured that would mostly be for show. 

“Hope you’re hungry,” he calls, leaning on the doorframe as you appear from the hallway, fresh-faced and relaxed after cleaning up from earlier. You smile at him, and his heart stutters like it always does when you stare at him like that, turning with two plates balanced in his hands, “One gourmet pasta dish, comin’ up.”

You laugh, sitting cross-legged at the table. “Big words for a guy who learned how to boil water when he was seventeen.”

“Now, that’s just mean.” He sets the plates down with mock offense, but there’s a light in his eyes, the kind that only shows up when you’re here.

The first bite is heaven—simple, hearty, comforting.

You can’t help the little sigh that escapes as you twirl more noodles around your fork. He watches from across the table, leaning back in his chair, one hand loosely gripping his beer. He’s not subtle about it either, letting his eyes wander over you like he’s cataloging every detail.

“This is amazing,” you say after swallowing. “Seriously. You’ve been holding out on me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a bite of his own. “Nah, just figured if I burned a few meals first, you’d lower your expectations. Keep the bar manageable.”

“If this is you being ‘manageable,’ I’m almost scared to see what happens when you’re trying.”

“Careful, princess,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Might start thinkin’ you’re tryna keep me in the kitchen.”

“Well, you do look good in an apron,” you bite back a shit-eating grin as his face warms ever so slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, stabbing a piece of garlic bread and pointing it at you playfully. “Keep it up, see what happens.”

He takes a sip of his drink, watching the way your shoulders relax, and how you reach for another piece of bread without hesitation. It’s everything he wanted when he planned this—just to see you like this, comfortable, at home.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” you say after a moment, gesturing toward the food. “It’s kind of... surprising.”

Rafe shrugs, his lips twitching into a crooked smirk. “Figured it was time I learned somethin’ useful. Can’t live off fast food forever, y’know?”

You tilt your head, studying him. “You’ve changed.”

He doesn’t look at you right away, focusing instead on twirling his fork through his pasta. “Time does that, I guess. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it ain’t.”

“I think it’s good,” you say, and the sincerity in your voice makes him glance up. Your eyes meet, and there’s something there—something that makes his chest feel all empty and full at once.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I like this version of you. Feels like you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

You talk about the past like as if it’s something distant, like it doesn’t still linger in the cracks of who you’ve become. He hates it—hates the way your voice wavers. Hates that, for five years, you’d been fighting to survive while he wasn’t there to stop it.

He should be grateful for the words, for the way you look at him like he’s the version of himself you can believe in. But all he can think about is how wrong you are. How he was supposed to be there—not here. If he says it out loud, the mood will drop, and the hope in your voice will disappear. He can’t take that from you—not when you’ve fought so hard to get here.

So instead, he swallows the words.

You’re still smiling and he lets himself pretend that this is how it’s always been—that you’ve never known anything but moments like this, safe and warm. The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he watches you, but that tightness in his chest refuses to ease.

“You’ve got something...” He gestures vaguely, and when you blink at him in confusion, he reaches for his napkin. “On your lip.”

You laugh, startled, and quickly swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Did I get it?”

“Nah,” he says, smirking as he leans forward slightly. “Other side.”

You try again, this time swiping with your thumb, but it’s no use.

He chuckles low, shaking his head, his heart squeezing as he watches your eyes crinkle at the edges. He’d give anything to go back and rewrite the past, so you’d never know the pain you went through.

“C’mere,” he says softly, his voice warm like the honey he used to sneak into your tea.

Before you can whine in protest, he’s reaching across the table, thumb brushing gently against the corner of your lips. His touch stays a second longer than it should, his eyes locked on yours and he doesn’t pull back. 

Instead, his hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone.

You don’t pull away, and that quiets the voice in his head screaming at him to back off, to give you space. The last thing he wants is to upset you. Your breathing hitches slightly, your attention flickering to his lips, and that’s all it takes to shake whatever restraint he has left.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, feeling a desperate need for your permission. “I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, just barely, the motion subtle but enough, “You don’t have to.”

Five years. Five years of silence, of distance, of trying to live in a world that didn’t feel like home without the other. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to turn away. But you don’t—you couldn’t if you tried, not with the warmth of his palm against your skin, the way his breath ghosts over your lips.

And then, finally, his mouth meets yours.

The kiss is not as gentle as he expected.

It’s desperate like the years apart have snapped every ounce of longing into something unbearable. His lips move against yours with a reckless abandon, the kind that whispers I’m sorry  I missed you and I never stopped loving you all at once. It’s messy and clumsy in the best way—you’re both trying to relearn the map of each other, chasing something you thought you’d lost forever.

The kiss deepens, the world falling away until all you can feel is him, and you wonder how you ever survived without this.

But as suddenly as it began, he pulls back. 

Rafe’s breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours, his thumb still brushing over your cheek as if to soothe, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for everything. For not being there. For—”

You cut him off with another kiss, softer this time but no less meaningful. It’s your way of telling him there’s nothing to forgive, that every broken piece led you back here, to this moment.

“You’re awful quiet,” he says, “That’s never a good sign.”

You glance back at the remnants of dinner. “Just thinking,” you reply, deliberately neutral, but it doesn’t fool him.

“About what?”

You hesitate, “About the first time we met.”

That catches him off guard. His eyebrows knit together, and he straightens slightly, “What about it?”

You huff out a chuckle, “I was just remembering how much of an ass you were. You were so mean.”

“You make it sound like I wasn’t justified.”

“You were so angry that day. You had this scowl—like you wanted to scare me off.”

“I did,” he admits, his hand dropping to the table, fingers brushing yours, “Didn’t work, though. You figured me out pretty quick.”

You're studying him like you’re reading the pages of an old, familiar book. Your fingers curl around his, “It’s easy when you find your soulmate.”

Rafe’s breath catches, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for a sign that this is another one of your teasing remarks. But when he sees the sincerity in your face, the way your lips curve into a gentle, knowing smile, he feels a warmth spreading through his body. 

“Yeah?” 

You nod slowly, your fingers gently brushing his. “Yeah, don’t think I ever really had to figure you out. I just had to see you.”

He’s quiet, a little stunned, he knows you’re not just talking about the past, about that first meeting when he was all bitterness. You’re talking about the now, about who he’s trying to be, who he’s becoming. He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes for a second, just soaking in the feel of you—real and here and his.

He swallows hard, unsure how to express himself.

“You’re… you’re the love of my life,” he admits. It’s not a grand confession, there’s no dramatic buildup, no orchestrated speech, it’s just a simple truth, spilling from his heart like it’s always belonged there. His heart races under the look you’re giving him, “I know I screwed up. I know I’ve been a fuckin’ mess, but I never stopped loving you, don’t think I ever could.”

Your lips tremble eyes shining with something tender, as you reach out, your hand brushing against his clothed chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath your palm.

“I’ve always known,” you say, your voice carrying every ounce of emotion you’ve kept buried. “I’ve always known, Rafe, even when we were apart. You’ve always been it for me.”

The words, the honesty in them, he’s suddenly overcome with a flood of emotions so intense, it’s almost overwhelming. He leans in, his lips pecking yours gently, over and over again, until you’re grinning from ear to ear again. 

“You’re it for me, too,” he murmurs against your skin, “Always.”

Rafe doesn’t let you move far after dinner, you’re not even halfway to the sink with the plates before he takes them out of your hands, his skin brushing yours, lingering just long enough to make you shiver all over again.

“Don’t,” he scolds.

“You cooked,” you protest.

“I always cook,” he retorts lightheartedly as he sets the plates on the counter. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you clean up. Sit.”

You fold your arms, leaning back against the counter instead, the stubborn tilt of your chin making him laugh. It’s not mocking—but he still shakes his head, muttering something about “always gotta have the last word”, you still let your elbow bump his every so often.

The simple domesticity of it catches you off guard, you never had it before, so it’s not something you would’ve associated with him back then—but here he is, sleeves pushed up, completely at ease. Five minutes later, he pushes off the counter and takes a step closer, 

“C’mere,” he’s guiding you toward the couch with a hand at the small of your back.

Ace follows, tail wagging lazily as he flops onto the rug near Rafe’s feet. He usually doesn’t let him come up here, but you’d begged to prettily earlier, and he couldn’t say no to that face. You settle in first, tucking your legs beneath you, and he sits beside you, his arm draping over the back of the couch.

The night winds down slowly, and by the time you’re both settled, Ace is already sprawled across Rafe’s legs, you’re warm with spaghetti, affection, and a sense of belonging. He moves, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he tugs you closer, his cheek resting against your temple.

“This feels right, doesn’t it?” 

You nod, leaning into him, “Yeah, it does.”

[hoshifighting]

i enjoy your work so much!!! i love reading new posts whenever you update (which is so frequent and im always in awe of how creative your brain is!!) im wondering if you had similar work to your most recent reaction but with mommy issues instead? giving a tight hug to all my peeps struggling through parental relationships ❤️‍🩹

seventeen x reader with mommy issues

a/n: thank you anon 🥺🥺❤️ i hope you like it, and > giving a tight hug to all my peeps struggling through parental relationships pt.2

WARNINGS: mommy issues, svt mostly doing girly things with you.

seungcheol: cheol’s the type to instinctively take a nurturing role without even realizing it. he’ll remind you to eat, help you pick out clothes for the day, and even braid your hair if you let him. “does this look okay?” he asks, tongue sticking out in concentration as his big hands fumble a little. he’s all about making sure you feel cared for in every little way, even if it’s just holding you close while you vent.

jeonghan: knows how to fill that space without making it obvious. he’s the one who’ll ask his sister to help him paint your nails, gossip about random shit, or let you borrow his skincare products. “c’mere, let me do it for you,” he says, gently dabbing serum on your face while teasing you about how bad you are at self-care. it’s his sneaky way of saying, i’m here for you.

joshua: takes on that classic comforting role, always making sure you feel heard.he’ll offer to bake cookies with you or even sew something small together. “it’s okay to miss her,” he’ll say softly, holding your hand. “but you’ve got people now who care about you, including me.”

junhui: create those bonding moments you might’ve missed out on. he’s the type to grab your hand and drag you into the kitchen, insisting you bake something together even if it’s a disaster. “this is supposed to be fun, not perfect babe...” he laughs as flour gets everywhere. he doesn’t try to replace anything, but he makes you feel like you’re not missing out anymore.

hoshi: his appproach is so wholesome it hurts. he’s the kind to pull you into his lap while he combs through your hair, humming softly. “you deserve to feel spoiled,” he says with a grin, and suddenly he’s dragging you to the mall for a mini shopping spree. “pick something cute, okay? you can’t say no—it’s my treat.”

woozi: his way of comforting you is subtle but so meaningful. he won’t push you to talk, but when you’re struggling, he’ll sit you down and quietly braid your hair or make tea for you. “you don’t have to do this alone,” he’ll say in his soft, no-nonsense voice. sometimes it’s just the quiet, supportive presence that heals the most.

wonwoo: he’ll read to you, help you organize your space, or even teach you how to do things like fixing a hem or arranging flowers. “this is kinda relaxing, isn’t it?” he says as you both work together, his calm energy making you feel safe and understood.

minghao: would suggest journaling together, so you can focus more on yourself, than focus on the house problems. “it’s okay to feel like this,” he says, squeezing your hand. “but you’re more than what you’re missing.” he makes sure you feel strong enough to rebuild those pieces.

mingyu: mingyu goes all in on being your cheerleader. he’s the one who’ll sit on the floor with you to do DIY face masks or giggle with you over silly videos. “do you want me to call my sister?... don't really know what a cut-crease is...” he says with a goofy grin, trying his best to make you feel loved and cared for in every way he can.

seokmin: he s exactly what you need when the weight of everything feels heavy. he’ll pull you into the kitchen to teach you his favorite recipes, or he’ll sit down with you to sew a button back on your shirt. “see? you’re already amazing at this!” he beams, making you feel proud of yourself for even the smallest things.

seungkwan: ultimate comforter. he’ll organize a mini self-care day, complete with snacks, facials, and trashy TV. “no one’s judging you here,” he says, rubbing your back as you tear up. his endless affirmations—you’re doing amazing, you deserve love, you’re enough—are exactly what you need to hear.

vernon: he’ll suggest stuff like planting a little herb garden together or decorating a space to make it yours. “babe I think I planted my ring...” he says, looking at the plant pot that will be all messy in seconds just to find the piece of silver.

chan: he’s the guy who’ll offer to watch cheesy movies with you, paint your nails (even if he sucks at it), or teach you a new dance—and stumbling on his own feet on purpose—just to make you smile. “you deserve to feel cared for.”

[emmersonisdesperate]

"we love your Ted talk" we all say in unison.

Its the Barty effect, Barty x any character always gives you the most interesting ships. Lily? James? Sirius? Evan? Regulus? Add in Barty to the mix and now you have a chaotic ship.

LOWKEY...Evan and Remus are giving moonwater..but like, so much more background? Like I literally agree with you, moonrose tend to be the quiet ones, the ones that sit back and observe, the ones that can get away with being in the background. Yes, no wonder they can communicate without communicating, theyre so obsessed with watching the other they know each other's tiniest ticks.

It starts with Remus being curious with how Evan fits in the it-girl Slytherin friend group. Dorcas is obviously magically the strongest of their entire school despite her age, Regulus the most influential and wealthiest, Barty had a bit of those but hes mostly the academic weapon, Pandora was the social butterfly, not because she was nice but because you physically cannot be rude to hear because of her Aura. So what does Evan bring? He doesn't seem to be good at anything so how can he sit there and seem like he belonged?

This is definitely Remus's insecurity speaking, if it wasn't obvious. You don't have to talk about the duo starboys James and Sirius to know the world literally revolves around them. Born smart, athletic, attractive and occasionally, friendly. Peter, like Pandora, was a social butterfly but didn't have some Aura. He was just naturally a good friend, sweet, attentive to details, helpful, brought you customized gifts, so people genuinely wanted to be his friend.

But Remus? He didn't have any of that. He worked hard for his grades, he could never look handsome, the scars from his childhood ruined any chances of that, no point in becoming athletic when his body tears itself down every month anyways. From the start, his lycanthropy made it impossible for him to have any social expectations, he expected years of social isolation, people avoiding him for his sickly nature and scars. For that, he doesn't even think people want to be friends with him, besides the mauraders (everyone has a friendcrush on him, why is he so insecure) So him having the mauraders made him grateful, a bit too grateful, he felt as if he didn't deserve them.

So when Remus observes the Slytherins, he can't help but notice how similar they are in the context of their friend groups. Except well, Evan was attractive unlike him, he wasn't sure why he kept noticing that particular detail but more importantly, unlike him, Evan always seemed as if he belonged there and Remus wants to know how. What made him special?

Well it can't be because he's gorgeous? Remus understood but the other Slytherins were somewhat pretty too?

And well, luckily for Remus, Evan is wondering the same thing about him. Because they're both insecure little shits who don't realize their friends would literally die for them!! And they spend the whole time observing each other!! Notice each other's strengths that they were oblivious to!! And then fall in love because "no one has ever said that about me"!!

I love that bitchkiller and moonrose are total opposites. Moonrose is the calm, emotion centric relationship, built on healing eachothers insecurities. Bitchkiller? yeah no it's chaos here (the Barty effect)

sorry for the word vomit, I love them so much they make me ill.

Fuck gryffindors!

*A pissed Evan storming into the common room*

Pandora: Never seen you look this upset, what happened?

Evan: This same guy keeps borrowing the books I need for my project and he's a Gryffindor! Since when do Gryffindors read? honestly fuck them!

Dorcas, who fucks a blonde Gryffindor after quidditch matches to "relieve stress" (they're figuring it out):

Regulus, who's been dating the head boy Gryffindor secretly for months now and fucks rather frequently:

Barty, who gets high with and fucks on the daily with regulus's very Gryffindor brother: cheers.

*Pandora assessing all their reactions*: ...I sense a disturbance

*Evan not noticing because he was too busy thinking of getting his books and Definitely Not about the scarred blonde Gryffindor boy that took said books"

[nyikondlovu]

Caitvi and Timebomb nations, Meljay democracy feels your pain.

Having these characters you love and their stories and their love being pushed to the side because of a “ship“ that not only isn’t canon and is brotherly love but also watching the pain that majority of your ships are going through. Seeing how the show and certain fans ignore it and leave all these characters you love in this horrible position.

I would’ve loved to see Vi get to have her own journey where she doesn’t end up without anyone except Caitlyn but having her sister back in a different way where they all take care of each other. I know an older sibling out there needs to see themself being taken care of and growing from past hurt with their younger sibling.

Or Caitlyn getting to properly heal from losing her mother and all these changes in her beliefs at once. Seeing her making the choice to be better than the beliefs she might have seen her parents embody while growing up. Who can’t relate to wanting to be better than what your parents showed you?

Or Ekko who doesn’t, we don’t even know, lose his tree and doesn’t lose the best friend and love he finally got back. How many of us are tired of just constantly giving all of ourself and the universe seemingly not caring?

What about a world where Jinx got to choose to live? Where she gets to be the representation we deserve for people who are struggling with mental health every day and still choosing to fight while still being loved by her sister and childhood best friend?

Where Mel isn’t just another black woman who has to be strong on her own and can finally rely on those around her? Where she can grow from the anger she was raised to only see and instead choose love and the family you make in the real world?

and where Jayce isn’t just another man of colour pushed to the side where his only purpose is to lift up the meow meow of certain people. Where men can love their friends and wear their hearts on their sleeve and at the end be rewarded with chosen family (Caitlyn and Vi) and love (Mel)

We deserved to see these stories. We deserved some semblance of hope because the world is so scary now. And just having moments where we can celebrate loving someone from the other side while being women or your long time love seeing a flicker of hope and carrying on or you seeing hope in all that you fight for or just taking the step to move away from all that you’ve known (your blood family) and holding the hand of the person who gave you the space to grow that or or just the reward that not losing faith in humanity is in a bad thing I’m being punished for still having hope would mean so much to so many different people.



[dropoutconfessions]

I feel uncomfortable with the way people talk about Evan Kemlp. All of the sad shit that people get horny over is stuff that hurt him. I sometimes want to say "You'll masterbate over him but you won't accept him."

Maybe I'm strawmanning a little but the same people who will deride manic pixie dream girls (rightfully) will turn around and do the same with a traumatised boy just instead going "I can fix him."

The thing that sticks out to me is the butt discussion. Of course he has a long back. Do you all know how much work it takes nutrition and exercise wise to look a certain way? Evan is neither interested nor doing that.

And no shade to Aabria or Erika. They're both just playing the game and having fun. Seriously nobody get mad at them. The words "didn't sign up for an assless man" just stuck in my head. Like of course. K had no idea what Evan actually was. It worries me that a lot of the people who are big Evan Kelmp stans are like this. Just because there are people in the real world who have been through trauma and are not hot and sexy. They still deserve love, empathy, and acceptance and I worry all they're gonna get from you is horniness.

It's fine if you're horny. Just ask yourself if you're accepting.

And for the record, you can want people to heal and to improve but you also should be accepting. Will you look at a badly healed elbow and just comfort someone when it hurts. Will you look at calloused feet that he would have regularly gotten athletes foot on because he had no shoes and not judge him now. Will you see roughed up skin on his knees from them being grazed one too many times after a fight at the gas station and think he shouldn't have had to go through that but he did and he survived and then appreciate his presence. Will you see random bruises on his torso or scars from emergency surgeries because as a kid he didn't get healthcare until he was dying and be empathetic. Or will everything you have just be pity and horniness?

-

[sammakesart]

In Which the Dread Wolf Is Saved By, of All Things, Love.

The blade slices into his palm, blood seeping from the wound and soaking into the leather of his glove. A thought emerges as she watches him: It is the same hand that once held the mark on her own palm. He squeezes his fist, the blood dripping down onto the stone. 

“My life force now sustains the Veil.”

His eyes find hers, a brief moment as their gazes meet and hold. An eternity, over too soon. 

“With every breath I take, I will protect the innocent from my past failures.”

Her gaze falls to his fist, and her heart aches. It is done.

“The Titan’s dreams are mad from their imprisonment. I cannot kill the blight, but I can help soothe its anger.”

She watches as he looks down to the dagger, then extends it to Rook.

“I will go,” he says. His eyes meet hers once more as he speaks his last words. To her. For her. “And seek atonement.”

He tears his gaze away, and she watches as he turns, his steps sure and steady as he walks toward the tear in the sky.

They are running out of time.

It is then she makes her decision, though it was no decision at all. She knew—she has always known—what she would do given this choice. 

“But you do not have to go alone.”

He had stopped before she spoke, perhaps hearing the fall of her steps, perhaps in the hope of one final goodbye. He turns as she finishes her declaration, his lips parted in surprise, but he clasps her hands as she stretches them towards him. His grip trembles ever so slightly. She notices the shine in his eyes as tears well, but he does not deny her. He only offers her a warning. It is the only thing he can offer her. 

“Where I am going is terrible.”

She smiles, shakes her shake. 

“It won’t be terrible if you’re with me. We make this journey together. Always.”

The words are reminiscent of the last verse of Dalish wedding vows. She wonders if he catches the significance, but by the way his grip tightens, she suspects he understands. 

She leans in, but then stops, waiting for him to close the last stretch of space between them. His lips meet hers without hesitation, cracked and bloody as they are. She doesn’t care. He tastes of iron and ash, and yet still of him. 

His mouth moves against hers, and she wishes to wrap her arms around him, to pull him close, but she fears causing him any further pain. She has seen the wounds on his face, saw him clutching at his right side as he ascended the steps before she crossed the threshold. She can only imagine the wounds hidden beneath his battered armor. She had glimpsed the state of his dread wolf as it tore the throat out of Elgar’nan’s archdemon. 

There will be time for such things later, after he has rested and healed. Time will never be something they are in want of now.

***

He savors her for as long as he dares, then presses his lips firmly against hers before pulling away. His mouth curves into a soft smile. Just for her. 

There is no force—divine or otherwise—that can part him from her now. Not unless she wishes it.

He holds her gaze for one more moment, the burn of tears still threatening to spill sting his eyes. But he blinks them away quickly, and glances back at Rook. 

“Thank you, Rook.”

Then his eyes fall back to her. He cannot get enough. 

He is not unaware that Rook had to have had a part to play in this once-thought impossible reunion. 

There will never be words or action enough to show his gratitude, especially to someone he has so gravely wronged. And yet, they still have orchestrated the return of his heart to him. A gift he knows he does not deserve, but he will endeavor to earn. 

He squeezes her hands once more—one flesh, one formed—and turns, walking towards the last remaining tear in the Veil. He crosses his hands before him to keep from reaching out, reaching back to hold her to him. She must make this choice freely. 

He doesn’t even dare look, afraid if he does, he will find no one and nothing. That these last few minutes have all been a dream conjured by his addled mind and his bone-deep exhaustion—for what else could it be but a dream? That, after all this time, after everything he’s done, she would seek him out once more. That she would forgive him. Love him still. Choose to be with him, despite where he must go. 

There is a moment where he fears she has changed her mind, or he was correct in his first assumption that she was never here at all. His chest tightens… and then releases as he feels her hand rest upon his shoulder. She is here. She is real. 

With the last ounce of strength he has, he wraps them in his magic and spirits them into the Fade, leaving her world behind. Perhaps for good. 

He took away her ability to choose once, many years ago, when she first asked to join him while standing in the Crossroads. It had torn him in two to deny her, but he knew then that he could not allow her to follow the path he had to tread. Could not allow it to twist her hope into despair, like his own purpose had been twisted long ago. 

For so long, his life has only been duty and destruction. He is unsure of how to be anything else.

When he finds himself once again in the prison of his own making, his knees give out from under him. The weight of the last few hours, few weeks, few years, dragging him to the hard unforgiving stone of his regrets. But this time, he is not alone. 

She kneels before him, carefully cradling his face in her palm, her skin so warm against his. “Vhenan,” she whispers as her thumb strokes lightly over his cheek, and it takes him a moment to realize he is crying, truly crying. The tears that had threatened to fall when he first took her hands in his have now been set free. He crumples into her lap, his forehead pressed the against her stomach as she gently strokes his head and down his back, offering words of comfort, her voice thick with her own tears. She has saved him. He has doomed her. 

The weight of that realization is enough to crush him to dust. He pulls back, eyes searching hers. His hands shake as he reaches up to hold her face. Perhaps there is still time…

“These are my burdens to bare,” he rasps. “I cannot ask you to carry them with me.” 

“You do not have to, vhenan.” She holds his hand to her cheek. “I chose this. Freely. Just as I chose you.”

She presses a kiss to the heel of his hand, the one still wet with his blood. “Being with you is no burden, Solas, not to me. It is a joy.”

Their foreheads meet, pressed together as they once again take each other’s hands.

She is here. She is real. He still cannot believe it.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

Then he says the words she had gifted him, a vow he will hold sacred for as long as they both shall live. 

“Vir shiral malasa. Bellanaris.”

[zaunbinary]

it’s been said that they took a piece of sandpaper to jinxs character but holy shit. the last time we saw her lose someone she blew up the fucking council and when she loses isha, a child who reminded her so much of herself and died with jinxs gun in her hand, we don’t even get her name mentioned. isha filled the silco shaped void in jinxs chest. jinx needs someone to care for, someone to protect. she needs to be told to do things because she craves to be of service. she wants to be useful. whether that use is building a bomb or braiding hair, jinx yearns for purpose. without it she is so, so lonely.

what we hear silco say in the jail cell is a huge “he would not fucking say that moment” and yeah he wouldn’t and he isn’t. that’s not him. i’m giving more credit to the writers than what they probably deserve but silco is just a manifestation of what they need jinx to hear in that moment. it’s coming out of silcos mouth because jinx needs to hear someone she finds comfort in her saying it. what i would’ve done to align more to the silco we and jinx knew was have him still talking to her in the soft, comforting tone, but still enabling her worse behaviors. hearing it from him jinx would feel, for lack of a better term, like she’s getting permission to go apeshit. i wouldn’t stop there though. isha can’t talk so she can’t be a voice that actively haunts jinx, but silco can talk (and boy does he) what i would do is have hallucination silco appear alongside a version of isha and have him act as a mouthpiece for her. telling jinx what she wants to hear through the words of those she loved. everything she does she’d do it for them, it’s what they’d want her to do. they told her so.

it’d be awful for jinx to go through. it hurts to see her suffer. but this is a girl who’s whole trauma stems from being and feeling responsible for the death and error of everyone she loved. inder the right circumstances jinx could heal from all this, but those aren’t the circumstances that have been painted for her. there’s no world where jinxs grief, especially after losing isha, would be pretty or heroic.

[wysteriaisapenguin]

Smitten often dreams of the ocean. The ocean reminds him of Her.

Was inspired to draw some art for this fic "Nascita di Venere" by @pink-november cause it gave me so many feelings (Please check it out, it is very lovely! 🩷)

Just the thought of Smitten struggling with his grief and having his ideal fantasy of true love be shattered, but also continuing to indulge in it as a coping mechanism gets me so. The way he wades into the ocean is a great representation of that. (Also Skeptic coming in to save him despite his fear of the water is great too! I love how supportive he is towards his counterpart.)

Monochrome variant of the 1st drawing down below!

I thought it'd be fitting to have the 1st drawing full of color since it is in Smitten's POV. But the moment he's saved by Skeptic, reality sinks in and everything goes back to being grey.

Funny how I made my Smitten a swan, which is a waterfowl, so he probably should have some tolerance to the water. Maybe.

[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-)

[tcfactory]

Okay smartass how would you fix Bingqiu if you had your way?

If you actually want to know you could do to be less of a rude little shit about it, anon, but all right.

This is not about 'fixing' anything. Bingqiu is a wildly popular ship and a lot of people enjoy the exact kind of delusional insanity these two have about each other and that's honestly great. Love it for them. Not my cup of tea though.

I think the easiest and fastest way to make them sort their shit out and maybe put them in a position where I might actually be interested in what's going on with them is to take the protagonist halo away. Maybe the System short circuits, maybe it just gets automatically turned off after the extras, don't know don't care.

A lot of Shen Qingqiu's self delusions are fueled by his unshakeable belief that Luo Binghe, being The Protagonist, is Perfectly Fine the way he is. Binghe is the Protagonist, so when there are no character development or obligatory angst events going on he is happy and healthy and a slightly charred good boy and Shen Qingqiu is The Happy Wife who dotes on his hubby and Everything Is Right In The World. Endless honeymoon with their responsibilities only coming to bother them every once in a while. And it makes it way too easy for Binghe to cover up that he's still hurt, still unstable and still insecure by what went down because Shen Qingqiu is willing to take him at face value when he presents his insecurities as just being shameless neediness for his husband. Of course he happily indulges Binghe! But that isn't really helping with the core of the problem now, does it?

Like, Binghe takes steps towards ensuring Shen Qingqiu's mental wellbeing even at the cost of his own as soon as Maigu Ridge is over when he takes him back to the sect. Shen Qingqiu tries too, in his own way (the entire segment in the tombs is all about him putting himself in very real danger for Binghe's sake) but at the same time, this is a guy who completely missed the writing on the wall that Bingge was deeply unhappy in PIDW. As long as he can hold onto his internal picture that The Protagonist Suffered A Lot But He Is Fine Now I don't think he can really offer the right kind of emotional support for Binghe to actually heal from what happened to him and move on to a healthier frame of mind.

If you take the protagonist halo away, then first of all Binghe can, you know, suck a little. Or a lot, actually. The world not making excuses for him and him being a little defanged would be good for him. He gets really nothing he actually wants from being the protagonist - Shen Qingqiu will love him anyway. Mobei-jun will still stick around to back him up and help him out, because he's still Shang Qinghua's favorite fictional son and Qinghua is happy to see Binghe happy, just, you know, somewhere way over there where he can't get jealous tsundere over Cucumber bro and maybe murder him about it. Sha Hualing is still going to be his buddy because he's her best source of human trivia and the writing inspiration for her girlfriend. Not having to be demon emperor and getting more time to spend with his husband would be a relief.

But he would have to be more aware of other people because he's not above them anymore. Maybe even forced to make a few new friends to get by. And his mask will fail and Shen Qingqiu will have to see him for what he is: just Luo Binghe, still hurt and still confused half demon, who loves him very much, but can't make sense of him and is afraid that he will be left behind or pushed away without explanation again and that's kinda Shen Qingqiu's own damn fault.

And Shen Qingqiu can't hold onto his delusions about The Protagonist. He can't willfully ignore that things are not fine with Binghe because he's not the Protagonist anymore and the world only allows that special privilege for the Protagonist. Binghe is just a guy now and he has so many heart demons he needs help with. His trauma from the abyss or Xin Mo can't be brushed off with 'oh that's just part of his blackening he's fine now' anymore. And it might need a little bit of adjusting to internalize that these problems have always been here just below the surface, but Shen Qingqiu genuinely loves Binghe and would want to help him become happier and more stable in any way he can.

Binghe becoming part of the world in a way that's one person among many - building a support network! maybe befriending new demons or actually getting to know and making up with the QJ disciples or finding common ground with LQG and becoming sparring buddies - rather than a protagonist in a sea of NPCs is a lot more interesting to me than whatever he has going on at the end of canon. And Shen Qingqiu can be there with him on that journey, because he already started unlearning the sense of unreality the System conditioned into him, but he still has a long way to go.

[forcedhesitation]

nothing I write could truly capture the way I feel, having finished corydalis' campaign. god. what a game. what an adventure!

[sakura-code]

Misfit AU: Yuma Kokohead

The new, young detective rookie that has joined the Nocturnal Detective Agency. A kind, young man who aspires to be a detective to bring happiness to others, especially in Kanai Ward. He is actually a prodigy when it comes to being a detective, even if he sometimes makes some morally-ambiguous choices (not like he enjoys it either), but is held back due to his lack of confidence and his shaky desire of whether or not he wants to continue (or in his mind deserves) to be a Detective. His Forte is Coalescence, which is the ability to connect with other Fortes and even use them, but only if he holds hands, something he is kind of reluctant to do. He may be one of the kindest, most empathetic person you will ever meet, but he also has many secrets he tries to hide from everyone, even his loved ones. Some even go as far to dip into ‘dark secrets’ territory.

Yuma was once a normal, happy kid who lived in a village with his mom not too far from Kanai Ward. But when he has just turn into a teen, Amaterasu came to the village to buy the land for Kanai Ward, and his mom ends up dead when trying to investigate the corporation dealings. From there, his life turns completely upside down from the laid-back, village life he once lived in. But at least he is not alone, as he has a spirit companion by his side named Shinigami, the God of Death from the Book of Death that his mom’s family has protected for generations, and his best friend Makoto Kagutsuchi, the mysterious adopted son of the CEO of Amaterasu. With the Death pact inbound, he becomes the ‘Death Detective,’ a mysterious Detective known for being able to expose any mysteries in Kanai Ward, no matter how much the culprits and the Peacekeepers try to keep it that way. But solving these mysteries comes with the price of the culprits’ death, something Yuma is not a fan of. Even more so when he learns why multiple criminals turn down the dark path to begin with. So now Yuma wants to find a way to solve mysteries without using the Mystery Labyrinths, and in hope to help the people of Kanai Ward out of the darkness they are trapped in.

Now if only someone can help pull Yuma out of the darkness as well…

[tommyssupercoolblog]

not putting the reblog banner on this one bc it would feel disrespectful. anyway big fucking mood, felt in my soul. trying SO HARD not to think abt the drama rn.

[ancient-day]

Every day I long for post-royal spin-offs for the opportunity to allow both Goro and Sumire to actually interact with the others without falsities or time-restricted threats preventing them from having much needed conversations and conflicts. I still wish we had at least gotten a second cafe scene with the Royal Trio where they could talk about how they actually feel about things like change and helping others. To see Goro try and brush it all off and maybe have Sumire call him out on it because his actions wouldn’t match his words, or even Sumire having to reevaluate her own answer since she was no longer under the influence of trying to be Kasumi and what it means if she still agrees with how she felt back then. Also I still love the potential humor with them ordering iced drinks in the winter this time while Akira has his hot beverage and him being able to call them both out for this. Love these funky little weirdos.

[fragrantpines]

i think my favorites in tale of food are stacking up because i decide to check out the food souls available in wikia and oH MY GOD i dont know who to choose anymore 🥹

the food souls that caught my interest so far are:

toSO WINE AJAJAJAJA he's like a tsundere based on his voice lines [sighs lovingly] i want him to be my pookie bear 🥹💗 BUT why his legs translucent tho? hmmmm

yunlin xiangyao [correct me if i'm wrong!] the snow motif food soul. i like his design and tbh i love all of the character designs lol and he's like a disney princess huh and i read some of his voice lines and stories in wikia and omg he's so sweet 🥹❤️ want him to be my pookie bear #2

zhen mingzhu – another food soul related to the sea [side eyeing yusheng] and he seems to carry a burden though he keeps mentioning about sins and prophecy. i'm eager to know more about him >~< my pookie bear #3

i'm really desperately clinging to yangzhou, dezhou and yusheng right now cuz I CANT AFFORD HAVING NEW FAVES im broke as hell right now 🤣

- zella

(Shakes in chair) You have no idea how much joy it brings me to see that you're interested in Toso wine. Shifu is the best I will die on this hill no matter what happens 😤✊️ I'll leave a spoiler in the tags about why his legs are like that but for those who wish not to be spoiled too much, just know that it's,,,, sad,,,,, very sad,,,,,,,,

Yulin!!! He really is just like a disney princess and like every princess, he's well loved by everyone (side eyes the fact that he's one of the must pull characters). His kindness is soooooo warm, I can't wait to see he and Toso appear during half anniversary 🥺🥺💕💕💕

Ngl, Mingzhu is one of the food souls I know least about because he doesn't really appeal to me. However, after you mentioned his story involving sins and propechy, I am now HIGHLY interested and will go check him out after.

(Pats you) No one can escape this fate, Zella anon. The more you try to push away food men, the more they'll come and hit you from the side with their attractiveness. Simply accept all of them and pray that they'll come eventually wwww

[snapbackslide]

glad to see i'm not the only one who thinks heineman is very lehkonen-coded 😭