#journal for plague lovers

[goldagainstthesoul201]

Richey Edwards // Tom Sheehan

[jesuisgourde]

For fun, I interpreted all the Journal For Plague Lovers remixes as paper collage pieces, and then wrote about my thoughts on each remix, and what I thought they did well when it comes to expressing or reinterpreting the original tracks.

[fromdispair2where]

gonna make a virginia state epileptic colony bracelet

[benjemanpoststhings]

The world is a much, much shittier place for not having this man in it.

Steve's last post on Bluesky

[claredanko]

im not even trying to be happy today

[pointy-spiral]

Ella OC post

( very unfinished but will be edited as i add to her character)

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Name - Ella Hvalheim

Class - First year Class C

Homeland - Norway

Height - 180cm

Birthday - Kept secret, because she hates parties and big groups of people. Only Jade and Ortho know, Ace and Deuce cant be trusted with secrets lol

Dorm - Ramshackle

Twisted from - Belle (beauty and the beast(grim lol)

Hobby - Reading and drawing and walks at night or during gloomy weather such as fog and rain.

Likes - Pretty scenery, sleeping, painting, and Pavlova.

Dislikes - Unskippable dialogue, bright light (the sun), people who mess up books and bend pages, and Crowley✨️

Best subject - Alchemy

Club - Mountain lovers club

Talent - Patience and really steady hands.. i guess?? And a big vocabulary hjdsfdsfhj very much "um actually-" potential

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A magicless person from a different dimension, stuck living with a direbeast in a run down dorm belonging to a prestegious school for magic. A terrified stranger to this world, Ella avoids people like the plague and is often found seeking comfort in the school library, or locked away in her room. Books are everything to her, wether its fiction, textbook, sketchbook, or picturebook, she allways has at least one nearby.

Despite being soft-spoken and anxious, she has trouble saying no when people ask her to join stuff, and ends up getting dragged along by her friends into all sorts of stupid nonsense.

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Smaller "fun facts" i guess??

She has snake bites, and pierced ears.

In her original world she had a lot of silver and steel jewlery, as it is worn for protection in old times in Norway out of superstition. ( mythical creatures were often thought to be allergic to the metal. Such as fae, Nøkken, etc) Though after being brought to twisted wonderland she really only has one neckalce and a pair of earrings, that she refuses to remove at all costs gjlkdfskjfdjk

She really REALLY likes studying folklore and myths, and the thought of being in a new world with new books to read... shes jittering alone in the dark of her room from chugging coffe so she can stay up and read more fdshkhdshdfsaslijisadoiu

She keeps a journal that she writes about her "new discoveries" in Twisted wonderland, writing down peoples names, birthdays, likes and dislikes, the plants that are simmilar to home, and stories about her new life here etc. Its all written in Norwegian so that nobody would be able to read it though teehehehehee

Other characters thoughts and interactions with her-

this part will expand as i remember and come up with stuff dfshdsksfd

Grim -

BESTIEE !! LITTLE KITTIE !! SO CUTE !! very much an emotional support cat. Lets her hold and pet him when she gets stressed. Pretends to disslike all the attention due to his pride, but deep down worries about her and likes being held. She brushes his fur and ties his ribbon for him all the time, its relaxing to her.

Grim takes on the role of "the beast" while Ella is "the beauty" as they live together in ramshackle. Like the beast, hes self centered, rude, inconsiderate, and deep down, very very lonely. Ella scolds him all the time for his behaviour, but not out of disliking him, rather because she worries about him. After a rocky start, they build a strong friendship.

Heartslabyul-

Riddle- He likes her since shes quiet, polite, and tries very hard with her studies. Though he wishes she would talk more, and not mumble so quietly all the time. Him and Ella get along, and hes even helped her with her studies a few times, taking pity on her for not being from this world, and explaining things to her. It messes with his ego slightly when she says hes "so smart!" when he answers her questions, saying hes such a cool housewarden. And yes hes a little upset about their height difference, but pretends not to be.

Trey- Helps him with carrying groceries during trips to buy baking ingredient from Sams,

Cater - On her first week of school she asked him where the school library was, two seconds go by and shes been draged into extroverted shenanigans including Lillia and Kalim. He felt a little bad after learning she has social anxiety, so sometimes he invites her to hang just the two of them.

Ace- Thinks its both boring and calming how she doesnt really do much, he comes to ramshackle with Deuce for weekly study time. Ella helps them with the subject they struggle with, and they help her with hers.

Deuce-

Savanaclaw-

Leona - Stepped on his tail and has been avoiding him ever since, she thinks hes still upset with her.

Ruggie- Wants to pet his ears really really bad.. but stays away from him for the most part.

Jack- She often sees him going for runs when she goes for her walks, hes invited her to join before but she has a hard time keeping up, she still joins him once in a while though. They bond over both being from a colder place, and they suffer together dyring the summer fdkjldfsjkfdsjfj. Ella is from our universe (real life lol) and is from north Norway, so both her and Jack sit in an iflatable kids pool full of ice during the summer sjhfdfdsfdh

Octavinelle-

Azul- Tried to hire her as a janitor for the lounge when Jade told him about her strong dislike for people, thinking it would pique her interrest to have a job with little to no people bothering her. But when he tried to ask her, his overly buisnessy talk and unnerving aura scared her so bad she ran away..

Jade- BESTIES They met when they were partnered up for a project in alchemy, and despite his.. creepy vibe, way of talking, and such, they start to get along, and eventually become friends.

Yes the slenderman drawing i made is the canon way he made her join the club, and yes she knows about slenderman ( cause creepy folklore stuff!! weeeeee!!) and yes she tought he might be real in this universe and almost cried.

Floyd- Had a massive giggle fit when she explained Nøkken to him, and now wont stop joking about drowning her in lakes, and asking if her and Jade found any cool lakes during club activities.

Scarabia-

Kalim- OH DEAR GOD WHY

She doesnt dislike him, he just.. hes a lot.. A LOT

Jamil- Very very thankfull for him keeping Kalim distracted when shes around fsahjsahfdhjgfh

Pomefiore-

Vil- no no no no no no

Rook - Her first meeting with him was when she was still a janitor at the school (before crowley let her and grim be students) when he was doing his usual Rook stuff.. and following people.. He gave her the school uniform she wears, it was a leftover pomefiore shirt and skirt, esetially dragging her off to Pomefiore to play dress up fsdkhfdss. As a hunter, he sort of takes the role of Gaston since shes based on Belle, but you know.. less gross.. Just yet another extrovert who haunts her fddffdshjfdsklgfkjlgfk

Epel- She had a massive giggle fit when he told her what his name was dsfdsjhfdshfds Epel sounds like saying Apple in norwegian but with a thick dialect.

Ignihyde-

Idia- Tec-illiterate normie.. but also a friend of Ortho, so he tollerates her fdshfsdsdfaiai

Ortho - Shes in the same class as him, he sees a lot of similarities between her and Idia, hes the first friend she made at the school willingly. Very much the "she said no pickles" friend, and has often talked for her when she gets too scared. Ella is almost entirely tech-illiterate and gives Idia a headache when she asks the most basic questions, but Ortho remains understanding of her situation of being from an entirely different world where not only tech is different, but icons, symbols and terminology as well. He at some point wrote down the basics for her on a sheet of paper that she now keeps in her journal.

Diasomnia-

Malleus- Nightwalk besties

Silver-

Sebek- Oh dear god no

Lillia- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Eleven: You Wonder why I’m Bitter

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 8.2k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Alone and aching for the connection that once felt so natural, you reluctantly turn to an unlikely companion: Pompidou, who listens to you pour out all the longing you’ve fought so hard to bury. While you grapple with the emptiness left by Hongjoong’s sudden withdrawal, he, too, finds himself lost, wrestling with the very feelings he’s tried to deny. Haunted by memories and choices he can’t quite reconcile, Hongjoong is caught between the familiarity of the past and the confusing reality of the present.

a/n: was supposed to upload this on the 27th cause that’s my birthday but i just can’t wait any longer 😅 keep an eye out for the littlest of details because nothing is as it seems in this chapter :P lmk what you guys think!

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

First of all, I hate myself. Second of all, I hate myself. Oh, and did I already mention that I hate myself? I just don’t know what to do anymore! It feels like it’s been a whole decade ever since I last picked up a pen to scribble on this godforsaken journal… I wish I could just go back to the time I was writing the page behind the one I’m writing on right now and just cancel my flight to Paris. This is all so frustrating, you know? Fashion Week is nearing, and I am not prepared at all—no, not even a little. I’m supposed to be spending my hours inside the studio practicing runway walks and testing out facial expressions, but no! I’m way too afraid of crossing paths with Hongjoong to even think about the consequences of not taking my preparations seriously! And speaking of Hongjoong…

He’s driving me to the edge of my sanity. I don’t know what’s going on with him—okay, scratch that, I definitely do. I just don’t get why he’s acting so avoidant all of a sudden… I mean, like, okay, I would understand his unprovoked need for distance between us if we actually kissed that night, but we didn’t. The farthest step we were able to take was just him holding onto the sides of my face and me looking at his lips like I’m a starved dog looking at its first meal of the day before Wooyoung fortunately interrupted us—so why is he acting up?

He’s like one of those girls you’d befriend in highschool who’d show up on the hallways suddenly judging your entire soul on a random Wednesday, and I don’t like it. Seriously, what’s his problem? He made me accustomed to his usual sweet and caring persona, and all of a sudden, he wants to act like this? What have I done wrong? Wasn’t it literally him who initiated the… whatever I’m supposed to call what happened that night?

I’m just concerned, you know. It’s been two weeks, and yet he’s still avoiding me like I’m the plague. I haven’t been receiving any messages from him at all lately, either. Even Madame Dupont is asking me why she no longer sees the “small young handsome boy” waiting for me outside the apartment building while leaning against his car. Wooyoung’s been trying to persuade me into confirming his theory that Hongjoong and I are going through a lovers’ quarrel for three days now, too. And guess who’s the most troubled of them all? Seonghwa. He’s been doing his best to put us back into speaking terms for a while now, and I don’t know why—I swear I didn’t ask him to do that.

Everyone is worried. Everyone but him.

You know, this brings me back to that unrecognizable faceless guy I see in some of my blurry flashbacks. I remember him asking me how long I’ve been bottling up my emotions, and when I told him I’ve been doing so for pretty much my entire life, he told me to consider writing in a journal.

What does the unrecognizable dude have to do with Hongjoong and his unreadable behavior? Nothing.

I just noticed that it’s been a while since I last wrote a journal entry, and… it’s been a while since I last let my emotions unravel. I remember the words that came out of his mouth that day.

“When you can’t figure out what you’re feeling, or if you need to let it all out, the only thing you have to do is pull this out along with a pen, and from then on, you can start writing away. Let yourself get lost in your own world.”

You know what, in a way, I think he and Hongjoong actually have something in common. I know I can’t say much because I only have one memory of this guy, but he spoke with as much wisdom as Hongjoong does. Also… “let yourself get lost in your own world.” That’s honestly the most Hongjoong-ish advice someone could ever give, given how he himself gets lost in his own world of artistry, too.

I just wish he’d stop ignoring me. I can’t help but feel like this is all somehow my fault… Am I just hurting myself by expecting things to suddenly go back to the way they used to be?

As you closed your journal with a weary sigh, your eyes drifted to the dim glow of your bedside clock reading 2:37 a.m. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of distant traffic, yet you felt far from at peace. It was a night for sleep, yet your mind wouldn’t quiet; thoughts of Hongjoong twisted and turned within you, refusing to settle.

“Why does it feel like this?” you murmured, pressing your palms into your face, as if that could somehow soothe the ache in your chest. You longed for comfort, for answers, even for a brief respite from the confusion that had become your constant companion. “If only that faceless guy could telepathically whisper some words of wisdom to me right now…”

Two weeks had passed since you last shared any words with Hongjoong—two weeks where every glance, every passing moment, felt laced with an unspoken tension that only deepened the rift between you. It was all becoming painfully real, the shift so clear to everyone around you. But no one knew the truth—the moment you almost kissed, the silent proximity that had left you dizzy and wondering. Even Seonghwa, in his genuine concern, couldn’t know the pang of vulnerability that had filled that night, the fear and excitement mingling as you’d come closer than ever before.

Your mind flashed back to the other day when the ache of his absence had been sharpest. You passed by him in a hallway, hoping for a flicker of his usual warmth, his soft gaze that once reassured you of your place in his world. But he’d brushed past with such indifference—not even nodding to acknowledge your presence, a chill in his demeanor that left you hollow. And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving you alone with a rising sense of loss.

Without thinking, you picked up your phone and opened your gallery. Photos of Hongjoong filled your screen, and your eyes drift over candid snapshots—some of you and Hongjoong working late in the studio, others of him laughing or looking thoughtful, moments caught by your camera that now feel like glimpses into another lifetime. There’s a picture of him outside your apartment building, waving you goodbye one evening. Another shot of him hunched over his desk in concentration, unaware that you’d snapped the photo from across the room. Then, there’s a particularly precious one of the two of you, taken in his office—which was likely Wooyoung’s doing.

As you scroll, an ache blossoms within you, spreading in slow, insistent waves that make your chest feel tight. You can feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, and it catches you off guard. Why now? Why does he, of all people, have this power over you? You swipe at the tears, frustrated by the sudden swell of emotion. It’s not supposed to be like this, you tell yourself. Hongjoong is supposed to be your friend, your mentor, the one person in Paris who helped you find your footing when everything felt foreign. But as the images blur beneath the glisten of unshed tears, you can’t help but wonder if that’s all he’ll ever be—someone whose warmth once felt like home, and whose absence now feels like a loss you’re not ready to face.

The soft scratching at your window pulls you abruptly from your thoughts. For a moment, you freeze, glancing back at the phone you’d just placed on your desk. Carefully, you grab your journal—a flimsy defense, maybe, but it’s better than nothing. Heart pounding just slightly, you step forward, inching closer to the window.

When you peek over, you’re met with a familiar sight: Pompidou, the resident stray cat who had made the apartment building his kingdom, sits with one paw pressed to the glass, his usual unamused expression aimed your way.

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders as you let out a soft laugh. Setting your journal on the bed, you reach over to open the window, letting him slip inside with practiced ease. He slinks past you with the air of someone who owns the place and makes himself right at home, hopping onto your bed and circling until he’s claimed his spot in the center.

You sit beside him, running a gentle hand over his soft fur. It’s strange how much you missed him. For the past few weeks, your room felt emptier without his occasional visits—without that extra little creature who just… understood you, in a way. And now, with Hongjoong’s absence haunting you, Pompidou couldn’t have come at a better time.

The thought hits you harder than you expect: here you are, at your lowest, relying on a cat for comfort simply because the one person you’re used to confiding in has become distant, almost like a stranger. The ache in your chest intensifies, and before you know it, you’re lying down next to him, resting your head on the bed and gazing at his calm, indifferent eyes. It feels silly, pathetic even, to be speaking your heart to a cat, but in this silence, with no one else to turn to, you let yourself unravel.

“Pompidou,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady, “I… I don’t know what I did wrong. Everything was fine, wasn’t it?” Your fingers tremble as they thread through his fur, a warmth grounding you in the midst of your unraveling. “I don’t know how we ended up here. He’s always been there for me, and now… it’s like he’s vanished. And I’m trying, I really am, but every time I reach out, it’s like he’s miles away.”

A sharp breath catches in your throat, and you look up at the ceiling, fighting against the tears stinging your eyes. “It’s probably all my fault,” you confess in a whisper that breaks. “Maybe I was too much, or maybe I should have… I don’t know, said something differently, done something better. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him to eat dinner that night so that…” A bitter chuckle slips out as you squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s funny, you know. All my life, I’ve been terrified of being alone, of people walking out… and now here I am, trying to be okay with him pulling away like it’s nothing.”

Pompidou shifts slightly, his warm body pressing into your side, a small reminder that he’s there, and he’s not leaving. You let your hand drop to your chest, feeling the dull ache that’s settled there. “I just miss him, Pompidou. I miss the way he used to look at me like I mattered. Now, he can’t even look me in the eyes. And I don’t know why I’m clinging to that, why I’m hoping he’ll suddenly turn around and go back to being who he was.”

The silence swallows you for a moment. “Maybe it’s because, deep down, I’m still the same pathetic teenager from Arcadia Bay who’s scared that she doesn’t deserve anything better. That she’s always going to be left behind, and this… this is just proof.” Your voice falters, words thick with pain you can no longer hold back. “And if he leaves, then maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“Maybe I was the one who left him in an alternate reality, and this is the price I have to pay for it,” you joke, but it only feels like a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better.

The pain is so sharp it almost feels physical, a hollow ache that makes every breath feel heavier than the last. You close your eyes, fighting against the helplessness clawing at your insides, but the words keep pouring out, jagged and raw, as though voicing them might lessen the weight—even if it’s only to a cat who can’t respond.

“Do you know what’s worse?” you whisper, fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt over your chest as if you could hold yourself together by sheer will. “It’s that I can’t even be mad at him. I want to be—believe me, I’ve tried. I tell myself he’s the one pulling away, that he’s the one who’s changed, but then I start wondering… what if I pushed him to this? What if I’m the reason he’s slipping through my fingers?”

A soft tremor runs through your hands, and you curl them into fists, teeth gritted as you force the tears back. “I keep thinking… maybe he’s right to distance himself. Maybe there’s something broken in me, something that just drives people away. And the worst part is, I keep wishing he’d come back, like I’d somehow be enough if I could just—”

Your voice catches, breaking into a whisper as you bury your face in your hands, barely holding in the sob that threatens to spill out. “I just don’t understand. He was my safe place, Pompidou. For the first time in so long, I actually felt like I mattered. He made me feel seen. And now… now I feel invisible all over again, like everything we shared was just temporary, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Pompidou shifts closer, his soft purr rumbling beneath your fingertips as you stroke his fur, a small solace in the middle of this storm.

“I try to convince myself that I’m fine, that I can go on without him,” you continue, voice cracking as the words spill out unchecked. “But the truth is, I’m terrified. I’m scared that if he leaves… if he’s really gone, I’ll be alone again, just like before. And I hate myself for feeling this way, for being so… so weak.”

The tears finally break free, slipping down your cheeks in a silent flood. “What does that say about me? That I’m so dependent on him, that I can’t even imagine my life without him? I thought I was stronger than this, that I’d learned how to stand on my own. But now… now it’s like I’m right back to that scared, lonely kid I used to be, clinging to anyone who shows me a hint of kindness.”

You pull your knees to your chest, holding yourself as tightly as you can, as if you could somehow shield yourself from the emptiness swallowing you whole. “I can’t stop thinking that maybe this is all I deserve. That maybe I’m meant to be alone. Maybe he’s finally seeing me for who I am, and he’s realizing I’m not worth it.”

Your shoulders shake as the sobs escape, quiet and raw, each one cutting through you like glass. Pompidou curls closer, his little face pressing against your arm, as though he understands in his own way. But his silent comfort only deepens the ache, a reminder that the person you need more than anything isn’t here, and you’re left holding yourself together with nothing but frayed threads of hope.

With a shuddering breath, you finally admit the fear you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. “What if he doesn’t come back, Pompidou? What if this is it? I don’t think… I don’t think I can handle losing him. Not like this.”

Your voice drops to a whisper, the words coming slow and soft as you gaze out the window, eyes unfocused. “I just… I miss him, Pompidou,” you murmur, fingers absently tracing patterns against the sheets.

“I miss all the little things that made it feel like he was a part of me, like he was woven into my days without me even realizing it. I miss the way he’d send me random sketches, the ones that made no sense but made me laugh anyway, like he was letting me in on his little worlds. I miss… I miss how he’d always have this ridiculous drink order for me every time we’d meet up at the café where we switched up our notebooks with one another before we met for the first time. It’s like he knew exactly what I’d need, even if I didn’t.”

The memories wash over you, and you can’t stop the warmth from pooling in your chest as you picture those moments. “I wish we could go back to that time when things were… simple. When I could sit beside him without feeling like the whole world was shifting under my feet. When he’d laugh and look at me like I was… like I was something special, you know?”

Your voice trembles, and you tighten your grip on the sheets. “And the thing is… it was just easy with him. He’d be there, always making me feel like nothing could go wrong as long as we were together. He’d be there with his quiet, comforting presence, and I could just… be. I didn’t have to pretend or put on some mask. It was like he could see right through me, and somehow, he didn’t care about all the mess he found.”

You take a deep breath, the words spilling out like a plea. “I just want to go back, Pompidou. Back to before everything felt so fragile, before that almost-kiss, before this… this distance. I wish I could reach out and take it all back. I’d give anything just to have things feel normal again.”

Pompidou tilts his head, eyes blinking up at you, and you can’t help but laugh, a soft, broken sound that catches in your throat. “I know it sounds silly, doesn’t it? I mean, how could I expect anything to be the same after that? But I can’t help it, Pompidou. I want to go back to when he’d smile at me like that, when I didn’t have to wonder if I was the one pushing him away.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of each memory anchor you down. “I miss his laugh. I miss his stupid jokes. I miss the way he’d lean closer when he talked about his dreams, his voice getting all serious like he could see every detail in his mind. And I miss… I miss feeling like I belonged somewhere, like I belonged with him. I miss how he’d look at me with this warmth, like I was enough, just as I was.”

The words come out like a broken whisper, a confession you’ve been holding inside for far too long. “I can’t stop missing him. I wish… I wish I could go back to that last night before everything shifted. Before the night we nearly kissed, before I even realized what I felt. I wish I could’ve just stayed there, in that moment, without letting any of it change.”

You hug your knees, curling up as the ache settles deeper, heavier. “But I can’t. And now it’s as if I’m left with pieces of him in everything around me, and I don’t know how to put myself back together without him.”

You pull yourself up, exhaling slowly, and walk over to your desk. The room feels quiet, still heavy with everything you’ve let out, yet somehow emptier too, as if releasing the words has left you hollow. With a shaky hand, you pick up your phone and make your way back to bed, curling up beside Pompidou, who has already claimed his spot against your pillow. Settling into the blankets, you scroll through your contacts, your thumb hovering over Hongjoong’s icon.

It’s just his initials next to a simple photo he once sent—a candid moment he probably forgot about, something so ordinary that it’s precious now. The way he looked when he didn’t realize anyone was watching: a slight smile, eyes softened by something he found funny, maybe even a bit endearing. The sight makes your chest tighten, and you let yourself scroll up, reading through old conversations like leafing through the pages of a treasured book.

Each message brings back flashes of shared laughter and late-night ramblings, little moments where time seemed to pause, and it was just the two of you—untouchable, safe. You linger on a message he sent on a rainy afternoon, a random joke he thought would cheer you up. Your lips curl into a faint smile, but it’s bittersweet. There was a time when it was so easy, so effortless, like breathing. He had a way of knowing exactly when you needed a reminder that he was there. But now, that comfort feels distant, unreachable.

A tear slips down your cheek again before you realize it, and you hastily swipe it away, but the sorrow wells up again, slipping past your guard. As if sensing your pain, Pompidou extends a soft paw, resting it gently below your eyes, and you feel his fur against your cheek, grounding you in a way that words can’t. His small gesture tugs a quiet, breathy laugh from you, despite the ache in your chest. It’s as if he’s trying to catch your sadness, pulling it away piece by piece, his wide eyes fixed on yours with an empathy you can almost feel.

You let your head fall, hugging Pompidou close, allowing yourself to finally surrender to the pain and let it wash over you without restraint. The loneliness, the longing, the hollow spaces Hongjoong’s absence has left in you—all of it spills out as you clutch the feline tightly, letting his warmth and steady breathing lull you into a fragile sense of comfort. The room seems to blur, softening around you as the weight of everything you’ve been holding back presses into you.

The tears come faster now, unstoppable, and your quiet sobs fill the silence, raw and unfiltered. It’s just you and Pompidou, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not truly alone. There, in the quiet solace of your room, you cling to that small comfort, letting yourself feel every ounce of longing, letting yourself miss him—fully, desperately, hopelessly.

—

Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood in his office, the warm, nostalgic tones of “La Vie en Rose” playing softly from the record player behind him. His gaze fixed on the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. Each note lingered in the air, pulling him deeper into the web of memories he was desperately trying to forget. This song, of all songs—he could still remember how it had been playing when the two of you had stood together in the flower shop, laughing over bouquets and trading light-hearted jokes as if the world beyond didn’t exist.

Part of him knew he could walk over and turn it off. The music was his to control, after all. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. The melody was the last fragile thread that kept him tethered to you, a reminder of the warmth he felt in your presence, the comfort of knowing someone understood him.

The dim light from the city outside cast a soft glow over his office, illuminating the expanse of papers scattered across his desk, the outlines of unfinished sketches and hastily scrawled notes, all reminders of the whirlwind he’d buried himself in since he started pushing you away. Each corner of the room felt saturated with memories of you—and it was strange how a space that had once felt so alive now seemed hollow, absent of the warmth you’d brought into it.

He tried to focus on the skyline again, his eyes tracing the glittering lights of the city. It was an attempt to ground himself, to pull himself back from the turmoil inside him. But tonight, every bit of stillness he attempted felt false, every piece of composure barely hanging by a thread. All he could think about was you—the absence of your presence filling every empty space in his mind, as if refusing to be silenced.

He turned slowly from the window, allowing his gaze to wander over his desk. It was almost impossible to remember the last time he’d felt fully at ease in this room. The stacks of designs that had once held so much promise now felt like hollow accomplishments, each one only reminding him of the fire you’d helped him ignite. His eyes landed on a small pendant lying amidst the clutter. The flower encased inside had faded slightly, its once-vibrant petals softened by time. He picked it up, cradling it carefully in his hand, feeling a strange tenderness rise within him.

You’d given him that flower, pressing it into his hand with a shy smile as you murmured something about it bringing him luck. He could still recall the way your fingers had lingered against his, the brief but electric touch that had left him wondering if you felt it too. “For good luck,” you’d said, your eyes sparkling in that way they always did when you felt especially close to him.

Hongjoong swallowed, feeling a tightness in his chest as he held the pendant closer. How was it that something so small could carry the weight of so many memories? He closed his eyes, and the warmth of your smile flashed in his mind, as vivid as if you were standing beside him. But now, as he held the pendant, it felt heavier, like a tiny piece of the past he was terrified of losing forever.

In his mind, he slipped back to that night—the one that had started as an ordinary work session, yet had unraveled into something far more vulnerable. He could still feel the closeness of the room, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows as you both worked side by side, immersed in the quiet moment you shared.

You’d shared things that night that were never meant to leave the room. He could still hear your voice, low and hesitant, as you revealed the fears you held closest to your heart. “Being left alone,” you’d admitted, your words raw and unguarded. The truth of it had lingered between you, a quiet vulnerability that had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

When you turned the question back on him, he’d hesitated, feeling the weight of his own guarded secrets pressing against his chest. But in that quiet space, under the gentle glow of the lamp, he’d found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years. “Losing myself,” he’d whispered, his voice barely audible, but enough for you to hear. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Now, standing alone in his empty office, Hongjoong felt the irony of it all washing over him. He’d tried so hard to protect himself, to build walls so high that even you couldn’t reach them. But now, it felt as if he had developed a new fear bigger than losing himself—losing you.

A quiet knock on the door broke his reverie, and he tensed, slipping the pendant into his pocket as he turned. Wooyoung’s face appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of Hongjoong standing alone, the haunting strains of La Vie en Rose still spinning softly from the record player across the room.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered to the player, where the melody had been looping for what must have been the better part of an hour. “Still here?” he asked quietly, a hint of concern threading his tone.

Hongjoong forced a slight smile, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Wooyoung stepped further into the room, his gaze sharp as it settled on Hongjoong. “You know…” Wooyoung began, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall, “the world can see how miserable you are. Including her—especially her.”

Hongjoong stiffened, the forced nonchalance slipping from his face as he turned away, staring intently at the record player as if it held all the answers he was struggling to find. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung’s tone softened, a hint of exasperation breaking through. “I know you. I know how much you care about her. And I know you’re running from something you can’t outrun. But you’re not fooling anyone by pretending it doesn’t matter.”

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with all the reasons he’d built to keep you at a distance. Each one felt logical, safe, a way to protect himself from something he couldn’t quite name. But here, with Wooyoung standing there, watching him with that steady gaze, he felt every layer he’d built start to unravel.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, barely audible above the music.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning softer, almost pleading. “Then what are you doing, Hongjoong? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone too scared to reach for what he really wants.”

Hongjoong’s heart twisted painfully, Wooyoung’s words hitting far too close to home. He felt the weight of everything he’d tried to suppress rising within him, a tidal wave of emotions he’d buried so deeply he’d convinced himself they were gone. But Wooyoung’s words had brought them to the surface, and now, there was no escaping them.

A silence stretched between them, and Hongjoong’s gaze fell to the floor. In that moment, he felt utterly vulnerable, as though Wooyoung could see right through him, could see the aching desire he’d tried so hard to deny. He didn’t have to say it—Wooyoung already knew.

Hongjoong’s fingers were still curled around the pendant in his pocket when Wooyoung let out a quiet sigh, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “So,” Wooyoung began, breaking the silence, “are you really going to stand here, pretending everything’s fine?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing. He wanted to brush off Wooyoung’s words, to deflect with some casual response that would keep the carefully built walls intact. But his mind was a battlefield, each memory of you cutting through his defenses like a blade.

“Everything is fine,” he replied tersely. He didn’t meet Wooyoung’s eyes, focusing instead on a spot just beyond his shoulder.

Wooyoung’s brows knitted together, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That’s why you’ve been playing her favorite song on loop for the last hour. That’s why you’ve been holed up in here, avoiding anything that reminds you of her.” He shook his head, his tone equal parts exasperation and worry. “Hongjoong, you’re not fooling me. I know you, and I know you’re running from something—from someone.”

Hongjoong let out a low, frustrated sigh, finally looking up at Wooyoung. “Wooyoung, just drop it, alright?” He forced a tense smile, attempting to sound dismissive. “This… whatever you think is going on, it’s all in your head. We were just friends.”

But Wooyoung didn’t budge. “Friends?” He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of disbelief. “You really want to go with that? Because the way you’re acting… it doesn’t look like you’re just missing a friend. You’re avoiding her like she’s a stranger, but then you’re here, playing her favorite song over and over, clutching onto that pendant like it’s the last piece of her you have.”

Hongjoong’s fingers instinctively tightened around the pendant, and he felt a pang of frustration rise within him. He didn’t want to admit that Wooyoung’s words struck too close to home. “I told you, it’s nothing like that,” he bit back, his tone sharper than intended. “You’re turning this into something it isn’t.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his gaze not faltering. “Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re acting like a guy who’s desperately trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t even believe.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Hongjoong, you can’t keep lying to yourself.” Wooyoung’s tone softened, his voice carrying a gentleness that seemed to cut deeper than the words themselves. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I do know that you care about her. You’re not fooling anyone by pretending this distance is ��better’ for either of you.”

Hongjoong’s patience began to fray, his frustration morphing into anger. He shot Wooyoung a glare, his voice rising. “It is better, Wooyoung. She… she deserves better. She doesn’t need to be pulled into whatever mess I am.” He paused, catching his breath, his anger mingling with something closer to desperation. “I’m not what’s best for her. And it’s better for the both of us if I keep my distance.”

Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his gaze hardening as he stepped closer, unwilling to let Hongjoong brush him off. “So, what? You think pushing her away, acting like she means nothing, is somehow good for her? You really think she’s better off without you?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong replied, his tone final, but the conviction in his voice was starting to waver.

Wooyoung gave him a long, scrutinizing look, and for a moment, the silence between them was thick with unspoken truths. Then, Wooyoung shook his head slowly. “You’re lying to yourself. And honestly? It’s pathetic, Hongjoong. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

The words hit Hongjoong like a slap, and a flash of anger surged within him, simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “I’m doing this for her, so just… stop.”

But Wooyoung wouldn’t relent. “You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing this because you’re afraid. Afraid to admit how much she means to you. Afraid of what might happen if you actually let her in. Whatever you’re afraid of, whatever you think is keeping you from being with her… maybe it’s worth rethinking. Because if you keep running like this, you’re going to lose her. And then what?”

Hongjoong felt his control slipping, the carefully constructed barriers he’d built starting to crack under the weight of Wooyoung’s words. He clenched his fists, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “This isn’t about fear.”

“Isn’t it?” Wooyoung’s voice softened, a hint of understanding breaking through the frustration. “Hongjoong… I get it. You’re scared of losing yourself. Of losing control. But she’s not the one who’s going to make that happen. You are, by doing this. By trying so hard to keep her out.”

Hongjoong stayed silent, his chest tightening as Wooyoung’s words began to sink in. He wanted to deny it, to push back with the same conviction he’d clung to for weeks, but he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew there was truth in Wooyoung’s words.

Finally, Wooyoung let out a sigh, his tone softening even further. “Listen, man. I don’t know what almost happened, or why you’re so determined to stay away from her, but you have to ask yourself… is this really what you want?”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to that night in your apartment—the feeling of your hand brushing his, the way your gaze had lingered on him, the unspoken tension that had nearly pulled him into something he couldn’t name. He’d wanted so badly to close that distance, to feel your lips against his, to let go of the fear and doubt that had held him back. But just as he’d leaned closer, Wooyoung’s call had snapped him out of the moment, bringing him crashing back to reality.

“Do you even understand how much she’s hurting, Hongjoong?” And there it was again—the harshness in Wooyoung’s tone. “Seonghwa told me she’s tearing herself apart over this. She doesn’t eat right anymore, and she barely even sleeps. She spends her nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where things went wrong, wondering if she’s the problem.”

The words landed like a punch to Hongjoong’s gut, leaving him breathless. Images of you flashed through his mind—moments when he’d caught glimpses of your smile faltering, your laughter quieting, the spark in your eyes dimming little by little. He’d told himself it was just his imagination, that you were fine. But Wooyoung’s words shattered that illusion entirely.

“She thinks she did something wrong, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung continued, his voice filled with barely contained anger. “She actually believes she’s the reason you’re running. Every time you disappear, every time you pull away, she thinks it’s because of something she did. And the worst part? She doesn’t even blame you. She blames herself.”

Hongjoong’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as guilt clawed at him.

“Seonghwa told me she asked him if she was too much. Can you believe that?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “She actually thinks she’s too much for you. That she’s somehow burdening you, dragging you down. She’s convinced herself that if she were just… less, maybe you wouldn’t be running.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, a wave of nausea rolling over him as he realized the full extent of the pain he’d caused. You—who had always been so vibrant, so unapologetically yourself—were now questioning every part of who you were, trying to shrink yourself down to avoid scaring him away.

“She’s not even angry at you, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice barely above a whisper now, each word a dagger aimed straight at Hongjoong’s heart. “She doesn’t hate you for this. She just… she thinks she’s not enough. Or that she’s too much. Either way, she’s convinced that she’s the problem.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind reeling. He could feel the anchor of your pain weighing down on him; He’d done this to you—turned you into a shadow of yourself, left you grappling with doubts and insecurities that weren’t yours to bear.

“You’ve been so busy hiding behind your own fears,” Wooyoung continued, “that you haven’t even stopped to consider what this is doing to her. You’re so terrified of being hurt again that you’re hurting her—over and over, every day, with every step you take away from her.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to justify this? How could he explain that he’d been running not to hurt you, but to protect himself? It sounded so selfish, so small in the face of everything you were going through.

“And you know what’s really twisted?” Wooyoung’s voice dropped, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Despite everything, she’d still look at you the same way she did before you started pushing her away. She’d still forgive you, still try to see the good in you, because that’s who she is. That’s how much she cares.”

Hongjoong felt something break inside him, a quiet, shattering realization that left him reeling. You would forgive him. He knew that. He could see it in his mind—the way you’d smile softly, the way your eyes would fill with understanding, even now. Even after everything, you’d welcome him back, arms open, heart exposed, waiting.

“She deserves better, Joong.” Wooyoung’s words were softer now, the anger replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty. “She deserves someone who doesn’t make her question her worth. Someone who doesn’t make her feel like she’s somehow wrong just for being herself. And if you can’t be that for her… if you’re too wrapped up in your own fears to let her in… then you need to let her go.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through him as he struggled to process it all. He didn’t want to let you go. He couldn’t. But the thought of holding onto you only to keep hurting you, to keep dragging you through his own tangled web of insecurities and fears—it was unbearable.

“She’s barely holding up. She hides it well, but Seonghwa can see it. He told me how she sits alone for hours, just staring off into space, like she’s lost something she can’t find. She keeps her phone close, hoping maybe, just maybe, you’ll reach out. But every time you don’t... it breaks her a little more.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened painfully, each word slicing through him like a blade. He could see it so clearly now, every painful moment he’d forced you through. How you must’ve waited for messages that never came, must’ve spent countless nights wondering where things had gone wrong. The thought of you sitting there, lost in your own pain, while he’d been so focused on his own fears, was more than he could bear.

“And don’t think she hasn’t tried to talk to you.” Wooyoung’s voice turned sharp, accusatory. “Seonghwa told me how many times she’s wanted to reach out, just to make sure you’re okay, just to see if you’d give her even a scrap of reassurance. But every time, she stops herself. She doesn’t want to bother you, doesn’t want to seem needy. She’s holding back everything she feels because she’s afraid it’ll push you further away.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened slightly, but the fire of his conviction remained. “You need to understand, Hongjoong. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about her too. You’re hurting her, and if you don’t start realizing that, it’ll be too late. She’s going to break, and I don’t think she’ll come back from it.”

Hongjoong felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. The thought of you shattering into pieces because of his cowardice was unbearable. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to say that he was doing this for you, for the both of you. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He was only trying to shield himself from the fear of loss, the same fear that had haunted him since that girl from his past had walked away.

“I can’t… I can’t lose anyone again, Woo,” Hongjoong finally admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “What if she sees me for who I really am? What if she realizes I’m not worth it?”

Wooyoung shook his head, frustration flashing across his features. “That’s where you’re wrong. She already sees you, and she loves you for all the parts you’re trying to hide. You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but you’re only pushing her further into despair.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions colliding within him. “How do you know? How do you know she feels that way?”

“Because I’ve talked to Seonghwa, and he cares about her, Joong! He’s seen her cry over you. He told me she broke down one night, just sitting on the floor of her room, wondering why you were so distant. She kept saying she must’ve done something wrong. Do you want that for her? Do you want to be the reason she loses herself?”

The image of you curled up alone, tears streaming down your face while grappling with your worth, sliced through Hongjoong. The sheer guilt of it settled heavily in his chest, suffocating him. He had wanted to protect you, but in doing so, he had only hurt you more.

Hongjoong lingered in silence, the weight of his unspoken fears casting a shadow over the room. He could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on him, a

persistent pressure urging him to confront the thoughts he’d been too afraid to voice.

“What if…” The words caught in his throat, his voice strained with the vulnerability he couldn’t hide. “What if I take the next step, and she leaves? What if she ends up leaving just like—”

Wooyoung interrupted him by reaching forward, pressing his fingers gently but firmly to Hongjoong’s lips, shushing him with an authority that surprised them both. “I know what comes next, Hongjoong,” he murmured. “You don’t need to say it.”

Hongjoong stiffened, pulling back ever so slightly, a touch of annoyance flickering across his face. “You think it’s that simple?” he muttered, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You think it’s easy to just… forget?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, though he held firm. “I think you’re holding onto something that’s long gone, Joong. And you’re letting it get in the way of something real.” He paused, leaning forward. “So what if the girl you loved back in middle school left you? You’re still letting her be the one who decides what happens now?”

Hongjoong’s mouth opened, then closed, his defenses crumbling under Wooyoung’s scrutiny. He could feel the words bubbling up, the excuses he’d used to justify his fears over and over, but this time, they didn’t come. The silence between them grew heavier, and he felt himself shrinking under Wooyoung’s eyes.

“It’s not about her,” Hongjoong finally managed, his voice a strained whisper. “It’s just… this was exactly how it started back then. The same moments, the same feelings, and then…” His voice broke, a haunted look creeping into his eyes as the memories clawed their way to the surface. “And then it all just fell apart the moment she left without a word.”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, his gaze filled with something close to sympathy, but there was no pity there, only an understanding forged through years of friendship. “Joong,” he said softly, leaning even closer as if he could bridge the distance that Hongjoong had placed between himself and everyone around him. “So what if some things feel familiar? They’re not the same person, are they? You’re not the same person, either.”

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, a flicker of anger sparking in his chest as he searched for a way to deflect, to deny the truth in Wooyoung’s words. “It’s… it’s not like that, Woo. You don’t get it.” His voice grew sharper, frustration edging his tone as he tried to hold onto the walls he’d built.

Wooyoung shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Really? Because it doesn’t look that way to me.”

Hongjoong looked away, his gaze hardening as he stared at the floor. “It’s not that simple, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to… to risk everything and then lose it.”

Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hongjoong, I may not know exactly what you went through, but I do know one thing: you’re letting something from the past dictate your future. And that’s not fair. Not to you, and definitely not to her.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as he felt the weight of Wooyoung’s words settle over him. Part of him wanted to argue, to cling to the fears that had kept him guarded for so long, but another part—a part he’d buried deep—knew that Wooyoung was right.

“What if I let myself try?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his words laden with the weight of years of doubt and self-preservation. “What if… what if I take that risk, and she ends up leaving?”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward, resting a reassuring hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Joong, if she’s really the person you believe she is… then maybe it’s a risk worth taking. Because people leave, yeah. They walk away. But the ones who matter, the ones who are meant to stay—they won’t go anywhere.”

“You’re saying I should just… trust that?” His voice wavered, the question more for himself than for Wooyoung, as if he needed to convince himself that he could still believe in something other than his own fears.

Wooyoung’s mouth curved into a gentle, understanding smile. “Yeah. Trust it. Don’t let something that’s already gone keep you from what could be right here, right now.”

“What if I let her in? What if I let her see the real me? What if it’s not enough?”

“Then you fight for her,” Wooyoung replied. “You show her every day that she’s enough. You fight for her instead of running away. You have to be brave enough to take the risk, Joong. And if she does leave, at least you’ll know you tried. You can’t live in the shadow of your past forever.”

“But what if she sees me as weak?” Hongjoong countered, bitterness lacing his tone. “What if she thinks I’m broken?”

“Then you show her that even broken pieces can fit together to make something beautiful,” Wooyoung shot back. “You’ve built this wall around yourself, but you’re just hurting the one person who’s tried to break through. You need to trust her. You need to let her help you. She wants to be there for you, but you have to meet her halfway.”

The truth of those words echoed painfully in Hongjoong’s mind. He had been running, terrified of the vulnerability that came with love, terrified of the chance that he could be left once more. But he could feel the edges of that fear beginning to fray under the weight of his guilt, unraveling with every word Wooyoung spoke.

“You can’t let the past dictate your present, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now, a mixture of empathy and frustration. “You can’t keep running away from what you feel. If you do, you’ll end up losing her, and it’ll be your fault.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced as he thought of you—how you had lit up his life in ways he never thought possible. How your laughter had become a soothing balm to his weary soul. He couldn’t keep ignoring the truth that was staring him in the face. The realization washed over him like a cold wave. “What am I supposed to do?” Hongjoong whispered.

“Fight for her, Joong. Show her that you’re not afraid. Be honest with her, and don’t let fear win this time.” Wooyoung leaned closer. “She deserves that much, at the very least. Fight for her—before it’s too late.”

“But what if it already is?”

🪞 — lividstar.

[wrightingdungeon]

this is one to many but eyy

E I J L X and Z for Elliott?

Don't judge me talk I'm down bad 😞

Doctor, Doctor give me the news I gotta. Bum, bum. Bad case- (someone mumbling in my ear) wait…. Elliott's not a doctor?… (mumble mumble) We can't have a bad case of loving him!… (mumble mumble) But we can be down bad?… What's the difference?

E - Emotions: Man is confident with himself, and he used to live alone, he has had a lot of time with his emotions. But it feels like he would have a rage journal. The journal is just for his eyes, a receptacle for his frustrations, particularly regarding the nonexistent flow of his latest book. The words refused to transfer from his mind to the paper smoothly, leaving him grappling with persistent thoughts that often spilled onto its pages. Some pages echo familial doubts that had once plagued him, now blurred and scratched out as if erased by the passage of time spent with you and his success with his book. —-

Leaning on the kitchen counter, Elliott took a drink of water, a contented sigh escaping his lips. After a week away on his book tour, he was relieved to be back home on the farm with you and your little ones. He knew handling both the farm chores and looking after the children must have been challenging for you in his absence, so he had insisted you take a day or two to rest.

Glancing over at you, he couldn't help but smile at the way you were watching him. "What's on your mind, Farmer?" he asked, tilting his head curiously as he noticed you fidgeting slightly. There was a moment of hesitation before you spoke. "Um… I think I stumbled upon one of your journals," you admitted sheepishly.

Elliott chuckled softly, a warm light in his eyes. "I assure you, you are my only muse," he said, stepping closer to you. "Oh, not that one… The scratched-out one," you clarified, noticing his smile falter slightly, replaced by a pensive expression as he processed your words. "That journal," he murmured, his gaze drifting to a distant corner of the kitchen. "That one's… different."

"It seemed… intense," you ventured cautiously, sensing his discomfort but wanting to understand. His gaze returned to you, a mixture of vulnerability and resolve in his eyes. "It's my family's words," he confessed quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. "Those crossed-out words… they're things my family used to say. About failing, about not succeeding… Needing to crawl back."

“Elliott…” Your voice softened, comforting him as you wrapped your arms around him. "Do you want to burn it?" He chuckled a brief, grateful sound, at you offering a way to rid him of those painful reminders. "No, I want to keep it. It reminds me of what not to listen to,"

I - Intimacy: Okay, yes, we all know he's got the lover boi charm locked down, but the true intimacy is in his domestic life. It's in the small, everyday moments where he truly shines. Like when you lean down to pick up something you dropped, only to hit his hand when you stood up not the edge of the counter. Or when you're out in the field together, and he can't resist playfully spraying you with the hose. He laughs and runs away, trying to keep it just out of your reach as you chase him, both of you ending up soaked and breathless with laughter. For him, it isn't just about grand declarations or sweeping you off your feet; it's about the little things, the quiet moments. —-

Walking into the house, Elliott could hear the shower running. The familiar sharp tang of the hair dye filled the air as he approached the bathroom. “Love, I’m home,” he called out, his voice carrying a hint of playful curiosity as he pushed open the ajar door.

The sight that greeted him made him chuckle softly: you were on your knees, hunched over the tub, diligently washing the dye out of your hair. “Hi Eli,” you called over the running water, trying to keep it from running into your mouth.

“Love,” he sighed softly, his eyes twinkling with affection as he knelt next to you. Gently, he took the shower head from your hands, guiding the stream of water to help rinse out the remaining dye, using his fingers to help scrub it out. “Oh, Elliott, you’re going to dye your hands!” you gasped slightly, trying to stop him, concern lacing your tone as you noticed his fingers already tinged with color.

“That’s okay, love. I want to help,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm that eased your worries. Leaning down, he kissed your neck tenderly, the warmth of his lips a stark contrast to the cold water. “I don’t mind getting stained for you.

J - Jealous: Elliott is very confident in himself and in his relationship with you when you are together. However, when he's trying to court you, he can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy when others turn their heads your way, admiring your charm and features. His jealousy comes from his deep desire to be the one who captures your heart completely, maybe one too many romantic stories rumbling in his head. —

Gripping his hair in his hands, Elliott groaned in frustration. He was in the middle of writing and was worried he had started to use too many of the same words, seeing them repeating in his sentences. His mind felt like it was going to explode, and he couldn't fall back asleep last night, so he had been up for hours at this point. Honestly, he wasn't even writing; he was just hoping to write.

Hearing voices through the thin wooden walls, he looked up and leaned back to peer through the window to see who was coming to the beach. A soft smile spread across his face when he saw Sam, his friends, his brother, and… you trailing behind. He couldn't help but stare at your swimsuit-clad body, the sun making you glow, and that beautiful smile he had fallen for. The sight of you filled him with a warm, comforting feeling that momentarily eased the tension in his mind.

Elliott glanced over at the door, biting his lip and sighing. He wasn't getting anything done in here, so he might as well go say hello. He stood up, stretched his tired limbs, and headed outside to join you all on the beach.

“Wait! Get my ba-” He listened to you groan as Sam and Abigail took off to the ocean with Vincent, leaving you holding your sunscreen and standing next to Sebastian. “I can do it, Far-” Elliott cleared his throat as he walked over, interrupting Sebastian, making you both look his way. “Go on and join them, I'll help.” Sebastian smiled, taking the sunscreen and throwing it to Elliott before running to join his friends.

Elliott couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he watched Sebastian’s easy interaction with you. His confident smile and the casual way he took the sunscreen from you just to toss it grated on his nerves. "Thanks, Elliott, I really don't want to burn," you said, laughing as you turned so he could rub the sunblock on your skin.

“Any time, Farmer, plus you know they all would miss all the important places,” he said, chuckling slightly as he rubbed your back and sides, his movements deliberate, as if he could somehow imprint his presence on you, remind you of his affection. His touch lingered, more possessive than before, trying to convey what he couldn’t put into words.

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.” He blushed deeply hearing your tease. “Jealous? Me? Of course not,”

[jesuisgourde]

I think I have sort of figured out the extra unused lyrics of Bag Lady, as heard in this alternative version from the making of JFPL documentary thing. I’ll italicize the new lines. Since the alternate version is totally different in terms of tune and arrangement of lines, I’ve sort of put the new ones where they’d go if they were in the album version.

What I’ve got is:

I am not dead, I demand I know my rights I know my rights You cover illness with flowers and flowers die, and flowers die Your tongue should help you, we will not destroy No caution destroys all your insides

I walk in half view of all mirrors it makes sense to me, makes sense to me Never let yourself out, I did it ruined me, it ruined me

To be morally good only rather to love a devil pretending to be a god Love’s written on paper, and paper burns

I have read books Eternity is not sunrise It is small pink balls in the sky It is small pink marbles in the sky

I have played fields in the garden I think I have a sickle I drew a picture of Christ once, half-right reality gives this much

To be morally good only rather to love a devil pretending to be a a god Love’s written on paper, and paper burns Eternity is not a sunrise

[bloodyygems]

Journal For Plague Lovers (2009) - Manic Street Preachers

[lemonswoop]

Stray is one of my top 10 games of all time, so I decided to do a little replay to remind myself why I love it so much.

Full journal entry under the cut

Stray

Start date:8/18

End date: 8/27

Platform: Steam Deck

Hours played: 14

Rating: 5/5

On the day I finished Stray I sat back and said "I can feel this game is going to be very special to me." It's an odd game to be in my top 10 games of all time. I knew the simple concept of playing as a little cat (with me being a huge cat lover) would be an instant favorite, but I didn't expect that the message of the game would hit a particular soft spot in my heart.

What I thought would be a silly little cat sim set in a cyberpunk city turned out to be a twist on the classic dystopian future filled with hope, love and the beauty of the human spirit.

The game starts off with a cat falling into a walled slums of a domed society where humans have been dead for thousands of years. Our tiny cat protagonist meets the very last known human in existence, B12, a scientist whose consciousness gets uploaded into a tiny drone. Disease and plague ravaged the futuristic city, leaving nothing but memories and the robot companions programed to serve its lost inhabitants. But something special happened;

In the forsaken slums, gritty and filled with despair, hope thrived before the humans passed. When energy was capped, rebellion lit up the city with neon lights. When things seemed bleak, humans created art, tended to thriving plants, and hugged their loved ones tight. They went to bars to get sloppy drunk and laugh off the dark times with friends.

They Lived.

"Humans often said that making art is important in desperate situations. There are certainly desperate times."

Humans may have passed, but humanity lived on in the companion robots who gained sentience. The only models they had was what humanity had left behind for them. In the lowest levels of society is where the beautiful parts of humanity survived. The robot citizens didn't need to eat, wear clothes, love one another, but they did so because of the examples that were left for them. They fostered a community to protect one another all while dreaming of it all being better somehow.

The main goal of a small group was to open up the domed city, see the blue sky and go back to the long abandoned outside. It's what the humans would have wanted, and a place the robots have only ever heard about in stories.

One of my favorite aspects of the game is that while it reaches far beyond the scope of a little cat plot-wise, the cat represented a larger theme of hope for better still existing and it was time to start trying to reach it again. The cat inspired brave and bold actions in the robots, all resulting in finally reaching the top of the walled city. A sterile place where the rich and powerful operation controllers all lived; now gone. And in that city no culture, no art, no humanity survived. The robots were just robots, forever following the last directive they were given before humanity perished.; A pristine wasteland.

B12, the last human, sacrifices himself to take down the system and open the walled city to the bright blue sky. No longer did B12 feel the need to carry the weight of humanities past because they never left. They just belonged to a new society lovingly passed down. A future existed where our best qualities as a collective are what survived.

Sometimes I feel as if the beautiful message of this game gets overlooked, which is a shame when its a message I feel we all can use when the world at large feels bleak.

Nothing is ever wasted or in vain. The beauty of humanity is in what we leave behind. Even the small and whimsical things that only exist to bring us joy; they all matter.

Making music, art, reading, tending to a garden, hugging a loved one, holding onto hope... and yes, loving and finding companionship in a little cat.

"But I see a future in the companions, and in you."

[perseephoneee]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓥

In which, you, a lady of the ton, are forced to participate in courting season. Except that courting season comes with one particularly silver tongued Prince who is making it his mission to drive you absolutely insane.

↳ fic masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay in this. i was in spain this past month, and then i was finishing out my classes before i graduate!!! i am graduating this next Saturday with my bachelors which is crazy. and then i'm off to Columbia journalism school for the summer. i'm basically just rory gilmore at this point. anywho...thank you for being patient with me. i love you all.

Vulnerability was not something you often expressed, and unfortunately, it opened a floodgate of emotions you weren't ready to approach. Every night that passed was plagued with the same sly grin or those mischievous green eyes. You felt yourself going crazy, waking up with a beating heart and shaky hands. You needed to get your act together and fast. Even your family was starting to notice your strange behavior.

It was already evening, and you had another dreaded dance to attend. Apparently, there were professional dancers this time. Anything to entertain the Queen, of course. You stared at yourself in the mirror, a sage green dress hanging from your figure, delicate beads embellishing the bodice. With gentle hands, you also put on a golden locket, one of the last things you had of your mother. Sometimes, you wished it was societally appropriate for women to wear breeches. They were much more comfortable anyway and made for a better escape.

Ivy was already waiting in the carriage when you arrived. Grandmother liked to always take her own carriage, something you appreciated more often than not. It allowed you to be left alone with your own thoughts. You sighed deeply when your back hit the cushion, and the horses carried you off. Ivy shot you a look. 

"I thought you would be more excited to be seeing your lover," she cooed, slapping your knee playfully. 

"I find these events exhausting," You sighed, brushing your hair out of your face. "And he's not my lover."

"That's not what I've heard," Ivy said. "The grapevine whispers of an imminent engagement. I heard Grandmother discussing it with a representative from the Odinson home."

That was news. News that caused a pit in your stomach rather than butterflies. Marrying Thor was the goal, was it not? He was kind and respectful and would make a suitable husband. Still, you couldn't help but feel resent the idea. Ivy noticed the look on your face. 

"You don't want to marry him."

"I didn't say that," you tutted, folding your arms defensively. 

"It's evident by the sour look you wear," she frowned, but not from disappointment. More so, concern. “Y/N.”

"I will do my duty; is that clear?" You hissed. Any other person would've recoiled from your sharp tone, but Ivy had known you too long. She placed a hand over yours, every part soft and nurturing. 

"It is alright to say no," Ivy said softly. For the first time in a long while, she felt every bit your older sister and not the ditz your Grandmother loved to portray her as. "You have permission to say no."

You didn't get the chance to respond as the carriage pulled to a stop. Her words soothed your heart in a way you didn't expect. Permission to do something for yourself wasn't anything you'd heard before. It was always the expectation that you would protect your family and secure your future. No one had ever told you that you were allowed to choose otherwise. 

Entering the ballroom, cream gauze adorned the walls, accompanied by flickering candlelight. The mood was intimate, and everyone seemed to twinkle like the fountain in the middle. A performance was occurring with scantily clad dancers, but you weren't fazed. You're sure the ton would have something to say about it, though. Unlike them, you found being able to see their bodies to make the movements captivating, and you envied how they moved with such freedom. You were so enraptured by the dance that when you eventually noticed the Odinson brothers across the room, you froze up. Ivy hadn't left your side yet, and you grabbed her hand, hoping she'd stay by you. She gave you a worried look, but you ignored her. You were insanely nervous. If a proposal was imminent, then your anxiety was going to get the best of you. This is what you want; you kept chanting to yourself, hoping to believe it.

You saw Thor try to make his way over to you, and you quickly ducked behind a couple, dragging Ivy along with you. You kept finding ways to have someone blocking the path to you and the blond prince. At some point, you fetched a drink and had it in one go, smiling kindly at the waiter, who looked at you bewildered. You let Ivy's hand go when you reached for the drink, and she maneuvered off despite your protests. Hiding in the back, you allowed yourself to grab a second drink right as the dance ended. Unfortunately, that meant the path to you was straightforward, and Thor quickly approached. 

"M'Lady, it has been an adventure to reach you all night," he smiled. You quickly put the glass back on the tray and looked him in the eye. 

"Apologies, your grace, the…dance was quite enrapturing," you choked out, feigning a smile. 

"Dancing can be quite entertaining; I always fancy myself a dance with a beautiful woman when I can," Thor looked out to the crowd with his hands clasped, returning your gaze fondly. You heard the orchestra ready a waltz as Ivy walked close to you. You cut off Thor right as he was about to ask you to dance. 

"My sister is an excellent dancer; you should give her a twirl," you grabbed Ivy as she walked by, forcing her in Thor's direction and quickly maneuvering away. You couldn't deal with suitors at this point. That meant potential marriage proposals, and frankly, you were terrified at the prospect of getting proposed to right now. 

Your quick escape led to an unfortunate collision with the only other prince you were hoping to avoid– Loki. He stabilized you before quickly pulling his hand away as if you were a fire too hot to touch. His green eyes look at you inquisitive before his lips pull up into a smirk. 

"Running away from the ball? Scandolous." He cooed. Your brows draw down at his smirk, rolling your eyes. He gives a glance at the waltz. "Care to join me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Typically, when a gentleman asks you to dance, one answers' yes' or 'no,'" Loki chides. "So, care to join me?"

You paused, taking him in before giving him a slight nod. He extends his hand and leads you out onto the floor. You can feel Ivy's gaze on you, but you ignore her as you both bow to each other. The music starts, the cello reverberating through the room as you take the first step into the movements. Loki never takes his eyes off you, something that would unnerve you if you didn't live in a fantasy world. His eyes were a forest in which you could perpetually wander. His hands reached for yours, twirling you around before capturing you close. You felt your breath hitch at your proximity and, luckily, could move away before you showed how his presence affected you. When the dance ended, you bowed before leaving, looking for any exit outside. 

You sighed in relief as the cold air touched your skin, caressing your cheeks. You heard the door close behind you and couldn't tell who you hoped it would be more. 

"Lady Chilton," Thor's voice spoke, disturbing the quiet of the night. You turned around, taking in his gentle expression. 

"Your grace," you breathed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You startled me."

"Thor, you can call me Thor," he chuckled, hands clasped behind his back. "I was hoping to talk to you." Your heartbeat picked up, but you nodded, brows furrowed. 

"You can always talk to me."

Thor pauses. 

"I had planned to ask for your hand in marriage."

Your brain processed his words. It took you a second for them to register. "You had planned?"

"It has nothing to do with your character," Thor reassured. "I find you quite intelligent."

"But you no longer plan to propose?"

"You don't want me to propose; I can see it clear as day," Thor, for his part, doesn't look upset. "I am not the one you want…I respect that."

"The one I want?"

"I admire you deeply, which is why all I wish for you is a love match," Thor smiled. "I never would've been able to keep up with your wit anyway."

"I'm…sorry for disappointing you," you say, feeling immense guilt. 

"You could never disappoint me, Miss Y/N," Thor smiles. You soften, taking in the tall prince. Thor was kind and gentle but masculine. You should be head over heels for him for all intents and purposes. But you just couldn't find yourself to feel that way. 

"I hope we can continue being friends," you say sadly. 

"I expect you will be more like family," he nods. "I wish you the best, Lady Chilton."

"Thor, I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"You will; my brother is not a patient man."

And with that, he left you alone in the courtyard. The door closed with a click, and an owl hooted overhead. The sky was a navy blue, the clouds obscuring the moon hanging over your head. As the breeze picked up and the leaves rustled, you pondered over Thor's parting words. 

My brother is not a patient man.

taglist: @gruftiela @eleniblue @iwrite-things @youneedanap @huntress-artemiss @linaax @pisces-celeste @marygoddessofmischief @saay-karani @choki.laufeyson @foxherder @lover-of-books-and-tea

[witchpassing]

{ welcome! may this one take your coat? }

this one is a doll, and its name is petrichor. while that word means many things to many of its sisters, to this one it signifies its nature as beloved and eternal servant to its master. this page is a quiet, personal space for it to engage with like-minded beings and publish its fiction work, much of it empty spaces or adjacent thereto. a sister account is maintained for the same purpose on cohost under the username apothecaric. the askbox is kept open and interaction is welcome. you are a valued guest here, and this one humbly hopes that you will enjoy your stay.

disclaimer: some content appearing on this blog will be nsfw. please do not follow or interact if you are below the age of eighteen. thank you.

{ tag list }

this one's writing - original fiction, mostly ES, mostly short. an ongoing masterlist of this one's writing may be found below.

journal - personal posts, mainly relating to this one's relationship with its master.

scrapbook - original, but neither autobiographical nor serious enough to fall into the above categories.

enquiries - correspondence.

offerings - gifts received from like-minded creatures.

the following topics also have dedicated tags: dolls, maids, machines, pilots, and witches. posts falling into none of the above categories are tagged as unsorted.

{ fiction index }

an intervention {part i} {part ii} {part iii} - a three-chapter work about a bereaved woman retrieving her lover from the clutches of a witch. things do not go to plan.

red heather {x} - the morning after a one-night stand between a doe and a wolf.

pennyroyal {x} - witchling hickory is called upon to extricate her familiar from a classmate's teeth.

interview_3ac {x} - an anonymised handler goes on the record about how she got into her current line of work.

misericorde & anise {x} - misericorde is not a good doll; she wants things she is not supposed to, and she wants anise to give them to her.

for a kinder lord {x} - a knight, dying in the arms of a heretic, hears a gentle whisper of what is to become of her.

crows {x} - earnest, shy sistenzca is sick, sick with crows, and terribly sorry about it.

the clockmaker {x} {x} - an unlicensed doll maintenance specialist plies her trade.

inchoate {x} - a doll, plagued by fever-dreams of limitless power, begs to be fixed.

my lord has many tails {x} - the reflection of a handmaiden upon her terrible mistress.

communication {x} - several weeks into the deconditioning process, ex-pilot rook starts to talk about what she wants.

like breathing {x} - a hacker and their newly subverted humanoid weapon come to an understanding about the balance of power between them.

entr'acte {x} - a servant waits for its lady to return home.

a very impressive beast {x} - on the merits of a mistress who is sometimes a large dog.

miniatures {mima} {on minute-dolls} {wheels within wheels} {vignette (two figures)} - work too short for a blurb to be appropriate. sweet-bitter fragments.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi folks, it’s Mint.

I’m on a mini-vacation this week so I’m going to be releasing some recommendation posts for things that aren’t related to requests (easy to queue), and I’ll be back to doing regular rec posts when I get back!

THEME: Cryptids

Whether you’re tracking them down in order to give them your heart or running as fast as you can in the opposite direction, these games are all about mysterious creatures (that usually live in the woods).

OKCryptid, by Tadhg Lyon.

You’ll never forget that night.

You had heard the legends before, of course, everyone had.  Now that you know the creature is real, one thought keeps playing through your mind:

Their eyes were… beautiful. You want to see them again.

Okcryptid is a tarot-based, GMless roleplaying game about finding mysterious, secretive, beautiful creatures, and hopefully, dating them. It can be played by 2-5 players, or as a solo journaling experience.

Regardless of whether you play this game solo or in a group, you will be investigating a single creature or cryptid. You can create a cryptid of your own, or roll from a provided table to make a completely new cryptid. You use a deck of tarot cards to represent facts about the Creature, bring you closer to the final Meeting, or provide prompts for each investigative scene of the game. Characters also have personal scales that will measure how much the Creature either wants to kiss them or kill them, which will affect how the final Meeting goes. If you want a game with a mix of romance and creepy thrills, you might want to check out OKCryptid!

Cryptid TV, by yanahn.

A plague of Reality TV stars has descended upon the sleepy town of Mountain Lake ready to hunt down (and capture on camera) anything that looks even remotely like a cryptid - your crew is among them to cause drama, fake hoaxes, and enact sabotage beyond all reckoning.

The catch? You have only a passing familiarity with eldritch world of Showbiz, also you are all SPOOKY CRYPTIDS.

Cryptid TV is a truly charming hack of Honey Heist that pits your characters against the world of reality TV. You can choose whatever Cryptid you like, although there are six recommended cryptos that come with special powers to make situations really interesting. Will you unveil yourself as a Cryptid and lose all sense of peace and quiet? Will you sell out and move to Hollywood to seek out fame and fortune? Or will you succeed in driving the producers away without blowing your cover?

If you like goofy situations and you want a chill one-shot for the cryptid - lovers in your life, you’ll want to check out Cryptid TV.

Cryptid Rescue, by Renasdoodles.

One of your own has been captured and you’ve taken it upon yourselves to rescue them! One problem: you’re all cryptids and need to keep from being discovered or you too will be captured!

Cryptid Rescue is a one-page RPG that can be played through within a few hours. 

This is a cute little game with two main stats: Stealth and Fright. Each cryptid also has an Attention bar that leads to your capture should you fill it all the way. You fill this bar a little when you successfully frighten someone or fail at stealth, and you empty it a little when you fail to frighten someone or successfully sneak somewhere. The game also comes with a few small roll-tables for the GM to figure out who was captured, where they are now, and what kinds of obstacles will stand in the way between our adventurous little monsters and their friend. If you want a cute, free game with a simple premise, you might want to check out Cryptid Rescue.

The Mystery Creature of Claytonsville, PA, by Nick Wedig.

That summer, our small town deep in rural Pennsylvania was abuzz with strange tales of the supernatural creature.  No two stories of the creature entirely agreed with each other. Everyone who encountered the creature seemed to see what they needed to see. 

Some who found the creature were terrified. Others were spurred out of their stifling, mundane lives. In the end, the creature left the town with more questions than answers. But the lives of the each witness would each be changed forever.

Once the stories started, they came in more and more frequently throughout the year. Then just as they reached a crescendo, the encounters suddenly stopped.

This game can be played in a group as large as 7, or as small as one - just by yourself. You use a deck of playing cards as an oracle for answering questions, both about the town that you live in and the protagonist that the group will be telling the story about. No matter the group size, there will only be one protagonist! After you set the scene and define your main character, the deck of cards is used to determine what obstacles show up, whether the character succeeds or fails, and what aspects of the story come to the forefront in each scene.

This game feels like a cross between a narrative storytelling exercise and a card game, so if you want to introduce storytelling to a group that likes that tactile sensations of board-games, you might find some luck with The Mystery Creature of Claytonsville, PA.

Expedition: Incredizoology, by Imagined Chaos Games.

Explore the Wyldes, pockets of our World where fantastical and mythical creatures roam freely. Trap, train, hunt and co-exist with these creatures and explore the incredible lands they inhabit. 

Incredizoology can be played solo, cooperative or with an 'Expedition Leader' leading the expedition. The Imagined Chaos System utilises the full gamut of your polyhedral dice, moment cards to resolve combat and encounters as well as extensive roll tables for exploration. 

I don’t think this necessarily needs to be focused on cryptids, but there certainly seems to be room for it. The focus is not just on the creatures that you’re exploring, but also the environment they live in: you’ll have to navigate the natural environment, account for the weather, and interact with strange plants as well! There’s also room to explore how people make themselves at home in wild places, although the fact that the default setting is in a colonial period may be a bit of a downside for some players.

I wonder if you could alter the setting to allow for expeditions in different times and places. For example, if you are explorers in a sci-fi setting or a space setting, what changes might you make to make exploration challenging? I’m also curious if you could combine this game with a creature creation game, such as Exquisite Biome, a creature generator that also considers the ecosystems of various fantastic creatures.

You can download free character sheets if you want to take a look at a few bits and pieces, and look at a review for this game on The Gaming Table’s Youtube channel!

MOTH//MAN, by Witch & Craft Games.

A night in the woods…a light in the darkness…an unearthly transformation…

Can you survive the MOTHMAN?

Armed with nothing but your wits, tools, and the clothes on your back, you must brave the forest that this mysterious creature calls home. Your reasons for walking this perilous path are your own…as are those of everyone around you. Every bump in the road is a potential danger, an irresistible call drawing the beast ever closer. One wrong move, and you might find that it had been lurking closer than you ever thought possible.

When the monster finally reveals itself, the night really begins, and only one question remains:

Who is MOTH, and who is MAN?

This game looks to be more suited for fans who like to mix a bit more horror into their Cryptid mix. Moth-Man is likely a real threat - especially since it looks like some party members might actually turn into a MothMan! If you want a game of suspense, surprise, and perhaps even a little PVP, you might like MOTH//MAN.

Loveland, by JD.

Hundreds of years after climate change killed humanity, the cryptids inherited the Earth. Living in the area once known as Loveland, Ohio are the Frogfolk. Not as strong or sophisticated as other new societies, their success can be attributed to their teamwork. Within their village each Frog is a member of a guild. Some are craftsmen, others provide services, but all are equally important in the survival of the village.

You are a member of the Gatherers Guild. It’s your job to venture out of the village, gather supplies, explore ancient ruins, and communicate with other factions.

I find the idea of playing Frogfolk very charming, and I also like the fact that there are various Cryptid factions in this world, including goat-men, moth-men, and green-furred Grasskin. The game seems to revolve around gathering items that various guild factions can use to craft items for you, which will in turn help you venture farther and farther afield. Magic exists in items called Wands, and can only be used once per day before it needs to re-charge. The game is very well suited for dungeon-crawls, pointcrawls, hex-crawls… name a crawl and you can probably do it in this game. If you’re a bit of an OSR fan and you like exploration, you might be interested in Loveland.

Other Games You Might Want To Check Out

Sleepaway, by Jay Dragon.

Apocalypse Roadtrip, by Mina Lenahan.

Cryptozoologist by riseofpanic.

Camp Cryptid, by Certified Milkboy Games.