#its okay we can be in shambles together

[finnleyandsillys]

Hey yall

Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate

even if you dont its always good to remind yourself what your thankful for in life

I'd make a list for yall but it would expose me in ways that id never come back from.

make sure to eat food and drink lots of water and take care! Get some rest if you need it

take care and be safe yall! 🫂

[mymegrokosmos]

a little soft bf minghao brainrot bc i felt like it. super era shoulder injury hao.

you set your bags down on the counter, dropping your keys by the front door and going to put your things away. by the time you've shrugged out of your jacket, hung it up in the front closet and put your purse in its usual spot on the credenza table in the hallway you're ready to melt into the sofa but there's still more to do before you can relax.

when you get to the kitchen, halfway through tying your hair up out of your face, you find yourself smiling. the familiar sight of your boyfriend's back, clad in his usual leisure attire of grey sleeveless top that leaves just a hint of his shoulders visible, peeks out of the fridge. he's already started putting the groceries away before anything gets too warm. just when you think your fondness for him can’t melt your heart any more than it already has he leans back to look at you from around the door and his soft smile has your heart in shambles.

if it’s possible to become one with the floor you're doing it. you've become a puddle. his shaggy mullet is in disarray, fluffy from where he's run his hands through it, and his face is bare. his usually sharp eyes are framed by big round glasses, softening his gaze as he closes the fridge in favour of coming over to press a kiss to your forehead.

"hi darling, welcome home. how was your day?"

you'd think after all this time you'd be used to how tall he was but it was still always a bit of a surprise just how much he towered over you up close. you sighed, letting him pull you into a hug and sliding your arms around his slim waist.

"hi. it was okay, very long."

he chuckles and you close your eyes, head resting against his chest. you're careful to lay it against the side of his good shoulder, nuzzling against the soft cotton of his shirt as his hand comes up to rest against the back of your head.

"i'm glad to finally be home. what did you get up to today handsome?"

the hand on your waist squeezes lightly and he holds you close for a minute before stepping back with another kiss to the top of your head.

"physio this morning again and then practice, even though I can't do a lot of the choreo yet they still need me for blocking when I can make it. mingyu came by earlier and dropped off some hotpot. why don't you go get into something more comfortable and we can talk about it over dinner?"

sometimes there was nothing better than coming home to everything already being taken care of. you know he misses being at work but being home more means minghao needs things to do. his physiotherapist also says that getting some movement in is good for his progress, so he's been taking care of household chores and spending a lot more time meditating lately to keep himself busy.

the members have been helping when they can. mingyu comes by or gets your boyfriend out of the house at least three times a week now. jun's often over in his free time to run lines with hao or catch up on the latest cdrama you're watching together. you think joshua has even dragged him out to a pottery class or two in their spare time. it's been good for him and the rest is doing him good, even if it makes him a little bit restless sometimes.

you nod. "i'll be right back. do you need me to help with anything?"

"no, just relax and leave the day at the office jagiya."

easier said than done but minghao always made you feel less guilty about sticking by work life balance and keeping them mostly separate. it's also been fun spending more time cooking together, he's good in the kitchen just a little impatient and you're enjoying getting to try out some of his mother's recipes. she's often on video call when you get home, minghao pouting about something while she scolds him playfully or they catch up on their weeks with each other. it's sweet and you love that their relationship only seems to get stronger as time goes on.

"you're still coming to the company dinner next week with me, right?"

another soft smile as he nods. "I'll be there darling. I didn't pick us out matching outfits just to not show up. now stop worrying and go change. you're hovering again."

you are, just a little bit. it's a habit you're still trying to work your way out of. you were a little traumatized when you got the call that hao was in the hospital at first and, though you both know he's fine and capable now, the instinct to make sure he's okay still lingers a little bit.

you sigh and make a face at him. "okay, okay. I'm going."

he just chuckles as you head towards your shared bedroom. makeup and weight of the day finally removed it's time to slip into one of hao's oversized tshirts and the matching cotton pyjama pants he bought for you last christmas. it feels like a cozy day so you take the time to find your slippers too before shuffling back towards the kitchen.

you find minghao stirring a pot of what seems to be mingyu's latest attempt at comfort food and slip your arms around his waist from behind, face pressed lightly against his warm back.

"smells good."

he hums in agreement, hand patting yours where it rests on his stomach. "I think he made enough to feed about seven more people than we currently have in the apartment."

you laugh and lean around him to peek at the food over his arm. "gyu probably plans to use it as an excuse to come over for lunch tomorrow or something. oh no guess you need someone else to help you eat it all."

that makes your boyfriend scoff. "why would he do that when he can just say he wants to come over? he knows where we live."

you kiss his bicep and move to get down some bowls for you both. "because he's kim mingyu and you're you myungho."

your boyfriend stops to look at you, blinking as he pauses his stirring. "I'm still not seeing your point love."

"you know how you don't like when people get too presumptuous about you?" you smile softly. "I wouldn't say he's intimidated because gyu knows you love him but... sometimes he's a little insecure and sometimes you can be a little cold."

he considers this. "he's never let that stop him before."

you smile and let him guide you, one hand on your hip as you slide between him and the pot on the stove to fill your bowls.

"and he won't, I don't think, because at the end of the day he knows that it isn't that you don't like his affection you just don't always know what to do with it and it needs time to process. but I think, and maybe this is just my take, he sometimes worries a little about intruding too much. especially now that you have a relationship outside of just your family and the members and your other friends."

it's quiet for a minute as he takes that in. you dish up hot pot for both of you and take the bowls over to your small dining table. minghao slowly follows behind, face impassive. you'd worry that you upset him but you know that expression. it's not anger or annoyance, he's just lost in thought. you take his hand, press a kiss to the back of it, and watch as he blinks back into the present.

"think about it all you need but let's eat first. like I said, maybe I'm just reading too much into it. maybe he has other reasons. we can finish that new drama and call him later if you want."

your boyfriend nods and joins you at the table, filling you in on his day. you can tell he's only half present but that's okay. by the time you finish and wash up he seems to have come to a decision.

"love?"

"yes myungho?"

he scrunches his nose. "try again please darling."

you laugh but the arms he crosses over his chest tell you he's serious. you smile softly, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

"yes, seo myungho great love of my life and most wondrous of boyfriends?"

he snorts. "closer but still not correct."

"baobei?"

he blinks. "close enough."

you laugh and brush a hand over his cheek, melting a little when he leans into the touch and takes your hand in his.

"you know I'm only teasing you, right?"

he nods. "I do."

you lace your fingers and press a kiss to the back of his hand. "what did you want to say honey?"

"do you mind if mingyu comes over tomorrow? I know it's your day off."

"babe, this is your apartment too."

minghao sighs. you know that look. the exasperated 'are you being serious right now?' stare. you smile.

"no, I don't mind if gyu comes over. just maybe warn me beforehand so I can make sure I have pants and a bra on this time."

that makes him smile, just a little, even as he rolls his eyes at you.

"come help me with my skincare?"

"only if you let me use the good stuff."

"mm we can even wear those matching headbands you like."

"lead the way love."

sometimes all you need after a long day is xu minghao ready with a hot meal, a long hug and a silly fuzzy frog headband keeping the bangs out of his face as he applies 6 layers of different creams to your face.

[ssparksflyy]

hii, this is my first time requesting and I’m not very good with English, so I’m a bit nervous but, I read the Leo Valdez x daughter of Athena and I loved it! So could I request for some general headcanons for Leo Valdez x daughter of Athena? Totally okay if you don’t have time or anything!

thank you so much 💗💗🥰

ask and thou shall receive ༉‧₊˚.

leo valdez dating hcs ! ° ༘⋆₊˚ෆ

pairing: leo valdez x daughter of athena!reader warning(s): none!! a/n: hii! tysm for requesting! i hope u enjoyed this, i love writing leo w a child of athena cause i can finally talk abt his smarts !!

nerd alert!!

its ok tho cause you guys are always able to help each other out when u have an issue with wtv ur working on

leo asks u for advice and ur opinions whenever hes working on a project

i feel like leo would be popular bcs he's a mf social butterfly

which means he knows everything abt everyone

that's why his hair is so big, its full of secrets

so while ur mapping out a plan for the next capture the flag game, you'll ask him if he thinks your plan could work based on how well people know each other

like ur not gonna put 2 ppl with beef by each other, cause then they'll end up fighting each other and not focus on the game

yk? yk.

ur smarts definitely compliment each other, and ut always trying to learn more about each other's interests

leo's definitely picked up some books in ancient greek about battle techniques and architecture

as have you on mechanical engineering

sometimes at the end of the day, when ur laying on the couch in bunker nine together, he'll ask you questions on architecture, just to hear u talk about things ur passionate about

he just loves seeing ur eyes light up and adores the way you practically talk with your hands as well

call me maybe crazy

but

athena would actually kinda like him ?!

she doesnt appreciate his constant jokes

but she thinks hes smart ( bcs he is ) and knows he makes u happy

hephaestus also rlly likes you

he likes anybody who shows his kids love lowkey

which means he likes you extra

if u were ever to get married, leo would 100% make your engagment ring, but hephaestus would me the one who would make you two the most beautiful wedding rings

its his way of showing he cares as a father

all of cabin 9 loves you

i feel like cabin 6 and 9 (omg 69) were already good friends, so they were ecstatic when they heard their fav mfs finally got together

i feel like in the flirting era it was a lot of spending time together, but just being unable to confess your feelings

now you still spend a bunch of time together, but dont rely on longing glaces and lingering touches

leo is the touchiest mf we all know this

but when u touch him?? the boy is in shambles

this sound a little strange but i promise i dont mean it like that

like yea he loves holding ur hand and kissing your knuckles

but when you kiss his knuckles?? hes a flustered mess

when he cups your cheek and you kiss the palm of his hand, he goes craaazzzyyyy

bouncing off the walls nd everything

he loves it when you tell him random little facts nd shit

ur literally his google

his go-to when he has a question

hes super proud of his smart gf ok ??

leo and percy actually get closer when you start dating

cause now they can both obsessively talk abt their genius gfs

and theyve evolved from the "my gf is smarter" "no my gf is smarter" fights

you and annabeth used to find their fights funny tho

annabeth is literally so supportive :))

she trusts leo and knows he makes you happy and has also obvi noticed how u light up his world

she still plays a semi-protective big sister role

like if shes leo getting a little to close, she'll shoot him one of her warning looks, and he'll move a little further away

but other than that she literally loves u guys :)

morse code is used quite often with you two

especially at night, when you dont want to break the comfortable silence, so you tap messages onto each other's backs.

or when your in a crowded room

or when your talking shit

before you met leo, you had only known a little bit of morse code but as you became closer, he taught you more nd more ♡

he loves it when you read to him

ur like his personal podcast

when you finsh reading a book together, u both write reviews about the book and have them all in a little notebook ♡

leo is for sure the type of guy to take pictures of you 24/7, 365

he has his all time favs taped up by his bunk in cabin nine and ofc has some of his bulletin board in bunker nine

he has the rest saved in a box, along with a bunch of other trinkets from dates u went on :))

you have a box like this yourself, filled with pictures of him, trinkets, and metal flowers he's made you ♡♡

oh and you for sure have a spot

you stumbled acrosss it while on your way to bunker nine and showed it to leo immediately

its a small clearing in the trees, where the sun shines through the leaves, and theres a small patch of flowers ♡

u have most of ur dates there, it ur special little place

leo is literally ur most perfect scholar bf fr ♡

a/n pt.2 : heyyy, i hope u enjoyed these hcs!! im trying out hair rollers overnight rn so its a little hard 2 lay down but we will manage! also heres a leo x child of athena moodboard that i did for my event :) anyway, have a good day/night!!

peace from manhattan,

percy jackson ♡

[writingoddess1125]

The Sunset Pirates pt. 1

Old Men Series Masterlist <<<

Support ne on Ko-Fi ☕️ Helps me make more stories

"Hey I wanted to say something-" Vivian said calmly, the doubt of Alucares words eating into her, Dee raising a brow and nodding in wanting to hear her out. "Shoot-"

• The new shamble crew had been at sea for a few months and truthfully getting along quite well.

• While Vivian still seemed to dislike Alucare the two were civil with each other- Vivian mostly becoming good friends with the twins, especially Dee who had turned into a great friend for her.

• Bee and Alucare had become overnight friends it seemed- Alucare was calm and collected while Bee was a wreck yet the two of them seemed to mix well.

• The crew had fallen into their rolls it seemed as well- Dee acted as a Captian and Navigator, Vivian the Gunner, Alucare the Sword and Bee who was the Explosive expert and General Blacksmith.

• Was it odd? Of course! However they all seemed to work well together and got along great

•For the most part-

"Huh- I never noticed till now" Alucare mumbled as he looked to Vivian who glared at him-

"What?" She snapped, the dark haired teen rolling his eyes-

"You're the only girl here-" He said with a shrug, Taking another bite from his breakfast still half asleep as he ate. Vivian raising an eyebrow at him saying this-

"It's just weird- we need another on the crew to help balance it and make sure it's not weird... No two" He grumbled sipping the burnt coffee as he dozed off.

While Alucare was talking about number of crew mates needing for the ship to not be run weird so two addional people were needed and genuinely didn't mean anything by his words forgetting about them 5 minutes later; Vivians mind was running on overdrive. Was it weird? She was on a crew with 3 guys and the only female- What if they thought their relationship was more then she thought?- What if they expected something from her?

These thoughts circled her mind as anxiety build in her chest the rest of that morning- Even when she went to hang out with Dee.

"Are you okay?.." Dee asked, the two seated next to each other.

A bit hesitantly she rubbed the back of her neck "You do realize we are friends right?.. I don't like you in a romantic way and want to misinterpret our friendship as romantic in anyway" She said as calmly as possible. Dee making a slight choking noise in surprise before chuckling softly.

"Couple of things wrong with that sentence- me being friends with you doesn't constitute me having a crush on you, my brother liking you doesn't mean I have to like you- we are twins but still separate people and lastly you aren't my type-" Dee said calmly and with smile.

Vivian blinked in surprise at several parts of that. First that Bee liked her- second was the utter take down of the illusion she had for him and last was the 'Type'.

Dee nodded at seeing her confusion and gestured to his head the side, Vivian following the motion to Alucare to the left training on the decks....

Wait..

.... Ding Ding Ding! 🏳️‍🌈

"You like guys?" Vivian said in shock and Dee nodded calmly at this. Watching the red head flush in embrassment "I-I am so sorry I didn't know- You never said anything"

"Why does that need to be something I promote? My private interest doesn't need to be involved with what I do as a pirate" He pointed out.

•"...Holy shit I'm a asshole I'm so sorry-" Vivian admitted with a heavy sigh. Dee smiled at this and patted her shoulder.

"It's kinda something that has to be learned since so many people have many different ways of promoting their Sexuality. So it's fine, I can understand the confusion and its forgiven" He reassured, always willing to forgive especially since he was sure she was mentally beating herself up anyway.

"Yeah... I shouldn't have assumed- I'm defiently going to punch Alucare after this.." Vi said with an embarrassed sigh. Dee raised a brow at Vivians words, The red head explaining that Alucare had brought some level of worry of her being the only girl on the ship-

Dee rolling his eyes "Give him one for me too... By the way you dont have to worry about me or Bee, Me for odvious reasons and Bee wont cause he respects women too much and would never stoop so low- It may not seem like it but he is a huge Mamas boy and wouldnt do anything to disappoint our mother or our father in such a way"

Bonus:

"Hey Luffy! Look at this!" Usopp called out, smiling as he rushed to Luffy who was on the deck eating away at some breakfast.

The rest of the crew who had been out and about on the desk. Being the crew of an Emperor of the Sea and King of the pirates had been amazing, the flush of food laid before them all as they all chatted and joked.

They all paused at Usopp running to them with the newspaper and new bounties- Laying them all on the table. Luffy pausing mid bite as he saw Vivian, a grin stretching over his cheeks as he proudly looked at her bounty.

The rest of the crew reading the paper of how they bested the Vice-Admiral Beckman and got away from the Marine Vessel.

"That kid must be related to Mihawk- Look at his eyes.. Gold Gaze" Zoro hummed as he stared at a younger copy of his mentors face in the paper, Others agreeing at this.

"Woah! Is that the Twins that Buggy had?" Sanji said as he remembered the two little squirts from before- Nami nodding in agreement and gushing at remembering how adorable they were then and how cute they are now.

"Who would have thought it would go full circle?" Jinbe muttered, having heard the stories of their parents having sailed together. Two of which were Emperors of the sea and the other a Legend of the sword- Now their child in a crew together.

"Welp!- Sounds like we have to head to the East Blue!" Luffy proclaimed as he jumped up. The crew looking at him confused-

"What for?" Franky asked, Seeing Luffy grin at them all.

"Drop off a Gift- Just like a promised" He said with a smile.

[pinkydee10]

On the hate Puppet train let's also not forget she's also the one who put the heat on Nexus and Eclipse to bring back Solar, that while Nexus's family told him they wouldn't blame him if he couldn't bring Solar back and they'd be okay if he couldn't, Puppet's the one in Nexus's face like "how are you bringing him back? find a solution" and "you're going to bring him back", same with Eclipse And Puppet slowed Solar's reconstruction in the machine to keep Eclipse there too

I almost completely forgot about that!

Sure Sun brought up bringing Solar back once or twice but it was always to comfort Nexus. And he wasn’t even putting pressure on him. “We can bring him back.”

Puppet? It was “Bring him back for me” like she has anything to do with this

Sure, if it wasn’t for Puppet, Eclipse might’ve not considered bringing Solar back. But 1; Frank did almost the exact same thing soon after Puppet. And 2; Eclipse started his friendship with Earth soon afterwards so even if Puppet didn’t do squat, Eclipse most likely would’ve done it anyway.

Eclipse even said it himself he just wanted to prove superiority to Moon.

Also, if Puppet forced Eclipse to work with Monty, why couldn’t she have forced Nexus and Eclipse to work together? Would’ve solved a whole lotta problems since Eclipse was already deep in his “they wouldn’t believe me” mindset.

And don’t get me started on how Puppet prevented Eclipse from completing the very thing she originally badgered him to do because she needed his help to fix a situation she caused.

“Oh but Gemini said it would be ok!” Puppet, you’ve said yourself that you have weird inter-dimensional powers. Even if you didn’t, anyone with half a brain could tell you something is going to go wrong. Pretty sure both Monty and Moon were skeptical but you were oh so confident on how your old dimension had to be the one you dumped a load of negative star power in

It wasn’t even fully dead! It was just in shambles! From what we’ve heard about dead dimensions before, this was clearly one where it was on its way to destruction. It’s like when corrupt doctors mark a still alive patient for organ harvesting

*inhale* Thank you for this rant tangent!

[demonictumble]

fic rec list (1/??? )

this is a fic recommendation list for whomever wants a good read. All of these are on AO3. I have not provided links, so just search them up!

If you do end up reading any of these, or really any fic in general, remember to leave the author comments!! They deserve them, esp because they do this for free and they deserve to know how beautiful their writing is and how appreciated they are.

My PSA: COMMENT ON FICS AND DONT TAKE AUTHORS FOR GRANTED

DC..

IMPORTANT NOTE I am not a religious fan where I only like a fic when it adheres to canon characterization or texts. I can enjoy fics even when they completely throw off what's actually canon and that's okay for me, but it might not be for you. So just keep this in mind and the back button exists for a reason if you don't like something.

Buy Back the Secrets by Sundiscus (incomplete)

Tim Drake and Kon El centered!! OH MY GODS. I could rave on and on about this fic all day but I'll have to keep it brief. I've reread at LEAST 5 times. It's brilliant. The writing, the plot, the characterizations!! They are incredible. If I had to use a phrase to describe it, it would be "identity shenanigans and timkon" but that simplifies the absolute masterpiece that it is SO MUCH

Executive Assistant to the Batman by heartslogos (complete)

Tim is basically Bruce Wayne's assistant and is desperately trying to avoid letting them know that he knows. This is complete crack, but it is hilarious. The writing is so funny and It's what I need after a bad day or anything tbh. It may not be completely true to characters or whatever, but it makes up for it a thousand times over in spirit and the laughs it's produced from me.

anything (not the title because literally ANYTHING) by IzzyMRDB

I can rave about them all day because the dc/batfam fics I have seen them right are all so delicious and I devoured them far too fast and momggg its just so good. and I love their writing style <3

Reverse Robin AU by yellow_cabellero (complete)

I CANNOT DO THIS SERIES JUSTICE WITH MY WORDS. IT is a must read for me. The writer writes spectacularly and the characterization, even though its a reverse robin, feels on point, especially considering the circumstances (Im a huge believer in circumstances shape a person's personality, which is what I think occurs beautifully in all of these fics). They're just so GOOD.

Also this author has a STEPH FIC that is stunning. 10/10. Steph is a character that doesn't get the appreciation she deserves, so this fic was especially more touching for me. It was terrific seeing her girl bossing in the 90s (IT ALSO FELT SO PERIOD ACCURATE CAN WE TALK ABOUT THAT). Not to mention, the author shows off character flaws in a believable manner and nobody is a Mary Sue and it's just EVERYUTHING IS JUST *chefs kiss* by them.

The Fishbowl by LordLuxury (complete)

This is Dick Grayson centered. THEY HAVE MADE A MASTERPIECE. I genuinely mean it. Dick is constantly trying to pull the family together, he is trying to be the glue as everything tries to go the opposite. LET THIS MAN HAVE HIS FAMILY. This had me in shambles. Bad Dad Bruce hurt me, but it was just so realistic. That's what gets me. The whole dynamics portrayed in The Fishbowl are so goddamn realistic and it feels so real. Everyone is flawed in their own way and its just... PLEASE READ IT I BEG OF YOU.

Love and Bruises by Acin_Grayson and Hoebiwan (complete)

Despite what the title may suggest, this is actually funny! Jason thinks Batman is abusing Bruce. And I just remember dying of laughter as I read this. Terrific! Would read and Will read again

Marvel (I am a movies fan so most if not all fics I recommend from here on out will be probably based on movies!)

Tennessee Outreach for Spider-Man and Friends by ciaconna

GREAT FIC. Harley (potato gun kid in one of the iron man movies for those who don't remember) gets an internship with Tony stark for college application reasons and its to help Spiderman. Peter Parker and Harley whateverhislastname is such a funny duo and they made the fic spectacular. Terrific writing omg.

Peter and the Jailbirds by beautifullights

I THINK THIS FIC HURT ME. I don't really remember much bc its been a year and a half, but I think my emotions remember because I feel mildly sad when I think about it. Peter is on the raft and bonds with the ex-avengers also on the raft. The premise of a teenager possibly spending the rest of his life in prison is terrible, but I swear this fic has funny moments and the conversations that occur are to die for because the WRITING. WHEW.

O Brother, Where Art Thou? by theskeptileptic

Tony survives and it's set after No Way Home. Where I'm pretty sure the only people dead are May and Pepper. Morgan saves the day by remembering her big brother (Im a sucker for big brother Peter arc). Peter is kind of a mini Tony in this one I think, which is such an interesting take. And it's such a coming home story and its just so beautiful.

Cross Overs:

Even Heroes Have the Right To Dream by Bounemr (complete)

mlb/dc crossover!! where marinate and Jon are retired superhero and go to college together! Great writing and plot with a good ending. Fluffy for the most part as far I as I can remember (it's been a year since I've read it so you know it's good if I can still remember)

Hired Hands by neighborhood_yogurt (incomplete)

Percy Jackson/ DC crossover!! It's been a while since I've read this one too but It's stuck with me. It's hilarious and I need to reread it but Percy is accidentally on Penguin's payroll because he's just a dumb blonde at heart, but it's okay we all love him. And Shenanigans occur. I don't remember exactly what happens so reminder to read this again for myself as well!

(IDK if any of these authors have tumblrs, if they do, someone please tag them and I will forever be in your debt)

[akai-shuchichi]

Together - a Jayvik oneshot

A short oneshot packed with references to the ending of Arcane and the series as a whole, something I wanted to write as a comfort piece after how deeply it left me in shambles. Naturally, it contains strong implications that Viktor is asexual—because, despite what Christian Linke might think, we asexuals fall in love too (eat my ass Linke). I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

-------------------------------------------------------

With one of the worst headaches he could ever remember having, Viktor opened his eyes to find himself staring directly at a perfectly clear sky. His memories, still blurry, struggled to remind him of what had happened before he lost consciousness, but the pain caused by his choices was so great that he unconsciously rejected those persistent attempts to recall.

Once his vision returned, along with his sense of touch, he realized he was lying on a field rich with flowers and plants. As his hearing sharpened, he recognized the songs of various birds breaking the silence that had preceded his fall. Finally, as his sense of smell returned, he took a deep breath, savoring the pure air offered by the natural surroundings.

One scent stood out from the rest, and its impact made him realize that his left hand wasn’t touching the same surface as his right. With some trepidation and his body still numb, Viktor turned his gaze toward the person lying beside him.

Seeing Jayce’s figure, serene and calm, with his hand firmly grasping Viktor’s own, made Viktor’s heart skip a beat. Anxiously, he bolted upright from the ground as countless memories flooded his mind, now unstoppable, gripped by the terror of seeing his... *friend* in this state.

Though his head threatened to unbalance him, Viktor’s focus was clear: he needed to know Jayce was okay, and that was all that mattered right now, regardless of his physical or mental state. He turned his body completely, propped his elbow on the ground, and brought his free hand to caress Jayce’s cheek and neck, murmuring his name with a delicacy intended not to frighten him. When this didn’t work, he increased his tone, finally adding light taps on Jayce’s left cheek, hoping his body would respond to the stimuli.

All the while, he never let go of Jayce’s hand.

Jayce’s first response to the stimulation was to open his eyes and sit up abruptly, colliding his forehead with Viktor’s chin. Viktor recoiled in pain, his hand flying to the sore spot to rub it gently. Disoriented, much like Viktor had been moments ago, Jayce didn’t hesitate to throw himself into the Zaunite’s arms, hugging him as though Viktor were the most precious thing in his life.

And indeed, he was. He always had been.

“Viktor! Viktor, you’re alive... You have no idea how happy I am to see my partner back!”

Not long ago, Viktor had finally started to feel comfortable with physical contact—though only when Jayce initiated it—and Jayce now seemed to be taking full advantage of that. Given the circumstances, Viktor could only return the embrace with as much eagerness as Jayce had begun it, letting a single tear fall. That tear opened the floodgates, unleashing hundreds more, signaling the end of the tension that had gripped him at the fear of losing his partner.

Jayce, unsure how to interpret the reaction, broke the embrace and raised his hand to wipe away Viktor’s warring tears. The affectionate, non-judgmental look Jayce gave him caused Viktor to lower his head and hunch his shoulders, now paralyzed by fear, shrinking under his companion’s mercy. Hoping to stop Viktor from dwelling on the past, Jayce lifted his chin, forcing him to maintain eye contact, and let out a soft sigh before speaking.

“Viktor, listen to me. What’s done is done. There’s no point in blaming yourself for something we’ve already resolved together. I can feel it—you’re back to being the Viktor I remember. That Viktor who was so dedicated to his work, spending hours upon hours without sleeping or eating, and whom I had to bring a makeshift sandwich to at midnight.”

Jayce followed the statement with a laugh and a gentle squeeze of their still-clasped hands. Softened by the recent confession, Viktor responded with a playful punch to Jayce’s chest. It was that gesture that made him realize his body had returned to its natural state, devoid of any trace of Hextech. Raising his hand to the sky to shield it from the sun, he murmured.

“I can’t explain what’s happened, but it seems we’re in a world where Hextech hasn’t been created yet. The explosion must have acted as a Hexportal, transporting us somewhere far from home… I’m sorry for pulling you away from Mel, Jayce.”

“As far as I remember, I’m old enough to make my own decisions! And I made one when I chose to stay with you, Viktor.”

Those words sent a pleasant warmth through Viktor’s body but also reminded him that he wasn’t ready to talk about his feelings. He’d always thought his emotions for Jayce were obvious to everyone, including him, but he didn’t feel deserving of reciprocation for reasons too numerous to count.

Naturally, Jayce took the lead, being the first to stand and finally breaking the union of their hands. He observed how they were only covered by a pair of dirty tunics and noted nothing around them except trees and nature.

“Ah… It looks like we’ll have to walk a bit to figure out what to expect from this place. Give me a moment; I’ll be right back.”

Instinctively, Jayce moved to help Viktor up but realized it wouldn’t be effective as Viktor lacked an essential tool. In his absence, Viktor sat and hugged his knees, lowering his gaze to trace the ground with his index finger. He didn’t have to wait long, as Jayce soon returned with a functional crutch made from sturdy tree branches.

“Phew! Took some effort to smooth the edges with a rock so you wouldn’t get hurt. Here, let me help you.”

With surprising ease, Jayce helped Viktor stand and then gave him space, observing how Viktor managed to move on his own. Together, albeit in silence, they walked for several minutes until they came across a village that seemed peaceful and vibrant with social activity.

Jayce’s kindness earned them fresh fruit and some food. His greatest success, however, was convincing a merchant to trade clothes for a future favor. Now clothed and fed, they set out to explore the area and, with luck, find a place to spend the night.

Unsuccessful in their search, they ended up in an abandoned factory, wrapped in the tunics they had awakened in for extra warmth. Tired, Jayce sat beside Viktor, glancing at him shyly.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today. Is there something I can do to help?”

“No, Jayce… You already do so much for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“It’s never too much if it’s for you.”

Jayce blurted the words before Viktor could finish, preventing the Zaunite from feeling guilty for accepting help. Seizing the moment of progress in their bond, Jayce leaned back, resting his head and part of his torso on Viktor’s legs. Through shattered remnants of what seemed like a mirror, scattered across the floor, Viktor saw the scene they found themselves in, illuminated by moonlight streaming through the upper windows of the building.

With trembling hands and uncertainty about his actions, Viktor placed his hand on Jayce’s hair, gently ruffling it. Jayce responded to the touch by sitting up and meeting Viktor’s gaze, the moonlight softly highlighting his face.

With some hesitation, Jayce drew closer, raising his hand to caress Viktor’s cheek before closing the distance between them with a warm kiss. At first, Viktor hesitated, unfamiliar with the sensation, but he soon reciprocated, mimicking Jayce’s movements.

Once they both felt at ease, Jayce deepened the kiss, tilting his head and using his tongue, while Viktor’s hand unconsciously climbed Jayce’s arm to grip it. Pleased with the progression, Jayce broke the kiss, trailing smaller kisses along Viktor’s chin, jaw, and neck, leaving Viktor blushing and bewildered.

Jayce laughed at Viktor’s reaction before throwing himself into his arms, lying atop him. They pulled the warm tunics over themselves, their combined warmth a perfect comfort.

“We’ll make it through this together, I promise. And I never break my promises.”

As they had awakened—together, hands intertwined—the two lovers fell asleep, indifferent to their surroundings. The presence of the other was all they needed.

THE END

[lollytea]

I love your idea of super pda huntlow bc it goes nicely with the idea of “very behind the doors, make sure no one is watching, send the palismen to play, if someone catches us it’s all over” kind of kisses I think they had in the human realm. Of course, it’s not a shame from each other but the guilt of like “hey this isn’t the time for this, we need to focus and be the strong ones bc if we fall apart then everyone else does too” but also “we’re teens and titan help me bc you’re literally the cutest person I’ve ever been attracted to and a quick peck won’t hurt if no one finds out���.

Hahaaaaa how I so badly love that trope that's like

"We shouldn't"

"I know....but I'd like to..."

"....okay."

Love to put it in a fic at some point. Maybe soon.

I don't imagine a lot of romantic intimacy happened between them while they were in the Human Realm. At least not outside of flirting. Nothing physical is what I'm saying. Mostly because of the body language of the pinky scene. Its such a tentative, scared, inexperienced offer of affection that it leads me to believe that they never would have done anything more than that before.

HOWEVER I still see your visions. I love entertaining visions. And this is a very fun vision to entertain.

I think the two of them are dealing with their situation in very different ways. It's shown in TTT that Hunter seems to take a bit of guilt in focusing on anything that's not relevant to getting them back home, and worse, actually enjoying it. How can he have fun at a time like this, know? That's his mindset.

Meanwhile Willow seems to be focusing very heavily on her own distractions so she doesn't fall apart, and also keeping the calm, fun, goofy optimistic atmosphere so her friends don't fall into the depths of despair.

Hunter is a nice distraction. He's very sweet and very pretty. And when she's feeling rattled from nightmares of her Dads' dead bodies, she likes to sit with Hunter and listen to him talk about whatever silly shit he's obsessed with this week. It's a lot healthier than sneaking some of Camila's wine.

Hunter is picking up on some signals from Willow but he's too scared to ask her upfront if she's doing what he thinks she's doing. It would be mortifying if she said no. And since they live in the same house, he wouldn't be able to hide.

But he's pretty sure she wants to kiss him. And he's pretty sure he wants to kiss her too. But if he did, his focus on their current mission would be in shambles.

But also he's like...very weak willed when it comes to Willow. It doesn't take much prodding. The moment she asks ("Can I kiss you? Sorry...that came out of nowhere. You just look very kissable right now") all of his walls crumble and he's silently nodding.

Just a little kiss. That's all it is. It's not like it's all that important.

Even tho they can NOT let anybody else know.

I like thoughts about the two oldest characters who do everything in their power to be safe, comforting figures to the others, just having a moment to be young and scared together.

[nehswritesstuffs]

HEART PIRATES WEEK 2024 - Part 9 of 9

I told myself last year that I was going to participate in Heart Pirates Week this year, and by thunder I'm going to participate in Heart Pirates Week!

Day Nine: Law - Tattoos and/or Fantasy AU

794 words; this also might become something else later; I wonder how many of us Same Brained this prompt bc it’s, like, perfect (I did not look at what others did to spoil myself); warnings for this one is basically just mild language

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Room.”

Law closed his eyes as he felt magic course through him, making his hair stand on-end. Once opened, he saw that his opponents were pissing their breeches, knowing that they messed up. So much for what looked like an easy target—a lone man on a deserted forest road��if only they noticed the magic sigils inked onto his body earlier…

“This is your last chance,” he smirked. “Now what’s it gonna be?”

“Tch; I can’t have some prissy pretty-boy get the better of me,” the bandit leader growled. He was trying to keep a brave face, even though none of his men were even close to bothering. From the looks of their own bags, whomever were their first targets of the day were too soft and useless and rich for him to be no less than the month’s biggest regret. “Any last words before we kill you?”

Ha; wasn’t even convincing.

“Shambles.”

Law’s tattoos glowed blue and chaos broke free. A twitch of his fingers and his opponents were tossed about in wee bits, screaming obscenities as they realized they were all still alive.

“Now!” Penguin shouted, just out of sight. The Heart Bandits all popped into view, grabbing the others’ things and running off before anyone could realize what was going on. Law stuck the leader’s arms on either side of his head and let the abomination drop to the ground.

“Good luck getting back together,” he chuckled. The bandit only was able to open his mouth before he vanished, having used his ability to pop himself down the road.

“It looks like a good haul today!” Shachi grinned. “They go down okay?”

“Like always,” Law replied. The Hearts all ran back to where the rest of their half of the crew was waiting with the horses, Law putting everyone in the saddles instantly and the ten-strong group all galloped off.

It was a couple hours’ ride, but eventually they made it to their current hideout. The group was greeted by the rest of the Hearts, with everyone but Bepo grabbing the haul and beginning to go through it.

“You didn’t go in by yourself again, did you?” Bepo asked as he led Penguin and Shachi’s horses into the paddock. Law disengaged from his mount and tied the horse up next to its trough, not answering. “You did! Law! You shouldn’t do that so often! You’re going to overdo it one day!”

“You worry too much,” Law insisted. Bepo simply frowned, the pair in uncomfortable silence until Ikkaku came over and took charge of the paddock.

“Hey, there’s something interesting you need to see in the loot,” she said, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. Law took that as an opportunity to escape, but Bepo did not let him off easy, following him back into the main of the encampment.

“I keep on warning you!” the bear pouted. “You keep going into these raids by yourself and you’re going to bite off more than you can chew!”

“Relax,” Law shrugged. “The rest of the crew wasn’t far behind. Besides, if it was that much, then we’d be screwed no matter what.”

“Captain…!”

“Come with us next time if you’re so scared.”

“Then who will guard camp?”

“They’re not useless.”

“Yeah, I know that…” Bepo trailed off as they approached Uni and Clione as they were going through the loot they’d gotten from the other bandits. There was something about it that felt… off. “What’cha got there?”

“Solid gold from the looks of it,” Clione claimed. He held out what looked like a weight measurement—a shiny golden bell. “I can’t make some of it out; must be from a place outside of the North.”

“I can see exactly where the rest came from,” Law said gravely. He took a coin Uni was holding out and looked at it in the late afternoon sunlight. “Dressrosa.”

“The one and the same,” Uni confirmed. He then presented what looked like a gem-encrusted bracelet. “This has a mark from a smith in Spider Miles; definitely all related somehow.”

“Maybe it means we beat up some of his lackeys?” Bepo wondered. “Joker’s network is spread far as well as deep.”

“It’s possible,” Law agreed. “Where’s Jean Bart? Does he have the new spellbook deciphered?”

“He’s working on it,” Clione shrugged. “We only got that thing two days ago—you want him to translate it, not work a miracle.”

“If Joker’s men are here, then that means that we need something a lot more spectacular than a miracle,” Law stated. He felt as though he would jump out of his skin; Doflamingo was close and he had the means. This could be it…

…only for a familiar cackle to cut through the air.

Oh, shit.

Straw Hat.

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

Okay alright part 2 ive seen now. I think i can start to scribble down some rambly thoughts. Spoilers for Oceanic Magica against the volcanic witches part 1 and 2.

So this is going in a very different direction than I was expecting. First chapter, I wasn’t a big fan of this whole oceanic and volcanic witches segregation thing. Thought it was quite silly and that it made the witch part of the universe feel less diverse. Now my stupid ass is realizing that’s exactly the point.

So world of ice is currently more of a fantasy political drama. The world of the witches is divided between two parties that already don’t get along well which each other. They try their best to cooperate and make the magic world inhabitable and not destroy their entire system, but as we saw in the court of law in chapter one, it’s difficult. Both sides are screaming at each other during a legal session, can you imagine how their political debates are??

Their legal system is in shambles, as we saw when they tried to prosecute Magica and Grilla. The judges are 2 people, both incredibly biased to their own side, trying to make every session come out in their own favor. Magica literally gets a lighter sentence because she personally knows one of the judges.

The tensions between sea and volcanic witches are pretty high throughout their entire society (it seems they just get out more in court. Kinda like with football in our world), as we see in the second chapter as well. When the 7-2 volcanic witches arrive at Roberta’s (LETS GOOO BTW ROBERTA GOATED why is she so tall though) house and a bunch of sea witches arrive to help her, they immediately grab the chance to insinuate negative assumptions about them. And to make it even more clear, we have our villain proclaiming everything is going according to plan. Like it wasn’t obvious enough.

So let me lay it down ever more obviously. Basically it’s: witch society= two party system that doesn’t work. Bad guy is trying to stir up as much polarization as possible by framing two people from both factions as having committed a terrible crime. Those two people are Magica and Grilla fugitive lovers running away together trying to bring justice to the table and fix society. The whole ice world thing is just a metaphor for problems that we refuse to solve because we’d rather make the other look bad than working together.

So thats the basic gist of it for now. Im especially curious to see how Enna will handle it at the end. Now lets talk about the other fun stuff.

Grilla and Magica are still gay

Some nice character moments that are probably set ups for later (like how magica completely changes character the moment she sees the number one dime. Great scene now that i looked at it again)

Of course it’s not all politics. We also have a lot of great action sequences. And its still a MAGIC society in which this stuff is happening, and its all delightful.

AND ROBERTA KSKSBEKSKSM For some reason Facciotto made her like twice Magica’s height. Look at this.

They used to be the same height now magica has to stand on a stone WHAT DID THEY FEED HER

But I like Roberta she’s a sea witch which eh we’ll see how that turns out. Interesting that she has a whole island for herself. I thought she was more of a traveler. But nothing actually matters except for the fact that shes here and i love her.

Irma is in the magic equivalent of Coral Island. (OR IS SHE??? Oooooohh mysterious who is the figure walkinga round in her house then?) She looks like Juniper from pkna. I guess prison just makes you look younger. I’m gonna sit in a cell for a few weeks and see if my skin has gotten nicer.

The prison looks cool. I wouldn’t mind if it’s gonna be the main setpiece for next week. It honestly looks more interesting than Coral Island already but that could also be recensy bias.

Scrooge is a huge dick which is fun. Feels very Barks. Magica’s line to him: “I’m not a good person, but I would never want to get rich by profiting off a dying world”(very loose translation but thats the general vibe) is great. I’m not expecting anything special with him (he’a just a side character here after all), and you already know when he comes back he will have realized what is right and use what he got for good, but it’s still a nice classic Scrooge thing. It’s at least not DT17 or Rosa Scrooge. I’m sorry I love Gervasio but I’ve just seen too much Rosa Scrooge lately, so this is nice.

Have we talked about Facciotto yet? I feel like I have but I forgot. Doesnt matter because Facciotto deserves all the praise he can get. This is 100% his best work yet. Every single panel looks absolutely stunning. Feels like a completely different art style compared to like 10 years ago. New Facciotto begins here guys.

His designs for the new ocean witches are great too. Character wise i don’t really care that much, same with the volcanic witches. They kind of all blend together except for obvs Grilla.

So that was weekly rambly magica thoughts from me. Remember to ocean your witches okay love you bye

[willows-adventures-in-words]

So, I realized that this one could technically be connected to the Emotional Angst prompt I wrote. Since there was a line in that one about Geoff losing Kathy and, well...

Whumptober prompts Alt. no.11: Survivor's Guilt word count: 670

~-~-~

There were too many. They were swarmed. He'd been careful. But he'd lost track of her. She screamed. He shouted. “Kath,” Geoff gasped awake. His heart pounded. The sound of her screams echoed in his mind. If only he'd been closer to her. If they would have let him go to her. Though realistically he knew, now, that it would have already been too late. But that didn't stop the thoughts. The guilt. There was so much that he could have done differently.

Maybe he should just get up. Geoff knew he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep. And if by chance he did he'd probably just dream about it happening all over again. Asleep or awake, it didn't matter. His mind will continue to ruminate over it. As it was doing now.

Slowly he sat up and looked around to see who was awake. He spotted Layne sleeping close by. His mind played out the memories again. Of his friend pulling him away as Geoff shouted at him to let him go. Of punching him in the face once they'd escaped the hoard of zombies and then breaking down shortly after. Geoff realized he was grateful it wasn't Layne that was up. He didn't have the energy or will to deal with him right now. Even though he'd already acknowledged with himself that he couldn't blame Layne for saving him. Since, in the end, that's what he did. But it was all still too recent.

As he turned away from his friend, Geoff spotted Eli sitting a short distance away. He picked up his duffel, which he'd used as an uncomfortable pillow, and got up. Careful not to wake up the others, he made his way over. Eli looked up, slightly startled, then his expression softened. Lifting his hand he brought a finger to his lips before motioning to Geoff to sit down next to him. After he did, Eli leaned over and whispered, “One by the road.”

Geoff stared through the trees towards the road. Then he saw it. A single zombie. Just lingering. Geoff watched, weary. Every so often it twitched. Then, suddenly, it just started its shambling walk farther down the road.

They remained quiet for a moment longer. Then Geoff let out a breath. This was their life now, wasn't it? The hopelessness of it started to settle over him. Life is never going to go back to normal. And, if somehow it did, it wouldn't for him. It never would be for him again. “Geoff?” Geoff blinked a couple times, bringing his focus back to the present.

“I'm fine...”

He was far from fine. He was the furthest away possible from fine. Eli knew this. And he knew the others knew it too. But no one knew how to help. How can you comfort someone who, not only had their entire life flipped upside down, but lost their family in such a horrendous way? Though they tried. In small ways. “... Do you want to get some more rest?” But Geoff just shook his head.

There was silence between them. And they just sat together for a short while. But when Eli tried to hide a yawn, Geoff told him to go to sleep. “I'm awake anyway.”

Eli hesitated, but ended up thanking him and getting up. He stopped, however, when he turned to go. Resting a hand on Geoff's shoulder, he spoke. “Geoff. I... We need you to know that we're here for you. Okay? Please don't forget that.” When he didn't respond, Eli stepped away to find a spot to lay down to try to sleep.

The grip on his duffel tightened. He swallowed. Then let out a breath. His grip lightened and he moved the bag next to him. Pulling up his knees, and rested his arms over them, he laid his head down on his arms. There was nothing they could do for this unbearable pain and guilt that he felt.

[canonically47]

canonically47.tumblr.com/post/742593997706559488

this one

okay well total drama has a LOT of obvious mistakes and most of them come from the time in which it was written and published and the rushed season of only 13 instead of 26 episodes starting with ROTI

i also feel like they treat their characters and ships very badly, making them go right back where they started if they ever get any growth, which rarely happens. or their development is too sudden and not believable. priya, max, scarlett, that mini-arc shasmine had about splitting the money, aleheather in TDWT, prileb in TD 2024...

i rewatched ROTI and the girls were mistreated horribly. what can you expect from a season where the finalists are two guys? dakota’s internal issues were never discussed further than a funny haha moment when dawn read her aura, dawn never got to do anything for her team and her elimination was rushed, jo’s internalized mysoginy was a haha joke and never adressed properly, zoey had a whole villain-and-back-to-hero arc and STILL didn’t make finale???

also i hate when they introduce some groups and never further develop them, or develop them very little. lindsay, beth and ezekiel could’ve been an ICONIC trio. i miss leshawna and gwen’s friendship so much, and same goes for bowie and emma. jo and brick had so much potential to become allies or at least frenemies, amy and sammy were not handled well, THE E-SCOPE TRIO!!! i’m in shambles

so if i wrote TDI i’d just give the characters some proper development, more moments to shine, more fun relationships with the others. this show is based on its characters, they’re the stars!! so why not make them shine instead of burn??

gen 1 is too much work to rewrite but i’d keep TDI about the same except have a leshawna vs gwen finale, with leshawna as a ‘canon’ winner. TDA would have a harold vs lindsay finale with harold as the ‘official’ winner.

in TDWT i’d cut the duncney-gwuncan arc, make duncan never come back cuz fuck that guy, gwourtney wins. sierra gets better development. noah makes merge and fulfills his schemer role, constantly sabotaging alejandro. they become frenemies. aleheather still wins and goes to finale. alejandro doesn’t get the robot costume and we don’t hear from him again until TDAS.

for ROTI, would make jo a proper antagonist and make her butt heads with scott when the merge happened. my final six for ROTI would be scott, jo, zoey, brick, lightning and anne maria. yes, brick and anne maria, you read that right.

i still think scott shouldn’t make finale, and jo only if she got development. so maybe the merge could happen just two episodes earlier to get more stuff out of them, so the merge would include cameron and mike. scott would go before jo, and jo would be left to fend for herself after scott got cameron eliminated. this is where i would make her develop a friendship with anne maria and brick. get zoey in there and you have the anti-scott alliance. they get him out (NO TRAUMA CHAIR NEEDED, HE WILL BE FINE) and then lightning, then the girls unite against brick. sorry man.

the finale would be between two of the girls, i’d like to see jomaria or joey fight, jo needs that development. the one who gets out previously is an insta-elimination and not decided by the others.

and voilá! jo gets development and some healthy friendships! her and brick could also get together but maybe in another season. this season is for her alone to shine, she deserves it.

oh, and that’s the main thing about ROTI - i’d give them two more seasons. they deserve a WT-esque season.

i’d completely rewrite TDPI. make rodney first diss when the girls are disgusted by him (and also shit him cuz fuck him), dave an earlier boot, get beardo like third or fourth cuz i wanna see more of him, give scarlett a proper character arc instead of a rushed one throughout just one episode, make max a bit smarter and let him become a ‘hero’ rather than a villain he wants to be by rescuing everyone from scarlett since he knows her weaknesses best...

my ideal final five are shawn, jasmine, max, topher and ella. also my five favorites so no wonder. i’ll explain their arcs.

topher - 5th: shawn and jasmine, as well as max and ella, become duos after the scarlett incident (maybe it happens earlier?), and topher is outside of any alliance. plus he was getting kinda annoying, not to mention he gave chris too many ideas for challenges. damn it, topher!

ella - 4th: when she is forbidden from singing, she still goes behind chris’ back and does it, only that she intercepts sugar’s note and burns it. sugar is an earlier boot than originally because ella realizes she just hates her guts and she’s trying to befriend her for nothing. when ella stops singing, she puts her head in the game more than usual, but her refusal to hurt animals and serenade them instead gets her out eventually, by chris, not by the others.

max - 3rd: with no alliance and a softer spot than usual, he gets out at his own, last challenge.

finale: shawn vs jasmine

the same conflict about splitting the money, only that it comes earlier and is developed more. for one, chris shows jasmine the confessionals right after max’s voting ceremony.

shawn’s helper ends up being ella, but she’s been watching from playa des losers and is unhappy with how shawn treated jasmine. meanwhile, max is jasmine’s helper. max and jasmine sabotage shawn, ella doesn’t help him, but then when max and ella are given the controls for the island, they both realize the gravity of what they’ve done when they see shawn and jasmine buried in snow.

both jasmine and shawn get an ending. in both endings, jasmine gets out of the snow, doesn’t pay attention to the finish line, and goes to search for shawn, who pops out in confusion. the two have a heart-to-heart interrupted by chris to announce the race is still happening, and they have ten seconds left. in shawn’s ending, jasmine just nods to him and he crosses; in jasmine’s ending, shawn insists she crosses. pretty similar endings, the outcome is about the same, but i like to think jasmine’s is the ‘canon’ one.

and then they get another season!

so, our seasons are...

gen 1 - 3 seasons: total drama island, total drama action, total drama world tour

gen 2 - 3 seasons: total drama revenge of the island, total drama retour, total drama cruise or lose

gen 3 - 2 seasons: total drama pahkitew island, total drama reaction

gen 1 x gen 2 x gen 3: total drama all stars

TDAS would include eight contestants of each generation. gen 1 gets heather, alejandro, owen, noah, gwen, courtney, sierra, and leshawna. gen 2 gets jo, anne maria, zoey, mike, brick, cameron, lightning and scott. gen 3 gets shawn, jasmine, topher, max, ella, sugar, sammy and scarlett.

and then for the reboot i’d just make bowie win for the first season. the second season would have more development.

emma and bowie become friends again. mkulia become reluctant allies but still dislike each other. eventually they warm up to each other tho 👀. ripaxel also happens over the course of more episodes. couples butt heads - mkulia, rajbow and ripaxel - but mkulia dominate the game. short ripaxel-mkulia alliance in which they get out prileb (who have a better development trust), wayne and bowie.

damien gets to keep his immunity idol but doesn’t need to use it until the final five: axel, julia, mk, damien and raj. the girls unite against him, but he and raj voted for julia, so you can imagine mk is unhappy, but damien wins immunity. yikes.

so finale time is damien, raj and axel. everyone gets an ending, but damien is the ‘canon’ winner because HE DESERVED IT COME ON.

[tobiasdrake]

This is it. The final story of Rain Code: Chapter Yakou.

AND IT'S POST-GAME OKAY LET'S GO. We're not here to tell a story about Yakou. We're here to tell a story about Feral Yakou.

Hold up, is Yakou's wife here?

When was she murdered? Was it before or after the Blank Week? Huesca and Yomi were doing their espionage for five years, and the Blank Week was three years ago. So it could go either way.

Oh man. I hope she's here. Yakou and his wife can form a hunting duo and spend the rest of their feral days (eternity or however long until a cure can be devised) hunting Huesca and murdering him together over and over again.

We get to control his shambling. This is great. Wonder if we'll get to hang out with any of the other ferals?

Yakou's being psychologically attacked by Yuma's recent visit. What is going through his head? Something is happening to him physiologically; You can tell because his body started smoking from this memory.

I hope he's healing. If Yakou can recover from being feral then that will mean there's hope for the others. Most importantly the Theater Girls + Aiko.

A memory from before he went feral! He still has his memories! Which. I suppose. Was obvious from the way he had enough presence of mind to hand that disc off to Yuma. But still!

Also, LOL Desuhiko. You died first.

I mean, you didn't. Nobody died. It was fake. But Makoto ran the numbers with his genius super-brain and the order he came up with for how things would have gone was, "Desuhiko lasts five seconds. Because obviously." And he was right.

Are all of these glimpses from the side stories? Because Fubuki never interacted with Yakou during hers, so she might get snubbed here. We should probably--

--watch where we're going instead of musing about Halara and Fubuki. Look, stairs are hard when you're barely even conscious.

Deeper into Umbrella Labs we go. Now that I think about it, Yakou's wife might not be a homunculus. She could just as easily be a ghost. If she did die before the Blank Week, she would have died in this lab, not the decoy Restricted Area that Makoto tried to pass off as this place.

Of course, if she was a ghost, you'd think she'd seek out the company of the human Yakou's ghost, rather than his homunculus. I dunno.

Aww, there's Bestie. This was from his final moments.

Oh wow, check out that detail on her choker. It's a set of VCR buttons. That's amazing. I never noticed that before.

Yakou. Yakou. You need to return to full sentience. Your best pal needs you. Yakou!

There she is! The woman from the photo! I don't remember if we know her name or not but it's her! The second-most important relationship Yakou has, after Vivia!

...to me, I mean. Important to me. I am invested in exactly two relationships in Yakou's life, and this is one of them.

So what's the verdict, lady? Ghost, homunculus, or feral hallucination?

Not an answer! In what form are you waiting? I want to know!

Man, I don't even know what this chapter is going to be like. How do you wring an entire chapter of story out of this? Is she here to provide Yakou solace in his feral time? To heal him? What is plot?

OH APPARENTLY THAT'S HOW. We're in for a full-on examination of Yakou and his wife's history, I guess.

Oh wow, Yakou does not look good in broad daylight. Bright light brings out the dazed bewilderment in his resting expression.

Is the WDO not writing their checks? This is two years before Kanai Ward became an isolated city-state.

The sad thing is, people actually believe stuff like that. There's this weird trust that some people have for corporations like Disney or Walmart. It's a product of hierarchical ways of thinking.

There is an idea that's been around for the whole of human history, that some people are simply better than us and that a society led by its superior humans will surely prosper. This idea of naturally gifted ubermensch is responsible for the Divine Right of Kings. It's responsible for a lot of gross ethnic philosophies. It thrives in our media through Chosen One narratives and the romanticization of monarchy, both of which date back thousands of years.

It's specifically what the climax of Rain Code centers on, with Makoto insisting that if he, the Greatest Intelligence, can't solve this problem then no one can. And Yuma coming in with, "Maybe you should stop being so infatuated with the idea of being the Savior Ubermensch and realize that other people's opinions and beliefs have value too."

And it emerges in the relationship that some people have with capitalism. There is an idea that the capitalists should rule because their ability to amass wealth is evidence of a superior intelligence. They hustled harder and smarter than us all because they are the Superior Man, and if we simply surrender control to them, they will use their supreme intelligence to lead us into a prosperous future.

What it amounts to in practice is clinging to the surcoat of a billionaire hoping to catch a coin that falls from his overstuffed pockets.

Man, it is wild to see Yakou as the one being talked down to for trying to do detective shit.

I wonder what ever happened to Colleague Detective. Do you think he's the Peacekeeper that Halara drowned in front of the office-sub? I'm gonna imagine he is.

Dammit, Yakou. When you're being shaken down by the mob, don't vocalize things that sound like "I'm physically vulnerable so now would be a good time!"

HEY! Not cool!

Yakou might be a heteronormative tool but he's our heteronormative tool. I was going to make a joke that I hope you were one of the guys Fubuki drowned but actually, no. I hope you used your mob connections to dodge Amaterasu's blood "tests".

The nerve on this man, to politely request a payment extension from a mob boss that is actively beating the shit out of him. Yakou has no self-preservation instinct at all.

This is the face of a man bold enough to put out a hit on himself so no one would know that he poisoned himself to death. The bruised and bloody face of such a man.

[go-to-the-mirror]

headinhands

im not ready for threshold guys! im not! im really not! ive just woken up! oh god, whyyy why must i? it's not fair, it's not fair that i have to do this god damnit.

I'm in shambles and we haven't even started yet.

it's fine. it is fine. alright. lets just. go for it.

hi @a-mag-a-day, threshold time! Mostly rambling, always great words, if I tag it with meta, that means it's GREAT words. You know the drill.

I think it's really cool that this is a continuation/related to a season 1 statement. It really shows how much Jon's changed throughout the years.

He’s just a lonely old man looking for attention and trying to manipulate me into moving back in with him, even though I’ve told him so many times that that’s just not going to happen.

I just feel bad for both of them, both Paul and Marcus. How Paul's actually experiencing this, but Marcus is so... distrustful, for a good reason, that he doesn't believe Paul. That if it just happened a little sooner together then they'd have been able to help each other, but instead all they were able to do was make things worse.

Parallels to Jon and Helen or am I reading too much into it?

And I don’t like being manipulated. I don’t like being lied to.

The Spiral and The Web are pretty similar, you know. What with the whole gaslighting thing of The Spiral, make you doubt yourself, but that's also like manipulation, you know? Can I just gesture to Helen and Jon's whole thing as The Spiral also being a bit of a manipulation fear, because like... yea.

When I was thirteen, it was underneath a railway bridge. It was huge and metal this time, with solid iron bolts sealing it shut and a thick chain stretched across it. The warning stickers had long since peeled off, and someone had scrawled in chalk: ‘Warning: Danger of death.’ As I passed, something heavy began to bang on the other side, sending the chain dancing. It pounded again and again, and I didn’t know if it was trying to force its way out, or politely knocking, hoping to be let in.

Aaaa! Spooky! This statement is, yeah, it's scary, and really cool. I just nhhnhrnnh 10/10! it's so snazzy! This episode as a whole, mate, it's just great.

I was trying so hard to walk carefully, to seem like I wasn’t drunk, that I almost didn’t notice it until it was too late.

My drama teacher says that to act drunk you need to act like you aren't drunk. Like, act like you're acting like you're not drunk. You get it? I've never needed to act like I'm drunk so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

He just wants me to move back in with him, and I can’t. I just can’t. Sometimes, you just have to leave, even if what’s on the other side scares you.

A mic-drop ending again, yay! God, the way the statements end are always so cool, this is one of the most cool ones.

I never thought I’d miss those days, when I could throw out some half-baked speculation about drug abuse or mental illness and, woosh, away all the statements went.

I'm fine okay, it's fucking fine. It's so fine, I'm so fine, like so fucking fine, so much fineness in me. It's like! For Paul MacKensie, he can say that, he can say there's too much that doesn't add up, and that he wants to believe it but can't, he can fucking say that.

But he can't say that about this, he's mag 41 too deep. PODDED CAST!

AAA

But no, almost every one of those statements, those people … That poor old man. Like I can talk. Like I’m in any position to mourn the suffering of the innocent.

So, I was looking through old dms to find my reactions to threshold, and I found something, not on a first listen but here it is:

Last night I was thinking about Jon's line in threshold "Like I can talk. Like I'm in any position to mourn the suffering of the innocent," and literally crying. And thinking about how yk none of the avatars see themselves as undeserving of what they got, right, none of them. And I'm sad about that. It is not only the innocent that suffer. I have so many feelings about Mike Crew now you don't even know girls when girls when (gender neutral) they have a years long villain arc and at the end of it they can't recognize their former self This is about Jon and Mike Crew and Helen and Jude Perry and Hh

(messages to mapleejay (follow it) on the 28th December, 2022)

But there is one thing I know an awful lot better now than I did when I read his father’s statement. I know an awful lot more about doors.

FUCK DUDE YOU SURE DO!

I love him so much.

HELEN You rang? ARCHIVIST Marcus MacKenzie. Why didn’t you tell me? HELEN Is that name supposed to mean something to me? ARCHIVIST No, I suppose it wouldn’t, would it? Just an old man and his son for you to terrorise and feast on.

AAAAAAA JSWDAESDAFIJA THIS THIS ALRIGHT LIKE-

Okay, Jon's fucked up, he has fucked up, but he remembers their names, right? He remembers them. Jess Tirrell. Floyd Matharu. The others that we don't know the names of. Absolutely not proportional, Jon why the fuck did you do that, but like, hey, at least they're still people to him.

Also... "why didn't you tell me?" This implies they've been talking enough for Helen to have told him, which does make sense, actually. I have headcanons post-131. Well, post-132, when Jon's not throwing himself in a coffin, you know?

HELEN Ah, well, the son I was pursuing long before I was even Michael. And technically, I didn’t eat the old man. He passed away from terror before I even got a chance to open properly. ARCHIVIST And his son? Marcus? He was fine when I found his father’s statement two years ago, but now, suddenly, I can’t get through to him. HELEN No, I imagine not. I decided it was time to finish that game a few months ago. ARCHIVIST You… Why?

He sounds so bloody frantic, and just... oh my god just the way he's speaking, frantic and horrified, should he have known that this is what he'd get when he befriended monsters.

Aaaaa threshold <333

HELEN Not sure. I suppose Helen didn’t have quite the same attachment to him as a project. I’m not quite as much for decades-long campaigns of subtle terror these days. ARCHIVIST That’s horrible. HELEN Is it? We do what we need to do when it comes to feeding, don’t we? … Don’t we, Archivist? ARCHIVIST (Softly) Yes.

SCRATCHING AT THE WALLS HNNHHNRNHR

OH MY GODD I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAYYY IM JUST- AAAAAA SCREAMING CRYING SHAKING JON LIKE A CAT!

I had good words a while ago, again to @mapleejay

ME: To be fair the entire fandom's jon loosing their mind episodes are like the same (A Guest For Mr. Spider, Scrutiny, Can't even type scrutiny Uh the eye opens MAPLEEJAY: true ME: Feel like we as a society should be more obsessed with helen and jon MAPLEEJAY: relistening to the coming storm Again TRUEEE ME: And also whatever the hell eye contact was NO ONE TALKS ABOUT EITHER OF THEM AND HERE I AM ROTATING THEM IN MY BRAIN MAPLEEJAY: punching them beating them up /pos ME: Diversity loss! The distortion is a tory MAPLEEJAY: HAGAGDHQHD ME: But like also jokes aside oh my god them. Like hhhh - the new door where jon saw himself in helen and then helen IMMEDIATELY died - another twist where jon was about to die just like helen did and helen saved him (i actually never fucking saw- JUST LIKE HELEN DID [transcribers note: probably is drawing parallels between Jon almost dying to Michael, and Helen actually dying, and Helen being able to save Jon]) - taking stock where helen asks jon for help when SHE takes someone - threshold where JON goes to HELEN and HELEN (fuck why are they so similar) JON GOES TO HELEN BECAUSE SHE KILLED SOMEONE AND HELEN THROWS HIS VICTIMS BACK IN HIS FACE - a gravedigger's envy where theyRE BLOODY HHHHH WHY NO OK BECAUSE THE HELEN JON DAISY TRIO REFLECT OFF EACH OTHER AND I HATE THEM >:( - checking out WHICH IS IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE EPISODE WHERE MARTIN TALKS TO HIMSELF MIND AND IS LITERALLY THE MOST HONEST WE SEE HIM IN THE WHOLE SEASON LIKE NOT THAT HES LYING TO MARTIN BUT THAT HE'S NOT TRYING WITH HELEN *shaking them vigorously* fucking die

(10th January, 2023)

they. fuck them. god damnit, them <3

HELEN It would be better if you embraced it.

(MAG 146 - Threshold)

HELEN Oh Jon! This existence can be wonderful, if you just let it. ARCHIVIST (Sadly) I know.

(MAG 187 - Checking Out)

MARTIN Huh. She couldn’t help what she was, I guess. ARCHIVIST She didn’t even try.

(MAG 188 - Centre of Attention)

Jon and Helen ✨ feelings ✨

I have highlighted those specific lines together so much, like... they just fit. Throwing them at a wall.

ARCHIVIST Were you controlled? HELEN What a delightful thought. I don’t believe so, no, but the Spider’s strings are subtle, so I suppose it’s not impossible. Why? ARCHIVIST I want to know. Can The Web control another avatar, one that serves a different power? Make them do things they don’t want to. Make them find victims, feed. (Helen laughs.) HELEN Perhaps. Perhaps not. Would that make life easier for you? Are you so sure you didn’t want to? (Helen laughs again.)

[ID: CC!GoodTimesWithScar with his head in his hands. /End ID]

ARCHIVIST Been a while since you’ve all come to see me together. I assume it’s not good news.

It starts with him being all... sarcastic and stuff, and then he's like Oh Shit. Oh Fuck. Oh No.

ARCHIVIST And what exactly is on this t— Oh.

OH BOY! OH GOODIE!

oh boy...

oh boy...

BASIRA How many? ARCHIVIST Basira, I— BASIRA How many? ARCHIVIST Four. MELANIE Jesus. BASIRA Including the one on the boat? DAISY What one on the boat? ARCHIVIST Including Floyd, five. MELANIE Jesus.

Firstly, like great voice acting, all of them, all of them. Yeah... I'm not going to say the secondly :D

ARCHIVIST Jess Tirrell, the woman on the tape, she was the fourth. I’d just tried to… I was weak, ravenous. I didn’t feel… The first was a supermarket cleaner, ended up lost for a weak in an endless warehouse. I didn’t even… I just went in for some shopping and he was there and I just… asked. The second was… It was after I got stabbed by Melanie. MELANIE You are not putting this on me. ARCHIVIST No, that’s not what I meant. I was walking the streets; I thought I was trying to clear my head. DAISY But you were hunting. ARCHIVIST Apparently. And I found a woman who, every year on her birthday, wakes up in a fresh grave, just for her. DAISY And the third was after the coffin. ARCHIVIST A man rejected by all who knew him, searching ever darker places for love. When he told me his story, he started weeping maggots. BASIRA Enough. ARCHIVIST I hope so.

IM USUALLY PRETTY GOOD AT WORDING MY THOUGHTS OKAY JUST-

You know what, take a gander through annabelle--cane's tumblr, it has good words. I just sort of went through his tma tag for a while ajsjdjhfs.

BASIRA You’re a danger, Jon, a monster. You’re hurting innocent people. ARCHIVIST So did Daisy. BASIRA Shut up! It’s not the same thing at all!

Like, Basira what the fuck, she's just... she's all like oh wow daisy's better for resisting, meanwhile trying to get daisy to hunt again, enabling her when she did, making all these excuses for as to why daisy's actually better and what she did wasn't wrong and awful.

Yes, I get that that's the whole point of Daisy and Basira as characters.

BASIRA I’ll tell you all what I find. Don’t let him eat anyone’s brain while I’m gone. ARCHIVIST That’s not what I do.

HE SOUNDS LIKE HES SULKING, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

I don't have a conclusion. Shaking Jon and Helen I love them so much. I still need a jon and helen tag. Threshold (starts fucking crying)

[dallashomeremodeling]

Home Renovation Quotes Which Won’t Stop Your Laugh

There is really no spot in the world such as a home. However, a home is the true embodiment of the people who reside in it, and there should be no surprise that it’s such an excellent place for so many of us. And, for the huge majority of the individuals, the home has taken on new significance in the previous year. With much more time spent at home than ever before, it’s good to remember to be grateful for the place that’s been there for you through it all. Our home should be beautiful and comfy so that we can make memorable moments with our families and loved ones. And home renovation is the most popular option for those who want to personalize their living spaces.

According to the recent facts homeowners in the United States invests over $300 billion every year on home renovations & repairs. Some people hire professionals for the task, while others try to save money by doing it themselves. However, when you begin a DIY home renovation project, you may not complete it successfully since specific home renovation tasks require more knowledge than others.

Did you watch the movie The Money Pit, directed by Richard Benjamin and starting with Shelley Long & Tom Hanks? When you’re doing a usual DIY project, for whatever reason, you smash the hammer, miss the nail, make a hole in the ceiling, and rip your hammer out to take some wiring along, too. And then, before you know it, your bathroom renovation cost is more than a toilet paper roll?

Home renovation is difficult, and mishaps occur. We’re here to provide some happiness to assist you in getting through the distress. Continue reading to appreciate the following hilarious home renovation quotes. Place your utility belt on, as well as your protective helmet and work gloves since after reading these humorous quotes, you’ll realize you are not sole in your home renovation catastrophe. After a few good chuckles, you’ll be ready to return in there and flip this project on its head.

“Living during home renovations or repairs is like surviving in the wild, you can do whatever to endure”

Have any of you ever felt that you’ve regressed to the Stone Age? You were only attempting to renovate your kitchenette, not spark a fire for the very first time! Home renovation is wild. There is no way about it. You promptly understand about the walls beneath your walls–the planks, wiring, nails, as well as screws that hold all this together. And, in your mind, knocking down a wall here or shifting the kitchen island over there looks good and wonderful, till that wall supports a piece of your home. In the wild, you do whatsoever it needs to stay alive. It may imply that not all of the walls must be removed.

“I desire I would transform into a Sim when I think of the housework & improvements that need to be done”

Click, click, and click again. And now we’re done! How many of you have tried your hands at The Sims? When compared to real life, housework and home repairs are EASY PEASY in that game! You merely press some buttons, and there you have it! Work is in progress. Wait a few moments, then walk down to your fridge, prepare some hot cocoa, pop some popcorn, and return to BOOM. The project is completed. What a treat it would be to be a Sim during a home renovation. You could even be able to acquire some nasty and insanely efficient window and door upgrades!

“We are having guests; your job is to hang these color patterns on the walls to make it appear as though we’re doing anything with this home”

Okay, Okay! We’ve all experienced occasions when we overestimated the timespan of a project. But have you ever set up a project merely to appear to be working on something? This pair is doing everything correctly. A few hasty color samples are hung up to give the impression that a home remodeling project is in the works. This place isn’t always a shambles!

“When I said I needed a better floor, I really expected some new tile”

Oh Yes, undeniably. That is something we are all aware of. It sounds fantastic! In theory, it appears to be practical! In our minds, it ought to be a piece of cake! Wait, did someone mention cake? The fun part is having a concept and thinking about it, but the step-by-step approach is when things get…well…unfunny. But here’s where we’d want to say something: Don’t give up on your dreams. Make grandiose plans. Always dream big. Dream your dream so many times that the steps are all set out in front of you. The more you dream, the better you will be able to envision and complete your project! And don’t forget to laugh out loud along the way!

“So, the CAT attempted some renovations… I ate him because I knew you’d detest it. You are quite welcome”

Even Though They Try, Animals Are Not Renovators! Isn’t it worse to come home to a pet’s remodeling job than an incomplete renovation project? If you’re in the midst of a DIY home remodeling, with dust everywhere and wood pieces were strewn around. Perhaps your porcelain sink has been shattered. But at least you don’t have to clean up the rubbish that Fluffy has strewn all over the living room. Or perhaps you do! In such a situation, we grieve for you.

“Home renovation has become so expensive that you’re playing rock-paper-scissors to discover which child won’t be attending college”

You could be feeling this way when lying in bed at night, running statistics through your brain, remembering you also have to fix the wall the hammer went through. It’s sometimes helpful to crack a joke and remind yourself that the endeavor is just that: a project. And even if things go out of hand, you’ll be able to breathe through it and finish the job. Just be mindful of how much time and money you invest in it. Make a spending plan. Then, create a larger WHAT-IF budget and ensure that both can be satisfied without generating stress.

“Then there was a huge explosion behind me, and when I looked around, he was gone”

Yikes! At the very least, you’re not the nails in your home renovation, are you? This amusing home renovation quote is ideal for looking at just after you’ve banged the hammer down on your thumb. While you’re icing that black and blue nail, try to chuckle some of the agonies away by reading a blog like this!

“They’ll adore the style I’m incorporating into this floor”

Chester Chicken might harm your concrete patio, driveway, or pathway! But it’s unlikely. However, you may recall a time when a friend, pet, or stranger inadvertently left a mark in your curing concrete. Or perhaps you and your family decided to take the cosmos into your own hands and make your mark in stone. If you do, please be sure to include a date so that the moment is never forgotten!

“Take it easy, man!! You’re going too far ahead of yourself”

He’s all set to renovate the roof before there is even a roof!  You’ll be able to giggle at this comedy, whether you’re building a new home or remodeling an existing one. It occurs that people get ahead of themselves. At the very least, you don’t have this funny guy up in the sky.

“You just had one job”

“You only had one task,” as the term goes, may be applied everywhere, including outside of house remodeling. But it’s especially amusing in the context of home remodeling. Smaller tasks should be straightforward, such as screwing in the light switch, installing the toilet bowl lever, or bolting on the door handle. But people frequently mess them up, and when we do, it’s hard not to chuckle.

Wrap-Up:

We hope you liked these hilarious home renovation quotes, and they definitely make your DIY home renovation endeavor a bit less stressful by making your face smile. If you need any professional help to make your home stand out, you can contact Homednb. Here, we hire trusted and reliable contractors to help you get the job done! We offer an escrow payment protection service that secures payments, so contractors get paid based on agreed-upon milestones.  You just tell us about your project and we will find a vetted contractor that is suitable to complete your job! Stay tuned with us to keep yourself updated with the latest home renovation trends as well as interesting facts about home renovation!

[felixsbakingbud]

Buckle in partner cuz I—

Say it with me now

✨am in emotional devastation ✨

The way you write Minho is so unbelievably soft and beautiful and sweet and warm and just ☹️☹️☹️☹️ you seriously know how to capture that quiet part of him that’s a big ol softie and I LIVE. FOR. IT. The amount of love he quietly shows for y/n throughout the whole fic had me kicking my feet, throwing my phone, and being a puddle of sobs on my floor. ALSO YOU NEARLY HAD ME WITH THE CHANGBIN BIT I STG 😭😭😭 I WAS ALMOST NOT READY BUT I STUCK IT THROUGH. THAT WAS SUCH A CLEVER TWIST TO HAVE IT BE A FLASHBACK ALL THROUGHOUT AIJEOEJDOEKS have I mentioned I love ur mind ur such a mastermind the mind of a genius, a poet, an artist like we love to see it so much.

Now for my favorite part and yours, ✨Sobbing Over Sahar’s Beautiful Words✨

(Can u tell I’m finally learning how to use tumblr with literal italics we love to see it grandma work it 😍😍😍)

Listen that ENTIRE car trip to the beach had me in shambles. Just the quiet care Minho had in reassuring y/n and helping her regain a part of her life that she had been missing for so long ☹️ and supporting her in her trauma with car rides ☹️ and the beach itself with the ocean story ☹️☹️☹️☹️ I would cite the whole thing like it was so beautiful but this was my absolute favorite: “Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to.” Also y/n saying that they’re holding on to hope right after that like she read his mind ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ emotional devastation

“And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.” The lil Cover Me reference 🥺🥺🥺 I’ve been loving this song so much since it came out and I love that you incorporated it a bit in here too

👏comfort👏and👏reverse👏comfort👏are👏my👏favorite👏things👏 and Minho’s fever scene 😭😭😭 the way it started off with that small nightmare of losing y/n and then ended with the kiss BAISJSKSKOSKSOSKS “Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.” THIS WAS SKDHEOSNIENEKE a kiss that just revives in a way???? Idk how to describe it but just feeling love and all those positive emotions flowing through you from your heart sisnkddkkd you perfectly described that and I love the imagery here so much

“"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips. “Yours.”” I puked :> (affectionately) nah seriously threw my phone at this line this was JAKJDKENDOSKS MINHO YOU FLIRTY SOFTY (me when)

““He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.”” Do you hear that? That’s the sound of me creating my own ocean of tears :> YOU CAN’T JUST DO THIS TO ME SAHAR????? This was such a BEAUTIFUL WAY TO DESCRIBE MINHO???? And then her realization that she was brought back to life because of him. Because he didn’t abandon her and instead poured his love into her and watching her heal and grow “You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.” here we go again gonna create another ocean very casually rn

THE ANGST WHEN HE WAS ABOJT TO LEAVE WAS. SO. GOOD. YOU TORE MY HEART OUT PLZZZ I was so yelling in my head for him to wait and then he did and the reunion was so 🥹🥹🥹🥹 “I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.” CRYING SOBBING PUKINGGGGGG

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.” I LOVE THIS PART cuz it parallels why Minho didn’t kiss her on the bridge and said he wanted her to choose him in the present without worrying about the past or future. LIKE SHE CHOOSES HIM NOW IN THIS MOMENT SIJSOWJEOSKSAPA I have made so many oceans atp.

““I'm coming back. I'm coming home.” “You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth.” 😭because😭Minho😭is😭her😭home😭 THIS WAS SO SWEET

“The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.” AND FHE FACT THAT THE DAY COUNT RESTARTS WITH THIS PART TOO 🥹🥹🥹 Sahar the ending was absolute perfection too like you always manage to wrap everything up so sweetly with the prettiest bow and it always leaves me feeling so satisfied. LIKE THIS WAS SUCH A PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL ENDING

oh I’m still not done cuz we have to talk about the star motifs cuz

Sahar please I love galaxies and stars so much and the constant little details you added with the stars from Minho’s eyes containing galaxies (you’re so right I love his boba eyes that hold galaxies so much) to the ending with the destined stars line but Minho still loving y/n the same throughout it all ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME WITH EMOTIONS CUZ U SUCCEEDED

Every time they mentioned galaxies or stars I got a lil kick it was so cute 🥹🥹

Beautiful conclusion a masterpiece that made me feel all the feels as usual :> worth the wait as always too hehe

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader.

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33. 

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear. 

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory. 

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse. 

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance. 

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you. 

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago. 

Day 17. 

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade. 

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores. 

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes. 

He knows you better than you know yourself. 

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands. 

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from. 

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you. 

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.” 

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head. 

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again. 

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you. 

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you. 

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19. 

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement. 

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.  

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.  

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.” 

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask. 

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?” 

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” 

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment. 

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé. 

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out. 

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms. 

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope. 

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto. 

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating. 

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in. 

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back. 

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night. 

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you. 

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?” 

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure. 

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles. 

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door. 

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place. 

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up? 

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you. 

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-” 

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.” 

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you. 

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach. 

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls. 

Day 22. 

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart. 

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.” 

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.” 

“I can try.” 

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.  

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles. 

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him. 

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle. 

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago. 

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?” 

“Of course. I promise you.” 

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear. 

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers. 

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm. 

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road. 

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart. 

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light. 

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit. 

“What?” he asks, confused. 

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify. 

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.” 

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words. 

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.  

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face. 

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression. 

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running. 

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again. 

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content. 

“You did.” 

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands. 

“Of course.” 

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to. 

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.” 

Day 26. 

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads. 

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more. 

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin. 

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest. 

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought. 

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.” 

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within. 

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals. 

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door. 

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for. 

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you. 

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.” 

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more? 

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were. 

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.                          

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks. 

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart. 

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words. 

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle. 

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words. 

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side. 

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder. 

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second. 

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing. 

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips. 

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly. 

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends. 

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?” 

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.” 

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out. 

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle. 

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs. 

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks. 

“N-nothing,” you stammer. 

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you. 

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you? 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out. 

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.  

And he loves you. 

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for? 

How many more days do you have to love him back? 

Day 30. 

Minho is sick. 

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face. 

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind. 

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented. 

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow. 

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on. 

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers. 

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering. 

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you. 

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet. 

“Anything.” 

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly. 

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to. 

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm. 

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you. 

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows. 

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted. 

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds. 

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days. 

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again. 

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean? 

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep. 

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name. 

He prayed you’d call his too soon. 

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean? 

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips. 

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of. 

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways. 

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh. 

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?” 

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh. 

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.  

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card. 

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify. 

“Hey, yn!” 

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them. 

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.  

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run. 

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey. 

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat. 

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by? 

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be. 

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both. 

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all. 

Day 33. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” 

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?” 

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him. 

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table. 

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here. 

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines. 

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger. 

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.” 

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you. 

“But how does that make you feel?” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.” 

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?” 

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.  

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.” 

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yn, he brought you back to life.” 

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?” 

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.  

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core. 

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table. 

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder. 

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around. 

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it. 

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart. 

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room. 

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind. 

“Minho?” 

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to. 

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.  

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again. 

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho. 

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.  

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one. 

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?” 

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.”