#it only existed as a question mark in my first outline

[best--dress]

WIP Wednesday

hi hello!

january has been destroying me. the cold, the seasonal depression, my deep feelings of inadequacy at work, and this week pms is hitting hard (on 17 degree days. whyyyy). thank magic i have the carry on fandom to burrow down into. (i am finally making a dent on my tbr <3)

I haven't been writing much because both of my current projects are at the editing stage, and who can edit when you feel this shitty? I am really really excited to have finally mostly-written a draft of chapter 5 of WAYITD, and I'm hoping to post that by the end of the month.

Here is a line from that chapter that I just adore. I wrote it and it felt like one of the trickier relationships in the fic clicked for me:

You’re one of my only girl friends

(guess who?)

And here is a little bit from chapter 6 (!!), drafted on my way home, not even typed into my document yet, it's so fresh:

"I'm sorry I'm not much of a dancer." "That's all right, I hate to dance." "Is that why you accepted this date?" "Oh, Merlin! No!"

No names because it's a secret (and it may change, lol).

sending you whatever luck and blessings you need this week: @facewithoutheart, @thewholelemon, @ileadacharmedlife, @martsonmars, @youarenevertooold, @rimeswithpurple, @aristocratic-otter, @leithillustration, @iamamythologicalcreature, @alexalexinii, @cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @mooncello, @onepintobean, @emeryhall, @arthurkko, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @monbons, @ic3-que3n, @roomwithanopenfire, @blackberrysummerblog, @bookish-bogwitch

[mistyresolve]

| Wayward Behaviour - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count - 1.7 k

Summary - Every time Simon comes back home to you after a mission, the two of you spend the first couple of hours catching up for the lost time. Here is an example of the first hour. 

Tags/Warnings - 18+ ONLY, Handjob, Road head, Premature ejaculation, Begging (yes, it's Simon), Mentions of edging     

A/N - here is something short and sweet in celebration of me passing my pharm final the bane of my existence, and there may or may not have a brief homage to “Talking to the Void”

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It was dark out by the time his charter landed, and the street lights had already turned on. His profile became outlined by those same lights in swells as his truck passed underneath them. Going a little faster than the limit because he was lost in the ecstasy that your touch always brought him. His mind went momentarily blank and looked down at you, his brown eyes curious. He had already changed into his civics, blue jeans, a black sweater, a canvas bomber jacket and that same old ball cap. You once offered to buy him a new cap so you could throw this one out and he simply said, “This one is lucky.”. You never would have taken someone like him to be so superstitious, but he was.  

���Eyes on the road, Riley, “ it was a sickly sweet command. Simon never normally liked to follow the orders of someone who wasn’t his superior, but when they came from your lips he didn’t dare disobey. Not when your hands were drawing lines up and down his thigh. Your pace was unhurried and alluring. With promises of more. 

“They are,” he muttered quietly, his throat tightening as your hand travelled a little more medial. He motivated the gesture by spreading his legs further apart, allowing you better access.       

Simon knew very well that when he came home from particularly long missions he was almost always welcomed with tantalizing ensembles or sensual promises. The sex was sometimes better when the missions stretched over weeks and there was minimal contact. Every moment with you was made all the more exhilarating and frenzied. The heat between you two the moment you got any semblance of privacy burned into his very soul. A burn he wished left corporeal marks in their wake, all so he could return to them later and reminisce. When he was on missions and he had the rare moment alone he would palm himself just for some relief. He never came but it was better than needing to constantly adjust his pants when the mere thought of you made him hard. He’s also yet to decide whether the edging was torture or if it made being you all the better. This time, he was gone for a total of 16 days. 16 days where he went without your touch and he was only able to make one phone call this time. 

One thing he did know was that nothing he did you himself held a torch to what you made him feel. He swore you knew his body even better than he did. 

When you picked him up from the airport and immediately hopped over the center console so he would be behind the wheel, he knew what your plans were. He wasn’t going to be the fool to stop you, not when your hand reached over to his thigh. Between the growing hardness between his legs. 

Simon rolled his hips into the palm of your hand, eliciting a groan at the touch. A pained expression flashed across his bare face, “Bloody ‘ell, baby.”

That seemingly harmless reaction was more than enough to let you know that he wouldn’t be lasting long. He was already on the edge. You’d still try to find a way to draw it out as much as you could though. “Do you want me to stop?” you questioned, pulling your hand away. 

He caught you by the wrist, his head whipping from the road to you and back to the road, his eyes feverish, “I’ll pull over right here.”   

“No need,” you smiled up at him, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, “As you were.”

He let out a deep, breathy laugh, “Yes ma’am,” and he guided your hand back to his erection. You traced the outline of it, adding a little more pressure around the head before flattening your palm over him and making long, leisurely strokes. 

His lips parted as a sigh escaped his chest. The smoke of his tattoo, came to life as the muscle in his arm flexed as his hand tightened around the steering wheel. His other hand worked to undo his belt and jeans, his fingers were nimble and calculated. You bit down on your lip as you watched, knowing exactly how it felt when those same long fingers were inside you. How he would curl them at just the right moment, each and every stroke. His thumb would be rubbing circles into your sensitive clit. 

“Touch me,” he was practically begging as he pulled his hard cock free from his jeans, and began jerking himself, “Please.”

It was rare to hear him out of control, and even rarer to hear him beg. It was a real delight when you’d get him to this point. The last time he was like this he was on his knees before you, kissing up the length of your thigh till he met your center and he begged for you to let him taste you. He licked and sucked and kissed your pussy until you were nothing but a shaking whimpering mess. 

Without hesitation, you obliged him. You spit into your hand before reaching for him again, wrapping around his base and squeezing. You stroked up and down. Up and down. His hips lazily followed the rhythm. When your thumb brushed over the head and he had to lean his head back against the seat to keep from driving the both of you into the ditch. His eyes were on the road, yes, but they were glassy, unfocused. Luckily, since it was already so late the highway was light on traffic. 

You unlocked your seatbelt and the sound snapped him out of whatever trance he was in. He glanced over with a cocky smile, “Wanting more?” He was so conceited. You liked it, but you also wanted to humble him. With your knees on your seat, you leaned yourself over the center console and to his side. You spit down onto him, a string of saliva connecting you two. It slid down the side of his shaft, mixing with the pre-cum that had already started to drip down. 

“Okay,” his voice was tight like he was trying to prepare himself. 

“You’re not going to last very long are you, Simon?” you flattened your tongue and licked a stripe up his length. 

“No,” he admitted, “No, I’m not.”   

You grinned to yourself before taking him fully into your mouth. You could feel him shudder beneath you, fighting back the urge to buck further into your throat. What you couldn’t fit into your mouth you grasped with a free hand, twisting a little every time you pulled back. It evoked a combination of nervous laughter and moans from the man. Something that seemed so at odds with his exterior and usual aloof personality but somehow it suited him. 

You hollowed out your cheeks, your tongue circling around the head, sliding along the slit. You felt one of his hands delve into your hair, balling up a fist full. It wasn’t to push you down or pull you off him but to support himself. Ground himself so he didn’t float out the window and into the night sky beyond. 

“I gotta—” he choked out, and you heard him as he flicked on the turn signal, missing the thing entirely the first time in his frantic state. The force of him turning off the highway was almost enough to throw you into the dashboard. You pulled back, barely catching yourself from falling onto the floor. 

“Jesus, Simon,” you snapped, shooting a glare in his direction. 

“Don’t stop,” he panted, “Please, don’t stop.”     

With his hand still tangled in your hair, you fell back down into him. A bubble of excitement rises in your throat at the sound of his desperation. Wet, gagging sounds echoed through the small enclosed space, and each time he hit the back of your throat it tightened catching him on his withdrawal. You braced your hand on the open space between his legs, your other hand reaching down to press two fingers to your clit through your pants, needing any sort of relief. You rolled your hips side to side, giving him a little show of your ass. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, as he felt his ending. It was coming in hot and fast, and he panted at the pressure of it. He usually prided himself on his stamina and control, but there was nothing he could do to slow it. Nothing he wanted to do. 

“Atta girl, just like that,” he pulled your hair away from your face. It was for two reasons, the first being that you didn’t have the mind to put up and out of your face before going down on him, and the second was so he could see his cock disappear and reappear. The sight was all it took to push him over the edge. The vein beneath his cock throbbed and pulsated against your tongue as he came. His hot seed coated the back of your throat, some of it escaped and dribbled down his base. You swallowed around him, milking him, before finally seating back on your knees. You opened your mouth to him, showing him that you swallowed. A mix of saliva and cum hung from your chin, a lewd presentation of what you just did to him. He reached out and wiped it away for you, a wicked look in his eyes. 

“I might have to go on missions more often,” he half-joked as he reached into the glove compartment and handed you a tissue, keeping another to help clean himself up. 

“Or just never leave,” you countered, using the tissue you cleaned what you could. You looked out the window. He had actually pulled off onto a gravel side road, he almost didn’t make it too. When you looked back at him he had already straightened himself, save the still unbuckled belt. His expression was unreadable. 

“We better hurry home before I ask you to fuck me right here,” you feigned naïveté as you back down onto your seat. All you managed to do was whet his appetite for you because when he pulled into the driveway of the house you weren’t sure you were going to make it through the front door. He wrapped his arms around your waist, ducking down to attach his mouth to your neck as you try to unlock the door. His hands snaked south until they disappeared underneath the front of your pants, finding nothing but slick heat.  

“You’re insatiable,” you gasped, leaning your head back into his shoulder, fumbling to open the door. 

“Wait until we get inside,” he challenged.     

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A/N - im going to try and write a couple of short fics to post for the month of May bc i won’t have time to write, but if anyone has any ideas on what i should write lemme know. 

Tag List - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎  @shuttlelauncher81  (sorry, the first thing i tag you guys happens to be smut 😀)

[changbunnies]

After The Rain With You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Farm Boy!Changbin x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: royal au, historical au, fluff, initially intended to be light angst but i got carried away with emotion like i did with the minho fic lol, forbidden love (i cannot help myself with this trope it seems), ending is sad / bittersweet (i'm sorry !!) but also leaves hope that they'll live happily ever after ;v;

♡ Word Count: 13.9k (this was intended to be under 10k but here we are lmao oops)

♡ Summary: Y/N, a princess bored and lonely, craved nothing more than to experience the world outside of the familiar 4 walls of her bedroom in the castle. Conjuring her bravery, she snuck out of the castle walls, eventually meeting a man that would change her life forever. Changbin, a local farmer who didn't realize she's the princess, formed a close relationship with her that ineveitably turned into a budding romance. But now, met with her last moments of freedom, she prepares herself to have one final sweet moment with him before they are torn apart.

♡ Warnings: references to a parent being deceased, discussions of feeling trapped and alone, strict toxic parenting

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): reader is not a virgin during the smut scene in this but changbin is the only person they've ever had sex with, bin vaguely has a southern accent / speech style because thats how i pictures farmers talking lol, petnames (sweetheart, darlin', gendered language such as good girl), lots of kissing, biting / marking, loose dom/sub dynamics, nipple play, oral (f rec), unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie, pretty self indulgent ngl lol

��� Notes: i got the title from a short pokemon novel, iykyk. this was intended to be finished before the new year, but instead it's my first fic of 2024 and i hope you enjoy!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Freedom; something simple in definition, but not in practice, those in high positions of power always holding it out of the reach of those below them who yearn for it. It's intangible in concept, something you will never be able to see with your own eyes or grab with your own hands, but it was something you always yearned for, more than anything– and in the short time you had it, it was pure bliss.

You never considered yourself a rebellious girl, always dutifully listening to your elders, commiting manners and elegance to memory, never questioning the role you'd one day be made to accept. But in the past year, you'd found yourself having a bit of a rebellious streak– in secrecy, of course, because you knew very well that there'd be consequences to pay should your mother find out.

It's not that you ever hated being the princess, or that you dreaded the responsibility you held to your kingdom– you just wish you'd been given more freedoms. Freedom to speak your mind, freedom to feel the grass beneath your feet and the sun's rays on your skin whenever you wished, freedom to explore, to make mistakes, to learn and grow and love the way everyone else in the world but you seemed allowed to do. 

For years, there'd been a blindspot in the castle's defenses, a small patch of broken wall that guards were never ordered to defend or monitor closely, as the country had not seen war or received threat from neighboring countries in your entire lifetime.

"We'll repair it someday," your father always said before his passing, though it never came to fruition. It was not because he passed that the wall never received construction, but simply because your parents always preferred to delegate funds to something more pressing than a relatively small breach in the outer walls of the castle.

Sure, the hole was unsightly when noticed, but it was outside line of sight for the townsfolk, and much too small to accommodate an army through– one person at a time, maybe two if you squeezed, could fit through at most. Apart from that, the fact that your father never used taxes to pay towards selfish things such as unnecessary castle repair gained your family high favor, with most commoners considering your father to be the kindest king the country had in centuries.

During the time your father was still alive, you often walked the streets as a family, talking to the commoners regularly and enjoying your time out on the town together, and you remember how it always felt like you were as normal a family as any other, too young to realize there was any difference between you and them.

You can still remember how your mother smiled then, when she held your hand while your father held the other, the townsfolk always doting on you, and how cheerfully your every day had been spent. Your mother was quite different now; she never smiled anymore, and when she did it felt so.. forced, sad.

Like your father took a piece of her joy with him when he went, and she was unable to reclaim it. And it was at that time, when she took on all of the king's responsibilities by herself, that she'd begun to treat you differently. Stricter on your studies, never allowing you to step foot outside the castle, shutting down any talk of letting you out on the town or interacting with anyone outside the castle's walls.

And now the whole kingdom, who considered you to be the country's most beloved princess, could scarcely remember what you looked like; and even those who could remember would likely no longer recognize you. You were a child when you were last allowed outside, and now you were a grown woman, still confined by her mother's strict rules.

Despite the reclusive life you were forced into, many of the commoners still thought of you fondly– at least according to word of mouth from the castle's maids and knights.

You were the daughter to a king and queen that were practically revered as saints, and many imagined that the reason you were always holed up within the castle was because you were studying dutifully, imagining that when you came to power someday, you'd be just as benevolent, kind, and intelligent of a ruler as your father was.

You certainly intended to live up to those expectations, because as stated, you don't hate being the princess by any means. You recognize that you have privilege, responsibility, and that people put their pride and faith in you even now, before you've ever even come close to touching the throne. But all that being said, it didn't stop your heart from wanting just a little bit more out of your life.

Simply put, you found it incredibly dull sitting inside the castle all day, the same lessons being reiterated day in and day out, as if you didn't already have them memorized by the age of 10. Eventually, your mother realized you had no further need for a tutor, and requested that the woman in charge of your education stop coming, but that didn't mean your afternoons suddenly became enjoyable; quite the opposite in fact. 

The joy you initially held over no longer having to spend your afternoon listening to the same drivel you'd heard countless times from a pedantic old woman evaporated with the realization that even without a tutor to occupy for time, you'd still be stuck in the castle all day long. Your mother never permitted you to leave, even if you promised you'd stay close to the knights that would accompany you, pleaded with her to let you do something other than sitting inside all day. 

But still, her stance on the matter never changed. You'd begun to resent her sentiments, to hate that you were stuck with nowhere to go and nothing to do. The country wasn't under any threat, your fathers death was an unfortunate accident, and as far as you knew you were well loved, so what did she need to be so protective for? Especially now, when you weren't even a child anymore; you just couldn't understand.

You’d spend your days staring out your window listlessly, wondering what the grass on the horizon would feel like beneath bare feet. It’s a shame that you don’t know; you were always scolded for taking your shoes off if you weren’t within your own room, and besides that, the ground is littered with dirt and cobblestone all the way up to the gates of the town, which you had never gone past.

Shouldn’t your youth be full of experiencing things like this? Why couldn’t you explore now and then settle down in the castle later in life? It didn’t feel fair that you were so clueless about the basic truths of the world, and instead had your brain filled to the brim with knowledge of etiquette and politics.

It was with those thoughts in mind that you planned to find the answers to all your questions and sate your endless curiosities by sneaking through the hole in the castle walls that had gone unattended to.

After the first time you successfully snuck out to experience all you’d been missing (which took months of diligent watch and preparation to ensure you wouldn’t be spotted from a distance by patrolling knights), you’d slowly made your way further and further away from the castle, testing the limits of how far you could make it each day, gauging how long it would take for someone to notice your absence.

To your delight, because you spent most of your days alone in your room, no one seemed to notice you’d ever been gone as long as you made it back before dinner was to be served. And so, you'd stay out until sunset, exploring the town you'd grown to only ever see from your window, making sure to wear the least expensive looking gown in your wardrobe, doing your best to blend in with the commoners.

Thankfully, the task was easier than you'd expected given that none of the townsfolk had seen you up close since you were a small girl. You were perhaps strange in behavior as compared to them, given how much you questioned what was around you, but certainly not one person suspected you were the princess– just a sheltered, perhaps eccentric, young woman.  

As you became more comfortable, and got closer to the town gates with each passing day, your excitement would grow exponentially; the world beyond the gates was so foreign to you, even more so than the town itself had been. From your bedroom window, the fields that lied beyond the town gates appeared so miniscule, and you only knew what lied beyond because you’d been told about it, not because you’d seen it for yourself.

It was this determination to discover what lied beyond your limited world view that lead you to meet the man who'd come to hold your heart for the first time. You remember how your heart raced when you first approached the town gates, how your eyes darted to every corner to try to take in every minute detail.

The cobblestone became sparse, leaving nothing but dirt road to walk on, the wheels of countless carriages and horses hooves indented in the path, leading both to and away from town. You’d been told numerous times that beyond this point lies the farms that fueled the town with their food, and resources such as leather and wool to create clothing, blankets, and the upholstery on your furniture.

And for the first time in your entire life, you were about to see it all up close with your own eyes, instead of vaguely from your bedroom window.

You knew their work was vital to the prosperous existence of your country, and you’d always found yourself wanting to know what it was like, to learn about how the world works not from a dull lecture or written text, but to experience it yourself, to truly understand the lives of the people you would one day govern beyond what you’d been told.

To say you had a curious mind was perhaps an understatement; you were always full of curiosity about the world around you, but simply being told about the world wasn’t enough for you to be satisfied. 

To experience with your own eyes, to feel with your own hands– that was what being alive was truly about, wasn’t it? You didn’t feel your life was meant to be spent wasting away in your room until the day you became useful.

If you spent your youth seeing the world, learning about it from your own lived experiences, wouldn’t that make you a better queen some day? To know the plight of the common man because you lived it for yourself? 

That’s what you wanted– the freedom to explore, to learn, to grow, and when the time was right, you’d accept your duty gracefully, and play the role you were meant to. But until then, there was nothing more you wanted than to feel the earth beneath your feet, to understand what a blessing it truly is to feel the warmth of the sun beaming down on your skin, to learn what it is that makes life beautiful to live. 

With a deep inhale to steady your racing heart, you took your first step outside the town gates, trying your best to not appear too nervous and draw undue attention to yourself. You conjured all the confidence you could muster into your steps, your short heels sinking into the pure dirt before you.

It was a clear spring day, the sun welcoming you warmly, as if confirming that this was a decision you were meant to make, that following your heart and exploring the lush earth is what your true purpose was. 

You recall how different everything felt once you were fully outside the town– it was almost unbelievable how green, pretty and vibrant the outside looked when compared to the dull, monotonous grays and dirty browns you'd met with inside the town walls. And even the castle interior, while still pretty and not devoid of color like the town often seemed to be, still didn't compare to the nature that lied before you.

You saw children running through the grass without shoes, freely giggling as they play what you assume to be some sort of game, one you'd never had the chance to play. They were utterly carefree, and so full of life; how you wished you could be the same– just kick off your shoes and prance through the fields and the trees without a care in the world, with nothing to weigh you down. What a joy it must be, to live innocent and free, knowing nothing but laughter and love. 

You took time to admire naturally growing flowers, to lean down to carefully caress the petals, to feel the grass on your fingertips since you’re much too scared to actually take your shoes off despite how bad you’d have liked to. Following the road, past the sprawling fields where the children play, you eventually came to the occupied farm lands, and it was there, just before the fields turned into seemingly endless forest, that you met him for the first time.

His was the last farm for you to observe, and it held a surprise that made you positively gasp in delight; animals! You'd always thought the farm animals you’d seen in your books looked so cute, and you always wanted to feel their fur or feathers, wondering if they were truly as soft or as coarse as they were described to you.

Was a sheep’s wool still soft before it was knit into a blanket, or woven into clothing? How did a chicken's feathers feel before they were stuffed into a pillow? It was something you were endlessly curious about. 

However, you certainly knew better than to just waltz up to an animal that doesn't know you, and especially not one that is on someone else's land. So you settled for quietly observing them from outside the farm's sprawling gate, a huge smile on your face as you watched the animals graze.

Even at your distance, it was still the closest you'd ever been to an animal other than a horse, and you simply couldn't get over how cute and soft they looked. Sheep, cows, chickens, ducks– all impossibly cute, and how you wished you could go and hug them.

You propped your arms up on the wooden fence, resting your head against them as you simply watched. It was almost funny how something so simple and normal to someone else's everyday life could instill such joy and wonder with you. And that's when you saw him; a single man walking out from his quaint cottage towards the back of the land, attending to the animals and filling up what you assumed to be their feed troughs.

His home, you noticed, was put together the same way most of the town was– with stone and clay, a simple but well constructed wooden door, and a decent sized chimney on the left that you were well aware was necessary to funnel out smoke from fireplaces in homes such as his. And it fascinated you how his home could look so different from yours when it was comprised of the same materials.

When put down simply to its parts, there was nothing that separated the castle from a commoner’s home other than the sheer size of it. Your mother would often tell you not to compare yourself, or the splendor of the castle to that of commoners or their homes, but you never saw any harm in doing so. 

You’re all human, and the only difference between you and them is that you were born into a royal family and they weren’t. You think she focuses too much on title, when to you title is worth nothing beyond a name. Still, while you recognize that while you aren’t different from anyone else in a biological sense, you are when it comes to status, and you wanted to use your privileged position for good when the time came.

That is another reason you wanted to see the country for yourself, to put yourself in the shoes of the people and understand them. How can you be a good queen someday if you understand nothing of how the world truly works, or if every decision is fed to you from someone else? 

Really though you have to admit, apart from all the good reasons you had to sneak out, you equally had selfish ones. But was it so wrong to indulge your curiosity? You’ve tried many times to push aside your thoughts and to understand why you must stay solitary in the castle all day, but try as you might, this is all you want.

To see, to experience, to feel; why was it only wrong for you to want that, and not for anyone else? Even if you’re the princess, you should still be allowed basic human freedoms– that’s what you believe, anyways.

You lost yourself in thought for a time, simply staring out at the scene of the man caring for his animals in front of you. You wondered if he was happy doing this everyday; was it monotonous, or did he take pride in it? Did he love his animals, or were they strictly the avenue he'd taken to provide for himself?

You also wondered what you would be doing if you weren't the princess; would you be a farmer's daughter, spending all your days in the fields with the animals like he does? It was oddly fun to ponder on, to picture yourself leading a different life than one you'd led up to that point.

Maybe it was a form of escapism, and maybe you had more grievances with your upbringing than you'd let yourself believe at the time. Either way, a smile once again made its way to your lips as you pictured yourself feeling the fluffy wool of a sheep beneath your fingertips, as warm, soft, and comforting as a blanket in your imagination.

The man took notice of you after only a few moments, because realistically, how can he not notice a girl blatantly propped against his fence, staring at his land? He was sure he didn't know you, didn't recognize you from any of the farming families that have homes adjacent to his, and he didn't go into town nearly enough to have made friends outside his small bubble.

So who were you, and why were you staring at him like that? "Do you need somethin', miss?" The burly man called out to you as he started to approach, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

"O-Oh, uh, no, I apologize," you stuttered out, feeling instantly intimidated as he came closer; not because he was an intimidating person per se, because while his eyes are sharp, they also have a unique softness to them.

It was his size that made you shrink back and feel small; you didn’t realize just how large the man was until he was practically face to face with you. Even the knights you’re met with daily, who undergo strict, intensive physical training, pale in comparison to the muscular physique of the man you in time came to know well.

You remember how he looked at you curiously, head tilting to the side as he watched you straighten your posture and take a step back from his fence. “I was just.. curious, about the animals. They’re very cute,” you explained and the man chuckled a bit, wiping his dirty hands on his worn trousers before stepping up to his fence.

“I take it you’re from the town then? Can’t imagine you bein’ that curious about my animals otherwise,” he replied pleasantly, a warm, sort of prideful smile on his face. It confirmed his suspicions as well– you were definitely not someone he’s met before.  

"Yes, I've only ever seen them in books," you explained further, a bit timid now as you suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you. You were sure a commoner of your age would never be as fascinated by the animals as you were; they see them every day, it's a normal part of life for them.

And you recall scolding yourself, really feeling that you needed to do a better job of hiding your lack of worldly experience when meeting new people so you'd stop having interactions like this. “I apologize again, I must appear very strange..”

“No need for that, sweetheart. I think it’s nice– I’m so used to bein’ around ‘em, that I don’t really stop and take it all in anymore. Reminds me of what I got, so thank you for that,” he replied kindly, his smile spreading an unfamiliar warmth through you in that moment.

He was very, very kind, and you appreciated that he didn't judge you or find you to be a fool for your innocent curiosity. "I could show you around, if you'd like. Let you meet them," he offered, and you positively beamed, though you really should have shown some restraint in the matter.

"Could I really?" you couldn't help but ask eagerly, eyes sparkling with pure wonder and excitement at the prospect of seeing so many things you'd never encountered before up close. “Course, just come ‘round to the front” 

With no hesitation, you eagerly turned and began to sprint (in quite unladylike fashion, you might add) to where you saw the gate to his property some time earlier. You could hear the man's laugh carry even as you ran (not advised in the shoes you were wearing, but you carried on nonetheless), stopping just in front of the small, modest gate.

You waited for the kind man to catch up to you, not wanting to do anything rude or presumptuous by stepping onto his land without being specifically directed inside. "You took off so fast, you didn't give me a chance to introduce myself," he laughed as he approached you again, and your face immediately flushed, embarrassed by your excitability over everything.

"Name's Changbin," he introduced himself warmly after he opened the gate for you. You smiled timidly, giving him your name as well and a polite bow after you crossed the border onto his property. “Pleasure to meet you, Changbin.”

"Likewise," he smiled as he closed the gate behind you, and it was then that your first true friendship began. In hindsight, it occurred to you that you should've given him a fake name; and while he did ponder on why your name seemed familiar to him, he didn't ever appear to put together that you were the princess.

What was clear to him was that you were from a wealthy family; after all, that was the only explanation he could reach to decipher some of your "odd" behaviors.

Your boundless curiosity, your utter excitement for the mundane, an unmatched passion for all the small things in life that he'd never seen before in anyone else. A light in your eyes as bright as the sun, filling him with warmth and adoration, your wonder and inquisitive nature both pure and infectious. 

He asked you once, what it is your family does, if being from the "high society" part of town near the castle is what made you live a sheltered life, why you seemed so (respectfully) clueless about things beyond the scope of inner-town workings and politics.

You were surprised when he asked, and confirmed what he suspected, though you left out some of the very important details. After all, how could you tell him that the girl he's become friends with over the past few months, didn't just live near the castle– her home is the castle.

But you divulged what little you could, confided in him that your mother has high expectations of you, that she doesn't know you spend your days with him at his farm, that if she did know she certainly wouldn't approve, and he seemed to understand.

While he may not be a high born man, he's no stranger to how haughty they can be, what with their superiority complexes and luxury goods, as if it's not working men like him that provide them with what they consume in the first place.

You weren't like that in the slightest– you were good, pure natured, with an infectious zest for life that he couldn't help but find his own joy in. Seeing you interact with the world, the happiness you gained from the simplicities in life, the wonder and curiosity you held for all things, both small and grand– it was a trait of yours he'd come to adore.

You learned from him just as much as he learned from you, and you truly reminded him how beautiful life is, how there is magic even in the mundane, what a gift it is to have, to be, and to feel. Changbin introduced you to so much, shared so many parts of his life, and you were truly the happiest you'd ever been, always looking forward to the next day you could go out and see him again.

"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked one summer afternoon when you were in stables together, you sat on a hay bale while you watched him care for Dolly, a beautiful, black and white dappled horse that belonged to his mother, whom she named such due to 'her mane being as beautiful as a porcelain dolls.'

"Does being escorted in a carriage count?" you asked, and he laughed, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "No, darlin', a carriage don't count," he said, smiling as you pouted ever so slightly.

You were still a child the last time you were even in a carriage, given the fact that your mother never permits you to leave. You wondered what's more enjoyable; your memory of your last carriage ride is so faded, you wondered if you could even compare the experiences, were you to ever ride a horse.

As if sensing your thoughts, Changbin made an offer that once again made you beam, radiating joy and excitement. "I could teach you how. Or let you ride with me," he offered and you were eagerly nodding without a second thought, jumping straight to your feet.

"I'd love that!" Changbin returned your smile, promising that once he got Dolly situated in a saddle, he'd take you for a ride while telling you everything he knows and answering any question you may have about it, no matter how small or seemingly silly and "common sense."

He helped you up onto her back, making sure you sat comfortably on the back of the saddle, both your legs dangling over one side of her body due to the fact that you were wearing a dress. Changbin got up onto the saddle with ease, carefully not to accidentally hit you with his leg while making his ascent. After he was settled in front of you, he instructed you to wrap your arms around his torso, as it takes time to become adjusted to the movement of the horse and naturally find your balance.

You wondered if he could feel your heart race when your chest was pressed against his back, how your palms grew sweaty from holding onto him, how your face flushed every time he called Dolly a "good girl." You wondered what it'd be like if he said the same to you, if he praised you after he encouraged you or taught you something new.

The more comfortable you got, the more he allowed Dolly to pick up speed, until she was going around the enclosed pen in a brisk trot, your arms squeezing Changbin as you giggle joyfully, feeling the wind brush by your ears and pull back your hair. It was so fun, so new, another experience Changbin granted you that you wouldn't otherwise have ever had the chance to have.

When you were finished, as the sun was beginning to set and it was time for you to get home, lest your mother send a maid to summon you for dinner and find you absent, he jumped off Dolly first. He then held out his hand to you, offering for you to take it, promising he'd make sure you got down safely.

And he did, letting you squeeze his hand as you made the unfamiliar leap off, his opposite hand coming to your back to ensure you were stable on your feet after you landed. His hand lingered on your back even after it was apparent you were steady, and yours did as well, still holding onto his other hand even though you no longer had need to.

It felt as though there was a shift between you– both staring carefully at one another, a suggestion that you could be something more than this, that there was a connection beyond that of just friendship. Slowly, with the same smile for you he always had, he pulled his hand away from your back, but didn't make you part from his other hand, letting you hold it even as he walked you to his gate.

And you felt a stutter in your heart, unlike any you'd ever felt before then, returning his smiles happily, your cheeks dusted pink as you thanked him for the afternoon and bid him goodbye. Every once in a while you'd turn back just to see him still watching you, offering a soft smile and wave each time your gazes met again.

Then, there was the time you were inside his chicken coops with him, Changbin having taught you much about how to properly care for the animals in your time near him. And after weeks of observation, you wanted to help, to really try your hand at it! You did well, for the most part– your error came when trying to get a hen away from a freshly laid egg.

You tried your best to follow Changbin's instructions carefully, but still, your inexperience was greatly apparent, and you ended up upsetting the poor thing. When she flew up in protest, it startled you so much that you fell backwards. But Changbin caught you, one of his strong arms wrapped around your back and holding you upright as if you weighed nothing at all.

You blinked up at him in surprise, face growing red as he asked if you were alright, your heart unexpectedly pounding. You muttered out an apology, voice much meeker than you wanted it to be, but he simply smiled. He helped you steady yourself again to stand on your own, ensuring you that it wasn't your fault, and that he could tell you were genuinely trying your best.

"No one gets it right on their first try, don't be discouraged. You did good, sweetheart," he said, and the words somehow made your heart race faster, face growing even pinker. You were certain then– you liked him as much, much more than a friend.

You wanted him to always praise you, to console you, to call you sweetheart in a way beyond platonic. You wanted him to look at you romantically, to call you by such sweet names in a moment of love and passion.

When you returned home that day, lying in bed after finishing dinner and washing up, your thoughts were plagued by him– much more than they usually were, and in completely different contexts. How would his strong arms feel under your fingers while he held you up, supporting all of your weight as he took you in every way conceivable, across every surface of his home.

You'd had.. less than pure thoughts before of course, so it's not like this was new to you– what was new was having an explicit object of desire, someone you wanted to lie with, someone you imagined touching you everywhere. And you wanted to touch him too, to pleasure him in all the ways he'd surely pleasure you.

There were many times you watched him work, sweat collecting on his forehead, dripping down his brow, his breath growing heavier with labor, his broad chest rising and falling quickly with exertion– would he look the same atop you, under you?

You could imagine him, his body heavy between your legs, pressing you down against his mattress. And you could imagine him staring up at you, those same grunts of effort he makes while working pouring out for new reasons, for your hands all over him.

God, you were driving yourself crazy thinking about it. Changbin noticed, on another summer day where the sun was high and hot and leaving him sweatier than usual, that your face too was hot and red. What he didn't realize was that it was for reasons beyond that of the sun beaming down on you.

"C'mon sweetheart, let's go inside. It's hot out here, ain't it?" he'd said, deciding it was time, for both your sakes, to take a well deserved break. You agreed, thankful beyond words he thought it was simply the sun making you a heated mess, and not how absolutely divine he looked chopping wood in preperation for when the weather would change in a month.

You sat on his sofa together, sipping on lemonade he made himself by hand, thankful to be out of the unforgiving sun (and to have something to focus on besides how attracted you were to him.) "You seem to be thinkin' a lot. What's on your mind, darlin'?" Changbin asked after it was quiet for a time, your cup of lemonade held in your lap as you stared off at unfixed location.

"I've.. come to like you quite a lot more than I expected. As more than a friend, I think," you answered honestly, though you didn't expect him to do anything with your feelings.

While he was your first real connection with someone, you were sure he's lived a full, experienced life. You felt that there was no reason for him to like you as you like him, but still you told him. You already hid enough about your life from him, and you didn't want your thoughts and feelings to be another one of those things you keep from him.

"I'm fond of you too. More than a friend, and more than you probably know," he replied with a soft smile, setting his empty cup to the side. You blinked, cheeks turning pink as you practically gaped at him. "Do you mean that? Sincerely?" you asked, heart thumping loudly as you too carefully set your cup aside.

"I wouldn't lie to you darlin'. 'Specially not about matters of the heart," he responded earnestly, carefully moving closer to you. You met him halfway, slowly, your eyes timidly meeting his as his hand comes towards you, resting heavy but soft on your cheek.

"Tell me truly," he almost whispers, face coming close enough to yours to feel his breath tickle your skin, "Do you want to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss you?"

"Yes," you breathed out, and not even a full second later, his lips were on yours, plush and soft, butterflies filling your stomach and truly, you couldn't ask for any greater joy than that moment.

You kissed a lot after that– in greeting and in parting, sweetly, slowly, carefully, sometimes even urgently, needily, passionately. You'd help him with as much of his daily work as you could manage, so he could finish faster and you could spend the rest of the afternoon holding one another close.

Hands exploring anywhere and everywhere, both eager, both seeking more and more and more. Both indulging in the feeling of not just pleasure, but of closeness, intimacy beyond just the physical, the love and care you share for one another.

But as quickly as your happiness was obtained, it was taken away; unbeknownst to you, on an afternoon in mid fall, shortly after breakfast, a knight had seen you squeezing through the hole in the castle's wall, eager to spend yet another day with Changbin. He didn't think you were sneaking out at first– he thought maybe he was just mistaken on what he saw.

But when he stepped over, and it became clear that you were now nowhere to be seen, he had to inform your mother, as was his duty. And there are truly no words to describe how devastated you felt when suddenly, as if from nowhere, countless knights were surrounding you, pleading with you to return to the castle, lest they have to drag you back by your mother's command.

It became a spectacle in the street, commoners whispering amongst themselves as they tried to piece together what they were witnessing. Was the sweet, smiley girl they’d seen exiting and returning to town everyday for months really the princess this entire time?

You felt as if your entire world was collapsing as they escorted you back home, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest, knowing your mother would be positively furious when your eyes next met. But no, she wasn’t just furious– she was livid, the angriest you’d ever seen her in all your years.

You pleaded with her to understand, assured her that if you were truly going to run away from home and abandon your responsibility, then you wouldn’t have returned every single time you’d left. You didn’t want to be stuck here all day, every day, bored, alone, depressed, when there was an entire world out there to see, people to talk to, experiences to be had.

You’d do everything expected of you as a princess, and later as queen, but please– just this one thing, allow me this one thing. But no, your pleas fell on deaf ears, your mother completely dismissive of your feelings and unwilling to bend her iron rules.

And so you once again became a prisoner inside your own room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you stared at the edge of town from your window, Changbin so near, yet impossibly far. Your mother didn’t know of him; you didn’t tell her, nor would you ever, as things stand now– but how you wished you could tell her, “I’ve found love, and now I understand how truly a magical thing it is. I don’t want this to be the end of my joy.” 

Weeks passed, and while the pain never left you, you learned to manage it well enough, hopeful that you’d be reunited with Changbin someday soon. But then you saw them– carpenters, working diligently to fill the hole in the castle walls that you had repeatedly used for your daily escapes.

The color drained from your face, your heart sinking into the very depths of your stomach. Your plan to simply be an obedient daughter long enough for your mother to lessen her watchful eyes on you, to one day again leave the castle once her constant vigil had relaxed, was being thwarted before it could ever truly begin. 

You anticipated to be in this act for the long haul, knowing very well it could take months, or even years, to rebuild your mother’s trust in you, but you’d never imagined she’d take away the very source of your hope mere weeks after confining you away to your room. To call a hole in the castle’s defenses your “hope” may seem foolish to most, but it was all you had– a symbol of escape, of life beyond these four walls that had become your permanent home. 

The day it was filled would be the day you’d lose everything; your freedom, your friendships, your joy, your hopes, your dreams, everything. Even as you are now, a canary trapped in her gilded cage, the promise that simple flaw in the walls gave you kept you going– the promise that someday, even if it was years and years from now, you’d be free again, doing what you loved most, being with who you loved most. 

You know your mother cares for you, she wants the best for you, and the loss of your father, the king, much too soon has deeply scarred her. She fears for you, she keeps you ever at arm’s length because she can’t bear for you to part from her, to leave her behind the way your father had, but surely this isn't the answer. Surely there was something better than this, something that didn’t necessitate you being a prisoner in your own home. 

Fear of loss and devastation ruled her life, made her trap you lest you decide to leave and never return, failing to realize that it was her very actions and treatment of you that gave those fears of hers room to become reality. But to know heartbreak is to know truest love, and even should loss plague your life, you will never regret having discovered love.

You had no desire to abandon your family, your kingdom, or run from your responsibilities, but if that was the only way to be free, if there was no other conceivable way to experience life’s joys and warmth, then.. What else was there for you to do?

Ironic, how your mother had unwittingly created a self-fulfilling prophecy when she forbade you from living a life of your own, her own actions resulting in the very outcome she feared most of all.

You have to do something, anything, now, before it’s too late, and you are left with nothing but the fleeting memories of the man you hold so dear. You bide your time, waiting until nightfall when the carpenters have left for the night to make your move.

Your mother has posted knights to the spot now, instructed to keep a watchful eye should you try again to leave the premises, but you think with the right timing, you can slip out unnoticed. There’s a small window of time where, when the knights standing guard rotate shifts, the hole in the castle’s walls will have no one standing in front of them.

It’s risky, and if you’re too slow you’ll be spotted by the new knights taking over for the ones who departed, but it’s the only chance you have, so you need to take it. As soon as the knights previously keeping watch over the area get far enough away, you dart for the breach in the castle.

The hole is definitely smaller than it was before, but you still manage to squeeze past just fine, with seconds to spare. You hear the sounds of the new knights approaching as you begin to sprint away, luckily having not noticed anything amiss.

The streets are much different at night, the subtle illumination from the candles in the surrounding buildings hardly enough to point you in the right direction. You look to the horizon instead, hoping that the dark line of trees on the horizon will be enough to guide you to the gate leaving town.

Some who notice your desperate run call out, concern evident in their voice, but you can’t stop for them, can’t stop until you’ve made it to Changbin’s side. And though it is not without struggle, you do, eventually, thankfully, find your way out of the town.

You’re panting, chest heaving as your heart pounds and your lungs desperately try to suck in air once you’ve made it completely outside the town gates– but still, you aren’t where you need to be, so you can’t stop yet. Pushing yourself to your very limits, even as your legs scream at you and harsh cold pricks your skin, you can finally make out Changbin’s land in the tree-lined horizon.

Reaching the gate to his property, you push it open in haste, taking hardly any steps past the threshold before you collapse to your knees, the ache and exhaustion refusing to be ignored any further. You bring a hand to your heart, taking a few seconds to calm yourself and breathe before you attempt to rise back to your feet.

But your legs refuse the action, much too weak to support you beyond what they’ve already done. It’s good enough, you suppose; they’ve carried far, with much more urgency than you’d ever thought possible. And now you’re right here, so close to where you need to be– and despite being a princess, you’re not above crawling your way over to Changbin’s door if you must.

Once more, you try– and though weak, and unsteady, you are able to rise once more. You can’t run, can hardly even walk as sore and as exhausted as your legs are, but they carry you as far as they can, recognizing the urgency you feel, aiding you as much as it can in your last, desperate effort.

Your throat is dry, it hurts, but you call out Changbin’s name regardless, hoping he’s awake, hoping he hears you, hoping he’ll wrap his arms around you, kiss you, console you, even if it’s just this one last time.

It’s been over a month since the last time Changbin saw you, and there’s so many questions he can’t help but ask himself, that he wishes he could ask you, so he didn’t spend all his hours distracted with worry and self-doubt. There had been gaps in the time you spent together before, but never for this large of a duration of time– a week usually at most.

Did he do something wrong the last time you were together? Or did your strict mother finally learn of your deceit, and now made you keep away, unable to return to his side though you may have wished to? He just wishes he knew for certain what it is, so that even if he was saddened, he did not have to have his mind consumed by what if’s and uncertainties.

There was a time, even, where he considered going into town and asking of you, but he was worried that doing so would only create more problems for you if the wrong person caught word of his inquiries. So all he could was wait– wait, and hope, that you would return again before year’s end, and that he would have the answers he so desperately craves to his questions.

Most of all, he just hopes you’re well; you’d expressed more than once that you loved your life and your family, you just didn’t want to feel trapped. You wanted to have choices, to feel like your thoughts and opinions matter, to be allowed to live as most other people do when they are not burdened with what their future will be.

Whenever you spoke of home, he always found it unfair, and he felt for you. You loved your mother, dearly, but he could see how you struggled with her rules, how sadness lingered in your eyes and resent bubbled up within you despite how you tried to not feel such things. 

And though he understood why you could not, he wished at times that you could simply stay with him– to not have to depart the moment the sun began to sink, to lie in bed with him all night, to have breakfast and dinner together, to live without worry together.

He’d work hard for you, even harder than he does now, and it’d be worth it to see you smile at him as you always do, so bright and full of light, keeping each other company on your loneliest days and nights. Changbin sighs, exhaustion plaguing him as he sits before the small fire he has going in his living room, head falling back against his sofa.

He hasn’t slept well these past few nights– he just can’t help but think of you at all hours, and every time he closes his eyes to sleep, he’s met with the image of you. It keeps him up, though not all his thoughts of you are plagued by unpleasant worry– sometimes it’s simply just the image of you smiling or laughing, and he feels nothing but warmth, even as he is reminded how much he truly misses you. 

Should you never return again, for whatever reason that may be, he doesn’t think he would ever regret having known you and given his love to you. Short-lived though your romance may be in the grand scheme of his life, and all the years he may be blessed to live, it was of the utmost importance.

He’d be remiss to let those memories become tarnished or devalued. You reminded him of how much joy there is in life, how grateful he is to have what he does, how much beauty there is in even the smallest of things. 

Another sigh leaves his lips as he lifts his head, rubbing carefully at his weary eyes– he should probably try to rest soon, though he feels sleep will likely stay out his reach for some time after his head hits the pillows. He stands from the sofa, preparing himself to extinguish the fire and head to bed, when he hears a strange, unfamiliar sound from outside his door.

A thud, almost– as if something with a not insubstantial amount of weight thumped to the ground. It couldn’t be his logs; he knew the sound of falling logs well enough to recognize the distinct sound made when one toppled– and often times when one fell, more followed.

This was unlike that entirely, only one sound followed by silence, and the sound itself was still too dense to be one of his pieces of chopped wood. The sound felt more.. concentrated; an animal perhaps? And if it was an animal, he couldn’t let it go ignored– especially not if it was one of his own. 

As Changbin steps closer to his door to investigate the sound, he hears something else entirely unexpected– a frail voice.. your voice..? Rushing to his door now, he opens it in haste, eyes darting to find the source of what he heard. And there, he sees you, collapsed to the ground before him, looking up at him with a mix of relief, exhaustion, and anguish.

Your name leaves him in a gasp as he leans down to you, concern evident in his voice and expression. His hands reach out to touch you and shit, your body is freezing; you are woefully ill dressed for the late fall chill, and who knows how long you’ve been out in it with nothing but your dress. 

Quickly, he picks you up, carrying you inside and using his foot to kick the door shut behind him. “Just sit here a minute,” he says as he sits you down on the sofa, rushing to his room to grab all the blankets and pillows he can carry.

He prepares a sort of makeshift bed on the floor in front of the fireplace, laying down all the blankets and pillows he collected, his intention being to have you lay by the fire and spread some much needed warmth through your chilled body. Changbin scoops you back up when he’s satisfied with his work, very carefully laying you down a close (yet safe) distance to the fire, nestling beside you after and laying an additional blanket over your bodies.

He has so many questions, his mind is racing, but they can wait– making sure you’re not going to suffer frostbite is of much more importance. He lets you use him for warmth, not complaining a bit when your cold limbs tangle with his, letting you sap his warmth and take it for your own. 

He brings his hands to your face, warming your cold cheeks in his palms, looking you over carefully. You looked unhurt, thankfully– he has no idea what you’ve gone through, but he’s glad you’re here now, and looking well, all things considered.

“Do you want to tell me what’s happened?” he asks softly, pushing the fallen hair away from your eyes, letting him meet your gaze without obstruction. You swallow down your bubbling emotion, wanting to be clear and concise, to leave no room for confusion or error. 

“My mother is very strict, as you know.. She enforced her rules more harshly after she discovered how I’d been spending my time. I had to sneak out again just to be here,” you answer, and his brows furrow.

“Again..? Have you been sneaking out to see me all this time?” he asks, and you nod, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Changbin knew your mother had strict rules, he knew she didn’t approve of her daughter meeting with those of lower class, but that wasn’t the extent of it? 

This whole time, he thought your lie to your mother was simply that you exited town– not that you left home entirely. He was under the impression that you were still allowed out on the streets, at the very least; not that you were caged up inside all day like some sort of bird. But this.. This was outrageous, cruel. To not let your daughter out of the house at all? That’s what you’d been dealing with this entire time? 

Relationships with parents are complex, but he almost can’t even believe you still love her after all this, that you still want to uphold whatever ambitions it is that she has for you; if it were him, he doesn’t think he could stand it. He followed in his parents footsteps because he wanted to, not because he was forced to.

And he doesn’t imagine you’d be much different from him in that regard. Naive though you may be at times, you had a strong sense of responsibility, and were intelligent in matters he was clueless on, a completely different kind of intellect from his own. Surely she didn't have to be so strict with you.

“You can stay with me,” he wants to say, “I’ll never make you do a single thing you don’t want to do, you’ll always be respected and happy.” But he knows you’d refuse, your sense of pride in yourself and responsibility simply too strong to abandon just because of one obstacle, harsh though that obstacle may be.

In equal measure, you don’t think you could ever ask him to stay with you. How much would he have to give up to be with you? You don’t want to ask that of him– to make him give up his home and all he holds dear just to be stuck in the castle with you. He doesn’t even know you’re the princess in the first place.

And though you love him, it’s painfully apparent that you’re in two separate worlds that may not be destined to converge though you wish them to. “I don’t want this to be the end,” you say, hot tears finally starting to fall as you the emotion unleashes itself from the depths of where you’d pushed them down, “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”

God, Changbin feels like his heart is shattering. It’s so painful to see you reduced to this, you who is always so bright and vibrant in her joy, brought low to tears and heartache. Why must you endure this? Does your mother truly not understand how much pain she causes you but not allowing you to simply live?

“Don’t think like that. If you say it’s the end, then it will be,” he whispers, the pain in his own voice evident despite how he tries to hide it behind a mask of strength for your sake. The tears flow from your eyes and you let him rub them away with his thumb, let him fill your head with impossible, sweet promises.

Your whole life was clouded in dreadful, dreary rain, and there’s nowhere you wanted to be more after the rain cleared than with Changbin. What a ray of sunshine he was, even without intending to be– the light that illuminated your otherwise dark existence. And how painful it was to know that come morning, it would all become nothing but a memory from your youth. 

You lean forward to kiss him, tears continuing to leak from the corners despite having your eyes closed now. You want to tell him you love him, but you fear that saying so will only make the act of parting that much harder and painful.

You fear that no matter how much time passes, the name of your first love will forever be written in your heart, that you will never stop loving him even should you lead lives separate from one another. And still, you have no regrets, because for a time you felt truest joy and love, and what a gift it was to share with him. 

Taking his hands from your face, he pulls you closer, your entangled limbs being woven together more complexly, your torsos now completely flushed to one another. His arms wrap around and hold you tight, as if lessening his hold on you would cause you to dissipate.

And you will disappear, but not now– not while he has you like this, not when you are where you long to be most. Your tears slow, eventually receding completely as your lips touch. If this is truly your last moment together, you have decided you will not spend it wallowing in sorrow– you will enjoy all you can, you will memorize every detail, you will etch it in your very soul.

“Are you warm enough?” Changbin asks after he separates from you, though still close enough that his breath lingers on your lips. “Could be warmer,” you answer and he chuckles softly, kissing you again, his hands roaming down the expanse of your body, to your hips. 

“Want me to add more to the fire?” he asks, a playful lilt in his voice as he knows that’s not what you’re insinuating. While you normally speak quite openly and honestly, you become.. meek within intimate moments.

Changbin always finds it incredibly cute, how you dance around what you mean, waiting for him to get the hint and give you what you want. He always gets the hint, but it’s adorable to see your blush grow hotter, to see you stumble with your words when he plays dumb about what you mean, or purposely misunderstands just to make you state what you want clearly. 

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt, but..” you trail off, chewing on your lip nervously as you meet his eyes again. He raises his brow but says nothing, smiling patiently as he waits for you to speak your mind. It makes the blush on your face flare, how he always waits for you to say it directly when you want to be intimate with him.

However, he doesn’t intend to waste too much time making you flustered like this; it’s just.. If this is the last time like you seem to believe, then he wanted to see it again now, before the opportunity was lost to him. 

“I’ve missed you a lot, you know. I want you to touch me,” you finally answer and his smile brightens, furthering the embarrassment you feel as heat rushes to your face. But better than being cold like you were earlier, you suppose; maybe you should welcome the way his reaction makes you feel, since it never fails to make your face and body hot.

“You missed me, darlin’? I missed you too,” he smiles, kissing your face, your lips, your jaw, your neck, “thought about you every damn day.” His low voice near your ear makes you shudder, his soft kisses down your neck, to your shoulder, furthering the feeling.

You never let him mark your skin, afraid of what consequences would come from your mother finding out what you’d been doing, but you’re tempted to let him tonight– if you’re going to be punished regardless, why not be selfish, go out with a display?

“Binnie, leave a mark on me, please,” you shamelessly plead, calling his name in the way you know he loves to hear you speak. Changbin lifts his head from your shoulder, meeting your gaze with uncertain excitement. God, he’d love to, but..

“Are you certain? What of your mother?” he asks carefully, pushing your hair behind your neck to expose more of your skin. He may be apprehensive out of concern, but the minute you make it clear you have no reservations, he’s obliging without restraint, giving you everything you ask– anything you want, you’ll have it. 

“I don’t care what she thinks anymore, I want her to know that I.. have someone I love,” you answer sincerely, and he smiles, his heart feeling like it’s expanding in size. “You love me?” he asks, and you return his smile as you nod, because though you were scared to tell him, you are glad you did. His reaction to the information was completely worth it, his eyes sparkling with deep emotion and fondness for you. 

“I love you too. More than you probably know,” he says, mirroring what he said when he confessed that he liked you too, and he lets you pull him into a kiss, your affection radiating. There’s a soft giggle that escapes him, not being able to help how giddy your love makes him feel, how you love him despite what people in your life expect from you.

If he could, he’d assure them all how well he’d take care of you, how he’d make sure you never suffered a day in your life because of him. He suspects your mother doesn’t care much about your happiness, but if she did, if she gave him the chance to prove it, he wouldn’t rest until he gave you the entire world, until she could see your love as true. 

You lay your head back to the pillows, tilting it comfortably so that Changbin has more access to your skin. His breath warms you, and you all but tremble with anticipation when you feel his lips on you again, knowing your skin will finally bear his mark after all this time.

You’ve seen such a mark briefly on your maids that you know to have lovers, how they try to hide them with their hair or makeup, the sort of shame and embarrassment they feel when they realize you’ve noticed it. You will have no such shame; you will wear them proudly, in a show that is simultaneously of love and rebellion.

"I have and I know love, and that is all that matters." And people will certainly have opinions, but you’ve sacrificed enough to them. If there is only one day you can live selfishly for the rest of your life, you want it to be this day; and even as the marks fade, they will serve as a reminder of what you once had. 

He plants open mouthed kisses to your neck, the feeling of his tongue and teeth grazing you adding to the anticipation you feel. Your fingers tangle in his dark, unruly curls, as he carefully, almost gently, sucks and bites at your supple skin, leaving behind a string of beautiful, red, blue, and purple bruises.

There’s a tinge of pain, yes, but the excitement grows beyond the subtle sting, transforming it almost entirely into pleasure. When Changbin’s finished with one side, he lies you on your back and does the same to the other, your eyes fluttering closed as you tilt your head for him to have more room to work.

You unintentionally tug on his hair when his teeth meet a particularly sensitive spot, and you would’ve apologized had he not groaned in delight from the feeling. You learned something new about him every time you were intimate, and this discovery in particular had your stomach flipping.

“Want you to take it off,” he mumbles in reference to your dress, pulling at the fabric that had begun to bunch up at your thighs. You hum, detangling your hand from his hair and letting him sit up, watching as he lifts his own shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside.

In all the times you’ve seen Changbin’s skin bare, you never stopped being amazed at how divine he looked. He was so big and strong, it always left you breathless, his cute, soft stomach a direct contrast from the bulk in his arms and chest. And then there was the small patch of hair that led from his belly button to the waistband of his trousers that always left you hungry to see the rest of him. 

Still feeling a bit weak from your exertion prior, you ask Changbin to help you remove your dress, which he is more than happy to do. He’s careful with the fabric, though you’ve decided you don’t care about it at this particular moment, and he sets it aside with much more care than he did his own clothing. What a gentleman he is, you think, taking the extra time to care for your clothes even when he’s met with you bare before him.

Well, not entirely bare– you still have your undergarments on, and after deciding you’d see Changbin today no matter what, you purposely wore your prettiest pair. A beautiful, intricate and delicate white lace, one you might aspire to wear on your wedding night. He looks you over in awe, taking in all your details. You were always beautiful, but your choice in clothing somehow enhances it, drives his excitement even further. 

“Fuck, you’re stunning. How did I get so lucky?” Changbin questions aloud and you smile, a soft giggle escaping you as he leans back down to kiss you. “Take your pants off too, otherwise it isn’t fair,” you playfully complain and he grins, letting out a giggle of his own as lifts himself back up.

“Maybe I spoil you too much, giving you everything you want so easily,” he responds to your complaint with one of his own, trying not to smile so that he appears serious– though you are easily able to read that he’s playing around, just as you were. 

“You give me everything I want because I’m a good girl for you though, right?” you ask and he whines audibly; you admitted early on in your sexual relationship that you were curious about being called such things. When he tried it out, it was discovered that he liked saying it just as much as you liked being called it.

It’s not just saying it to you that he likes either– hearing you call yourself one, saying it’s just for him.. that’s what really gets him going. And while he doesn’t want to be presumptuous and say you belong to him, especially not after all you’ve suffered through, he definitely belongs to you.

You don’t anticipate Changbin pulling his underwear down with his trousers, but the sight of his cock is never unwelcome. It’s already hard and leaking, and when he leans down to you once again, you can feel it pressing against your bare thigh, smearing its fluid on your skin. It always excites you how hard he gets from your body, always enjoyable watching him get riled up just from looking at you bare or from saying a few sweet words. 

“You’re dangerous,” he says with a small huff, and before you can come back with more words to make his cock throb, he’s kissing you again, this time with much less softness, quickly shoving his tongue past your lips.

You welcome it, opening your mouth for him, letting his tongue lick yours. The feeling always makes you light-headed in the most delicious way possible– it’s intoxicating to put it simply, and you would kiss him for hours and hours if given the chance. 

His hands come to your bra, unhooking it easily after all the practice he’s had, and though he could easily toss it aside, he breaks away long enough to set it down gently. You giggle at how he’s still treating your clothes with care even while this hard and eager, but that’s what makes you love him so much.

Returning to your mouth, he nips and sucks at your bottom lip, and you mewl at the sting, which Changbin always gladly soothes with his tongue before repeating. His fingers roll, pinch, and tug your nipples, not too hard, but enough to have you whining and squeezing your legs together.

They were always so sensitive in Changbin’s rough, calloused hands, and there were times you felt you could cum simply from the stimulation of them alone– especially when he used his mouth at the same time. And he did just that when he pulled away to stop kissing you, though not right away.

He kissed all over your chest, leaving love bites and sucking small, almost delicate bruises onto the sensitive skin of your breasts, not yet touching your nipples with his tongue and teeth. You told him to mark you, and it seems he was determined to do it everywhere– not that you had any objections. It was a bit strange, seeing your chest bitten and the color of your flesh changed, but you equally enjoyed it, loved the physical proof that Changbin was on you. 

When his tongue finally swirled around one of your nipples, you let out a breathy moan that quickly turned into a drawn out whimper when he used his teeth. He made sure not to hurt you too overtly, to just give you enough of that sweet sting you found so enticing and pleasurable, and in return you gave him that same delicious feeling by tugging on his hair every time you felt good. 

Your panties were soaked by the time he stopped giving your breasts attention, and though you hadn’t reached your peak from the stimulation, you felt so close. Resuming his path down your body, Changbin’s cock throbs and twitches when he’s met with evidence of your excitement, your white panties darkened by how damp they’ve become.

He doesn’t pull them down right away– he kisses your legs first, and then your thighs, leaving behind the same kisses and marks he gave to your chest and neck. Your inner thighs are especially sensitive, and it causes you to jolt and whine when he sinks his teeth into the meat of them.

He’s got you so impossibly worked up, you feel like you could cry when he finally gives your neglected heat the attention it craves. He praises you before he slides your panties down your legs, and there’s a relieved sort of noise coming from your throat that makes Changbin chuckle. 

You keen when his tongue finally slips between your folds, licking and sucking up everything you have to offer him. There’s an enthusiastic hum that leaves his lips when your fingers tangle in his hair again, followed by a moan when you pull and tug. Your legs are trembling and twitching so much, constantly threatening to close around his head, that he has to push them down to keep you how he wants you.  

It’s when his tongue meets your clit that you really start to lose yourself, your hips jolting up and back arching, legs quivering when he wraps his lips around it and sucks. You’re panting, begging him for more, incoherently mumbling and babbling about how close you are, and within seconds you’re seeing white, eyes rolling back as further arousal gushes on his face.

He licks your release up with another eager hum, dragging out the feeling until you’re a quivering, overstimulated mess beneath him. You release your hold on his curls when you finally come down from your high and your body relaxes, opening your eyes to see Changbin grinning at you, evidently proud of the fact that he got you to cum so intensely.

He kisses you softly, quick and chaste, not trying to hinder you from taking any of the breaths you need, just wanting to show his affection. “What do you want next, darlin’? Since I’m givin’ you everything you want,” he asks, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he awaits your answer.

“W-Want to be on top but.. I’m still feeling pretty weak. Especially after that,” you reply with a slight blush, and he giggles again, cooing at you as if you’re just so sweet and cute (and to be fair, you are– you always will be, at least to him.)

“S’okay sweetheart, I can help you,” Changbin says sweetly, giving you one more kiss before he’s lying down on the makeshift bed and pulling you on top of him. Your legs are on either side of them, his hands on your hips, looking up at you with pure affection. 

“This good? Comfortable?” he asks, and you hum with a nod, smiling just a bit as you lean down to kiss him again. Normally, given how thick he is, Changbin would prep you before having you take his cock, but given how wet and excited you are, he doesn’t think the prep is as necessary (and you might not be patient enough for it after all the build up to this point regardless.)

He helps you line yourself up with his cock, both of you letting out your own shaky noises as you sink down on him. “Atta girl, keep goin’, just like that, sit on me all the way,” he encourages you, and you do just as he asks.

Your hands tightly gripping his biceps to ground and support yourself as you sit flush with his body, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his. He rubs your thighs and legs, trying to show soothing affection as you adjust and settle, listening attentively to all the trembling exhales and noises you make. 

You look so beautiful atop him, illuminated in the gentle, warm glow of the fireplace, your hair having fallen in a way that messily, yet somehow perfectly, frames your face. He can see everything– your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, beautifully painted with all the marks he left behind. You can feel him twitching and throbbing inside you, but he doesn’t rush you along, lets you take all the time you need. 

You feel him twitch again when you lean down to kiss him, and it’d make you giggle if it also didn’t make a wave of pleasure shoot through your body. You move your hands to his chest to support your own weight better, rolling your hips as you coax your tongue into his mouth.

He lets out a moan from deep in his chest as you move, his tongue wasting no time in meeting and dancing with yours, his fingers squeezing at the already tender meat of your thighs. You lift yourself back up to begin moving in earnest, your hands still planted firmly on his chest for support as you slide yourself up and down his length.

The slow pace, while it still feels good, isn’t enough for either of you, and soon enough you find yourself practically bouncing on his cock, the sound of your thighs repeatedly slapping down on his echoing into the room. Changbin curses, biting his lip as he watches you, using his hands to help guide you up and down, trying to ease some of the ache in your legs. 

He thrusts upward into you when your pace starts to stutter and lose rhythm, and you gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the perfect spot again and again. It reaches a point where his hands simply hold you in the right place while he exerts all his effort, feet planted firmly on the ground while he does all the work from below. Your nails dig into his skin, head falling back as you feel your release building up again. 

Changbin effortlessly flips your positions, though he is careful not to hurt you in his haste. He just wants to make you fall apart again, and it’s easier to do that if he doesn’t have to control your movements– just his own. He resumes the pace he held from below, bringing two of his fingers to your clit and rubbing in quick circles, unable to help the way he moans when he feels you clench around him even tighter in response. 

“B-Bin, please, Binnie, so close,” you babble and whine, your hands twisting the blankets beneath you. “I know sweetheart, let go, be a good girl and give it to me,” he grunts out, and again, you feel white hot pleasure coursing through your veins, your vision blurring and mind growing fuzzy as you let go.

“Good girl, just a little more, just need you to hang on for a little more,” he both instructs and praises, pulling out just long enough to flip you to your stomach, pushing back into your heat just as quickly as he left it. You whimper loudly, fingers clutching desperately at the pillow your head rests on, Changbin bringing a hand around your body to lift your hips ever so slightly.

He was hitting your spot deliciously from this angle, the pleasure so great that tears once again pricked the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall with each gasp and whimper you released. You turn your head back as much as you can, delighted in the visage of Changbin’s head thrown back in pleasure, 

He always got rougher when he started to get close, his hands always tightening their grip, his thrusts, while growing less rhythmic, became harsher and faster, almost desperate, and it was always a treat to experience. You loved watching him lose himself to the pleasure, loved that it was you and your body that brought him there, loved how his grunts and moans transformed into higher pitched whimpers and whines. 

You bring your own fingers to your clit, wanting to let him enjoy and focus on his release since he already spent so much time on your pleasure. He leans forward, his chest pressed into your back, his hot breath hitting your ear, his whines and praises pouring directly into it.

“Fuck, sweetheart, feel so good, ‘m gonna- fuck, gonna fill you up,” he stammers out, and it sends a shiver down your spine, your stomach erupting in countless butterflies, driving you to speed up the motion of your fingers. 

You release again with a strangled cry, gushing around his length and on your fingers. Changbin follows closely behind, the feeling of you clenching and squeezing around him as you cum for the third time sending him over his peak. He releases in long, drawn out spurts, both of you breathless and exhausted when he collapses next to you.

You both know you should get cleaned up, but you’re both too tired to care, and he can always clean up his messes in the morning. For now, he just wants to stay close, here in front of the fire, with you. This very well could be your last night together, but he doesn’t want to believe it is. He wants to believe that the two of you can find a solution somehow, that after all the hardship, you’ll be smiling at him in the end.

There’s a part of you that doesn’t even want to fall asleep at all– you want to stay up all night, to not waste a single moment you have left, to stare and feel and love until the very last second, so that you’ll remember him clearly always. You do your best to not become teary eyed again, having promised yourself you wouldn’t spend your night with him wrapped up in your sorrow and dread.

But oh, how you wish there was more time, how you wish that your mother would understand you, that you could have just this one thing. But you suppose for a girl with immense responsibility, happiness is too much to ask for. You sacrifice your happiness so that others may have it instead– as noble an act as any, but you selfishly wish you could have both; the people’s happiness and your own. 

The idea of running away still leaves you torn, even after all this time. You don’t want to let anyone down.. but still, you have to ask yourself, is doing what’s right for your kingdom and future worth all this heartache? If it’s what is right, why does it make your heart feel as if it’s been shattered like glass? You’ve been told in life that the right thing to do is never the easiest, but you can’t imagine that in this case, walking away from either side is right. 

You want both. Is that truly so wrong? You want to be a ruler worthy of her name and title, and you want Changbin. Why must you choose one over the other? As far as you’re aware, even now, Changbin doesn’t know you’re the princess.

He’ll likely find out soon– every knight in the town will be floundering to find you come morning, once they realize you’re gone. You should slip away before then, lest your lover be met with undue scrutiny and unfair treatment from your mother and other nobles if you're found here. 

But looking at him now, even still.. you don’t want to leave. You’ll never want to leave. “Sweetheart,” Changbin calls softly, his hand reaching up to leave comforting, lingering touches to your head. “I can tell what you’re thinkin’. But don’t be sad yet, not ‘til we’ve said goodbye.”

You blink away the accumulating tears with a nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat the best you can and burying your face into Changbin’s welcoming body. You’re so, so tired, and you know he is too, but he’s trying his best for you. And he’s being the strong one despite how much his heart aches with yours.

He rubs your head, kisses your temple, tells you he loves you. Your heart breaks and mends all at once; how bittersweet this moment is.. If you’re lucky, you'll have about 7 hours until anyone realizes you’re gone. Maybe you can sleep for just a few, just enough to get some of this ache out of your body, and then you can spend the rest with Changbin. 

You’ll cry, you know, as soon as you depart back home. You’ll cry when the hole in the castle’s defenses is completely sealed. You’ll cry when you look to the fields his home sits on from the bedroom window. Still.. you do your best to uphold your promise to yourself, and now to Changbin.

You won’t cry, and you won’t be upset– not yet, anyways. Not until you’ve actually parted ways. For now, you’ll continue to lie in his arms, continue to express your love for him, continue to smile and laugh as if this isn’t the end, until morning comes and reminds you painfully that it is. 

How beautiful it was to love Seo Changbin, to learn and to grow and to really live with his help, patience, and care. How fondly you’ll miss him in every moment, how lovingly you’ll always hold his memory. Brief though your love together is, much shorter than it should have been, it has changed you for the better, and you’ll never regret it, even should your heart ache.

And maybe Changbin is right; maybe there is room for hope, and maybe you’ll see each other again much sooner than you allow yourself to think. But no matter what lies before you, there is one thing for certain; Changbin is and always be will your first love, forever be etched in your heart– your lover, your deepest connection, your closest confidant. And how grateful you are to have known him.

[winterbean177]

Zarck Fic WIP taster <3

Hi y'all! Small update for my fic which will eventually be put up on AO3...

I'm almost finished with the plot outline!

And I've started writing the actual thing... Here's the first couple paragraphs as a taster:

Prologue (status: incomplete)

The Commander was sick of waiting and watching in silence. 

Waiting on a solitary distant planet for upwards of five entire years, devoid of any other kind of social contact, had started to take its toll. Zarck had to give them at least a little bit of credit, as it took them years for that distress beacon to be activated, spewing out their signal to anyone who would listen and come to their aid. It definitely outlasted his prediction that his wayward team would barely last a year by themselves without getting killed, or even worse, tainting the Pupa’s evolution so severely that their mission would culminate in utter failure.

But he certainly hadn't expected the team to last that long. Yes, under the right care and proper attention, the Pupa should have only needed a year or two to mature and see the terraforming cycle to completion, but seeing as they hadn't wrecked it up in maybe six years he couldn't help but be intrigued by their pure dumb luck. That Korvo he had left "in charge" was truly never meant to be leader, Zarck often mused to pass the time, and if anything this utter failure even after so many years of denial (for surely it hadn't taken them all that time for the mission to fall apart, those stubborn, pigheaded adults must have put off sounding the alarm for a while), proved that Zarck had been exactly where he needed to be: in control.

The first two years of waiting had been his most difficult. He had waited, at first eagerly, to detect that distress beacon within the first six months, knowing very well the group did not have the skillset to take care of the Pupa without him-  he hated being put with the most clumsy, naive set of Shlorpians on the homeworld to work alongside, but there was no fighting those who had made the decision to pair the team in such a way. After the first few years, counted with pebbles, sticks and scratch marks littered all over his tiny escape pod, he had begun to assume the team had already perished, none of them around to even sound the alarm, but he paid those dark possibilities no heed. After all, it was merely a What-If situation. No matter what, with the right quantum entanglement technology, this make-believe reality would cease to exist upon the press of a button, and everything would be restored to how it was supposed to be. No questions. No arguments.

Korvo’s reckless stupidity would prove his inability to be team leader, and he would surrender the position instantly back to Zarck as soon as he realised it was not all that easy as it was made out to be by their Commander.

Oh, how he longed to see the look on that idiot's face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you liked it! Please feel free to interact with this post to show your support <3 I'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas and even any questions!

And as always, I hope you have a good day/night depending what time you're reading this at!

-WinterB

[periodically-puzzled]

😅 ⛔ 🦅😬🤯

oh no i forgot about the ask game! i gotta come up with questions for punch and prime quick before they forget they signed up for this! i think honeybun rb'd it as well and i wanna know their writing secrets too oh dear oh no *harried internet noises*

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

if i get even a little embarrassed by something i change my name and pretend it never existed. with that said. let's talk about the sanders sides fic from when i was a teenager that's still up on my ao3

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

the only one that's still online is love and war which is a cute little scene set in the gunpowder and firewood universe. i used to have a continued plot allll planned out, but frankly writing in first person is exhausting, and if i ever get back around to the story i had planned, it's going to be redone as a harlivy fic instead. so as published it's just a funky little scene where peter and wade are messing around in a warehouse

anything else that's marked as unfinished i am still planning to come back to - but it might be a while, i have real world stuff to keep up with and i keep having new ideas that are more fun for me to write

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

not only is there always a larger outline, there is also always a pixar pitch, which is a six- or seven-sentence outline with a fill-in-the-blank structure that sets up your setting, characters, three-act structure and big ideas to keep in mind as you're plotting. the long-form outline is always subject to change as i'm writing but i always have to stay true to the pixar pitch or i've literally lost the plot

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

last time one of y'all asked this the answer was tap out and that remains the case but i'd still rather they read that than find out that @primewritessmut's fic she's not going to die today is my fault and dedicated to me

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

i cannot do actual earnest erotica. i know i write sex scenes a lot and sometimes they're even the focal point of the stories but i always write them with some non-horny ulterior motive. every time i sit down to try to write porn it ends up being ABOUT something. it's a curse

[t-allyitup]

ed edd n eddy alphabet soup part ii anyone?

may be headed in the direction of a fic me thinks idk i'm just at a point where my brain is experiencing a creative outpouring in the form of ed edd n eddy content

[eddeddy specific i guess. let's see]

cw for substances, implied (but up to interpretation) traumatic events, child abuse/domestic violence mention, double d enjoying calculus

[also ... i may have mentioned this previously somewhere but i'm currently almost 2 years clean from dxm abuse & all drugs so PLEASE know that interactions with substances are not something that should be romanticized or promoted, i'm not trying to do that i just also have been in high school and as a teenager substances are something that exist]

[for purposes of me being me this story features the three ed's as seniors in high school, as well as rolf, kevin, and nazz. johnny & may kanker are juniors in high school, sarah & jimmy are sophomores, and eldest kankers have graduated hs]

[eddy's brother is in the can and staying there cuz i'm not about to deal with his ass sorry]

picking up from double d's brain alphabet soup...

- beginning

but that wasn't productive ruminating for the current task at hand, no.

no, the focus of his current endeavor, as he had been sorely forcing his near non-existent attention span back too, was familiarizing himself with the revision outline for the first calculus ii quiz of his last year of high school.

calculus had been relatively simple, the theoretical aspect of geometry soothingly absent from this branch of arithmetic, with many of the classic formula/solve/answer questions (however tedious the problems may be.) double d enjoyed problems with direct, proven answers, especially ones that would simply be labeled as correct or incorrect. knowing that without a doubt there was a proven, logical, factual answer for a problem was motivating and provided structure.

although he still received excellent markings in his literature classes, and had become especially gifted in theoretical analysis and research investigation, the concept of language left him feeling rather uncomfortable. while there were specific outlines, literary devices, and general frame of composition to guide him, a compelling and well-written piece of writing was largely subjective. personal opinions of the audience were essential to the response of the piece, and therefore effective criticism stemmed often from personal preference rather than execution.

ed, a third of double d’s nearly life-long trio of best friends, had surprisingly excelled in the areas of creative writing and storytelling in the past few years. while his spelling and grammar needed (and likely would always need) some work, his ability to reveal emotion in his writing was pleasantly shocking and impressive to both edd and eddy. double d had scanned ed’s last few impromptu creative writing assignments, and had beamed with pride at each one, offering only some minor suggestions each time that the other teen had taken with great appreciation and warmth. ed had also grown to become interested in cooking, and after nearly burning double d’s house to ash multiple times while trying to cook hot dog burgers, had gotten a strict warning that he'd better work on his scientific skills if he ever considered returning to double d's kitchen again. this had led to double d spending a few grueling hours explaining measurements and proper handling of equipment, but had ultimately paid off in the form of the trio enjoying a delicious ed-cooked meal nearly three times a week.

ed had also joined a d&d league, following a recommendation from a (long overdo) psychiatric assessment that ed had dyslexia and adhd, and would benefit from some time outside of his house. double d and eddy had understood that this was a nice way of the shrink telling ed's parents that their continued domestic violence mishaps and borderline abusive behavior towards their son had been resulting in cognitive decline, and that ed having a productive hobby and solid support system would hopefully be able to keep him stable and shield him from his parents further traumatizing him.

eddy was, to few of the cul-de-sac kid's surprise, quite gifted in the areas of communications, business, and physical education. following his brother’s arrest and eventual incarceration, eddy had been hitting the gym to try and kill off his festering anger and hurt from the abuse. he had made the junior varsity football team the first year, and was quickly promoted to varsity his sophomore year. eddy was still shorter than ed and double d, but was noticeably stronger and better ‘filled out.’ eddy had prided himself on his self-described 'total beefy hunk of a bod,' much to ed's howls of amusement and double d's eye roll of affection. while eddy worked tirelessly on his car, ranting about the 'idiotic lack of, if actually existent, formation strategy’ of the quarterback, double d had become increasingly aware of how eddy's personality had developed. it was clear that eddy had become more confident, in not only himself, but in his abilities. he also showed an impressive talent for pattern recognition, strategizing, and planning. this had been a major asset to their football team, who were mostly 6'2 boulders that had clearly only made the team for their size. of course, it was inevitable that eddy would always be the snarky little attention hog he was, but it was pretty clear to double d that eddy was also becoming observant and (though this may be a stretch) stabilized. he had also gotten tattoos, one of a dragon that matched with ed and a few for other reasons that double d hadn't been paying attention to due to his uncharacteristic staring in shock and (now identifiable) gay panic. eddy had developed an obsession with piercings, too. his ears, left eyebrow, right nostril, and tongue in specific were victims of this endevor, and although kevin had rolled his eyes and scoffed at the look, eddy looked incredible and had remained confident in his appearance.

in fact, it was jimmy, who had grown up more than anyone could imagine, who was the first to compliment eddy on his piercings. jimmy had taken up swimming and diving, as well as student government, and debate team with eddy. his voice was scratchy and soothing, and his ability to tear it up in the pool had astonished and overjoyed everyone. he had been returning to states for swim year after year since the 7th grade, and the legendary smile that had always been the focal feature of his face was now accompanied by a freckling of acne. his baja sweatshirts and acid wash jeans, along with a surprising choice of reebok shoes, had been proof of his own self-settling.

sarah had become distant, although physically present, halfway through freshman year. that october, a rumor had circulated about sarah that double d didn't even want to think about, especially after sarah had told him the truth about what had actually happened.

sarah stayed close to ed the next few years, the rare instance of a unmistakable clang of a sarah laugh present after a particularly goofy joke from jimmy or a swat at the hand of ed trying to steal a french fry was rare, but had become more common. the sound of her laugh was helpful for reminding them that she was healing, and that the blazing force of fire that lies inside, although flickering, hasn't gone out.

johnny had joined a d&d leauge with ed, and was unsurprisingly terrific at arts of all kinds. he had gotten lead roles in the last few student-led visual arts productions, twice as the main supporting character and once as the lead-joseph, in 'joseph and the amazing technicolor dreamcoat.' in the summers, johnny had played baseball, and was playing varsity by junior year. plank remained lodged in his backpack, a comforting reminder that some things never change.

rolf had also become interested in musical theater, as well as baseball. during baseball season, rolf, johnny, and kevin would spend lots of time together, baseball having brought them back. kevin and rolf remained close year round, rolf supporting kevin during football season and kevin supporting rolf at his theater performances, although theater was ‘nerdy’ in his unwarranted opinion.

to everyone's immense surprise, nazz had joined a band. she had joined a rock-n-roll jazz band with marie kanker and rolf, as well as two other boys and the occasional sarah on backup vocals. nazz had also joined the d&d league, per request of ed, and had seemed to be enjoying that. in the summer she played softball, also with marie, and had spent a great portion of each season trying to convince sarah to play.

nazz had grown into someone that double d deeply admired. she was authorative, inclusive, open, and stood firm in herself and her beliefs. she hadn't been interested in showing off, focusing primarily on connection and including others. the other boys in his grade had teased her for her interest in make up and fashion, and nazz didn't care. she enjoyed ‘feminine’ things because they made her happy, just like shredding on her guitar and playing d&d and other typically ‘masculine’ things made her happy. she did what she wanted to do, and she had told double d that even if she was applying make up or learning how to kick start a car engine to impress someone, than what's so wrong with that? what's wrong with wanting to look nice for someone, or wanting to be able to help them? what's wrong with having pride in yourself?

double d had went home after that conversation and started crying. he couldn't stop, and he didn't understand why he had been crying in the first place. he wasn't much of a crier at all-in fact he hadn't cried in months-but when nazz had explained that to him, he supposed he realized how much he cared about her. he realized that the kind of growth it takes to reach that conclusion could only stem from something changing, and he realized that an inevitable and painful part of growth is change.

he had also realized that change triggered advancement, which triggered the discovery of philosophies like the one nazz lived by.

it had also come to mind that to develop such a welcoming and independent philosophy, nazz may have experienced something that was possibly quite traumatizing.

it was the same string of thoughts that double d had regarding the look on eddy’s face before they parted ways for the night. the humid july night buzzed with cicadas and secondhand smoke hung suspended under the artificial buzz of the street light near their houses. a roar of laughter from eddy followed by a the scheming, sly smirk, the kind where you try to stop your teeth from showing but it happens anyway, the light producing a halo effect upon his best friend and leaving double d in a glowy haze. the way eddy’s nose scrunches slightly with the smile and the way his deep, spruce blue eyes stare coyly at him before he takes a final drag of a blunt rolled in a way the should be considered a violation of the herb's personal rights. his eyes mischievous but distant as his lips and lungs kill the joint for good, the image of eddy flicking the discarded paper away and exhaling the smoke upwards. following this dramatic gesture, was what eddy had said to double d moments before he had said goodnight on that warm july evening.

'd, there's no point in me stayin’ after graduation. nothin’ left to stay for once you and lumpy leave for school. i'm leaving this shithole, one way or another.’

double d remembers that moment exactly. the moment that triggered everything to follow, the specific moment when he had realized that he was absolutely terrified of losing his best friend in a way that hadn't previously aligned with his stasis levels. he remembers eddy waving goodbye, calling something about ‘catching him later,’ and double d paced back home and locked himself in his room.

he thought of what nazz had said earlier that day when the older kids of rhe cul-de-sac had gathered at rolf's for table tennis and an excuse to finish a pack of twisted teas. that it isn't wrong to want. it was, in fact, a fundamental function of a sentient creatures existence, and that the external shame that people project on others for having desires in inherently hypocritical. nazz, with her laid back attitude and approachable demeanor, sharing the wisdom of a life once lived through self-criticism.

he thought of what eddy had said about leaving this place, one way or another, and it was then that double d let the pieces of his strained conscious unravel and descended into a fit of choking through tears.

it was becoming very obvious to that eddward that he was entering an entirely different plane of trouble.

- end

if i spelled something wrong no i didn't . gn

[traditional-with-a-twist]

lxiv. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || third arc || fourth arc || AO3 || Next>>

Obi did not understand why he was not dead yet.

He had done his very best – he had found the nastiest snake around and grabbed it by the tail.

Instead of biting him, it had buried him in this hole.

Even in this, then, Obi thought, rotating his shoulders as the cold of the stone sank into his skin. The rope chafed his wrists, but his hands had grown too numb to feel it.

Even in this, he had fallen short.

...

What did it take for a man to find oblivion? What god must he offend, to be struck down?

Or was that it: he was cursed to existence, to the steady and persistent reminder of his crimes, and that in itself was the punishment?

Obi looked up at the ceiling of his cell and wished for something worse to come, something final and fatal.

The door opened.

A brilliant square of light seared his eyes — he had only time to perceive a dark silhouette outlined against it, before he squeezed them watering shut.

A clang and a heavy thud followed next, then the clatter of the key in the lock. Heavy footsteps receded, but someone remained — Obi knew he was no longer alone.

...

Blinking the moisture from his eyes, he forced them open again and peered into the gloom.

The someone was standing — no, sitting up, a tall man and broad.

He groaned softly, rubbing his head, and a thrill of recognition ran through Obi. 

...

He fell at once on his usual defense: an armor of jocularity, nonchalance, ill-favored humor.

Injecting his voice with false incredulity, he hailed his new cellmate: “Hm, what’s this, Mister? Did you get lost?”

“Obi,” the other man whispered, disbelief in his voice.

“Doesn’t quite seem like your usual line,” Obi rolled on, inwardly coiled tight as a spring in anticipation of the reckoning to come. 

...

He had not met Mitsuhide since the war. He had not wanted to.

Though the knight made himself an easy mark more often than not, he possessed a core of steel that broke through Obi’s posturing and bit into him where he could not deflect it.

Obi feared to rouse him, now of all times when there stood yet between them everything to say and nothing to raise in plea to mitigate it.

...

“What was it this time, sir knight?” Obi spoke wildly, desperate to suppress the sensitivities awakening in him that he had thought deadened by his rampage of excess and neglect.

A longing for annihilation he could bear, for as long as it took to satisfy it, but shame? He didn’t want to face it, not just when he had thought himself beyond it.

He was grasping at straws, flinging dust to cloud the air between them. “A bit of highway robbery, perhaps — moonlighting as a bandit? Counterfeiting? Sold your sword for hire?”

...

Mitsuhide stared at him for a long moment, then he slumped back against the bars of the cell. Even without the light to catch the pallor of his skin, Obi could see in the bowed curve of his shoulders, the hang of his head, that he was not well.

When he spoke, Mitushide’s voice was low and weary. “I am no knight.”

...

“Ahhh, and what is it then that they’re calling you these days, sir — chevalier? baronet?” 

“No, Obi.” Mitsuhide spoke sternly now. “Don’t misunderstand me. I am no longer in service to the crown. I have renounced my knighthood.”

A heartbeat of silence, then Obi said, “And the sea snake captured you for farming turnips, did she?”

...

Mitsuhide rubbed a hand over his face; the tension in his shoulders bespoke annoyance. He had every right to it — Obi had no right to demand anything of him, least of all an explanation.

That was the game, though: get a man to speak of himself; leave him no time to ask questions about you.

Then again, perhaps there was more to explain than Obi would ever have guessed, for how could it be that he spoke not with Sir Mitsuhide Lowen, but this stranger — how could the knight once in attendance on the second prince of Clarines be no more?

Who had returned from the war in his stead?

...

“I was riding circuit,” Mitsuhide said, his voice muffled. “Delivering messages. Somehow her men… they were looking for something, and they knew me.”

“And you let those halfwit scoundrels take you?” Obi asked softly, thinking that Zen’s spirit had taken more than the prince himself with it, and perhaps they were all dead and dying alongside him — only more slowly.

Mitsuhide lowered his hand, and even in the gloom his glare burned fierce. “I’m not a knight!” he snapped.

Then, darkly, he spoke into the mystery: “No one should ever rely on my sword again.”

...

“Ahhh…” Obi’s head fell back; he stopped watching his friend of old because he had understood now all that he wanted to know. “Too bad… Then we will both die here.”

Mitsuhide looked across the cell at him, and each man loathed himself too much to feel compassion for the other.

“Even so,” Mitsuhide shook his head, “why you are not with Shirayuki…” 

...

He did not bother to mask the accusation in his voice. Obi might judge him wanting for laying aside his sword, but at least he had not set aside his wife.

How he could treat her in such a fashion – like a plaything to be discarded…

...

Obi did not move at first, but only huddled where he was, propped against the prison wall. When he answered at last, his voice seemed to come from somewhere else. “I let her make her own path,” he said quietly.

...

Mitsuhide was aghast. Evasion, he had expected; excuses, explanations, even a denial of guilt — but this!

To simply accept and embrace what he had done, without attempt at justification — Mitsuhide would not have believed it of him. Had he masked his true character so thoroughly that only now its callousness showed?

Had his time serving as royal messenger changed him so little?

Anger flashing hot and futile within him, he spluttered, “How could – don’t you know? You were to stay by her side, continue as her guard — protect her!”

...

Obi gave a hollow laugh, still crumpled as if Mitsuhide’s charges had drained away what life remained to him. 

The knight — ex-knight — sounded like a directive from an outdated letter: many moons ago, before the princes had ridden off to war. His words rang hollow now, devoid of any meaning in this present time.

“That’s easy for you to say, mister,” Obi mumbled, lapsing back into their familiar patterns of dialogue. “You—”

“No!” Mitsuhide broke in hotly. At first, Obi thought he objected to the formal address, but the once-knight had something else on his mind.

...

His blood was up; he leaned forwards, hands clenched on his knees. “Not me — Zen!” The name broke between them like shrapnel, wounding them both. 

Obi flinched, but Mitsuhide ground on. “That day — he thought of you, both of you.”

The blood had drained from Obi’s face; he could not speak to interrupt.

...

Mitsuhide ground on. “He wanted her to be happy.”

Obi squeezed his eyes shut, but the words kept coming.

“He said, if anything were to happen–” and with a last convulsive breath, Mitsuhide wrenched the arrow from the wound: “he wanted you to be the one to care for Shirayuki… in his place.”

[lackyghost]

Todoroki Touya was six years old when his school first held a mandatory soulmate course, that went over the history of soulmates as they had suddenly appeared hundreds of years ago. The origin of them is something no one could fully understand.

Soulmates are identified by matching marks on their bodies, something that shows up during one's teen years, like a tattoo that will simply fade into existence on one’s body. Sometimes it’s large, other times it’s so small that a person needs help finding it.

Less than 1% of the planet’s population is markless.

Everyone was excited to get their soulmark, to use it to track down their ‘other half’ so they could figure out how their lives were meant to meld together.

Because everyone has a soulmate.

—

Twenty-seven-year-old Touya enters Eraser Head Ink as he does every Monday through Saturday.

Touya is average height at 180cm, lightly muscular and toned. His ears are lined in black studs, an industrial on his right ear, and 10mm gauges in either side with large red fangs through them. He has three piercings in his lower lip, dimple studs, and three studs in his left nostril.

He is, of course, covered in quite a bit of ink, almost entirely done by his mentor and boss, Aizawa Shouta, every piece custom designed by Touya himself.

His left arm is coated in blue flames from his bicep down to the back of his hand, wrapping all the way around.

His right shoulder sports a large green and gray grenade surrounded by pink Sakura flowers that wrap his entire bicep.

He has ‘FUCK OFF’ tattooed across his knuckles in bold black English letters, outlined in bright orange.

His spine from the back of his neck down to his tailbone is covered in a traditional Japanese floral design with bursts of red flowers throughout.

On his left outer thigh is a quote surrounded by vines and bleeding red roses, ‘A soulmate is someone who understands you like no other, loves you like no other, will be there with you forever, no matter what,’ meant as a reminder of the importance of soulmates.

Aizawa is already inside, so Touya shoves the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle the hot travel mug of coffee in his hand.

“Morning,” Aizawa says in his usual monotone.

The man has long, curly black hair done up in a loose bun at the nape of his neck. His eyes are black, lined with heavy eyebags that clearly showcase his need for something stronger than coffee. Like Touya, he’s also covered in a significant amount of ink, though he only has piercings in his ears.

“Morning,” Touya grumbles back.

Touya always leaves his small office/station room in perfect order, but he still wipes his table down again before his first client shows up.

This day is pretty slow, he has one client coming in for a soulmark enhancing tattoo—something many people do.

Tattooing over a soulmark is a taboo that many people refuse to do, Touya included, but enhancers are designs added around the soulmark, but never over it.

Touya sighs and sets his coffee down as he pulls out the designs he’s been working on for his client. The man had supplied only that his mark is a circular shape and approximately 18cm in diameter on his back. He wants simple black flowers and vines around the design, so Touya has been working up a few things for the guy to compare.

At 11am on the dot, the doorbell jingles and Touya walks out of his office to greet the man.

“Midoriya Izuku?” Touya questions as he steps closer to the front counter.

“Yeah, that’s me,” the man confirms, nodding his head of wild curly green hair. His wide, bright green eyes are full of excitement as he looks at Touya. “Do I pay now or after?”

“Half now, half when it’s done,” Touya says.

The man nods enthusiastically and pulls out his wallet, flipping through some bills before handing Touya half of their previously agreed upon price.

“This way,” Touya says as he turns and leads the way to his room. “I’ve worked out three different ideas of what you might like.”

He spreads the three works across his desk for the other man to inspect.

“These are amazing,” Midoriya says, smiling excitedly as he leans closer.

Touya hums his agreement, fully aware of his own skill.

“I like this one best,” the man says, pointing to the more traditional design.

“Okay,” Touya says, picking up the sheet. “I’ll get this printed out in a transfer sheet. Take your shirt off. I’ll be right back.”

The man nods and Touya makes his way across the shop to the main office and printer. He hums along with the rock music playing overhead. Something he’d quickly learned about Aizawa when he’d started working here nearly ten years earlier is that his perpetually exhausted mentor has surprisingly good taste in music.

The printer finishes and Touya makes his way back with the original in hand. Midoriya is shirtless as instructed, but he’s seated on the edge of the padded table and Touya cocks a brow at the man.

“You’ve gotta lie down on your stomach for me to put this on,” Touya explains.

“Oh, right,” Midoriya says. “Sorry, this is my first tattoo, I’m nervous.”

“It’s fine,” Touya says with a huff, fighting against his instinctive response to roll his eyes.

He grabs his wipes and pulls his stool up to the side of the table before looking down at the soulmark and freezing.

Midoriya Izuku’s mark is a half-red, half-white fire and ice ying-yang wrapped in green vines on the center of his upper back.

“Holy shit,” Touya says.

“Is something wrong?” Midoriya asks, craning his neck to try to see his own back.

“Have you met your soulmate?” Touya asks, still staring down at the mark.

“No,” Midoriya says.

“I know who they are,” Touya says, moving his eyes to catch the man’s gaze. “I have his phone number. I know where he lives.”

Midoriya’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“I wouldn’t fucking lie about this shit,” Touya says seriously. “I can call him right fuckin’ now.”

Midoriya licks his lips as he considers. “After the tattoo.”

Touya nods and gets to work, wondering exactly what to say to his baby brother.

—

Six months after Touya introduces Shouto and Midoriya, the two move into an apartment together.

Turns out, they both attend UA University and actually shared a couple courses, but they’d never discussed soulmarks, which is shocking in a society that practically begs people to ask about them.

Touya is happy for them, really.

He shows that happiness by spending more time working to push his limits at the gym and ignoring family gatherings.

His professional social media account that doubles as his portfolio had gained hundreds of thousands of followers after Midoriya and Shouto had shared the enhancement to Midoriya’s tattoo, as well as the story of leading the two together.

Midoriya is apparently already famous online as the stepson of a film star, Yagi Toshinori.

It's been excellent for business. He now has appointments scheduled out for months.

Although under Aizawa’s strict rules, he’s required to give himself two full days off every week. He works those out around the schedules of his co-workers, Shinsou Hitoshi and Jirou Kyouka.

So, Touya’s life has changed a bit with his increased popularity.

—

Yesterday, he finished moving into his new apartment. It’s a ten-minute walk to Eraser Head’s, much better than the previous twenty-minute train ride and fifteen-minute walk from his cheap studio apartment.

His new place is modern with wooden floors and granite countertops in the kitchen. It’s a one-bedroom, but the room is large enough for him to have a desk so he can sketch at home instead of camping out overnight at the shop.

The apartment has a large bathroom with a square tub and an open shower, all tiled in grays and whites. The living room looks a bit less pleasing than he’d like, but he isn’t about to replace his old, super comfortable faded leather sofa.

He is much more excited to have a bigger bed after years of sleeping on a twin. Although admittedly, bringing the Queen mattress and bunkie boards up five flights of stairs because it wouldn’t fit in the elevator had not been a pleasant experience.

But, as Touya leaves for work after a night in his new place, he is damn proud of it.

He locks up and makes his way down the street, silently thankful for the warmth of the early fall air.

His ripped jeans tease at his thigh tattoo, and his white t-shirt shows off his hard-earned body as well as his ink.

The only coffee shop on the short walk to the parlor is a smaller place with ‘Plus Ultra Café’ written in white letters across the navy-blue awning.

Touya pushes the door open, jingling a little bell that sounds much cheerier than the one at Eraser Head’s. He steps up to the small counter, next to a glass display case that shows off various pastries.

“One second!” A deep, gruff voice yells out from the room behind the counter, no doubt leading to the kitchen that is the source of the sweet aromas filling the café.

Touya doesn’t respond, instead focusing on the black chalkboard menu behind the counter. He chews at his lower lip rings absently as he reads the coffee options. They have one drink that immediately has Touya’s attention.

“What the hell is a ‘Mexican Spiced Mocha?’” Touya calls out to whoever is in the back.

“It’s literally got a description on the fucking board, genius!” The person shouts out, their heavy footfalls storming closer as they make their way toward the front. “It’s hot chocolate with cayenne and cinnamon mixed with coffee!”

The person rounds the corner, Touya is still looking up at the board, barely noticing the flash of blonde in his periphery. The footsteps fall short and Touya turns his eyes to look at the person.

The man is a bit shorter than Touya, with pale blonde hair that fans out around his head in wild spikes. He has a sharp jaw and angular eyes, the irises a bright scarlet.

Touya turns more fully to face the guy, cocking an eyebrow at the other man’s stunned expression.

“What?” Touya snaps, not caffeinated enough for this shit.

“Nothing,” the man says, scowling as he walks the rest of the way to the cash register behind the counter. “So, you wanna try a Mexican Spiced Mocha?”

“Sure,” Touya grumbles as he pulls his wallet out.

“That’ll be 450¥,” the blonde says.

“Whatever,” Touya says, sighing as he pulls the bills out of his wallet and hands them over.

His eyes lock on the other man’s and he feels a bizarre urge to scratch his left eye. The other man blinks a few times and turns to grab a paper cup.

“Name?” The blonde grouses, holding up the cup and a marker.

Touya frowns. “The hell do you need that for?”

“I’m supposed to write the name on the cup,” the man says flatly.

“I’m the only person in here,” Touya says, narrowing his eyes at the other man.

The blonde rolls his eyes and puts the marker down. “Whatever, Patchwork.”

When he turns his back to start brewing the coffee and hot chocolate, Touya takes a moment to really take in the man. Even with the loose blue and white uniform, the man is clearly well-built.

Touya can appreciate an attractive person when he sees them, and this guy is certainly that.

“One Mexican Spiced Mocha for nameless cranky dude,” the man says as he turns around while capping the drink.

Touya takes the cup from him and sniffs it apprehensively. He takes a small sip and gives a small, surprised hum.

“Not bad, Doll Face,” Touya says.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” The barista snarls. “My name is Bakugou, asshole!”

“Says the guy who's calling me Patchwork,” Touya says, cocking a brow at the blonde.

Bakugou scowls. “Asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” Touya says, unimpressed. “But the drink isn’t bad.”

“Whatever,” Bakugou says.

Touya rolls his eyes and makes his way to the door.

—

The next day, Touya goes to Plus Ultra again. He’d fallen behind on laundry, so he’d had to pull out an older pair of jeans that are a little too tight and he’s feeling more agitated than usual.

He shoves open the café door with a bit more force than is strictly necessary, and the bell over the door falls to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Ah, shit,” Touya says as he turns and bends over to pick it up.

“What the fu—oh,” the familiar voice behind him ends on a stunted, surprised note.

Touya straightens up and carries the bell up to the counter, a grimace on his face.

“I’ll replace it,” Touya says.

“It’s fine, I’ll hang it back up,” Bakugou says, and then he clears his throat. Touya looks up at the man, whose face is a vivid shade of red.

“You good, Doll Face?” Touya asks, eyes trailing around the flushed hue.

“Fuck off,” Bakugou snaps. “What d’you want?”

“Mexican Spiced Mocha,” Touya says as he places the exact change on the counter.

Bakugou’s face is starting to return to its usual color. “Right.”

Bakugou grabs the cup and immediately turns around to start making the drink, grumbling agitatedly under his breath. Touya eyes the man curiously. He seems almost embarrassed about something.

Touya opts to just shrug it off. He doesn’t particularly care and isn’t interested in finding out.

The door opens behind them, weirdly silent without the cheerful little jingle.

“Whoa, where’s the bell, Blasty?” A familiar voice questions.

Touya turns around to see one of his coworkers, Jirou Kyouka. She’s short and petite, with angular purple hair and black eyes.

“Oh, hey, Touya,” she says, slightly surprised.

“Kyouka,” Touya says with a nod.

“I’ve never seen you in here,” Jirou says. “This place is closer to your new apartment, huh?”

“A startling revelation,” Touya drawls.

“’Sup, Earjacks?” Bakugou says when he turns around. He sets Touya’s coffee on the counter and smirks at the purple-haired woman. “Iced Caramel Macchiato to further stunt your growth?”

“I have nothing else to lose,” Jirou says, shrugging.

Touya grabs his coffee and starts walking to the door, but Jirou stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Touya shrugs it off and turns to glare at her and she winces, having forgotten that the man doesn’t like to be touched.

“Shit, sorry,” she says, taking a step back. “I’ve got this client who wants flowers on her enhancement.”

Touya cocks a brow. “Okay.”

“Well, she wants this specific arrangement of peonies and dahlias…” Jirou trails off.

Touya nods his understanding. “Alright, give me whatever you’ve got so far when you get in and I’ll fix it.”

She gives him a smile. “Thanks, man.”

Touya just shrugs and nods on his way out.

—

Touya has to skip Plus Ultra for a few days while he helps Jirou with her redesign on top of his usual work, but the purple-haired woman brings him his Mexican Spiced Mocha every morning.

“Bakugou sends his regards,” Jirou says on the third day of no Plus Ultra as she sets his cup down on his desk.

Touya cocks his head at her. “Who?”

“The… barista?” Jirou says.

“Oh, Doll Face,” Touya says with a nod as he grabs the cup. “He called me Patchwork.”

Jirou cracks up laughing. “That’s so mean!”

“He seems like a dick,” Touya says.

“Oh, he is,” Jirou says, sniffling as she calms her mirth. “Shinsou and I went to high school with him. You get a nicer nickname over time. That’s where Shinsou’s came from.”

“What was his original Bakugou nickname?” Touya asks curiously.

“Eyebags,” Shinsou says as he walks past Touya’s door.

“Yikes,” Touya says, cringing. The man still has intense eyebags. “How’d he become Mindfuck, then?”

“Tattoos!” Shinsou yells out from the front room and Touya nods his understanding.

“Makes sense,” Touya says with a shrug.

Jirou walks out the door as she talks, “Hey, Hitoshi, do you do drugs while you do your tattoos?”

“Only the sketches,” Shinsou says. Aizawa levels him with a glare and Shinsou grins unrepentantly.

—

When Touya next goes back to Plus Ultra, the doorbell is back in its usual place. The day is warmer than usual, so Touya had opted for a black tank top and dark wash jeans for the day.

“Patchwork,” Bakugou says boredly from his spot behind the counter.

“Are you the only fucking person who works here?” Touya blurts out.

“No,” Bakugou says flatly. “Sparky works the afternoon shifts. Satou works the bakery part, but he’s always in the kitchens.”

“Using someone’s actual name, huh?” Touya cocks a brow as he sets the 450¥ on the counter. “Mexican Spiced Mocha.”

“He’s not a fucking idiot,” Bakugou says flatly.

“That must be a major compliment from you,” Touya says with a huff.

“It is,” the blonde says simply, reaching for one of the paper cups. He clears his throat, cheeks pinkening lightly. “Your tattoos are fucking cool.”

“I know,” Touya says dryly.

“Ah, fuck,” Bakugou says, scrunching his nose up. “Sorry if any are fuckin’ soulmarks.”

Touya grimaces. “Don’t have a soulmark. They’re all tattoos.”

Bakugou makes a small, surprised sound. “Huh. Never met another markless person before.”

“It’s a thrilling demographic,” Touya deadpans.

Bakugou snorts as he starts making the drink. “Right? I used to draw on myself with markers and pretend it was one.”

“That’s stupid,” Touya says. Although he had absolutely done the same thing when he was younger. “Bet your art is shit, anyway.”

“It is,” Bakugou says with a chuckle. “Were yours any good?”

“My art is always good,” Touya says defensively.

“Oh?” Bakugou drawls, smirking over his shoulder. Touya blushes, realizing his admission too late.

“Shut up,” Touya grumbles.

Bakugou huffs, amused. “Whatever. Did you draw your tattoos, then?”

“Doll Face, the only thing I didn’t do is stick the needle in my skin,” Touya says.

“Damn,” Bakugou says as he turns and puts the lid on Touya’s coffee. “Not bad, Patches.”

“I know,” Touya says, cocking a brow, like he dares the blonde to challenge him. “I did all the art on myself and only tattoo my own art on others. None of the generic bullshit people ask for. Not worth my fucking time.”

“You’re a tattoo artist?” Bakugou asks. Touya nods and the blonde takes a deep breath and exhales. “Holy shit. Anyway—you got social media or something? I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”

Touya contemplates that for a moment before nodding. “Dabi.”

Bakugou’s eyes blow wide. “Fucking seriously?”

Touya cringes and grabs his cup from the blonde’s hand before the man can accidentally crush the cup during his small existential crisis.

“You? You’re the fuckin’ soulmark artist who worked with Deku?” Bakugou asks, staring wide-eyed at the white-haired man.

Touya blinks and takes a sip of the coffee. “Shit, this is good. If I have to find a new place to get coffee because you freak the fuck out, I’mma be pissed.”

“Shut up,” Bakugou says, scrunching his nose up. “I don’t give a shit. Just can’t believe you worked with shitty Deku. Nerd’s been insufferable since meeting Half-n-Half.”

“Right,” Touya says dryly. “I’m leaving.”

“Door’s right fuckin’ there,” Bakugou says, frowning.

Touya observes his expression for a moment; the dejection and pain he understands all too well. With a sharp nod, he turns and walks out.

—

Touya doesn’t go to Plus Ultra the next day, Sunday. Partly because he doesn't have to go to Eraser Head’s, and partly because he has no idea if the café is even open on Sundays.

But on Monday, Touya pulls on a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved, deep blue button-up. He’s supposed to be meeting his family for dinner after his shift and doesn’t want to waste time going home after work to change.

He pulls on his black sneakers because fuck formal shoes, and he makes his way out, ensuring that his door is locked behind himself.

The bell jingles when he steps into Plus Ultra, and Bakugou pops up from under the counter as he approaches, wild blonde spikes as untamed as ever.

“Patchwork,” Bakugou nods to him.

“Doll Face,” Touya says, cocking a brow as he drops his usual cash on the counter. He and Bakugou exchange equally unimpressed looks before the blonde turns and starts making the drink.

“You’re fucking busy,” the blonde grouses. “I called Eraser Head’s and got put on the list for when you start taking clients on again.”

“That’s what happens when you’re good at your job,” Touya says, his pride puffing his chest lightly.

“Right,” Bakugou says, shrugging as he turns.

He leans lightly over the counter to pass Touya his drink and the light catches the man’s scarlet eyes at a new angle.

Touya swiftly moves the coffee out of the way and grabs the blonde’s sharp chin, tugging him closer as the man gasps lightly in surprise. Touya narrows his eyes, glaring at the man as he observes his irises.

There, inside the man’s left iris, is a barely noticeable pale white circlet around his pupil. Touya clicks his tongue and shoves the guy’s face away. Bakugou is bright red and for once in his life, he’s at a loss for words.

Touya grabs his coffee and takes a sip.

“Your soulmark is in your left iris,” Touya says flatly before turning and leaving the café.

—

Once again swamped with large pieces needing to be done, Touya doesn’t go into Plus Ultra the next day. But at 9:00am sharp, Jirou rolls into Eraser Head’s with two cups of coffee and a massive grin on her face.

“You changed his life, Touya!” Jirou practically screams.

Touya drops his pencil and flexes his hands, willing himself to not smack the excessive volume from her face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Touya snaps.

Jirou hands him his coffee, carefully avoiding the papers on his desk.

He places a protective plastic sheet over them and leans over it while he sips his drink with two hands.

“Bakugou,” Jirou clarifies. “You noticed the soulmark in his iris. I spent, like, half of my night in his apartment taking pictures of his eye so he could see it.”

“Got ‘em with you?” Touya asks.

It’s no secret to anyone that he enjoys looking at soulmarks. He’s one of the few people in the area who can rapidly identify the difference between a soulmark and a tattoo without needing special instruments.

“You know it,” Jirou says as she pulls her phone out.

She scrolls through her pictures and clicks one before handing the phone over. Touya looks closely, zooming in as far as the phone will allow.

The shape is fascinating—the ring itself has jagged edges that mimic an explosion, but it has small cracks with what looks like flames and smoke rolling out.

“Badass,” Touya says as he hands the phone back.

“Think you could draw up a larger version if I sent the images to you?” Jirou asks.

“He wants the design tattooed somewhere else,” Touya says, it isn’t a question.

“Yup,” Jirou says, tapping away at her phone. “There, I emailed all the pictures to you.”

“You owe me,” Touya says, leveling her with a glare. “It’s hard to see. It’ll take a while with all the other shit I’ve gotta do.”

“That’s fine,” Jirou says, waving him off. “You’re booked out for months and he’s already on your list. He’ll never admit it, but he’s about ready to pay anything to get your tattoo on him.”

“Whatever,” Touya grumbles before chugging the last half of his drink.

“No, really,” Jirou says, voice much softer. “I’ve known him for years. He was a bigger asshole in high school, and eventually I found out it was because he thought not having a mark meant he wasn’t wanted or something.”

Touya takes a breath to attempt to calm himself before glaring at her. “Yeah, I’m perfectly fucking aware of how shitty it is to not have a soulmark. Your doll faced friend is lucky that someone finally noticed it.”

Jirou gives him a measured look. “Maybe—”

“No,” Touya cuts her off. “Whatever you’re gonna say, I’ve looked. There’s nothing. Fuck off, Kyouka.”

—

Touya has the next day off work, so he stays in and pulls the images of Bakugou’s soulmark up on his computer, adjusting the size and altering the image to make the mark more clearly visible.

With the alterations, it’s easier to see that the mark covers nearly the entire iris.

Touya diligently drafts the stunningly intricate mark out onto his sketchpad.

It’s a circular pattern in a pale white, only just visible inside the scarlet orb it resides in. It wraps in a circle around the pupil, a little ring with jagged edges, flames and smoke curling around the entire thing.

—

Touya pushes open the door to Plus Ultra with his sketchpad tucked under his arm, the bell once again jingling merrily above him.

“One second!” Bakugou’s voice calls out from the back room.

“Whatever,” Touya says, voice still gravelly with sleep as he approaches the counter. He sets the sketch pad down and rubs at his eyes as he yawns.

“Whoa, you look like shit today,” Bakugou says as he makes his way to the counter.

“Thanks, Doll Face,” Touya deadpans.

“I ain’t gonna lie,” Bakugou says boredly, crossing his arms.

“Fair enough,” Touya says, shrugging and dropping 450¥ on the counter.

Bakugou grunts and turns to make his Mexican Spiced Mocha. Touya picks his sketchbook back up and flips through the pages until he reaches the one with Bakugou’s soulmark.

He stares at it blankly as the blonde makes his drink. Looking at the design brings a weird pang to his heart that he can’t properly discern.

“The fuck’s that?” Bakugou asks as he places Touya’s cup on the counter.

Touya picks up his coffee and holds the sketchpad out. “Your soulmark.”

“Oh,” Bakugou breathes out.

He reaches out and takes the pad with slightly shaky hands. He stares at it with an awed expression in his ruby eyes.

After a solid minute of silence, Touya clears his throat. “I can email the design to you. I don’t give away my sketches.”

“Okay,” Bakugou says, still entranced by the drawing. “This is fucking insane. I still can’t believe I have a mark.”

Touya snorts. “Congrats on the new demographic.”

Bakugou huffs and carefully closes the sketchpad before handing it back to Touya. “Thanks. This… means a lot to me.”

The blonde gives Touya a genuine smile that makes his heart clench painfully.

Naturally, Touya reacts to his body’s attempt at emotions by scoffing and taking the sketchpad back, tucking it under his arm.

“Whatever,” Touya says before sipping his coffee. “Do you know where you want it?”

“I was thinking around my wrist,” Bakugou says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want any enhancements on it, and it’d be easy for me to see it there.”

Touya shrugs. “Makes sense.”

He stares at the blonde for a few moments, feeling his heart swell with more feeling than it has any right to for a man with a soulmark.

Touya sighs. “Be at Eraser Head’s on Friday at 6pm.”

Bakugou blinks. “Huh?”

“For your tattoo,” Touya explains. He rolls his eyes at Bakugou’s surprised expression. “Just be there, Doll Face.”

Touya turns and walks out the door, not sparing a glance back at the stunned blonde.

He makes his way to Eraser Head’s, finishing his coffee before he steps inside. He tosses the empty cup in the bin and goes straight to the primary printer/scanner to digitize Bakugou’s soulmark.

As the mark is scanned in, showing up on his phone as it’s automatically saved to his entire online storage system, Touya wonders why looking at it makes him hurt.

—

Friday at 6:00pm, Touya sits at the front desk at Eraser Head’s, relaxing on the office chair, head tilted back as he lightly bobs his head and sings under his breath to the music. He’s the last person left in the shop, just waiting on Bakugou.

Touya cracks his eyes open after a couple songs finish and glances at the clock on the far wall. 6:09pm. Touya cracks his neck and stands up.

If Bakugou isn’t going to show, Touya will just deep clean the shop while he has the chance.

He stands up and suddenly feels like eyes are on him. He glances around the shop, even with the overhead lights on, the slowly darkening sky makes him feel like shadows are closing in. He can feel his breathing increase as his heart starts pounding.

“Fuck,” Touya wheezes. He pulls out his phone and dials Shouto’s number, barely holding the phone up with his shaking hands.

“Hello,” his youngest brother says in his usual monotone.

“Shou, I can’t fucking breathe,” Touya says, voice tight with panic.

“Oh, shit,” Shouto says, rustling sounding over the phone. “Where are you? Do you have your anxiety medication with you?”

Touya speaks through gritted teeth. “I haven’t had a panic attack in over a year. I don’t have a single fucking thing with me.”

“Are you at home or Eraser Head’s?” Shouto asks, and Touya can hear a door closing.

“Eraser’s,” Touya wheezes, his chest feels dangerously tight.

“I’ll be there in ten,” Shouto says. “I’m gonna drive, so I’m going to hang up now.”

“Fuck,” Touya says as he hangs up, panting heavily.

He drops his phone and leans across the countertop, gripping the edge tightly and pressing his forehead to the cool marble.

He tries to focus on his breathing—in for five, hold for five, out for five. Repeat.

He doesn’t look up when the door swings open. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he feels completely drained. His knuckles are white-tight on the counter and his legs feel useless.

The voice that speaks is decidedly not Shouto, however.

“Fuck, what’s going on, Patches?” Bakugou asks as he steps up to the counter.

“Fuck off,” Touya says weakly.

“Should I call an ambulance or something?” Bakugou asks, reaching out to touch Touya’s hands.

“Touya!” Shouto yells before he even opens the door. The bell jingles and the half-white, half-red haired man is at Touya’s side before the door finishes closing, rubbing small circles on his upper back. “What happened?”

“Eyes,” Touya breathes.

“Okay,” Shouto says calmly. “It’s just me and… wait, Bakugou?”

“Fucking Half-n-Half,” the blonde says, scowling. “He’s having a panic attack?”

“Yeah,” Shouto confirms. “Touya, I called Natsuo, he’s on his way.”

“Great,” Touya grumbles, breathing still shaky.

“Okay, we need a distraction,” Shouto mumbles as he runs through ideas in his head.

“A grenade, huh?” Bakugou grouses, reaching out to trace the tattoo visible through the cutoff sleeve on Touya’s right shoulder. “I’m on the UA boxing team, and my stage name is Dynamight.”

“Oh, right,” Shouto says, nodding to Bakugou. “Izuku talks about that a lot.”

Bakugou scowls. “Whatever. How the fuck d’you know Patchwork?”

“He’s my elder brother,” Shouto says and Bakugou’s eye twitches.

“Jesus, shut up,” Touya groans.

Shouto smiles and Bakugou snickers softly, the distraction is clearly working.

“Are you one of Touya’s clients?” Shouto asks curiously.

“I’m late, but that's why I was coming here,” Bakugou says, grimacing at his own tardiness. “I got held up at the fuckin’ gym with Shitty Hair. Shoulda been here at 6:00.”

The doorbell jingles and Touya doesn’t even register the tall, broad-shouldered white-haired man that enters the shop until he’s tugging Touya away from the counter and pushing him back down into the office chair.

“What the fuck, Natsu?” Touya snaps as fiercely as possible.

“None of that,” Natsuo says as he grabs Touya’s wrist to take his pulse. “I’m your friendly neighborhood paramedic, and I’m not gonna take your shit, Touy.”

“Friendly my ass,” Touya grumbles.

Natsuo ignores him and clicks on his penlight, “Look straight ahead.”

Touya blinks and squints at the brightness.

“Knock it off, asshole,” Natsuo chides. Touya forces his eyes wider and Natsuo moves closer, tilting his head curiously. “Hey… um, Shou, do you see that?”

Shouto steps closer to look at Touya’s face and his eyes widen slightly in surprise. Natsuo hums and clicks his light off.

“The fuck are you assholes looking at?” Touya asks, blinking away the new spots in his vision.

“Shut up,” Natsuo says as he pulls his phone out. “Hold still.”

“Fuck you,” Touya snaps.

Natsuo levels him with a glare. “I will knock your ass out if you try to fight me on this, Touya.”

Touya snaps his jaw shut and scowls. Natsuo nods and hands his penlight to Shouto, instructing him to turn it on and angle it a specific way. The paramedic then pulls out his phone and takes a series of pictures with the flash on.

“Get him some water while I look at this,” Natsuo says as he reclaims his pen light.

Shouto hurries off to the small break room while the middle Todoroki brother looks intently at the images on his phone.

“Here, it’s super faint and hard to see,” Natsuo says, holding his phone out.

Touya takes the offered device and blinks at the picture of his left eye. He furrows his brow and opens the image up in the phone’s editing app.

He zooms in, adjusts the saturation and brightness, and stares blank-faced at the very, very familiar soulmark.

“Here’s some water,” Shouto says, holding out a water bottle. Touya nods, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the image. “Do you recognize it?”

Natsuo makes a sound of surprise. “Whoa, do you?”

“You good there, Patches?” Bakugou asks, still standing at the other side of the counter.

Touya’s eyes snap up to meet the other man’s concerned expression. Touya bites his lower lip and leans forward to place Natsuo’s phone on the counter.

Bakugou looks at it and blinks once; twice. He turns his gaze back up to meet Touya's.

Both men have wide eyes as they stare at each other in awe.

“That’s your soulmark,” Bakugou says; Touya nods once.

“Holy shit,” Natsuo whispers. “Shouto, we should leave. Grab my phone and send him the picture.”

“Right,” Shouto whispers back.

The two not-so-quietly leave the shop and Bakugou and Touya continue to stare at each other.

Bakugou makes the first move, rounding the counter and stepping up to Touya. He leans down over the seated man and gently cups the tattooed man’s lax jaw in one hand as he angles his face up and looks into his turquoise eyes.

The blonde pouts, unable to see it. He moves closer, until his breath tickles Touya’s lips.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity of the man he’s been crushing on for the past couple of weeks and the knowledge that the man also happens to be his soulmate, the one person who will be his perfect half…

Touya tilts his head slightly and presses his lips to Bakugou’s.

Bakugou stiffens for a fraction of a second and then kisses him back. Their eyes flutter shut as their hands move up to pull each other closer.

The kisses are chaste and soft, tentative first kisses from two people who have spent years believing they would never have a moment like this.

When they break apart for air, they stay close. Bakugou opens his eyes first, Touya a moment later, and they both gasp lightly.

Their soul marks have changed—not all that unusual, but for two people like themselves, it’s stunning to see.

The once faint, barely visible mark is now an explosion of color—orange twisting with pale blue, speckles of red and white all along it.

“Holy fuck,” Bakugou breathes.

“It’s beautiful,” Touya says.

“Guess this means you’ll let me take you on a date, hah?” The blonde says, laughing a little breathlessly.

Touya hums and kisses him again. “Maybe.”

[tirorah]

PGSM (2003) Is a Story About Human Beings, and I LOVE It

Years ago, I attempted to watch the live-action Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon show, or PGSM for short. And I quit because it looked so silly I couldn't maintain my sense of disbelief.

I've learnt not to judge a show by its looks since then. So, when I stumbled across a 20-second PGSM clip two weeks ago, I thought, "Shouldn't I give that another chance?" I'd heard a few interesting things about it, so I decided the answer was yes.

It took me a little while to adjust, sure. Some things still looked ridiculous to me. And yet, with every episode I became more and more emotionally invested. I started to see PGSM for what it truly was: an intricate tapestry of character-driven storytelling.

If you've read my other posts, you know I love characters more than anything. What I also love is an emphasis on narrative consequence and a willingness to explore new and/or interesting ideas, particularly when it's a new entry in an already-established franchise. And it just so happens that PGSM ticks all of these boxes!

In short, this show was made for me.

I'm not going to write about all of the clever things this show does because that would take far too many words. Here's my quick two cents: I think PGSM is excellent. It has flaws, and I think it only appeals to a certain type of viewer. But if you are that type of viewer, like I am, you're likely to be swept off your feet!

So yeah, I never thought I'd say this, but I love this show. It's by far the most fun I've ever had with Sailor Moon. And as is standard by now, I'm going to tell you why I feel that way under the cut.

First, I'll go over how PGSM manages to work at all. Then, I'll outline the theme; the central questions at the heart of the story. Finally, I'm going to illustrate just how well this show pulls off its primary goals---by examining the character arc of a certain old favourite of mine.

[FULL spoiler warning!]

[Word count: ~6,000]

New Kid on The Block

Ever since its inception, Sailor Moon has been an enduring presence in Japanese media and merchandising. Its presence has waxed and waned over the past decades, but it has nevertheless managed to remain incredibly successful. The original 90s manga spawned a concurrently running anime series, musicals, the Crystal anime series in the 2010s, and much more.

The fun effect of all these different versions is that each is its own thing. Even Crystal, which adheres much more closely to the manga than the 90s anime, is still different; a story can't be told the same way in every medium. This is why adaptations are difficult to do and are likely to piss off someone, regardless of intent or execution.

Smack-dab between the original and recent versions, a bold little beast emerged.

Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon aired from October 2003 to September 2004. Unlike the versions before and since, it's a live-action tokusatsu superhero TV series, like Super Sentai--a show the manga also drew inspiration from. This again marks a significant change when it comes to storytelling possibilities.

PGSM faces several challenges on top of that. It only exists because the musicals were so successful, yet it has a shoestring-looking budget that makes some aspects of the show look underwhelming. The lead actors were young and inexperienced, so it can take a bit for everything to click performance-wise. Lastly, the characters tend to have their faces in full view during action scenes, rendering the use of stunt doubles difficult and therefore limiting choreographic possibilities.

And yet, under the stewardship of writer Kobayashi Yasuko and a ton of passionate and experienced staff, this show found a way to stand shoulder to shoulder with beloved works of the franchise.

Let's examine how.

Limitations, Genre and Theme

If I'd given you a rundown of the obstacles PGSM faced without my glowing praise attached, you'd probably think this show was sent out to die. Maybe it was, I don't know. Perhaps someone at Toei thought it would hoover up some merchandise sales before it fell off a cliff to its pyrotechnic death!

The amazing thing about PGSM is that it takes these challenges and turns them into its greatest strengths. This is a show that understands the constraints it has to operate within. It can't compete on action and special effects, so it hones in on something it can execute well and bring a unique twist to: characters and story.

Its best claim to fame, at least in the little discussion I saw of it, is how it reworks its characters to serve a brand-new spin on a familiar narrative. But I believe this description to be...insufficient. The changes made here go beyond adjusting and emphasising personality traits. This is a paradigm shift; a top-to-bottom overhaul and a tribute to Sailor Moon all at once.

While there's still an overarching story that involves protecting the world from evil and salvaging a doomed romance from a previous life, the real meat of PGSM lies in the rich inner lives of its cast. This shifts the genre to character-driven drama with a dash of soap opera.

As a result, those aforementioned inner lives are established, built upon, and allowed to emerge and clash naturally. All the while, the characters contend with a turbulent new reality which further affects their interpersonal relationships. That in turn shifts the theme to something much more personal: past life versus current life.

What does it mean for your identity to be reborn with memories from a past life? What do you do when that past life has a stranglehold on your current one? Are you doomed to repeat the mistakes of ages past?

And what effect do these challenges have on a person's psyche?

PGSM spends its 49-episode runtime exploring these questions to the fullest. I consider it a true ensemble work, as every major character is relevant to the story and drives it forward at some point. And because each of them is unique, we're shown a full spectrum of viewpoints that are informed by personality traits and emotional baggage.

So, yeah, it's really good. Really damn good.

In fact, to demonstrate just how in-depth and detailed the characterisation is, I'm going to spend the rest of this post analysing my favourite example of a PGSM character arc: the understated and expertly-paced struggles of one Kino Makoto.

Wood and Thunder

A core part of Makoto in every version is her dual nature--possessing both traditionally masculine and feminine characteristics--and how this clashes with societal expectations. With her curly hair and long skirt, she comes across like a typical sukeban (a delinquent girl) of the time. Her imposing height, incredible strength and fighting skills confirm that image.

In truth, the sukeban resemblance is exactly that and nothing more; her hair is naturally curly and her new school doesn't have a uniform in her size. She only uses her strength to protect others. Notably, she has a romantic heart and yearns for a place to belong, perhaps even a person she can belong with.

Absolutely none of that matters to society. Through no fault of her own, people only see one side to her and assume the other doesn't exist. Prejudice and ostracisation follow.

You might think this would cause Makoto to be ashamed of her more masculine traits, but that's not the case. She might feel embarrassed by them at times, or attempt to play up her feminine side to compensate, sure. But in the end, she embraces all of these characteristics and doesn't think it's wrong to be this way. People just refuse to see the feminine side that's openly on display.

So, here we have a character with a compelling set of characteristics that can be utilised in different ways. The approach taken is something that differs per version. But like all things Sailor Moon, Makoto is a product of her time; the sukeban aspect is particularly dated.

As an early 2000s show, PGSM had a chance at a fresh start with this concept. Suffice it to say I was very interested to see how it would update Makoto to a new millennium and modify her without erasing her core traits. What I got was far more than I bargained for.

Makoto's PGSM debut gives us an effective overview of her as a person that hits many familiar beats. She protects Usagi, returns Usagi's friendliness with her own, develops a crush on a guy, and kicks ass both in and out of Senshi guise. She had her heart broken by her senpai at her previous school, but she also felt like something was urging her to come here. Now she knows why: she had comrades to meet.

This looks like a mix of Makoto's introduction in the manga and 90s anime, adapted to modern times. But all that familiarity is distracting you from something. There's actually a big deviation here, and you can see that before she even does anything.

Take a good look at this picture. Obviously the sukeban influence was removed from her design, but that's not the most important detail here. Hopefully you'll notice what I didn't:

There are no rose earrings.

Everything spirals out from there. The Makoto from the 90s was open about her femininity, but the Makoto we meet in PGSM barely shows her feminine side at all. In fact, she takes great pains to hide it.

This affects her character on a fundamental level. When she first appears, she comes across as unusually withdrawn and stoic. As is typical of the character, she swiftly opens up to Usagi and that seems to be the end of aloof Makoto. But that feminine side doesn't surface. She still dresses in unisex clothes that lean more toward masculine than feminine.

Likewise, her flat may have a few plants and a neat kitchen, but they don't take centre stage. There's a skateboard and a hat collection (my beloved!) that are displayed at the entrance. A logical location, but that also means it's the first thing you see when you enter.

So, what gives? Here's the thing: the characters in PGSM are emotionally complex. Much work and care went into characterising all of them. Because of this, the characters feel like real people. They argue, make mistakes, agonise over things... Not to say this isn't the case in other versions, but PGSM takes it further and really emphasises how vulnerable--how tragically human--these characters can be.

That's what is being tied into here. Being mistaken for a tomboy, despite being openly feminine, is an external issue. But for PGSM's Makoto, the conflict is internal. She doesn't want to be seen as feminine. When exposed or questioned, she denies it despite being a terrible liar. If the questioning continues, she actually uses her tomboy image to refute it.

She does this because her feminine side makes her vulnerable. This Makoto has been burned so many times that she's developed abandonment issues. She's one bad experience away from yet another cocktail of intense sadness and deep-seated anger. Sometimes a mere reminder is enough to get her down, too.

No one wants to feel like that. She's learnt the hard way that opening herself up to others puts her at risk. That's why she prefers to play these darker feelings close to her chest.

To demonstrate all of this, her debut episode shows us exactly how bad it can get. It puts her through an especially cruel combination of deception, humiliation and rejection, no punches pulled.

It's at this moment that Makoto has had enough. Taking this risk was a mistake and it should never be repeated. She slams the gate to her wounded heart shut and locks it tight. The walls of her inner fortress become that much higher.

Learning to lower those walls and make another try for happiness is Makoto's character arc in PGSM.

This is why she was shifted so much toward the tomboy archetype. By giving Makoto an emotional incentive to deny a part of herself, PGSM gives her a believable, deeply personal obstacle that can take her the entire show to overcome. She now has to engage with her abandonment issues in order to become the more balanced person we know she can be.

Her powers as Sailor Jupiter also connect to this: there's the explosive power of lightning on one end and the soothing aura of nature on the other. Two distinct halves that each bring their own benefits. But Makoto's starting point is pure lightning.

Multiple times throughout the show, we're shown that nature is trying to communicate with her. But because she starts out as a lightning bolt, she doesn't understand it at all. This is another avenue for self-improvement, and PGSM understands that too; it explicitly ties the awakening of a Senshi's full powers to overcoming a core character flaw.

So, given all of that, how does PGSM build on the devastation she suffered during her debut episode and the emotional consequences left in its wake?

I'm happy to report it does nothing for 24 episodes. Yes, really.

For half of the runtime, Makoto acts as the support of the group; often present, but never centre stage. Sure, she develops a dynamic with each of her new friends, and she even begins to show some of her feminine aspects as that trust grows. The more she does this, the more her affinity with nature subtly increases; she begins to use non-lightning attacks and comes ever so slightly closer to understanding what the wind and trees attempt to tell her.

But when it comes to the story, Makoto doesn't drive most of the events that occur at this point. She becomes involved, or agrees to go along with something, but rare is the instance where something happens directly because of her actions. She contributes, but she's never in the driver's seat. She's the one who helps others become better versions of themselves.

She develops, but she doesn't grow.

This delay is 100% intentional. A Makoto who's only giving, only protecting, is completely fine. There are no lingering issues she needs to deal with because they've been swept under the rug, tucked away behind the walls of her fortress. For all she reveals of herself during this time, her abandonment issues might as well not exist.

This is PGSM's devotion to character-driven storytelling and narrative consequence on full display. As Makoto ignores her emotional baggage, PGSM is likewise content to misdirect you away from it.

Cycle of Fear

It's not until episode 31 that Motoki--the most endearing turtle nerd to have ever lived--unwittingly pokes at Makoto's defences. Up until that moment, she'd first considered him an acquaintance and later a supportive friend. In other words: a safe coexistence.

The moment she realises he has a crush on her, that safety disappears and all her thoroughly-buried insecurities rush to the forefront. Her old stoicism slams into place as the mask we now know it to be and she does her best to avoid eye contact. As brash as she usually is, she now struggles with all her might to seem detached and logical. She has to; the alternative is revealing how anxious this situation makes her. Although Usagi, Ami and Rei have earned her trust, showing that most vulnerable side of herself is still a bridge too far.

She drags herself to the date (probably because Usagi wouldn't let her worm her way out of it) and spends the entire time being awkward in spite of Motoki's oblivious excitement. It's clear that her heart isn't in it, but in typical Makoto fashion, she places the needs of the kind, sensitive Motoki above her own and does her best to let the date die a natural death.

Then, a sudden connection!

Makoto is stunned at first. No one has ever said that to her. As Motoki continues to extol her virtues--half of which are about how incredibly nice she is--she lights up! Aww!

...Only for her insecurities to take over again after an offhand mention of parents by Motoki, because PGSM is a story about fallible human beings. She immediately attempts to leave and is only stopped by a nosey Luna. It's impossible for Motoki not to notice something's off at this point. Keen for clarity, he decides to confess his feelings when they're not surrounded by other people. Makoto rejects him--by denying her femininity.

This is a direct result of Makoto's actions in the first half of the show. When she started to open up to her friends, she could've taken it further and started to navigate her issues. Her friends could've helped her. Instead, she chose to pretend that there was nothing to fix.

Now here she is. Avoidance--her first line of defence--has failed. Her second wall, rationalisation, has also been bypassed. Emotionally cornered, she falls back on the same defence mechanism she used at the start: denial wrapped up in irrational beliefs and low self-esteem.

"I'm really strong and get into fights. People are scared of me. That means I'm actually not feminine at all and what you saw was an anomaly. And because I'm not feminine, I'm not dating material."

By maintaining her tomboy image and denying her feminine attributes, this reasoning allows her to pre-emptively sabotage any blossoming relationship for herself. While this might bring relief in the short term, it's also the very thing that keeps her from happiness. Makoto is the Senshi of courage, but here she demonstrates how afraid she truly is.

Motoki seems to recognise this on some level. To him, Makoto is a strong, confident person. But she's also reserved in a way, and now that the emotional mess underneath is being dragged into the light, it's clear she's like that for a reason. He sees her for who she truly is and he likes what he sees, but she's not in a good enough place, mentally, to see that too. So he does the only thing he can do: he gives her space. He reassures her that she is feminine and then leaves her be.

"Why?"

This is the question that has plagued her for years. Uttered by a young Makoto and echoed by her present self, this representation of her thoughts comes up whenever loss or rejection hits. What matters here is the context: for once, it's Makoto who did the rejecting. She's in control.

So then, why does this still happen?

This is one of the uncommon moments where PGSM engages in subtlety. We don't get a definitive answer here. Makoto asks, "Why?" but we don't know what that refers to in this moment. We have to infer that ourselves.

My reading is as follows: "I rejected him before he could reject me. I removed him from my life before I could lose him. So why does it hurt? Why do I feel sad?"

During the subsequent fight against a powerful Youma, the other Senshi are held up and she ends up cornered and alone. It's an all too familiar scenario. She flashes back to all of the people she's lost.

Motoki shows up too, but he's almost impossible to make out.

At that very moment, the wind picks up around her. She lets out a breath in awe, gazing up at the swaying branches as the wind seems to communicate something. And then she awakens. Although she still summons a lightning attack, it's now taken on a green colour, signifying a new equilibrium.

When the others ask her what triggered it, Makoto naturally tells them the lesson of this episode: that she had to acknowledge her feminine side and truly open herself up to being loved--

--Wha...?

Yeah, you're seeing that right. Makoto just learnt the wrong lesson.

Needless to say, I was flabbergasted by this outcome. Deep down, as much as she wants to refute it, Makoto needs companionship, people to belong with. It's a core aspect of her character! It makes no sense for her to gain power from solitude.

However... If you think about it, why wouldn't this be her takeaway? She was alone and she made sure to sabotage her relationship with Motoki before it could go anywhere, so this is the only logical explanation, right? Her powers awakened, so the narrative is proving her correct as well.

Except no, the narrative is simply adhering to the consequences of her actions. By coming to the wrong conclusion, Makoto has once again delayed her growth.

For the next 13 (!) episodes, Makoto seems to be okay again. She easily slips back into her role of casual, friendly and supportive friend. But something's changed: Usagi, Ami and Rei have glimpsed Makoto's scars, and they're not content to let her ignore them.

They attempt to challenge her new outlook, but Makoto's resolve is ironclad. Even when she's forced to reveal her secret identity to Motoki, she still reiterates her rejection of him. What's worse, she now she has an extra defence: her duties as a Senshi. Although Motoki still carries a torch for her, he resigns himself to supporting her as best he can.

Still, despite her determination in this matter, Makoto herself has changed as well. There's conflict and pain present whenever she's forced to acknowledge her decisions. And ever since the start of episode 31, she can't help but look sombre whenever something reminds her of her parents. Somehow, despite her best efforts to repair the holes in her walls, some cracks have remained.

All of this comes to a head when Makoto's character arc collides with Minako's.

Diminishing The Self

Ever since the girls found out they were reborn after their past lives ended in disaster, they've been grappling with PGSM's theme more and more. With their past swiftly squeezing the life out of their present, each of them is forced to form an opinion: How much do their past lives affect their present lives? How much should it affect them in the first place? And what do you do?

Here's our spectrum: On one extreme we have Rei, who's become resentful of her past life and rejects it completely. She asserts that she is her own person and that her past life shouldn't dictate who she is and how she acts now. Makoto's stance is adding fuel to that fire. When Minako counters her coup with one of her own, Rei is kicked out and decides to fight on separately.

At the other extreme stands Minako. Diagnosed with a terminal illness that she has almost no hope of curing, she's completely rejected her present life and is devoted to completing the mission from her past life. She won't be around for much longer and she's determined to save the world as much as possible before she dies. She asserts authority over the Senshi for the sake of the mission.

Usagi and Ami fall between these two polar opposites. Usagi is the reincarnation of the Moon Princess and is literally anchored to the past life through her Silver Crystal. She can't deny that her current existence has been heavily shaped by the past. But she's also determined to prevent a repeat of the past, even if it's the hardest thing she's ever done. She works hard at controlling her emotions and is convinced she and Mamoru will succeed.

Ami's current circumstances don't seem to be shaped as much by her past life, so she's the most neutral out of all of them. But as someone who was turned to evil and emerged a changed person, it's hard to deny: Their lives have been affected by the past and it's necessary to acknowledge that. What to do with that information is something she doesn't have the answer to. She fights alongside Minako and Makoto, but stays in touch with Rei.

Makoto has been firmly in the 'this mission is paramount' camp from the start, but not to the extreme that Minako is. You see, Minako almost always chooses to refer to them by their Senshi monikers. Makoto doesn't; she and her three friends always refer to each other by their present life names, even during battle. This is a conscious change that establishes their current identities as distinct from their past selves.

But remember, Makoto came here because she was meant to. She was meant to meet her comrades. She was destined to be alone, so she could listen to nature and let it lead her to her true purpose in life.

So when Minako tells her she's so devoted to the mission that she will cast aside her life to complete it, Makoto can't help but be stirred. Finally, with Minako's help, she realises that the truth is even simpler than she thought: She's always been alone because her current life isn't what truly matters. She exists to carry out her duties, regardless of the personal cost.

This is the final piece of the puzzle for both her and us. Her shift to a tomboy archetype, her character arc and the theme of the show all combine here.

For years, Makoto has been haunted by something: "Why?" Why was she left to suffer all alone? Why was she abandoned over and over?

Then this Senshi business comes along, and with it comes a duty and moniker from a past life. For Usagi, this upheaval of her identity is upsetting. But for Makoto, it's a comfort. Being a Senshi gives her purpose, stability and even friends. For someone who's sorely lacked all of that for years, this development is nothing short of a godsend.

And so, from the very beginning, she took this newfound 'destiny' and ran with it. This was the best thing that had ever happened to her and she crafted her entire outlook around that. Heartbroken and expelled from school? That was just another way to get her to where she needed to be. Her powers awaken while she's dwelling on how she always ends up alone? Obviously that isolation was also intended.

From there, it's a hop, skip and a jump to what she's doing in this scene: discarding her current identity in favour of her past one. She perfectly expresses this by (in the next episode) copying Minako's statement: she might die, but "Jupiter won't disappear". Kino Makoto is a shell to house Sailor Jupiter, and shells are expendable.

This is Makoto at her most extreme. She's always downplayed her own importance and achievements, and now here she is, downplaying her very existence. No individual, only the greater good.

It doesn't even matter that Minako lied to them about her identity, illness and powers. Makoto understands by this point that a secret can be kept for good reasons; she's done it herself. If anything, Minako's deception and her ensuing burdens feed Makoto's view of her as a martyr and a leader.

By choosing to follow that example, Makoto joins Minako on the very extreme of the thematic (past life versus current life) spectrum. In turn, Minako gains the staunchest of allies--but she fails to realise how thoroughly Makoto has just been primed for the pinnacle of martyrdom.

A powerful Youma attacks. When Makoto, Ami and Luna wound it, Metalia possesses it, scaling its power beyond that of the Senshi to overcome. Minako can't transform. Ami and Luna have been knocked out of their Senshi forms and can't fight anymore.

Metalia is about to win. They're going to fail.

Makoto decides to fulfil her purpose. She grabs hold of the Youma and overloads herself with lightning, creating an explosion that annihilates them both.

Minako calls out to the person--not the Senshi--in front of her.

True Courage

Makoto wakes up in a hotel room, wounded but alive, watched over by Minako. The Youma threw her off at the last second, saving both of their lives. Makoto only laments her failure; she doesn't even seem to care that she almost died. In fact, she outright states that she was meant to be alone so that her possible death wouldn't make anyone sad.

Minako has been horrified by this entire ordeal and that feeling only grows with every sentence Makoto utters. When Makoto explains she was fulfilling her past life's mission, it hits Minako like a ton of bricks: this is her doing. By influencing Makoto in this direction, she almost had Makoto's blood on her hands.

She tries to sway Makoto from a repeat attempt, but is taken aback when Makoto unintentionally throws every single one of her own arguments back in her face. When she claims that her own situation is different, Makoto looks her squarely in the eyes and says, "A life's a life. They're all the same."

Minako doesn't deny it. She can't. How could anyone refuse such a simple, factual statement when it comes from someone as forthright as Makoto?

It proves impossible to change Makoto's mind, so she changes tactics. Rather than challenge Makoto's standpoint directly, she questions one of its cornerstones instead. She does so by revealing that Makoto had muttered Motoki's name in her sleep. Perhaps, she posits, Makoto is more tied to the present than she believes herself to be.

This succeeds in shaking Makoto's beliefs. Minako leaves her to her thoughts, victorious in a way, but her own conviction was caught in the crossfire. While Rei's insistence opened the way, she was also easy to dig in her heels against. Makoto, on the other hand, has fundamentally disproven Minako's views by agreeing with her. In that suicide attack, she saw first-hand the logical endpoint of her own ideology. She's more than a little disturbed.

It's the opening Artemis needs, even though he doesn't know it's there. When he subsequently shows her how much joy and comfort her songs bring to others, she finally realises what she's been missing in herself. Her current life does have value, her achievements do matter, and she shouldn't dismiss them so flippantly. She should love herself, love the person she is now.

In the following battle, she awakens her full powers and transforms. The Senshi are finally united for good.

Now that Minako has admitted to herself that she also resents the past life for what it's done to her, Makoto has become the new extreme on the thematic spectrum. However, Minako's revelation is forcing her to reconcile conflicting truths. She awakened because she was alone. But if Motoki's still on her mind like that, if he's still part of her life like that, then she's not alone. If she's not alone, then her reasoning is intrinsically flawed.

When she sees Motoki in a Youma-induced coma, the question of "Why?" returns for the final time. And then she sees him, clearly this time.

In that moment, she realises all of her beliefs were wrong. She didn't reject Motoki, she lost him through self-sabotage. Foiling a possible relationship didn't work; he'd cracked her armour before then. Their connection was gradually built up over the entire show and came cocooned in comfortable friendship, the only type of connection she did allow.

When that connection touched her heart and stirred something more, that was when she unlocked her full potential. He cares about her, the real her, not the skewed facade she puts on. She's not alone anymore. When she told herself that she was alone and always had been, and the wind rustled the leaves, that was nature calling her out on her self-deception.

But why did that self-deception even occur? She didn't need to draw this conclusion from the start, did she? Unfortunately, she did. That's the final, heartbreaking part: Being a Senshi was the ultimate coping mechanism.

There's a reason this shot is repeated multiple times:

Makoto was constantly looking back at the past, looking for answers. Because her abandonment issues went unresolved, that question of "Why?" was burning a hole in her. She was desperate for a reason, any reason, so she could understand. If her hardship and loneliness were predetermined and in service to this all-important duty, then being a Senshi justified her suffering. She craved that more than anything. No wonder she transformed without even questioning it.

And hey, if that duty meant she had to avoid the type of relationship that terrified her most of all, well... That was a happy coincidence, wasn't it?

Fortunately, for all the trouble her uncompromising, black-and-white outlook has brought her, that same determination also allows her to accept this new truth in an instant. She screwed up big-time, but as long as she lives and breathes, she can work to set things right.

She strokes Motoki's hand and runs off to join the fray--not to throw herself at the enemy through all her lifetimes, but to protect those who are dear to her now. After the fight, she looks at the turtle-shaped charm Motoki bought her and smiles, allowing herself to dream of the future for the first time.

Minako passes away the next episode, but she does so with no regrets. Although grief follows, that final unifying moment, jump-started by Makoto, was enough. Ami, Rei and Makoto head off to the finale together, as a true team, never losing sight of what's important to them.

PGSM is exceedingly compelling to me, and the structure of this character arc exemplifies why. Makoto learns the wrong lesson three times: when she first becomes Sailor Jupiter, when she awakens her full power, and when she embraces Minako's ideology to an unhealthy degree.

Not only does PGSM allow her to miss the mark so spectacularly, it also gives her the time to deny and then address her irrational beliefs in a plausible manner. Moreover, because she and Minako drive each other to unlearn their internalised misconceptions, Makoto gives both Minako and the story one of the last pushes they need.

The last we see of Makoto's new and improved self, in relation to romance, is her final encounter with Motoki in the show. She shows him she's attached his cute turtle charm to her wallet, out there for everyone to see. Motoki treats it with cautious optimism, then relief. It's a deliberate signal: Makoto is open to new possibilities now. Maybe they can try again. They laugh a little, sharing their first comfortable moment together in this context.

Sadly, likely due to a few cut episodes, this is the last we see of them. Makoto's character arc is definitely complete, but because the ending shows the Senshi alone before they meet up with Usagi again, her relationship status with Motoki is left ambiguous.

But not to worry! Due to the success of the show's DVD sales during its runtime, both a special prequel and sequel act were produced! The sequel act is a 1-hour movie that shows us where everyone ended up four years later.

In that time, Makoto has undergone a significant transformation. In the show, her dreams for the future were never even mentioned. But here, we find out she's studying floral design, something that she's obviously passionate about. Reaching for happiness indeed.

On the wardrobe side, she still owns unisex clothes (you see this when she charges off to the action portion of the movie), but otherwise her femininity is on full display. A blouse, an embroidered shirt, even a bright yellow skirt, it's all there. Not to mention the stunning dress she wears at Usagi's wedding. And to symbolise how full-circle we've come, she's even wearing earrings!

Her flat has likewise seen major changes. The skateboard and my beloved hats have been moved to make way for what appears to be storage (a fulfilling life can result in extra possessions!) and a picture of something nature-y on the wall. And the room is now filled with plants!

All of these differences stack up. The flat looks...filled, for lack of a better term. It started out rather sparse in her debut episode, but back then she'd just moved in and probably hadn't finished unpacking yet. However, even after she gained more possessions, there were parts that felt like they had just a little bit of empty space to them. Now the entire space is lavishly furnished!

Speaking of which, there's a large stuffed turtle on her sofa, indicating she and Motoki have pursued their relationship and now live together. This is later confirmed when she takes Motoki's car--which she had the keys for--to save Usagi and Mamoru.

At the very end of the epilogue, Motoki clumsily but earnestly asks Makoto for her hand in marriage. And Makoto, overwhelmed and overjoyed, accepts. She's the only version of the character to have achieved this.

It's immensely satisfying seeing a character brought so low, only for them to soar higher than ever before. This Makoto has undergone an immense personal journey. There's no telling what kinds of challenges she might need to overcome in the years to come, but she's already climbed this mountain. Perhaps there's nothing she can't do. And no matter what, she'll always have someone at her side. She'll never be alone again.

I love it. I love all of it. In fact, I'd go so far as to say this is my favourite take on Makoto in the franchise. She's the best, and PGSM is the best for treating her with the nuance and maturity she deserves! Bravo!

---

That's the end of this post! It was meant to be way shorter, but I suppose that was an exercise in futility. If you made it all the way here, thank you very much!

I know I just said PGSM was the best. This is a subjective statement. PGSM is far and away my favourite incarnation of Sailor Moon, but I hold to what I said at the start: Every version is different, and I think that's great. We all enjoy media differently; the more people that can find a version of Sailor Moon befitting their preferences, the better.

It just so happens that PGSM was made for me! And hey, if you've never watched it before, or you dropped it like I first did, maybe it's worth another try. You never know, it might just be your thing too.

Like a certain person once sang:

~Just like predictable movies and books are boring When life is a little bit off, it might be more fun~

[sovonight]

i finally sat down to try and chart out radri's bg1 journey so that i could write early xadri with some actual regard for the events of the game, and realized that since i always make a beeline for xan and then explore absolutely everything outside of baldur's gate before finally entering the city, the majority of the game happens in chapters 3 and 4 for me 😖

(meanwhile xan's journal has him only starting his silent treatment when you first enter baldurs gate--which is insane to me, like in that timeline there's a very real chance you return to candlekeep right when xan's just decided to give the relationship a chance?? but i've never liked xan's journal anyway, so--)

my reasoning for why radri doesn't start exploring and doing side quests in earnest until after recruiting xan is that it makes sense to me that radri would be too shaken by gorion's death to do anything but follow other people's suggestions for her in the first 2 chapters--first gorion's last instructions, and then jaheira and khalid's existing obligation in nashkel. (it's also supported by the game's timeline, since you arrive at nashkel "with your hurried flight from Candlekeep barely behind you," but i do ignore the intended timeline a lot so i don't want to reference it too much lol)

honestly i think jaheira pulled radri out of her fog a bit on the way to nashkel, by teaching/lecturing her about leading and adventuring; the feeling of being back in "lessons" was kind of comforting in its own way (even though jaheira is too brash for radri to have actually liked the unsolicited advice then). it's not like radri was comfortable with jaheira and khalid yet, but she at least was assured that these are the people that gorion knew and trusted.

as for xan's recruitment, it's not like it was a huge moment for either of them--for her he's just someone she was unexpectedly able to help, and for him he was just relieved to be free--but his presence in the party dynamic definitely throws radri off autopilot. he asks so many questions of her, and compared to the other party members is such a total newcomer to her, that it means she has to think about things again. like, jaheira spoke at her most of the time (not out of inconsideration but just out of, like. jaheira thinks radri will speak up when she has something to say, when radri absolutely will not); khalid tried to be considerate about her recent loss by keeping things polite and surface level with her; and imoen is replaying familiar dynamics with her, trying to keep things light and upbeat. meanwhile xan is actually having conversations with her, and it helps that she finds him kind of familiar (books, turning pages, scholarly study), interesting (he's a font of elven cultural knowledge that she was always too embarrassed to show much interest in growing up--after all, what's the point of learning about a people she will never get to join?), and oddly compelling (everything else about him).

(on a sidenote, radri did recruit montaron and xzar, but purely for safety in numbers; she was creeped out by them and barely interacted with them at all, and was relieved to ditch them for xan)

my reasoning for why radri stalls in chapters 3-4 instead of completing the main quest in a timely manner is, again, that she procrastinates because she's afraid. the assassins, the mysterious spells she's been gifted, and the foreshadowing in her dreams... it's easier to chase side quests and fix things and help people to get that tiny dose of "i'm doing something right," than to let the fear of what's coming for her escape the back of her mind. if you asked her about her delay she'd come up with an excuse, but tbh the excuse is for herself too, because she doesn't confront her fears herself until she's practically forced to at candlekeep.

i started putting an outline together just using the wiki, but ideally i would play through the game again to mark down what order xan's conversations happen in T_T i know it's possible to suss it out from the dialogue files, but i've never figured out how to read the trigger conditions lol. ofc, chapter 3 has the most bullet points atm--

(a back to back assassin encounter, because somehow that's always the way it plays out in my playthroughs. i fight nimbul, get hurt, go into the inn, forget that there's still an assassin there from earlier, trigger a fight with the other assassin, heave a big sigh--)

the way that (iirc) xan's like "the boy has more sense than i do. i don't know why i let you keep dragging me around 😔💗" when he's already proposed is so funny to me

[gemstarstarlight]

From the pews

Welcome, God.

I sit in church. Week by week, I endure. I listen, I understand; I try to understand the perspectives, the worldviews, of a people that are increasingly not like me.

I hear people say that God’s design is families, that God works in families. That single people exist, and God has provision for that, but the main story of the Bible is families. That ultimately God designs for us to be in families, and that means marriage and children.

I think of God working in a highly patriarchal society where a woman was truly safer married than single, where everyone came from a family (where blood family was very important but could also could mean member of a household, a servant of a family or a second cousin of a patriarch or any number of things that were bigger than just the initial top family unit), where divorce would be worse for everyone involved and the woman was immediately vulnerable, where being a widow was a terrible fate for women because they couldn’t provide for themselves, and many of the passages on singleness in the Bible are in the New Testament where it was a bit more safe and normal for people to be single and devoted to God.

I think of Adam and Eve, childless before the Fall.

I think of the pages in the Bible God put in about slavery, where slavery was a practice in the Bible, but in God’s initial design for Israel (that Israel frequently failed in) it was temporary, treated like an indentured servant, and it was only for specific circumstances and not to be born into. I think of how slaves were given rights, rights that weren’t seen in any other culture at the time. I think of the more broad and more easy-to-interpret-as-bad ideas about slavery (that slaveowners in America absolutely took advantage of without realizing that slavery outlined in Leviticus wasn’t racially motivated or permanent or assumed subhumanity) were actually in the New Testament, in a culture that was Greco-Roman, distinctly not Israelite or following the laws outlined in the Torah, and there was little slaves could do to not be in their position. I think about how God actually called the Israelites out of slavery in Exodus, which speaks much more loudly about his opinion on slavery than anything else.

I think of God, working in cultures regardless of what they value most and what they consider normal, understanding we have preconceptions about how the world works and putting in structures and ideas so we can follow him even in an “imperfect” society with ideas we haven’t even thought to question yet.

I think of God putting revelation knowledge in our church fathers, encouraging us to follow the Bible the best way we can. I think of how many of them were single. I think of the monasteries and abbeys, men and women living in communities of singleness with each other, leading other communities to Jesus. I think about how until the Protestant Reformation, the pendulum had swung so far in the other direction that people who wanted to serve God weren’t allowed to marry, even though Peter, considered the first church father, had a wife. I think how even in Peter’s case, we only know about him being married because Jesus healed his mother-in-law, and that much more emphasis was put on his devotion to God.

I come home. I drink tea, alone in my house. I stare at the pride pin on my backpack. The mark of the single, the mark of the childless, the mark of the person who will almost certainly be unable to give her body to a husband. The orange and white and blue of those without attraction, but not without love.

I think of the sacrifice and sacrament of marriage, the intention being a mutual serving, of loving as Christ loved the church and gave his life for her, of submitting as to the Lord and not to men, of choosing to trust even if you don’t know or understand yet.

I think of the people who have loved me unconditionally. I think of the people who have encouraged me to submit my life to God, even if I don’t understand why yet and fear for the future. I think of those who have held me as I weep for the future I have lost, but tell me to trust God and that he has a place for me no matter what.

I think of the people I love and who I can care for. I think about the people I speak for, who I speak to and why.

And I wonder.

If I have devoted my life to God and gotten a sea of people who love me and who I can love in return, is that not a family?

“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭68‬:‭5‬-‭6‬ ‭NIV‬‬

[wc-wild-rewrite]

whats the history of the clans? did thunderstar, shadowstar, etc still found them?

Great question, my friend. The full history of all of them in one post would be a lot, so, for now, lets just cover Thunderclan

The Mythology

As most cultures do, Thunderclan has various myths and oral stories passed down through generations telling how the clans came to be. Thunderclan, specifically, is said to have been formed initially as Lionclan.

Now, a bit of actual real world history here, New Forest National Park- the southern english place that the forest territories are based off of- were originally the homeland of early Anglo-Saxon tribal groups, but it was then proclaimed a royal forest by William the Conquerer in 1079, first recorded being called Nova Foresta in 1086. It only actually became a site of scientific interest in 1971, becoming a National Park in 2005.

All that to say, it's been around for a long damn time. And the cats know of this, they don't have a concept of human years, but they say Lionclan was around 'before Starclan', meaning Lionclan predates their current concept of modern cat ancestors.

In their mythos, Lionclan was a proud, strong clan of massive, mane-bearing cats that hunted in groups and had a singular leader, with a roar capable of being heard by every other clan, no matter where they were. They hunted large prey, like deer and boar, on their own, something that a modern cat thunderclan cat can only take down with the help of an entire patrol.

It's an understatement to say Thunderclan is still a proud clan, and they take much, much pride in occasionally still looking like the Lions that they came from. Lionheart, Sunstar, Cricketsun, and Lionblaze are the best examples of this.

According to their stories, however, Lionclan eventually grew smaller in size, as twolegs moved in more heavily than before, and the large prey they hunted became more and more scarce, being hunted by twolegs instead. This is what they consider to be the beginning of 'Thunderclan' and the Modern Cats.

(Dawn Of The Clans as an arc did not happen. I refuse to acknowledge it as a canonical part of this story, so im making up my own.)

They called the founder of Thunderclan 'Thunderstar' not because it was his name, but because of the lightning-shaped scar across his face, a mark of his survival against a massive beast. He was said to be cat-sized but distinctly Lion in appearance, and led his clan well, despite a series of tragedies that led to his early leadership.

When he died sacrificing his life for his clan, they created the Thunderclan Sigil- the cat outline with the lightning bolt- in honor of him. He still exists in Starclan, as his clan remembers him fondly. It is rumored that Sunstar was the last descendant of Thunderstar, though of course nobody can confirm that.

The True History

Now, we get to the truth of the matter. Lionclan, very simply, did not exist. The most truth to it is likely a group of zoo or perhaps circus lions escaped a long time ago, and oral tale of the nearby housecats became fantastical after so long.

The Prophecy Begins is set somewhere around 2009, i'd say. The clans were founded probably at the turn of the century, in 1900 or just before. Long enough that it seems ancient to clan cats, but not nearly old compared to literally any human civilization.

Thunderstar was not a 'small lion', but instead a Maine Coon. The Clans were not, in fact, descended from big cats at all, but instead the result of kittypets escaping their owners and becoming feral.

In fact, Thunderstar was not his name whatsoever. His scar was true, though, he did have a lightning-shaped scar across his face, but it was caused by a fox, not some mysterious beast. His true name has been lost to time, but he was not, at any point, called the suffix '-star', as the use of 'star' to designate the leader didn't happen until about 2 leaders later.

He was Thunder's Rule, King of Thunderclan. A King who's bloodline continued ruling until his grandson stepped down and put in the deputy and -star concepts.

It is true that Sunstar is a very distant descendant of him, but his bloodline survived, through Featherwhisker. The medicine cat who got away with breaking code, by having a daughter. Willowpelt and her lineage are the last line of Thunderstar, though i haven't decided wether that gets lost to time or Jayfeather manages to figure it out during his ghost walks. Either way, as of Arc 7, the most recent Thunderkin are Greykit, Bristlekit, and Stemkit.

Thunderstar is still very much alive and well in Starclan, though he keeps to the edges of the territory because he's still salty he lost his bloodline's "right" to the leadership of thunderclan. If he could contact his relatives, he'd be hounding them to get the title back. And it might even work, but the rest of the leaders since his reign stop him from trying.

Unfortunately, his kits and grandson have been forgotten and faded out of starclan, as the 'rulers to star' distinction was never made in their mythos.

In terms of how well he ruled... well, his clan thrived, that was for sure. Unfortunately that was because of the sneaky, tricking ways he fought his wars, and the fact he might have commited a regicide or two to keep 'unhelpful' people out of his way. But Thunderclan doesn't remember that part, they only care about the fact he 'led his clan to success', no matter how much bloodshed was caused by it.

[butterflies-and-blades]

Session 7: Questions

In the morning, I was stiff and achy. My neck and back were the worst off, but my tail bone was not much better. Falling to the ground without a chance to brace yourself will do that. I awoke beside Verca, still in Talo's room, who seemed just as uncomfortable after our night spent propped against a wall. I pulled myself to my feet first and offered a hand to help him up. Rather used to looking up at him-- no different than how things were with Dad or Da--, it was a bit odd to be the one looking down at another for once. The reversal was short lived, though; he was quick to take the assistance and returned to his full height while I was still registering the shift in perspective.

Uncovered by Verca's upright movement was a series of scorch marks that discolored the wood that had previously been pressed against his back. While the burn-scarred wall was not an expected sight, I cannot say its presence was the most shocking, either, given Verca's penchant for fire. At the time, I had not asked about it because of that very inclination, but perhaps I should ask if something had troubled him in his sleep when I next get the chance. In the moment, I had still been too shaken by my own dream to give him the proper focus; maybe I can make up for that during our walk. Although I do not want to pry too much either, especially after what one of the things inside of me has already put him through.

Verca and I were not alone in our night of weird dreams, apparently. Talo also experienced a weird dream and woke with sand on their face. They were particularly disturbed by the dream since they claimed to not dream, which was very odd. Despite the lack of religious influences at home, I was fairly confident that this sounded related to the influence of some deity or similar higher being. Dreams are not uncommon venues for such entities to do their work from what I can tell, and something like that would certainly have the power to implant a dream in the mind of someone who usually does not have them. Verca also raised the theory that Talo might not be from this plane. He pointed to their lack of memories before the age of five as potential support for his theory, but it seemed like an unfair connection to make. That is a relatively standard place for coherent memories to start.

The unsettling events of last night were then made even more troubling when Talo shared that there is a second voice in my head, which they encountered after we had collapsed. They interacted with a masculine voice that held itself in a kinder manner than the one they encountered in previous meetings with the Mask. Some of the details were reminiscent of my dream from last night, but I find that more concerning than comforting. The existence of a second voice aligns with the dream's use of "we," but imagining how many things actually comprise this "we" makes my stomach twist in a vaguely nauseating way. I am petrified that I may have made a deal that I do not understand when I shook that figure's hand. Talo was less concerned with that since there was no outlined contract, but we cannot actually know what happened.

Verca asked more about my dream, and I gave what details I could. Something on his face shifted while I was talking. He also verified that I had said I was an elf yesterday--which I had--and my age--twenty-four. The relevancy of those details only made me more confused. When I asked what was wrong, he resisted answering. He said he did not want to say out of kindness, but all of this endless not knowing what is wrong with me has been creating the most horrible feelings that I do not know how to handle. I have never felt like this before.

I kept pushing, and I did get an answer: "I think the thing in your head killed my mother." I cannot image forgetting those words or the look on his face when he said then. The six golden wings were how he knew. He went on to say that I was too young to have been there when it happened, but I feel terrible for making him travel with the perpetrator regardless. Even if I was not physically there, how can he see me as anything but a terrible reminder of what was taken from him? Knowing that the killer is hiding just out of sight inside of me, how could he bear sharing a room together?

During our walk to find the ex-bandits, I made sure Talo stood between us so he could have a reprieve from the breathing reminder as much as possible.

We found the ex-bandits in a run-down tavern and asked them about potentially helping us scout the desert for "Rosi." I was impressed that instead of immediately demanding coin for their services, they offered a potentially time-saving alternative. They told us about an old dragon skeleton in the desert that sat a few miles before the next city over, Greston. The skeleton was commonly used by criminals as a hide out, and they recommended looking there for her.

After a short discussion amongst ourselves--which included another argument about how to handle "Rosi," leading to Verca calling us fools and inexperienced for thinking bringing her back here would lead to anything other than her death and that it was cruel to drag her back for something we could do ourselves--, we decided to follow the information about the skeleton. We also decided to visit John to confirm what he would like done with her, considering his own investment in her fate since she took away a member of his family. Talo also wanted to ask him about the priest, hoping the older man might know what deity was possibly tied to their recent experiences.

I went back to the ex-bandits to tell them our decision and sent Verca ahead with Talo to offer him some kind of break.

At the guards' station, we first asked John about the priest. His name was Toma, but John explained that it would be difficult to talk with him because he had just left for Greston because my "holy symbol" had looked familiar to him. Immediately confused by his words, I asked what he meant. John, confused by my confusion, referenced the carved feather pendant on my necklace that I had made with Da as a kid. Without any focus on faith in the cabin, I could not understand how that was a religious symbol. It is certainly a question for Da the next time I see him.

I commented how I did not even know any of the gods' names. Talo tried to name one, but all I heard was static--the same static that obscured my hearing when they tried to quote what the Mask had said earlier yesterday. Verca also tried to list a long series of deities, but I could not hear a single name. Even minor ones were affected by the block.

I heard Talo shout my name, and as if the scene had changed while I was blinking, John was no longer in the room and Verca and Talo were staring at me with concern pulling at their faces. Another gap. The Mask.

According to Verca, they had been told I needed protection from the gods. He also described how a new voice had joined and how a part of the mask had decayed. He told me that the Mask said we are fated to learn about each other's pasts and secrets, which explained Talo's initial comment when I returned that they thought we were bound together in some way.

Verca asked why Talo was hiding whatever they were not telling us, and for a concerning amount of time, they ignored us. He attempted to magically compel an answer twice without success. Afterwards, they attacked him with a spell, and I was terrified of whatever fight was about to break out. He shoved them against a wall, and I had no idea what I could even try to do to separate them.

But, after the slowest handful of seconds, he hugged them.

After they stepped apart, Talo said that whatever secret they could not share involved their family, which brought my thoughts back to my own. I thumbed the painted wooden feather, thinking of Da and Dad. Verca had mentioned wanting to visit the cabin. Although I am not sure how we would get there, it might be worth trying to get back. Maybe some answers are hiding there.

Although Toma was gone, we went to the temple anyways. The outside of the building was nondescript sandstone; inside there was a shelf with a moon figure with a noticeably newer shelf installed beneath it, where figures of a wolf, cat, rabbit, and a lighting bug sat. Something about the figurines led Talo to comment on the three moons, which confused Verca who apparently had been told by his father that there were only two.

Aside from the figurines, the space was empty. I called out, saying we were looking for assistance, and an older man came out shortly after. He claimed to recognize us from his partner's description--presumably Toma.

Talo asked the man about a god associated with dreams and sand. Almost incredulous, he identified the figure as "Morpheus, god of dreams," and this time I could hear the name. Keeping the static that blocked out any other deity's name in mind, I suspect that this Morpheus was not actually a god, though. I am not sure why something would masquerade as a god--or how it would manage to accomplish such an endeavor--, but it leaves me concerned about whatever its agenda is.

Still digging for answers, Talo then asked about what kinds of things do not dream. I had partially begun to zone out during bits of their conversation, looking around the room and replaying certain events from earlier in this day, but I was abruptly yanked back to the present moment when his answer landed on elves solely because they do not sleep.

I sleep. Dad sleeps. We are both elves. I still do not understand.

The conversation moved on, and the man specified that Toma went to a temple in Greston. He had said a specific temple name, but that was as static-y as everything else.

Tired of missing out on pieces of conversations, I asked if we thought I could read whatever information I could not hear. Rather than spending time discussing that question, the man walked over to the shelves, picked up a figurine, and threw it to me. A black obsidian raven landed in my hands. At the same time I caught the weighty carving, a searing memory overcame the rest of my vision.

Darkness. Black hair. All of which encompassed a white mask with red painted lips sitting in the center of the edgeless expanse. Unable to see anything past the mask, there was still a distinct sensation of fear that poured from the entity.

A spike of pain rang through my head.

"It's all wrong. You're wrong. You shouldn't be. You shouldn't be." The voice--its words so sharp they practically stabbed into me--was familiar but distorted in a way that did not match.

What is wrong with me?

I was back in the temple, and my hands burned around the statuette. I dropped it, crying out. The dark, glossy raven crashed against the tiled floor.

Verca's attention snapped to the priest. "What did you do to her?" he asked with the sharpness of a new blade. The man's response was a blur up to the point that an unfamiliar name was said: The Raven Queen. It was the name that people had been saying all day, and I could hear it.

After I described what I saw, the man was certain I had seen the very figure named. But he was just as confident that she was not who I had heard during the flash. The speaker I heard did not carry the weight he described.

Because of the Mask's appearance at the guards' quarters, we did not actually ask John the questions about "Rosi's" fate that we had originally gone to him for. Talo needed to make potions before we went searching for her and Verca needed some level of rest, so we stopped back there since it was on the way to the inn. John claimed to not care what happened to her and commented that he honestly did not expect to see us again. And corroborating the point Verca made in the tavern, John verified that "Rosi's" punishment in Legen would indeed be death. It seemed that Verca was right; it would be crueler to drag her back to an end that we could have carried out ourselves.

Unrelated to anything serious--I write that largely because I cannot actually remember the inciting incident amongst the rest of the day's events--, before we left, I grabbed Verca's wrist to stop him from committing some kind of violence. He seemed taken aback by this. I was quick to apologize, thinking I had overstepped a boundary. I had assumed that it was okay to touch him since we had touched before, but I suppose things could have changed, reshaped by the development of new information.

But he did not seem upset; instead, he grabbed my wrist in return and held it. About a minute passed before he let go. When asked what that was about, he said it was a conversation for later. That was not the first time he had said that when hiding something, and I was immediately concerned by whatever new thing I did not know. The stack kept growing taller.

Afterwards, I told the others that I planned to take a walk to clear my head while they rested and that we could meet back together at the fountain. In reality, I wanted to give Verca the opportunity to get some space from the unwanted reminder I likely represented.

I was unprepared for his offer to join me on that walk, though.

Which also meant that now was "later."

[anincompletelist]

22 and 31 for the question game!!

HI FRIEND! thank you for the ask! :') I hope you're well!

22: How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

oooh I try so hard to be organized but admittedly usually miss the mark by a few thousand words floating aimlessly around in my notes app when I'm too lazy to navigate to their corresponsing wip in docs kjhdskhd. BUT my docs itself is fairly organized with all of the names and info etc so that I can find things easily. within a doc, I usually like to lay out the title, tentative tags and summary, and outline at the top, followed by the fic itself. I also love using the little headers on docs that show up in the sidebar for easy clicking!

31: Write a short love letter to your readers.

I write for myself first and foremost but nothing in this WORLD compares to the feeling of knowing that I have connected with someone through my work. writing is essentially putting a part of yourself on the page and that can be terrifying when you're sharing it with an audience, so by letting me know that you read something of mine that resonated with you in some way or made you think or feel better somehow, it not only is incredibly kind, but it makes me feel better about whatever I'm currently going through as well! I love love love being able to connect with so many lovely people within this space, and I hope we can continue to make it a safe haven for a lot of us that often feel like we can't fit our words, and therefore our feelings - ourselves - anywhere else.

+

[send me a weird writers ask or reblog to play along yourself!]

[helpfordissertation6]

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[edwardgdunn]

The Reasons Everyone Is So Unhappy (and what to do about it)

I think about that question more and more it seems. Or perhaps what I am really asking are the meta-questions – “What is the meaning of happiness?” and, “Does happiness, in and of itself, have meaning? By meaning I mean value.

It has become increasingly more incomprehensible to me that the most affluent, technologically advanced nation in human history is apparently so collectively miserable that it manages to consume the vast majority of the world’s pharmaceutical anti-depressant supply. We don’t only take more per capita than most nations, we take WAY more which begs the question – why?

When I began my efforts in earnest to understand this phenomenon, I decided to look first at my own experience and the experiences of the people I knew and had known throughout my life. Next, I started looking at the available scientific data and studies. I undertook to collect what seemed to be the most common reasons reported for unhappiness. There weren’t many surprises. Here is a list of some of the most common culprits I identified…

Worry – One of my psychology professors once said this to me and it has stuck with me ever since, “Worrying is just feeling bad in advance, why would you do that?” I wholeheartedly agree. Additionally, the vast majority of things we worry about never actually materialize at all. So we end up damaging the moment that we are in by worrying about all manner of things that haven’t even happened yet and most likely never will. This is a near perfect recipe for unhappiness and an exercise in textbook neurosis.

The idea of control – For some inexplicable reason we all tend to think we can control a great many aspects of our existence. The truth is, the percentage of things we can actually control is an order of magnitude less than we convince ourselves of. This is where the invaluable skills of acceptance and non-judgement come to bear. Life is what happens in between our plans. Be at peace with it.

Holding grudges – this is about as intelligent as drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. The preponderance of harm that is being done is being done to you. “Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.” – Mark Twain Releasing anger is, for the most part, for your own benefit. The person you perceived as grievously wronging you is likely off doing their own thing without giving you a second thought. Meanwhile, you are burning your own hand holding a hot coal that you are planning on throwing at them. Put it down, be on your way, and happily don’t look back.

People aren’t playing by your rules – Public Service Announcement: the world doesn’t follow ‘Ed’s Marvelous Manifesto for Life and Fairness’ (my version or yours). The sooner you recognize and accept this, the happier you will be. If you sent a memo to the world outlining your rules, it got lost in the mail. Sorry. Once again, acceptance and non-judgement are the order of the day.

comparing yourself to others – Everyone has this tendency but it comes with a glaring flaw. I may, for example, compare myself to Ernest Hemmingway (yes, I write novels too). And I would undoubtedly determine that Hemingway can write circles around me. The Old Man and the Sea, For Whom The Bell Tolls, The Sun Also Rises – um, yeah. But I would be comparing myself to only one aspect of Hemmingway’s life. While a brilliant writer to be sure, he was by most accounts, a degenerate boozer, a vicious misogynist, violent of temper, and harbored a propensity for heartbreaking cruelty. I am, by most accounts, none of those things. So you see the problem here? We compare ourselves to only a small fraction of the whole person and come away from the exercise believing we are somehow deficient. This is rarely if ever the whole story. Always there will be greater and lesser than ourselves – always.

Refusing to be happy until all your dreams come true – One of the most pervasive symptoms of the madness that lives in our collective consciousness is our willingness to assign happiness to the future when all of our ‘conditions’ for happiness are met. In so doing we trivialize, if not entirely miss, the present moment. This constant preoccupation with the future robs us of the only time we actually have… the present. If we are habitually lost in our internal dialog regarding some imagined future, we fail to be present in the only moment we ever have – the one we are in. The truth is, the future only ever comes in the form of the present. Don’t rent out space in your moments – they are the only ones you have. Live in them. Choose to be happy in them now.

Loneliness – In a world that is more connected than ever, study after study reveals that we are more lonely, more disconnected than ever. Not too surprising really. We have convinced ourselves by the millions that these days we don’t have to get off the couch, go out, risk meeting people, risk them not liking us – we can socialize on our 4 inch screens to our hearts content. But guess what? NOT THE SAME THING! It’s these very things we are trying to avoid, in the name of comfort and convenience, that are the conduits to human connection, to true friendship, and the keys to the prison cell of our own making. That cell is loneliness. Get out there already!

Materialism above all else – We have slowly, insidiously, and quietly allowed ourselves to be convinced that the greatest source of happiness that exists is, well, more stuff. But is it really? Not according to a nearly unlimited number of studies on sustained happiness. We crave, we get, we grow bored with what we get, we start over – the cycle never ends. The wheel of hedonic adaptation always brings us back not only to where we started, it leaves us in a worse place than where we stared. On and on it goes – endlessly. All while experiences that are the true bearers of lasting happiness languish in the ever lengthening shadows of our discontent. Sadly, most will wake up to this reality when, tragically, they have little time left to traverse a more enlightened path. Go. See. Do.

Hanging out with unhappy people – The vast majority of people in western cultures are utterly convinced that happiness is something that just happens to you, or doesn’t. That it’s something you find and not something you do. And they would be wrong. There are perhaps very few decisions you will make that will be more important to your overall well-being, peace of mind, and happiness than who you choose to spend your free time with. Everyone you associate with will have an effect on you. Choose carefully. Choose wisely. Then rejoice like circus clowns with those who made the cut.

Lack of purpose – Happiness loves purpose. Those who have created true happiness in their lives are, most often, those who have an abiding sense of purpose. They have something that gets them out of bed. They look forward to whatever it is they are doing that consistently creates meaning and value in their lives. They can’t even remotely fathom NOT doing it. Often, I hear people say, “I don’t know what my purpose is.” I understand the sentiment. My response usually goes something like this, “What is your unique gift or superpower? What have people been telling you for most of your life that you’re really good at? The answers to those questions will most likely point you in the right direction.” From there it’s up to you.

Living someone else’s life – This one could be an entire book on its own. From the very moment we come into this world we are being molded, programmed to conform to the expectations of others, usually starting with our parents. In our largely helpless and ignorant state, we are obliged to accept their food and their protection so it follows we would also accept their framework for our lives. They have all the answers, right!? We simply don’t know any better at this stage. But the problem arises when we don’t outgrow their conditions for acceptance and approval and become our own people. Once the programming settles in, we are then susceptible to the same conditional terms from school, church, friends, et al. We are set on a path of living someone else’s life for what, too often, becomes our entire life. If there is a greater tragedy, I am unaware of it. You do YOU! If anyone has a problem with it, it is their problem – not yours.

Being stuck in the past – It’s damn hard to start the next chapter in the story of you if you keep re-reading the last chapter. Your life is like a great novel. Don’t read only Chapter 17 over and over and miss the rest of the incredible tale! There isn’t one damn thing you can do to change a single word that’s already been written. Forgive whoever you need to. Forgive yourself. Then turn the page.

Continue reading..

Check out the Happiness 2.0 Podcast — https://podcast.edwardgdunn.com/

Happiness 2.0 Blog — https://edwardgdunn.com/blog