#i already owned the record but. you know how it is

[simp-ly-writes]

Hope in a Bottle

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Pairing: AU!Silco x Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You had died many years ago, or at least that was true in Silco's world. He had learned to live without you but when graced with the opportunity to see you once again- he can't help but indulge.

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, ANGST (but no seriously there are no happily ever afters), some fluff/comforting moments, suggestive themes.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,668

─ · · A/N: I cried like at least four times when writing this, this show HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD.

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Silco often thought about you in passing moments. These moments he remembered sharing with you amongst your friends and in the comfort of your arms used to be coated in blue that he would drown and surround himself in; but as your presence forever lingered in his mind blue turned to pink and rose-tinted glasses glossed over every moment- every memory with a certain degree of fondness that he would catch himself smiling even when no one was in the room.

You would always manage to light up the room, tell him a joke when he needed it most, told him off and raised him up. He put so much of himself into you into your presence that when you left... it was like he had to redefine who he was but forever remained unsuccessful.

Silco learned to live without you physically but that did not mean that your jacket was still not waiting for your return on the back of his couch or your glass still half-filled by the bedside. Your chair at the bar was always kept at the back, awaiting your return as you both shared kisses in the storage room. He would always remember how the stained glasses reflected in your eyes, the colour breaking across your skin in a forever radiant presence just like you.

Vander would catch Silco in these moments when wiping down the bar top or taking a walk down by the Zaun bay, overlooking the artificial lights and hints of sunlight being cast upon the black waters. Watching as the mans hand opened and tensed before falling back down to his side.

"You doing alright there. brother?" Vander asked in a soft tone as they both crossed over to topside for the day. Silco looked up, a strand of his hair falling from his salt and pepper hair- blowing with the wind. "We are always alright in the hope to be better, and when we get better we hope for it to stay only to be alright once again; stuck in the cycle of it all I find myself on the better side today."

Vander hums along to Silco's words as they stop at the various market stalls to see their offerings a few new bottles for the bar from another region across the sea and a bag of sweets for the kids in the area. The men are suddenly greeted with another body stepping in between the two and falling inline with their pace.

"And how are we doin'?" Powder asks with a wide smile, trying to squeeze her arms together to encompass both of their sides before turning around to walk backwards and hold conversation.

Silco winces as Power almost misses lamp post after lamp post by mere millimetres. "We are fine, just about to make our way back home actually. Anywhere your headed, young lady?" Silco teases, his voice sharing sincerity in every syllable.

Powder rolls her eyes before turning back around, head tilting over her shoulder before she disappears back amongst the crowd, "Going to see this new invention Echo has been telling me about!" Vander shakes his head with a loving stare where Powder had just stood.

"She's going to change the world one day, you know?" Vander says to the wind, hoping that it catches her ears but it only does Silcos.

"I'm afraid she already has for she is your own world," Silco comments, placing a hand on his friends shoulder before powering forwards. "I hate it when your always right," Vander teases before taking two long strides to catch back up.

"Well I perfected it only from the best." Both mens minds go directly back to you, smiling and twirling in the bar to a new record you had found on the topside. Somehow you had already known all the lyrics after this being your supposed first time listening to the piece.

"They always knew, huh," Vander says, looking down to catch Silco small smile. "Yes, but not everything I wanted them to..."

─────── · ·

When back in Zaun and at The Last Drop, bar-goers had already flooded the decorated space for tomorrow night it would be the inventions fair, a bar local already chosen to set the mood for the night and a few university members stationed with scholarships in mind.

Both Vander and Silco were excited to witness the extraordinary kids they knew have the opportunity to show their talents to others and hopefully the collective dream of them changing the world would come true but fate always had to make its presence known in the doorway.

Blue sparkled out of the corner of Silco's eye as he leaned against the bar top waiting to continue his conversation with Vander. A half eaten apple sat beside his notebook that he was picking away at while conducting the accounting for the month. His back burned with his age from being hunched over for so long as he stood up to stretch.

Laughs echoed throughout the bar, feet dancing against the wooden plank floors, drinks clashing and spilling against the tables as another gets thrown out the side door. Powder had left a few moments ago with Echo, a certain mischievous look in her eye that Silco did not find unusual at the time would only shock his system now when he caught from reflection in the glass of his amber filled cup.

Your name graced his lips, remembering the feel, imaging your warmth against his skin and to feel it, to see it. He thought to be surreal, to be going senile as he looked to Vander for support and only found him smiling with a wink before turning back around to serve another customer.

Your skin was a thousand colours coming to life in his eyes, his hand drifting from the back of your fingertips, up your arm to your shoulder, neck upon which you shiver and rest your forehead upon his own. "How I've missed you," words that he only hoped to hear, have only read to himself in comfort written by his own hand- a fantasy turned reality now spoken to truth between your very own lips that Silco had to claim.

You melted into his touch, decades without the familiarity- him haunting your body with memory of his touch now appearing as goosebumps in recognition. You smile against his lips, hand running up against the smooth fabric of his vest before lacing in the silver locks of his hair.

Out of breath, you both pant, hands still gripping one another tightly as if afraid the other would disappear once more. "I thought to have lost you, to be so alone for so long. Why is it now that you appear just when I was surviving once again off of scraps?" Silco asks into your ear, not wanting to break this moment between the two of you. Even when in a crowded bar, it is only the two of you present in this moment.

"I would ask myself the same questions when I came back alive thanks to the technology developed in my universe and by what force I have yet to know, I am forever thankful for returning me, my soul, back to you to rest finally," you speak through tears mixing with Silco's silent ones dripping down his cheekbones and falling against your clothes that stain the fabric dark.

"I should thank that force as well," Silco murmurs, lost in your eyes, brushing away your tears. "I think it best we have the rest of this conversation elsewhere," Silco grabs your hand before pulling you out of the bar. The cheers and claps becoming distant as he leads you back to his apartment.

He locks the door behind you both, watching as you gently let go of his hand and walk around his space. Your hand feels the leather of your jacket still sat in the same place where you left it, against the couch in a forgotten moment of need. You continue towards the kitchen, seeing the various crayon pictures of Violet and Powder attached to the fridge who Silco explained to you before walking towards the bedroom. Your glass still waiting for you beside an unopened bottle you remember gifting Silco for his birthday.

"Why did you never open it?" You ask, fingers tracing around the neck of the bottle coated in a layer of dust you blow from your fingertips. "You said not to open it without you there to try it, I kept to my promise in hope for an impossible day like today. It was a reminder of not to drain my hope as many other's do."

All you can do is nod before holding the bottle in between your hands, a sickness suddenly washes over you as you take in Silco's form leaning against the doorframe. His arms crossed, leg tucked over the other and the scar of his yellow eye glowing warmly- lighting up the room amongst the candles.

He expects you to open the bottle, you understand that in doing so means you are to stay but that is something you cannot do. Not when Echo and the Professor are building a time-machine, not when your world is about to erupt in ruins.

You want nothing more to indulge more than you already had into this word of perfection and wrongs written right but that would be a cruelty brought upon this world. You knew you shouldn't have gone up to him, kissed him, felt his skin upon you skin only to take it away like the hopes of everyone else who had died during this war.

But you were only human, your heart already shattered and in need of repair, of warmth and kindness but you would only be selfish just as much as those you were out to strike down. "I-I can't open the bottle Silco. I-" you start to sob, hands shaking before placing the bottle back upon the nightstand.

You bring your knees back up to your chest, breaths heavy as your head spins, blood starting to drip down your nose, the reflection of blue out of the corner of your eyes as you gripping the sheets, knuckles turning white as Silco runs over, falling to his knees as he begs to see your face.

"Please, whatever is the matter, darling?" Silco asks, the sweetness of his tone doing nothing but to further indulge your nausea as you spiral. "I shouldn't have come to you, have done any of this!" You shout, trying to shove the man away but Silco only stands, wrapping his arms around your body as you do your best to kick and shove him away.

You look over his shoulder, watching as the sunsets through the window and sheer blinds. "Silco," you sob, fingers digging into the material of his vest once again in a panic rather than in reverence. "Silco, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that this was not forever, that this will only be another memory and perhaps the once that hurts the most knowing that I left rather than was forced to..."

"Then let me hurt, allow me to bleed, allow me to weep for I have endless time for that but only a finite time to be truly happy. So please, indulge me, drink it all and leave me once more with the knowledge that you are out there somewhere in another place, alive. Please, please," Silco begs turn into whispers as you press your tears into his neck before leaving a lingering kiss.

"Until the sunrise we shall be happy in the night," you speak softly in between kisses, your vision still clouded in tears.

"Until the sunrise," Silco restates before capturing your lips once more and sighing heavily. The moons bask ignites you both, lighting the liquid in your bodies burn as you take pleasure in one another.

You feel him, your hearts and souls connecting, rekindling in what is only to be heartbreak that makes you both press harder into one another. Leave marks across each others skin and kiss them delicately afterwards. It is in you both taking a bath afterwards until the cold waters have you both frozen still in realization as the sun rises and fills the room. Its warmth lost as you pick up your clothes and leave your jacket leaning against the couch once more.

You stare at the empty bottle at the bedside and watch as Silco picks it up and looks at you through it was a wavering smile. "Goodbye, my love and know that it was always you my soul yearns for and you who I define myself as."

"I really wish this didn't have to be the end, Silco...." you try your best not to sob, chocking on your words yet standing firm in your positions knowing that comforting one another would only make the hurt worse than it already was burning. "...in another life, I can see how easily we could have had it all- could have been happy."

"I wouldn't want any other memories than the ones we share," you nod in agreement, your body shakes, skin burns in want as you reach for the cold handle that sends shivers down your spine.

"Goodbye, Silco, I love you, forevermore."

"And I you."

─────── · ·

The walk to Jinx's place is a long and cold one, a thousand pairs of eyes stare at you with their condolences. You refuse to meet any of their stares, knowing that by just one look you would be running back into his arms for comfort.

Echo and Heimerdinger are already there and waiting for you, Echo extends his hand and lifts you up onto the platform. A swirl of arcane magic mixed fits the seeds of that all-too-familiar blue have you floating with a scream as the Professor sacrifices himself with one last salute to you both. Echo holds you, the loss of today holding heavy yet his touch is not what you yearn for as you cry into his jacket, gripping the collar of it as colours swirl around your vision and you are brought back to the battlefield once more.

Bullets wiz past your had, another graces your cheek as your blood falls like tears against the broken pavement. The roar of a monster rumbles the ground as you sprint towards the closing barriers, throwing yourself over them and into a sea of dead blue enforcers.

Screams haunt your ears, echoing distantly through your memories and brought forth into reality as you step over cast aside limbs and guns. You watch as Vi ahed of you holds another as they take their final breaths, a machine gun makes you loose hearing in your left ear and next thing you knew, a burning sensation was coming from your right leg where a ghastly wound had planted itself.

Hoisting and forcing yourself to stand you carry forth with a limp and defend the entrance, holding cover and watching as the trojan horse gets rolled in through the barriers all you can feel is Silco's marks as you charge forwards with an unrelenting cry.

─────── · ·

Silco fell back into the bed and stayed in that exact same numb position until Vander came to find him, "You know, there was a part of me debating weather or not to distract you from 'em and theres a part of me now that regrets not doin' so."

"It wouldn't have mattered anyways, the hurt of not seeing them when I got the chance to would have hurt just as much if not more. But I appreciate the sentiment, brother," Silco responds, rolling the cork of the bottle in between his thumb and finger.

"Finally drank it, huh?" Vander comments, picking up the bottle from the stand as gently as possible between his large hands. All Silco can do is smile, a singular tear dripping down his cheek that gets cast away, "yeah, something like that."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: so... what did y'all think?

[castiwls]

my number one .ᐟ

Paring; art x reader

Synopsis; You'd always been your own worst enemy. Your anxiety liked to jump out at the worst times yet your ever-doting boyfriend was determined to be there every. single. time.

Even if that meant missing his match.

Requested; anon

Notes; tysm for the request <3 i kinda based this on my own anxiety and the methods I've been taught over the years

Masterlist

“I don’t wanna be annoying.”

“You're not being annoying.”

No matter how many times he says it, you never believe it. How could you not be annoying, especially when you’ve woken him up at 3 a.m. for what must be the third time this week?

Art sighed, pulling you closer to his chest. His hands rubbed over your back in soothing circles as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Just follow my breathing, okay?” It was a saying so common that it seemed to fall from his lips without a thought. It was almost like a lifeline of sorts knowing that no matter what you’d always have the steady beat of his heart only a phone call away whenever your own decided to forget how to beat on time and needed reminding.

It was equally a blessing and a curse. A blessing to have someone like Art who would drop everything to come at your beacon call but a curse that you needed him in that way. 

Even now when he should be preparing for another tournament - against which school you can’t remember but then again your only thought right now is being able to focus enough to breathe - he’s here with you tucked around a corner from your class as you try to calm your breathing.

The moment he’d gotten your text.

Please come

Need you

He’d left the court without a second thought and made it to the building in record time. “You’re okay.” He soothed running a thumb over your cheek as he held your gaze. “You’re okay just breathe. In and out.” 

He hated seeing you like this. No matter how many times it happened he’d never shake that feeling of nausea that would swim in his stomach whenever your breath seemed to catch and your eyes grew distant. It made him want to just wrap you in his arms and protect you from anything and everything that left you feeling even slightly anxious.

You were his entire world and it hurt him to know you were your own worst enemy. 

“C’mon.” His hand intertwined with yours as he grabbed your bag. You both walked quietly back to his dorm your heart rate slowly going back to normal as you both walked. 

“Don’t you have practice?” You frowned as he placed your bag on his bed turning to watch as you shut the door. “It’s fine.” He smiled trying to reassure you as he opened his arms. “I can practice later you’re more important right now okay.” He sighed pulling you against his chest.

The practice could wait right now all he cared about was you. 

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

Not now, please god not now.

Art had already been so busy the last few days that you’d purposefully tried to leave him alone. He needed to train and you didn’t want to get in the way and worry him more then he already was. 

He’d only left his dorm an hour ago to get ready for the match and you’d been fine. Better then fine actually you’d had a great morning and for a moment you’d thought that maybe you’d go three full days without your anxiety rearing its ugly head.

And then it proved you wrong.

“Art I’m fine.” You could hear his concern down the phone as you sat on his bed, mentally counting your breaths to try and keep some semblance of calm. “You sure? I can come back for a-”

“No. No stay there and just relax okay? I’ll come find you before it starts.” You could almost picture the concern in his eyes as he sighed before relenting. If you said you were fine you were fine, pushing you would only make it worse.

“Okay but call me if you need okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled slightly tracing shapes over his covers as you ended the call. The room was starting to feel too small as you sat, the air almost stuffy. Nothing had even happened and yet you could already feel the anxiety building.

The pit in your stomach swirled as your hands grew clammy no matter how many times you wiped them on your jeans.

You were fine.

You had to be fine. 

Taking a breath you stood pacing the small space as you tried to halt the attack. Breathe in for 10 out for 10.

In for 10 out for 10.

“Fuck.” Your voice shook slightly as tears began to prick at your eyes, your chest heaving as you tried to pull in a breath that wasn’t there. 

Your eyes darted around the room as you looked for anything to help but came up empty. You couldn’t call him. You knew the minute you did he’d drop everything and you didn’t want that.

No matter how bad this was - and it was bad by your standards - his match was more important.

Wiping the tears you sat back down closing your eyes as you tried to talk yourself through it.

You were fine.

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

The breath he’d been holding since you’d spoken on the phone a few hours ago seemed to finally release as he spotted you in the crowd. His eyes lit up and a bright smile pulled at his lips as he made his way through the crowd towards where you stood, your own eyes lighting up when you noticed him.

“Hey.” He grinned pulling you in for a chaste kiss. “You came.”

“Of course I did.” You laughed but it was strained. Your smile slightly too tight as you fixed the cap over his curls. “You ready?” You asked pulling back ever so slightly. 

“You're shaking.” 

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are I can see your hands.” Art sighed his smile pulling into a frown as he took your hand in his. “Your freezing as well.” 

Your face was still pulled into a tight smile but he saw right through it. The slight draw in your brow and the redness around your eyes gave you away almost immediately. Before you could say anything else he was pulling you through the crowd and behind the bleachers.

You swallowed back the tears which burned at your eyes. It had taken the whole two hours since the phone call for you to calm down even an inch and even now you still felt sluggish in your own body. 

“Art m’fine.” Your voice shook as you closed your eyes. 

“No your not.” He shook his head pushing a strand of hair from your face. “Why didn’t you call me?” You always called! It was bad enough knowing you’d walked from the dorms to the court like this but knowing you’d very possibly been like this since he’d last called you?

His own heart was racing at the thought.

“I didn’t wanna distract you.” His hand was now rubbing over your shoulder as you wiped at your eyes. “I know how much this means to you-”

“The match doesn’t matter.” He shook his head gently, tilting your chin up. Part of you already felt better just being near him, his presence a comfort in itself.

“Nothing matters more than you.” He smiled his eyes filled with warmth as his thumb flicked away a tear. “I’m not playing until I know you're okay. I can’t play knowing you're feeling like this.”

He pulled you closer rubbing a hand over your back. The match would never be more important than you - hell tennis would always come second to you. The fact the thought even crossed your mind was enough to have him debating putting the racket down and pulling you back to his dorm.

“Promise me you're still gonna play.” You whispered tucking your face into the crook of his neck as you breathed in the gentle scent of his aftershave for a moment. Your lungs seemed to work again as you pressed closer, sinking into his body.

“We’re not talking about tennis.” He murmured balancing his chin on your head. “You're all that matters.”

He meant his words, every single one of them. Sure he would play in the tournament but only once he knew you were okay, until then it was the last thing on his mind.

Tennis could never hold a torch to his love for you.

[ssentimentals]

hello! could you maybe do soft promt 23 with mingyu? these have been so much fun to read <3333

hello! aw i'm glad you're enjoying my drabbles! thank you for requesting! 💜 hopefully you will like it!

fluff prompt: 'you are my new pillow.'

'can this just be a lazy night in?' mingyu wonders loudly, taking off his jacket as he enters your room. 'i know we promised to go to the friends but-' he stops at the sight of you fluffing the pillows, already in your pjs, grinning at him. 'oooh, i love you baby. you got everything ready?'

you nod, proudly showing him your laptop with netflix account opened. 'i already chose a movie and snacks are in the kitchen, can you grab them for us?' mingyu walks over to you, hugging you tight. 'i knew you'd decide to lie in tonight after you messaged him how tired you are.'

'it was a horrible day,' mingyu sighs but then perks up, kissing you soundly. 'but it's about to become amazing. let me change and i'll go grab us snacks, yeah?'

mingyu changes and rushes to and from the kitchen in a record speed, not wanting to waste any more time to not being in the bed with you. your sweet laughter makes him smile and he comfortably lays on the bed, pulling you into his arms depiste your protests. 'i can't pick a movie when you're holding both of my arms,' you whine, giggling at small kisses he peppers your face with. 'mingyu!'

'quick-quick,' he relents, waiting eagerly for you to set everything up and then instantly gathering you back to his arms. he moves, changes your positions until he's laying lower and sighs in satisfaction once he places his head on your chest. 'finally. you're my new pillow.'

'what an honor,' you chuckle, automatically running your fingers through his hair, making him wiggle in joy. 'don't fall asleep on me.'

'no promises.' mingyu sings out, all cozy and cuddled up. when movie starts, he buries himself deeper into you, breathing your scent in. 'perfect night.'

a/n: request your own here! <3 - nini

[novaursa]

A Tower's Tragedy

- Summary: After Gwayne is forced to break up your secret affair, a tragedy follows that no scholars will ever record.

- Paring: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: Be aware of the angst and death of the reader.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @zizouu23 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

Alicent Hightower sat stiffly in her chair, her hands gripping the armrests as if they might anchor her against the storm brewing inside her. Her son, Aegon, had just departed after yet another tiresome lecture, leaving her drained but determined. She could not afford to rest—not now, not after what she had uncovered.

The soft knock at the door barely registered before she called, “Enter.”

Gwayne Hightower, her younger brother, stepped inside. His hair was neatly combed, his armor polished to a mirror's shine. The image of a dutiful knight. Yet Alicent’s keen eyes, so much like his own, saw the stiffness in his movements, the way his gaze darted away from hers as he approached.

“You sent for me, sister?” His tone was careful, as if he already suspected the nature of this summons.

“Yes, I did.” Alicent gestured to the seat across from her. “Sit.”

He obeyed, lowering himself into the chair with a knight’s precision, though his posture betrayed unease. Alicent let the silence stretch, her eyes fixed on him with the unyielding intensity of a mother who had caught her child in a lie. Gwayne shifted under her gaze but said nothing.

Finally, she spoke. “Do you know what they are saying about you in the servants’ quarters?”

Gwayne’s brows furrowed, his confusion almost convincing. “No, I do not concern myself with idle gossip.”

“You should,” she replied sharply, her tone like the crack of a whip. “For it is your actions that give them something to gossip about.”

He stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Sister, I have no idea—”

“Do not lie to me, Gwayne,” she interrupted, her voice low and cutting. “I know.”

The color drained from his face, and for a moment, he looked every bit the young boy she had once scolded for stealing candied almonds from the kitchens. But this was no childhood mischief. This was a scandal that could unravel everything.

“I… I do not know what you mean,” he said, though the falter in his voice betrayed him.

Alicent leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “Do not insult my intelligence, brother. The Red Keep has eyes everywhere. Did you truly think I would not hear of your… indiscretions?”

Gwayne said nothing, his hands gripping the edges of the chair until his knuckles turned white. Alicent pressed on.

“My daughter,” she hissed, her voice trembling with equal parts fury and disbelief. “Your niece, Gwayne. How dare you? How could you?”

He flinched as if struck, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It was not—”

“Not what?” she snapped. “Not intentional? Not serious? Do you take me for a fool?”

“No!” he exclaimed, finally meeting her eyes. “No, Alicent, I would never— It is not as you think.”

“Then tell me,” she demanded, her voice softening but no less dangerous. “Tell me what it is, because I cannot fathom how a sworn knight of my father’s house could betray his vows in such a manner.”

Gwayne exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I… I did not intend for it to happen. But she is… she is not a child, Alicent. She is a woman grown.”

Alicent’s lips thinned, her nails digging into the armrests. “She is a maiden of seventeen, and your blood, Gwayne. Do not speak of her as if she were some tavern wench.”

“I would never treat her as such!” he protested, his voice rising in indignation. “I care for her—deeply. I would never dishonor her.”

“And yet, you have,” Alicent said coldly. “Do you know what they call her now? What they whisper when they think I cannot hear? They call her ‘Hightower’s harlot.’ Do you think she deserves such cruelty? Do you think she deserves to be tarnished by your selfishness?”

Gwayne’s face contorted in anguish. “I never wanted to hurt her,” he said, his voice breaking. “I love her, Alicent. I love her.”

The queen froze, the words hanging heavy in the air between them. Love. How many times had that word been used as an excuse for folly, for ruin? She had seen its effects firsthand—in her own life, in her children’s lives. And now, here it was again, threatening to destroy everything she had worked so hard to protect.

“Love?” she repeated bitterly. “Do you think love will shield her from the scorn of the court? From the wrath of her father? From the consequences of your actions?”

Gwayne looked as though he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue. Alicent rose from her chair, her skirts rustling as she moved to stand before him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look up at her.

“You must end this,” she said firmly. “Whatever has passed between you, it must stop. For her sake, if not your own.”

He shook his head, his expression pained. “I cannot. Alicent, you do not understand—”

“I understand more than you think,” she interrupted, her voice softening ever so slightly. “I understand what it is to love someone you cannot have. But you must let her go, Gwayne. Before this affair destroys you both.”

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a desperation she had not seen in years. “And if I cannot?”

“Then I will do what I must,” Alicent said, her tone hardening once more. “You may be my brother, but she is my daughter. And I will not allow your foolishness to ruin her.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, Gwayne lowered his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I will end it,” he said quietly.

Alicent nodded, though her heart ached at the sight of him so broken. “See that you do.”

As Gwayne rose to leave, she called after him. “And Gwayne… if I hear of this again, I will not be so forgiving.”

He paused in the doorway, his back to her. “You will not hear of it again,” he said, his voice heavy with sorrow.

When he was gone, Alicent sank back into her chair, exhaustion washing over her. She closed her eyes, her mind racing with thoughts of what might come next. The damage had already been done, but she would not allow it to spread further. She would protect her daughter, no matter the cost.

The morning was crisp and gray as Gwayne Hightower mounted his horse outside the gates of the Red Keep. The city was just beginning to stir, merchants opening their stalls and beggars shuffling into the streets. His escort of four knights sat astride their mounts, ready to accompany him on the long journey to Oldtown. The weight of his armor felt heavier than usual, though he had forgone the usual green and silver cloak of his house. There was no pride in this departure. This was exile.

He glanced back toward the castle one last time. The Red Keep’s towers loomed high against the sky, their sharp spires reaching toward the heavens like cruel fingers. Somewhere within those walls, you remained, perhaps still weeping from the conversation the night before. He had not meant to hurt you, but obedience to Alicent’s command had left him no choice.

“I love you,” you had whispered, tears streaming down your face, your voice trembling as if the confession itself might shatter you. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

“It means everything,” he had said, his own voice breaking. “And that is why this must end.”

The memory of your anguished cries haunted him now, an echo that refused to fade. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the vision. It was done. He had done what was required of him, what Alicent had demanded. He would leave for Oldtown, put distance between himself and the court, and pray that time would dull the ache in his chest.

As the gates of King’s Landing receded behind him, Gwayne forced himself to focus on the road ahead. The journey to Oldtown would be long, but perhaps the monotony of travel would offer some solace.

The group had made camp by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world into hues of deep orange and purple. The crackle of the fire offered the only sound besides the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. Gwayne sat apart from his men, his gaze fixed on the flames. He had scarcely touched his supper, his appetite stolen by the storm of emotions within him.

“Ser Gwayne,” one of the knights called, breaking the silence. “A rider approaches.”

Gwayne stood, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. The rider came quickly, his horse lathered with sweat, and when he dismounted, Gwayne recognized him as a messenger from the Red Keep.

“Ser Gwayne,” the man panted, his face pale with exhaustion. “I bring grave news from King’s Landing.”

Gwayne’s heart sank. “What has happened?”

The messenger hesitated, his eyes flickering to the knights around them. “It would be best if I spoke with you privately, my lord.”

“Speak plainly,” Gwayne commanded, his voice hardening. “What news do you bring?”

The messenger swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he reached into his satchel and produced a scroll. “Princess Y/N… she… she has passed.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath Gwayne’s feet. “What do you mean, passed?” he demanded, his voice rising with desperation. “How?”

“She…” The messenger faltered, unable to meet Gwayne’s gaze. “She flung herself from the battlements of Maegor’s Holdfast. Her body was found on the stones below.”

For a moment, Gwayne could not breathe. The words crashed over him like a wave, drowning him in their weight. His knees buckled, and he stumbled back, catching himself on a tree. The knights exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether to intervene.

“You lie,” Gwayne said, his voice trembling with rage and disbelief. “She would not… she could not…”

The messenger shook his head, his expression filled with pity. “I am sorry, my lord. The Queen herself confirmed it. She bade me deliver the news to you.”

Gwayne’s vision blurred, his mind racing with a thousand questions. Why? Why would you do such a thing? Had his rejection wounded you so deeply? He had thought his words harsh, yes, but necessary. He had believed that time and distance would heal the pain he had caused. But now… now there was no time. No distance. Only the cruel finality of your absence.

The camp was silent as Gwayne sat by the fire, his head in his hands. His knights kept their distance, whispering amongst themselves but leaving him to his grief. The messenger had departed, leaving behind only the cold reality of his words.

“She is gone,” Gwayne muttered to himself, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “Gone because of me.”

He thought of your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of dragons and poetry, of the stolen moments you had shared in the shadowed corridors of the Red Keep. He had loved you, though he had never dared to say it aloud. And now, that love had destroyed you.

The fire crackled, sending sparks into the night sky, and Gwayne’s sorrow turned to anger. Anger at himself for his weakness, at Alicent for her interference, at the world for its cruel injustices.

“This is not justice,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “This is not mercy.”

The next morning, Gwayne rose before dawn, his face haggard and his eyes hollow. He gave orders for the camp to be packed and for the journey to Oldtown to resume. But as his horse trotted along the winding road, his thoughts remained fixed on the Red Keep, on the battlements where you had stood, and on the stones where your life had ended.

In his heart, Gwayne swore an oath. He would not forget you, nor would he forgive those who had forced this tragedy upon you. Not Alicent, not Otto, not even himself.

The journey to Oldtown stretched before him, but the road behind him was littered with ghosts. And he carried the heaviest one in his heart.

[daisymbin]

could you do fluff prompt #27 with woozi 🥹 maybe a birthday related one since its his bday (you might see this past his bday but thats okay! ><)

oh no, I'm late 😭😭😭 but hopefully, I did this prompt justice for jihoon!!!! thank you for requesting 🫶����

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // jihoon’s m.list

fluff prompt #27: "did you plan this whole day just to make me happy?"

jihoon wasn’t one for elaborate birthday celebrations. if it were up to him, he’d spend the day in the studio or curled up with a book, far from the fanfare. but you had other plans—and somehow, he found himself being pulled into them.

“why are we here?” he asked, eyeing the quaint record shop you’d led him to.

“you can’t tell me you wouldn’t want to be here,” you said, holding the door open for him. “besides, i thought it’d be fun to pick out something new for your collection.”

jihoon didn’t argue, though he tried to hide the faint flicker of excitement. he wandered through the aisles, his fingers brushing over album covers as he let out a soft hum of approval.

“you’re stalling,” you teased, nudging him gently. “what’s caught your eye?”

he finally pulled out a vinyl, glancing at the cover before turning it in his hands. “this one’s a classic,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“then it’s yours,” you said easily, taking it from him to pay at the counter.

“you don’t have to—” he started, but you shot him a look that silenced him.

“don’t ruin the moment, jihoon,” you teased, and he felt his lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile.

the next stop was a small café tucked away in a quiet corner of the city.

“why here?” he asked as you both settled into a table by the window.

“because they have a build-your-own drink option,” you said, sliding the menu toward him.

jihoon raised a brow. “you think i’m going to do that?”

“you’re picky,” you replied, grinning. “thought you’d appreciate the control.”

he couldn’t argue with that. after some coaxing, he found himself picking out ingredients, customizing a drink to his exact liking. when it arrived, he took a sip and let out a soft hum of approval.

“good?” you asked, watching him with a smile.

“better than i expected,” he admitted, surprising himself.

“see? trust me more,” you said, leaning back in your chair with a triumphant grin.

the last stop was the city observatory, where you led him up a winding staircase to a quiet viewing platform. the city stretched out below, its lights twinkling like scattered stars.

jihoon leaned against the railing, his eyes scanning the skyline. “you really planned all this?”

“maybe,” you said, standing beside him.

“why?” he asked, though the answer was already starting to form in his mind.

you hesitated, your voice soft as you finally said, “it’s your birthday, jihoon. i just thought you deserved something special.”

he blinked, caught off guard by how easily you said it.

��did you plan this whole day just to make me happy?”

you fiddled with the hem of your jacket, your gaze on the city below. “...maybe.”

jihoon stared at you for a moment, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions he didn’t know how to name.

“you didn’t have to do all this,” he said quietly, his voice more tender than usual.

“i know,” you replied, finally looking at him. “but i wanted to.”

he leaned back in his chair, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk. “next time, let’s skip the record shop and café and just come straight here.”

“oh?” you tilted your head, your eyes narrowing playfully. “why? did i make it too exhausting for you?”

he shook his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “no. i just like spending time with you. and maybe... next time, we can stay a little longer. just us.”

you blinked, and then a small, knowing smile spread across your face. “are you trying to tell me something, jihoon?”

“maybe,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his voice low and teasing.

you laughed, the sound bright and warm, and jihoon found himself smiling too, his chest light and full all at once.

[dip-lou-in-honey]

god bless louis tomlinson because live is such a gift to us. like yeah already know all the songs (and most of the words better than he does) and yes we all already watched all the streams and went to as many shows as we could, and recorded them on our phones to replay our own videos, and yes we circulate concert videos on social media all the time, and edits and gifs and photos. but actually YES we would also like to hear the whole thing over again, and over and over and over again, and YES we would like to hear it in high quality, recorded from the stage so we can actually hear louis' voice soar over the rest of the crowd and the music, like it does live. yes i want to hear what chicago sounded like in chicago, i want to hear people screaming 'i love you' in countries i've never been to. that moment of anticipation where you're waiting to hear what the next song will be, i love the scream once we all recognise it. being able to hear that again reminds me of what it feels like to be at a concert, surrounded by the crowd and in front of louis. it's such a relief tbh, to remember those moments so clearly whenever it comes up on shuffle. like, he just knows that we'll never get sick of those live moments, he knows how much we miss him when he's gone, and he's recorded a whole live album for us - like u would give a toddler a toy to play with when u need to ignore them to get some chores done. love that for him and us tbh 💕

[latexb0n3z]

Sorry Sack

(Blindness) Anyways; this was a request I really liked from @umbrulla

CW: They get a little too excited at the end, Logan is thrilled by sensation- and Wade is thrilled by Logan.

The first thing Logan noticed was the silence. Not the kind he liked, either—not the peace that came from sitting under a canopy of trees with the faint rustle of wind and the distant chirp of birds. This was something deeper, heavier, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then came the pain.

Hot, searing, and impossible to ignore. His claws instinctively popped as his body tensed, every nerve screaming. But even through the agony, Logan’s mind zeroed in on one detail: he couldn’t see.

���What the hell…” he groaned, voice ragged, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth.

The fight had been brutal. He’d barely registered the mutant—a hulking beast of a man with claws sharper than his own—before they were tangled in a blur of violence. Logan had won, but at a price.

“Logan?”

The voice cut through the haze. Familiar, annoying, and somehow grounding.

“Wade…” Logan growled.

“Holy crap, your eyes! Dude, did someone order Wolverine tartare? ’Cause you’re looking medium rare—wait, no, extra well-done. Oh, man. I can’t look. But I also can’t not look.”

Logan’s lips curled into a snarl. “Wade. Shut. Up.”

“Right, right. Focus. Got it. First aid kit. Oh, wait, that’s not gonna help, is it? You’ve got the whole self-healing deal. Or… wait, why aren’t they healing?!”

Logan gritted his teeth. The wounds around his eyes had already stopped bleeding, and the skin was knitting itself back together. But there was something wrong. He blinked—or tried to—but the world stayed black.

“Wade,” Logan said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. “I can’t see.”

—

The first week was hell.

Incident one.

Logan’s body healed fast enough that the scars around his eyes were gone in hours. But his vision? That never returned.

At first, he’d thought it was a fluke. Maybe his body just needed more time. But as the days dragged on, it became clear: the healing factor wasn’t fixing this.

“Logan, buddy, I don’t think it’s a good idea to—”

“I don’t need your help, Wade,” Logan snapped, shoving past him and nearly tripping over a chair.

Wade caught him before he fell, his grip surprisingly steady. “Okay, fine, I won’t say it. But, uh, just for the record, that chair you almost face-planted into? It wasn’t even in your way. You walked into it.”

Logan growled, swatting Wade’s hand away. He hated this. The helplessness. The constant pity in Wade’s voice, even if the merc tried to mask it with jokes. He was blind as a bat— and it wasn’t getting better. He didn’t realize just how much he loved seeing color… and seeing the people speaking to him.

—

Incident two.

“Logan, you’re breaking everything in my apartment!” Wade groaned as Logan stumbled, knocking over a table.

Logan growled. “Then maybe don’t leave your crap everywhere.”

“It’s not crap, it’s art,” Wade replied, righting the table. “Also, that was a pizza box, not a chair. You’re welcome for me not laughing— which I would be if my concern wasn’t outweighing my urge to poke fun at you, peanut.”

Logan had the urge to tell him to stop calling him that, but a part of him liked it subconsciously… so he never said anything.

Logan sat heavily on the couch, his head in his hands. It had been weeks, and the blindness wasn’t getting any better. Outwardly, he was healed—no scars, no blood, nothing to suggest he was any different than before. But inside, his healing factor kept rejecting the delicate tissue in his eyes, leaving him in permanent darkness.

“Look, you can’t keep wallowing here forever,” Wade said. “I know someone who can help.”

“Who? One of your weird ‘contacts’?”

“I know just the gal. She’s blind too—super smart, super snarky, and way better at being blind than you are at… whatever this is.”

“Blind Al,” Wade announced.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Blind who?”

“Al! She’s like a sarcastic Yoda, but without the pointy ears. You’ll love her.”

Meeting Blind Al

Wade didn’t give Logan much of a choice, dragging him to a small, cozy house at the edge of town. The place smelled of lavender and bleach, with the faint hum of a heater in the background. This wasn’t going to be the kind of help he wanted, he already knew that. He needed to be fixed, not learn how to live like this. His body was supposed to fix itself.

“Wade, what the hell are you doing back here?” came a sharp voice from inside.

“Al! I brought you a gift!” Wade called cheerfully. “He’s grumpy, hairy, and now conveniently blind, just like you!”

“Watch it,” Logan muttered.

A woman appeared in the doorway, leaning on her cane. She was older, with short-cropped white hair and a sharp expression that could cut steel.

“So, you’re the famous Wolverine,” Al said, sizing him up. “And you’re blind now. Boo-hoo. Get in here.”

Logan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Al snapped. “If you’re going to sulk about being blind, you can do it inside where I don’t have to listen to Wilson yapping in my yard.”

Blind Al didn’t waste time with pity or pleasantries. The moment Logan stepped into her home, she handed him a cane.

“What’s this for?” Logan asked, frowning.

“For not walking into walls,” Al said flatly. “Lesson one: stop acting like you’re the only blind person who’s ever existed.”

Logan bristled but followed her instructions. Over the next few days, she taught him how to rely on his other senses more intentionally—how to map a room by sound, how to feel the flow of air on his skin, how to tune in to subtle vibrations in the ground.

—

“You’re lucky,” Al said one day. “You’ve got super senses and a healing factor. You’ve already got an edge. You just need to stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to use it.”

Logan didn’t respond, but her words stuck with him.

Wade’s “Help”

—

While Al focused on practical skills, Wade took a more… unconventional approach.

“Logan, I got you something!” Wade announced one day, bounding into the room.

“Unless it’s a beer, I don’t want it,” Logan muttered.

“Better than beer! It’s a seeing-eye dog!”

Logan froze. “You got me a dog?”

Wade grinned. “Yep! His name is Sir Barksalot. Isn’t he cute?”

Logan heard a low growl, followed by the sound of claws clicking on the floor.

“Wade, that’s not a dog,” Al said from the other room. “That’s a raccoon!”

“Details!” Wade shouted.

Logan sighed. “Get it out of here before I gut it.”

“Oh no you don’t! Not in my house!”

—

Despite Wade’s antics, Logan began to make progress. Blind Al’s blunt teaching style forced him out of his comfort zone, and little by little, he started to adapt. He could navigate Al’s house without bumping into furniture, track sounds with precision, and even spar with Wade using only his heightened senses.

But the darkness still lingered. No matter how much he adjusted, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness.

One night, he sat on the porch, the cool air brushing against his face.

“You know, you’re still you,” Wade said, sitting down beside him.

“Yeah? And what the hell does that mean, bub?”

“It means you’re still the Wolverine,” Wade said. “Blind or not, you’re still the toughest, beefiest, sexiest guy I know. And I’m not just saying that because you could stab me if I didn’t.”

Logan snorted, and Wade earned a little half smile, to which he stared at admiringly. Not like Logan could see him doing it and stop him. His eyes almost looked like his own if you really looked. Milky, clouded pupils.

“You’re an idiot.” But his tone had no bite to it.

“True,” Wade said cheerfully. “But I’m your idiot.”

Logan didn’t respond, but for the first time in weeks, he felt a small spark of hope.

—

They had almost the same conversation twice, but with an even better outcome in Wade’s eyes.

Logan adjusted to his new world of darkness better than he expected, but even with all the progress he’d made, there were nights when the silence pressed in too hard, and the void felt endless, under stimulated by his existence, mourning a whole sense.

Tonight was one of those nights, where his thoughts got just as dark as his vision. He lost himself in thought.

He didn’t hear Wade approach, but the merc’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Care if I join you, big guy?” Wade asked softly, without his usual theatricality.

Logan shrugged, gruff as ever, but he didn’t push him away. He felt Wade sit beside him, his presence oddly grounding.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Wade, remarkably, didn’t fill the silence with jokes or chatter. Logan almost missed it.

“You ever think…” Logan began, his voice low and rough, “about how much quieter the world is when you can’t see it?”

Wade tilted his head, the question catching him off guard. “Well, I wouldn’t call my world quiet. It’s more like a carnival run by homicidal tumor ridden clowns, but I get your point.”

Logan huffed a faint laugh, the closest thing to a smile Wade had gotten out of him in days.

“You’ve been hanging around a lot,” Logan said after a beat. “Even for you.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you from falling on pizza boxes. And, y’know… I like being around you. You’re like a really grumpy lighthouse, guiding me through life’s fog.” He said, trying to make the statement as intentionally corny as possible.

Logan turned toward him, blind eyes staring unseeing into Wade’s face. “You’re the worst at metaphors.”

Wade grinned. “But I’m great at sitting here and annoying you into realizing how awesome you are.”

Logan’s lip twitched. “You’re annoying, all right.”

“I annoy because I care,” Wade said, his voice dipping into something softer, gentler.

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t heavy. Logan leaned back against the porch railing, listening to the steady rhythm of Wade’s breathing.

“You really think I’m still me?” Logan asked quietly, the vulnerability in his voice catching even him by surprise.

“Logan,” Wade said, and the sound of his name—spoken without a joke or a smirk—made something in Logan’s chest tighten. “I’ve thought you were you since the first time I met you. Sight or no sight, claws or no claws, you’re still the guy I’d follow into any fight. You’re still the guy I…” He trailed off, then added with an almost shy chuckle, “You’re still the guy I’d make pancakes for in the morning. Bad ones, but pancakes nonetheless.”

Logan turned his head toward Wade, his brows furrowing. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Wade replied. “And don’t worry—I’ll keep being annoying about it until you believe me.”

Something in Logan softened, the walls he’d been holding up for so long starting to crumble. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out a hand, fumbling for Wade’s. Wade caught it immediately, his fingers warm and steady.

“Guess I’ve been fighting this too hard,” Logan admitted.

Wade squeezed his hand. “It’s okay to let someone in, Logan. Even if it’s just me. Especially if it’s me.” He said that even though he knew damn well he didn’t let anyone in himself— just tried his best to make himself into a joke, because if he doesn’t laugh, he cries.

For the first time in weeks, Logan let out a deep breath that felt like relief. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Never,” Wade promised, his voice so soft it almost broke.

Logan didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t pull his hand away either. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the darkness didn’t seem so overwhelming. Logan hesitated, but he leaned forward to rest his forehead in the crook of Wade’s clavicle— inhaling him like he was a drug, taking a deep breath in.

It was like a badge of honor to Wade, so he didn’t ruin it by speaking— until now.

“Can I kiss you, honey badger? I really wanna kiss you right now.”

The question was so direct it made Logan feel hot from the tips of his ears to the tip of nose and quickly. He made a deep, low, guttural sound, almost like a sigh, contemplating, nervous. Bashful. Partly because Wade didn’t just do it… he asked… desperately, enthusiastically.

Because he wanted that same enthusiasm back.

Logan nodded, parting his lips slightly— expecting Wade to take the lead at risk of missing his lips if he tried to lean in himself.

The sensation lit his core on fire, and the end of every nerve. Wade noticed immediately the shift in his body temperature, the way he was hot to the touch. It made Wade a little trigger happy, kicking up the intensity from a soft little kiss to a hungry, grabby, make-out session. He’s gripping Logan’s hair at the top like he’s got handles, licking his teeth and bitting his bottom lip before pulling away.

“Holy shit, Wade. Were you trying to eat me?” He wiped the saliva off his mouth, the small bruise left on his lip healing visibly in its usual record time.

Wade almost moaned, still only inches away from Logan’s face, still feeling his heavy, hot breath on his skin. “Oh fuck yes, Logan— I’m trying to eat you. I should call you little bat from now on. Because you’re about a head shorter than me and you can’t even see how much I look at that ass anymore.” The humor in his meaning still came through, but his tone remained flirtatious.

“Fuck off, you’re sick.” He punched Wade’s chest playfully- still so taken aback from the intensity of how Wade attempted to devour him that his stomach ached with arousal.

“Let’s go home. Quickly. I really do need to eat you, Logan. Like right now, I’ve waited my whole life for this moment.”

Logan pressed a finger hard against Wade’s lips, grabbing the back of his head. Wade shut right up.

“You’re too excited, watch it before I change my mind.”

See what I did with the colors there? Hehheheheheh.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

what do you think tom riddle's boggart would take the form of?

I think it depends on when in his life we're talking about. I think, between WWII and his first death, his boggart would take the form of his own demise, but not just him dead. It's him being dead and forgotten and unknown.

When he's younger in the orphanage it's himself dying from the bombings and being just another muggle corpse to be cleaned off the streets. A poor orphan with no name, no legacy, and no memory. Becouse I don't think it's just death Tom fears, he wants validation, he wants people to know how great he is. He is terrified of dying as a nobody.

When older it would be this same idea I think. Dying unknown, just from different things and in different circumstances.

After he dies for the first time in Godric's Hallow I think it'll change though. I think it would become being helpless. Being stuck as a powerless wraith and being "less than the meanest ghost" I think would scare him more. After all, he already made sure he'd be remembered. Voldemort's name would be known. Now he's scared of death not because he won't get his recognition, but because he will become nothing. And he despises being powerless and weak more than anything else.

During most the second war, that would mostly be his boggart. But I think his boggart changes again.

I think, even though he keeps telling himself Harry is just Dumbledore's puppet and that he only survived due to Voldemort's own failures... I don't think Voldemort truly believes that. I think he slowly grew to fear Harry. If he encountered the boggart after Harry reappeared after dying in the forest, I think a weird zombified Harry coming after him and his Horcruxes would've been his boggart.

I think, during the second war even before that (post-book 5, I think), his boggart would've been Harry. Not because he was scared of what Harry would do to him, but because of what Harry represented. Harry is his one and only failure that he can't fix. He's a representation of Voldemort's own weakness and shortcomings (in Voldy's mind). So, I think his boggart might be Harry for what Harry means to him. As a stain on prefect Tom Riddle's perfect record.

I just think it's telling Voldemort was scared to check if Harry was dead in the forest, is all I'm saying.

[jimin-bangtan]

Jimin’s Daesang Win → SMF, Pt 2 Connection

Image originally posted by Ask-Serendipity-Sky

Jimin recently won the Fans' Choice of the Year daesang (grand prize) award at the 2024 MAMA ceremony. This award, formerly known as the Worldwide Icon of the Year award, has only previously been won by a group and has been won by his own group (BTS) for the past 6 years. Jimin is the first soloist to win this prestigious award. The last soloist to win a daesang award of any category, a decade ago, was Taeyang of Big Bang, who fans know is an idol that Jimin admired and eventually got to work with on the successful collaboration song, Vibe, in early 2023.  It was Taeyang's first entry at all on the Billboard Hot100 chart, and it was Jimin's first as a soloist - but it was not Jimin’s last solo appearance.  He went on to have at least 5 more entries up to this point, including the very first #1 by a K-soloist in history. Since then, Jimin has earned countless other historic and record-breaking achievements as a soloist and is continuing to do so at the time of this writing. 

It is impressive, and a bit sad, that Jimin earned this fan-voted award while away, serving his mandatory military duty for his country, so he was not able to accept the award in person. He was also not present to promote his extremely successful, current solo album, MUSE, although he worked very hard to leave promotional material behind to be used in his absence. It is also worth noting that all of these Billboard achievements were done with very little opportunity for Jimin to promote his work fully - for a variety of reasons. 

I have often said not to count out a determined Park Jimin.  If Jimin makes a plan, envisions a dream, or states a vow, he is one who has shown that he will do whatever he can to try to make sure it comes to pass. With all this said, I think it is a good time to remind everyone of the lyrics of Jimin’s favorite song from his debut solo album, FACE - Set Me Free, Part 2.   (As an aside: I think it should already have gotten 1 billion streams.) 

While you read the lyrics and rewatch the video, think of all that Jimin has been through and how hard he has worked, which inspired him to make the declarations in this song. Then consider the daesang award he has just received.  Jimin truly set himself free and lit his path as a soloist on fire.🔥🔥🔥

Written by GHSTLOOP, Pdogg, Jimin, Supreme Boi Translation by DoolsetBangtan

SET ME FREE, PART 2

PDogg called it. IYKYK.

**If you're up for a long read and want a reminder of Jimin's journey up to this point, feel free to read my Chameleon Park Jimin Series, parts 1-4.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Make sure to get plenty of rest after your flight babe, and eat well!💋

Vessel x reader (who is a singer) where either he or she want to collab/work together and he starts to like her romantically

Fighting low blood pressure today but trying to down vitamin waters and shit. Thank you for your care. ✨

Slow love

Vessel never took any collaboration offers. He got many of them. Some were more appealing than others. But it never truly felt right. It felt like too much of a change. Too much to give and too much to lose. Not to mention the NDA’s that had to be sighed because he wasn’t about to spend the whole time recording while wearing the mask. That was until he found you.

It had been a late night, one that Vessel had quite often when he stumbled upon your video. A cover of one of his songs. The sound of Aqua Regia filling the darkness. Vessel had moved to sit up, as the video played and played. The perfect runs, the vocal control. He had spent nearly all night stalking your page that time. Singing harmony alongside your voice.

Now weeks later you were officially the new part of the team. You being a new small artist helped with lots of things. You both worked on shared music as well as Vessel offering you to be the lead back vocal for him. It had been a tight squeeze with the tour being right around the corner but the way you worked had only proved to Vessel that he hadn’t made a mistake.

“Here”, you jumped slightly, feeling something cold touch your shoulder. “Oh, Christ”, you clasped the plastic material, realizing that it was a water bottle, lifting your head to meet Vessel looming over you. “The size of you and how quietly you move still doesn’t add up”, you chuckle softly, turning to him. “When was the last time you drank?”, he asked pushing the empty chair closer to where you sat. You quickly unscrew the lid taking a couple of sips, “Just now actually”. Vessel shook his head, making you chuckle softly as he leaned over glancing at the pages spread out.

“New lyrics. It’s a mess so maybe I shouldn’t let you look yet” You placed your palm over it, “You’ll realize that I ain’t that good”, you added laughing nervously. “I know that you’re perfect already”, Vessel mused softly, his much bigger palm landing over yours. You let him lift your palm. Let him turn the pages as he continued to hold your hand in his.

“These are good”, Vessel nodded, “this line especially”, tapping onto the page as he looked up. “You think so?”, your cheeks glowing softly pink. “Yeah”, he nodded firmly. “Shit sorry”, he suddenly dropped your hand when the realization finally hit him. Your palm instantly grew cold now that his fingers were no longer intertwined with yours. “It’s okay, I… it’s fine”, you quickly reassure him.

“I didn’t even notice”, Vessel frowned slightly, his own cheeks crimson. You had fit so effortlessly into his life that he hadn’t realized how much he needed someone like you. Someone who was consistently there. Quietly looking after him. “Is it bad that I don’t mind?”, you muttered, pulling at your sleeves. Vessel blinked softly letting your words sink in. You two sat there for a moment. Just looking at one another before he once again reached out, threading his fingers through yours. A soft smile spread across his lips, a smile that matched yours.

[cherrylng]

My Chemical Romance - Gerard Way interview [INROCK (May 2006)]

“I'm using the word "love" for the first time. I can definitely say this is based on real experience.”

Gerard Way / My Chemical Romance INTERVIEW: AI ANAZAWA

My Chemical Romance have been laying low of late in order to work on a new album following "Sweet Revenge". If all had gone according to plan, recording would have started at some place in Los Angeles by now, but this time it is Rob Cavallo, who produced their heroes Green Day, who is in charge of production. According to Rob, the new album has "some dark stuff, some references to Queen and The Doors. There are also some experimental parts that are reminiscent of System of a Down." The working title of the new album is "The Rise and Fall of My Chemical Romance." It is significant that the album is about 'the rise and fall of My Chemical Romance', even though they have only released two albums so far. As we wait for the album to be released before the end of the year, we attempted an email interview with Gerard, who says he loves Japan.

How have you been? How are you doing these days? Gerard Way (vo.): Good question. I actually just got back from Japan the other day, can you believe it? The day we finished touring in Australia, I went to Japan for a holiday. I was so happy this time because I got to see the beautiful land of Japan without working. What else have I been doing recently? In six days I'll be heading to Los Angeles to prepare for the recording of the new album.

I heard you were visiting Japan. Where did you go and what did you do? Gerard: Hahaha, you already answered your own question. I went to a lot of places. Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto, Miyajima, Hiroshima and many other places. I also stayed at a ryokan across the sea by boat. I went hiking and visited a lot of temples. I had dinner with a geisha… I had so many wonderful experiences.

Were you alone? Or do you have friends in Japan you can rely on? Gerard: I went with my girlfriend. And her younger sister and her boyfriend, who are both artists by the way. My sister's boyfriend is from Kyoto, so he showed me around. If it wasn't for him, I would have been completely lost. So it's thanks to him that I've had such a great experience. Of course, meeting Kazu, the Japanese label manager, was another highlight of the trip. For me he's not just a label manager, he's a good friend. We got some great photos together.

"I feel like when I go to Japan, I come back a better person afterwards."

What did you buy in Japan? Gerard: I bought a lot of straps to put on my mobile phone, hahaha. I also bought a lot of souvenirs for my family and friends. Tea, Godzilla, and Studio Ghibli stuff.

Why Japan? Gerard: Because it's my favourite place in the world. It's beautiful and I like the way people take care of things. I feel like when I go to Japan, I come back a better person afterwards.

Is there anything you've learnt since you've been here? Gerard: Wow, well… I learnt about respect and the importance of thinking about what's good on a larger community level and not just about yourself.

Don't you think more Americans should travel more and see more of the world? Gerard: Everyone should, not just Americans. It's the only way to learn about the world.

I heard a rumour that you bought a CD of the Don Quixote theme song while you were in Japan. Gerard: Yeah, I liked it so much that Kazu helped me find the CD and buy it. I'm sure Matt Cortez, our guitar tech, will be thrilled when he hears it.

You once said that "I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love" (first album) was about finding yourself, and "Sweet Revenge" was about polishing yourself, so you want to make the next album the ultimate My Chemical Romance album. What exactly do you plan to do to make that happen? Gerard: I think some of the songs on the previous albums have inspired us to grow up and take more risks as a result. For example, "You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison" on "Sweet Revenge" showed us that we could explore new and more diverse areas. It's like a warm-up before a boxing match knockout. Another thing I can say is that the new album will be more colourful. It will definitely have more depth and you'll see that we don't care about the outcome, we're just going to do what we want to do.

What can we expect from the new album? Are you planning any collaborations with anyone? Who will be your producer? Gerard: I'm looking forward to some intense stuff. Also, there will be a lot of wolves. I don't know about collaborations yet, but we're going to have Rob Cavallo as producer. I'm very happy about that. It's a huge honour.

You mentioned that the new album will have more songs based on real-life experiences. What are the themes of the lyrics? Gerard: Death is still a theme in the new album, but this time it's more humorous than before. There's also a lot of references to self-loathing, self-awareness and a lot of longing. I'm using the word "love" for the first time. I can definitely say that this is based on real experiences.

Looking back, what do you think of your work so far? Gerard: I'm very proud of it. At the same time, I feel that I could have done better. Especially my parts. But hey, I'm good at criticising myself.

"I've been sober for the last year and a half, and it's made my life a lot better."

I heard that "Sweet Revenge" was a concept album, and the makeup was based on that concept. Do you think it was good the way it was? Gerard: Of course. It was necessary for us to make an artistic statement and to get the idea across. It was specific to "Sweet Revenge", and we'll do something different next time.

With that album, you guys were accepted by many people, especially the MTV demographic. I think your popularity has exploded, especially over the past year, thanks in part to the elaborate promotional videos you've made. When we spoke at Summer Sonic two years ago, you said that you still had a strong New Jersey underdog mentality, which I remember fondly. Was it a slow and gradual process for you guys to become popular since then? Or was it a sudden, dramatic change? Gerard: Even though we'd been around for quite a while, it was a sudden change. We just couldn't keep up with the fame. I don't think anyone can ever be prepared for fame. And we didn't get along well with celebrities, so we never got over the underdog mentality. Celebrity pretence was never our forte.

How important is the visual aspect? What can we expect to see from you in the future? Gerard: The visual aspect of the album art and the stage is very important. The costumes we've worn in the past, they've just naturally taken shape to suit the stage. That's why I don't wear the old stage clothes for photo shoots these days.

You have been relatively open about your depression and alcoholism. How are things going for you there? You seem to be a lot happier these days. Gerard: I'm doing great. I've been sober for the last year and a half, and it's made my life a lot better.

Finally, I know you're of Italian descent, but what other bloodlines are you mixed with? Gerard: Italian and Scottish, as well as German and Swedish. My name comes from a Catholic saint. That's a very Italian way of giving a name.

Oh, at the end of the day, did I forget to ask you anything else? Gerard: Hahaha~ I think we covered it all. Thanks for today!

Translator's Note: Please do support me via ko-fi! ☕

[enruiinas]

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ❝Somehow I didn't expect you to,❞ Law murmured thoughtfully. And he hadn't. Every time he'd allowed his thoughts to drift that far into an imaginary future - the one where she might come back to him one day, called home by the memories its fabric had conjured on the nights she'd remembered she missed him… He'd never expected an apology. For any of it - from leaving in the first place or taking his favorite shirt when she'd left to waiting however long it had taken to come back again.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ Even when days had dragged on and her return had seemed more and more unlikely, and wishful thoughts had turned not to a tomorrow, nor to a week or month from now, but to some distant, far off future in which she might come back again…

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ Even when he had wanted to be angry - when hurt outweighed his hopes and he wanted her to regret what she had done to him, he'd never pictured Nami apologizing for any of it.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ He hadn't wanted her to. Because if the day ever came when Nami did come back to him, whether he saw it a month down the line or three years down the line, if Nami didn't apologize for anything, then he wouldn't have to relive it. The way he had imagined it, if Nami would simply come back - come back to the place he'd promised could be a home for her if she'd wanted it, as if that were all it was - coming home after being away for a while…

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ If she waited for him at home one day as though none of it had happened, they could carry on as though it hadn't. He wouldn't need an apology because there'd be nothing to apologize for; she'd simply… be there, just like she'd said she wanted.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ In all his wishful thinking, when a voice in his head had insisted that was all it was and that she wouldn't come back again, he had ignored it by pretending it could be that simple. They wouldn't have to tiptoe around one another or search for the right words to say as they were doing now.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ He'd simply take the offered shirt back, shake his head as if she'd done something silly that hadn't hurt and hadn't mattered, and welcome her home again.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ But here was that impossible future playing out around them, and it wasn't like Law had imagined. It was tentative and awkward. And though Law felt a surge of relief when she thrust the shirt into his hands and made for his bedroom, the reality had thrown things at him he'd never anticipated.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ You know where they are, he wanted to tell her. Indication that she could take whichever of his shirts he wanted - that he thought of it not as his bedroom, but as theirs, because that was how he'd wanted this to go. In the version of this he'd been imagining all this time, Nami would already be settled in and he might have joined her in the shower.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ But in this version of events, Nami hadn't returned to him alone. There was a journal on the living room table - a record of the life growing inside of her so far, and Law wasn't sure where that left them. Torn between the desire to make it normal again - to follow after her like it was natural or return to the living room to address the truth he'd yet to fully process, the words lodged in his throat.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ Instead of teasing like he might have, insisting there was no point in her choosing a shirt when he fully intended to take it off of her like he might have in the future he'd imagined, Law only nodded and looked down at the crumpled fabric in his hands.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ You can put them wherever you want, okay?

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ I want -

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ Unless you'd rather-

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ❝Right - well… It might take some time to get this one back to smelling right again. Guess you'll have to make do with another until then. In the meantime I'll go check on that movie. Let me know if you need anything,❞ he offered. Turning away before she could answer, he set off toward the living room, leaving the ginger to her own devices before one more thing he wanted to feel easy again - natural again could prove itself anything but.

[daisymbin]

Oh sorry i forgot to mention the genre i meant #15 fluff with wonwoo thank youuu🥰

thank you for coming back to clarify!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // wonwoo's m.list

fluff prompt #15: "you're my favorite person, you know that?

the night was unusually cold, the chill creeping into the room despite the thick blanket draped over both of you. the only light came from the faint glow of the lamp on the nightstand, casting soft, golden hues over wonwoo’s face as he leaned back against the headboard.

you were curled up beside him, a book forgotten in your lap. the quiet was comfortable, filled only with the sound of his steady breathing and the occasional rustle of the blanket.

“it’s nice like this,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

you turned your head slightly to look at him. “what is?”

“just… us,” he said, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested against his arm. his voice was quiet, contemplative. “being here with you. no distractions, no rush to be anywhere.”

“you’re not usually this sentimental,” you teased gently, though your heart was already starting to race.

he chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “maybe you just don’t notice it.”

“or maybe you hide it well,” you countered, a smile tugging at your lips.

“maybe,” he said, his tone light, though his eyes were serious as they flicked over to you.

you could feel the shift in the air, the way his words hung between you like something unspoken. “wonwoo,” you said, your voice soft.

“hmm?” he murmured, his gaze meeting yours.

“what’s on your mind?”

he hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against yours. “just thinking,” he said finally.

“about?”

he looked down, his thumb tracing lazy patterns against the back of your hand. “you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

your breath hitched, and you tilted your head to get a better look at him. “me?”

he nodded, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the sheets. “yeah. i was just thinking about how… about how much i like this. how much i like… us, & how different everything feels with you. better, i mean.”

“better?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

he looked up, meeting your gaze again. “yeah,” he said, his voice steady despite the way his heart was racing. “like, even when everything else is a mess, when i’m with you, it doesn’t feel so bad. it feels like… like i can breathe.”

your expression softened, and he saw the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “wonwoo…”

“i mean it,” he said, his tone earnest. “you make everything better. you’re… you’re my favorite person, you know that?”

your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just stared at him, your eyes searching his face.

“your favorite person?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

he nodded, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “yeah. you’re the person i want to talk to when something good happens, and the person i want to see when things are hard. you’re the one who makes everything feel a little less heavy.”

your lips parted, but no words came out. he watched as your eyes shimmered, and his chest tightened.

“sorry,” he said quickly, pulling his hand back. “that was probably too much—”

“no,” you interrupted, your hand darting out to grab his. “it’s not too much.”

he stilled, his gaze dropping to where your fingers curled around his. “it’s not?”

you shook your head, your grip tightening slightly. “no. it’s… it’s exactly what i needed to hear.”

he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, relief washing over him. “yeah?”

you smiled, and this time, it reached your eyes. “yeah, and for the record, you’re my favorite person too.”

after a moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “sometimes i wonder what i did to deserve you.”

“wonwoo…”

“i’m serious,” he said, turning his head to look at you. “you make everything better, just by being here. i don’t think i’ll ever stop being grateful for that.”

your chest felt tight, your heart swelling with an emotion you couldn’t quite put into words. “you don’t have to deserve me,” you said finally. “we’re just… us. that’s enough.”

he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “yeah,” he said softly. “it is.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, but the affection in your gaze was undeniable. “come here,” you said, tugging on his hand.

he didn’t hesitate, shifting closer until there was no space left between you. you tucked yourself against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“thank you,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“for what?” he asked, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head.

“for being you,” you said simply.

he smiled, his heart feeling impossibly full.

[nulfaga]

Traveling lady, stay a while Until the night is over I'm just a station on your way I know I'm not your lover

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Still blows my mind the disparity between the Eng and the JP localization of Sonic Frontiers

So in the og English Tails expresses that he needs to part ways from Sonic so he can grow into a hero on his own, right? That he can't grow by being with him?

But like. The director of the game, who worked with Ian Flynn, worked on the JP localization and it's like. You're telling me that when they localized that scene for the Japanese audience

That it was about Tails learning that there are things only he can do? That instead of concluding that he needs to part ways from Sonic and become a hero, he just comes to realizes the ways in which he and Sonic fill each other's gaps? He learns that he already is on equal footing with Sonic. The two of them are just heroes who save people in different ways?

[mcrcki]

"you know that's not what i fucking mean, xaden, don't fucking start with that--" they were only feeding off each other, and despite violet knowing that, she cannot stop herself from following him down this path, letting his anger fuel her own. "you're changing physically because of whatever the fuck you've done! i can fucking watch you become someone different! every time you tap into that fucking power, you're changing!" she felt like she was going to break down, every other word from him had her reeling, watching him become more and more unrecognizable.. this couldn't continue on, she had wasted so much fucking time without her memories, had spent so long just what? flirting with him and going on fucking dates with dain? she had doomed him with her inactions, her inability to find a cure. only putting herself in danger more so he felt like he needed to do more and more to protect her? "you think i wasn't tired of the maybe's?! of the fucking uncertainty that was going to come with you going down this road, with there being no fucking wards, no one else here that knows what the fuck a venin is! but if my two options were you dying or you becoming this, that doesn't put me in a fair position and you know it. i couldn't choose between those two, and you cannot expect me to make that choice." though, now, he had made that choice, leaving her with no other option right? if he was going to keep falling, not giving her any time to find a cure.. could she let him just walk away knowing how much of a danger he could become? he was already the most powerful rider in their generation, what would be become as a venin? "i can handle myself! you know i can! i don't need you to keep fucking draining because you're afraid of me being hurt! why can't you help me without falling further down this path, xaden? why does it have to be this way!" he had helped her so many times, had kept her safe so many different ways already, why did it have to be different now? why was the only option complete indifference or draining! "those people were complacent in torturing me and my friends, they would have killed you. someone just trying to deck you because you're being a dick is different! killing using those powers is different! how do you not see that every time you use them is making you fall deeper into this! that every time you drain, you get closer and closer to becoming one of them! how can you expect me to just sit back and watch you destroy yourself!" it was so hard to look at him, to see xaden underneath all of this. he was just right there, right within arms reach and gods all she wanted was her xaden back. to never have to deal with this venin bullshit ever again. but every day she was in danger, and considering her track record and luck that was nearly every day, he would continue to fall, until he was completely unrecognizable. before her and her friends were in danger because they stood in his way. wasn't it her responsibility to stop this? he became this because of her, she had to be the one to stop this. "you can't promise that. my power is basically the only thing that can fucking kill you, you remember that, right? you really think you won't see that as a threat if you let yourself go any further!" they were going in circles, this wasn't going to get them anywhere, not when he was clearly dodging her questions again, waiting for her to 'ask the right one', she's so sure. she wanted to fucking scream, needing a straight answer out of him for once. "tell me their name xaden. what is the name of the person you just killed?" because of all the people they knew... what were the chances that it was one of her friends? that rhi or dain or mira said something that set him off.. did he know anyone else that would send him over the edge that wouldn't have broken him? because touching imogen or liam would be too much, this wouldn't even be a conversation.. but dain? mira? her heartbeat only grew louder in her ears waiting for the answer, knowing it'll devastate her regardless.

"being physically different doesn't mean shit, are you really that fucking shallow, violet? i look a little different, that means i'm going to start attacking and killing the people i've given up fucking everything to protect? you act like i did this for a fucking laugh, everything i've done has been to keep you all safe!" he's sure he's given up more than she knows. he's very aware of the fact that his father is watching from wherever he is, cursing his name and disowning his only son. there's no family for him when he does meet malek, she'll be the only one by his side, and yet somehow he's the bad guy here. "we've been existing on a maybe for months! i'm not going to apologize for being sick and tired of balancing on the edge of whatever the fuck is going to happen when i finally let go! i'm sick and tired of this shit, violet! i wanted to end it all and you wouldn't let that happen, i wanted to embrace it and now that's a problem too!" he couldn't keep standing in between two different shitty endings, something had to give eventually. and at least this way, he could keep her safe. "really, because it seems like you're just expecting me to ignore the fact that you're in danger because it might make me get worse! we don't even know if that's the reality of it and you're acting like i shouldn't try to help you because of a guess!" he can't help but shake his head, frustrations leaking into every word he speaks, frustrations he'd never imagined being aimed at violet of all people, and yet here they are. "how was it different? i killed dozens of people that day, violet, none of who actually started the fight, but i kill one that attacked me and you're up in arms? that's not fair, you can't change your standards now because you don't like the method." but the more she lectures him, the more he doesn't see how they can possibly come to an agreement on this. she'll never see him as anything but a monster now, will she? as much as she claims not to, as much as she claims she wants to save him and keep him by her side, he's always going to be a monster to her now. "you would never be just a fucking power source, violence. and i think liam would respect that i made a choice to keep him alive, and that i'm still me after all of this!" and would that be partially because he was their leader? because liam felt loyalty to him? maybe so, but he's sure liam still would have accepted the choice after a bit of a debate. the same way he'd accepted every other sacrifice xaden had made for the marked children to keep them alive and safe. "i knew who it was." he replies, already knowing that elaborating any further will doom him, damn him in her eyes as something mad and irredeemable, if he isn't already. and maybe that's the problem. she knows too much, knows him too well, thinks she can read him like a book and know that something is wrong, rather than accepting that she's reading into something that isn't there. "it's not your responsibility, violence. i made my choices, they're my responsibility."