#it's not the best thing i've ever written

[pink-slay]

arcane Viktor and likely spoilers for both seasons

I keep thinking about Viktor from arcane all the time and I've written poems and had lengthy conversations about it but decided that I need to state it in prose to on an account that I barely update because this account is full of things that mean something to me

I constantly think about the lengths Viktor went to to be well. The writers lured me in thinking maybe hextech or the arcane or shimmer would help Viktor's vision of running on a purple arcane body become a reality. However in the end viktor became equally if not more disabled than before. He lived, yes, but at what cost, killing Sky?

And I'm a believer in the mutual JayVik love and understanding, but Sky still mattered. She was brilliant and wonderful and kept Viktor grounded. Took his head out of his work and into the clouds (eventually literally).

Often, as disabled people, we are told that if we worked harder our problems could go away and it is a prominent belief in our culture, even if unconsciously so. I remember years ago Imani Barbarin made a video on how able bodied people want to believe they could work their way out of any disability by trying harder. They then project this onto disabled people to shield themselves from their inevitable fate (disability or death). This myth is pervasive and as much as I and many people want the betterment of all, perpetuating this myth, even in a fantasy story, is at best unrealistic and at worst problematic.

However, Arcane subverts this expectation because Viktor lives, but he lives a disabled life. He tried harder, and it tore him apart. To me this is a more powerful story than overcoming. Most can try, and most don't overcome not due to personal shortcoming but because trying harder ≠ getting better (at least inherently and especially with disability).

It reminded me of how in my freshman year of college, I dropped my math minor. It was upsetting and annoying because it was an attempt to hold onto the pieces of my first analytical love, math. However I didn't have the right wheelchair then and I didn't know it yet but I was becoming progressively more paralyzed. I just couldn't make it to the classroom they assigned me and they refused to change it.

I told my mother that at a certain point it felt more impactful that my disability made a noticeable impact in limiting me instead of trying to torture myself into narrative of overcoming. Not taking that first class was one of many times Calc II would get in my way, each time related to disability.

Viktor, like me, had a progressive disability that would've continued to progress until it killed him without drastic action. For me the drastic action was a surgery that made me be on constant opioids all summer and destroyed my relationship with my mother and the scraps of independence I still had. For Viktor it was taking shimmer and bearing the almighty power of the hex core.

I guess I write all this to say that my love of math and my disability parallel viktor. We have scientific loves and would work ourselves to death. We can be romantic when we get our heads out of our work. And we are disabled. Sick and disabled. So sick we put our lives at risk for health. Even a glimmer of health.

I know Jayce's speech is controversial among disabled people. I respect the opinions of others but I think many people don't get the experience of severe disability when interpreting it. In real life with the wide variety of disabilities, Viktor may not fall into that category but he surely does in Piltover. For me, my disability is severe. So severe I questioned if, as much as I looked up to Viktor, II could ever be respected like him. However disabled people don't become more respected by shunning nonambulatory powerchair users like me. They just isolate those that make up their community.

From a severely disabled person, understand that yes, I understand you want to fix yourself, but when you have a disability that at any point threatens your life, there is a certain ubiquitous self destruction in everything you do. That's why Viktor needed Jayce's speech. It wasn't because Jayce didn't see Viktor or his pain. Jayce knew Viktor was in pain. Jayce knew Viktor better than he knew anyone. And Jayce knew Viktor needed to be shown his value that was independent of effort--- his value as a person.

To be loved is to hear things that you can't fully wrap your head around. I believe (when I think really hard about it) that I can be who am both because of and despite my disability. I say to my closest friends that it feels like all I ever was was a miracle sick child who lived and a smart person. And I break off each quality about myself and my friend says that she'd still find value in me. Because there are people in our lives like Jayce or my friend who will give speeches to you, not to gain anything but to show you your worth even if it kills them. Because in every universe, sometimes there's only one person who can show you that-- who can stop you from ending the world even if it means succumbing to life and it's inevitable partner, death. Because the people we love don't want to see our sinews as we tear apart ourselves to breathe. They want to see us. They don't want us to suffer as much as we do. But for us there is a desire to be well. And that desire drives suffering it doesn't fix it.

Viktor meant a lot to me as someone whose life keeps changing especially in regards to their disability. Hesitancy toward drugs and spinal hardware and leg braces. And so did the way he almost destroyed the world craving something.

I have longed to be normal, to be well for most of my life. But life doesn't work that way. In fixing ourselvea and the things we view as flaws, we lose beautiful parts in the crossfire. Our friends beg us to see ourselves and if we're lucky our friends do. But so do we. I don't succeed but maybe Arcane has pushed me to see the beauty of being kind to myself because working myself into the ground isn't worth the pain especially with such a bleak unsuccessful outcome. We'll be told to fix ourselves forever but at least for once, in this one show, we can be valued despite our ardor for work. Yes, it isn't inherently wrong to want to be better. But we have lifetimes for that. Just this once maybe we can sit in the beauty of being loved both because

and despite.

[hojichiuu]

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.

featuring: Boynextdoor's Knight!Taesan x femprincess!reader

setting: slight angst, mostly hurt/comfort, secret relationship, medieval times au

summary: daughter of one of the most renowned kingdoms to exist, you were obligated to carry the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders as the next heir. one after the other, the expectations and burdens have been thrown at you for as long as you could fathom. naturally finding your safe haven in taesan; a knight chosen to serve the king, basking in his comfort when things became too much to handle. yet nothing could prepare the two of you for the news that would be announced by your parents on the night of the annual banquet hall.

warnings: for writing purposes i've written taesan which is his official title name but reader personally calls him by his real name han dongmin, mentions of parental abuse, secret relationship with taesan, arranged marriage, reader has a panic attack, talks of self doubt and burdening expectations, pet names (kinda?), so so much comfort, let me know if i've missed any!

word count: 3.8k (this was meant to be a short i blacked out)

author's note: the idea sparked from jaehyun's speech during HOW? comeback era where he says "you know what kind of person Taesan is, how warm and kind he is." :( this is just something small i've written, idk if i'll add a prologue or epilogue yet as i'm still continuing the gryffindor!jaehyun fic which i'm not entirely sure when it'll be out but i'll try my best! REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYSSS APPRECIATED <3333

It must be both a blessing and a curse to be able to feel things so deeply. 

Dusk seeps in as the air temperature begins to drop, daggers of ice contaminated your lungs with every breath you seemed to take. Grabbing as much of your gown as you possibly could whilst mindlessly trudging through the unkempt grass that laid behind the palace. 

You didn’t know where you were going, you had no clear destination. All you knew was that if you stayed any second longer at the ceremonial banquet you would’ve either thrown up on everybody or passed out. 

When did all of this this start?

Was it months prior when your parents sat you down by the dining table, discussing with you that you've reached the age to be betrothed? Was it when they scolded you to start thinking about the future, the reputation of you and your people? Was it when weeks turned to days to hours of men continuously knocking at the door asking for your hand in marriage in order for them to rule? Or when your father tried smacking some sense into you once he found out you had been sabotaging each proposal that was made for you. Berating you at the fact that many other kingdoms have decided to cut ties and supplies due to your immature behaviour.

Despite the continuous declarations of love by the front gate from men decades older than you, despite the physical discipline your parents instilled into you, despite the pressure of ruling the future kingdom daunting down on your shoulders.

Your eyes, head and heart only fell on one thing. One person. 

You never once spared a glance at those who publicly set their eyes on you. The thought of ever marrying one of these men had only ever left you with a deep unbridled disgust that harboured within your gut.

On the day of the ceremony in which you were told was a celebration of a new peace treaty. Which although not entirely false, was used to cover up big news that everyone else seemed to know but you. 

You knew something was wrong.

Feeling the back of your neck begin to heat up from the warm lights that illuminated the halls, the sweat that built up on your hands as you nervously fidgeted with your fingers, the continuous tapping of your foot. A sinking feeling in your chest you couldn’t quite seem to shake off.

Yet nothing could ever compare to the pang in your chest the moment your parents publicly announced your engagement to the prince of Ansan, an engagement you’ve never even heard about.

Crowds hooted and hollered over the fantastic news that united both kingdoms, all eager to celebrate through drinks and danced for the rest of the night.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. Terrified that if you made a single movement, everything you had so carefully built up within yourself would break.

Instead, you kept your eyes bored into the back of your parents, silently cursing them as they never once decided to look back to you. Carelessly chatting away with the current rulers of Ansan over a glass of freshly produced wine.

You knew that they planned this engagement as part of the peace treaty, that they would offer up their daughter to their son for the future of both kingdoms.

You knew they purposely didn’t tell you the news because they knew how you would respond.

You knew all this and yet, you had never felt so small. 

Suddenly aware of the thousands of mindless conversations that filled the room, the occasional sounds of glasses clinking and chairs creaking along the polished floors began to cloud your mind and ring your ears.

Since when did the room becoming so small? Why were the lights shining brighter than usual? Thoughts clouded your mind one by one, little by little, until the only conscious thought left was hearing the sound of your rushed heartbeat as it bursted through your eardrums, the feeling of your corset suddenly became increasingly tighter by the minute, your palms felt sticky. And for something so natural you did since birth, you wondered…

Since when did it get so hard to breathe.

Getting out of there was the only reoccurring thought you had. Not caring about the consequences that lied beyond as you messily stumbled your way out of the ballroom, ignoring the countless stares you earned as you pushed through the crowd in panicked daze, avoiding those who expressed concern about the sudden paleness of your face or the fact you tripped over your gown multiple times.

You couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t seem to care anymore, because the moment that engagement was announced, all you could possibly think about was that you couldn’t see Taesan anymore.

-

Nights where you would sneak out of the north wing as you cautiously made your way to The Keep; a chamber where all the knights resided.

Times where Taesan would help you quietly to his room, hushed giggles and reckless stumbling as you both climbed into bed, letting out a sigh of content once you fell into each other’s embrace.

The countless nights that were filled with quiet love confessions and soft kisses, nights where the world finally fell quiet.

Where despite seeing him on duty around the corridors of the palace, you two were only ever able to exchange small looks of longing to one another.

In times where Taesan would silently clench his jaw as he spots another group of men by the gate waiting to whisk you away.

Where in those specific nights, Taesan let himself love you just a bit more, let his hands linger intertwined with yours for just a bit longer. Praying his burning touch could translate into the words you both never dared to say. 

Because in truth, deep down, you both knew that this would never work out. That a knight such as he could never be granted permission to ask for your hand. You both knew that in no world such as this, would the two of you ever be accepted.

Yet as night falls, without a second thought, Taesan slowly kisses away the thoughts that plague your mind, murmuring soft words of comfort into your skin.

You don’t miss the way he embraces you every night as if it were his last. 

As the sun sets, through tangled sheets and soft sighs, for just a moment; you both let yourselves forget about the fate you were bound to.

-

You knew Taesan heard the news.

Everyone that resided in the palace was instructed to stand by the door in order to hear the anticipated speech of the night.

You don’t know what expression paints his face, if he allowed his mask to drop for even a second when the news announced, how many thoughts were racing through his head.

For a moment you wonder if he felt his heart sink such as you did.

So despite the calls of concern from passerbys, you stumbled your way out of the banquet hall. Letting your feet take you as far away from the palace as you could, until you were sure couldn’t see the lights from the windows that ignited the night. You don’t know how long you’ve been running, the meadow was vast after all, and your feet were beginning to sting from the stiffness of your heels. The sound of your heavy breathing begun to fill your ears as you try to catch your breath. Taking in the scenery that filled all your senses, the crispiness of the air, the buzzing from the cicadas of the night, the wind that occasionally brushed against your skin that filled with goosebumps as a response. 

Craning your neck as you begin to count each star that illuminated the night, allowing your breath to steady with each count.

Breathing in as you close your eyes, reminiscing back to the moments before where you sat at the banquet table, surrounded by hundreds of strangers with their piercing gazes that never failed to send shivers down your spine. To the times where you had mockingly cursed those who hovered by your door of the castle, asking for your hand.

Blurred memories of faceless figures begun to cloud your mind, seeping their way into your soul to break it piece by piece for their pure satisfaction. You think about the lonely days at the palace; days filled with silence and discipline, you think about the drunken men whose arms lingered far longer than usual on your waist as you greeted them, the way their wedded wives looked at you in the face of disgust whilst whispering vulgar insults to wouldn’t dare wish on anyone. Only to plaster a mocking smile in your direction once caught.

Yet you will never forget the stares of your parents that stabbed their way into the darkest depths of your soul, where no words were ever needed to show the disappointment they carried for their only child. 

You let the anger hold itself as the lump in your throat you tried to so desperately swallow, you let it gather unspent in the corners of your eyes as it threatens to spill out, you allow it to boil as your blood that flowed through every nook of your bones.

Years worth of unexplained grief had begun to claw its way out of your skin. Making its way to your fingertips as the grip you had on your gown subconsciously began to loosen, silently allowing the soiled mud seep into the soft fabric. To your knees that slowly gave out as they began to buckle beneath you. Letting yourself drop as if the weight of your burdens suddenly became too heavy to hold, to your lips as you choked out a whimper in the silence of the night. Covering your mouth as your quiet whimpers morphed into choked sobs.

For once, you allow the unbridled grief within you to trickle out the corner of your eyes and onto the grass beneath you.

For once, you allow yourself to feel.

Trying to curl yourself into your soiled knees, praying no one could hear the strangled cries you held within. As one arm hug your sides whilst the other clasped around your jaw, covering your mouth in hopes of easing the noise. All useless attempts to keep you from slipping any further.

You wanted to scream, to wail, to love, to smile purely, to punch someone. Yet despite the sting in your lungs from the cold air, the roughness of the soiled grass that lay beneath you, the futile attempts in drowning out your cries – you prayed someone, somewhere, anywhere might’ve understood the turmoil that boiled deep inside you.

-

You don’t know how long it’s been since you ran out the hall. You don’t know if your prayers were heard by some great deity, but you didn’t miss the reverberating noise of chain mail clanking continuously onto the armor that belonged to whoever began quickly pacing towards you. 

But before you were able to react towards the noise, a large pair of arms silently wrapped itself around you, one arm circling your waist as the other gently rubbed your nape to help ease your sobs. Pressing your cheek against the cold armour that embraced you, taking in its smooth texture before hearing the hush murmurs of comfort that tickled your skin.

Hush murmurs of comfort that were no stranger to you in the night.

You tense under his hold, not daring to look up because you knew that if you did, you would break completely.

But Taesan knew you, your little ticks, subtle movements, he knew how to read it all. He knew what the silence meant.

“I’m here, shh please don’t cry anymore. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. So sorry my love I’m here now.” his soft whispers of reassurance attempts to drown out your whimpers. You feel his hurried breath fan your skin as he nuzzles closer, burying his face in the dip of your neck. Chest heaving almost as if he had been searching the whole castle inside out to look for you.

“D…Dongmi..n..” you managed to choke out broken phrases. Grabbing the hand that rested on your nape, feeling the familiar rough texture that had held you for countless nights,your eyes squinting to make out his figure in the night. 

As your eyes begin to adjust properly to the dark, you let yourself admire his moonlit kissed features. The way his brows furrowed, lips tight in a thin line, eyes filled with a void of tenderness and worry that made you want to cry.

Yet despite everything, all you could think about was how beautiful he looked. 

The ruffle of his hair that laid unkept from roughly taking off his armour, his honey brown eyes swirling with millions of unsaid thoughts and emotions that shone under the night sky, his lips raw from his continuous biting habits, his flushed cheeks; pink from hysterically searching for you. You try to take him in further, eyes gazing along his long slender fingers that brushed against your skin through countless nights.

He was undeniably the most beautiful this kingdom ever had to offer.

“Dongmin I…I didn’t know,” you hiccuped, swallowing your spit as you shake your head. “I swear, I promise. I’m sorry please believe me, I didn’t know about the engagement. I can’t… I don’t want…” stumbling over your words in a panic as you try so desperately to convince him that you played no part in your own betrothal. 

You couldn’t help but notice his eyes widening at your unnatural outburst.

From the moment Taesan spotted you curled up within yourself on your knees in the middle of the pasture, taking in your small shrinking figure in contrast to the vast fields of grass, something in him had started to break. That he was so sure his heart couldn’t possibly sink any further after hearing the news of your engagement. That there was nothing else left that could shatter his heart further.

And yet the moment he gently cupped your fragile face in the palm of his hands, feeling your soft hands grip tightly around his wrists ro anchor yourself, noticing the way your knuckles begun to turn white from how much you were squeezing him. As if you were holding onto him with all your strength, as if he was all you had left to keep yourself from slipping into the abyss.

Taesan felt his soul break into pieces. 

As he lets his eyes rake over your grief stricken face, the glow of the moonlight highlighting your tear stained face as the sound of your choked sobs filled his ears. He holds you, engulfing your fragile body with his. Pouring all his unspoken words into his embrace, praying you heard. Silently wishing he could shield you from all the bad in the world, all the ugly and hollow. All the things that weren’t you.

“I know.” he whispers, eyes softening. “I know my love…no I know, of course you couldn’t have known. I believe you, I promise. So please…” he slowly takes in a deep shaky breath, praying the tears that threatened to fall would stay put. That he can drown in his emotions once he was alone, but right now he needs to be here for you, with you. 

“Don’t worry…I…we’ll work something out, I promise. We’ll be okay, so don’t cry anymore…okay? Please my love, please don’t cry anymore.” his voice betrays him as it breaks, kissing your hair as he lets your scent invade his lungs, letting his arms wrap around you even tighter. 

“I see you,” he consoles you through quiet whispers against your ear, words only for you to hear.

“I see the way you carry yourself, despite the words that come your way, I see the situations you’re forced into by your parents, how lonely you get by the dinner table yet mustering the courage to compliment the chef, the pressure of everything bestowed onto you… I see the way you hold yourself with such strength that only I could ever dream of.” 

Feeling your soft cries slowly drown out into small sniffs and hiccups, looking up to see his eyes crinkle into small crescents as lips curl up into a small smile. The rarity of a smile you could admire for the rest of your life, the smile that he talks about with such insecurity when in actuality, you couldn’t begin to express how often you wish to carve it into the mass of your bones. 

He tenderly rests your head on his shoulder as he rubs your back to ease the discomfort, continuing to whisper soft praises to you. 

“My kind, beautiful girl…” he begins to pepper soft kisses across your face with each word, lips kissing your cheeks, the crown of your head, the side of your face, your eyelids, everything he could reach. “The embodiment of strength…the purest of hearts...my precious love… my most cherished.” each peck reigniting a fire in your heart that had been burnt out long ago.

Letting out a breathy laugh as you scrunch your nose in anticipation for the next kiss, only to open your eyes to see him staring at you with such adoration.

His gentle gaze. Seeing you, for all you were, all you are, all you will be.

Suddenly feeling insecure under his gaze, you shake your head, eyes faltering as you whisper.

“I am not what you say I am, I am not even close to it.” your voice shakes, continuing before he could protest.

“I am…tired of it.” you attempt to piece your thoughts together amidst the chaos that plagued your mind. Refusing to look him in the eye as you resort to focusing on the curve of his armour. “These people make me feel as though I have a hole in the middle of my soul. I don’t think I’m fit to rule them and..and yet… and I don’t mean to be cruel I…” 

Despite feeling self conscious of your continuous stumble over words, Taesan brushes the hair out of your face, silently urging you to continue as he wipes your tears with such gentleness you feel the tears build up once again. 

“I swear that I am kind… that…that I have love in my heart, inside of me…I can’t prove it but…my mind feels all messed up. I don’t understand my own thoughts and yet, I fear that the bad thoughts that I carry within me are all that I am.” mind flashing to unpleasant memories of your fathers aggression and mothers disappointment, feeling a small tremor in your breath as you purse your lips together, Letting out an amused laugh in futile attempts to ease the tension in the air.

You hear a beat of silence, followed by another. And for a second, you wonder if opening up was a bad idea after all.

“I think you have the most beautiful mind.” 

He whispers it with such warmth and truth, as if these words came so naturally to him that he never once thought twice about it. Blurry eyes that once stayed focused on Taesan’s armour blinked up towards his face, only to see him look at you as if you had hung up the stars in the sky one by one. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were ever holding.

“You are not hard to love,” he carefully wipes away your dried tears, “not at all…not in the slightest.”

He lived and breathed you, always and only you. Taesan knew that.

You feel his eyes linger on you, his fingers mindlessly playing with the loose strands that fell out of your bun.

“You know when we first met,” he starts. “I put some sort of…mental barrier between us.” 

Sensing your confusion to his sudden storytime, he lets out a light chuckle as his other arm squeezes your waist “I already had rumours spread around about me, that I was mean, coldhearted. That I was basically a robot wired to only serve the king.” 

You don’t miss the slight quiver in his lips as his head tilts to the side, he knows you don't miss it either. Giving you a soft smile to somehow lighten the mood, a smile filled with thousands of silent confessions.

“The rumours spread throughout the entire castle…I obviously wasn’t surprised, gossip was made to be spread after all.” he shrugs

“Yet even though you heard the rumours…you still went to see me. To talk to me.” 

“And it wasn’t just that, it was the fact that you spoke to me so naturally that it threw me in for some sort of loop.” he chuckled, you feel the rumble through his chest as your cheek presses against it. 

“After having everyone speak to me with such…I don’t know…tension? Discomfort? You coming up to me so naturally made me subconsciously break down the barriers I had so carefully built up.” 

He pulls you slightly away to take in your features, tucking back in the loose strands of your hair as he rests his forehead against yours, eyes interlocking.

“I love you with such a strange tenderness that it honestly scares me. Because all this time, I would never allow myself to be so soft for anyone, anything.” despite your noses touching, you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on your lips for a second longer.

“Do you understand me? You are not hard to love. I loved you so hard that I began to soften.” he gently engulfs your hands over his, kissing the pads of each finger.

“If you were able to get through a hard headed guy like me, then you are more than capable of capturing the hearts of the civilians. Give yourself more credit, my love.” 

Rolling your eyes over his hard headed comment, you slap his shoulder pad, eliciting a laugh out of him. Eyes unable to pull away from how his smile morphs across his face, silently painting it into memory. Not noticing the way your eyes begin to sting with the way Taesan so naturally held the broken pieces of your soul to slowly mend it one by one. 

Before you could even open your mouth to add onto his joke, his hand moved to cradle the back of your head as he leaned in. His lips moulded with yours with such strange gentleness, as if you were some fragile being he dared to touch.

“Shit, sorry I…” he murmurs out of breath, “I couldn’t help myself, you looked so pretty and I just lost control for a moment I didn't mean to cut you o-” 

For once, not caring for what he has to say, you snake your arms around his neck to return the gesture. Both of you sighing as your lips seemed to fit like a puzzle, moving in sync. The mix of yearning and love carried behind each kiss as his grip squeezed around your waist, letting his arm wander across your back, feeling you.

Lips moving in tandem, messy and clashing yet full of passion that mirror the nights you two spend alone. You latch onto the plushness of his lips, addicted to the feeling of it against your own. Suddenly feeling lightheaded as he continues nipping at your bottom lip, his long eyelashes flutter against your cheek, groaning as you tug at his hair.

After pulling away for what felt like a lifetime, you try to catch your breath despite the close proximity you two were currently in. Taesan prays you don’t notice the erratic pacing of his heartbeat along with the heat rushing along his ears.

“I am irrefutably in love with you Han Dongmin,” your use of his full name rather than the one given to him by the kingdom stirred a deep adoration that melted Taesan’s heart. “And I’ll be damned before I'm forced to be betrothed to another.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he lets out a boyish grin, arms circling around you pulling you closer, “As if I would ever let that happen.”

Your eyes soften as you rake over his features, he lets out a sigh of content as he closes his eyes, letting you feel across his face. Fingers dragging over the thick hairs of his eyebrows, to his eyelids, to the concave slope of his nose, his plush cheeks, feeling the plumpness of his lips. 

“I don’t believe I am fit enough to rule the hearts of the civilians... after all I only ever wanted to be with you.” you murmur quietly underneath your breath. The pads of your fingers feeling the way his lips curved into a huge grin. His hand captured your wrist, cheekily biting your finger as you let out a tiny yelp before placing the palm of your hand to his chest, his heart.

“Your royal highness you really do have a way with words, speak to the crowd in this manner and you shall capture all the hearts in no time!” he jokes, mocking the tone your parents tend to use during speeches.

Laughing as you hold his face in the palm of your hands, bringing it up closer to you before pressing multiple pecks against his giggling lips. The crowded thoughts in your mind gently dissipating, the once ringing in your ears had vanished and was replaced by his soft laughter. 

“Besides…” he murmurs against your lips, “I’ll be with you the whole time, I won’t let anything else happen to you.” 

Your presence was the sun, and those who caught a glimpse of your light were never able to look away. Taesan could only pray that one day, you were able to see yourself the way he saw you. Strong-willed, beautiful, gentle, and so, so incredibly loved. 

So for when the day eventually comes, Taesan promises to spend every waking moment of the rest of his life reminding you of your worth, of his adoration and dedication for you, helping you slowly heal the wounded scars you held deep beneath your soul, showering you with nothing but love and admiration, all knowing you would do the same for him.  

[captain-gillian]

thank you to @thisbuildinghasfeelings for starting the fandom memories tag, i am, as always, late to this.

i've been procrastinating making this post for two reasons; firstly i didn't want to admit the show was ending, which i know sounds silly but this show has brought so much joy into my life over the last five years, i don't think I'll ever be ready to say goodbye. and secondly, some of my fandom experiences recently have been, to put it lightly, negative and unwelcoming, but I don't want to let one coward sending lesbophobic anon messages stop me from apprecating what has otherwise been such a welcoming joyful fandom experience.

while I didn't find the fandom until 2022, i've been watching since the first episode aired, and this show has brought me so much happiness (and heartache, it is a drama afterall) over the years.

anyways these are some of my favourite memories from this fandom:

finding community

the thing for me that will always stay with me from this show and fandom is the community built around it. this show at it's core celebrates diverse imperfect characters, and the queer community and on the whole the fandom does too. from the moment i started interacting with the fandom, both here and on twitter i felt welcome and accepted and safe to be myself. this fandom came into my life in a difficult time when i was quite isolated and i will forever treasure the connections and friendships i've made through this show, whether we've never talked one on one or whether we talk every day, I'm so grateful for all of you. it's so beautiful that this silly little firefighter show has brought together so many people from so many walks of life all over the world and brought friends into my life I couldn't imagine my life without (shoutout to @nancys-braids & @fallout-mars) thank you for being a space where i feel free to be myself, even while i'm not able to be irl.

getting back into writing

in june of 2022, I wrote my first 9-1-1 lone star/tarlos fic after a long break from writing, and instantly realised how much I missed it. i'd been a bit hesitant to share the fic, but the kindness from this fandom was an incredible confidence boost. i've now written 23 lone star fics (and counting) and connected with so many people over writing, wether it be my fics or theirs and grown so much as a writer and honestly as a person in that time.

the creativity and talent of this fandom

i've never been part of a fandom as creative and talented as this one, it's been such a joy to read so many incredible fics, see so much beautiful art (from pencil drawing to digital art to anne's creative cross stitching) and watch so many great edits and so much more.

live watching/re-watching

being an international fan i can't always live watch, but the times i've been able to live watch or rewatch with friends, here, in dms or on twitter have always made the watch experience so much more enjoyable. these stories have so much more impact when you can share them communually and react together. watching the tarlos wedding live with friends on twitter will always be a cherished memory.

queer nancy being canon

this moment meant so much to me, I saw a lot of myself in nancy from the very first season, and I always saw her as queer but never expected it to be confirmed in canon, especially in such a beautifully casual way. the way this show treats queerness as something expected, and casual instead of the big dramatic reveal it so often is on television will always mean so much to me.

and finally nancymarjan

not to be dramatic but finding a community of likeminded people who understand and also love my favourite rarepair wlw ship was life changing. the fandom experience can be lonely at times as a lesbian and when shipping femslash ships and i'll be forever greatful for nancymarjan nation <3 the best part of fandom will always be sharing the things you treasure the most with people who treasure them the same way.

thank you @everlastingday @nancys-braids @welcometololaland @reyesstrand @tellmegoodbye @bonheur-cafe for the tags, I loved reading your favourite fandom memories.

open tag because i'm so late <3

[deoidesign]

For my birthday... read my webcomic! It's literally free! (Unless you want books. Those are not free)

It's beautiful, it's gentle, it's funny, they're canonically t4t and gay... And it's about time traveling vampires solving supernatural mysteries!

I've spent thousands of hours writing and drawing it, and it's really good! I'm not biased!

It's on hiatus right now and coming back in 2 months, so it's the perfect time to get caught up

[funkyplantguy]

OOH OOH, Mumbo putting the big ol' bootycheeks on the Cub billboard and then stepping back and looking at his work and feeling kinda 😳‼ about it

CACKLED OUT LOUD READING THIS ASK AND IMMEDIATELY SCREENSHOTTED IT TO SEND TO TWO OF MY FRIENDS. anyway, here's...uh...this! -

"hiya, mumbo, what doin?" "studying." "studying...what?" "cub's ass." "...i'm sorry, what?"

mumbo turned to face the avian, folding his spyglass in on itself with a clean, satisfying schwick. honestly, grian sounded much more confused about all of this than he had any right to be - it wasn't as if he didn't do the same thing with scar. arguably, what mumbo was doing (standing at a respectable distance, using his spyglass to peer into the strange labrynth cub was currently navigating) was much better than what grian did when he was bored. he was going to give scar a heart attack, one of these days, with his propensity for perching in trees and dive-bombing the man the second he stepped within range. so, really - grian had no ground to stand on, not with this. "cub's ass," he repeated, "don't act like you don't watch scar build for hours just on the off-chance that he'll take his shirt off" "that's different," grian grumbled, swinging so that he was hanging upside-down off of the branch he'd previously been perched on. "we've been together for years. it'd be weird if i didn't want to see him naked. cub, on the other hand...i didn't know you liked him like that." "oh, i don't," mumbo dismissed (ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat in his chest at the suggestion), "i'm just bored. and someone needs to finish that sign you put up." "sign?" grian asked, peering owlishly at him. "which...oh, the one in the shopping district?" "mmhm. i should have known you wouldn't do the back - but no fuss, i'll handle it." "i...the back? mumbo, what do you mean? it's a billboard, it doesn't need a back." mumbo chuckled lightly to himself, sliding the spyglass into the pocket of his slacks. ah, grian - always skirting around the issue at hand. typical. "i - hey, don't walk away from me - what do you mean, it needs a back? what are you going to add to it? mumbo? mumbo?" a few hours later, grian had his answer. and mumbo could tell that he was impressed (if the wide, round eyes and gaping mouth mumbo was met with as he glided down from the back of the sign meant anything). scar, on the other hand... "no way!" the shirtless man shrieked, from where he was sprawled out on the grass next to his partner. "you gave him an ass! you gave cub an ass! this is great! oh - mumbo, you've really outdone yourself with this one." "mumbo," grian interjected, glaring down at scar with a look that screamed don't encourage him! "what the fuck." "what do you mean? the sign needed a back. i added one. it's simple, really." "oh man. grian - grian, this guy's down so bad. it's so funny - i should tell cub. i should tell cub - can i tell cub? please? please can i tell cub?" "no, scar, you cannot tell cub - mumbo. mumbo, are you sure you don't fancy cub? i mean...you just spent two hours recreating his ass, for goodness sake!" mumbo hummed to himself, turning to survey the sign behind him and...oh, goodness, he'd given cub a bbl. did cub's ass really look like that? it had to - he'd studied it for hours, diligently, so he could get it just right...maybe he'd remembered it incorrectly? maybe he'd need to go back to the source to examine it just a bit further...

oh. oh.

yeah, okay. maybe he understood where grian was coming from. "hey guys - oh, hey, mumbo. did you...is that an ass?" "yes." "huh. nice. good job." "thanks, cub."

[lastoneout]

Listen we didn't get cannon marinler and that's okay for many reasons one of which is those two idiots having the SAME job means working together and/or butting heads all day every day and with their dynamic + Having To Deal With Captain Jack Ransom, The Most Annoying Man In The Galaxy on top of it?? I give it a month before they're hate/stress fucking, and then like maybe six before it's just regular fucking. @ the writers, it's okay, I was paying attention, I understand your vision.

This is legit marinler christmas to me like oh my god. I can get 500 fics out of this easy. Them working together that close, sharing a job title, sitting on the bridge together, WHILE DEALING WITH RANSOM?? This is best possible outcome. The humor potential alone. Oh my god I can just hear them bitching about everything together, yes give me the petty, pointless conflict it's one of my favorite things about them!!

Sometimes things that are canon are worse and this is, in fact, one of those times. This version of Mariner and Boimler?? I can't stop grinning. They're gonna fucking kill each other <3

[mightysen]

your gyjo christmas comic is the best thing ive ever seen keep it up youre the GOAT🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Thank you anon, I will keep going strong!! Have some more Gyjo. 💪

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the writing prompts;

19. For luck - Rom and Leeta

"And then," Bashir was saying - though in truth, Rom was paying only half attention, far too busy thinking about Leeta - "she came right up to me, and kissed me on the lips!"

"Oh, she did, did she?" Chief O'Brien said, scoffing good-naturedly.

"It's true!" Bashir insisted, though he didn't look insulted by the Chief's doubt. He was smiling into his glass, seeming quite delighted by the disbelieving frown on O'Brien's face.

Rom didn't quite understand what was supposed to be so 'unbelievable' about the story. In fact - "It seems pretty believable to me," he said. "Doctor Bashir's always kissing beautiful women." (Including, at one point, Leeta - though not anymore, Rom thought with some pleasure.)

"Yes, but this one was out of his league," the Chief said, batting his hand playfully across the table.

Bashir just smiled bashfully, ignoring the swipe. "Ah, well. You're right about that. She wasn't really interested in me after all. Turns out, she'd just misconstrued the human concept of a 'good luck kiss'".

"Ohh! A 'good luck kiss'!" Rom said eagerly. Then, after a pause, "Uh, what's a 'good luck kiss'?"

The Chief sat back, idly crossing his arms. "Well, it's pretty much exactly what it sounds like. It's a kiss that you give someone to wish them luck."

"Oh," Rom said, considering that. Luck was always a good thing to have. Perhaps... "Oh! Leeta!" He stood, sending his chair clattering backwards. "I'll be back!" he shouted, then raced from Quark's bar, ignoring his brother's parting shout out dismay.

He needed to find Leeta.

--

"Leeta! Waaaait!" Rom hollered, shuffling through the crowded promenade as quickly as he could manage, chasing after her familiar voice. "Leeta! I need to give you something!"

This would be easier, he thought, if Bajorans could hear as well as Ferengi could.

But, at last, Leeta stopped, turning to find him. "Rom? Rom, what's the matt-"

The rest of her sentence trailed off into a hum as Rom reached up, pulling her down to plant a kiss square on her lips. One of her hands cupped Rom's cheek, soft. Rom didn't really know how long a 'good luck kiss' was supposed to last for - he really should have gotten more details before running off (for example, does it need tongue? Bashir never specified.) - but he thought that this should satisfy it.

He pulled away, grinning toothily up at his wife. "Hi, Leeta," he said.

She smiled down at him, cheeks flushed and lovely as always. "Hi, Rom. What was that for?" she asked, looking bemused and delighted.

"It's a kiss," Rom said, perhaps unnecessarily. "For luck," he added. "It's a hoo-man tradition!"

"For luck? Rom," she asked, laughing, "what are you wishing me luck for?"

Rom blinked. "Uhhh... For your day?"

Leeta beamed at him, and then leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Well, I think it worked. I do feel pretty lucky now."

Rom grinned. "Me, too."

--

(also if anyone else wants to make a request, the ask game is here. i can't promise they'll get done as quick or be as long as this one is, though!)

[good-to-drive]

Abuse, Silence, And Why Kevin Can Fuck Himself

I recently finished watching Kevin Can Fuck Himself on Netflix, and, aside from being the most brutally honest portrayal of domestic abuse I have ever seen, I discovered a beautifully written examination of narrative as power and silence as abuse and how this manifests in our larger culture. 

Without going into too much detail, the show is filmed in two distinct styles that are interleaved throughout each episode to tell a cohesive story. Allison and Kevin’s relationship as seen by the rest of the world is told through a multi-cam, laugh-track sitcom that depicts a very typical “goofy husband, shrewish wife” mainstream comedy. Allison’s life through her own eyes is told through a single-cam drama/thriller about Allison planning to murder Kevin to escape his abuse. 

It’s an absolute masterclass in screenwriting, but more than that, every episode explores the difference between truth, fact, and reality, and how none of these things are quite as much or as little as story. But while the process of transforming the chaotic and plotless reality of life into a story is as involuntary and essential as breathing, misogyny and the degradation of women is just as ubiquitous in our society, and a story that exists at the expense of another person’s lived reality is a refutation of their humanity. 

It's also just a great show for anyone who likes to engage with history (or reality TV or true crime or “real life stories” in general), because while we have to tell ourselves stories about her own lives, we have to tell ourselves stories about other people as well. Eternal silence is narrative death, and the perpetual silence of an unspoken narrative is often the last death we can visit on someone whose story we’d rather ignore. 

I also pulled up some books – Lolita and Disgrace – that dealt with similar themes, but from the perspective of the abuser. And what strikes me the most is that, across three beautifully written stories about narrative and silence within a culture that normalizes abuse, Allison, who began her story within a state of narrative death, was the only point-of-view character who had any chance of surviving. 

One of the main themes of Kevin is that a compelling story is often a story that reinforces what we already believe or like to believe, and while the story may be factual and true it often also exists at the expense of someone's lived reality. The exact same series of events can be a silly joke or a harrowing tale of abuse depending on the lens through which we view it, but historically we've only been willing to see the multicam, laugh track, sitcom perspective on unbalanced relationships.

The alchemical process of turning a series of disjoint facts and experiences into a narrative creates something new and compelling, and erases much of what previously existed. In this way, it’s entirely irreversible. We spin our experiences into a very thin thread, a story we can tell ourselves that elicits something within us, something we need in order to live with the complex, uncertain, and unsatisfying reality of life. In think in many ways the thing we elicit in ourselves is truth. But truth is both more and less than fact, often more a reflection of our own beliefs and desires than the events of our lives. And in telling that truth we may never stray from the facts, but we almost by definition cannot give voice to another person’s reality.

There's a scene in season 2 of Kevin when Allison is hit by a door – a la the classic excuse – because of Kevin’s carelessness. And while he absolutely did not hit her, the way it's written is such an incredible allegory for how Kevin has curated their story and curated their friends' and family’s perceptions of their story such that even if she tells everyone the exact, unvarnished truth of what's happening to her and begs for help, they will only be capable of seeing the laugh-track, sitcom, “Kevin is a harmless goofball and his wife is a total shrew” perspective on the events of their lives. 

As so often happens with abuse, their friends and family saw Allison being hurt because of Kevin. But the alchemy of creating a narrative around Kevin and Allison is irreversible, and the series of events they witness can only be spun together to a joke, an accident, a silly, childish mistake. Allison’s reality, Allison’s pain and fear, is completely elided. Like a lost sound in the middle of a sentence, her experience goes silent, and their larger understanding of her relationship never has to change. And you feel so acutely how Allison lives her entire life in that silence. 

Storytelling is human, it’s essential, there’s no other way to engage with our own lives. And it’s not lying. It’s never lying to tell the truth. But it doesn’t reflect every reality, either, because another person’s reality can’t be reflected within our own narrative, because that’s what it means to be another person. To spin two different threads.

And because narrative is the essential process by which we understand our reality, denying someone their own narrative, or denying that this narrative be heard, is inherently abusive. To allow someone a voice is to give them humanity, and to suppress it is to strip that humanity away. 

Disgrace, by J.M. Coetzee, follows the story of a professor, David, who rapes a student and then fails to protect his daughter, Lucy, from being raped by intruders in their home. He destroys his daughter’s life  – not through failing to protect her, but through twisting her rape into a story about why the rape of his student wasn’t wrong. The main theme of the book is generally considered to be exploitation, but Coetzee doesn’t deal with the exploitation of the rape. That’s too direct, too immediate, too easy for the reader to understand as misogynistic and wrong. Rather, Coetzee delves into “the innocuous-seeming use of another person to fill one's gentler emotional needs” (Ruden).

The rape is how we understand David as a fundamentally exploitative person, a person who denies others their humanity by converting them into a vessel for his own desires, who erases their voice in order to speak through them and give himself the things he needs. And that’s how we recognize that the way he absorbs and claims the stories of his daughter and his student is another kind of violation of their humanity. Another way of turning women into vessels for men’s pain and fear and need. 

What’s fascinating is that David's student finds her voice – files a complaint against him – and is eventually able to continue with her life. The woman he raped is less damaged by him than his own daughter, because she was the woman he couldn’t permanently silence. 

In Lolita, another brilliant novel about abuse, dehumanization, and storytelling, Humbert turns to the reader at the end and says, “Imagine us, reader, for we don’t really exist if you don’t.” 

It’s not that Humbert knew he was fictional, but that he knew everyone was fictional. Believed the entire world only truly existed in his own mind, because anything beyond that was irrelevant to his needs. He coped with the collapse of his ability to dehumanize Dolores (who he called Lolita) by demanding that his voice be resurrected. Demanding immortality. Demanding his narrative exist in another person’s world, and thereby be given the existence and humanity that Allison and Dolores and Lucy and David’s student were denied. 

Pushing his needs, finally, onto the reader, because we are the only person he has left, and a person like him can only exist through the use of another. In that way, Humbert was powerless. In that way, Kevin and David were powerless, too.

In Disgrace, David’s dream is to write an opera, and at the end of the book he realizes he’ll never finish his magnum opus. He’ll never be able to terminate the process of converting himself, his world, into a story. But he does learn to decenter himself in that narrative. And it’s when he loses all fear of death, and any conception of the self, that he gains the ability to give dogs – who he generally equates to women – a voice within his opera, his life’s work. 

It’s in death that we discover our true unimportance as human beings, that we learn to let go of vanity and our conception of the self entirely. And David had degraded women so thoroughly in order to justify how he used them to meet his own emotional needs that it was only in losing all value for his own life that he could gain the ability to see them as equal voices. To actually put those voices into his own life story. It's at the cost of himself that he allows other people to truly exist, in the death of the self that he finally allows the world to exist outside of himself. It’s almost a positive character arc. Almost.

When Kevin finally loses the ability to abuse Allison, he, like many abusers, loses all desire to live. His world was built on a structure of superiority and inferiority, on beings and vessels, on the inherent value of men and the inherent meaninglessness of women’s lives. The system on which he based his entire reality has been destroyed by Allison’s declaration of the self. And, if he was a being because she was a vessel, then in losing the ability to treat her as a vessel, to fully and completely dehumanize her, he has lost his own humanity. 

It may be perfectly summed up here: “Become major. Live like a hero. That's what the classics teach us. Be a main character. Otherwise, what is life for?” (Coetzee).

If you’re not to be a main character, if there indeed is no split between major and minor characters, between people and the paper dolls that populate their story, between living beings and the vessels into which they pour their need – what is life for?

Nothing. At least, not for people whose narrative must exist at the expense of another. 

And that’s why I say that only a narrator like Allison could survive this kind of story. Despite beginning her story trapped in eternal silence, her reality fully elided no matter how immediate and obvious it became, Allison was the only point-of-view character of any of these three stories who didn’t establish her power through the degradation of another. Who didn’t conceptualize the world via being and vessels. Whose narrative didn’t exist, by necessity, at the expense of another person’s humanity. Whose thread could exist in a larger tapestry without destroying her sense of self.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s not generally a likable character. She’s misogynistic, cruel, selfish, jealous, desperate, afraid, and in pain. Like anyone in an abusive relationship, she’s not at her best, and she’s often pushed to do things that are ugly and disturbing because she’s simply been pushed too far. 

But, for me, the power in her character is in how her last scene never felt like a final scene. Her story didn’t have to be killed, her conception of the self didn’t have to be killed, in order to reveal the brutal reality of stories twisting and intertwining without any inherently superior truth or narrative among them. Allison’s story was one of declaring herself. And that’s why it didn’t feel like it ended at the end. Instead, this felt like a beginning.

[lukazade]

I saw this super goofy looking whiskey glass and decided I needed Jason to give it to Harvey as a joke (Harvey thinks it's dumb, but he does take it out sometimes to use when he's having a rough one.)

[regulusrules]

I should get a life, but have I mentioned that the ides of march is the next act in MBARBYC?

[queen-of-obsessing]

“He is my friend,” Bilbo said, simply. In his mind, he had no argument greater than that, and Thranduil chuckled at his earnestness. “The dwarven king goes mad and threatens to throw you off a parapet and yet here you stand, calling him ‘friend’.” He leaned back in his seat. “Forgive me if I do not believe you.” “You don’t have to believe me; you need only trust that I know Thorin’s character. He is worthy, he deserves a second chance.”

Chapter Two of my Hobbit fix-it fic has been uploaded!

[renirae]

FABLEHAVEN MOVIE IS REAL??? oh my god that is my FAVOURITE book series. please god I hope it ends up being good <3

(I'm keeping my expectations very low of course lmao, I've been burned wayyy too many times by bad movie adaptations. but honestly I'll just be happy if it brings more people into reading the book series!!

other than one or two things (*cough cough the horrific disaster of Brackendra cough cough*) it's such a SEVERELY underrated series and one of the only childhood favourites of mine that has actually held up enough that I enjoy rereading it to this day!!!) (also hands-down the best inclusion of indigenous peoples into worldbuilding that I've ever seen, which is really cool!!)

[cbk1000]

Honestly, getting anonymous hate on tumblr.com over The Book of Merthur is so bizarre. It's such a niche, nerdy thing to get upset about. It's a nearly 700k paeon to Arthurian mythology and a show that ended 12 years ago. It feels like someone found my dissertation in a dusty library stack and then emailed me several all-caps rants about it.

[wolfythewitch]

If. At any point. You see me make ocs and a story/comic/animation/whatever that looks a LOT similar to my old sbi zombie au. You look away. You don't say a word

[bralnwashed]

Would you love me now?

Wolfstar - 914 words - no warnings

Based on the song 'Would you love my now' by Joshua Bassett I actually think this might be my best work ever. I'm really proud of this one, so I hope you enjoy it.

And I still got the Converse that I wore the day we met I'm running out of reasons not to do it all again, so If I showed up at your doorstep, would you turn me away? Oh Or would you care to see a stranger whose eyes are still the same? Oh Take me or leave me, I'm going home But I'd rather be going your way, so Would you love me now? Take me back to when we were young again, darling Would you love me now? After everything, would you let me in and love me now?

Here Sirius stands, a shabby doormat beneath his feet "Beware of werewolf" written on it that they had found at some shop before Halloween years ago, thinking it funny and bringing it home. 

The door in front of him was all too familiar. He's entered this door so many times, he hadn't ever stood on this doorstep and knocked, as he did now.

A letter in his pocket, marked with this address burnt a hole into his chest. It should have been posted ages ago, yet it, and he, stood here on this doorstep he had stood on hundreds of times before. 

His hand raised to knock, hovering in the air for a second, he didn't realize how much he was shaking until now. 

Taking in a shaky breath, he knocks on the door, imagining the warm brown walls and pictures covering seventy per cent of the walls, the rug covering the carpet in the living room, where Sirius had spilt his drink the first night there and they had never gotten the stain out. 

Those walls were probably stripped of the pictures now, all memories of those days thrown out.

This had been a spit decision, he wasn't thinking clearly, too wrapped up in the thought of warm hazel eyes and golden brown hair and that letter in his pocket. 

Somehow he had left his beige, bland apartment, the only decorations being his keys sitting discarded on the table inside the door and cluttered counters.

Now he was here, he was knocking on the door, he was listening to footsteps making their way to him. 

Was he breathing? 

There was the lock clicking undone, and the door handle turning. 

There were those hazel eyes and that honey-colored hair. 

 Those were the same eyes he laughed with when they were young, when they were standing inside the door, instead of on the threshold, when they were smiling, not staring. 

He didn't know what he expected, standing here in the middle of the day, with a letter in his hand of all their unfinished conversations, from when they were fighting, not staring. 

Sirius knew what the letter said, he had it almost memorised. 

Somehow everything felt the same, even though they were strangers now. 

His eyes dropped down to the worn Converse on his feet, the same ones he had worn all those years ago, saying they were for luck when he had been questioned why he kept them. 

He had always been one for words, never being the one silent, but now, he couldn't do anything but reach into his pocket and pull out the letter, the envelope wrinkled from being taken out and read so many times, so many things added, so many apologies and so much love. 

He kept waiting to be thrown out, to open his eyes and be back in his sad little apartment again, rereading the letter for the thousandth time, wishing that this moment was real. 

He watched as those soft hands came up and took the letter from him. They had always been so gentle, back when they were holding Sirius, not his letter. 

He watches as that letter is pulled from its home, and read, he hopes for the last time ever. 

He watches confusion, and understanding, and hope, and determination, and happiness. 

"Would you love me now?" That's what the last line of the letter says, Remus reads it out loud. 

His voice is soft, like when he would read his books aloud back then. 

"Would you love me now?" Is what Sirius says, his voice full of those dreaded bits of hope he had never been able to lose. 

When Remus grins at him he's reminded of all those years ago, blinded by how it makes him feel so safe and something reminiscent of being lost at sea, waves crashing into your boat, and seeing an island in the distance calling to you. 

Oh, how he wishes Remus would call to him, bring him back to dry land. 

When Remus reaches out and pulls Sirius in, he knows he's found his island. 

"Oh, Sirius" He didn't notice the strain in his voice till now "I missed you so much" 

That little bit of hope he couldn't seem to shake seemingly overflowing now, he felt warm all over. 

All consuming, that's what Remus had always been, filling the cold dark caves with light and warmth. 

Now those soft hands were holding him, and those hazel eyes were looking at him, and that honey-brown hair still felt just as soft under his face. 

Nothing could have pulled them apart, not the rough pulling and pushing of the tides, not the fiercest of storms, as they stood there on the threshold of that apartment, the threshold of something new. 

As they stood there, clinging to each other, eyes wet, laughter once again filling those walls as they giggled with giddiness like returning from years at sea. 

Remus dragged them back through that door once again, Sirius trailing behind pinching himself as if this were a dream he would yet again wake up from, tired and alone in the dead of night, blankets thrown to the sides, bed empty except for him. 

 Remus sat them on the couch, Remus with his hands in Sirius's hair, Remus with his face resting in the space on Sirius's shoulder, Remus with his lips pressed to his cheek, Remus's arms pulled so tightly around him it all came back to him now.  

The letter was discarded somewhere, finally, not making it through the door. Leaving the threshold crossed, Sirius wouldn't knock on that door again. 

They didn't need words or letters or longing anymore.